A Grant County Collection

by Karin Slaughter

  The pregnancy, Lena thought.

  Jeffrey asked, 'Did she tell you why she was sick?'

  'She said it was something she ate, but she wasn't eating much.'

  'Why do you think she didn't want to tell your mother?'

  'Mama would worry,' Rebecca said. She shrugged. 'Abby didn't like people to worry about her.'

  'Were you worried?'

  Lena saw her swallow. 'She cried at night sometimes.' She tilted her head to the side. 'My room's next door. I could hear her.'

  'Was she crying about something specific?' Jeffrey asked, and Lena could hear him straining to be gentle with the girl. 'Maybe someone hurt her feelings?'

  'The Bible teaches us to forgive,' the girl answered. From anyone else, Lena might have thought she was being dramatic, but the girl seemed to be relaying what she thought of as wise advice rather than a sermon. 'If we cannot forgive others, then the Lord cannot forgive us.'

  'Was there anyone she needed to forgive?'

  'If there was,' Rebecca began, 'then she would pray for help.'

  'Why do you think she was crying?'

  Rebecca looked at the room, taking in her sister's things with a palpable sadness. She was probably thinking about Abby, what the room had felt like when the older girl had been alive. Lena wondered what kind of relationship the sisters had shared. Even though they were twins, Lena and Sibyl had been involved in their share of battles over everything from who got to sit in the front seat of the car to who answered the telephone. Somehow, she couldn't see Abby being that way.

  Rebecca finally answered, 'I don't know why she was sad. She wouldn't tell me.'

  Jeffrey asked, 'Are you sure, Rebecca?' He gave her a supportive smile. 'You can tell us. We won't get mad or judge her. We just want to know the truth so that we can find the person who hurt Abby and punish him.'

  She nodded, her eyes tearing up again. 'I know you want to help.'

  'We can't help Abby unless you help us,' Jeffrey countered. 'Anything at all, Rebecca, no matter how silly it seems now. You let us decide whether it's useful or not.'

  She looked from Lena to Jeffrey, then back again. Lena couldn't tell if the girl was hiding something or if she was just scared of speaking to strangers without her parents' permission. Either way, they needed to get her to answer their questions before someone started to wonder where she was.

  Lena tried to keep her voice light. 'You want to talk to me alone, honey? We can talk just you and me if you want.'

  Again, Becca seemed to be thinking about it. At least half a minute passed before she said, 'I –' just as the back door slammed shut. The girl jumped as if a bullet had been fired.

  From the front room, a man's voice called, 'Becca, is that you?'

  Zeke plodded up the hallway, and when Rebecca saw her cousin she went to him and grabbed his hand, calling, 'It's me, Papa,' as she led the boy toward her family.

  Lena bit back the curse that came to her lips.

  Jeffrey asked, 'You think she knows something?'

  'Hell if I know.'

  Jeffrey seemed to agree, and she could feel her frustration echoed in his tone when he told her, 'Let's get this over with.'

  She went to the large chest of drawers by the door. Jeffrey went to the desk opposite. The room was small, probably about ten feet by ten. There was a twin bed pushed up against the windows that faced the barn. There were no posters on the white walls or any signs that this had been a young woman's room. The bed was neatly made, a multicolored quilt tucked in with sharp precision. A stuffed Snoopy that was probably older than Abby was propped against the pillows, its neck sloped to the side from years of wear.

  Neatly folded socks were in one of the top drawers. Lena opened the other, seeing similarly folded underwear. That the girl had taken the time to fold her underwear was something that stuck with Lena. She's obviously been meticulous, concerned with keeping things in order. The lower drawers revealed a precision bordering on obsession.

  Everyone had a favorite place to hide things, just like every cop had a favorite place to look. Jeffrey was checking under the bed, between the mattress and boxspring. Lena went to the closet, kneeling to check the shoes. There were three pairs, all of them worn but well taken care of. The sneakers had been polished white, the Mary Janes mended at the heel. The third pair was pristine, probably her Sunday shoes.

  Lena rapped her knuckles against the boards of the closet floor, checking for a secret compartment. Nothing sounded suspicious and all the boards were nailed firmly in place. Next, she went through the dresses lined up on the closet rod. Lena didn't have a ruler, but she would have sworn each dress was equidistant, no one touching the other. There was a long winter jacket, obviously store bought. The pockets were empty, the hem intact. Nothing was hidden in a torn seam or concealed in a secret pouch.

  Lev was at the door, a laptop computer in his hands. 'Anything?' he asked.

  Lena had startled, but she tried not to show it. Jeffrey straightened, with his hands in his pockets. 'Nothing useful,' he replied.

  Lev handed the computer to Jeffrey, the power cord trailing behind it. She wondered if he had looked at it himself while they were searching the room. She had no doubt Paul would have.

  Lev told him, 'You can keep this as long as you like. I'd be surprised if you found anything on it.'

  'Like you said,' Jeffrey responded, wrapping the cord around the computer, 'we need to eliminate every possibility.' He nodded to Lena, and she followed him out of the room. Walking down the hallway, she could hear the family talking, but by the time they reached the living room, everyone was silent.

  Jeffrey told Esther, 'I'm sorry for your loss.'

  She looked straight at Jeffrey, her pale green eyes piercing even to Lena. She didn't say a word, but her plea was evident.

  Lev opened the front door. 'Thank you both,' he said. 'I'll be there Wednesday morning at nine.'

  Paul seemed about to say something, but stopped at the last minute. Lena could almost see what was going through his little lawyer brain. It was probably killing him that Lev had volunteered for the polygraph. She imagined Paul would have an earful for his brother when the cops were gone.

  Jeffrey told Lev, 'We'll have to call in someone to perform the test.'

  'Of course,' Lev agreed. 'But I feel the need to reiterate that I can volunteer only myself. Likewise, the people you see tomorrow will be there on a voluntary basis. I don't want to tell you how to do your job, Chief Tolliver, but it's going to be difficult enough getting them there. If you try to force them into taking a lie detector test, they're likely to leave.'

  'Thank you for the advice,' Jeffrey said, his tone disingenuous. 'Would you mind sending your foreman as well?'

  Paul seemed surprised by the request. 'Cole?'

  'He's probably had contact with everyone on the farm,' Lev said. 'That's a good idea.'

  'While we're on it,' Paul said, glancing Jeffrey's way, 'the farm is private property. We don't generally have the police there unless it's official business.'

  'You don't consider this official business?'

  'Family business,' he said, then held out his hand. 'Thank you for all your help.'

  'Could you tell me,' Jeffrey began, 'did Abby drive?'

  Paul dropped his hand, 'Of course. She was certainly old enough.'

  'Did she have a car?'

  'She borrowed Mary's,' he answered. 'My sister stopped driving some time ago. Abby was using her car to deliver meals, run chores in town.'

  'She did these things alone?'

  'Generally,' Paul allowed, wary the way any lawyer is when he gives out information without getting something in return.

  Lev added, 'Abby loved helping people.'

  Paul put his hand on his brother's shoulder.

  Lev said, 'Thank you both.'

  Lena and Jeffrey stood at the base of the steps, watching Lev walk into the house. He shut the door firmly behind him.

  Lena let out a breath, turning back to the car
. Jeffrey followed, keeping his thoughts to himself as they got in.

  He didn't speak until they were on the main road, passing Holy Grown again. Lena saw the place in a new light, and wondered what they were really up to over there.

  Jeffrey said, 'Odd family.'

  'I'll say.'

  'It won't do us any good to be blinded by our prejudices,' he said, giving her a sharp look.

  'I think I have a right to my opinion.'

  'You do,' he said, and she could feel his gaze settle onto the scars on the back of her hands. 'But how will you feel in a year's time if this case isn't solved because all we could focus on was their religion?'

  'What if the fact that they're Bible-thumpers is what breaks this open?'

  'People kill for different reasons,' he reminded her. 'Money, love, lust, vengeance. That's what we need to focus on. Who has a motive? Who has the means?'

  He had a point, but Lena knew first-hand that sometimes people did things just because they were fucking nuts. No matter what Jeffrey said, it was too coincidental that this girl had ended up buried in a box out in the middle of the woods and her family was a bunch of backwoods Bible-thumpers.

  She asked, 'You don't think this is ritualistic?'

  'I think the mother's grief was real.'

  'Yeah,' she agreed. 'I got that, too.' She felt the need to point out, 'That doesn't mean the rest of the family isn't into it. They're running a fucking cult out here.'

  'All religions are cults,' he said, and though Lena hated religion herself, she had to disagree.

  'I wouldn't call the Baptist church downtown a cult.'

  'They're like-minded people sharing the same values and religious beliefs. That's a cult.'

  'Well,' she said, still not agreeing but not knowing how to challenge him on it. She doubted the Pope in Rome would say he was running a cult. There was mainstream religion and then there were the freaks who handled snakes and thought electricity provided a conduit straight to the Devil.

  'It keeps coming back to the cyanide,' he told her. 'Where did it come from?'

  'Esther said they don't use pesticides.' 'There's no way we'll get a warrant to test that out. Even if Ed Pelham cooperated on the Catoogah side, we don't have cause.'

  'I wish we'd looked around more when we were over there.'

  'That Cole person needs a harder look.' 'You think he'll come Wednesday morning?' 'No telling,' he said, then asked, 'What are you doing tonight?' 'Why?'

  'Wanna go to the Pink Kitty?' 'The titty bar on Highway Sixteen?'

  'The strip joint,' he corrected, as if she had offended him. Driving with one hand, he rooted around in his pocket and pulled out a book of matches. He tossed them to her and she recognized the Pink Kitty's logo on the front. They had a huge neon sign outside the bar that could be seen for miles.

  'Tell me,' he said, turning onto the highway, 'why a naive twenty-one-year-old would take a book of matches from a strip club and shove it up the ass of her favorite stuffed animal.'

  That was why he had been so interested in the stuffed Snoopy on Abby's bed. She had hidden the matchbook inside. 'Good question,' she told him, opening the cover. None of the matches had been used.

  'I'll pick you up at ten thirty.'

  SIX

  When Tessa opened the front door, Sara was lying on the couch with a wet rag over her face.

  'Sissy?' Tessa called. 'You home?'

  'In here,' Sara managed around the cloth.

  'Oh, Christ,' Tessa said. Sara felt her hovering near the end of the couch. 'What did Jeffrey do now?'

  'Why are you blaming Jeffrey?'

  Tessa turned off the CD player mid-harmony. 'You only listen to Dolly Parton when you're upset with him.'

  Sara slid the rag up to her forehead so she could see her sister. Tessa was reading the back of the CD case. 'It's a cover album.'

  'I guess you skipped the sixth track?' Tessa asked, dropping it into the pile Sara had made as she rummaged for something to listen to. 'God, you look horrible.'

  'I feel horrible,' she admitted. Watching the autopsy of Abigail Bennett had been one of the most difficult things Sara had done in recent memory. The girl had not passed gently. Her systems had shut down one by one, until all that remained was her brain. Abby had known what was happening, had felt every single second of the death, right up until the painful end.

  Sara had been so upset that she had actually used the cell phone to call Jeffrey. Instead of pouring out her heart to him, she had been drilled for details on the autopsy. Jeffrey had been in such a rush to get off the phone that he hadn't even told her good-bye.

  'That's better,' Tessa said as Steely Dan whispered through the speakers.

  Sara looked out the windows, surprised that the sun had already gone down. 'What time is it?'

  'Almost seven,' Tessa told her, adjusting the volume on the player. 'Mama sent y'all something.'

  Sara sighed as she sat up, letting the rag drop. She saw a brown paper bag at Tessa's feet. 'What?'

  'Beef roast and chocolate cake.'

  Sara felt her stomach rumble, hungry for the first time that day. As if on cue, the dogs sauntered in. Sara had rescued the greyhounds several years ago and in return for the favor, they tried to eat her out of house and home.

  'Get,' Tessa warned Bob, the taller of the two, as he sniffed the bag. Billy went in for his turn, but she shooed him away as she asked Sara, 'Do you ever feed them?'

  'Sometimes.'

  Tessa picked up the bag and put it on the kitchen counter beside the bottle of wine Sara had opened as soon as she got home. Sara hadn't even bothered to change her clothes, just poured the wine, drank a healthy swig and wet a washrag before collapsing onto the couch.

  'Did Dad drop you off?' Sara asked, wondering why she had not heard a car. Tessa wasn't supposed to drive while she was taking her anti-seizure medication, a rule that seemed destined to be broken.

  'I brought my bike,' she answered, staring at the bottle of wine as Sara poured herself another glass. 'I would kill for some of that.'

  Sara opened her mouth then closed it. Tessa wasn't supposed to drink alcohol with her medication, but she was an adult, and Sara was not her mother.

  'I know,' Tessa said, reading Sara's expression. 'I can still want things, can't I?' She opened the bag, taking out a stack of mail. 'I got this for you,' she said. 'Do you ever check your mail? There's about a gazillion catalogues in there.'

  There was something brown on one of the envelopes, and Sara sniffed it suspiciously. She was relieved to find it was gravy.

  'Sorry,' Tessa apologized, taking out a paper plate covered in tinfoil, sliding it over to Sara. 'I guess it leaked.'

  'Oh, yes.' Sara practically moaned as she removed the foil. Cathy Linton made a mean chocolate cake, the recipe going back through three generations of Earnshaws. 'This is too much,' Sara said, noting the slice was big enough for two.

  'Here,' Tessa said, taking two more Tupperware containers out of the bag. 'You're supposed to share with Jeffrey.'

  'Right.' Sara grabbed a fork from the drawer before sitting on the bar stool under the kitchen island

  'You're not going to eat the roast?' Tessa asked.

  Sara put a forkful of cake in her mouth and washed it down with some wine. 'Mama always said when I could pay to put a roof over my own head I could eat what I wanted for supper.'

  'I wish I could pay for my own roof,' Tessa mumbled, using her finger to scoop some chocolate off of Sara's plate. 'I'm so sick of not doing anything.'

  'You're still working.'

  'As Dad's tool bitch.'

  Sara ate another bite of cake. 'Depression is a side effect of your medication.'

  'Let me add that to the list.'

  'Are you having other problems?'

  Tessa shrugged, wiping crumbs off the counter. 'I miss Devon,' she said, referring to her ex, the father of her dead child. 'I miss having a man around.'

  Sara picked at the cake, wishing not for the first time th
at she had killed Devon Lockwood when she'd had the chance.

  'So,' Tessa said, abruptly changing the subject. 'Tell me what Jeffrey did this time.'

  Sara groaned, returning to the cake.

  'Tell me.'

  After letting a few seconds pass, Sara relented. 'He might have hepatitis.'

  'Which kind?'

  'Good question.'

  Tessa furrowed her brows. 'Is he showing any symptoms?'

  'Other than aggravated stupidity and acute denial?' Sara asked. 'No.'

  'How was he exposed?'

  'How do you think?'

  'Ah.' Tessa pulled out the stool next to Sara and sat. 'This was a long time ago, though, right?'

  'Does it matter?' She corrected herself, 'I mean, yes, it matters. It's from before. That one time before.'

  Tessa pursed her lips. She had not made it a secret that she didn't think there was any way in hell Jeffrey had slept with Jolene just once. Sara thought she was going to renew her theory, but instead Tessa asked, 'What are y'all doing about it?'

  'Arguing,' Sara admitted. 'I just can't stop thinking about her. What he did with her.' She took another bite of cake, chewing slowly, making herself swallow. 'He didn't just . . .' Sara tried to think of a word that summed up her disgust. 'He didn't just screw her. He wooed her. Called her on the phone. Laughed with her. Maybe sent her flowers.' She stared at the chocolate running off the side of the plate. Had he spread chocolate on her thighs and licked it off? How many intimate moments had they shared leading up to that final day? How many came after?

  Everything Jeffrey had done to make Sara feel special, to make her think he was the man she wanted to share the rest of her life with, had been a technique easily employed on another woman. Hell, probably more than just one other woman. Jeffrey had a sexual history that would give Hugh Hefner pause. How could the man who could be so kind also be the same bastard who had made her feel like a dog kicked to the curb? Was this some new routine Jeffrey had come up with to win her back? As soon as she was settled, was he going to use it on someone else?

  The problem was, Sara knew perfectly well how Jo had managed to snatch him away. It had to have been a game for Jeffrey, a challenge. Jolene was much more experienced at this kind of thing than Sara. She had probably known to play hard to get, balancing just the right amount of flirting and teasing to get him on the line, then reeling him in slowly like a prize fish. Certainly, she had not ended up at the end of their first date with the balls of her feet braced against the edge of the kitchen sink as she writhed in ecstasy on the floor, biting her tongue so that she would not scream his name.