Satan’s Lambs

by Lynn Hightower

“I’m sorry about the couch. I was trying to move it downstairs and it got stuck. Then I thought, well, no way Jeff can sneak up through the basement with this in the way.”

  “Why were you moving it downstairs?”

  “So he couldn’t hide behind it in the living room.”

  Mendez opened one eye. “What bothers me the most, Lena, is that you make sense to me.”

  Lena threw a washrag at him. “Scrub your own back.” She gathered up his clothes and left. Something in his back pants pocket clinked. Lena stuck a finger in the pocket to see what it was.

  Mendez wasn’t long in the bath. He stood in the wedge of light from the bathroom, then turned off the switch.

  “Lena?” he said softly.

  “In bed.”

  His footsteps were soft on the carpet. He pulled back the covers and eased into bed.

  Lena held both his hands and raised his arms over his head.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You’ll see. Go on, grab hold of the bed frame.” Lena eased her body on top of his. “Feel good?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Now close your eyes.” She slid her hands under the pillow, biting her lip at the telltale chink of metal. Mendez was tired, his reaction time slow, and even fumbling in the dark, Lena was able to snap the handcuffs in place.

  He jerked his hands, hard, shaking the back of the bed.

  “Too late, Mendez, I got you.”

  “Lena. What are you doing?”

  “Interrogating you. Did you and Detective Casey have dinner together in Louisville?”

  Mendez was quiet for a moment, and then he began to laugh.

  “I don’t know what you think is funny. Answer my question, Mendez.”

  “I think I’m flattered. And yes, we had dinner together.”

  There was an awkward silence.

  “I guess you just went out for a quick sandwich. Something fast and easy—not to interfere with the work.”

  “She took me to Tattitores. Her favorite Italian restaurant.”

  “I see.”

  “Lena.” His voice deepened. “Anita Casey is a good cop and an attractive woman. But I only have eyes for you.”

  “Mendez, that’s sweet. Not that I care, you understand.”

  “I understand. Will you let me go now?”

  “You sure you want me to? The thing is, Mendez”—Lena snuggled closer—“now I’ve got you this way, it’s like … it’s like having a big dessert all to myself, with nobody asking for bites.”

  “You are a deeply disturbed woman.”

  “Okay, fine, I’ll go get the key.”

  He caught her legs between his. “Not just yet.”

  37

  The phone rang, and Lena snuggled deeper under the covers. Mendez reached over her head and picked up the receiver.

  “Mendez.” He was quiet a moment. “She’s here.”

  Lena raised up on one elbow and took the phone. “Yes?”

  “Lena?” The voice on the line was vaguely familiar. “This is Dr. Criswold. Delores Criswold, from Rolling Ridge.”

  “Yeah, sure. How are you?”

  “I’m sorry, did I wake you? I figured you’d be up after ten.”

  “I had a late night.”

  “Yes.” Dr. Criswold sounded knowing, and Lena glanced at Mendez. “Lena, when you talked to Melody yesterday, did she seem odd in any way? Particularly agitated? I know that’s difficult to judge, considering the nature of your conversation, but—”

  “What’s up?”

  “She’s gone. She left last night after dinner.”

  “At dusk?”

  Yes. And she hasn’t come back or called in. This doesn’t feel right and I’m very worried about her. Did she say anything to you? About going anywhere?”

  “What is it?” Mendez asked.

  Lena covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “Melody Hayes. She’s disappeared.” Lena rolled onto her back. “Dr. Criswold, Melody seemed about right for what we were discussing. Didn’t seem like she was going over the edge. Steady, under the circumstances.”

  Delores Criswold sighed. “I thought so, too.”

  “Has she ever taken off like this?”

  “Not for a while now.”

  “You think something’s happened to her?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve got people out looking. They’re gearing up right now.”

  “Can I help?”

  “No point, Lena. The people looking are all locals. You don’t know the area.”

  “One thing maybe I should mention. I guess you know as much about Jeff Hayes as I do. You know about the seashell? She said he’d sent her one. She dug it up and showed me.”

  “I know.” Delores Criswold said. “She has them buried all over the grounds.”

  Lena closed her eyes. “Call me if I can help.”

  Gatewood Center was a down-at-the-heels shopping area, and parking was plentiful. Lena found a space near the front of the lot.

  It had been a hard call, deciding whether or not to go back to Nashville and look for Melody Hayes. But Dr. Criswold was right, Lena didn’t know the area. And the bottom line was that Melody Hayes had already given her the list of names. Charlie was only four years old. And Melody had said to hurry.

  Lena walked across the crumbling asphalt. The sun was high, almost hot, early enough in the year to be considered friendly. Women were shopping in shorts. The doors of the grocery swung open and closed; nobody else was busy.

  Benita’s Shoppe of Beauty was dark and narrow and dirty, and it sat beside Ernie’s Barber Shop. The glassed-in window was filled with curling yellow posters of ancient hairstyles. It was the only salon regularly open on Sunday. Lena had first gone in one Sunday afternoon several years ago, desperate after a very bad perm. It had been a tremendous risk, and she had stood outside the shop for a long time, watching the clientele. Men, women, well-heeled and rough-around-the-edges—all with beautiful hair.

  The inside of the shop smelled like chemicals and hairspray. Business was slow. Only one man under the hairdryer, and a woman getting her hair frosted. A tiny Mexican woman, thick black hair layered back, looked up from the magazine she was reading.

  “Lena! How you do?”

  “Good, Benita. I’m good.”

  Benita offered an open pack of Lay’s Sour Cream and Onion Potato Chips. “Here, you want one?”

  Lena took a chip. “Thanks for working me in this morning.”

  “We not busy.” Benita dusted crumbs off her hands. “Sit down, sit down.”

  Lena sat in a chair in front of a spotted mirror. Benita draped a plastic smock over Lena’s shoulders and tied it behind her neck.

  “Besides, I tell you before, I always got time for you.” She glanced at the woman in the other chair and pointed to Lena. “She the one Annie was telling you about. You got a problem, you go to her.”

  The woman looked at Lena curiously. Annie, a tall, thin woman with short red hair, smiled at Lena as she pulled the woman’s hair through holes in a heavy plastic cap.

  “Hi, Lena.”

  “Hi, Annie. How’s your little girl?”

  “Just learned to ride her bike.”

  Benita smiled. “And Annie is going broke on Band-Aids.”

  “You should get her a helmet and knee pads,” said the woman in the plastic cap.

  The man under the dryer made a rude noise. “Just let the poor kid ride her bike.”

  Benita turned the chair around and tilted it back. “What you want today, Lena?”

  “Just a trim.”

  “Want me to shampoo it?”

  “Please.”

  “Annie, hand me that conditioner. Lena, you hair getting dry. “You take some of this home. You take it home, and you use it two times a week. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “You having any trouble with it?”

  “The top part is getting in my eyes. Drives me crazy.”

  “I fix that.”

  Lena nodded. Benit
a could do anything. Benita lathered Lena’s hair, and Lena closed her eyes.

  “Lena, you got so many tangles all the time. I think you drive a convertible very fast before you come here.”

  “How’s Georgie these days?”

  “Lena, he and Manda are engaged. Married in two months.”

  “That’s great, Benita. Tell him congratulations.”

  “She such a nice girl.”

  “What does your son do?” the woman in the cap asked.

  “He major in journalism, but that not turn out,” Benita said. “He thought he wanted to be on the TV news, you know? He got the looks for it.”

  “He was on the news,” Annie said. “For a while. He interned with WBRC. He did good.”

  “Yeah, and that’s when he got all that trouble,” Benita Said, shaking her head.

  “What kind of trouble?” the man under the dryer asked. He spoke too loud, with the dryer in his ears.

  Benita rolled her eyes. “Program director was a woman, and my Georgie, he very nice-looking boy. She like him, but he has a girlfriend, Manda. And Manda sweet girl, but she not going to put up with Georgie fooling around with no old lady program director.”

  “Oh, Benita,” Annie said. “She wasn’t that old.”

  “She too old for my Georgie. And he made her very mad when he wouldn’t meet her like she wanted. After work, like, you know.” Benita shook her head. “He come to me and say, ‘Mama, what do I do, I don’t want to go.’ I say don’ go. Nothing she can do. But then, she say she going to give him bad grade for college credit. Say he have bad attitude and not work so good. Nothing we can do. So I tell Lena about this.”

  Lena smiled and closed her eyes. Benita rinsed suds out of her hair.

  “Next thing I know, she call up Georgie and say please excuse, she under personal pressures and not use such good judgment. And he get A because he did work hard while he was there. He did.”

  The woman in the cap looked at Lena. “What did you do?”

  Benita giggled. “She call this woman up. She say—your maid service not come today? Too bad, huh. That plumber you call not show up? Tough luck. And I hear your hairdresser, she not remember you had appointment. That too bad. Life can get very inconvenient.”

  “You forgot the mechanic,” said Annie.

  Benita giggled again. “Yeah, him too.”

  “I had nothing to do with that,” Lena said.

  “It was coincidence, sure,” Benita said. “But this lady, she thought it was part of the parcel. She not so nice on the phone, but after about ten days of this … this inconvenient life … she begging to give Georgie A plus. Myself, I would have accepted a B. But Lena, she said Georgie do good work, and deserve to be taken care of.” Benita wrapped a towel around Lena’s hair and patted it dry. “Lena, you do this when you dry. I can tell you now, you stop scramble that towel in your hair when it is wet. You have nice hair, you take care of it.”

  Benita pulled a black comb from the pocket of her smock, and worked the tangles out of Lena’s hair.

  The haircut was unhurried. Benita turned Lena’s head one way, then another. Annie answered the phone when it rang, which wasn’t often, and the man under the dryer was unrolled and fluffed, and sent home happy.

  Benita applied a round wooden brush to Lena’s hair, and pointed the hand dryer.

  “See how much nicer this look with conditioner on it?”

  Lena nodded.

  “Twice a week,” Benita said. “Come back in five weeks for a trim and we see. Healthy, shiny hair.” Benita untied the plastic cape from behind Lena’s neck. “I be right back. Conditioner in the storeroom.”

  Lena folded the cape and set it on the counter. She followed Benita into the back room.

  It was more a cubbyhole than a room, with black metal shelves, a small refrigerator, a sink, and a microwave oven. Benita glanced over her shoulder.

  “You are two weeks early for this cut.”

  “I am not. You say to come in every five weeks.”

  “Yeah, but you too lazy to get in here.”

  Lena grinned and leaned against the wall. “I need a favor. A big favor.”

  Benita straightened and groaned. “Got to do something about this back.” She twisted a bottle of conditioner in her hands. “What you need me to do?”

  “Someone I know has a little boy named Charlie. He’s been kidnapped. He’s four years old.”

  “Ah, no! Somebody took him?”

  “Yes.”

  “But what can I do?”

  “Do you know anybody who does hair in Nash?”

  “Nash, Kentucky? He get kidnapped by a hairdresser?”

  “No. But do you know anybody that does hair around there? LaRue County, near Ray Lake.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I have a list of names. Of people who live there. Sometime in the next couple of weeks there’s going to be a … gathering. I think some of the women on this list, and maybe some of the men, are going to be spiffing up. And that means they’re going to get their hair done.” Lena leaned against the wall. “I need to know when it comes up. Say three of them call in and say they have to have an appointment before Friday night. How Saturday, or the next Monday, will be too late. All the appointments will cluster, you know? And then drop off.”

  “Ah, like before a home basketball game?”

  “Can you do that? Can you find out?”

  Benita frowned. “How will this help the little boy?”

  “You’ll have to trust me on it. Keep it quiet as you can, but find out. It’s important, Benita. It could make the difference in whether or not I find him. It could save his life.”

  She took a breath. “Do you think you know who has him?”

  “I think so.” Lena folded her arms. “Will you do this for me? It’s more important than I can say.”

  “You know, I am thinking of Georgie when he was so little. How long has the boy been gone?”

  “Too long. His mama wants him back.”

  Benita nodded. “I need to call Alexander. He will know the right people. He knows everyone.”

  “Every minute counts, Benita.”

  She nodded, eyes dark and knowing.

  38

  Nashville was ten degrees warmer than Kentucky, and Lena took her sweater off. Ted Moberly stood beside a navy blue Jeep, Sally leashed and sitting quietly at his side. He leaned against the driver’s side of the Jeep and lit a pipe, and made no move to get in on the conversation between Delores Criswold and the sheriff.

  Dr. Criswold had her hands in her pockets and her shoulders jutted forward. The sheriff was looking down at her, his face red, his conversation doled out in slow, measured tones. Lena tossed her sweater into the front seat of the Cutlass and headed for Ted Moberly.

  She held a hand out for him to shake, but was knocked backward by Sally, who demanded first greeting. Lena scratched Sally’s ears and patted the smooth black head.

  “Hey, girl. Hey, Sally.”

  “Sally, behave.” Ted reached forward and shook Lena’s hand. “How you been?”

  “Craving your chili every time I get hungry.”

  It was the right thing to say. Ted smiled. He took out a lighter and went to work on the pipe again.

  “What’s up?” Lena inclined her head toward the sheriff.

  Ted shrugged. “The usual. They got no faith in Sally here, and they don’t understand how she works. They better make up their minds. They’ve had two days to find this girl, and haven’t seen a thing. Time to let Sally have a go.”

  Delores Criswold held up a hand to the sheriff, and stepped over to Lena and Ted.

  “Hello, Lena. Look, Ted. He wants to keep looking while you do.”

  Ted shook his head. “Won’t work.”

  “He says—”

  “Let me talk to him.” Moberly clamped his teeth down on the stem of his pipe. He walked forward and Lena followed. “Sheriff?”

  “Butcher.”

  “Sheriff But
cher. I’m Theodore Moberly.”

  Butcher looked at Lena.

  “My assistant,” Moberly said.

  Butcher nodded. “If that dog can really find a scent”—he shifted his weight from one foot to the other—“what’s it matter if we got other people in the woods?”

  “She’s an air-scent dog,” Moberly said. “She goes after any human scent. So she’ll track down your searchers. How many people you got out there?”

  “’Bout six.”

  Moberly grimaced. “How long you been at it?”

  “Roughly twenty-four hours.”

  “You called the air force?”

  Butcher took a deep breath. “Mr. Moberly, we can’t call the air force every time a disturbed person takes it into their head to wander off. This isn’t the first time this Hayes woman has done this.”

  Moberly smiled pleasantly. “I understand. Why don’t you let me and my dog here give it a shot?”

  “And then what? We come looking for you when you get lost.”

  Moberly stiffened, but he kept on smiling. “I’ll be sure and have a radio with me. How’s that?”

  Butcher smiled. “My people know the area. They’ll be back in around supper time. Since they’re already several miles out, why don’t we let them be for now? You and your dog can start fresh in the morning.” The sheriff gave them a stern smile. “Excuse me just a minute.”

  Sally whimpered.

  “Stay, girl,” Ted said. “Good girl.”

  Delores Criswold watched the sheriff walk away. She folded her arms and shook her head. “Can’t get him to come when I need him, and now I can’t call him off.”

  Ted Moberly took a tobacco pouch out of his jacket pocket, and scooped tobacco into the bowl of his pipe.

  “They won’t find her,” he said absently.

  Delores frowned. “Why do you say that?”

  Moberly tamped tobacco down in the bowl of the pipe. “I hope they do find her. But I think they’re too far out. Most people are found a lot closer in.”

  “But they’ve already looked—”

  Moberly shook his head. “I’ve seen grid searches, three or four hundred people trying to cover every inch of ground, go right by people. Mainly the searchers find each other. It’s just too easy for people to miss things.”

  Delores Criswold wrapped her arms around her chest. “I don’t like to think about her being out there at night in the cold. She’s so thin.”