The bird sang louder and began flapping its wings and jumping from one side of the barrel to the other. I watched it for a moment and moved a little closer, trying my best to keep from scaring it away. Then it hopped down into the barrel, pecked at a dirty rag, and quickly flew out, zipping up toward the rafters. It perched on one of the lower beams and looked down at me, still chirping like crazy.
I pressed my lips together and watched it intently. “What are you saying? I wish I understood.”
The cardinal swooped down and landed on the rim of the barrel again, so I moved closer to look inside. My heart was pounding. It was just an old barrel Jack used outside to burn cardboard boxes and anything else that took up too much room in our trash can. He kept the barrel in the shop for safety, and it hadn’t been used in years. The bird chirped again and flew to the worktable, settling on the very corner Jack had fallen against. It chirped once more and then watched in silence as I took a closer look inside the barrel. It contained old rags and dirty towels, soiled with what appeared to be grease. Why was this little bird making such a fuss over grease rags?
I leaned over and reached in to move the top cloth. Underneath it was a man’s denim shirt. How strange, I thought. What in the world was a perfectly good shirt doing out here in the burn barrel? I lifted the shirt and held it out in front of me. “Size XXL,” I read from the tag. This wasn’t Jackson’s shirt, or even Jack’s. Neither one of them filled out an extra-large, much less a double X. The only man I knew who wore two X was… I gasped. “Frank?”
The redbird immediately started chirping again, even louder, and swooped down toward the shirt. It fluttered and flapped its wings against the front pocket, then circled my head and returned to the rafter. Perching in the same spot as before, it sat quietly, twitching its head left and right. I studied the cardinal a moment, then dropped my gaze back to the shirt.
“If this belongs to Frank,” I said out loud, “how’d it get here?” I glanced at the bird, expecting an answer.
The cardinal slapped its feet on the rafter and ruffled its feathers. Confused, I turned to inspect the shirt again. Taking a closer look, I noticed several splotches. Something was splattered and smeared all down the front and on the cuff of the right sleeve. I brought it to my nose and sniffed. It wasn’t grease or oil. Could it be…blood?
Chapter Seven
Carol Sharp
Tuesday, March 6, 1990 ~ It’ll All Come Out in the Wash
It was almost nine in the morning, and I just put a load of clothes in the washing machine when Sharon walked through the door with two iced caramel macchiatos and a sack full of heaven from her favorite coffee shop. Steaming Hotties was a quaint little cafe run by two sisters, Dolly and Daisy Doolittle. They made all their pastries and desserts from scratch and offered a gazillion flavors of hot and cold drinks. Teas, coffees, espressos, you name it, they had it. Sharon had become great friends with the sisters and was one of their best customers. When she called me earlier to see if we could talk, she told me she was bringing me breakfast. I knew it would be from Steaming Hotties, so I knew it would be delicious.
The last time Sharon had come over with breakfast and hot news was when she told me Regina went to school with Bobby and was a freshman when Bobby was a senior. She’s a real Sherlock Holmes, that Sharon. She suspected Regina must’ve had a secret crush on Bobby back then. She also said Regina had a prescription for valium, which was probably what I had seen her popping that day in her kitchen. But the shocking news was that Frank, Regina’s husband, had a criminal record a mile long and had been in jail a couple of times for drugs and robbery. That was actually pretty scary news. I remember telling Sharon if my husband was such a stand-up character, I’d probably be on valium too.
I wondered what news ol’ Sherlock had for me this morning. I knew she wasn’t pregnant. If that were the case, she would’ve been bawling her eyes out when she called. Maybe she wanted to share more information regarding the anti-social, pill-popping Regina? Maybe it was something else about Frank. Or maybe her grant was approved! She was working on it for months, bless her heart. I never met someone so passionate about their job in all my years. Her work took her beyond behavioral studies and involved teens battling addictions and victims of abusive relationships. But, whatever the news was, Sharon seemed excited, and I couldn’t wait to hear.
“Good morning, my favorite sister!” I sang, greeting her with a warm smile.
She sat our breakfast on the counter. “I’m your only sister.” She chuckled. “But I’ll take the compliment.”
We hugged and swapped kisses. I was certain Sharon left a red tattoo of her lips on my face, but I didn’t care. It would wipe off. It always did.
“Oh! Lawd! Would ya look at this!” I paused, reaching for one of the drinks and eyeballing the cute bag. “We’re on a diet, I see!”
“That’s right, hon. A live-your-life-and-screw-the-calories diet!” Sharon snapped her fingers.
“Those are the best!” I grinned. “Mmmm. This smells like I need a dozen of whatever’s inside.”
“I know that’s right!” She winked at me and pulled two enormous cinnamon rolls out of the bag. “Here ya go. One for you and one for me. Eat slow and enjoy every bite, cause I ain’t sharing.”
My watering mouth flew open at the size of the pastries. We wouldn’t need to share. They were as big as saucers! “Me neither,” I said, and we both laughed. “So, what’s going on in the world today? You unlock the mystery of the Bermuda Triangle?”
“How ‘bout we eat first? I’m famished and can’t resist this sinful little delicacy another minute.”
“You always have brilliant ideas.”
“That’s right, I do. Too bad you never listen to any of them.”
She was referring to the times she’s tried to get me to turn the garage into a bakery. Sharon seemed to think all the pound cakes and holiday goodies I made could bring me a ton of money. If I’d heard it once, I’d heard it a gazillion times. She didn’t understand I only baked when I got the urge, and most of the time, it was for family. It was a terrific idea, but I’d rather not be obligated to something like running a business—too much work. Besides, I felt it would take all the fun out of it.
Sharon and I took our breakfast to the back porch. She kicked off her heels, and we sat down in the swing. Something was missing, I thought––Cricket.
“Where’s the little old lady this morning?”
“I dropped her off at Groomingdale’s. It’s her spa day.”
“Oh, how silly of me to forget,” I said with a major eye roll.
Sharon took Cricket to the groomer twice a month for an oatmeal bath with vanilla soymilk conditioner, a dental cleaning, a pedicure, and a playdate with Maxine, the owner’s Shih-Tzu.
“I swear that dog gets pampered more than I do. The little shit.”
“Ha! Now, don’t you speak ill of my sweetie-pie.”
“I’m teasing.” I shook my head and pushed us off.
It was such a beautiful spring day. The air was still a little cool, and the mornings were pleasant. My azaleas were starting to bloom, making the backyard look like an oil painting with all the pretty shades of greens and pinks and lavenders. Although spring seemed like our shortest season, it was my favorite. I enjoyed every minute of it, except for the pollen, but I was on allergy medication for that.
I took a long sip of my macchiato, enjoying the rich flavor, not caring that I’d be on a serious sugar high until lunch, thanks to her. But that was all right. It was called living. When we were almost finished with our screw-those-calories breakfast, Sharon said she’d been working on a case with her husband.
I gazed at her. “You two work together a lot. What’s so special about this case?”
She pressed her lips together and raised her eyebrows at me. “Well…”
Studying her face, I tilted my chin and gave her a serious look. “What?”
She didn’t answer, only twisted her mouth and cut her eyes to t
he side.
“All right,” I said. “Spill the tea!”
She exhaled with enough gusto to blow us clean off the porch. “Okay, first of all, it’s completely illegal for me to disclose this information. I could get in some serious trouble, so this conversation never happened. The only reason I’m telling you is because of how it could potentially affect Rebecca. Okay?”
I felt my heart beating in my throat. “Shit! What’s going on?”
“Carol, am I clear?” she demanded.
I wrinkled my forehead and nodded. “Got it. Talk!”
Sharon chewed on her lip as if reconsidering the conversation before she finally spoke. “A week ago, the department received an anonymous child-abuse tip.” My jaw locked as horrifying thoughts ripped through my mind. “That child was none other than our sweet Jackson.”
“Jackson?” My heart fell to my stomach. “You’re joking, right?”
She frowned. “Wish I was.”
“Sharon! Who’s gonna abuse Jackson?” My emotions were rising, and so was my voice. “You know how big he is. I mean, it certainly ain’t his momma! Is it a teacher? His coach?”
Sharon shook her head, and I felt a heaviness settle in my chest.
“Then, who? You know I’m sworn to secrecy! Tell me, dammit!”
“Who else is ever around that boy who’d do such a horrible thing?”
I was shaking my head and searching her eyes for the answer when it came to me. “Oh, no.” I gulped. “His dad?”
Sharon rolled her lips together and nodded. “Mm-hmm. His father, Frank Strickland.”
My mouth dropped open. “When? Where?”
“Apparently, this particular incident occurred at Jackson’s house last Monday night after the basketball game. I paid Jackson a visit after school the next day, and there were definitely signs of abuse. His sweet little face looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to it.”
I looked at her in disbelief. I was completely speechless.
“After a very long, emotional conversation, Jackson admitted his dad did it. He said it happens often. To his mother too.”
“What a sonofabitch,” I muttered.
“Jackson’s staying with Mrs. Ruby now.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.”
“I’ve been checking on him regularly. His momma hasn’t even called to see about him.”
My blood boiled. “What shitty parents.”
“Let me tell you something, Carol. This kinda thing, it just breaks my heart all to pieces. You hear me? I’d give anything to have a son like Jackson.”
My jaw tightened. I knew she would, and it broke my heart for her. “I assume Frank’s in jail?”
She sniffed back her emotions. “Officers went to the house to arrest him, but he was gone. We think he’s in Louisiana. That’s where Regina said he’d likely be.”
“You mean she actually gave him up?”
“Hon, you don’t even wanna know what I threatened her with if she didn’t.”
“Can’t you notify the officials in Louisiana?
“You bet. And we did. Especially after Max ran an extensive background check on Frank and found out he already served time there for domestic violence.” I cringed as she spoke. “As well as public intoxication, disturbing the peace, and possession of a controlled substance. And he even served some time here in Florida for auto theft and assault and battery.”
“Dear God! Sounds like the only thing he hasn’t done is kill somebody.”
Sharon raised one eyebrow.
“No!” I brought my hand up to cover my mouth. “Seriously?”
She finished off her macchiato. “Well, technically, right now, we don’t have proof.”
“Technically? He’s either a murderer or he’s not!” My stomach churned at the thought.
She rubbed the back of her neck. “Again, this is totally illegal. You cannot breathe a word to—”
“Okay! Shit! I could throw a stone and hit the sonofabitch in the head, he lives so close. I wanna know if my family’s safe. Tell me!”
She blinked and turned her head to look at me. “Last week, Mrs. Ruby called the station asking for Max. He returned her call and then stopped by to see her on his way home. She found a man’s shirt stuffed in a burn barrel in the shed. She was pretty sure it belonged to Frank, and it appeared to be covered in blood.”
My heart thudded in my chest. How my sister remained so calm was beyond me. I, on the other hand, needed something stronger than caffeine. “So, was it blood?”
“Max sent it off to be tested. He also took a statement from Mrs. Ruby regarding her husband’s death, since the shirt was found in the shed, and the shed is where his accident occurred.”
“Accident?” I pulled my eyebrows together. “I thought her husband had a heart attack.”
“That’s what everyone thought. But according to Mrs. Ruby, Frank said when he had his heart attack, he fell and hit his head on the worktable. And that’s the last time Frank was at her house.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus!” I rubbed my forehead. “I remember Jackson told us a story about his grandpa dying and how his dad rushed in, yelling for his mom to call the ambulance.” As I struggled to process everything, I was nervously swinging us higher and higher.
“Carol, slow down!” Sharon put her hand on my knee. “You’re gonna break the swing.”
“Oh, great day,” I groused. “You’ve got me in a tizzy!” I let my foot skid against the floor. “So was it Frank’s shirt?” Wide-eyed, I stared at my sister.
“We should have the results soon, but I believe they’ll confirm exactly what we suspect.”
I skidded my foot, stopping the swing completely. “Which is?”
“Remember, this conversation never happened.”
I flared my nostrils. “I know, I know. You’re only telling me because of Rebecca and her relationship with the family. I get it. My lips are sealed.”
Sharon exhaled and then pushed us off with her foot, swinging us slow and easy. “Max got a copy of Mr. Owens’s autopsy report. He didn’t die from a heart attack. He died from blunt force trauma to the head.”
My body went numb as my eyes met my sister’s. “He did it,” I uttered. “He killed Mr. Owens.”
Her voice was calm, confident. “That’s what we’re gonna find out. Max sent a team to Mrs. Ruby’s last week to go over the shed with a fine-toothed comb. They found no traces of blood on the worktable, but one of the tools had a significant amount. They think that may be the murder weapon.”
I brought my hand to my chest, aghast at such disturbing information. “This is unreal. All these years, a monster has been on the loose, practically in our front yard.”
“Let’s hope that’s no longer an issue. Just keep an eye on Rebecca. As close as she and Jackson are, that lunatic’s crazy enough to do anything for revenge. He fits the profile.”
“Got it.” I rubbed my eyes and forehead to release the tension in my face. “Poor Jackson. His eighteenth birthday’s next week. How’s this for a surprise? Sorry that your daddy beat the shit out of you and your mom, but he won’t be doing it anymore, cause he’s in jail for killing your grandpa!” I shook my head at the wickedness of the situation, then noticed one corner of Sharon’s mouth was slightly turned up. “What’s that look for?”
“Actually, I bet Jackson would think that was a great birthday surprise. Mrs. Ruby would too.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. If Frank killed her husband, I’m sure she’d love to have him rot in jail. Maybe y’all could throw him in a cell with a gorilla, or somebody who’ll make Frank his girlfriend.”
Sharon laughed.
“I’m serious! Let him live in fear for a change, be the one who’s abused!”
“Well, Mrs. Ruby might be a little more gracious than that, but no doubt she wants him locked up. After all, she’s the one who tipped us on the child abuse.”
I gasped. “I thought you said the tip was anonymous?”
“I
t was.” Sharon pushed us to swing higher. “But remember me telling you she left Max a message that day he went by to see her?”
I nodded.
“Her call back number was in Max’s pocket. And it matched the number we received the anonymous tip from.”
Chapter Eight
Rebecca
Tuesday, May 8, 1990 ~ The Joke’s on Me
Aside from meeting my best friend when I was eight years old, who happened to be the guy I was madly in love with, and having two archenemies who made my life a living hell for the past thirteen years, my adolescence was pretty typical. Then again, maybe that’s what made it so typical. I guess everyone has shit they have to deal with, but I honestly don’t know how I would’ve gotten through all the drama without Jackson. He always knew how to diffuse any situation. Quickly. Even the self-induced drama.
My thoughts were making my brain hurt. Thoughts about my future—uncertain thoughts—and thoughts about Jackson and me––romantic thoughts, sexual thoughts, thoughts I knew would never be anything more than just fantasies, especially since graduation was a few weeks away. I had no time to pursue any sort of passionate relationship with Jackson. Not now, with college right around the corner for both of us. But I couldn’t help it. He’s all I thought about, and I simply couldn’t imagine my life without him.
The alarm clock went off at six o’clock, as usual. I’d been lying in my bed wide awake for over an hour, thinking about my past, present, and future. I was definitely burned out with the same old routine of high school, but today would be different, I thought. Today would be amazing. Today officially made me a legal adult. I smiled and thought, Today I’m gonna change the world! Okay, maybe not. Maybe all I’d change was my sweater. A sweater in May seemed crazy, but Mrs. Donaldson kept that library cold enough to hang meat.
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