by Gary Parker
*****
Instantly awake, Connie Brandon popped up from the bed and shivered violently. For a second, she wondered what had awakened her. One of the kids calling? She leaned forward and listened but heard nothing. Then, fingering a bit of sleep from her eyes, she spotted the curtains to her right billowing inward, pushed by a breeze that had turned icy in the night. Pulling the covers under her chin, she twisted sideways to see if the cold had bothered Jack. He wasn’t there.
She rubbed her eyes again and stared at the clock that sat beside the bed on a nightstand. 12:35 A.M.
She tilted her head and looked at the clock again. The red letters stared back. For a moment, she thought it must be mistaken but then remembered Jack’s warning he would get home late. But this late? It wasn’t like him.
Wrapping herself in the bedcovers, she eased down and padded her size-five feet over to the open window, pulling it closed. She climbed back into bed, stretched out comfortably, and snuggled down. It wasn’t like Jack to stay out late, but he had warned her. She had no reason to worry. He would get home soon.
Half-expecting to hear his old pickup pull up any second, she lay still and listened for several minutes. She imagined him walking in, getting into bed, and warming her up with a strong snuggle. They would talk a few minutes, hugging closely. He would explain the mysterious evening. Satisfied with his explanation, she would fall asleep in his arms.
Connie smiled and reached for her Bible on the nightstand. Then, flipping on a lamp, she turned to the Psalms and began to read.
“Rejoice in the LORD, O you righteous! For praise from the upright is beautiful. Praise the LORD with the harp; Make melody to Him with an instrument of ten strings. Sing to Him a new song; Play skillfully with a shout of joy. For the word of the LORD is right, And all His work is done in truth. . . . ”
Relaxing into her pillows as she read, Connie’s eyes grew heavy. Beside her the clock’s face showed 1:02. Jack should get home any minute. Until he did, she wouldn’t quite go to sleep. But she would doze.
Her eyes closed, and the Bible fell onto her chest. Connie snuggled into the covers. The clock beside her clicked off another number. Her mind drifted . . . Jack would come home soon . . . Jack would . . . She dreamed of him and she smiled.
CHAPTER
4
Just over six and a half hours later, a sixty-seven-year-old fisherman named Sammy Sanks rubbed his unshaven face and sat back in his johnboat as it eased through the gently flowing waters of the muddy Missouri River. With a bright sun warming his shoulders, he yawned and stared toward the unkempt shoreline of Adrian’s Island. The island, an undeveloped strip of often-flooded real estate, sat over a hundred feet below the majestic Capitol Building of Missouri and to the left of the railroad tracks that ran north of Jefferson City.
Sanks loved this tiny island and fished this spot often. The driftwood that caught on its uneven shoreline provided excellent feeding ground for the catfish he loved to catch there. He marked the seasons by its foliage and enjoyed seeing the changes the river brought to it day by day. New driftwood, fresh undergrowth, unexpected washes and gullies—all kept the place constantly fresh to him. He knew every nook and cranny of the island, and when something changed his sharp eyes picked it up immediately.
The water lapped quietly at the bow of his boat. He scanned the shoreline with his keen gray eyes. The trees, mostly maples, hickory, and oak, had just begun to bud. Rainfall had been sparser than usual this year and the river was down. The island lay placid and quiet, dried out more than usual for April.
Staring at the island, Sanks wondered if the city would ever develop the strip. Over the years, lots of folks had suggested it. Build a walkover for people to access it, place picnic tables and walking trails in key spots, and take advantage of it as a tourist attraction. Sanks hoped the development would never happen. It would ruin the whole— His eyes stopped moving. He spotted something that didn’t fit the naturally wild shoreline. Sanks leaned forward and shaded his eyes with his hand, blocking out the sun’s glare. There! Wedged between a soggy piece of driftwood and a maple tree about to bloom. What was that?
He nudged the rudder on his twenty-five-horsepower motor, and the boat eased closer to the shoreline. The odd object began to form up into something recognizable. It looked like a . . . goodness, it looked like a body!
Sanks took a deep breath and steered closer to the still form lying in the water. He ran the back of his hand across his mouth, then spat over the side of the boat. This didn’t look good. He saw it more clearly now, a navy piece of cloth, a . . . a shirt, a . . . yes, he hated to see it, but the object was a man’s body, half-submerged in the muddy water.
His boat slipping through the wash, Sanks cut the engine and grabbed an oar. Sticking the oar into the ground, he pulled the boat to shore, hooked it to a tree with a thin rope, and rushed to the body. Wanting to help but wary of touching anything, he leaned down and examined the man for signs of life. The water behind him lapped softly against the shore, slightly moving the body. Sanks took a deep breath, looked around quickly, then touched the man’s neck with his right hand. Carefully, he searched for a pulse, but found none. The man was definitely dead. Satisfied he couldn’t do anything to help and determined to leave everything as he found it, Sanks twisted back to his boat and lifted a cell phone from a dry compartment under the steering wheel. Feeling a bit queasy, he flipped open the phone and called 911. Then, with nothing more to do, he sat down on a stump by the body and waited. As he waited, he tried to figure out the identity of the slightly built man who lay facedown and dead in the muddy Missouri.
*****
Connie woke up at almost the same moment that Sammy Sanks first threw his fishing line into the water. That was normal for her on a Saturday, to sleep in a bit from her usual 6:30 A.M. starting time. Catch up on the rest that a woman finishing law school and taking care of a family hardly ever managed to get. For just an instant, she started to stretch, to enjoy the luxury of not having to climb out of bed. But then, before she quite knew why, she felt something out of place. She turned to her right, expecting to see Jack but knowing instinctively he wasn’t there.
Briefly, she wondered if he had come home last night, then gotten up early and left again. But the smooth surface of the bed covers on his side told her that hadn’t happened.
More curious than concerned, she climbed out of bed, slipped a blue-green checked robe over the extra-large T-shirt she wore at night, and padded down the hallway toward the den. Perhaps he had come in late and decided to sleep on the sofa. Always considerate, he’d done that a few times during their marriage to keep from disturbing her.
She passed the small living room at the front of the house. No Jack there. Flipping her hair from her eyes and biting her upper lip, she moved to the den. Again, no Jack. Okay. She paused to think. Where to look next? Katie’s room?
Her stride longer and more deliberate, she moved back down the hallway to the last room on the left. Sticking her head inside, she saw Katie, sun streaming in on her freckled face, sleeping deeply. But no Jack. Only one more place to check. Daniel’s room.
Though knowing it wasn’t likely, she moved across the hall to the room on the back side of the house. Her hand trembling slightly for reasons she couldn’t quite identify, she twisted the doorknob and walked into the clutter of her teenager’s domain. Basketball shoes and dirty clothes lay all over the floor, and she made a mental note to make him clean up the place after she woke him. Daniel himself, all five-feet-nine of him, his right arm thrown over the bed like a loose string, snored slightly. A baseball lay on the floor near his hand. She smiled. Daniel kept a baseball in his hand most of the time.
Jack was nowhere to be seen.
Working to control the fears now building inside, she leaned against the wall and rubbed her forehead. Where could Jack be? What could keep him out all night? Business? Certainly not the store. The city council? No, that meeting had ended about nine or so. She had watched
the reruns last night about ten. Had even seen Jack for a second as the camera focused on the scattered audience.
If not busy with the store or the council, then what? He said he had to meet someone, but he never identified anybody. Had that meeting lasted all night? If so, why hadn’t he called? He always called when his plans changed. Jack would have called unless . . . unless something kept him from calling . . . unless— Connie remembered the anonymous phone calls that had invaded their home over the last few weeks. Did those calls have anything to do with Jack’s absence? Had someone—?
She shook her head, trying to push away the thought, but it refused to leave. Her mouth suddenly dry and her heart picking up pace, she backed out of Daniel’s room and rushed to the kitchen. Once there, she grabbed the phone book off the counter by the refrigerator, looked up the number of the police department, and dialed. A woman answered.
“My husband is missing!” Connie panted. “He was supposed to come home last night, he—”
“Slow down, honey,” said the woman on the other end. “Give me your name.”
“Connie Brandon,” she said, her words gushing out. “My husband is Jack Brandon, he was supposed to get home last night, but he’s not here yet, he—”
“When did you last talk to him?”
“At around five yesterday. He said he’d get home late, but he never said all night. I just know something’s wrong, it’s not like Jack—”
“Men often stay out longer than they say they will, honey. Then they come traipsing in the next day with a story they stick to no matter what. Maybe you should calm down and wait on him to show up.”
Connie gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to sound rude, but this woman didn’t know Jack like she did. And the honey reference—well, that was certainly less than professional. If the cop was right and Jack had simply stayed out without giving her a reason and without calling, then something was terribly wrong with her marriage. But if the dispatcher was wrong, then . . .
Connie didn’t even want to think about that possibility. To her horror, she found herself hoping that Jack had deliberately disappeared for a night without telling her why. At least then she could be sure of his safety.
“Jack wouldn’t do that,” she said, though hoping he had. “If he said he’d come home at midnight, he would unless something happened. You see, we’ve had some threatening calls in the last few weeks, anonymous calls. You should have a record of them. We reported the problem a few weeks ago.”
“Calls?”
“Yes, threatening phone calls. Check your records.”
“Hang on a second.”
Connie took a deep breath and twisted the phone cord in her hands while she waited. She couldn’t imagine Jack staying out all night without calling her.
“We’ve got a record here,” said the policewoman.
Connie stood up straighter and dropped the phone cord.
The woman continued. “Says here you got some anonymous calls about your husband’s antigambling activities. But your husband wouldn’t allow us to put a trace on the phone. That right?”
“Yes, he figured the calls were harmless, said they were just pranks, nothing more. I tried to tell him—”
“You say you last talked to him when?”
“About five yesterday.”
“And he said he’d get home late?”
“Yes, but he’s not here.”
The officer hesitated for several seconds. Connie heard a door close. She almost dropped the phone, but then saw Katie poke her head into the kitchen. Connie put her finger over her lips, giving Katie the “shush” sign. Katie padded across the room and snuggled up to her. Connie pulled her close.
“I’ll get an alert out,” said the woman, her voice more understanding. “The patrol officers will keep their eyes open. You just stay calm. Mr. Brandon will probably come home any minute now and explain it all to you. If he’s not home in an hour or so, call back. We’ll see what the situation is then. That okay?”
Connie nodded and patted Katie’s head. “Sure, okay. I guess there’s nothing else we can do.”
“Not for now. Just stay calm if you can. We’ll be in touch if anything turns up.”
Connie hung up the phone and, not knowing what to do next, turned to Katie. No reason to go off the deep end. Stay calm like the dispatcher suggested. Go about your normal routines. When Jack came home he would clear up all the mystery. Convinced for the time being, Connie forced herself to smile. Then, lifting Katie to her hip, she trudged down the hallway to wake Daniel from his slumbers and put him to work cleaning up his filthy room.
*****
It took the police almost fifteen minutes to get to Adrian’s Island. To reach it, they parked at the railroad station and picked their way across the tracks and over the narrow strip of temporarily dried ground between the tracks and the island. In wetter springs, they would have taken a small boat. Immediately behind the cops, four ambulance attendants and a coroner arrived, wearing puzzled expressions on their tightly drawn faces. The lead cop, a burly man with a mustache the color of corn silk and a head as bald and round as a volleyball, stepped through the thick underbrush and shook Sanks’s hand.
Sanks nodded toward the body. “I didn’t touch anything but his throat,” he said. “Thought I should check the pulse.”
The cop nodded. “He’s dead?”
Sanks checked the policeman’s name tag. “Garner.” “Yeah, I think so,” Sanks said.
Garner motioned to the EMTs behind him. “Check him, guys,” he said.
He turned back to Sanks. “You just find him?”
“Yeah, less than an hour ago. I was checking my trotlines, trying to bring in a few catfish. They love these shoots here between the river and the island. . . . Saw something I didn’t recognize, you know it just didn’t fit. I eased my old boat a bit closer, spotted the body . . . thought I should help if I could.”
“You did the right thing,” said Garner.
Sanks took a deep breath.
“He’s got identification!”
Sanks and Garner turned to the EMT working over the body. The EMT, his hand sheathed in a rubber glove, held a wallet over his head. Walking away from Sanks, Garner yanked a pair of gloves from his back pocket, slipped them on, and stepped to the EMT. He took the wallet from the technician and, with deliberate care, held it by one corner and flipped it open. Inside, he found a Missouri driver’s license. Ever so cautiously, he pulled out the license and studied the man in the picture on the license. After several seconds, he reinserted the license and handed the wallet back to the technician. Then, his wide hands rubbing his bald head, he sank down onto a stump and sighed heavily.
“It’s Jack,” he said to no one in particular, his voice tinged with sadness. “Jack Brandon.”
“The guy who’s so set against gambling?” asked Sanks.
“The same,” said Garner. “You know him?”
“Nope, just read his name in the paper. What about you?”
Garner dropped his head and studied his boots. “Yeah, I know him. I go to church with him. His wife and my wife are best friends, and he’s the finest Christian man I’ve ever known.”
*****
Looking out her bedroom window, Connie saw Tick Garner turn his squad car into her driveway. She slipped a kelly green blouse over her head, smoothed down the front of her khaki slacks, and pushed her hair off her forehead. Then, her breath coming in short gasps, she hurried to the front door. For a moment, she thought of calling the kids away from the television in the den, then decided against it. If Tick had some news about Jack, good or bad, she should hear it first, then tell Katie and Daniel. No reason to disturb them until she knew what was going on.
She opened the door just as Tick stepped up to ring the bell. As the door swung open, he averted his eyes from hers and studied the tips of his shoes.
“Come on in, Tick,” she said, her voice thin with nerves. “Have a seat.” She gestured toward a gold wing chair that
sat across from a flame-stitched sofa in her small living room.
Tick quickly followed her instructions, dropping his stocky frame in the chair, his eyes still busy with his feet. Placing herself squarely across from him, Connie took a deep breath and waited for Tick to speak. It took him a couple of seconds, but he finally raised his eyes to meet hers. Connie read them instantly, their dull sadness communicating as clearly as a blaring headline from a newspaper. Connie’s heart skipped.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” Tick stammered. “Tess is on the way . . . I started to wait for her, but she . . . well, she’s on the way.”
Connie bit her upper lip. Tick rubbed his head, and Connie saw he couldn’t say what she already knew. She swallowed hard, her emotions going on a kind of sabbatical, momentarily leaving her without feelings. For a second, she felt like a nine year old in a new school again, that feeling that dominated her early years—the result of moving five times in ten years—a turtlelike urge to go into a protective shell of neutrality, to feel nothing lest the loneliness and fear destroy her. Her mind blank, she heard herself telling Tick to get it over.
“Go ahead, Tick. Say what you came to say.”
Tick’s words destroyed her shield.
“I’m sorry, Connie,” he said, his eyes moist. “We found Jack.”
Connie caught her breath, her hands wrapping around her stomach. “You found him?” she asked. “Is he . . . ?” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the question.
Tick dropped his eyes and rubbed his head. “I don’t know how to say this, but . . . but I guess I just say it, Connie . . . Jack’s dead.”
Connie doubled over and fell toward the floor. Jumping from his seat, Tick caught her as she fell, her bright red hair spilling softly against his thick arms. For an instant, she thought she would lose consciousness. Black dots swirled before her eyes, and a feeling of numbness moved through her legs. Gasping for air, she briefly craved the black void a faint would bring, the escape from the hurt that closing her eyes and never opening them again would offer. But then two faces replaced the black dots, and she knew she couldn’t give up so easily. She couldn’t give up because a son named Daniel and a daughter named Katie needed her now more than ever.