by Brenda Novak
Francesca doubted Dean would ever win any awards for his poetry, but at least he’d provided a physical description for the girl she needed to find. Maybe it was rudimentary, but it was still more than she’d known a moment earlier. Julia was under eighteen—but since Dean had written this last May, maybe not anymore. She had green eyes and dark hair. Francesca wondered if Dean had included the physical details as a way to remember her. That seemed plausible, especially since his writing had grown less specific and more flowery as time went on, implying that he hadn’t seen her in quite a while, or that he was writing to someone fondly remembered. This poem might even be his idea of a memorial.
Going through each line again, she studied the other adjectives. According to Dean, Julia was also jinxed, isolated and abandoned. Those three words caught Francesca’s attention because they were the only negative ones in the poem, and they didn’t reflect directly on Julia but on her circumstances.
Had this girl run into bad luck? Why was she jinxed, abandoned and isolated?
Dropping the letter in her lap, Francesca rested her head on the back of her seat and gazed off into the distance. The salvage yard was fairly isolated. Could Dean have been speaking about his own reality, projecting again? He was also jinxed and, to some extent, abandoned. Those adjectives would actually be quite appropriate for someone in his situation.
A truck chugged along the dirt road to her right. Watching the dust churned up by its tires, she tried to figure out why the letters she’d read gave her the feeling that Dean knew this girl well, that the whole family did. In the earlier letters, he made several references to Butch, and “the way he looks at you.” There was even “Don’t mind Paris. She’s just jealous.” And “Mom knows it wasn’t you.”
If those passages could be believed, they’d all spent time together, maybe a lot of it. But Francesca couldn’t imagine Butch and Paris going out anywhere with Dean, not if they could avoid it. Which meant the only way they could all associate as closely as these letters intimated was if—
Francesca’s heart began to beat faster. The girl lived around here!
Her eyes riveted on the truck she’d been watching earlier and she recalled her father’s words about the man who owned the farmland adjacent to the salvage yard. The owner works it himself, so he’s out there regularly, growing alfalfa….
This had to be that farmer, didn’t it? Or someone he’d hired…
Francesca had left her car idling because she’d needed the air-conditioning. Pushing the gearshift into drive, she punched the gas pedal, swung around the corner and barreled down the road. The truck, a dented old Ford, clearly a work vehicle, was pretty far ahead of her, but she managed to get the driver’s attention by laying on her horn and flashing her lights.
He stopped, allowing her to draw even with him.
Hoping this might be the break she needed, she hopped out and hurried over to greet him. “I’m really sorry to bother you. You must think I’m crazy racing after you like that, but I had to catch you.”
The driver, an older man with a craggy face and iron-gray hair, wore bib overalls and a T-shirt dampened with sweat. A wad of tobacco filled one cheek. “What can I help you with?”
She dug through her purse and handed him her card. “I’m looking for someone.”
He spat through his open window. “You’re a P.I.”
“I am.”
“Who are you looking for?”
“It’s a teenage girl, about eighteen. Green eyes. Dark hair. Most likely Caucasian.”
He gawked at the dust coating her high heels. “The closest house is that way half a mile or so, at the salvage yard. You could check there.”
The engine revved as if he was about to drive off so she put her hands on the window ledge. “I know where the salvage yard is. Please, if you could just…think for a moment. I’m guessing this girl hasn’t been around for a while. I’m not sure how long. But I believe she lived in the area at one time. Her name was Julia.”
His bushy eyebrows resembled two caterpillars inching toward each other. “Well, why didn’t you say so? I remember Julia. She’s been gone…oh, couple years. Maybe two.”
“Where did she live?”
“The house I pointed out to you.” He jerked his head in the direction from which she’d come.
“The salvage yard.”
“That’s right.”
Relief, hope, even disbelief, surged through Francesca, giving her a respite from the dragging fatigue. “She lived with Butch?”
“For a while. She was some sort of runaway they took in. Nice of ’em.”
“How well do you know Butch and the Wheelers?”
He adjusted his ball cap, which was even more stained with sweat than his shirt. “I know Elaine and Bill better’n the kids. Bought this land from ’em twenty years ago, but they’ve retired since then. Butch is runnin’ the place nowadays.” He peered at her more closely. “You okay?”
She felt as if she’d won the lottery. “I’m fine. It’s just…hot.” She swiped at a drop of sweat rolling down from her temple. “Can you tell me anything about Julia?”
“Not much. There was only one time that we actually spoke. The needle on my gas gauge was sticking.” He tapped the glass below the dusty dash. “I thought I had plenty in the tank but turns out I didn’t. I ran out right in front of their place, had to knock at the door and ask if I could buy a couple gallons off ’em.”
“What did they say?”
“Julia came to the door. She was real sweet. Ran and got me a gas can and invited me in for a glass of iced tea.”
“Did you see Butch or any of the Wheelers when you were there?”
“Paris was in the kitchen. Dean, too. They were just finishing lunch. They said hello, told me Julia was from California, that her parents didn’t treat her right so they’d taken her in. Dean mentioned that she helped out in the yard. Didn’t see Butch, Elaine or Bill.”
“Did that incident occur in the summer?”
“Had to be. Damn hot that day. That’s why the iced tea tasted so good.”
“And this was two years ago?”
“Yup.”
Francesca used the back of her wrist to dab at the sweat beading on her upper lip. “I see. And then Julia was gone shortly afterward?”
“Oh, I saw her out front once or twice after that, and we waved. But when I stopped by a few months later to see if Butch had a carburetor for a ’57 Chevy, she wasn’t around no more.”
“How do you know?”
“I asked about her. He said she’d run off. Said it was the damnedest thing, kind of ungrateful ’cause of everything they’d tried to do for her.”
If she was gone three months after this man had initially spoken to her in the height of summer, she’d disappeared in September or October, maybe even November 2008. “Has Butch or Dean or anyone else who lives at the salvage yard ever done anything you’d consider…unusual?”
Deep grooves formed in the farmer’s weathered face. “Unusual in what way?”
“Are they up late at night? Moving objects in and out of the house? Have you heard any fighting?”
“I only work here. I don’t live here. So I can’t say what goes on after hours. They’ve always seemed okay to me. They mind their own business.” He chewed on his tobacco. “What’s with all the questions? What’s going on over there? I saw the police cars when I arrived. And you’re the second person this week to ask me about them. Guy from Montana, another P.I. or some such, called a few days ago, wantin’ information. Somethin’ wrong?”
She lifted her hands from the window ledge. “One or more of them might be in trouble.”
“With the law?”
“Let’s just say we need to find Julia, make sure she disappeared by choice.”
“You don’t think Butch killed her.” When the farmer spat again, he nearly hit the frame of the window.
Francesca slid to one side for fear his aim would falter even more. She liked the shoes she
was wearing. “I hope not. But it’s a possibility.”
Shifting his tobacco to the other cheek, he shook his head. “No. If someone’s actin’ out, it’s gotta be Dean.”
She was putting another twelve inches or so between them, but at this, she paused. “Why do you say that?”
“Dean’s always been weird.”
“That’s it?”
“If you knew how weird, you’d know his type of weird is enough.”
Francesca understood why he’d say that. It was Dean who’d threatened his ex-girlfriend right before she went missing, Dean who’d broken into her house.
And yet…it was Butch who frightened her.
“Are we getting close?” Jonah asked.
Ray Leedy, the young security guard who’d followed Butch into the mountains the night before, sat in the passenger seat of the rented SUV, leaning into the harness of his seat belt as he concentrated on every bend in the road and every tree and rock that came into sight. “It feels like we’re close,” he said. “But…a lot of this area looks the same, you know? And it was dark.”
Jonah was losing hope. He’d been driving back and forth, going around the same bends, going down this turnoff and then that one for hours, searching for where Butch had gone, all to no avail. Ray insisted he’d seen a cabin near the place where Butch had disappeared into the trees, but numerous cabins dotted these mountains.
“This one had a big S above the front door,” he explained. “The initial of the family who owns it, I guess. It was right there in the beam of my headlights.”
Ray had shared this detail before, several times, but they hadn’t come across a cabin fitting that description.
“Do you think it could be up a little farther?” Jonah asked.
“Maybe. When I headed back, I clocked the distance on my odometer, but not right from the start. I didn’t think of it immediately.”
Jonah rubbed his face. They had to find where Butch had gone, had to recover that black garbage bag.
Spotting a cabin they’d passed twice already, he pulled into the drive.
“What are you doing?” Ray asked.
“Checking to see if anyone’s around.”
“Looks empty.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky.” Jonah jogged to the front door and knocked, but there was no answer. Primarily vacation getaways, these cabins were used mostly on holidays and weekends.
Ray rolled down his window as Jonah returned. “Nothing?”
“Nothing,” Jonah said, but he wasn’t ready to give up. He visited the next cabin they saw, and the next and the next one after that. It wasn’t until he’d approached six different cabins that he finally found someone at home. And then she wouldn’t open the door.
“Go away. Or I’ll call the cops,” a female voice called out.
Jonah didn’t blame her for being scared. For all she knew, he could be someone like Dean.
“Will you just answer one question for me?” he called back.
After a long pause, she responded. “What do you want to know?”
“I’m looking for a cabin with an S on it. Can you tell me if it’s in this area?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m slipping my card under the door.” He leaned down to do that. “Name’s Jonah Young,” he said as he straightened. “You can call the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Office and someone will vouch for me.”
“You’re a deputy?”
“Not quite. I work for the private sector—Department 6, as it says on my card. I’m consulting with the sheriff’s office on a very important case.”
“And what do you want with the Schultzes’ cabin?”
Now they were getting somewhere. She knew of it, which meant she probably also knew where it was. “I have reason to believe some evidence was placed or buried nearby.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“That’s what I need to find out.”
“What’s the number for the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Office?”
Was this a test? He pulled up the directory on his phone so he could read it to her. “Ask for Investigator Hunsacker or Investigator Finch,” he said.
Although she didn’t open the door, she must’ve been satisfied because she didn’t actually make the call. “The cabin you want is owned by Doug Schultz. Go back to the highway, turn left and drive another mile and a half. Take a right at Liberty Bell Road. Cabin’s on the corner.”
They hadn’t gone quite far enough. “Thanks,” he said, and hurried over to the SUV.
Ray watched him as he settled behind the wheel. “Any luck?”
“It’s another mile and a half down the highway.”
“Really? I could’ve sworn we’d gone too far already.”
Jonah checked the clock on the dash as he popped the car into reverse. It was past five. He’d hoped to be back in Prescott by now but, with the way things were going, he wouldn’t get to Francesca’s until seven or eight.
As long as he made it by dark…
Shortly after ten, Butch sat at the kitchen table with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a half-filled glass. Every one else in the house had gone to sleep, but he was looking to finish what he’d set in motion. It was almost over. All he had to do now was wait.
Sliding back in his chair, he stared up at the ceiling and wished he felt bad about what he was doing. He knew he should. But Dean had caused this mess. If the dumb bastard hadn’t put those panties in his jockey box, none of it would’ve happened. Butch wouldn’t have had to send him to Francesca’s, the police wouldn’t have shown up with that damn search warrant and Hunsacker and Finch wouldn’t have found the freezer.
It was Hunsacker who’d come to tell him about the blood. The detective had gazed at the ground as he explained that Luminol reacts to the iron in hemoglobin. There were traces of blood in the freezer. He’d quickly added that it could be from an animal. But Butch knew the drill. All they had to do was test it.
Holding his glass up to the light, he swirled the amber liquid around the sides. Finch had walked up right after to say he’d received a call from Francesca. She already knew what Julia looked like, that she’d lived with them, the time of year she’d gone missing and that she was from California. With such a start, she’d be able to gather more information, and if he let that play out, the investigation might not take the direction he’d like.
So…since he couldn’t get the panties back and Dean had failed to subdue Francesca, he’d told them Dean was the last person to see Julia alive. That she’d disappeared soon after, but he’d trusted Dean when he said she’d run away because he’d had no reason not to. She wasn’t all that stable an individual.
Finishing his drink, he smiled at how smoothly it had all come together. The investigators had bought every word, just as Butch had known they would, because it matched the scenario they’d created in their minds. It was so easy to lie to someone who was already prepared to believe….
Turning the bottle of Jack Daniel’s, Butch peeled the corner of the label. Elaine had given him hell when she learned that he’d set Dean up to take the fall for Julia’s death, but as he’d explained to her, if they wanted to save their normal daughter, they had to sacrifice their mentally ill son. Dean wasn’t living in the real world half the time, anyway. He should be institutionalized.
Shoving his glass closer to the bottle, he poured himself another splash and used it to toast his brother-in-law. “Excellent job,” he said. “Very convincing.”
Once the investigators connected the panties to the blood in the freezer and the missing Julia Cummings, they’d have an airtight case. Even Dean’s corny love letters would work against him. He’d go to prison for the rest of his life, the police would stop their surveillance on the salvage yard and life could go on as before. Better than before because Dean wouldn’t be part of it anymore.
Somehow everything was working out perfectly. And, ironically, it was Dean who’d made it all possible.
Butch’s cell phone
rang. Peering at caller ID, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was a number he didn’t recognize, most likely a payphone. Dean had left his cell at home, just as Butch had directed. This was what he’d been waiting for.
“Dean? What happened?” he said, feigning concern.
“I tried, Butch. I tried to do what you told me. But she…she sprayed me with some…stuff. Right in the eyes! I couldn’t see. I couldn’t breathe. It burned so bad! And—and then she ran. I had to get out of there. That was all I could do.”
He was crying, gasping for breath like a child. It sickened Butch to hear it. A man should never cry like that. But Dean hadn’t taken his medication.
“It’ll be okay,” Butch said.
“Tell Mom I—I tried to tie her up so I could call you, but…you should’ve come with me. She’s stronger than she looks.”
“I understand.”
At that, there was a slight pause, a gap in the hysteria during which he sounded quite calm. “You’re not mad at me?”
“Of course not. You did your best, didn’t you?”
“I did. I did everything I could.”
“So where are you now?”
“Phoenix? Glendale? I don’t know. I’ve been riding the buses, riding and riding, all over, everywhere. I don’t know what else to do. You said I couldn’t come home unless I tied up Francesca, and that didn’t go so good.”
“Calm down, Dean. I’m going to help you.”
He sniffed. “You are? Does that mean I can come home? I want to see Mom.”
“Soon. But for now, it’s too dangerous. The police are watching the yard.”
“The police? Oh, God! What should I do?” His voice crescendoed in a wail.
“You’ll go to the Schultzes’ cabin.”
“I will?”
“Yes. Right away. You remember it, don’t you?”
“Yeah, sure. That place we rented last Christmas? Where we taught Champ to shoot a pellet gun?”
“That’s the one.”
“That was so fun,” he said. “But won’t the cabin be locked?”
“Since when is any lock a problem for you?” Butch asked.
“It’s not. But I thought… I mean, you want me to break in?”