Blood Sisters

by Melody Carlson

  “Do you think Ellen is all right?”

  Judith shrugged. “Probably shaken up. Although she’s pretty good at convincing herself that nothing has happened.”

  “Poor Ellen.”

  At the moment, Judith felt little if any sympathy for Jasmine’s mother. She could hardly believe how she’d allowed herself to grow so close to her in the past few days. And now she no longer cared whether she ever saw the woman again or not. “But what about Pearl?” she asked.

  Aunt Lenore’s brow wrinkled.

  “I mean, do you think she’s still alive?”

  “I just don’t know, dear.” The old woman sadly shook her head. “I just don’t know.”

  “Well, I mean to find out.” Judith stood. “I’ve asked Jack to come over here and check on you while I’m gone. First I’m going to go out to the trailer where Jasmine killed herself—I mean, if she killed herself. I’m still not absolutely certain. And after that, well, I’m not even sure what. But I’ll let you know.”

  “Good for you, Judith. Do everything you can. If that child is alive, we need to find her. I’ll be praying for you, dear.”

  Judith bypassed the downtown area, taking the quickest route to the trailer. She figured Main Street might be a traffic snarl anyway, what with all the media people and protesters, and she had no intention of being slowed or possibly sidetracked from this mission. Although, she didn’t know for sure what her mission was, or if anything she might do could make a difference. Perhaps it was simply her own need to stand and look upon the last place where Jasmine had been alive. She parked her car outside the gate and looked around. Hal had already mentioned that they had kept the guard dogs at the trailer site shortly after Jasmine’s death, but then had moved them back to the lake after things settled down. However, the No Trespassing sign was still posted. But ignoring the sign, she climbed over the fence and walked right in. Let Hal or anyone else try to stop her now! She walked slowly up the rutted gravel road toward the seedy-looking trailer. The rusted metal siding had once been aqua and white, but now was faded and old.

  She climbed the rickety wooden steps and tried the front door. Naturally, it was locked, and she stood there for a long moment, fists clenched, staring at the warped door with peeling paint as a fresh surge of anger filled her like the culmination of all the waste and devastation that a generation or more of lies and hatred and bigotry had brought. How many people had been hurt? How many lives ruined? Lost?

  “Why?” she shrieked as she lifted her foot in the air and then punch-kicked the door with a strength she’d never known she possessed. To her utter amazement, the door burst open. With heart pounding, she walked into the front room of the trailer and stared. She had expected to find filth and squalor, and felt shocked and slightly disappointed to see a rather orderly little habitat. Shabby perhaps, but neat. She took in a sharp breath, the mildew-tainted air was stale and heavy. Then she glanced around to take in a sagging brown couch pushed up against the wall with an end table and lamp on one side. On the table, a cup and saucer, nothing fancy, just a plain white cup with blue cornflowers on it.

  She picked up the empty cup and looked at it. Had Jasmine sat here and drank a cup of tea or coffee perhaps? And why did that seem so strange? She set down the cup and looked around the room. The small kitchen was to her left. And, although it was rundown and shabby, the counter-tops were clean. She looked in the cupboards, but other than a few old-looking staples and an assortment of mismatched dishes, they were mostly empty. The refrigerator was empty. She turned and went to the other end of the trailer and looked into the bedroom. Other than a couple of neatly folded blankets in the corner, this room was also empty. She looked into the tiny bathroom and saw that it too contained nothing out of the ordinary, and other than a couple towels and soap, it too was mostly empty. She went through closets and discovered a heavy jacket with empty pockets, a pair of old rubber boots, and a few hangers.

  Jasmine’s time spent here had been under some pretty sparse living conditions. But perhaps this place, off by itself, had somehow felt like a haven to her. Perhaps it was a place where she could think undisturbed. Judith paused to listen to the birds singing outside. This trailer did seem to have a quiet air about it. And she could almost imagine Jasmine sitting there on the old brown couch, thinking, perhaps even praying, and drinking her tea. Perhaps she’d been trying to think of a way to escape her prison, to rescue her child.

  Judith turned and went outside, breathing deeply of the fresh air. She walked toward the back of the property. Wasn’t there supposed to be a pond back here somewhere? She pushed her way through some overgrown brush until she finally caught sight of the reflection of water. The pond, almost completely surrounded by blackberry bushes, also had a number of cattails and lily pads growing there, and was actually rather pretty in a wild, unkempt sort of way. She noticed a log laying across a slightly cleared out area near the water’s edge. It looked the perfect bench for sitting and thinking. And so she sat down on the log and gazed out across the green-tinged water, and began to think. What was going on that day, Jasmine? she asked herself. What was it that made you give up on life? Or did you?

  “Hey!” called out a gruff but young sounding voice. “What’re you doing there?”

  She looked up to see a boy’s face peering at her from behind the blackberry bushes. The same boy she’d met when she’d first come to Cedar Crest.

  “Hi,” she called in what she hoped was a friendly tone. “I’m just sitting here thinking about my friend Jasmine. Do you remember her?”

  He pushed his way through the bushes, cursing as he snagged himself on thorns. “Of course, I remember her. She was my friend too.”

  Judith stood and extended her hand. “I’m glad you were a friend to her. She needed a friend. My name is Judith. Jas mine and I grew up together as kids, but then we lost touch.”

  He shook her hand. “Yeah, well, I’m Matt.”

  “Nice to meet you, Matt.”

  “So what’re you doing here then?” he asked again, as if he owned the place.

  “Just thinking, I guess. Trying to figure out why she gave up on her life.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at his grubby tennis shoes. The abrupt gesture seemed to suggest something, and Judith studied him carefully. She remembered the last time they’d spoken, and he had seemed to be frightened.

  “Do you know Jasmine’s dad?” she asked.

  He shrugged, then kicked a pebble with the toe of his shoe. “Yeah, sure, everybody knows Mr. Morrison.”

  “Did you know that he’s been arrested?”

  The boy looked up. “You kidding me?”

  “No, it’s the truth. A bunch of people from the lake have been arrested. Did you know that some of those people were involved in some pretty bad things—some illegal things? And now they’re getting into trouble for it.”

  He looked at her skeptically. “Are you making this up?”

  She shook her head. “It’s the truth.” She looked back over the pond. “And I know that something was terribly wrong with Jasmine—something between her and her father. And I think he may have hurt her—a lot.”

  “Yeah.” Matt’s eyes narrowed as he bent down and picked up a rock then chucked it into the center of the pond. “Her father was a real jerk.”

  “Did you spend much time talking to Jasmine?” Judith watched as the circular ripples from the tossed rock grew bigger and wider, finally reaching the muddy edge of the pond.

  “Sometimes.” He turned and looked at Judith. “Jasmine was real good at listening—not like most grown-ups.”

  She nodded. “Well, I’ll bet she was glad to have you for her friend.”

  “Yeah. Maybe so.” Then he pressed his lips together and shook his head. “But I wasn’t a very good friend.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t protect her.. .”

  “Protect her?”

  He scowled. “From
him.”

  “Her father?”

  He nodded then shoved his hands back into his pockets and looked over his shoulder, almost as if getting ready to leave.

  “Were you around that day when she died?” asked Judith quickly, not wanting to lose this opportunity to talk.

  He nodded again, but this time his chin quivered slightly.

  “Did you see it?”

  Now he shook his head vigorously. “No. But I heard it.”

  “The gunshot?”

  He nodded, slowly this time.

  “Who do you think shot that gun, Matt?”

  He looked up now, directly into her eyes. “I know that Jasmine shot the gun, but it was her daddy’s fault.”

  Without any show of emotion, Judith just slowly nodded now, as if this bit of news were no surprise to her. And perhaps it wasn’t. “But if you didn’t see it, how can you be so sure?”

  “Because he’d been here earlier, then left. But first he said mean, ugly things to her. And he made her cry. And then she just sat out here all afternoon and just cried and cried and cried. I tried to talk with her, but she couldn’t talk no more. Not even to me. All she could do was just cry. And I know it’s ’cause of what he told her.”

  “What did he tell her, Matt? Did you hear?”

  “Yeah, I heard it all right. He called her these really mean, nasty names, and he told her that she better start acting right. Then he told her that her mongrel was dead. I don’t know what he meant by that. But that’s what got her all upset. She started hitting him and asking him if he was telling her the truth. And he told her that God didn’t want her mongrel baby alive no more and that she was dead. That’s when Jasmine just started crying and crying. And then Mr. Morrison got in his truck and left.”

  Judith felt tears in her eyes again. “Thank you for telling me this, Matt. Now I think I finally understand things better. Do you think you could tell this story again? I promise that no one will hurt you if you do.”

  He shrugged, but she could see the fear on his face. “I dunno. My dad might get mad.”

  She nodded. “Well, I understand. But maybe we could have someone talk to your dad and explain some things to him that would help him to see why you need to tell your story. You said you were Jasmine’s friend. I’m sure she’d be glad to have you tell the truth for her.”

  He nodded, his chin firm. “Well, I’ll think about it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Uh,” he looked up at her curiously, “what’s a mongrel baby anyway?”

  “There’s no such thing, Matt. That was just Mr. Morrison being incredibly stupid and mean. Did you know that grown-ups can be dumber than kids sometimes?”

  “Yeah. I knew that.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Well, I better get back.”

  “Thanks again, Matt.”

  He took off the way he’d come, grumbling as he made his way through the brushy briars again. Judith sat back down on the log and allowed the tears to flow once more. This time for Jasmine and little Pearl and Jasmine’s husband. What a senseless and tragic waste, but perhaps they were together now. And yet it seemed so unfair.

  Dear God, why? she asked. Why did this happen? How can anything good come from such great loss?

  Suddenly, she remembered how she had judged Jasmine so harshly, questioning why her friend had chosen to take her own life, why she had given up so easily, so completely. Judith had compared her own situation to Jasmine’s, thinking how she’d lost a husband and child, and how her situation had been so much more hopeless than Jasmine’s—as if she’d had an excuse to give up. And yet, even at that grim moment, it had been Jasmine’s death and circumstances that had brought Judith back to life. And eventually to God.

  And yet, now, to arrive here—this hopeless, desolate place. To fully understand now how Jasmine’s losses and grief had truly been so much greater than her own. So much worse. Far, far worse. There was simply no comparison. For Jasmine’s very life had been stolen from her by the hand of her own father. A man ruled by hatred—the father of lies. It was just too much to bear. Judith could hardly stand it herself. It’s as if all hope had been, by one foul breath, extinguished from her.

  Oh, God, she prayed, please, help me. Help me to survive this thing. Help me to trust you in spite of such evil.

  And then, she heard a rustling noise—someone walking through the nearby brush again, not from Matt’s house this time, but from the direction of the driveway. She hunkered down and listened in silence, holding her breath in fear as the sound of heavy steps grew closer, coming directly toward her. Hank had said that Hal and Burt were both securely locked up. But were they?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  “JUDITH?” CALLED A MAN’S voice. Neither Hal’s nor Burt’s; it sounded almost like Adam Ford.

  She stood up and yelled hopefully, “Adam?”

  In the same instant, he appeared, pushing the branches aside to make an opening in the brush. He stepped through and smiled. “Hey, I found you!”

  She rushed at him, throwing her arms around him in relief. “Oh, Adam, I’m so thankful it’s you! I was scared witless that it was someone else—” Then, aware that she was gushing, she pulled herself away from him. She looked up, still amazed that he was here, actually standing before her. “You made it out! You’re alive!”

  He laughed. “Of course I’m alive.”

  She felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I know, I know...I probably sound slightly hysterical. It’s just that I didn’t know if.. .well, you know.. .sometimes...”

  His face grew serious. “You mean, sometimes people die.”

  She nodded, aware now that she still had traces of tears on her face. She brushed the wetness off with her hands, then forced a nervous smile. “I’m just so relieved you’re okay. Does Jack know?”

  “Yes. He’s the one who told me you came out here to look around the place. Find anything interesting?”

  “Oh, Adam!” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “I don’t even know where to begin. It’s just too horrible— awful—unbelievable!”

  “Okay, just slow down. Take it one step at a time.” He helped her to sit back down on the log. “Take a deep breath and relax. There’s no hurry. Just start at the beginning.”

  She paused to focus her thoughts. “Did you ever have a chance to look through Jasmine’s box?”

  He nodded. “Just barely, but I haven’t been able to do much since then. Although I did put a tracer on the name of the town on the photo envelope, and for the Phillips family. It didn’t take long to find out who they were. Pretty tragic. Jasmine’s husband, Dr. Steven Phillips, was a surgeon. He was killed, reportedly a gang-related shooting downtown, but the ballistics report revealed the bullet was a 30-30, probably from a rifle in other words, not your typical gang-banger type of firearm—”

  “Burt carries a hunting rifle in the back of his car.” Judith shuddered. “For emergencies, he says.”

  “Yes, I know. We’ve already confiscated the weapon. It uses the same caliber bullets, which isn’t all that uncommon for a rifle. We’ll run further tests though.”

  “Do you think he did it?”

  “Possibly. But even if he didn’t, we won’t rule out the possibility that it might’ve been one of his buddies.”

  “Suddenly, this whole thing seems so unreal to me. I mean, there I was, just staying at their house, and of course, I was suspicious about Burt and everything but to really think that Burt Morrison might be an actual cold-blooded murderer—his own daughter’s husband.” She bit her lip. “It’s too much to take in.”

  “With this new evidence, for what appears to be a definite hate crime, we’re now able to demand an autopsy of that Paxton boy who died in the car wreck back in the late seventies.”

  “James.”

  “Yes. Eli has already signed the necessary papers.”

  “Eli?” She looked at Adam. “Is Eli okay?”

  “Yes, all three are being released today. The governor was flow
n out this morning to make a public apology. The media is having a heyday with this whole thing.” He chuckled. “As it turns out, that’s just how Eli and his sons had planned it. He’s one smart cookie. And a good man too.”

  “Yes. He’s pretty amazing.” She took a deep breath. “Did you see the photos of Jasmine’s little girl, Pearl?”

  “Yes. And I noticed the letter, but about that same time I had to take care of something a little more urgent, and since I already had someone checking on the family, I figured it could wait.”

  “It sounds like Pearl may be dead.” She stared out at the pond.

  Adam slammed a fist onto his knee and cursed. “How do you know?”

  “I think it might’ve been Burt. Or if not him, perhaps one of his good ol’ boys. The kid next door, Matt, witnessed a pretty incriminating conversation with Burt and Jasmine— just before Jasmine shot herself.”

  “So now you actually believe she killed herself?”

  She nodded sadly. “Yes, I suppose she did pull the trigger. But I’m certain her father pulled the strings.”

  “Well, if it’s any consolation, you can be pretty certain that Burt Morrison will never be free to walk the streets of Cedar Crest again.”

  She shook her head. “He was never free, Adam. He lived in a prison of his own design. A prison built with hatred and lies and racism.”

  “Do you feel sorry for him, Judith?”

  She turned and stared at him. “No! Not at all! Right now, my biggest fear is that I might actually turn into the same sort of hateful person myself, only different I suppose. Because the truth is, I hate Burt Morrison so much that I can almost feel it seeping through my pores right this moment. In fact, I’m really thankful I don’t own or even know how to use a gun. And I’m thankful he’s locked up. Because I’ve never felt such strong, vengeful feelings in my entire life. Not even when I lost Jonathan or Peter. And I think hearing that news about Pearl today was just about the last straw for me.” Her stomach knotted as she felt tears burn in her eyes again. “Burt Morrison is an absolute monster!”

  He nodded. “I can understand how you feel about him. But I’m curious, how do you feel about Ellen Morrison right now?”