I looked at the stricken pain on Adam’s face.
I knew I’d gotten it exactly right.
“You could feel that boy’s arms clenched around your waist as you rode. You must have been flying. You were thinking about your future and how this was going to change your life. You were thinking what it was going to be like when Ellen Sloan saw her son again. You were thinking about all those media people interviewing you and taking your picture. You were thinking about everything except what you should have been thinking about. The road. The wet pavement. The bike. You took one of the curves too fast, is that how it went down? The bike spun out? You fell. Jeremiah fell. You got up, but he didn’t.”
I shook my head.
“I’m trying to imagine the horror you felt, Adam, and I can’t. I just can’t. One split second, and all those dreams turned to nightmares. You’d found our boy, and now, instead of rescuing him, you’d killed him. You weren’t going to be the hero anymore. You were going to be hated. Everyone in town, in the state, in the country, would know your name. Adam Twilley. The drunken deputy who let a missing boy die on his motorcycle. You were going to lose your job. You were going to jail. Your life was over. You were in a panic. What do you do? You can’t let anyone know what happened. Nobody can know Jeremiah or Paul Nadler were anywhere near that resort. You had to cover it all up.”
I pictured him standing over the boy’s dead body on the road. Dragging him down the shoulder into the woods. Coming up with a desperate plan.
“You needed gasoline for the truck. So you rode back to Breezy’s, right? You figured she’d have a tank in her shed. Except in the middle of doing that, you heard somebody outside the trailer. Dennis Sloan. He felt you watching him; he was sure someone was there. But you were lucky. He didn’t find you. He left, and then you took the gas tank and went back to the resort to get the truck. You had to move fast. You needed to get everything done while it was still dark. You tried to hide any evidence that Jeremiah had been there, but you were in a hurry. There were things you missed, things you didn’t know about. The rocks. The Legos. The lost shuttlecock in the chimney. You filled up the gas tank of the truck, and you put Mr. Nadler’s body in the back, and you put your motorcycle in the flatbed. Then you went back to where Jeremiah was waiting for you. Was there a shovel in the pickup, or did you take one from Breezy’s shed? Either way, you buried him. You dug through the wet ground and buried him. Do you still remember the place where you did it? I don’t think you forget something like that. I hope you remember, because you’re going to take us there, Adam.”
His breaths were coming faster and faster. His eyes darted back and forth, as if he could find a way to escape if he looked hard enough.
“Then all that was left was to get rid of Paul Nadler. And the truck. So you drove all the way across the county to Stanton. It was a long way to go, but that was the safest bet, right? Put Mr. Nadler in the river not far from his nursing home. Everyone would assume he’d wandered away on foot and died. But the truck? The truck couldn’t be anywhere nearby. You didn’t want anyone to connect Nadler to the F-150. So after that, you went over to Shelby Lake and wiped down the truck and left it behind. Then you took your motorcycle and you drove home.”
Adam didn’t look at me. His gaze wandered across the field, following his hat as it blew away toward the trees. When he finally said something, he was the old Adam. The arrogant James Dean Adam. The hero with the inferiority complex.
“That’s a hell of a story, Shelby.”
“It’s a true story. Right?”
“I’m a cop. I know the difference between evidence and speculation. I know when somebody has proof and when somebody has nothing.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t count on that, Adam. We’ll be able to prove you were at the resort, because we’ve got the voicemail to Agent Reed. And when we search along the road between here and Witch Tree, sooner or later we’re going to find Jeremiah. Even after all this time, the FBI forensics team will find something to connect him to you and your bike. Count on it. But you can save us the trouble. You can admit what you did right now.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’ve been living with the guilt for ten years, and it’s killing you. The only thing that will make it go away is to admit the truth. The only way to save yourself is to give up the secret. Tell me the truth, Adam. Tell us the truth.”
“Us?”
I gestured over his shoulder. Adam turned around. They were all there in the snow behind him, their faces grim.
Ellen.
Dennis.
Adrian.
Agent Reed.
They stood there watching him like a silent jury.
“We’re here so you can take us to Jeremiah,” I said. “Don’t you think it’s about time, Adam? It’s time for him to come home. Tell us where he is.”
Adam tried to say something, but nothing came out of his mouth. He swallowed hard. He sucked his upper lip between his teeth and bit down. He blinked over and over, until he blinked out a single tear that ran down his red cheeks. His fingers clenched into fists.
“Please, Adam. Take us there.”
He staggered away from me through the drifts. He didn’t run; he knew there was nowhere to go. No one said a word. The Sloans were quiet. So was Agent Reed. No one made any attempt to stop him. I followed in his footsteps. We hiked through the clearing and back into the trees and down to the turnaround at the end of the dirt road. Adam went to his car. I saw him freeze outside the driver’s door. He squeezed his head with both hands, as if he could shut out the memories flooding through his mind. Then he looked back at me, and our eyes met, and he gave me an expression that must be like a drowning man when his lungs run out of air.
Adam got in his car. I got in mine. I knew where we were going.
The two of us headed down the dirt road in tandem back toward Witch Tree. Adam drove slowly, letting me trail behind him in the ruts his car made. We went around a sharp curve. Then another. And another. And then, ahead of us, the road straightened for half a mile. At the end of the straightaway was a swooping S curve with a sign warning drivers to slow down.
I heard the roar of the engine in front of me. Adam accelerated his cruiser like a jet unleashing its engines on the runway. His tires squealed, and the car fishtailed as he built up speed. Snow shot up in clouds behind him. I thought for a moment he was trying to escape, but he wasn’t. The reality of what he was doing dawned on me, and I lowered my window and shouted.
“No, no, no, don’t do it!”
He was too far away to hear me. I sped up, too, but I couldn’t catch him. Adam rocketed down the straightaway. His brake lights never flashed, not once. The bend of the S-curve loomed ahead of him, but he didn’t slow down or turn the wheel. The cruiser burst through the snow and took flight, shooting off the road, lifting off the ground and jolting to a lethal stop an instant later as it slammed into the trees beyond the curve. I heard the tortured squeal of metal and the shatter of glass.
I brought my own car to a stop, and I got out and ran. The shoulder of the road dipped down to the frozen creek ten feet below me. I half slid, half fell into the valley. Adam’s car was upside down among the trees, its tires still spinning. Steam hissed into the air. I pushed toward the wreck and squatted to look inside, but the front seat was empty. I peered through the skeletal branches and saw Adam crumpled on the ground not far away. He’d gone through the windshield like a bullet. When I reached him, I knew that he was already dead. His face was ribboned with blood. His head was snapped sideways like a broken doll. He was warm, but he was gone.
I listened to the loud, fast, in-and-out of my own breathing. My sweat was wet and cold, and my feet inside my boots were soaked. Around me, the forest continued its winter sleep, undisturbed. There was nothing but me and the trees and the snow and the creek, but I wasn’t alone. I had the strangest feeling of some
one being with me, of someone who’d been waiting for me to arrive. I turned around in a slow circle. No one was there. But squeezed among the oaks and pines was a stand of birch trees, their bark flaking away like old paint, their black-and-white trunks rooted in the ground like the legs of elephants. One of the thick birches called to me, and I fought through the snow to get to it.
That was when I saw the sign.
A cross had been carved into the trunk.
Ten years ago, it must have been invisible among the summer foliage, just two slim gashes cut out of the bark. But it had grown along with the tree. As the trunk bulged and thickened, so did the cross, begging for someone to notice it and understand what it was.
My body felt enveloped by a warm glow even among the frigid cold. The earth at my feet felt sacred.
Someone was buried below me, and I knew who it was.
Chapter Forty-Six
Ten years after Jeremiah Sloan disappeared, we finally brought him home.
With the help of propane fires and insulated blankets, we melted the frost in the ground and dug carefully through the soft soil at the base of the birch tree. Three feet down, we found the skeleton of a child. Adam had buried Jeremiah with his arms folded across his chest. If it was possible for bones to look peaceful, then his body looked as if it had been at peace all this time.
His Sunday suit had long ago disintegrated, leaving behind only the leather and rusted buckle of his belt and the rubber remnants of the sneakers on his feet. He still wore his backpack. Parts of it—the zippers, the thick vinyl, the plastic-encased pockets—had survived the freezing, thawing, moisture, and bugs. His badminton racket was caked with dirt but otherwise intact. His dead cell phone was safely locked inside a zippered pocket and a boy-proof indestructible case. Agent Reed took it for analysis by the FBI team. If any photos could be retrieved from Jeremiah’s phone, I wanted his parents to have them.
We were at the scene for most of three days. The time was reverent for all of us. The Sloans were there, all three of them, when we brought their boy into the light again. We kept the media away, so that they could have a private moment with him. From where I was, I saw Adrian whisper something to his brother, and I was pretty sure he said Welcome back. Ellen and Dennis held hands and hugged each other fiercely. The love of that moment wouldn’t last, but for a little while anyway they cried the tears of a family that had been reunited.
On the last day, as Jeremiah was brought back to Everywhere, I thought about the first day when he disappeared. Strange as it sounds, my father had been right all along. He hadn’t believed in a stranger abduction. He’d had faith that the people here were basically good and that we would find an innocent explanation at the heart of the mystery. And we did.
Sadly, it came without a happy ending.
Three weeks later, Jeremiah finally had his funeral, and we all got to say goodbye. It seemed as if the whole state came. Thousands of people braved the cold for hours to pay their respects. The bend in the road where he’d waited for us to find him became a shrine, covered over with flowers freezing into brittle china. His face and smile no longer haunted us from missing-person photos the way they had for years. He had a permanent home.
Before the public service, the Sloans held a small memorial of their own at their church. They wanted to say thank you to the town and to the police for never giving up hope. The minister spoke. Ellen, Dennis, and Adrian spoke. And then they went from person to person to shake every hand. We all cried, but the tears were cathartic, letting go of ten years of pain.
When Ellen came to me, she slipped something into my hand. I looked at my palm and saw a smooth, flat stone, the kind of stone you’d place among the rocks of a cairn to honor the dead.
“I kept this stone in my pocket every day for the past ten years,” Ellen whispered to me. “It came from Jeremiah’s room. I swore I would never let go of it until we found him. And now we have, thanks to you. I want you to keep it.”
I tried to say something, but I had no words.
Ellen kissed my cheek, and she moved on.
It was a day of closure for all of us. Lucas was there, apologizing to the Sloans for what his grandfather had done. Dennis Sloan wrapped him up in a bear hug and told him that God hadn’t wanted Paul Nadler to be alone when he died, and that was why he’d brought Jeremiah to him.
I’d like to believe that’s true.
Agent Reed was there. So was Monica, carrying Moody in his urn. And Rose. And Violet. And Jeannie Samper and all of her kids. And Dad, looking handsome in his suit. I wished he could understand that the long mystery had come to an end, but he was already deep into his own mystery.
Everyone was there except the one person I wanted to see. Every time the door opened, I kept hoping, but the service began and ended without her.
Anna didn’t come.
*
Later that same day, my own life took a turn I wasn’t expecting.
I was back at the Nowhere Café with Monica and Dad, and Violet came through the door and made her way straight to the booth where we were sitting. She sat down next to my father, and he smiled and called her “young lady,” because he didn’t remember who she was. Violet nodded at Monica, who didn’t look at all surprised to see her there.
“Deputy Lake,” she said to me.
I tried not to roll my eyes at the formal greeting. “Hello, Violet.”
“I know the congresswoman has already thanked you, but I wanted to say thank you myself for everything you did on her behalf.”
“That’s not necessary, but I appreciate it.”
And I did. Violet and I were never going to be friends, but she was looking at me with something I’d never seen from her before.
Respect.
“Obviously, I’m not on the county board anymore,” she went on, “but my former colleagues thought I’d be the best person to sound you out about something.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
Violet took another quick glance at Monica before focusing on me again.
“The board would like you to consider an appointment as interim sheriff. They also wanted you to know that if you’d consider running for the position in the November election, you’d have their full support.”
“Me? Sheriff?”
“Well, you’ve pretty much been filling the role anyway since Adam’s death,” Violet pointed out. “So I assume you’ve thought about it.”
In fact, I hadn’t thought about it at all. I know I should have, but I really hadn’t had time to think about the future. There were too many details filling up the present. The trouble was, now that the opportunity was staring me in the face, I did think about it, and I knew what my answer had to be.
“Tell the board how much I appreciate their confidence,” I replied, “but no.”
“No?”
“I’m sorry. No. I’d love to do it, but I can’t.”
Violet didn’t ask me why. She seemed to know why. She got out of the booth and then bent down and put a hand on my father’s shoulder. “Tom? Mr. Ginn? I wonder if you’d mind giving me just a moment alone with Shelby and Monica. Would that be okay?”
“Violet,” I said in protest, but Dad simply slid his big body out of the booth.
“Why, certainly, I know how women like to chat.”
I watched him make his way to the counter, where Patty brought him a slice of tollhouse pie.
Violet sat down across from me again. “I assume Tom’s the reason?”
“Yes.”
“You have your own life to live, Shelby.”
“I know that, but my father is everything to me. I’m not going to put him in a facility. I’m going to take care of him myself.”
“At some point, you won’t have a choice.”
“Well, for right now, I do, and my choice is to be with him. I can’t do that and be she
riff at the same time. It’s hard enough the way things are.”
“You could get help,” Violet said. “You could find someone to live with you and look after Tom when you’re gone.”
I had to laugh. “Live-in help? Are you kidding? Do you know how much that costs?”
As I said this, Monica reached over and took my hand. It was as if she’d been waiting for that moment. “In fact, Shelby, it will cost you nothing at all.”
“What do you mean?”
She continued to hold my hand with the calmness of someone who would never let go. “I’m quitting my job, dear. It’s time for me to retire. If you can find a place for me—and Moody, of course—then let me move in with you and Tom. That’s where my heart is. That’s where I can be most useful at this stage of my life. With me around, I think you should be able to balance your career and your devotion to your father, don’t you think?”
The offer took my breath away. I shook my head and tried not to cry. “Monica, I can’t believe you. I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes,” she replied. “And say yes to Violet.”
“I don’t know if this will work. It’s still too much.”
“Well, we won’t know until we try, will we?”
“I guess that’s true.”
“Tom always wanted you to be the sheriff.”
“I know he did.”
“If you’re honest with yourself, I think you’ll realize that you’ve wanted this, too. And you’ll be good at it. Truth be told, you were made to do this, Shelby. Everyone I talk to in town says the same thing. They all want you.”
“She’s right,” Violet said.
I glanced at my father, who was sitting at the counter with his cup of coffee and his pie. Yes, this was what he’d always wanted for me. And yes, as a girl, I’d imagined the day when Dad would hand me his badge, and I would take over. I just never thought the circumstances would be like this.
The Deep, Deep Snow Page 29
