Bone Dust White

by Karin Salvalaggio

  “I need to buy a birthday cake.”

  “Boy or girl,” chimes in Jessica, the baby of the bakers. She’s returned to her stool next to a metal table full of cupcakes. She’s got flour on her cheeks and a cone of pink icing in her hands. It comes out in a pink swirl onto one cupcake after another. Her face in a concentrated twist, she dips up and down like a well-oiled machine.

  Jared feels his cheeks redden. He knows what’s coming. “Girl.”

  “Girl,” they all sing in unison.

  “Is it for Lexxie?” asks Jessica, looking to her friends. “I didn’t know it was her birthday.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “So, it’s for someone else,” says Beth, winking at the others. “Sounds complicated.”

  “Let Jared be,” interrupts Lynn.

  Jared grows more uncomfortable. “She’s just a friend.”

  Beth looks disappointed and Jessica goes back to decorating her cupcakes.

  Lynn gestures toward what’s on offer. “Had you ordered ahead we’d have more of a choice but as it is, this is all that’s left to take away. Does she like chocolate?”

  “No idea. She’s a bit quirky. Always dressing in old-fashioned clothes.”

  Beth cocks her head to the side. “You’re not sweet on Grace Adams?”

  Jessica’s ears prick up. She messes up the cupcake she’s working on. “Did you say Grace Adams?”

  Lynn speaks in a low voice even though there are no other customers in the shop. “The cake is for Grace Adams?”

  Jared loses patience. “Yeah, is that a problem?”

  The women fall silent. Somewhere in the back a timer goes off and Jessica hurries away toward the ovens. “Don’t you dare say anything else until I get back.”

  Beth wipes her hands on a towel. “Don’t mean to pry but why are you buying a cake for Grace Adams?”

  “Look, it ain’t no big deal. I don’t know her too well but the poor girl seems a bit friendless. I thought it would be a nice gesture.”

  Lynn taps the glass. “You know what her momma was like.”

  “That’s hardly Grace’s fault.”

  Beth purses her lips. “That’s true enough, but in my experience the apple never falls far from the tree.”

  Jared wants to argue, but a part of him is remembering how Grace looked lying nearly naked out in the snow. “She’s just a sick kid.”

  Jessica pipes up. “But she is pretty, isn’t she?” She carries in a baking tray and joins the others at the counter. She looks as plump and warm as the buns she’s taken out of the oven. “Not pretty in the conventional sense though. She’s got that look about her like you see in those high-fashion magazines, and then there’s those old clothes she wears.”

  Lynn picks at a loose thread on her name tag. “Vintage is what they call it nowadays. Back when I was young we just called it hand-me-downs. I swear to God I thought I saw her wearing my momma’s old coat. You know the gray one with pale blue buttons?”

  The girls nod.

  “She was wearing it at church.”

  “Well, Grace is petite just like your momma was,” says Jessica.

  “Nothing like her mother, Leanne,” adds Beth.

  “Not a breath of Leanne in her.” Lynn looks up at Jared. “You might not remember her but Leanne was a big woman.”

  At the moment Jared can only picture the emaciated woman he’d almost stumbled over in the woods, but Lynn, Beth, and Jessica have other memories.

  Jessica cups her hands out far in front of her breasts. “She was huge.”

  Beth slaps her friend’s hands down. “Stop being crude.”

  “I was just saying.”

  Lynn lowers her voice. “You know she and Toby Larson had an affair. It upset Pamela something fierce. It’s not very Christian of me but it was nice seeing Pamela taken down a peg or two.”

  Jessica giggles. “Amen to that.”

  Beth leans in and speaks in a hushed voice. “You know, when people first heard it was Leanne that was murdered, rumors started flying. People were saying that maybe Pamela did it, but it’s not really her style. I don’t see her getting her hands dirty.”

  Lynn’s voice is cutting. “You’re right, Pamela would have paid to have someone do it for her.”

  *

  Jared parks his pickup truck in front of Grace’s apartment building. There’s a patrol car stationed outside. He waves at the officer through the open window. He and Ted Bishop went to high school together.

  “How’s it going?” asks Jared.

  Ted tilts his head in the direction of a low wall separating the parking lot from the gray snarl of traffic moving along the road. Like a tightrope walker Grace balances along the top of the wall with her arms spread wide. In her red coat, hat, and scarf she could be an exotic bird.

  Ted points at Grace. “That is one weird chick.”

  “Been here all day?”

  “Nah, just a few hours. How you holding up?”

  “Better than Colin. Any word?”

  “He’s awake and talking, thank God.” Ted slams the steering wheel with the flat of his hand. “Whoever was on dispatch should be fired. Colin had no business walking in on a domestic on his own. They still haven’t figured out who called an ambulance instead of backup.”

  “Don’t worry, they will.”

  Ted leans out the window farther. “Are you going to be here long? I’d kill for a coffee. I’ll be gone ten minutes, tops.”

  “Sure thing, but it’s your balls on the line if Macy shows up.”

  “I still need them so you’d best keep a close eye on that girl.”

  Grace skates across the icy parking lot in her snow boots, only stopping when she notices Jared’s truck. She puts a hand to her eyes, blocking what’s left of the day’s sun. Her face is slow to smile.

  “Hey, Grace,” he says, leaning out the window, a half-smoked cigarette hanging from his lips. He feels a degree of warmth that surprises him. “Look at you. You seem all grown up today.”

  She glides across the final few feet. “Eighteen at last.”

  Breathless and blushing right outside his window, she plucks his cigarette from his lips, taking a quick puff before passing it back. The movement is so intimate he can only stare.

  She looks him full in the face. “My aunt doesn’t know I smoke sometimes.”

  Remembering Carson’s warning, Jared feels his skin thicken. His life is complicated enough without getting involved with a girl like Grace. And then just as quickly Grace giggles and she’s a child again. He unwinds his heart a little, reminding himself that this is a girl who needs a friend.

  “I brought you a cake just like I promised.” He lifts up the box so Grace can see it.

  Grace leans in, admiring the pink ribbon wrapped around the outside. “I’m not sure you should have bothered.”

  “Don’t say things like that.”

  Grace shuffles backward a few feet and does a twirl. Her red coat spins outward like a cone.

  “Hey, Grace, you okay?”

  She stops mid-twirl and tilts her head. “Better now, thank you.”

  “Your aunt home?” He turns to the apartment building. Before he hadn’t worried about being alone with her, but now he’s not so sure.

  Grace rests against the door, coy again. “Yeah, she’s home.” She watches him for a few seconds. “You want to come in?”

  “Only if you’re sure it’s okay.”

  “Come on.” She giggles, pulling him by the arm through his truck window. “I want some cake.”

  Jared hands Grace the box and gets out of the truck. A car horn sounds and he sees Ted Bishop turning into the parking lot. He waves and follows Grace inside the apartment.

  Grace’s aunt is noticeably absent. Grace bustles about the kitchen and waves a hand toward a dark hallway when he asks. Her aunt is taking a nap. Jared unpacks the cake from the box and it sits large and pink on the kitchen table between them. It’s too grand for the small apartment.

&nb
sp; Grace’s eyes light up. “It’s beautiful. I don’t have any candles though.”

  Jared reaches in his jacket pocket. “I thought of that.”

  In two quick strides she pulls him close into a hug and thanks him, then turns away and he knows she’s crying. Keeping her gaze downward, she moves about the kitchen. She’s wearing an old-fashioned navy dress with a high, slim waist. She’s wound her hair up in braids and pinned it loosely so stray strands fall about her face. Leaning over a drawer she resurfaces with a large carving knife and a strange expression. Then she laughs and her whole personality shifts again.

  “Kind of a big knife for cutting a cake.”

  “The others are in the dishwasher. I’m going to wake my aunt. I know she’ll want some.” She disappears down the hallway, leaving Jared alone.

  There’s a knock at the door and Jared calls out, asking Grace if he should answer it. Receiving no reply, he steps forward and opens the door.

  Pamela Larson’s voice is clipped tighter than a box hedge. “What in hell are you doing here?”

  “Jesus Christ, keep your voice down.”

  Pamela looks beyond him, catching sight of the birthday cake. “Don’t tell me you bought Grace Adams a birthday cake?”

  “That’s none of your business. What do you want?”

  She holds up a check. “I want to see Elizabeth.”

  “She’s sleeping.” Jared looks at her properly for the first time. He can tell she’s been crying. She’s pulled her hair back in a haphazard knot and kohl is smudged above and below each eye. “What’s your problem anyway?”

  “My daughter just tried to kill herself and you’re asking what my problem is? Seriously, Jared, you’ve got the emotional IQ of a doormat.”

  His voice softens. Picking a fight with Pamela won’t get him any closer to seeing Hayley. “How is she?”

  “Not great. She thinks you never want to see her again.” She looks back toward her parked car. It’s a big Cadillac and steam from the exhaust is billowing up behind it. A young man sits behind the wheel, waiting. “We heard about what happened out at Brady Monroe’s place. It must have been awful. I can’t imagine how Brady could have fallen so far.”

  “You knew him?”

  “Jared, this is Collier. Everyone knows everyone.” Pamela twirls her wedding ring. It’s loose on her finger. “How well acquainted are you with Grace Adams, anyway?”

  “Don’t tell me you came here to gossip.”

  She holds up the check again. “No, I came here for Elizabeth. She’s set up a fund for the Monroe children. I thought I should do my part.”

  Jared regards her with hooded eyes. “That’s generous of you.”

  The young man waiting behind the wheel honks the horn and Pamela waves before turning toward Jared. “What should I say to Hayley?”

  “Tell her not to worry. Tell her I want to see her.”

  She steps off the porch. “I’ll let her know.”

  Jared turns away from the closed door and finds Grace standing in front of him with a worried look on her face. She speaks so softly Jared has difficulty hearing her.

  “Who was that? I thought I heard voices.”

  “Pamela Larson.”

  She takes a quick glance out the window. “What did she want?”

  Jared places the check on the counter. “She wanted to drop off a check for your aunt. Something about a fund your aunt has set up for Brady Monroe’s children.”

  “It’s just like her to organize something like this when she should be resting.” Grace sinks into the nearest chair and holds a cushion to her face.

  Jared looks past her toward her aunt’s bedroom. “Is she joining us?”

  “She says she’ll be out soon but we shouldn’t wait for her.” Grace puts the pillow down and looks up at the ceiling. “She won’t tell me anything, but I know she’s not been well.”

  Jared takes Grace’s hands and notices how cold her fingers are. He gestures toward the table. “It’s your birthday and that’s one hell of a big cake. I can’t eat it all on my own.” He pulls her up by the hand and guides her along, planting her in front of the birthday cake while he lights the candles.

  Before dipping her head to blow them out, her eyes briefly meet his. “I never expected to live this long.”

  They sit on the sofa eating softball-sized slices. Grace insisted, saying that it wasn’t as if there’d be other guests. Jared looks around the apartment properly for the first time. The shag pile rug is the color of spawning salmon and every wall surface is covered in wood paneling.

  “Whose place is this, anyway?”

  “Some woman who went to my aunt’s church used to live here. It’s pretty awful but it beats going home.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever live up on Summit Road again?”

  “My aunt wants to, but I don’t.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I’m not sure. I get scared if I think too much about it. I feel so cooped up in here all day.”

  “If you like, maybe I can take you somewhere.”

  Grace tilts her head toward the patrol car outside. “Macy would never allow it.”

  “I’ll talk to her. I don’t see why you can’t have a few hours of freedom.” Jared reaches for his coat. Even though he’s tired he’s meeting Lexxie for dinner. They need to talk. “I’m sorry. I better get going.”

  She puts a hand on Jared’s arm. “I know what it’s like to see someone die like that.”

  Jared holds his car keys in his hands and waits for his nerves to settle.

  “It’s the worst thing you can possibly see and everyone around you expects you to get over it like that.” She snaps her fingers together and turns away. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.”

  Grace walks into the kitchen and quietly places the plates in the sink before leaning on the counter and pressing her palms to her eyes. She stays like that while Jared lingers near the door. He can’t reassure her. He feels exactly the same way.

  “Grace,” he says, reaching for the door handle. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “You’ll talk to Macy?”

  “And you think about where you want to go.”

  18

  Macy sits behind the wheel of her patrol car and concentrates on the little hatchback in front of her. Its hazard lights have been blinking at her for most of the trip. Twice Jared has had to pull over and coax the hatchback’s engine back to life. It’s taken almost an hour to travel twenty miles, but they are finally nearing the Canadian border. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Originally, Jared was going to ride with her, but when he found out how much the state was going to charge Sofia Jankowski to have her car delivered he insisted on driving it himself.

  It took a while but the Canadian authorities tracked down the car owner and his girlfriend. Tommy Moss was serving time in prison while his girlfriend Sofia was living in her own purgatory. With Tommy in jail, she’d settled in Finley and was raising their two children on little more than a monthly check from the province and a prayer. According to officers sent to interview her, Sofia had been renting a room to Leanne Adams for the past two years. Further checking revealed that Sofia Jankowski, now a citizen of Canada, had first entered the country eleven years earlier when she was only sixteen years old. Macy is hoping her age and the timing of her arrival aren’t a coincidence.

  Macy changes the radio station, skipping through what’s on offer until she finds some news. Since the story broke, the media has concentrated all its attention on three little girls. Two of the girls are alive and one is dead. The dead girl is named Molly Parks and her photo is everywhere. Now that there’s been a connection made with Leanne’s murder, the newspapers and television news run a constant stream of news about Molly Parks. It’s only a matter of time before someone makes the connection to Grace.

  The talk radio programs have had people calling in from all over the state. They’ve formed groups on the Internet and have threatened to travel to Collier to
hold protests in the Town Square. At the last estimate there were only a few of them standing out in the freezing cold, holding placards and shouting their demands every time a microphone is shoved in their faces. The more popular response has been to buy more guns and lock up their children.

  One radio talk show comes on after another and it’s all the same. If the law can’t deal with this we will, says one caller. If we leave it to the courts he’ll just get off on some technicality, says another. A mother cries into her telephone, We’ve got a right to protect our babies.

  Macy leans forward and shuts off the radio before picking up the phone and dialing her mother’s number. “Hi, Mom,” she says, slowing her patrol car further when the hatchback threatens to stall again.

  “Hi, sweetheart. You sound tired. Is everything okay?”

  “Stop worrying, everything’s fine. I just needed to hear your voice. How did the shopping trip go?”

  Her mother lists all the stores she visited with her friends to buy everything Macy could ever need for a baby.

  “You bought a high chair already? I won’t need that for months.”

  “You’re lucky we stopped at the high chair.”

  Macy spots a sign indicating that the exit for Finley is five miles farther on. “Listen, Mom, I’ve got to go, but I’m coming down next week so we’ll have plenty of time to catch up.”

  “I know I say this every time we talk but I want you to be careful.”

  “Don’t worry, the most dangerous thing I’ve done all week is eat fried chicken.”

  “Please don’t joke about this. I’m serious.”

  “And so am I. I’m fine, Mom. I promise.”

  Boasting a population of 171, a faded sign welcomes Jared and Macy to the BEAUTIFUL TOWN OF FINLEY, but Macy’s first impressions fail to inspire anything other than despair. Finley is nothing more than a scar scraped across a high, barren plain. Farther along the road a vandal has summed it up nicely by removing letters from a request to Please Drive Slowly. It now reads Please D i e Slowly.

  The diner where she and Jared stop for coffee has the best view, and that is of the on-ramp for the highway. The coffee tastes as if it has spent the past week cooling and reheating. Macy swirls it around in her mug but try as she might she can’t bring herself to have a second sip. The waitress returns and Macy asks for some hot water and a tea bag.