October's Children: A Marlowe Gentry Thriller

by Dallas Mullican

  “Any news on the missing girls?” he asked.

  “Not yet. But we aren’t giving up. The search is still on going,” said Spence.

  “Good. I’m praying every night for those children. I know we’ll find them.”

  Outside a bay window, just behind a breakfast nook with table to their right, Lori watched a finch flutter in and out of a birdhouse attached to a fat oak. At the foot of the tree, a calico cat sat on her haunches, tail swishing back and forth, eyes glued to the little bird. The finch lighted for a moment on a prong extended from the birdhouse. Calico wiggled her hind end, once, twice, and leapt what seemed impossibly high. An instant later, a high-pitched tweet, a few brown feathers floating in the air, and a white blur with splotches of black, brown, and orange scampered across the yard with the tiny bird clamped in its jaws.

  Lori grinned, stared at Buddy over the rim of her cup, and hoped the symbolism did not jinx her plan. His act did deserve an Oscar. It made her sick, and this foreplay was unbearable. Time to see just how firmly his mask held.

  “I think God might’ve heard your prayers,” she said.

  “Really? How so?” Buddy arched a brow, his concern seemingly nonchalant, with the exception of the slightest twitch along one corner of his mouth.

  “We have a new lead on Sarah.” She gauged Buddy’s reaction, keen to any tells he might give away. “Your cabin. We have reason to believe she might have hidden out there.”

  “T-that’s ridiculous. I’ve been up there a dozen times since Sarah went missing. Not a single sign of anyone squatting.” Buddy blanched. His eyes popped wide for an instant before he gathered himself. He averted is gaze and tightened his grip on the coffee cup. A tremor along the surface of the black liquid betrayed his attempt at calm. “Besides, you know Sarah’s slow. She couldn’t survive. Couldn’t feed herself, or take care of the place. I would’ve notice for sure.”

  “We think someone took supplies to her and probably helped conceal her presence.” Lori continued to reel him in, hoping the line would not break, and this fish proved as stupid as she supposed.

  “Not possible.” His face reddened, the blood rushing upward with his anger. “Emily told you that, didn’t she? She’s lying. She hates me. Just wants to hurt me. Wants to get me into some kind of trouble.”

  Lori gave the reel another crank. “You believe if we look around your cabin you might get into some kind of trouble?”

  Buddy’s hands noticeably trembled now. He stirred creamer into his coffee, the spoon clinking against the porcelain. “No, no. That’s not what I meant. I meant Emily is lying. You can’t trust her kind. Conniving little tramps, her and the bitch she’s shacked up with. Both of them poured poison into Sarah’s head. No wonder she ran off. It’s them you people should investigate.”

  “You’re probably right, but just in case, why don’t you take us up there? We’ll have a look around and put this whole thing to bed?”

  Crank, crank. His temper threatened to boil over. He reminded Lori of the cartoons where smoke and fire shot out of the character’s ears.

  “I-I have to work today. And besides, there’s no reason for it. Like I told you, Emily is lying. It’d be a waste of time.”

  “Okay, how about this? You give us a key and we’ll go check it out ourselves. You don’t even have to miss work. Those darn cars won’t sell themselves, you know.” Lori fixed an innocent expression onto her face.

  “I’ve had enough of this. You think I don’t know what you are doing?” Buddy squeezed his fists and pounded them onto the counter, the force splashing coffee from all three mugs. “Get out. I want you out of my house.”

  “Fine. A warrant will take a bit longer, but not any real trouble. What? About twenty minutes to have one sent to Rosser County Sheriff’s Department?” asked Lori.

  “Probably less,” said Spence.

  Buddy exploded. “This is harassment. I know the mayor and important people in Montgomery. I’ll have your badges.” He stormed to the front entrance, yanked the door open, nearly tearing it from its hinges. “Get out of my house. Now!”

  The door banged shut behind them. Lori and Spence maintained a stoic demeanor until safely in the SUV.

  “I’d say that went pretty damn well,” said Spence, a big grin stretching across his face. “He’s not too impressive an actor after all.”

  “Nope. Once the mask slipped, he’s just another scumbag,” said Lori. “He’s a practiced salesman, but this kind of lying takes a whole different skill set. With no real investigation before, no one ever questioned him. He never developed and rehearsed a story. Surprise equaled panic.”

  “Seems he would have expected us to get there eventually. Especially after we brought up Emily,” said Spence.

  “Arrogance, maybe. He intimidated Emily for so long, I guess he figured she’d keep quiet and not want to relive it or deal with the embarrassment.”

  Lori slid the SUV into gear and drove away from the Harmons’ house. Two miles down the road, she pulled off behind a billboard advertising Mamma Bertha’s Homemade Biscuits.

  “And now we wait,” said Spence.

  Lori tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “And now we wait.”

  * * *

  Every morning for twenty-three years Miranda Harmon got up an hour before her husband, prepared his breakfast, made coffee, and laid out his clothes for work. Today, being Friday, he liked to go casual—khakis and his red sweater with his Alabama pin, red print on a white oval. The pin, an everyday accoutrement and cherished token given to him as a child by Bear Bryant, was one best not forgotten under penalty of a severe tongue-lashing. Miranda would not call theirs a happy marriage, not for a long time, but Buddy had provided well for her and the girls over the years. The bad things came slowly, little by little, and under the cover of darkness. She gave up her independence, allowed him control, and too late realized his best foot was no longer forward, his charm no more than cheese on a trap. His presence soon eclipsed everything, and she wilted in his shadow. With a voice loud and respected, he drowned out her subtle whispers until she did not speak at all. Not to anyone who mattered. Buddy would not like it.

  About to start breakfast, a knock at the door pulled Miranda from the kitchen and into the den. Who would visit this early? Before she reached the foyer, a second knock, this time louder. Quiet, you’ll wake Buddy in a foul mood for sure. Miranda detoured into the living room where she had a clear view of the front porch. She peeked out from behind the curtains.

  Those two detectives who visited Buddy earlier in the week with questions about Sarah and the missing girls. Pounding at the door. Miranda stepped forward, and her legs froze stiff, her head shaking repeatedly back and forth.

  No, no. I can’t. He’ll know.

  She inhaled deeply and nodded, steeling her resolve. Another step and once again she halted before backing away from the entrance, shaking her hands violently as if they burst into flame.

  I can’t. I can’t.

  “What the hell’s all the banging about?” Buddy lumbered in from the bedroom, his hair disheveled and a scowl on his face. “Well, answer the damn door, woman.”

  “I-it’s those policemen. The detectives,” stuttered Miranda.

  Buddy’s eyes narrowed on her. “Again, huh? Go sit with Summer in her bedroom. Keep her quiet, and not a peep out of you either. Don’t come out until I say so, understand?”

  She nodded, not daring to look him in the eye, afraid she might give away some forbidden thought, and hurried out of the room. Summer slept soundly when Miranda entered and sat down on the edge of the bed. Sunlight beamed in through a gap in her Minnie Mouse drapes coloring Summer’s face in a gentle glow.

  Miranda gazed lovingly at her daughter’s profile. So small and fragile, her baby, and all she had left. A free spirit, Emily never belonged here amidst the closed minds and backward ways. Buddy insisted she was a godless sinner destined for Hell, but no mother could ever believe such a thing about her first born. And s
weet little Sarah, Miranda could never connect with her. The harder she tried, the further Sarah drew into herself, lost somewhere in her own world. Now only Summer remained. Miranda’s baby, all she had.

  “Get out of my house. Now!” Buddy’s voice, followed by the door slamming shut, shook the room.

  “Mommy, why is Daddy yelling?” Summer rolled over onto her back and rubbed her eyes with hands balled.

  “Oh, he’s not yelling. You know he can get loud sometimes when he’s talking.” Miranda stroked Summer’s back as she sat up in bed.

  Again, Buddy’s voice rumbled through the house. “Where are my damn keys?”

  “Stay here, Sweetie, I’ll be right back.” Miranda left the bedroom and found Buddy in the kitchen ripping through drawers and cabinets, clanging silverware, rattling dishes, and tossing washing cloths across the room. “Your keys are on the hook by the door, Honey. Where you always leave them.”

  “Not my car keys, the keys to the cabin. Dammit, where the hell are they?” Buddy fumbled through his ‘odds and ends’ drawer at the far end of the counter. “Here they are.” “I’m going to fix—I mean patch…patch a couple places on the roof. Won’t be back for a few hours.”

  His words came fast and mumbled. Miranda noticed the unsteadiness in his hands and the paleness in his face. Always dominant, a bully, one to incite such feelings in her and others, but rarely feel them himself, it took Miranda a moment to recognize the emotions he displayed—paranoia and panic.

  “I wanna go.” Summer came dashing into the room dressed in her jeans and jacket, ready for an adventure. “Can we go fishing?”

  “No, not today, Sweetie, your dad has work to do,” said Miranda, taking Summer by the hand and pulling her close.

  At the door, struggling to put his coat on, Buddy paused and glanced at Summer. “Hmm, that’s not a bad idea.”

  “No,” blurted Miranda.

  “What did you say to me?” asked Buddy, raising an eyebrow.

  Miranda unconsciously took a step back, tugging Summer with her. “She has a dentist appointment today.”

  “First I’ve heard about it,” said Buddy, fidgeting with his keys. “Reschedule it. Today’s she’s helping me at the cabin.”

  “Yay,” said Summer, clapping and jumping up and down.

  “Okay then, let me get dressed, we’ll all go. I’ll make a picnic basket for us. Why don’t you help me, Summer.” Miranda ushered her daughter toward the kitchen.

  “No,” said Buddy, stopping them in their tracks. “Just me and Summer today. Head on out to the car, Pumpkin. I’m right behind you.”

  “Whoopee,” said Summer, darting to the door.

  Once Summer was out of the room Miranda clutched Buddy’s arm. “Please, William, don’t.” Her voice trembled.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? Take a day for yourself. We’ll be back in no time.”

  Buddy tried to pull away, but Miranda tightened her grip. “I’m begging you. Not again. Not my baby. She’s all I have. Please don’t.” She dropped to her knees, pressing his hand to her face and pleading with tears in her eyes.

  “Have you lost your damn mind? Let go of me. I don’t have time for this. We have to go now.” He yanked his arm, tumbling Miranda onto her backside. “We’ll be back soon. Try to get yourself together before you upset the child.”

  Miranda crawled to the door on hands and knees unable to drag herself to her feet and wept as she watched the Escalade drive away.

  * * *

  “Show time.”

  Less than half an hour after Lori staked a spot behind the billboard, Buddy’s tank of a Cadillac sped by at a healthy clip. She gave him a count of ten Mississippi and pulled out onto the highway. Spence had logged the cabin’s address into their GPS, so keeping up would not be an issue, even so, the winding narrow road allowed reduced visibility, making running up on the Escalade more of a concern.

  Outside of Red Weed and into Kost, they soon caught glimpses of Bear Creek Lake off to the right. The lake, a popular recreation spot to boat and fish in season, covered approximately six thousand acres and fed into the Warrior River. This time of year most properties saw few visitors, whether from owners or renters, and little activity on the water.

  After another two miles, Lori slowed as they came up on County Road 15, which would take them along lakeside. A thin plume of dust wafting in the air gave away a vehicle’s recent passage. 3110 Sawdust Trail perched on a knoll some two hundred yards off the road. Buddy’s log cabin, quaint if not large, a true hunting/fishing getaway rather than suited for an extended stay, boasted a beautiful view, a partially cleared half acre amidst the dense surrounding forest, and a good stretch of waterfront, containing a fishing pier and small boat house.

  Lori steered the SUV off the drive and into the edge of the woods, deciding to walk the short distance to the cabin and not announce their arrival until the last possible second. An annoyed squirrel barked overhead, and Lori cringed at every stick and brittle leaf trampled underfoot. Spence, his disdain for the outdoors well known, made surprisingly little noise apart from smacking on a strip of beef jerky. Lori raised an eyebrow at him to which he shrugged and mouthed ‘What? I’m hungry’.

  They eased onto the porch, the aged wood creaking in protest with each step. A swing swayed gently in the breeze on one end, a few fishing poles propped against the façade on the other. Lori peeked in through the front door windowpane.

  “Shit. Why would he bring Summer?” The little girl sat on the sofa appearing none too happy, kicking her legs aggressively with a scowl on her face. “To slow us up? Give himself more time to do whatever he’s doing?”

  “Or a hostage,” said Spence.

  Lori did not like the sound of that, but Buddy knew they were coming and why, who could guess what he might do. “I only see her. Buddy must be in the back.” She tested the doorknob…open. “I’ll handle the girl. You stop him from destroying any evidence.”

  Summer glanced up at their entrance, puzzlement furrowing her brows. Lori placed a finger over her lips, warning the girl to remain quiet. Spence crept along the back hallway, checking each room. The eyes of two bass and a deer followed his movements from mounts on the wall.

  “Hey, Summer, you remember me?” Lori whispered as she knelt, placing her at head height to Summer.

  “You’re the police lady.”

  “That’s right. Is your dad around?”

  Summer pursed her mouth in a pout. “Dunno. He said we’d go fishing.”

  “You like to fish?”

  She nodded.

  “I bet one of those poles on the porch is yours.” Lori thumbed behind her.

  “Yep, the blue one. It’s a rod and reel. I know how to cast it, too.”

  Lori smiled and patted Summer’s leg. “How about this? You head down to the lake and get started on catching us some lunch. We’ll join you once we talk to your dad.”

  Summer frowned and shook her head. “Daddy wouldn’t let me. He said don’t move a muscle ‘til he came back, or I couldn’t go fishing.”

  “I bet he also told you to always obey the police.”

  The little girl smiled. “He did.”

  “Well, there you are. Go on now. And be careful. Don’t get too close to the water.” Lori tousled Summer’s hair as she jumped off the sofa and dashed out the door.

  Spence stepped out of a bedroom, caught Lori’s eye, and shook his head. “He’s not here.”

  “Then where the hell is he?”

  Tap…tap…tap. The noise seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Tap…tap…tap.

  “Below us,” said Spence, pointing to his feet.

  “Cellar. See if you can find a trap.” Lori assisted him as they quickly covered the entire house without finding an access. “Outside, then.”

  She pointed left, adding a semi-circle gesture, sending Spence around the cabin as she took the opposite direction. At the rear of the structure, they found a ground admittance into the cellar. A single door
lay flung open, the lock and chain binding it cast to one side. Both she and Spence drew their guns and descended into the dark.

  Halfway down rickety steps that groaned loudly under minimal pressure, the smell of mold and churned earth hit Lori. She coughed into her hand. No use in trying to remain quiet, the creaking stairs ending any attempt at stealth. Cobwebs abandoned by their creators in the cold, hung at regular intervals along the near rafters. Lori wiped tacky mesh from her face and flicked on her flashlight, lighting from the doorway and a small window at the opposite end of the cellar providing dim illumination.

  Spence tapped her on the shoulder indicating his position on her left. He switched on own his light and both took aim on the shifting shadow across the cellar floor. Now acclimated to the gloom and closer in proximity to the sound they could discern Buddy digging a few yards away. An indention darker than the surrounding ground, roughly four feet by two feet and another two feet deep, stretched out at his feet.

  “Mr. Harmon, Buddy, we need you to put the shovel down,” said Lori.

  He did not acknowledge her, but planted the shovel into the dirt. Spence had moved to the far left of the room while Lori blocked ascension up the stairs.

  “Please, put it down. We just want to talk,” Lori kept her voice soft and calm.

  “No, no. You don’t understand. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to…” Buddy, his voice barely audible, shook his head.

  “Help us understand. Let’s go outside and talk about it.”

  “No. I-I can’t.” He grasped the shovel in both hands and drew it against his chest like a sword or baseball bat.

  Lori and Spence froze, and their aim went taut at Buddy’s aggressive stance. Sweat beaded on Lori’s face in spite of the chill, and the heavy air squeezed her lungs, the stale odor stifling.

  A timid call from the top of the stairs. “Daddy?”

  “Sweetie, stay up there, okay? Don’t come down here.” Lori’s heart skipped a beat as her head spun to the voice, terror shredding her gut. “We’ll be right up, okay?

  “What’s wrong? I want my daddy.”

  One of Summer’s yellow sneakers appeared on the top step. At the sound of his daughter’s voice, Buddy’s head tilted upward, and Lori could clearly make out his expression. Barely recognizable as Buddy Harmon, his face was locked in an animalistic snarl, his eyes wild and roving. The shovel moved away from his chest; his grip tightened with a creak on the wooden handle.