“When he has something to report?” I heard the rage in my voice but didn’t hold back. “You’re kidding. I’m supposed to just sit back and wait?”
“Clara, I’m sorry I’ve dragged you into this, but don’t make this any harder than it is,” Max said. “I’m out on a limb here. As I said, the sheriff was against my calling you in the first place. We need to let the chief do his job.”
“This is my sister we’re talking about, Max.”
“I know.” Max’s voice grew stern, as if warning me.
“Hannah told me she talked with you about two other girls, Jayme Coombs and Eliza Heaton. She’s worried—”
“We checked up on those girls. Their families say that they’re fine.” Max sounded angry that I’d questioned him. “Listen, Clara, Sheriff Holmes told me to remind you that you have no authority in Alber. This isn’t your investigation. Any interference won’t be tolerated.”
“Max, I—”
“I have to go, Clara. Good night.” At that, Max hung up.
My conversation with Max kept playing in my head as I paid the bill and Hannah and I left the restaurant. We were the Bannions’ final customers of the evening, and they locked the door behind us. I decided to drive directly to my family’s trailer, but then I thought better of it. The police chief or someone from the department could be there when I arrived. If they were making any headway, and I hoped they were, my showing up could stop the conversation cold. If any chance existed that someone might break through my mother’s wall of silence, I couldn’t interfere. At least, not yet.
But I had to do something. I couldn’t just wait.
We got in the Pathfinder, and I turned to Hannah. “Should we go to the Coombs’ house first or the Heatons’?”
“Tonight?” Hannah said, her voice rising in alarm.
“Yes, tonight.”
“They’ll be getting in bed. You know how folks here go to bed early.”
“Hannah, I don’t care if it’s midnight, I need to—”
“No. Clara, you’ve been gone a long time,” Hannah said, the worry lines across her forehead and around her mouth stretching. “You’ve changed. But this town hasn’t, at least not that much. Not yet. This isn’t how things are ever done here.”
All that was true, but it altered nothing.
“Hannah, Delilah is twelve years old,” I said. “After everything you’ve told me, I feel certain that she’s been abducted—perhaps the other girls too. I have to wait on the police chief to talk to my family, but in the meantime I can at least try to figure out what’s going on in this damn town.”
“Clara, you need—”
“What I need is to figure out what happened to Eliza and Jayme. I need to know if all three of these girls are pieces to the same puzzle. Because if they are, you’re right.”
“I’m right?” Hannah asked.
“There’s something truly evil here.”
Hannah closed her eyes, as if collecting her thoughts. When she opened them, she said, “Let’s go to the Heaton house first. We can talk to Eliza’s family.”
It turned out that the Heaton and Coombs families both lived in the trailer park. I drove through the quiet town, the street lights glowing and the mountain ridge barely visible in shadow. Above us, the skies shimmered dark and clear, peaceful.
“How long’s it been since it rained?” I asked, trying to make conversation and cut through some of the strain in the car. We were both on edge, unable after all this time to be truly comfortable with one another. Perhaps I’d changed too much. Plus, neither one of us knew what would happen once we knocked on the Heatons’ trailer door.
“Thursday morning, just a brief shower,” she said. I looked over and she gave me a brave smile. “A lot of the farmers are worried about the crops. Not much rain again this year.”
The road continued straight north and then turned east and ran parallel to the mountains. I thought about the old white double-wide my family lived in. My father dead a year. There would be young children, brothers and sisters I’d never met. I wondered if anyone talked of me, if my younger siblings knew I existed. I decided they probably didn’t.
Suddenly, headlights glared behind us. I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw a black SUV behind us. I noticed a light bar across the top. It looked like the Chevy Suburbans the SWAT teams drove in Dallas.
Alber’s streets were nearly deserted, my rental and the Suburban the only two vehicles visible on the road. That left a lot of room to work with, but the Suburban tailgated, practically attaching to my Pathfinder’s back bumper.
“Is that a cop car?” I asked Hannah.
She looked in the side mirror, but couldn’t get a clear bead on it, so she turned around and peered through the back window. “I don’t know. I guess it could be.”
“I’m going to pull over and see if whoever it is will pass us,” I said, but before I could, Hannah put her hand on my shoulder.
“No. Keep driving.”
“Why?”
“It may not be police. There have been some problems after dark in town,” she said. “One night a man who moved here with his family from Salt Lake was found beaten along the side of the road.”
“Bad?”
“Bad enough. Broke his jaw,” Hannah said. “There’s a lot of anger around here. People… some people are upset. During the day it seems calm, but sometimes at night things boil over.”
“Max warned me not to drive around alone after dark.”
“Things are tense here,” Hannah said. “We just need to be careful.”
In Alber, certain families historically controlled various aspects of town life. Our family ran the sawmill, the Heatons had the hardware store and as the ruling family, the Barstows controlled city hall and manned the local PD. Old man Barstow was gone, but I wondered about his sons and brothers. Max had hung up before I could ask any real questions, like the name of the police chief I should expect to hear from.
“Who’s in the local police department these days? Is a Barstow still chief?”
“There are a few of the old-timers and some new officers, people from outside. I don’t know the new folks well. Gerard Barstow is the chief.”
I had an image of a guy I’d grown up with through high school. Gerard had been a big kid, not terribly bright, who played football. My brothers liked him well enough, although my father had never had much respect for any of the Barstow boys, and there were dozens of them. Dad always said that the Barstows thought they owned the town. But with their father as the prophet, perhaps they did.
“You think that’s Gerard behind us?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” She looked back at the SUV’s headlights again. “It could be.”
“I’d like to talk to him,” I said. “I’m going to pull over.”
This time, Hannah put her hand over mine on the wheel. “Clara, you’re from outside. I live here. I’m asking you to please keep driving. We can’t be sure who that is.”
Grudgingly, I did as she asked. If it was Gerard Barstow, it would only be a short delay. One way or the other, I would talk to him before the end of the evening. If not now, after I talked to the Heatons about Eliza. I eased off the gas, thinking the Suburban would pass. The SUV slowed down and stayed on track behind me.
“Why would someone follow me?” I asked.
“I don’t know. But if it is Gerard, it’s nothing. He follows everyone off and on. Doesn’t usually bother anyone. It’s like he’s keeping guard. Just keep driving.”
I glanced over at Hannah and noticed that she was biting her lower lip. “He makes you nervous?”
“This is silly. He shouldn’t,” she said. “Gerard is always pleasant enough. Seems pretty level-headed. Not like some of his brothers. The chief before him, his brother Evan, was a piece of work. Mean. Lots of rumors about him.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“That he liked young girls. Very young girls. Evan used to hang around the school a lot,” Hannah said. �
�He left town as soon as the turmoil began. I heard he moved his family to a small town not far north of here. Hitchins. He’s police chief there now. God help those people.”
“I remember Evan. He was an officer when I lived here, became chief a year or so before I left.” Mainly what I remembered was Evan Barstow railroading the boys in town targeted by the leaders for expulsion, harassing and pushing them until they left. “But you look like you’re not sure about Gerard?”
Hannah released a soft, nervous laugh.
“Clara, no offense, but growing up here the way we did, the police working for the church leaders, doing their dirty work, all cops make me nervous.” Hannah paused, as if mulling that over. “Gerard has always seemed pretty harmless. I don’t know if you know this, but he was one of the lost boys.”
“I didn’t.” That made little sense. None of the Barstow boys was ever forced out. That just didn’t happen.
“Yeah. They pushed Gerard out when he was eighteen, maybe a little older. It was really ugly. His own father and grandfather wanted him gone,” she explained.
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but I always figured he didn’t fall in line the way they wanted.”
“So Gerard wasn’t really tied to the establishment? He wasn’t here when the authorities arrested his father?”
“No, he’s like Max—a lost boy who’s come back now that the town is opening up.”
I thought about Gerard and Max. How frightening it must have been to be driven from home as a teenager, leaving behind family and everything they knew. I drove carefully, watching the speed limit.
If that wasn’t a police officer in the Suburban behind me, who could it be? I thought about what Hannah had said, about the man found beaten on the side of the road. I had my handgun in my bag, on the backseat. “Hannah, grab my bag for me, will you? Put it on the floor in front of you.”
“Why?” she asked, as she did as I requested.
“No reason.”
We continued on, working our way through town, driving past the big houses, most dark for the night. Some had lamps scattered about, shining in the windows, and up ahead, at the trailer park, lights hung behind the fences and cast a yellow glow. The gate to the park was closed, so I pulled over, grabbed my bag and got out.
The Suburban parked directly behind me. I kept walking, but slipped my right hand into my bag’s gun pocket. Once I reached the gate, I grabbed the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. The gate was locked.
“Shit,” I murmured.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched a man walk toward me. I turned toward him and poised my index finger over the trigger as he moved forward slowly.
“Who’s there?” I called out.
The man entered the glow from an overhead spotlight aimed at the gate. He wore a wide-brimmed cowboy hat that cast his face into shadow. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief when I saw his khaki cop uniform and a badge just above his left shirt pocket.
“Clara Jefferies? Is that you?” the man shouted. He raised a flashlight and shined it in my eyes, blinding me.
“It is. Who are you?” I raised my left hand to shield my eyes from the glare. “And can you aim that someplace else?”
He let loose a curt laugh and dropped the hand holding the flashlight to his side. “Gerard Barstow. You probably don’t remember me. It’s been a long time, but I’m the police chief in Alber. I was on my way to the station when I saw your car. I was going to call you once I got there.”
“I do remember you, Gerard. Nice to see you,” I said. He moved closer, and the spotlight illuminated the lower half of his face. He looked pleased to see me.
“I wondered who was driving around town this late in the evening. Usually folks are tucked in by now. I thought it must be you when I didn’t recognize the SUV.” He sauntered closer and offered his hand. I unwrapped my fingers from my gun and shook it. “What’re you doing out here at this time of night?”
“Hannah and I just finished dinner at the diner.” I gave him a warm smile.
“So that’s Hannah with you?”
“Yup.”
“That woman,” he said, shaking his head. “That shelter she’s pulled together is really something, don’t ya think?”
“I do,” I said, intent on keeping my voice light.
“Why are you two out here at the trailer park gate so late?” he asked again.
Everything seemed fine. Gerard seemed fine. Perhaps it was just the darkness, the solitariness of the town at night that made me uneasy. Perhaps my nerves rebelled because of Gerard’s family connections, the rumors of trouble in town, my concern over Delilah’s disappearance, or all I’d heard from Max and Hannah about the troubles in town. Whatever the reason, I was reluctant to tell him where I was going, and made an instant decision not to mention the Heatons. “I heard that someone from your office was talking to my family. I thought I’d see if I could catch up with them at the trailer.”
I wished he’d take his hat off, so I could get a good look at his eyes. He had generous cheeks, a long nose that formed a ball at the end, and thick, meaty hands.
“Yeah, that was what I was going to call you about.” But then instead of talking about Delilah, Gerard said, “I bet this old town seems real different to you. You know, Salt Lake money is flowing in. A group of big-time investors is looking into building a ski run west of town on the mountain. If they go through with it, Alber could be like Vail or Steamboat Springs someday.”
“Big news,” I said. The truth was that I didn’t care. I just wanted to hear what he knew about Delilah. “Were you able to find out—”
Barstow leaned closer and stage-whispered over to me, “Kind of a secret, but I’ve got some cash in the project. Figuring I’ll make a killing.”
“Good for you. I hope it works out.” I’d had enough small talk. “But, Chief Barstow, what I need to know is if you or one of your officers talked to my family? Do you have any news on Delilah?”
Barstow finally took off his hat, which left an indentation in the fringe of thin brown hair coating his head. He held the hat across his substantial midsection, looking as pleased as someone about to hand over a longed-for gift. “Clara, like I said, I was on my way to the station, going to call you from there. But this is better. This way, I get to deliver the good news myself, which is always more enjoyable. You agree?”
“I do,” I said, wishing he’d get to the point. “So what do you know?”
“Delilah is fine,” he said, his grin stretching wider.
I shot him a questioning look. “How do you know?”
“After the sheriff called and asked me to take over, I stopped to see your mom and the others. They invited me in, and we had a long chat.”
“Max Anderson said you’d tried earlier and they’d turned you away,” I said. “What was different this time?”
“Ardeth was home. Last time, she wasn’t there and Naomi and Sariah were scared, I think. You know how that mother of yours rules the roost. The sister-wives do what she tells them, and letting a cop inside the house isn’t done much around these parts.”
“Sure. I understand,” I said. “What did you see?”
“Things looked pretty normal. No one acted worried. Only thing was that Ardeth was madder than a cat tied by its tail to a clothesline. Your visit upset her, Clara. Upset all of them.”
“Chief, I—”
“Oh, I know you were just trying to help. But I think you need to understand that your mothers, well, they weren’t happy to have you knock on their door,” he said. “The folks round here, enough of the kids are leaving. Seeing you, Ardeth and the others feared the kids at home, the ones still there, might get ideas.”
I thought about the angry look on my mother’s face. I wasn’t surprised that she saw me as a threat. “Okay, Gerard, I get that,” I said. “Just tell me about Delilah.”
“Ardeth says she’s off with another one of the families, on a mission trip to Salt Lake City.”
&nbs
p; “On a mission? Delilah is only twelve.” It wasn’t unusual for folks in Alber to take trips to talk up the faith and try to attract new members to the sect, but kids didn’t usually join in until fifteen or sixteen.
“I was surprised, too,” Gerard said. “But Ardeth said Delilah wanted to go, and the family offered to take her.”
On the surface, it all seemed believable. It made sense that Mother would talk to Gerard. Despite being one of the lost boys, he came from an important family. He was a member of the establishment who’d run the town for decades. So I should have been able to accept his account, but I didn’t.
“Chief, did you see my sister Lily? Was she there? Fourteen or so, dark hair, looks quite a bit like me.”
“I don’t know the kids by name, there are so many of them,” Gerard said. “But there were a bunch, big and small, standing around listening to us talk. Plus Naomi and Sariah.”
“No one spoke up, objected at all?”
“To what Ardeth told me?” he asked, and I nodded. “Nah. Everything seemed good. Before I left, Sariah got me a piece of apple crumb cake she’d baked that day, and she said she was looking forward to Delilah coming home in a few weeks. She misses her.”
I wasn’t sure what to say, except, “So you’re sure about this?”
“I’m sure.” He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry that your mother turned you away, Clara. In Alber, the people here, they’re not always forgiving. You know how apostates are considered.”
“As the worst of the outsiders,” I said. “Yes, I know.”
Gerard stopped smiling and gave me kind of a deadpan look. “You know, I’m surprised Max bothered you with this, when there was a good chance nothing was wrong.”
“He was worried about Delilah. The note and all.”
“The note?” He dismissed it with a wave of his heavy hand. “It looked to me like it was written by a kid.”
The simple language, the short sentences. It made sense that Lily wrote it. But she would only have done that if my instincts were right and Delilah was missing.
The Fallen Girls: An absolutely unputdownable and gripping crime thriller (Detective Clara Jefferies Book 1) Page 8
