Buried Evidence

by Kellie VanHorn

  The answer to that question was pretty obvious, given the way his heart flipped every time he made eye contact with her. She smiled over a spoonful of Butterfinger Blizzard, her short hair sticking out at odd angles like a dark-haired Meg Ryan. The haircut suited her, highlighting her lovely cheekbones and wide eyes. He’d decided they were soulmates back in seventh grade, long before he’d worked up the guts to ask her out. Apparently that meant he was willing to forgive her for leaving.

  But another heartbreak could easily be waiting around the bend if she stuck to her guns and went home without even considering the possibilities.

  “Laney...” he started. Then stopped. Wouldn’t bringing up the possibility of a relationship wreck the sort-of friendship they had going? Nearby, a table full of teen girls talked and giggled. “How’s the ice cream?” he finished lamely.

  “Tasty as ever. I guess some things don’t change.”

  Did she only mean the ice cream?

  Before he could come up with a subtle way to ask, her cell phone buzzed. She dug it out of her purse and stared at the screen for a moment, her face falling. When she looked back up at him, he didn’t need to hear her words to know what she was going to say.

  “Ryan—” her voice dropped. “I’m so sorry. They confirmed the identity. It’s Jenna.”

  Probably it should’ve hit him harder, like a blow to the stomach that knocks out all your breath. But that space inside had been empty and hollow for so long, he only felt relieved to finally know the truth.

  Talking about it was surprisingly difficult, though. “And the cause of death?”

  “Blunt force trauma to the back of the skull.”

  He swallowed the hard knot in his throat. “Can they tell what weapon was used?”

  Laney stared at her screen again for a moment before holding up a picture. The back of a skull—Jenna’s skull—showing tiny cracks radiating out of a central fissure. Her voice wobbled when she spoke. “From the damage pattern, it appears to have been an irregularly shaped item. A rock, maybe.”

  “Could she have been thrown from the bike? Maybe hit by a car and then struck her head on a rock?” Maybe it hadn’t been intentional. Maybe those last moments for her had passed swiftly, and she was already gone by the time the killer found her.

  Laney’s face crumpled like she was ready to cry any second, but she drew in a long, slow breath as she shook her head. “She was wearing a helmet, Ryan. We always wore helmets. She might’ve stopped for any number of reasons, but my guess is, she had a flat. Or two.”

  “But you guys carried spare tubes, right? Tools?”

  “Of course. But it’s not like the Tour de France or anything. No team car drives up with a spare bike. We had to change them ourselves, and it takes time—especially if it’s the rear tire with the bike chain and the gears.”

  Ryan rubbed both hands across his face, wishing he could erase the images cluttering his mind. Jenna out riding her Schwinn bicycle. Her surprise at the flat tire. She’d glance back and sigh as she glided over to the side of the road, unclipping one shoe out of the pedals. Coming to a stop, assessing the situation, pulling out her repair kit.

  All that time alone on the side of a road that should have been safe. But somebody had pulled over, and instead of helping, they’d attacked and killed her.

  “Why did she go riding alone?” The question ripped out of his heart almost unconsciously. “You guys always went together. Why didn’t she ask you, Laney?”

  FOURTEEN

  Laney thought she might be sick. Her melting ice cream with its chunks of Butterfinger candy mocked her for eating so much as the question she’d been dreading echoed through her mind.

  Hadn’t she always known things would come to this place? That God wouldn’t let her keep her secrets buried forever?

  The hurt etched across Ryan’s face was nearly enough to break her heart. Tears sprang into her eyes and she shook her head, wishing she could make the terrible truth of that day vanish.

  But nothing would drive it away, and if she didn’t tell him, the truth would burn inside her like an inferno ready to swallow her whole. She opened her mouth, willing the words to come out. “She did ask me.”

  “And? You couldn’t go? I don’t get it.”

  Her esophagus burned. “I told her to go without me.”

  “But why, Laney?” He held both hands out, open, as if he could argue his sister back to life. As if wresting the truth out of her could undo the past.

  “Ryan...” Why was it so hard to say? If only God would whisk her away right now to anywhere but here. “I was throwing up.”

  He frowned. “Okay... So she could wait a day or two for you to feel better. Didn’t you guys ride indoors on those spinning things sometimes? I thought Jenna borrowed them from a friend in Bloomington.”

  “Rollers?” Frustration knotted up her insides. Shouldn’t he understand by now? It wasn’t like she had gotten into that mess by herself. “Morning sickness, Ryan. I had morning sickness. And I couldn’t tell your sister because then she’d tell your parents, and you and I would’ve ended up as teenage parents raising a kid in a ramshackle trailer. Just like my mother.” Tears pricked her eyes as the words flowed out, like poison being released by her body. “I panicked. I told her to go without me, even though she offered to wait. Even though the truth would’ve come out eventually.”

  She dropped her head onto her crossed arms so she wouldn’t have to see whatever horrified expression had crossed his face. “It’s my fault she went alone. It’s my fault she’s dead.”

  It was out. Emotion drained from her, like a bucket of water dumped onto dry ground, until she felt empty and wasted inside. Sure, God had forgiven her—she knew that—but the Mitchells never would. Probably those girls at the next table had heard her confession, too, and soon the whole town would know.

  The wooden picnic table creaked, and its balance shifted as Ryan stood. Maybe he was so upset he’d leave her here with her misery. She pressed her forehead onto the chipping red paint and rough woodgrain of the table.

  His hand touched the back of her head, fingers tugging through her hair in a gentle caress. He sat heavily on the bench next to her. “Laney, look at me.”

  “No.” Maybe it was childish, but she’d forsaken any pretense of maturity a few minutes ago when she’d confessed.

  “Laney.” The word came out strangled, like he couldn’t decide what to feel. Anger? Agony? Loathing? But the way his hand cupped the back of her head was heart-wrenchingly gentle. “Look at me. Please.”

  It wasn’t the words as much as the way he’d said them, like he was desperate to reach her. She’d barely been able to walk away from him ten years ago. How could she turn him down now? When she finally forced her gaze to meet his, the storm of emotion in his eyes nearly swept her away. Pain, yes. Grief. But not only for himself. Something else eclipsed the rest—care for her.

  Maybe even...love?

  “You were pregnant?” he whispered. “What happened?”

  She swiped at the tears tracking down her cheeks. How ridiculous, crying at Dairy Queen with her ex-boyfriend. Exactly the horrible nightmare she’d wanted to avoid, and yet...

  And yet telling him had eased the burden she’d carried for ten long years. Maybe even this ugly mess could be redeemed by God’s grace.

  “Miscarriage. It happened the next week, after Jenna vanished. I wasn’t far along, maybe six weeks.”

  Those two weeks had been some of the worst in her life. First the positive pregnancy test, then Jenna vanishing and then the terrible cramping that told her something was desperately wrong. She’d had to invent a whole story about food poisoning to explain to her mother why she’d visited the local urgent care center. There was nothing they could do anyway, beyond sending her home with acetaminophen.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Ryan’s tone wasn’t rep
roachful, more comforting than anything. “You know I would’ve done anything for you.”

  “We were eighteen, Ryan.” She tilted her head to one side, still reliving the dread of that summer. The loss, the guilt, the sense of relief so intense it made her feel ashamed. “I was terrified. And I couldn’t see beyond my mother, my own childhood. I couldn’t let that happen. So after I lost the baby—”

  He raised his eyebrows. “That’s why you left.”

  She nodded. “I stuck around long enough to wait for word on Jenna. And when they gave up the search, I got out of here as fast as I could.”

  “To make a life for yourself.”

  “Yes.” She stared down at her hands. “I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m so sorry about Jenna and that I didn’t have the courage to tell you the truth. I’m sorry for leaving the way I did.”

  “You did what you thought was best. I get that. And I wondered for so long if it was my fault.” He placed his hand against her cheek, and she met his gaze as he wiped away a stray tear with his thumb. The heat of his skin and the strength of his hand felt comforting and reassuring. “I guess it was, in a way. Will you forgive me too?”

  “I already have. But what about Jenna? About me letting her go alone?”

  “Laney, no one can snatch us out of the Lord’s hands before our time. Even though I don’t understand why He allowed that to happen to my family, I trust Him. If for nothing else, He used my grief to bring me to salvation.”

  She quirked her lips into a crooked smile. “Me, too, actually. I never would’ve turned to faith if all of this hadn’t happened. Jenna must be so relieved up there in heaven, knowing we finally came around.”

  “Come here,” he said, pulling her close. His strong arms formed a cocoon against the world, and for a brief moment, she was eighteen again, pregnant and scared but not alone. Never alone. Because God had been with her even then, and He’d provided for her in more ways than she could’ve imagined.

  Ryan and his family had been one of those means of provision. He’d meant the world to her then, and she knew beyond a doubt he could easily take that place in her life again if she was willing to let him. If he wanted the same thing.

  When his arms relaxed and she pulled back, she found she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. Dairy Queen and the rest of Sandy Bluff vanished as Ryan leaned closer. Their lips touched—the slightest brush of a kiss, a whisper of hope for the future.

  But then he pulled back, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Laney. I wasn’t thinking. We agreed nothing would happen, and I respect you and your decision. I have matured since I was eighteen.”

  “Of course.” Her cheeks grew hot, but it wasn’t embarrassment over his apology—it was from the way that kiss had made her heart thrum beneath her rib cage. “Don’t worry about it, Ryan. Thanks for forgiving me.”

  He looked very much like he wanted to touch her again—a kiss to the forehead or fingers against her cheek—but he merely nodded and stood. “I’m glad we could clear the air. Shall we get going?”

  As she walked with him back to the car, Laney couldn’t help wondering if she was the only one beginning to regret their decision to avoid a romantic relationship.

  * * *

  Ryan desperately longed to get home and find some space to think, to wrap his mind around everything Laney had just told him. How little he’d understood all those years ago when she left. He’d nearly been a father.

  Technically, he supposed, he was a father, only his little one hadn’t made it. The thought left an unexpected crater in his already-injured heart.

  And here was Laney, back again, getting into the car next to him, and he would have to let her walk out of his life. After everything, he owed her that much, didn’t he? The freedom to choose her own path, without him trying to persuade her to stay.

  No matter how much it hurt.

  Silence settled over them as he pulled the car out of the parking lot to head back to his parents’ house. What was there to say after that conversation? Or that kiss?

  He smacked a palm against the steering wheel, ignoring the sideways glance Laney gave him. Stupid—that’s what that kiss had been. She’d said she forgave him, but their relationship was so damaged, so fragile, he shouldn’t be taking any steps that might break the tiny connection they’d forged.

  Thinking about Laney would have to wait until he was alone. For now, it was better to focus on the case. “I’ll talk to my father tonight about searching the bog for the other set of remains, using that map.”

  She glanced up from her hands, where she’d been picking her fingernails. No doubt sharing his same sense of uncertainty about their relationship. “The remains from the Wilson case should make it to my lab by tomorrow. They’ll do a comparison with Jenna’s remains and let us know if my soft analysis is correct.”

  Ryan turned off the main road where Dairy Queen stood among Sandy Bluff’s other meager national-chain offerings and headed onto one of the county highways that looped around town toward his parents’ neighborhood. Evening was approaching quickly, and the thick clouds that had been building since morning had become a dense gray mass blanketing the sky. Lightning flickered in the west, illuminating entire sections of the storm clouds.

  “Did you see that?” he asked after a particularly huge bolt tracked through the clouds. The thunder reached them a few seconds later.

  “Yeah.” Laney leaned forward in her seat, watching the sky through the front windshield. “Looks like it’s going to pour.”

  The first few drops followed almost immediately, then the downpour. A typical Midwest cats-and-dogs-type rain shower but hopefully without the tornado sirens.

  The lights were off inside his parents’ house—odd, considering his mother would normally be preparing dinner by now—and the storm had muted the usual summer-evening brightness. Or if she’d decided to order takeout, she’d at least be reading in the living room. It was a little early yet for his father to be home.

  After shutting off the engine, he led the way through the garage and side door. “Mom?”

  No answer. Her car was still in the garage, but maybe she’d gone out for a walk, hoping to avoid the storm.

  “Where is she?” Laney asked.

  He flipped on the lights in the back hallway at the same moment his foot pressed down on something. His brain recognized it as a button, almost like a Christmas-tree light switch, and simultaneously, his ears registered the click.

  Another bomb.

  FIFTEEN

  “Laney, get out!” he yelled. He shoved her toward the still-open door into the garage as the bomb went off. The force of the explosion flung them out onto the hard concrete. Bits of drywall and wood shrapnel flew in all directions, pelting against his still-tender back like hail. Outside, thunder crackled and then exploded like a second bomb.

  Laney stirred beside him, and he sat back on his knees, stretching shaking fingers to touch her shoulder and her hair.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, shouting over the ringing in his ears. Praise God that the door to the garage had still been open. Otherwise...

  She sat up, dabbing her fingers against her forehead, then pressing her hands to her ears. “Yeah, I think so.” Her lips moved, but the sound seemed like it was coming from a mile away.

  He ran his fingers lightly up her arms, feeling for any injuries or breaks. Satisfied she was still whole, he pulled her against his chest. She didn’t resist.

  She slipped her arms around his back, and he leaned his cheek on her soft, short hair, filling his senses with the light fragrance of peaches from her shampoo. They stayed that way for a long moment, until the ringing had started to clear in his ears and Laney pulled away.

  His knees were wobbly as he forced himself to rise. “I’ve got to check on Mom.”

  Laney pressed her hand to her mouth. “Of course.”

  Pieces of the d
oor frame dangled from loose nails, and an entire section of drywall had been blasted out to reveal the wooden beams beneath.

  Thankfully, the kitchen lights came on when he flipped the switch, bathing the kitchen in light. Sometime in the last few minutes, the downpour had diminished from a continual pounding to a gentle rain, and the thunder boomed farther to the east.

  “Do you hear that?” Laney asked, her dark eyes alert.

  Intermittent thumps were coming from the hallway on the far side of the living room, the one that led to the bedrooms. His gaze collided with hers for a second, then they both dashed across the carpet, dodging the sofa table and recliners. Laney turned on the hall light. The only door that was shut was the one for the guest bath.

  “Mom?” Ryan called, twisting the knob. Locked.

  More thumps came in reply, shaking the wall. She had to be on the other side.

  “Get back, I’m going to break down the door!”

  “Wait, Ryan,” Laney interrupted. She stretched on tiptoe, just barely reaching the top of the frame to come away with a small, straight brass key in her hand. “Here.”

  Right. No need to breach the door after all. He pushed the key into the knob and popped the lock open.

  “Mom?” He dropped to his knees on the floor beside her. She lay on her side, hands tied behind her back, feet bound at the ankles. A rag had been stuffed into her mouth and secured at the back of her head.

  Laney was next to her in a heartbeat, lifting Mary’s head onto her lap and working at the tight knot with her fingers. Together they removed the bindings and helped his mother out to a recliner in the living room, where she sat fanning herself with a trembling hand.

  “My word.” Mary leaned forward, resting her head on her knees. Ryan rubbed her back gently, offering a silent prayer of gratitude that she hadn’t been injured. “What happened? That wasn’t thunder.”

  “It was a bomb.” He held up his hands as her eyes went wide. “We’re okay, though, and the house will be fine after some minor repairs.”