by T. R. Ragan
“When did you move back?”
“About ten years ago.” She looked at her husband and winked. “I just came back for a quick visit, but then I met Dennis, and I’ve been here ever since.”
“Do you have any idea how Lou and Dannie Morrison died?”
She shook her head. “I had moved by then. To tell you the truth, I can’t imagine Nancy caring about her mother’s passing one way or another. They never did get along. But you’re going to have trouble learning anything about Lou and Dannie Morrison.”
“Why is that?”
“Because their name was Wheeler. Lou, Dannie, Ben, and Nancy Wheeler, not Morrison.”
Jessie glanced around as if looking for answers. How could that be? At the very least, Nancy could have mentioned that her brother was using a different surname. “Well, thank you for that information,” Jessie told Sadie. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about Nancy’s father, would you?”
Sadie’s lips tightened as she appeared to think hard on that. “I never heard much about him.” She scratched her arm. “I’m afraid I’m not much help at all.”
“If I were you,” Dennis chimed in, “I would go talk to Ed Klein. He knows just about everyone who has ever lived in the area.”
“Would you happen to have his address?”
“Hold on,” he said. “Let me get it for you.”
“Be careful of old Ed,” Sadie whispered after her husband disappeared. “He can be a bit crotchety.” She made a face. “I try to stay clear of that one.”
“How old is he?”
“Oh, gosh, he’s got to be tipping close to the nineties about now.”
Dennis returned with a slip of paper. “There you go. He lives on the slough. If he’s not in the house, he can usually be found on his boat out back.”
“Thanks,” Jessie said. “You’ve both been a big help.”
“If you see Nancy, tell her I said hello.”
“I will.”
Sadie followed Jessie outside, waving to her as she drove off.
Jessie stayed on Netherlands Avenue for quite a while before she pulled onto a long drive. At the end was a single-story ranch house. Nobody answered the door, so she walked around the side of the house. There were no fences, and the property backed up to the slough, just as Sadie’s husband had said. There was a twenty-foot boat tied to the dock. Through one of the windows she saw movement. “Hello. Anyone home?”
The sharp report of a rifle shocked her to the core, and she dropped to the ground. Gulping in air, Jessie looked around for cover but saw nothing but acres of grass and weeds. Prickly thorns bit into the palms of her hands as she scrambled back the way she’d come. And then laughter coming from somewhere behind her caused her to freeze in place.
Still on all fours, she looked over her shoulder at him. Definitely not the harmless old man she’d figured him for. Sadie hadn’t been kidding when she said the man could be a bit crotchety.
With his rifle slung over his shoulder, he walked over to her and offered her a hand up. His hands were calloused, his nails as black as a coal miner’s. That didn’t stop her from putting her hand in his and letting him pull her to her feet. For a thin old man with deep grooves in his face, he was strong.
He let go of her, and she dusted off her jeans before she held out her hand to him, this time as a greeting. “My name is Jessie Cole. I was just at Holland Market. Sadie and her husband said you might be able to answer a few questions for me.”
He ignored the hand, spit on the ground next to her foot, and headed for the house.
Figuring she better take a hint unless she wanted to get shot, she headed back the way she’d come.
“Where are you going?” he called after her.
Jessie looked over her shoulder at him. “I took that as a no.”
“Sensitive, are you?”
“Not really.”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” he said.
Crotchety might not be the best word to describe him, she thought as she turned and followed him across the yard. His jeans were caked with dirt like the rest of him. Thick gray hair was tied in a ponytail. He led her through a sliding glass door that was cracked from one corner to the other.
The inside of his house was tidy and clean, nothing out of place. Everything about the man confused her.
He pulled out one of the four chairs circling a wooden table in the kitchen and said gruffly, “Take a seat.”
She plopped down.
“Now go ahead and ask your questions. I’m going to fix myself something to eat. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
She watched him take a plastic container from the refrigerator, remove the lid, and shove it into the microwave.
“I was told that you might know something about Lou and Dannie—”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t go around asking about those two.” He shook his head. “Bad news. Anyone who lived here in Clarksburg when they were around remembers them well enough to lie about ever knowing them.”
“Why? What did they do?”
Bent over, Ed put his face right up close to the microwave so he could watch his food heat up. “I’ll put it to you this way. Lou made me look like the nice guy around these parts.”
“Was he abusive toward the children?”
He nodded. “And the wife. Verbally and physically. I never saw that woman around town without bruises or a busted lip.”
“What about the kids?”
“I didn’t see their daughter much, but it was the same for the boy. A broken leg here, fractured nose, busted-up lip, and bruised eyes there.”
“Did anyone ever try to help the family?”
“One woman did. Good ol’ Lexi Byrne. I don’t think anyone tried to do more for that family than Lexi did, especially the kids. When Social Services finally made it out to their home, everyone was on their best behavior.” He tapped his foot and glanced at the microwave. “But Lexi wouldn’t give up.”
After the bell rang, he removed his food, grabbed a spoon, and started eating.
“Did Lexi ever get anyone to listen?”
“Lexi disappeared a few months after Social Services showed up,” he said with a full mouth. “For a long time, maybe still, it’s one of the bigger mysteries around these parts.”
Jessie tapped a finger on her chin. “I couldn’t find any death certificates on file for Lou or Dannie.”
“Well, I don’t know why not. She’s definitely gone.”
“Cancer?” Jessie asked, hoping to pull it from him.
He snorted. “Dannie definitely didn’t die of no cancer.”
“Heart attack then?”
He put his food down and picked something out of his teeth. “My guess is that she died of the same thing Lexi died of.”
“I thought you said Lexi’s death was a mystery?”
“I have a good imagination. They found Dannie floating facedown in the slough. There are a lot of bodies in these here waters. Just sayin’.” He slowly shook his head. “I’m telling you, Lou was as mean as they came. Still is.”
Jessie frowned. “Still is?”
“Ol’ Lou finally got what he had coming. If you really want to get the scoop, go pay him a visit at Folsom Prison. He got life in the slammer.”
Ben’s father was alive? How could Ben not know? Because Nancy never told him, she concluded. The thought of his sister keeping that from him pissed her off. She looked at Ed. “Did Lou go to prison for killing his wife?”
“Nah. They couldn’t prove he killed Dannie, but during the investigation they found the body of a young woman buried on his property. The rope around her neck matched the rope in Lou’s shed. His DNA was the clincher.”
Jesus. Jessie knew she shouldn’t be surprised, but Ben’s past just kept getting worse. Ed’s account made Nancy’s Christmas story seem like a walk in the park. It was almost too much to take in. Ben would be devastated to learn that not only was his father alive but he was a killer. She wondered i
f life with his mother and father had anything to do with him becoming a crime reporter.
“Right up until he was carted off to jail,” Ed went on, “the son of a bitch tried to put the blame for the dead girl on his son.”
“He said Ben killed her?”
“Said his son killed the girl and Dannie—his own mother. I told you Lou was a cruel man.”
FORTY-SIX
Before Ben climbed out of the van, his phone buzzed. It was Jessie. Through the window he could see his daughter on the soccer field.
“Hi,” she said. “You called?”
“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all day.”
“It’s been one of those days.”
“Well, then I won’t keep you. I’m at my daughter’s soccer game, but I thought you might be interested to know that Rene Steele is dead.”
“How?”
“I wasn’t at the crime scene, but one of the guys I work with was. Suicide by hanging. He said it looked staged.”
“Nick Bale,” she said.
“I wish I knew.”
“Okay,” she said. “If you get a chance later, will you give me a call?”
“Will do.” Ben climbed out of the van and headed for the area where parents watched their kids play. He spotted Melony sitting in the stands. For a moment, he simply stood there and wondered how he’d gotten so lucky. Not only was his wife beautiful but she was smart and funny—a wonderful mother and the kindest person he knew. What she’d seen in him all those years ago, he would never understand. A battered man without memories of his past or any foundation at all. A lost soul. It was Melony who had put Humpty Dumpty back together again, not the doctors.
Melony jumped to her feet and shouted when their daughter’s team scored. His son was at her side. Sean looked his way, and when he caught his gaze, he waved and grinned.
His family meant the world to him. He didn’t know what he’d do without them.
Ben gave his wife a quick peck on the cheek before he sat down, their son between them.
“We’re winning, Dad! Abigail even scored a goal!”
Melony gave him a tight smile. Ever since their last argument, after he’d been unable to sleep because of the bloody ax, Melony had been distant. She’d been right about him not telling her everything. How could he tell her about the images he’d seen or about the ax being in his van? Not even his therapist knew that he’d been having urges . . . violent urges. The anger he sometimes felt was not a healthy sort of anger. It hijacked his body and mind.
“What’s the score?” he asked, trying to get involved.
“Two to one,” Sean told him.
“How was school today, kiddo?”
“Boring. Math gives me a headache.”
Melony patted her son on the back. “Maybe Dad can find some time to sit down with you and help you with your times table and percentages.”
Sean groaned.
Ben nudged Melony playfully in the arm, but she wasn’t having it. Her gaze was fixated on the game.
It was dusk by the time the game ended. Abigail’s team won. Sean ran down to the field. Melony was deep in conversation with a woman sitting nearby.
Ben watched the huddle, kept his eye on the coach. He didn’t like what he saw. Coming to his feet, he made his way to the field, his gaze never leaving the coach’s hands. One hand was wrapped around the neck of the girl on his right, and the other was rubbing slowly, up and down, the back of the girl on his left. The girl on his left was Abigail.
He kept waiting for the intimate contact to stop, but it didn’t.
Ben tilted his head, heard it crack.
The asshole was giving his ten-year-old daughter a massage. He clenched his jaw; his stomach turned.
Watching the man’s fingers rub against his daughter’s flesh made his skin crawl.
One of the girls took notice of Ben and straightened.
The coach looked at him. “We’re in a huddle. If you could go stand with the rest of the parents, we’ll be finished in a minute.”
“Take your hand off my daughter.”
The coach’s eyebrows slanted together. “What?”
When he failed to do as he asked, Ben stepped between the girls, took hold of Coach-Whatever-the-Hell-His-Name-Was’s arm and twisted until the man grimaced and dropped to his knees.
Abigail turned on him. “Dad! What are you doing? Mom! Dad is going crazy!”
Ben could hear and feel the chaos happening all around him. An arm came around his chest, but he knocked the person away.
And then he heard Melony’s voice. “What are you doing, Ben? Let him go now!”
“I called the police,” another voice chimed in.
Suddenly Ben could see everyone and everything much more clearly. Melony had Abigail and Sean wrapped in her arms. The kids were crying. Melony was furious.
Ben let go of the coach. He looked from face to face. “Didn’t any of you see the way he was touching the girls? They’re ten years old, for Christ’s sake. He shouldn’t be touching them.”
Nobody said a word. Everyone looked either shocked or scared.
He looked at the coach as the man was helped to his feet by one of the other parents. “If you ever touch Abigail again, I’ll kill you.” Ben walked over to Melony and the kids. “Come on. Let’s go.”
She kept walking until they were out of earshot. “Kids,” she said calmly. “Go to the car. I’ll be right there.”
Abigail wouldn’t make eye contact, but Sean peeked up at him. Ben patted him on the top of his head. “Everything will be okay. I’ll see you later.”
The kids walked away.
“Leave us alone,” Melony said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want you to come back to the house.”
A sudden coldness hit him at his core. He glanced at the kids. “What are you saying?” With a shaky finger, Ben pointed at the coach. “That guy is a pervert. I can see it in his eyes. You could see it, too, if you looked!” His chest tightened. “Everyone here has their heads up their asses.”
“Do not come back to the house,” she said, her tone resolute. “You are not welcome there.”
The way she looked at him made him realize she was serious about this.
“I need a break.”
“A break from what?”
“From all your secrets, Ben. I’m tired of trying to pull emotions out of you. We hardly talk anymore. It’s been months since I’ve felt as if I’ve had a husband and a partner.”
Every muscle tensed. “I’m seeing a therapist just like you wanted. I’m doing everything I can to hold this family together, and this is the thanks I get?”
“I’m not doing this, Ben. I’m serious about needing a break from all this.”
“From ‘all this’?” he said. “Or from me?”
“From you.” She lifted her chin. “If you refuse to go, we will.”
“Melony—”
“Go!” she said.
Ben took a deep breath and walked back to his van. How the hell had it come to this? Why couldn’t anyone else see what he was seeing? His own wife was ostracizing him for standing up to a man who was touching their daughter in an aggressive manner. He climbed into the van, slammed the door shut, and drove away.
FORTY-SEVEN
On her way home from Clarksburg, Jessie thought about what Ben had told her. Rene Steele had hung herself.
What a crock of shit.
Jessie didn’t believe in coincidences. The only reason Rene had talked to Jessie the other day was because she’d been drunk.
But that conversation had obviously been enough to set someone off. Nick Bale? Why would he take such a big risk after all this time?
Because he can get away with it, she thought, that’s why.
If Nick could kill, then he was certainly capable of abducting his own daughter. Had he killed Dakota?
She thought about his cousin, Wendy Battstel, and her darling little girl, the one who could have been run over if Jessie hadn�
�t been watching them that day.
The little girl had a lisp. “That’s for Thithy,” she’d said when Jessie had returned the bouncy ball.
She hadn’t thought much about it at the time. But she did now. What did “Thithy” mean? Was it someone’s name?
The ball was for Thithy.
Jessie’s heart began to beat faster. People with lisps often pronounced s with the th sound.
Sissy.
Why would Wendy’s little girl say it was for Sissy unless she had a sister?
Had Nick Bale given his infant daughter to his cousin?
It was a crazy thought, but Jessie took the next exit just the same. She pulled into a parking lot and looked through her navigation system for previous addresses. She needed to drive to Colfax. The address came up. She pushed “Go.”
Even going over the speed limit, it took her forty-five minutes to get to Colfax. She found a parking spot and shut off the engine. About to exit the vehicle, Jessie stopped when she saw Wendy’s car come down the long drive and pull into the driveway.
The passenger door flew open, and a young girl stepped out onto the lawn. It definitely wasn’t the same little girl who had been at the market.
Jessie guessed this girl was at least seven years old. She was holding a stick, waving it in circles, colorful streamers flying.
Wendy walked around the front of the car to the other side just as she’d done when Jessie watched her the last time. She unbuckled the smaller girl from her car seat in the back. As soon as she was free, the same little girl chased after the girl with the wand. “Give it to me, Thithy!”
“You have to catch me first.” The older girl ran in circles on the front lawn, the little one doing her best to keep up.
Wendy headed up the stone path to the front door. “Stop it, Elizabeth. Give her the wand.”
It took a few seconds for Jessie to snap out of the bizarre trance she found herself in.
The older girl was a mini Ashley Bale. She was tall for a seven-year-old, just as her mom had been at that age. Her blonde hair shimmered, and her flawless skin looked porcelain beneath the morning sun.
Jessie waited for Wendy and the girls to disappear inside the house. Only then did she take a breath. What the hell was going on? She reached for her cell and called Ashley Bale. No answer. She couldn’t risk leaving a message. But this couldn’t wait.