But what if Tim was right and Mama and Maizie were at the farm right now, recovered, and worrying themselves sick over what had become of her and Chrissy? What if Jason had been arrested and was even now locked away behind bars?
Beth sat against the headboard, cutting on the light, dragging a pillow into her lap. Her gaze felt nailed to the phone beside her bed.
They could be waiting for your call....
The voice in her head teased her. She put her hand on the receiver, jerked it back. What if Jason answered? But she could hang up, if that happened. Beth picked up the receiver and quickly dialed the number of the farm before she could lose her nerve. It seemed as if her heart stopped the moment she heard the first ring. She held her breath. Two rings, three. She imagined the sound echoing through the house, imagined them sleeping ... their surprise and utter relief when they heard her voice ... four rings ... five...
... a click interrupting a sixth ring. Someone was answering. Oh God oh God ... Mama ... was it Mama? Beth covered her mouth trapping any giveaway sound.
“Yeah? 'Lo. Who is it?”
Him! Jason! Although it was thick with sleep, his voice was unmistakable. She slammed the receiver down, pounding it with the heel of her fist all at once consumed with helpless rage. Fear funneled from her stomach, folded her to the mattress, curled her into a knot of panicked despair. Jason was alive and Mama was dead. He'd pulled it off. Jason had gotten away with murder.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Beth called Tim early on Sunday and told him that Jason was at the farm, clearly living there, that she’d wakened him from a sound sleep. She was furious, trembling, she was so angry, but she resisted Tim when he again suggested she go to the police. He agreed he’d drive up to Wither Creek alone, do some quiet investigation. Beth laughed dryly. “Try Flora’s Café on Main or Hickham’s Hardware down the block. Shouldn’t take five minutes to get someone to talk in that town, especially about my mother. It’s what they love best.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I know something,” Tim said.
But the entire day and evening passed without a word, and there was no answer when Beth tried Tim’s mobile phone. She left a message, and around nine o’clock, she was tossing out the half-eaten sandwich she’d made, her only meal for the day, when the phone rang. She was breathless with anxiety; Tim was apologetic and somber. Very somber.
“What?” she said.
“It’s Maizie, sweetheart.”
Beth went still. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“When?”
“Her heart gave out the night your mother was murdered.”
“Oh, God.” Beth sat on the couch.
“That's not all. It gets worse. I should come there. I’m not far, maybe half an hour away.”
“No. Tell me now.”
“Your husband is in prison, up in Huntsville, actually right outside Huntsville.”
“What? Why?” Beth shot to her feet.
“You won’t believe this, but he was convicted of your mother’s murder.”
“No. Oh, no, no, no! It was Jason. My God.” Then, for herself, she whispered, “He came back.”
Tim heard her and said, “Might have been better for him if he hadn't.”
“What about Jason?”
“If he is living at the farm, it's only temporary.”
“What do you mean?”
A pause tightened the air.
“Tim?” Beth was cautious.
“There's no easy way to-- The farm's been sold.”
“Sold?”
“I'm afraid so. It's part of a conglomerate now called Wither Glen Development Corporation. Jason Tinker's the CEO.”
“No way! He can’t sell the farm. You can’t sell something you don’t own. I don’t believe this.”
“I knew I shouldn’t tell you over the phone. The shock must be-- I’m coming over. You sit tight, okay?”
“No. I’m fine. Please, Tim, just tell me the rest.”
“I put a call in to Bert Jessup, the lawyer I told you about? He was happy to fill me in on all the details about the murder. He mentioned Lucy Tinker had a daughter.”
“You didn’t let on--?”
“Of course not. Anyway, Bert claimed Tinker had a detective looking for you. Bert said no one’s seen you for a long time.”
Another pause fell, one that felt wary, even suspicious. Beth could hardly blame Tim if he doubted her. The whole thing must seem fantastic to him. Hardly believable.
Tim said, “I kept my end of it casual,” as if he knew she needed reassurance. “I told him I was calling because I might have a client in the area, a possible referral, some BS like that. You won't believe this, but it turns out he defended your husband.”
“He was Charlie's lawyer?”
“Yeah, but it’s all pretty fishy. Bert’s not a public defender and never was. He’s not even in Lincoln County anymore; he’s with the Harris County DA's office. I’m not surprised that he moved; he's never made a secret of his political ambitions, but those jobs aren't easy to get. There's a whole long routine you go through. It takes time--
“Hold on a sec, can you?” Tim interrupted himself.
Beth waited while he clicked over to take another call.
He came back on the line. “I have to go, but let me come take you for breakfast in the morning. We can discuss what to do next.”
“No, thank you,” she said. “I've taken enough of your time.” Been enough of a burden. The thought skittered across her brain. In any case, it was “Jane” Tim wanted breakfast with, a relationship with. He didn’t even know Beth. How could she have confided in him of all people things she had never told her own husband? It felt so awkward between them now. She sat heavily on the edge of the couch; she scarcely knew how to feel. “I--I have to get Chrissy back, Tim,” she said. “She's my number one priority right now. I can't deal with anything else.”
“Us. You mean you can’t deal with us.”
Beth started to protest, but Tim said it was all right. He said he understood. He told her if she needed him to call. “Any time,” he said. “Try and sleep,” he added.
But she couldn’t. She kept going over the facts, that Maizie and Mama were dead and the farm was gone, and Charlie . . . Charlie was in prison for Mama's murder. And Jason had masterminded all of it. She thought how she'd run through the woods with Chrissy that night, Jason on her heels, certain he would catch her, praying to make the road and find help, and at some point, Charlie had come back.
Would he have given her a chance to explain after all? Or had he thought her an unfit mother and come back for Chrissy? Not that it mattered. Because she would have had to tell him about the baby, hers and Jason's baby, and once Charlie heard that, Beth was certain he’d have cut out on her for good.
She was stretched out on the couch, and the room was filled with morning light when a knock on her door startled her from an uneasy doze.
Sharon greeted her with a warm hug. “Are you okay?”
Beth nodded, raking out her matted hair. “Come in,” she said. “Tim sent you, I guess.” She looked at Sharon trying to gauge how much Tim might have told her. Every sordid detail? She suddenly felt as if her underwear had been jerked to her ankles.
Sharon took her hand. “I’m so sorry for all you’ve been through. It's unreal. We never dreamed--I mean we always knew it was probably something traumatic, but murder? Your poor mom. Oh, honey, I don't know what to say. It's just awful.” Tears glimmered in her eyes.
Beth wondered where her own tears were, but then she remembered it was Jane who cried; Beth almost never did. “I need your help. I hate to ask after everything you've already done.”
“Don't even think about it. I want to do whatever I can. Tim and Glenda too.”
“Will you take me to the farm?”
“Ah-- I don’t think-- Tim said Jason is living there.”
“He is, but I need Chrissy's birth certificate.”
“Tim thinks you should let Doctor Keplar check you out, and I agree. You're white as a June bride's dress. Have you eaten?”
“No.” Beth pushed the syllable through clenched teeth. Sharon's eyes widened. 'Jane' had never spoken harshly, but then 'Jane's' experience was limited, her history confined to a few pages. Her most extreme emotion besides ready tears and confusion had been gratitude.
Beth was grateful, too. She couldn't afford to alienate Sharon. “There isn't time to see Doctor Keplar now,” she pleaded gently. “Later, after I get Chrissy, then I will,” she promised. “But please, I have to get my daughter back.” Beth reached out her hands, a request for understanding.
Sharon caught them, but her gaze was wary.
It was understandable, wasn't it? What she and Tim knew about Beth now would make most people question the wisdom of continuing an involvement. As long as she was 'Jane' life was a simple matter confined mostly to the present. But Beth had baggage, an accumulation of years, and there was only her word that she wasn't some sort of psycho or con artist or ax murderer. “The world is full of kooks,” she said. “I know I can't prove it, but I'm not one of them.”
“I believe you.” Sharon said, but too quickly for reassurance.
o0o
“Tim said there would be a hearing.”
Sharon signaled her intention to change lanes. “Maybe not. If you get Chrissy’s certificate today, I know a judge who might see us in chambers. I don’t think it’ll be a problem. You're employed and have a place to live, I think he’ll be very sympathetic. He could restore your parental rights immediately.”
“Like today? This afternoon?”
“Maybe. If we can catch him.”
“I won't just rush over to Freida's and pick her up though.” Beth pushed her hands into her coat pockets. Outside the day was drab and gray. They were leaving the northern outskirts of Houston and ahead of them, a heavy mist curtained the horizon.
“You don't want to frighten her,” Sharon said.
“I've done enough of that. As much as I hate it, I know it's best for her if she stays where she is until she learns to trust me again.”
Sharon's glance was commiserating. “I know you don't care for Freida, but she really does have Chrissy's best interests at heart. She'll work with you, I'm sure.”
Beth wasn’t so sure, but she let her opinion rest. They rode in silence a while.
Sharon broke it. “You're sure of what you remember? It seems so--so--”
“Weird?” Beth looked at her. “It is weird. I feel as if I've come awake in someone else's nightmare.”
“Is this our exit coming up?”
Beth said yes, and then no, and then, “I don’t know. It looks-- What is all this construction?” She searched the clutter of road signs and heavy equipment and found nothing familiar.
“But this has to be the turn-off. It says Wither Creek.” Sharon was already headed down the off-ramp.
They were on the northbound feeder approaching town when the sign for Yamaguchi Pharmaceuticals loomed up in front of them. Beth read it as they passed by. It announced that the site was the company’s future home; she saw the name Wither Glen Development Corporation, and behind the sign, she saw the land stretching away, a raw, muddy wound, newly scraped of the stately pines and oaks that had lent it softness and dignity, a sense of age and history. “That bastard,” she murmured under her breath.
“Who?” Sharon glanced at her.
“Jason. This is his doing.”
They turned off the feeder, drove through town and found more signs lettered with the name Wither Glen Estates. 'Homes from the 150,000's', they read. 'Acreage available ... Wooded lots ... All the amenities ... Country atmosphere with city convenience....' Another grouping with similar wording was staked into the ground close to where Kate Mullins had found Beth and Chrissy.
“Those weren't there when we came out here before, were they?” Sharon asked.
Beth said no. “I would have remembered.”
Sharon gave her a wry look, and they both laughed.
Beth sobered first. “This could be dangerous,” she said, because she was feeling dangerous, murderously dangerous, and she was frightened too. “I shouldn't drag you into it.”
“You aren't dragging me, but I agree with Tim. You should let the police handle Jason.”
“They won’t listen to me. They’ll believe whatever lies he’s told them. Look what they’ve already done to Charlie. He didn’t murder Mama. I was there. I saw Jason do it.”
A troubled pause fell.
They turned onto the rural road that led to the house. The once narrow, winding gravel band was two, wide, paved lanes now. Beth’s heart tripped lightly. They crossed the bridge. “We’re almost there,” she said.
Sharon drew in a breath. “Okay, so if you’re so determined to do this, scoot down in the seat. If anyone’s there, I can always say I just stopped by for information.”
Beth slid onto her backbone. “Tell me what you see.”
“More signs.” Sharon read aloud, “Model homes, information, straight ahead on Country Club Boulevard.”
The car stopped. “Doesn’t look as if anyone's here, but--”
“But what?” Beth shot Sharon a hard glance.
She gestured. “See for yourself.”
Beth inched up far enough to look through the lower half of the passenger window, and then she inched higher as if sitting up straighter would help her make sense of what she saw: the skeleton of scaffolding that hugged one corner of the house, the paint spattered canvas drop cloths that were draped everywhere like shrouds. There were ladders piled on the veranda, and pallets stacked with white brick sat off to one side of the drive. A Dumpster heaped with building trash was parked on the lawn, and next to it sat another sign, but Beth could only see the back of it. “Did you see what that said?” she asked Sharon.
“Future home of Wither Glen Country Club.”
Beth got out of the car and went to look for herself. She stood in the mist staring at the gold letters scrolling across a dark green background.
Sharon went onto the veranda.
Beth joined her. “He took down the swing?”
“Swing?”
Beth shook her head and went to the front door. It was unlocked, and she pushed it open no longer caring if Jason was here. She hoped he was; she’d kill him, she thought, with her own bare hands. Sharon followed her inside. Their footsteps echoed in the dusty silence. Beth's gaze jerked to the foot of the stairs, but Mama was no longer there. Only Beth’s newly recovered memory could conjure the terrible bloody image that sickened her and bent her over. She felt Sharon’s touch.
“Are you okay?”
Beth nodded, mute in her struggle to keep her balance against the onslaught of horrible memories.
“It doesn't seem as if anyone could be living here,” Sharon said.
“He answered the phone; I know it was him.” Beth quickly paced the foyer’s perimeter making a cursory inspection of each room, dining room, music room, library, and found every one of them empty. There was nothing but yawning space, the swirl of dust created by her swift passage. “What has he done with all Mama's things? The furniture?” She paused. “Oh my God! Chrissy's birth certificate!” She ran for the stairs.
Sharon was right behind her.
Beth rushed into the bedroom where Charlie had stowed there things. It was empty. She crossed to the closet. Empty. “It’s gone.” She looked at Sharon, stricken. “Our luggage, the boxes with all our papers, Chrissy's birth certificate, it’s all gone.” Beth went to the nursery next door. Nothing. The entire upstairs was filled with nothing more substantial than the sound of hers and Sharon’s footsteps dashing room to room.
Sharon followed Beth downstairs. “You can write for a replacement.”
“But that will take time. And what about my ID? You said I had to have that too.” Beth walked in a panicked circle automatically avoiding the place where she had last s
een her mother crumpled on the floor.
“All the records can be replaced.”
“But where is Jason? It was the middle of the night when I called. He sounded dead asleep when he answered the phone. I know it was him.”
“Beth, please, let’s go to the police.”
“I can't. Don't you see? If I go to the police, they'll go to Jason. He'll find out where I am. I saw him murder my mother, Sharon. He’s so desperate to find me, he hired a detective.”
Sharon said, “You're scaring me.”
Beth crossed her arms. “I'm sorry. I'm scared too.”
“You can’t live like this, especially not with a child.”
Beth looked helplessly at Sharon. “Where can we go? How far away from him will be far enough?”
Chapter Forty
Jason looked up from the building plans he had spread out on a work table he’d set up inside the framework of his new house. Had he heard a car? He walked to the back of the slab, stepped outside to listen. He could just glimpse the top rail of the widow’s walk that ran the roof line of Lucy’s house. Who would be over there on a nasty day like today? Beth? Was it Beth? The wave of paranoia that washed through him left behind an oily scum of fear. He resented it, how it warped him and left him feeling weak and vulnerable.
He’d moved out of Lucy’s house before first light this morning because he couldn’t shake the sense that he was being watched. He’d moved most of the furniture out weeks ago, and this morning he’d had a crew pack what little was left and moved himself into a suite in a hotel on the north side of Houston. But someone was on to him, watching him. He felt it. What if it was Beth? What if she was there now, waiting for him? He wheeled and strode back through the house, heels ringing on the concrete, digging almost frantically in his pocket for his car keys. If he’d had to define the urgency that spurred him, he wouldn’t have been able to. It didn’t seem as if it was him. It felt as if he was floating somewhere outside himself.
The Last Innocent Hour Page 18