by D. M. Pulley
Behind the trees, there was nothing left of his grandmother’s house but a broken foundation. Charred stones stuck up out of the ground in a rectangular outline of what had once been. He gazed up at the spot where her window had looked out over the fields. Smoke had billowed out through the hole in the roof. He could smell it. Echoes of gunshots still hung in the trees. He reached up and touched the scar on his head. He hadn’t fallen through the floorboards like they said.
Jasper sank down to his knees in front of a blackened stone.
“What happened?” he whispered, gripping the book in his pocket. “Were you there?”
“What brings you out here, son?” a voice said.
Jasper lurched up to see a man walking down the hill from the creek. It was Detective Russo.
CHAPTER 51
Did she have any enemies? Abusive boyfriends?
Jasper’s mouth opened and shut, but no sound came out.
“I said, what brings you out here? Doesn’t your uncle need you back at the house?” The detective cocked a sly grin. He wore a suit and a hat like a traveling salesman, but there was a gun at his hip.
“I—I was just . . . looking for stuff,” Jasper stammered. His eyes darted about for a place to hide and came up empty. “I . . . my aunt asked me to go see what I could find from the storm.”
The detective looked him up and down, amused at his consternation. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Sheriff Bradley said it would be alright if I poked around. I’m looking for something too.”
Jasper scanned the fields again for the sheriff and his deputy.
Detective Russo walked over to him and appraised the foundation of the old house. “It was quite a doozy of a storm, wasn’t it? Blew half of St. Clair County off the map. Was this here blown away too?”
Jasper could tell he already knew the answer. “No, sir. It burned down.”
“Really?” The detective raised his eyebrows. “When?”
Jasper shrugged the best he could with a busted shoulder. “I don’t know. A year ago.”
“How’d it burn down?”
He could feel the man’s eyes drilling through him and turned away.
“What’s wrong, son? It’s not a hard question.”
“Sorry, it’s just that . . .” A lantern exploded in his head. “It was all my fault.”
“Your fault?” The detective sounded surprised. “What happened?”
“I was snooping around in the old house, and I lit a lantern . . .” His mother had been holding it. He could see her plain as day, motioning him into her arms. Tears gathered at the thought, but he shook it away. It couldn’t be right. “It, uh . . . and I knocked it over.”
“Oh. I see.” The detective patted him on the shoulder. “That must’ve been very scary for a young boy—burning down a whole house. I bet your uncle was none too pleased.”
Jasper blinked his eyes clear. “Yes, sir.”
“Well, we all make mistakes, Jasper. The key is to learn from them.” The detective squatted down on his haunches like they were about to discuss a football play. He was pretending to be his friend, but Jasper could tell he just wanted to get a closer look at him. “Now, you understand that lying to me would be a terrible mistake. Don’t you, son?”
“Yes, sir.” Jasper didn’t like the way the man smiled at him. He took a step back.
“Not so fast.” The detective grabbed his arm. “Who else was inside the house with you?”
“Sorry?” Jasper wanted to kick him in the groin and run. His eyes darted over the fields. The sheriff was nowhere in sight.
“You couldn’t have been by yourself. You’d have only been, what? Seven years old?”
“I was nine,” Jasper whispered. He’d always been small for his age, but he’d been old enough to know better. It was my fault. I wasn’t supposed to be there.
“Right. So . . . who else was inside with you?”
“No one.” Jasper could tell the man didn’t believe him. He didn’t believe it himself anymore.
“What were you doing in a house all by yourself?”
“I woke up early and . . .” He’d gone looking for his mother. Jasper searched for words that wouldn’t betray her. She’d been hiding from Big Bill and Galatas and God knows who else. He risked a glance into the detective’s hard eyes and quickly looked away. “I just got bored, I guess. I shouldn’t have gone snooping.”
“Bored, huh? You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed.” It sounded like a threat.
“Yes, sir.” Somewhere out there the sheriff was searching the fields. If he ran away screaming, maybe the detective would hesitate. He tensed his legs.
As if he could sense the boy’s plan, the detective tightened his grip on his arm. “Where is your mother, Jasper?”
“What?” He tried to wrench his arm free, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Where is she?”
“She’s—she’s gone.”
“Where did she go?” Detective Russo demanded.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“You must know something, damn it. Where is she?”
She’s dead! he wanted to scream. Instead, he just shook his head.
“I know this has been hard on you, kid, but you need to tell me what you know.”
“I don’t know anything!” Jasper cried, letting his arm go limp. “I’m just a kid. Nobody tells me anything.”
“Damn it, Althea!” The detective let go of him and shook his head. “I’m sorry, kid. I hate to have to do this.”
“Do what?” Jasper staggered several feet back. “Are you going to take me away? Is that why you’re here?”
The detective sighed but didn’t answer the question. “We were supposed to meet. She had something for me. Something very important. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
Jasper shook his head again.
“We had a deal. Then the next thing I know, one of my prime suspects blows up his car and she disappears like a goddamn ghost. We’ve been looking for her, high and low, for months. Damn it, she’s been toying with me this whole time. We were so close to blowing the doors off this thing.”
Jasper was hardly listening. His brain had ground to a halt.
“A lot of lives are going to be ruined if I don’t find her, Jasper. A lot of lives. And now that this damn storm came through . . . I don’t know if I can stop it. I need your help.”
“What?” The man was obviously a lunatic. The trees were only ten feet away. Jasper took a step toward his escape route. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“You need to let me know if you see her. If you see or hear anything, I won’t be far. Okay?” The detective dropped his voice to a gentler tone and smiled. “We don’t want anything to happen to her. Do we?”
CHAPTER 52
If she had evidence of some sort of conspiracy, why wouldn’t she go to the police?
The detective disappeared over the hill. Jasper watched until he was gone, then stumbled into the stand of trees. The man hadn’t dragged him away to an orphanage or jail, but he could still feel his hand clenching his arm.
We don’t want anything to happen to her, do we? The detective’s warning repeated in his head. Jasper sank down with his back against a giant oak and cried.
She’s gone, goddammit! And she’s not coming back. File her under “Dead.” His father had screamed it at the top of his lungs.
Jasper wiped his tears, then pulled the diary out of his pocket. What does he want from me, Mom? Why did you have to die? I need you.
He leafed through the book again, searching for any sign at all, forcing himself to read her last words again and again. Anyone but you. The last twenty pages were empty, but he searched them too.
“Jasper? What the hell are you doin’ up here?” his uncle’s voice boomed through the trees.
Jasper dropped the book. He jumped up and tried to block his uncle’s view of it lying on the ground. “Sorry, I guess I just . . .”
“The rest of us a
re out workin’ our tails off, and you’re just sitting here on your duff? Didn’t you hear your aunt callin’?” He could tell by the hard line of his face that Uncle Leo was in no mood for long explanations.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
“Whatdya got there?” His uncle pointed to the ground behind his feet.
“No—nothin’. Just this uh . . . book. I was out doin’ a sweep and found it right over there.” Jasper pointed to a random spot in the field.
“Give it here.” His uncle held out his hand, leaving Jasper no choice in the matter.
He picked the diary up off the ground and handed it to his uncle.
“Why you standing there lookin’ like somebody died? Git!”
Jasper knew he’d better run back to his wagon, but he hesitated for two seconds too long. His uncle grabbed him by the collar.
“You’ve been reading this nonsense?” he demanded, waving the open book in Jasper’s face.
“Um . . .” Lying would only make it worse. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t go believing a thing in here, ya hear me? She wasn’t right in the head back then, making up all sorts of stories.”
“What do you mean, not right in the head?” Jasper whispered.
“None of your goddamned business. That’s what I mean. This book is not for you to read. I should’ve burned the thing months ago.”
“But why did she—”
“Stop.” His uncle held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear another word about it. She’s caused enough trouble for one lifetime. The last thing you need is to go snoopin’ around in her mess. If you want answers, go read your Bible.”
“But . . .” His uncle was going to burn it if he didn’t say something. “They don’t seem like lies! What happened to her?”
“I told you—”
“She’s my mother!” Jasper shouted over him, not quite believing he was raising his voice to the man. “I need to know what happened to her.”
“What do you want to know, huh?” he roared back. “You want to know how she went crazy and ran away from home? You want to know how she came back drunk and reeling, screaming a bunch of nonsense, and burned our house down? Or how she wrecked our family’s reputation and my father hung himself? How my mother died of a broken heart? You want to know how she disappeared for ten years and we all thought she was dead or in prison? Is that the sort of thing you want to know, Jasper?”
The boy just stood there dumbstruck.
“Goddamn it!” his uncle shouted up at the sky. He swept a hand across his mouth as if to wipe away his last several words, and then he leaned down and grabbed Jasper by the chin. “Forget all that, Jasper. You’re the best thing that miserable woman ever did. Don’t mess that up for her. Just let it go. It’s the only thing you can do to help her now. Understand?”
Jasper nodded but couldn’t look his uncle in the eye. The man hated her, and maybe he was right. She’d left her own son to die on the farm she hated. She’d up and disappeared. Her father died because—
“Good. Now get yourself together and get your ass back to the house.” Leo stormed off toward the barn with Althea’s diary in his hand, leaving Jasper alone in the woods with black-and-white thoughts of his grandfather swinging from a noose.
Everything about her was a lie.
The only thing he knew for certain anymore was that she’d gotten mixed up with criminals like Big Bill and Galatas. Who do you think ran the stills when making liquor was against the law? Mrs. Babcock’s voice asked him again. Gangsters, killers, and thieves. And she was one of them. The police were still after her.
But she’s dead . . . isn’t she?
The thought brought Jasper back to his feet. He scanned the trees and creek bed behind him for Detective Russo. Every shadow had eyes. The specter of his grandmother’s house loomed behind the tall oaks, watching him.
I won’t be far.
CHAPTER 53
Do you know much about law enforcement on tribal lands?
The two sheriff’s department cruisers were gone when Jasper dragged his half-empty wagon up the driveway. Uncle Leo and his father were up on the roof of the barn, pounding boards back into place. Wendell gave the boy a small wave as he approached, but his uncle kept on hammering nails as if he weren’t there.
Aunt Velma was inside pulling together a makeshift kitchen in a cow stall when Jasper came through the door. “Well, there you are. You find anything good out there?”
“Not too much yet,” Jasper mumbled. He’d forgotten all about his searching duties. “I still have a lot of looking to do. I—uh . . . Uncle Leo said you wanted to see me?”
She glanced up at him and stopped scrubbing the pot in her hand. “My goodness, Jasper! You look terrible. Is everything alright?”
His aunt had a way of seeing right through him, and he hated it. “I’m fine,” he lied. “Did you want to see me about something?”
She read his eyes but decided not to probe deeper. “I need you and Wayne to take the cart into town. We’re short on all sorts of supplies. Here’s a list. Tell Calbry’s to put it on our account.”
Jasper took the scrap of paper from her hand and pretended to read, but all he could think about was the detective out in the fields and that terrible night he could only seem to remember in nightmares. His mother had been there. She had been holding the lamp. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became. He strained to see her face, the way it had looked. She had been smiling.
Wayne burst through the door. “Cart’s all set. We ready to go? That the list?” He snatched it from Jasper’s numb hand and gave it a quick read.
“And why don’t you two swing by some of the neighbors’ and see if anybody needs anything, alright? Just be home by sundown.” Aunt Velma stopped washing dishes to kiss each of them on top of the head and wipe a stray tear. “Look at me gushin’ over you two. Silly woman. I’m just so glad you boys are alright . . . Okay. Go on.”
Wayne manned the driver’s seat, and Jasper rode the rear axle as the tractor pulled down Harris toward Lakeshore. The older boy slowed the engine as they passed by the wreckage of Sheldon’s farm, scanning the fields for the man.
“Shoot,” his cousin said to himself. “I hope you made it out alright, Sheldon.”
Jasper followed Wayne’s gaze over the collapsed barn, but his mind wasn’t on Sheldon. When the tractor slowed to a stop at Lakeshore, he said, “Would it be alright if we went and checked on the reservation. I’m—um . . . I’m worried about Dr. Whitebird.”
Wayne glanced up the road toward Black River and then down toward town. “I’m not sure we’ve got the time.”
“But Aunt Velma said to check on the neighbors, and I still owe the doctor for all his help,” Jasper pleaded. It was the truth. He owed the man his life and the price of his mother’s necklace. His eyes fell, thinking of her favorite piece of jewelry. He’d lost it that awful night. “Please, Wayne. I need to . . . I need to see if they’re alright.”
Wayne held his eyes for a moment and said, “Okay, Jas. We’ll go see. But I don’t think you’re going to find what you’re lookin’ for.”
The older boy turned the tractor north up Route 25 five miles. Jasper held on to the fender with his one good arm; the other rattled uncomfortably in its sling as Wayne cranked the engine into top gear.
The hidden narrow drive that led up the hill to the clinic had been laid bare by the storm. Trees and bushes were mowed down by a giant rake, but the signpost his mother had described in her diary that read “Door of Faith” was nowhere to be seen. Naked pines dotted the ridge as Wayne pulled the tractor up to where the clinic had once stood.
“Will ya look at that,” Wayne whispered as they crested the hill and saw what was left. The roof and windows had been ripped from the cinder blocks. A tree had crushed the back corner of the building. Papers and broken glass littered the ground.
Jasper hopped off the axle. “Dr. Whitebird?” he called, running to the entrance. The door had been blo
wn from its hinges, and he ran through the opening into a wreckage of roof rafters and tree limbs.
“Jasper! Get your butt back here!” Wayne called after him.
Jasper didn’t listen. He pushed his way up and over broken timbers, through the waiting room to the back examination areas, banging his bad arm every few feet as he went. The back room where he’d spent several delirious nights had been flattened by an enormous tree trunk. “Dr. Whitebird?”
There was no answer but Wayne shouting from the doorway, “He’s not here, dummy! Get out before something falls on you!”
Jasper turned back toward the entrance. Sun poured in through the collapsed sections of roof. He gazed up at a piece of sky framed in broken rafters. It was the same view from the attic of his grandmother’s house. The sky had been pink that morning.
The sound of his cousin hollering at him outside snapped Jasper back to the present.
The walls of the clinic hallway had fallen over, giving him odd-angled glimpses into each examination room and a small filing closet full of crushed and upended cabinets. He climbed over the fallen wall to the piles of paper spilled onto the floor. The records mixed together with the different names scrawled across the top. He ripped through the sheets, searching for Althea Williams, Althea Leary, Thea. None of them were there.
Scattered under the papers were photographs of a girl. Her body was laid out on a table, naked and bruised. Dark marks and dried blood dotted her breasts and stomach. Crushed bones and dried blood distorted her face. Jasper picked up a picture with shaking fingers. Her dark-brown eyes stared back at him—dead.
Do you know who killed me?
“Hey!” Wayne’s voice boomed behind him. “What the heck are you doing in here?”
Jasper dropped the photo and struggled to find his voice. “Nothing. I just thought, maybe . . .”
Wayne looked over his shoulder at the pictures. “Jesus Christ! Who the hell is that? We shouldn’t be in here! C’mon!”
Wayne dragged Jasper out of the wreckage of the clinic. He was going to be sick. He doubled over at the knees.