The Empty Cradle

by Jill Nojack

  Frantically, she screamed the word, “Penumbra.”

  She came to in her disconnected body, lying on her back, the sun much lower on the horizon than her sense of time thought it should be, looking up into midnight black eyes.

  ***

  “Molten maple magpies! Get that pig off the girl. What’s wrong with you?” Natalie forced herself to stand, ignoring how wobbly she still felt from the aftereffect of the tea, and charged toward the pig. It backed away quickly from Cassie’s prone body when challenged.

  She wasn’t surprised the woman at the end of the pig’s leash didn’t have the same good sense as her pet. “Deborah, you should know better than to interrupt a ritual circle. What were you thinking?”

  “Diggery has a mind of his own, and he’s just as strong as he looks. I tried to pull him back, but the three of you smell like baking cinnamon rolls.” Deborah shrugged. “How was I supposed to hang on to him? I’d like to see you try it.”

  Gillian helped Cassie up while Natalie stared the intruder down. Deborah didn’t flinch. She said, “What are you doing out here anyway? Shouldn’t you be at the ritual grounds?”

  Natalie moved a step closer, but Deborah didn’t step back. If Natalie moved forward again, she’d be making bodily contact. Did this weak witch really think she’d be a match for her high priestess if it came down to a battle? The idea was ridiculous, and Deborah would find out how ridiculous if she didn’t start backing off. “It’s none of your business, Ms. James.”

  “Messing around with magic where anyone can find you? There’s too many people who go walking out here.” She stood her ground. “You should know better than that, Oh-Great-High-Priestess,” she said, her head waggling and her tone taunting like a child’s na-nana-nana-nah. “You’re lucky it was only me. It could have been anyone. You must be getting forgetful in your old age. You didn’t even draw a circle to keep you safe.”

  “And you were out here hunting for truffles, I suppose?” Natalie shot back.

  “What if I was?”

  Cassie piped up, “You’d have a heck of a long walk. Tom says the only places to find truffles in the U.S.—the good kind, at least—are in Oregon and Washington. So that excuse doesn’t work.” She stood up and rubbed her upper arm. “Your pig must have really slammed into me. There’s a bruise coming up.”

  “Once again—because I guess you didn’t hear me the first time—I tried to stop him. It didn’t work.” Deborah shifted her bulk from one leg to the other, thrusting a shapeless hip outward and putting the hand that wasn’t holding the leash on top of her hip bone with a defiant look.

  “Whatever,” Cassie said. “Gillian, grab the other end of the blanket, will you? It’s getting dark.”

  Gillian stood to help. “Nat? You could help with the clearing up, too.”

  But Natalie was busy having the last word. The run-in hadn’t exactly moved Deborah lower on her list of suspects. She took one more step toward her so that their noses were nearly touching. “I think you’d best keep that pig out of the woods for a while. You never know when it might run into something that thinks the dear little thing smells like its dinner.”

  Deborah’s resolve broke; she took a step back. Then another.

  Natalie turned, dismissing her, and started packing her things as Deborah and the pig snuffled off through the woods.

  10

  Junior didn’t exactly ooze gratitude whenever his doorbell rang, but someone ringing it at 6 a.m. on a Sunday deserved to be ignored. He pulled a stained throw pillow over his head where he lay on the couch—he hadn’t made it into the bedroom last night—and waited for whoever it was to give up.

  He didn’t manage to drown out the sound of the bell. Or the pounding in between the rings. His visitor appeared to have plans that didn’t involve being ignored.

  “Junior? It’s Bill. Officer Bill Baily. Can we talk?”

  “Go away. I’m sleepin’.”

  “It’s important. I have questions about what you saw in the woods yesterday.”

  Oh geez. Did I say something to the cops? Junior squeezed out his gin-soaked memories and the trickle revealed that he had. Nuts. They’re gonna be all over me. Why’d I have to shoot my mouth off?

  He repeated, “Go away.”

  “Golly, Junior, I just need a couple minutes. I’ve been thinking about what you said about Maureen.”

  “Can’t help ya. Don’t remember.”

  “Darn it, Junior, I’d hate to be talking about obstruction of justice. That’d be a thorny problem for a city employee.”

  Junior sprang up as soon as his job was mentioned; it was a good job, and there were a lot of reasons he liked it. But he instantly regretted moving so quickly when whatever gray matter he had left after years of trying to dissolve it slammed against the side of his head in an effort to dribble out his ears and eyeballs. He paused for a minute with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands to let the sloshing in his skull settle down as he said, “Hang on. I’m comin’.”

  He opened the door, then headed across the small living room toward the kitchen and his big jar of instant coffee. Bill followed behind.

  “Look, Junior, I’m sorry about bothering you so early on a weekend. I wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t important.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m on my own time, so make it fast,” he said as he put a mug of hot water into the microwave.

  “I’ll let you get your coffee first. Okay if I take a seat?” He nodded toward the small kitchen table in the dining nook.

  Junior nodded back, then wished he hadn’t when the contents of his skull sloshed around again. “Go fer it.”

  When he joined Bill with his mug in hand, the cop said, “Yesterday, you said Maureen knew something about the animal you saw in the woods.”

  “Weren’t no animal I’ve ever seen. Had to be some kind of mutant.” The face he’d seen peering out from between the bushes haunted him.

  “What about Maureen? What did she have to do with this ‘monster’ you saw?”

  “She had it all wrapped up in a baby blanket like it was the family pet or something. There it was, cradled in her arms, with those claws…. It’s face was turned away, but it’s head was misshapen. Didn’t look right.” A sudden realization hit him about why Bill might be here. “You think thass what killed her? She was always takin’ in strays and finding homes for ‘em. I used ta tell her she was tryin’ to put me out of a job.”

  “I don’t know what killed her. I just have to collect as much information as I can. And I didn’t know that about Maureen—about taking in strays, but it seems like everyone has a kind word to say about her. ”

  “She was a good woman. I was stupid to mess that up.”

  “You dated her?”

  “Fer a while.”

  “I don’t mean to get too personal, but what happened to break you up?” Bill leaned forward and rested his arms on the table, crossing them at the wrists.

  Junior sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I was wearin’ my beer goggles one night and ended up thinkin’ Zelda James looked good. Mo found out. That was the end of that.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it, and I’m sorry for your loss,” Bill said, sounding sincere. “I hate to be here asking these questions, but we need to find out what happened to Maureen and her granddaughter. We have to get that little girl back. You never know what might be a clue.”

  Junior nodded. He thought carefully about what he could say to get the man out of his hair without revealing too much. “I don’t know nothin’ about that kid. Never even seen it up close. I think Mo’s breakin’ up with me was as much because of her daughter’s brood movin’ in as it was about me and Zelda. Last time I talked to her, she pushed me out of the house as fast as I got in. She was done with me.”

  “And that was the day you saw her with the strange animal in her arms?”

  “Yeah, that was the one.”

  “What day was it?”

  “Dunno.” He remembered all ri
ght, but he sure wasn’t going to place himself at the scene the day before the cops found her dead. “Week ago, maybe?”

  Bill looked at him intently, saying, “That long ago, huh? You sure about that?”

  “Yeah.” Junior looked down, avoiding Bill’s eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure…look, I told you what I know. We done?”

  “I guess we are.” Bill stood up and offered his hand. “If you think of anything else that might help with the investigation, you let us know.”

  Junior shook his hand, but with his head beginning to clear now, he wished he hadn’t given him so much information. He’d been thinking about nothing else since the day he’d seen the thing cradled in Maureen’s arms. She would have interfered if she knew he was so interested in finding out what that thing was, but with her out of the way now and the creature escaped into the woods, he didn’t need the cops keeping him from finding it. So why’d he have to go get crazy drunk and bring them sniffin’ around?

  ***

  Whoever was shining the light in his eyes had better knock it off, Butch Holgerson thought, as he woke up with a nasty hangover. And that incessant beep, beep, beep? It was like a knife through his brain. He brought up an arm to block the light and a long run of plastic tubing came with it.

  There was no one shining a light, he realized. He was alone in bed with sunlight streaming in from the wide window only a few feet away.

  He felt a little weak, but not weak enough that he couldn’t shout, “Jenny, what the…. Get in here! Right this minute. I oughta wring your…”

  Someone answered his call. But the big, scowling man with the gun at his hip definitely wasn’t Jenny.

  ***

  Denton pulled out of the station and lit the cruiser up. The flashing lights and blaring siren allowed him to glide unchallenged through town; he was determined to get answers as quickly as possible now that his prime suspect was awake.

  He was certain Holgerson wouldn’t mess him around about who’d trussed him up the day of the murder even if he had killed his mother-in-law. The man had always been eager to name the “real” trouble-maker when Denton had broken up tense moments down at the Toadstone on a Saturday night. Somehow, the other guy was always the culprit despite Butch being smack dab in the middle of the fray. He was nothing if not predictable.

  He didn’t look like trouble now, though. A clean white bandage wrapped around his head, and his Nordic skin tone, even paler than normal, nearly matched it. His eyes were closed, asleep maybe. But he wouldn’t be for long. Denton figured he’d had plenty of sleep, if you counted being unconscious.

  He buzzed by his officer at the door, saying, “Go on and grab a cup of coffee if you want, Horace. I’ll be here for a while.”

  The scraping noise the chair made as Denton shoved it closer to the side of the bed got the suspect’s attention; Holgerson winced as he turned his head toward the sound. It was clear from his expression that he recognized his visitor, although Denton didn’t read respect, or even fear, there.

  “Mr. Holgerson, good to see you’re awake. I have a few questions if you feel up to it.” His tone conveyed he meant that he had a few questions period. There was no “if you’re up to it” about it.

  “Go for it,” Holgerson said, his head rolling back to the center of the pillow, his eyes on the ceiling now instead of Denton. “But I didn’t see who did it. She was dead when I came in.”

  “Nice to see you’ve worked out why I’m here. It’ll make things go more smoothly.” Denton leaned in. “Your wife said it was you.”

  Holgerson’s head rolled to the side again, quickly, no wincing this time. He pulled himself up on a elbow just as fast and sat up, his legs coming out over the side of the bed; they were long and rippling with muscle covered by a fuzz of blond hair. The hem of his hospital robe had ridden up over his thighs. It was clear Butch was in nearly as good a shape as during his high school days. Denton wouldn’t have wanted to go up against him in a fight without the extra authority the gun on his hip gave him. And he sure couldn’t imagine Jenny taking him on.

  He was also pretty sure Butch Holgerson was the kind of guy who wouldn’t be stopped by any code of honor that said he shouldn’t hit a woman. No, there was no way Jenny had managed to take him out. Denton felt optimistic about getting closer to the truth about the third person that had to be in that room.

  “You just settle down, son. I don’t mind if you sit, but you’re not getting out of that bed. I think you know it wouldn’t be a good idea to cross me on that one.” He moved his hand to the butt of his holster and unsnapped the cover.

  When he was sure Holgerson had digested the meaning of the gesture, he continued, “So, let me start with how we found you, because that’s a real mystery to me. You were out cold and bound up with some fancy ties from the living room curtains. Now, who could do that to a big fellow like you?”

  Holgerson shrugged. “No idea. Didn’t see anybody but Jenny. I heard screaming and turned and there she was.”

  “This was when you were standing over the body?”

  “Yeah, I took a look at Maureen, took her pulse, even though I was pretty sure she was gone ‘cause of all the blood.” His words were emotionless. “I was gonna call the cops, but I turned to Jenny when she started screaming, and that’s when they got me from behind. I didn’t see nothin’, but it had to be someone big, ‘cause they picked me up and the last thing I remember, I was flying toward the wall. Then I’m waking up here, and your cop buddy tells me I’m a suspect.”

  Denton was glad he didn’t have to deal with another crying jag, but he didn’t like Butch’s complete lack of feeling, either. Even if Butch didn’t get along with his mother-in-law, he and Jenny had been the golden couple since they were in high school. Prom king and queen. Butch would have known Maureen for years. He should feel something, if not for himself, at least for what his wife would be going through.

  “So that’s it,” Holgerson said. “I don’t know why Jenny would say I did it. She’s been a real wench since she popped out those kids she wanted so much. I gotta get outta here and talk to her. She’ll see sense.”

  He scooted forward with his feet reaching toward the floor again, and Denton stood looking up to him, his right index finger raised, signaling him to stop. The younger and much bigger man halted his forward movement, the big toe of his left foot on the floor, but going no further.

  Their eyes locked briefly, then Holgerson pushed himself back onto the bed on the palms of his hands into the position he’d recently abandoned.

  Denton nodded, then sat back down. “I’m not quite done asking questions. And you’ll stay until I and your doctor say you can go. We wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you out there. We’ll come back to how you ended up in an unconscious state in a minute. But let me ask you this—who else has been spending the night in your truck?”

  “No one.” Holgerson’s answer was too quick, and the sudden dilation of the suspect’s light blue eyes was easy to read. Even though he already knew the answer, he was interested in how Butch would respond.

  “You mean no one? Or no one your wife should find out about?”

  “No one.” Holgerson was angry now, and his voice rose in defiance. “I thought you were trying to find who attacked me and killed Maureen.“

  “Sure, and figure out if it had anything to do with the lingerie we found shoved into a corner of your truck’s sleeping platform. We already know you’d been spending the night there. Might as well come clean about who was sleeping with you.”

  “Are you charging me, chief?” Holgerson lay down and rolled over with his back to Denton and fluffed his pillow aggressively before resting his head on it. “Cause if you’re not, you can leave now. I got nothin’ else to say, and I’m tired of where this conversation is goin’.”

  Denton rose, moving a hand to his holster absently as he did so. Before he turned to leave, he said, “You just go ahead and get yourself a nice nap there, sleeping beauty. Because I know about Deborah J
ames being your bed partner that night, and I’ll find anything else there is to find, too.”

  There was no response from the impassive lump on the bed.

  He rubbed at a temple and wondered if he had any aspirin in the glove compartment. Without Butch confessing to it, Denton had nothing he could hold him on. If the hospital discharged him, he’d be free to go.

  11

  William tapped at his keyboard, looking up information on postpartum depression, something he’d never heard of until he was bidding Cassie goodbye after winding it up with Jenny the day before.

  As he browsed, he tousled his magically-maintained gray hair. He didn’t like separating it with his fingers the way Tom had shown him when Natalie had ordered him to “do something about your fashion sense”. He wished he had a tube of Brylcreem to make a wave stay in place for a sleek, tidy look, and that he could let it go back to black, if only for the night.

  Because tonight would be his first formal date in half a century; he had no idea what Natalie would expect from him, but looking his best couldn’t hurt. A messy, old man’s topknot didn’t jive with his sense of having a put-together appearance. He wanted to go all out. He wanted to impress her. He wondered if he should wear a suit.

  Fifty years ago, a suit would have been the obvious choice, but people didn’t have the same high standards these days. Natalie might think he was overdressed.

  Gosh darnit! He had to get focused. He couldn’t act like a headless chicken when he was supposed to be finding the clues that would solve a murder and find a missing child. Two days had passed already; every minute that ticked by meant there was less chance of finding her. He wished he could be out in the field with the rest of the force, canvassing the town, searching the woods.

  He’d be more helpful that way. The evidence he’d collected from the scene hadn’t advanced the case, and it was easier to fritter away his time with pleasant thoughts than to think about how he’d failed.