by David Bell
“Really?” his mom asked. “You stayed alone?”
“I could cook. And wake up on time. I did my homework. And she always came back. She did. I didn’t ask where she went. I figured she partied or was with guys.” Natalie shivered. “I didn’t ask.”
“That’s smart,” his mom said.
“But this time Dad showed up at the house, and he said we needed to leave. He said Mom was gone, and we needed to go find her. I hadn’t seen him in about six months. But he said he had a job, and he thought he knew where Mom was. That’s why I went. She always had problems, and I thought we’d be helping her if we found her.”
“But the police thought your mom might have been dead. They thought your dad—”
“I know.” Natalie looked down at the table for a moment. She looked back up and said, “When I heard about your friend disappearing, about Celia, it just hit me in a strange way. I knew what that was like. My mom was gone, and I didn’t know where she was. You were all going through the same thing. I understood. I really did.”
“I wish we had talked about it,” Jenna said.
“But I held out hope I’d see Mom again. He kept me in check that way, making me think there was a chance I’d see her. He said he hoped that someday we could all live as a family again. God, I wanted to believe it. I really did. Even though I was never able to call her or talk to her, I wanted to believe it.” She looked at both of them and regained her composure. “Once we were out there on the road, and he kept promising without delivering, I knew he was lying. It hit me like a ton of lead one day. He was just lying. I started to believe Mom was dead. Gone.” She stared ahead, her eyes flat, the emotion gone. “When I realized the truth a few days ago, I felt lower than ever. I didn’t care if I died or not. I kind of accepted that I was going to die out there somewhere, that he’d kill me and just leave me on the side of the road. I thought it was all over.”
“So what made you go on?” Jared asked.
“I had a dream about my mom,” she said. “I saw her face. She told me to keep fighting. So I did. I decided I needed to get back here to see you. My dad was so tired from the driving and the sneaking around, he started falling asleep all the time. And when he slept he slept really deep. A couple of nights ago we were in a shitty motel, and he zonked out. It was about a four-hour drive from here. I just walked out. I didn’t look back. And he didn’t come after me. Some part of me kind of thinks he wanted me to get away. He could have killed me at any time. He could have tied me up. But he didn’t. So I just got away.”
“And how did you get from there to here?” Jared asked.
“I walked. I got a ride once from a trucker. He was nice, but he wanted me to pray with him. He brought me most of the way. I snuck into town here once it was dark. I didn’t want anyone from school seeing me. Not the police or anybody else. I came here, and I saw that guy creeping around out front.”
“He’s harmless. I think,” his mom said.
“Once you left with the guy, I saw my chance. I hoped Jared was home, so I went to the back door and knocked.”
“And there you were,” Jared said.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Jenna sat back.
She felt a terrible and profound sadness. This girl—and at age fifteen she was still very much a girl—had been through so much and lost so much. And somehow she’d survived it all.
And the girl loved her son. Jenna could see that. As much as two fifteen-year-olds could be in love, they were. And maybe someone like Natalie, someone who had seen so much of life so fast, understood the value and the meaning of love better than anybody.
Jenna wanted to protect them both, to wrap them both up and hide them away.
But Jenna couldn’t hide from what Natalie had just revealed: William Rose and Henry Allen argued before Henry Allen’s death. And the men mentioned Ursula and Bobby.
“You know, they think your dad might have killed my friend Celia.”
“Mom—”
Jenna held up her hand, asking for silence from Jared. Jenna wondered if the girl knew anything about it. “I’m not sure they have any hard evidence, but they want to talk to him because he’s been involved with some other things.”
“I know,” Natalie said. “Like that woman they found. The body in the woods.”
“Holly Crenshaw.”
“Dad always had girlfriends. Younger girls usually. I don’t know if he was involved with this Holly Crenshaw lady. He didn’t tell me much of what he did. But my mom always told me he had a perverted streak, that he liked to hurt women. I guess both my parents sound like real winners, don’t they? But I don’t know anything about your friend, Mrs. Barton.”
“Jenna.”
“Jenna. I don’t know your friend. I never saw her, and I never heard my dad mention her. But I didn’t know everything he did or everyone he talked to. I knew very little about him. He wasn’t always a big part of my life. My parents were off and on. And Dad just kind of came around when it suited him. When he wanted or needed something. Mom had a hard time saying no to him when he did show up. She couldn’t turn him away. I guess I couldn’t either.”
Jenna tried to focus. She had so many things she wanted to ask the girl, so much she wanted to know but couldn’t push. She remembered that kiss Jared had witnessed, the one that prompted him to throw a rock through their window. Jenna wanted to know exactly how much the girl had suffered at the hands of her father, but that was all too much and too soon. She might never know what went on between the two of them. And maybe that wasn’t what Natalie needed from her.
She looked at the clock. It was nearing midnight. She felt newly tired from the long day, wrung out and empty.
But the day wasn’t finished. Not close.
“It’s time we called the police and let them know you’re here,” she said.
“Mom, no.” Jared was up out of his seat so fast he sent it tumbling backward to clatter against the floor. He moved next to Natalie, placing his hand on her shoulder as though protecting her from attack. “You can’t do that. Not now. It’s so late.”
“Jared, the police need to know.”
“And they can’t wait until morning?” he asked, his face indignant.
“No, they can’t. They’re the police. And Natalie is involved in a crime. She’s a witness. She knows where her dad was last. The man’s dangerous, Jared. What if what she tells the police prevents him from hurting someone else?”
Her words brought him up short. He stood frozen in place, his hand still resting on Natalie’s shoulder.
Natalie looked up. “She’s right, Jared. The whole time I was coming here, I knew I was going to have to face this. I’ve been preparing for it.” She made a sound like a short, bitter laugh. “I guess I’ve known my whole life I might have to testify against my dad. It was always going to come to this.”
“Are you ready now?” Jenna asked. “Do you want to eat something else?”
“I’m good. I’m tired, but I’m good.”
“You’ll like Detective Poole,” Jenna said. “She’s very understanding.”
“As understanding as the two of you?” Natalie asked.
“She’s pretty good. But she might not heat up leftovers for you.” Jenna reached for her phone and dialed.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
It was nearly four in the morning by the time Detective Poole finished with Natalie. The detective conducted most of her questioning in the kitchen, after Jenna brewed a pot of coffee and she and Jared retreated to the living room to give them space. Jenna turned the TV on, and the two of them channel-surfed, breezing past shows about dolphins and biplanes and priceless junk people found in their attics. They settled on a soccer match, the endless bouncing of the ball from one side of the green grass pitch to the other soothing their minds.
Jenna saw the tension and sadness on Jared’s face, even as
her own eyelids grew heavier. She tried to say something to soothe him, something that would make the whole thing easier, but the right words didn’t come.
She dozed off at some point. She came awake with Naomi Poole standing over her, the detective’s large glasses pushed up on top of her head and resting in the cottony billows of her hair. Jenna looked over and saw that Jared was gone. The TV still played, only it showed an infomercial for a chicken roaster.
“He’s in the kitchen with Natalie,” Naomi said. “They’re having a moment.”
“Are you finished?” Jenna asked, stretching.
Naomi took a seat in the spot on the couch Jared had vacated. “For now. I’ve already called in her father’s last known location. At least as close as we could get based on Natalie’s description. She’s young. She doesn’t know the highways and towns the way an experienced driver would. She didn’t even catch the name of the place.”
“She’s not from around here.”
“Right. Anyway, she was very helpful. And she’s quite strong, considering everything she’s been through.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
Naomi spoke in a lower voice. “It’s too early to tell about any physical or sexual abuse. Psychological abuse, yes. The girl’s been pretty close to a prisoner. But it actually seems like her father wanted to keep her from harm. In a twisted kind of way.”
“That’s a relief. I guess.”
“It’s a hard one to unravel. He let the girl go to school. She was able to go out other times. He didn’t have to take her away from here and go on the road with her. He could have . . . he could have been done with her.”
“I thought of that. He seemed to want to have her around.”
Naomi nodded. “I hate to use this word, since it seems like a perversion of the word and the idea, but maybe he really did love her. Maybe he really felt something for the girl.”
Jenna found the remote and turned the TV off. The more it ran, showing nonsense, the more her brain cells died. “What about that other stuff she said? The stuff about Ursula and Bobby?”
Naomi raised her eyebrows. “We’ll certainly be looking into that. Very soon.”
“What else happens now?”
“I send all this information to the state police, the State Bureau of Investigation, and the FBI. They share it along their networks and with the media. We hope somebody sees him. He’s getting tired and desperate, according to Natalie. That’s mostly to our advantage.”
“She said she thought he might have wanted her to get away. Do you think that’s true?”
“My experience is guys like this don’t give up their toys so easily. He was probably just exhausted and she took advantage of it.”
Jenna rubbed her eyes. Sleeping in the chair gave her a crick in her neck. “What happens to Natalie? She’s welcome to stay here as long as she wants.”
Naomi was shaking her head. “I’m going to have to call Child Protective Services. She’s only fifteen, and they need to open a file on her and get her examined by a doctor and a shrink. They’re going to want to give her a full workup. As they should.”
“And then?”
“She’s going to go into the foster system temporarily, Jenna. They’ll try to locate a family member, but from what Natalie says, there aren’t any. They’ll find her a place to stay.”
Jenna sat up straighter, her neck pain forgotten. “Let her stay here. We’ve got room. We care about her.”
“It doesn’t work that way. I wish it did, but there’s a whole process in place.”
“Goddammit.”
Jenna placed her head in her hands. She wished she could remain in that position long enough—not looking, not seeing—that the problems around her would be resolved in some favorable and benevolent manner. But she knew they wouldn’t be. She wasn’t a little kid who could play hide-and-seek until somebody else—somebody older and more capable—shouted the all-clear.
It was her life. The swirl around her belonged to her.
“I don’t want to let this girl go, Naomi.” She kept shaking her head and spoke through hands still cupped over her face. “I had a couple of chances with her. Once when she was here and again when Jared hinted at some problems. And then I saw her, Naomi. She came to me in the parking lot at work. Why didn’t I just grab her by the arm and not let her go?”
“Because you can’t just do that to somebody else’s kid,” Naomi said. “And I don’t have a degree in psychology, but you can’t save every girl in the world just because your best friend disappeared and you hold yourself responsible.”
Jenna took her hands away from her face. She studied the odd little woman on her couch. “Do you charge for this therapy?”
“Your tax dollars at work.” She checked her watch. “If she goes into the system locally, they’ll keep her in the area. You can both stay in touch with her no matter where she goes.”
“But if she goes back to Nebraska to live with relatives, I’m going to have a teenager with a shattered heart.”
“I think you already do.” Naomi stood up. She smoothed her knit pants around her thighs. “I’m going to call them. It’s Saturday now, so they’ll be moving slower. It will give the kids a little time to say good-bye.”
“Good.”
“I don’t want to leave her here without protection, so I’m going to stay until they show up. Unless you want me to take her to the station with me.”
“No, I wouldn’t want that.” Jenna shivered. “But please, some extra protection would be nice. If that maniac is out there . . .”
“I’ll be here. And there will be extra patrols.” Naomi was starting to look even more tired. “I forgot to tell you. Benjamin Ludlow is finally sticking to one story. He’s saying he didn’t just find the earring the day he tried to sell it at the pawnshop. He said he’s been carrying it around for almost two months. Almost as long as Celia’s been gone.”
“What does that mean?”
“He says he was out looking for cans, like he said before, but he saw a man throw the earring into the field where Ludlow found it. A young man, but he couldn’t give much of a description. He says it was dark.”
Jenna waited for Naomi to add something, and when she didn’t, Jenna asked, “Does that help us?”
“A young man. Who knows? But no description and an unreliable witness.” Naomi shrugged. “I’ll let you know what I hear.”
“I guess it’s not William Rose.”
“Probably not. If Ludlow is telling the truth.”
Then Jenna asked, “This whole thing with William Rose, though. If he really hurt Celia . . . and Ian hired him. Ian put him onto her.”
“He may have.”
“Was Ian really forthright with the police about it?” Jenna asked. Her mouth felt dry, her chest tight. “I know you’ll just tell me I can’t know, but I have to ask. Was he honest with you?”
“In my opinion,” she said, “he was. He directed us to Henry Allen right after Celia disappeared. We didn’t find anything. We don’t know if William Rose was in town then. As far as we can tell, he came and went a lot. We’re still piecing together his movements at that time. Remember, Natalie started school here in Hawks Mill just about a month ago. When Henry Allen turned up dead, we looked again. William Rose’s name came up, of course, but he’d already committed that murder. He was long gone.”
“Thanks.” But Jenna didn’t feel much better. She felt sick.
“Ian’s got a lot to live with, I’m sure.”
“Thanks, Naomi. By the way, I met someone tonight. Domino fifty-five.”
“The Internet troll? He came here?”
“The man himself,” Jenna said. “He showed up claiming to have a photograph of Celia. Said she’s staying up in northern Indiana where her grandparents used to have a place.” Jenna read the interest on the detectiv
e’s face. “I saw the photos. They’re not of Celia. Just a woman with brown hair. He’s a lonely old crackpot who likes to hang out on message boards and try to solve crimes.”
“He should get a cat.”
• • •
Jenna made a lot of noise as she went out to the kitchen. She walked with a heavy tread and cleared her throat once or twice.
But she found the two kids sitting side by side and holding hands. They both looked as though they’d been crying, and they both wiped at their eyes when she came to the doorway. She felt as though she was intruding, so she looked down at her feet and waited while they collected themselves.
“I think we’re all tired,” Jenna said. “It might make sense if we slept. I don’t know if I’ll be able to, but I might try.”
“I am tired,” Natalie said. “I haven’t been sleeping much.”
“Did Detective Poole explain everything to you?” Jenna asked.
“She did,” Natalie said. “It’s about what I expected.”
“You can stay here as long—until—”
“Until they take me away,” Natalie said. “I appreciate that. Thanks.”
“You’re safe here,” Jenna said. “Detective Poole is going to sit right in the living room, and there are extra patrols in the neighborhood.”
“Good,” Jared said.
Jenna looked at the two of them. They looked perfect together. Battered and torn but perfect. She’d do anything for either one of them.
“I’m going to my room,” she said. “I’m sure you guys can—well, there’s a futon in the spare room, Natalie, but . . . whatever.”
She turned and went to bed.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO