“Rachel, we haven’t met, but my name is Clara Jefferies.”
I tried to sound as friendly as I could with the headache and the tension, but the woman paid no heed. Hunched over, she methodically swept the glass into the dustpan. The sauerkraut smelled ever worse, the rotting cabbage odor wafting through the cellar. Rachel had most of it on the dustpan when she noticed a shard of glass under the bottom shelf. On her knees, just two feet from me, I wondered if I could upend the chair and topple onto her. I debated, missed the opportunity, then judged that it never would have worked with my hands tied. Somehow, I had to get free.
“Have you been married to Clyde long?” I asked. “I’m a customer of his. I buy my gas at his station.”
That seemed to interest the woman. She looked up at me. “I go there on Saturdays. I clean and restock.”
“Oh, you must be the one who fills the candy dish near the cash register.” I did my best to sound light. The girl had been quiet for a while, and I wondered if Lori listened in. Probably not, with the baby to worry about. “I always buy a Baby Ruth or a Mars. When I was there last, I grabbed a KitKat.”
Rachel looked at me for a moment, as if unsure how to react, but then she became dead serious. “We’re out of a lot of the candy bars. Delivery next week.”
“Oh, good. I’ll look forward to that,” I said, and she nodded. “It’s lonely. Can you sit with me? Like Clyde told you to?”
Rachel looked uncertain. “I’m going to throw out the glass and see if Lori needs me first.”
“Oh, okay.”
Rachel rustled off, and I sat and waited. She seemed to take a long time, and I thought I’d lost her.
Alone, the cellar quiet, I thought back, struggling to pull together the pieces of what had happened. I didn’t understand how or why, but somehow my two cases had intersected. A pregnant girl tied to a bed? Clyde Benson had to be involved in the bones on the mountainside, I decided. How could this be purely coincidental? Could he have been the one behind all of it? But what tied him to the girl? What was the link? My head pounding, I struggled to figure it out and couldn’t. Then I realized that it didn’t matter. There would be time later to work my way through it. At that moment, I had only one objective: to get free and save the girl and her child, or we’d all end up buried in some unmarked grave, bones that might never be found.
From inside the room, Violet’s shrieks began again. I could picture her in the bed, the baby not coming out, the pain increasing. The birthing class had relied on video, but I’d seen a few babies born at the Second Coming Ranch during my years there, to my sister-wives. For a long time, I’d wondered why they had babies and our husband wasn’t able to with me. He said it was my shortcoming, that I wasn’t capable of getting pregnant, but even with the little bit I’d been told, what I’d been able to figure out about how babies were conceived, I knew that it was impossible if the man was unable to—
Screams, back-to-back this time, and Lori shouted: “Just get the hell out of here, Rachel. You’re making it worse staring at me like that. Making me nervous. Go watch that woman cop like Clyde told you and leave me alone.”
Footsteps again. Rachel’s heavy work boots clomped toward me. From the room, another piercing scream.
“Is the girl all right?” I asked Rachel when she sat down in the chair.
She had her knees pushed together and her hands clasped on her lap, but she couldn’t quiet the trembling. The woman’s eyes looked wild, like a trapped animal. I waited, watched, hoping she’d talk, but she kept silent. She had a slight twitch in her right eye, and as hard as she tried—I assumed she was trying—her hands hadn’t stopped shaking. I lowered my voice. “Rachel, you shouldn’t have to be afraid. No one should have to live in fear. Why don’t you untie me and let me help you?”
Her eyes scanned the room, as if she were trying to look anywhere but at me. I thought of the earlier visit Lori and Rachel had this week, the one where Stef dropped in to ask them about Lynlee and Danny. They must have had Violet hidden inside the house. Watching Rachel, I thought she looked like a frightened child. I recalled all Danny had told me about what Clyde had done to him. I remembered Lynlee saying that Clyde always had someone he used as a punching bag, usually one of the children.
“Lori must be Lynlee’s and Danny’s mother, I guess,” I said to Rachel. “Were you living here when they left?”
At that, I appeared to have her interest, and she looked over at me and gave her head just the slightest shake.
“I talked to them yesterday. They told me what Clyde did to them, that he beat Danny and that he did other things, bad things to Lynlee.”
I waited, thinking maybe she’d have something to say, but Rachel sat still except for her hands that continued to quiver. “Lynlee says that Clyde always has someone he picks on, one person that he’s mean to. Is that true?”
At that, Rachel turned her face from me. Despite her cleaning up the glass and sauerkraut, the place still smelled sour, and my stomach churned. I stared at her, watching for any reaction, and said, “It’s terrible for a mother when she can’t protect her own children, don’t you think?”
This time, Rachel took a deep breath and turned even farther from me.
From the cellar room, another round of screams erupted, even louder than before. “Is she in trouble in there?” I shouted. “I could help.”
No answer. I called out again, offering aid. The girl needed a doctor, a hospital. Something was wrong.
“Rachel, come here!” Lori shouted.
As obedient as a dutiful child, Rachel shot up out of the chair. This time, she sprinted around the shelves, toward the room. I dropped my head and wondered what I was doing wrong, why I couldn’t engage her. I had no options. They’d taken my phone and my gun. Tied to the chair, I could barely move. My heart raced, and fear magnified the headache until it wouldn’t be quieted. Minutes passed, Violet’s screams nonstop, until all went quiet again. I scouted around the cellar, looking for something, anything I could use, and found nothing. I thought of my mother in the hospital. I wondered if death would frighten me as much if Mother and I had made our peace. It felt as if I had left so many important things undone. Unsaid. I thought of Max and wished I’d told him how I felt. I considered my sisters Lily and Delilah, my other siblings, many I might never know. I wondered what our mothers would tell them about my death. Most likely that it was a result of my bad choices, of not staying true to the teachings of Elijah’s People. I could almost hear Mother Naomi cautioning them: “The secular world is dangerous. Devils stalk the night. Learn from your sister Clara’s dire mistakes.”
Rachel shuffled back and sat on the chair.
“What’s going on in there?” I asked. “Is the girl all right?”
My companion didn’t answer again, simply stared down at her hands on her lap. I noticed that the shaking had settled, but she tore at a fingernail. She had little to grab onto, since all ten had been gnawed to the quick.
“I could help Violet if you untie me. Rachel, you don’t want her to die, do you?”
Nothing. No change in expression. No indication that she even heard me. I had to find a way in. I needed to get to her somehow. “I am sorry that you’re not more appreciated by Lori and Clyde. Danny and Lynlee told me how cruel Clyde can be. Who does he beat now? Which one of the children?”
At that, Rachel stirred in her chair, the metal legs squeaking as she moved. When she glanced at me, the wildness was back, the look of being in danger. “Or is it you? Does he beat you?”
Her eyes dropped, and the trembling in her hands returned. Maybe it is her, I thought. Otherwise she wouldn’t have had such a reaction. She wouldn’t have…
“Not me.” A guttural, low voice, barely above silence.
Why did she react as she did, then? I reconsidered and asked, “Clyde beats one of your children, doesn’t he? The one he picks on is one of the children you’ve had with him?”
Nothing. A blank look. I had to be wrong. But
then I knew, as a single tear trailed down the side of her face, that I was right.
“Which one of your children, Rachel? Tell me.”
The woman shook her head. I wondered how many times she’d watched Clyde attack, torture her child and done nothing. I considered how agonizing that must have been for her. I felt angry at her and sorry for her at the same time. I recalled again that she didn’t want her children to stay with Clyde’s parents. She didn’t trust them. A line of abusers, violence passed down through generations, most likely. My voice little more than a whisper, I said, “Rachel. I can help.”
She shot me a suspicious glance, but for the first time appeared interested.
“If you help me, I have the power to put Clyde in jail. Put Lori away, too. Together, we can stop them from ever hurting your child, or any child, ever again.”
She searched the room, as if checking to see if anyone else heard us. She stood up, took two steps toward me. I knew I had her. “My hands. Untie my hands.” Rachel bent down behind me, and I leaned forward as she reached for the bindings on my wrists. I felt her soft touch as she began—
At that moment, a cry filled the cellar, a shriek of such pain that I had no doubt Violet and her baby were in grave danger.
“Come here quick, Rachel!” Lori shouted. “I need help.”
In an instant, Rachel turned away from me, never looked back and ran, and again I was alone.
I tried to still my ragged breathing. I hadn’t realized it, but in those moments when I thought she might free me, I’d been gasping for air, as if the hope mixed with fear lodged in my throat might choke me. I pulled at the binding on my wrists. Still tight. Again, I searched and tried to find something to use to free myself. Nothing. I waited, thinking any minute Rachel would return. I knew I had her. I knew she was ready to…
And then I heard it: the clomping of heavy boots coming down the staircase.
Forty-Two
Max tapped the horn as he slowed down and Stef fell in behind him. He drove toward the north edge of Alber, then took a right before he reached the trailer park. Fifteen minutes later, they were on one of the main roads heading north. The drive didn’t take as long as Max would have thought. He saw the turn ahead, veered onto a side road and then turned onto a long gravel driveway. They pulled up to a cottage-like place with flower beds filled with yellow tulips and purple crocus and a stable at the side. Ash Crawford had on an old pair of jeans and a plaid shirt, and he was brushing down a good-looking chestnut with a flaxen mane. When they pulled in, Crawford gave them a suspicious glance and put down the brush.
“What’re you doing here?” he asked, when Max and Stef climbed out of their squads.
“We’re looking for Chief Jefferies. Has she been here?” Stef asked.
Crawford scowled. “Now, why would she be here? We’re not exactly good friends.”
“Come on, Ash, answer the question,” Max said. “Clara’s not answering calls, and she mentioned coming out here to talk to you.”
Max had been thinking in the car, wondering, what if Clara was right? What if Crawford was behind it all? His suspicions took further root when he noticed a .38 in a holster around Crawford’s waist. “You always brush your horse down wearing a sidearm?”
“Old habits, like old cowboys, die hard,” Crawford said. “Chief Jefferies isn’t here. Haven’t seen her. You two go back where you came from. Leave me alone. She’ll turn up.”
Max suddenly started regretting that he hadn’t listened to Clara. Why was Crawford trying to shuffle them off so quickly? What did he have to hide? “Mind if we look around?”
“You got a warrant?” Ash’s voice had climbed an octave and grown rough around the edges.
Max took a deep breath. “No, but why would you ask for one, Ash? What’s going on here?”
Ash’s frown curved farther down. “Don’t want you here is all, any of you. So leave.”
“How long would it take to show us around?” Max asked. Stef had sidled up next to him, and she was giving Crawford a suspicious look. Max figured her instincts were clicking in, too.
“You’ve got no right to be here. And I don’t want you disturbing my wife. So, unless you’ve got a warrant signed by a judge—”
Max put his hand on his gun, ready to draw if he had to, when he heard the cabin door swing open. Crawford scowled at him and shook his head. “Now see what you’ve done.”
A tiny, slightly built woman with pure white hair walked out onto the porch. In a pair of blue jeans and a T-shirt, tennis shoes, she looked to be in her early sixties. When she saw Max and Stef, she appeared surprised. “I thought I heard a car, Ash. Who’s come to visit?”
Crawford shook his head. “Go inside, Justine.”
“No,” she said. “Something’s going on here. What is it?”
“We’re looking for Police Chief Jefferies, ma’am. She said she was coming here,” Max said. “Have you seen her?”
“No. No one’s been here.” She gave her husband a hard look. “Ash, what aren’t you telling me? What’s going on here?”
At that, Crawford glared at Max, as he said, “Let’s just let these folks look around, Justine. Then they can be on their way and I’ll explain.”
“Look around?” she asked.
“Take the female officer inside, Justine. Give her a little tour of the house.”
Ash’s wife appeared uncertain, but she did as he’d asked. Once they walked inside, Stef scanned the place. The cabin was immaculate. It looked like a fairy-tale cottage with crocheted doilies on the backs of overstuffed chairs, a knickknack cabinet beside the kitchen table. “I don’t know why you’d think Chief Jefferies would be here,” Justine said. “But you’re welcome to look anywhere you want.”
Meanwhile, outside, Crawford walked Max into the barn. “I can’t believe you came out here like this, Max. Barging in at my home, when I’m here with my wife? This doesn’t seem like you.”
Max gave the older man a sharp glance and shook his head. “Ash, something’s bothering the chief about you, and I’m beginning to get the same vibes. You need to be upfront with us.”
Crawford let out a short huff in response, shook his head and walked back outside without any more comment. Max glanced around but saw nothing tied to Clara, nothing that looked out of place.
When Justine and Stef returned, Max and Ash waited. “Anything inside?” Max asked.
“Nope. Chief’s not there.”
“Told you she wasn’t here,” Ash said. “Now leave and don’t come back. You had no right to come here.”
Max gave Crawford a stern look. “You know what, Ash? Chief Jefferies and I are going to figure out what you’re hiding. What you aren’t telling us about that girl’s bones.”
From the porch, Justine called out, “You found bones?”
Ash Crawford twisted toward his wife and glowered. “Not now, Justine. Don’t be talking to them. They don’t know—”
“We did.” Max ignored the husband and gave Crawford’s wife a sidelong glance. “A teenage girl. Pregnant. Buried on the side of the mountain. Do you know anything about this?”
Justine flushed angry, and Max thought that the woman appeared unsure whether she wanted to slap her husband or embrace him. As if she couldn’t make up her mind what to do with him. “Oh, Lord, Ash, did you find our girl and not tell me?”
Max turned to Ash, an indictment in his eyes. In that moment, all doubt was gone. He knew. “Chief Jefferies was right all along, wasn’t she, Ash? You do know something about that girl. Maybe that cop in Nevada is right, and you’re behind it all.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Crawford’s face was twisted by anger as he jerked his head at Max. “Damn it, man. Don’t you understand? I didn’t want to rile her up.”
Justine rushed down from the porch. Her husband draped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. “You found bones, Ash?” she cried. “How could you not tell me?”
Her husband’s voice crackled with the
pain of a thousand disappointments. “Because we’ve been through this too many times, Justine, and it’s never been her. And this time, too, it probably isn’t. And every time we go through it, both of us, a little bit of us dies.”
Tears filled the old woman’s eyes. Whatever they were talking about, whoever it was who’d disappeared, the agony lived deep in her heart. “Oh, Ash. Lord Almighty, I told you never to lie to me. You promised, no matter what, you’d tell me the truth.”
“I didn’t lie. I was just waiting to let you know this time, to save that little bit of you I didn’t want to lose.”
At that, her head fell against his chest.
“Who are you two talking about? Who is your girl, Mrs. Crawford? Tell me,” Max said.
Stef hovered behind, watching the old woman melt into her husband’s arms. “Our granddaughter, Amy,” Crawford explained, tears welling in his eyes. “She disappeared out of Salt Lake four years ago. Left with a boy. They were on the road. We don’t know where. We’d heard that they joined a fundamentalist Mormon sect that practiced polygamy. About three years ago, a friend saw her in St. George and Amy was with child. We were hopeful that she was well and her life was working out.”
“What changed?” Stef asked.
“Not long after that, her boyfriend turned up dead, body found along the side of a road,” Crawford explained, his voice thick with emotion. “No sign of our girl. We’ve been looking for her and fearing the worst ever since. I retired to search for her.”
Max was stunned. “I don’t remember seeing anything like this on NCIC. Why didn’t you report her missing?”
Anger replaced the sadness on Crawford’s face. “They wouldn’t take a missing person report because our granddaughter ran away of her own accord. I tried pulling rank, pushing it through, but got turned away. No reason for alarm, the feds told us. No reason to look for her. They kept saying she’d come back home. They convinced our daughter and son-in-law, but Justine and me don’t believe it. And none of us have seen anything of her. No word.”
The Blessed Bones Page 24
