For a long time, I sat on the ground at the foot of my father’s grave. No one around, I whispered, “Did you ever regret what you did to me, Father? Giving me away to such a man, when I was little more than a child?”
I waited, as if my father might answer, although I knew that he never would. I thought of Max’s words, how even when cases are closed, we don’t always have all the answers. Life was much the same way. But I couldn’t deny that I wanted to hear my father’s response, just as I wanted to know how events unfolded that horrible day at the bison ranch. I didn’t like mysteries. If I could have revived Carl Shipley long enough to interrogate him, I would have.
Overhead the sky formed a hazy gray tent, and the ground beneath me chilled me until I shivered. There’d been another freeze the night before, and the sun hadn’t yet warmed it. The forecast included snow for the coming weekend, and I thought of that morning at the ranch, the frost on the rooftops and the mountains’ snowcaps, the breeze that shivered through me as I looked at the bodies of Anna and her children under the bloodstained sheet.
The hearses paraded into the cemetery, four in all, and Jacob and his parents arrived in a limousine. After they crawled out, someone handed Jacob his only surviving child, baby Jeremy. The woman tending him clambered out, and I saw that it was Mother Naomi. Jacob handed the baby back to her, and they walked to the graves together.
Another car pulled up, one with Mullins and his two wives, followed by a pack of their children. One of the daughters resembled Laurel. I saw the similarities in her patrician features. Mullins nodded at me, and I responded. He tried to smile, but in the end simply turned away. At the graveside, my lead detective and his wives joined Jacob and his parents. Tears flowed, and Jacob singled out Mullins to stand with him at the head of Laurel’s casket.
Around them the mourners congregated, the men wearing dark suits and coats and the women with the skirts of their long dresses flowing from beneath woolen wraps. Some carried flowers to place on top of the four sad coffins, two so small they squeezed the breath from my lungs.
“Heavenly Father, we are here today to entrust to you two dutiful women, wives and mothers, and two innocent children,” the ceremony began.
I didn’t listen to the consecration of the burial plots, or when the officiate asked God to comfort Jacob, Mullins, and their families. My thoughts drifted to the river, to Myles and Laurel on that final Saturday. I wondered yet again, as I had so often, why they appeared so agitated. I thought of Carl’s photos, of Myles with his arms crossed and Laurel rushing away when she saw Naomi arrive.
Max and the sheriff came to the services and stood beside me. We were silent, somber like all the others, and as the crowd disbursed, the three of us walked off together. We left the sheriff at his car, and then Max escorted me to my SUV.
“Have you decided about the cabin?” Max asked. “Brooke is staying at Alice’s, so she’s taken care of. I’m leaving in about an hour.”
“Well, I’m still…” I fumbled, unsure what to say.
“Clara, there’s no pressure here beyond that I want to be with you.” I knew he was trying hard to put me at ease. “We can take this slow. I promise. Nothing has to happen other than that we have the freedom to be together without others watching.”
I understood what he was asking, why he wanted the time alone without the town, his daughter overseeing us. My pulse quickened and I felt unsure. I thought of Myles and Laurel—their story had ended, and despite my fears, I didn’t want that for us.
“Sure. I’ll meet you there, but I have some work to clean up. Text me the directions, and I’ll join you tomorrow morning.”
Max grinned at me, happy, and I thought he might grab me in his arms, but I saw a clutch of townsfolk watching, and I hurried away.
From the cemetery, I drove into town to the station. I felt on edge about the weekend with Max. I wanted the time with him, but I still had fears. I wondered if I should be honest, tell him about my past? It was such an odd tale. What would he think?
My desk had a pile of reports on it. The last of the fingerprints, fiber and hair evidence had arrived in manila envelopes from the state lab. A note said that the DNA was a few days out. Still troubled that so much didn’t make sense to me, I paged carefully through each report, looking for something, anything, that signaled the case wasn’t over. In the end, nothing appeared surprising. Everything pointed to Carl as the killer. The lab even discovered one of his fingerprints on the suicide note found in Myles’s saddle.
At lunchtime, I drove down Main Street toward the diner. At least on the surface, Alber had returned to normal. The case solved, the demonstrations outside the police station had stopped. But I knew that just under the surface the tension remained; I had to accept the fact that I wasn’t wanted. I might never be wanted. Later that afternoon, perhaps as a reminder, I received another personally addressed note that someone had wedged into a gap in the station door’s window. A pink envelope, it smelled of vanilla like the first one. I assumed both had come from the same woman. When I opened it, I read:
GO BACK TO DALLAS WHERE YOU BELONG. YOU AREN’T ONE OF US ANYMORE. YOU DON’T BELONG HERE. LEAVE BEFORE WE MAKE YOU GO!
I wondered if she wanted me to interpret that as a threat.
“Where do I belong?” I whispered. I glanced at my shirtsleeve and thought of what it covered—my eagle tattoo, my homage to my home, to my past. I thought of my mother who wanted nothing to do with me, the siblings I had yet to meet, and I questioned yet again: did home still exist? If it did, was it Alber? Was this where I belonged?
On the way out the door, I stopped to talk to Kellie. “Did you inquire into adding a surveillance camera to the front of the building?”
“They said they’ll send someone out next week,” she said. “Is that soon enough?”
I thought of the note in the pink envelope and wondered when I’d receive another, then decided that I wasn’t going to let anyone spook me. “Sure, that’ll be fine.”
At that, Kellie mentioned that Alber’s rumor mill was churning. Somehow, Jacob had finagled a rushed approval from the prophet, and he and Naomi planned to be married the next day. I hadn’t heard, and I was surprised. Kellie appeared to be, too. She lowered her voice and whispered, “So fast. Anna and Laurel, the two children just buried this morning. Lots of folks think it’s disrespectful.”
It did seem hasty, yet I wondered, as short as life was, as uncertain, if maybe they were wise not to wait. And I felt a glimmer of hope for Mother Naomi. Maybe marrying Jacob would bring her peace and happiness. I wanted that for her. “You shouldn’t gossip,” I scolded. “Jacob and Naomi have both lost spouses, so maybe they’re just a good fit and need to go on with their lives.”
Kellie seemed to consider that, but then dismissed it. “All I can say is that folks are wondering why so fast.”
That brought up Jeremy. “Do you still want the squad guarding him?” Kellie asked. “Can’t we take it off now?”
I nearly said yes, but I couldn’t get there. “Give it a few more days,” I said. “Just to be sure.”
“But the case is over.” Kellie looked surprised. “Isn’t it?”
I didn’t answer.
Early the next morning, Friday, I packed to join Max at the cabin. Although nervous, I was committed to keeping my promise. When I texted that I was on my way, Max said he planned to go fishing, and that he hoped we’d have fresh-caught trout for lunch. I remembered a long-ago town gathering after my father caught us kissing. We’d both been ordered to have no contact with the other, so we had only furtive glances and rare stolen moments. That day at a picnic in the park, each family brought their own lunch, and Max and one of his brothers fried fish for their family. When no one watched, Max walked up behind me and whispered: “Clara,” so softly I barely heard him.
He held a paper plate with a small fillet and a dab of tartar sauce. “Saved this for you,” he said, smiling so wide I could see his back teeth. “I caught it yesterday on
the river.” His voice even quieter, he said, “Near our spot.”
Months later, on his seventeenth birthday, Max was banished. As I grabbed my battered roll-on suitcase and clomped down the stairs, I thought about how I ached for him when he was gone, how I thought I caught glimpses of him at school, at town functions. When I took a second look, he was never there.
We’ve found each other again, I thought. I can’t throw it away. Why am I so afraid?
On the way out the shelter door, I saw Hannah talking to a small group of residents. In front of the women, I explained that I was talking a short trip. I hoped that having them all hear me might tamp down the gossip a bit, in case anyone realized Max and I were both gone over the same weekend. “I’m visiting old friends in Salt Lake,” I said. “I haven’t seen them in such a long time. I can’t wait. I’ll be back Sunday.”
“That’s great. Have fun,” Hannah said, drawing me in for a hug. “Clara, you deserve the time off. You work so hard. What a wonderful thing you did solving the Johansson murders.”
I watched the faces of the women behind her. None of them smiled or echoed Hannah’s praise.
Another chilly morning, I raised the liftgate to load my suitcase in the Suburban. On the highway, I drove past the Johanssons’ bison grazing in a field and thought about Mother Naomi and Jacob, their wedding planned for that afternoon. I wondered if they had considered inviting me. Probably not. As an apostate, I wasn’t allowed to attend such ceremonies. I was, after all, no longer a member in good standing of Elijah’s People.
Telling myself it didn’t matter, I drove on, intending to head directly to the cabin. I thought about Max waiting for me there. What would we be like together? This would be the first time we’d truly be alone. I glanced at the clock. Nine a.m. I should arrive at the cabin by noon.
I picked up speed on the highway, and I thought about how I’d pass the road that went to the river, to the place where Myles and Laurel spent their final time together. Again, I had an overwhelming sense of matters not put to rest. That brought to mind the lingering doubts that bothered me about the case. The first point on the list: that we’d never found Laurel’s final letter. She’d written so faithfully, right up until a week before the murders. Then, that final Sunday: nothing.
Old unanswered questions filled my mind: How did they pass the letters to each other? I wondered. Did someone do it for them?
I didn’t think so. There’d been no evidence of that. How then? I wondered. I thought of the river, of the big rock where Laurel sat, and when the time came, instead of continuing on to the cabin, I called Max.
“You’re not coming,” he said, deep disappointment in his voice.
“I am,” I said. “But I’ll be a little late. I’m stopping at the river on the way.”
“Why?” he asked. “Old times’ sake?”
“Not because of us,” I said, although I might have added, I do think of you—of us—there. “I want to take one more look around, see if I can find Laurel’s last letter.”
“The letter?” Max said. “I’d forgotten about that. What makes you think she even wrote one? And if she did, why would it be there?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Except that so much happened at the river. That’s where they were together. That’s where we found Myles’s body.”
Silence for a moment, and then Max gently asked: “Clara, the case is closed. We solved it. What do you hope the letter will tell you?”
“The answers,” I said. “To all of the questions.”
Thirty-Eight
Despite it appearing that much of Alber knew of the secluded spot, I had never run into anyone else there. This time, too, I was alone. The water on the bank undulated in gentle waves, and the air smelled of the fall forest. The river was about seventy feet across—I could stand on one bank and stare through the trees at the other side. I wondered where Carl hid to take the photos of Laurel and Myles on that final Saturday. I focused on a rock outcropping nestled in the trees and speculated that he’d peered at them from behind the brush. I shuddered when I thought of Laurel and Myles arguing, unaware that Carl watched them from the shadows.
Looking out at the water, I sat where Scotty had seen Laurel, on the big rock on the shore. I thought of Max in that exact place the evening we found Myles’s body, and then I turned and looked at the spot where so many years ago, I brushed my hand against his dimpled chin and kissed him.
So many ghosts haunted me as I glanced from water to rock to earth and back again. I began to pace off the area. I started tracing the bank from one end of the clearing to the other. I watched for a hidden cranny, someplace a letter could be secreted away to wait for an eager hand to claim it. Nothing jumped out at me on the shoreline. I walked inland about a dozen feet, then turned back in the opposite direction, hoping to find what I’d come for. Nothing again, and I repeated the drill on the other side of the clearing.
While I searched, I thought again about Jacob and Naomi, about the wedding that would be unfolding that very day. A small service—only family and those in the church hierarchy would be invited to the ceremony. Afterward, I assumed there would be a larger reception at the ranch. I wondered if anyone had replaced the missing tiles in the kitchen floor, if all traces of the atrocity were wiped away. Even if they had, I doubted that anyone could ever forget what happened there.
I quickened my pace. Where would Laurel have left a final note for Myles? Maybe this was all in vain. Maybe there was no final letter. Maybe they’d said their goodbyes on Saturday. Maybe that was the explanation for their emotional meeting.
From somewhere far away, I heard the call of an owl, a long, haunting cry that echoed through the forest into the clearing and seemed to bounce off the cold earth. An hour after I started, I faced defeat. I reluctantly headed toward the road where I’d left the Suburban. How foolish I’ve been, I thought. How obsessed. Why can’t I stop digging for bodies? Why can’t I accept that this case is over and done with?
In that instant, everything changed.
I would have missed it except for the fawn-gray squirrel that scurried past and ran up the side of a box elder tree. I stopped to watch, laughed when it jumped from one limb to another, and at first, I didn’t recognize what I was looking at pinned to the trunk maybe ten feet up. In the summer, foliage would have hidden it. Even with the leaves fallen, it was barely visible.
A large rock at the base of the tree had a flat top, and I climbed up. I thought about Laurel doing the same wearing her long prairie dress, how she must have held the skirt up or she would have tripped. I had to stretch to reach the weathered wooden board and push it to the side. The nail the board hung from resisted, but I shifted it out of the way and uncovered a hole in the tree, one that a bird might nest in. Instead, I saw something white inside. While still standing on the rock I read the front of the envelope: My Dearest Myles.
The writing was familiar—I knew it had to be written by the same hand as the letters I’d read that night at the shelter in which Laurel recounted how she’d been torn from Myles and given, assigned as one might property, to Jacob. Only this letter differed in many ways. This was an apology, and a plea.
I am sorry for our argument. I should have understood your point of view, that I wasn’t free to leave with you, and that you had to go. It must be hard for you to have only these few stolen minutes together, the two of us separated by days and even weeks at times. I understand that you need more in life. I understand that you have to make plans to leave Alber.
While I say that, I plead with you one last time to take me with you. I tell you that it isn’t safe for me here. It is only a matter of time before he tells. I know you hope your leaving will protect me, but I fear that isn’t true. I know he has been watching me. I know he knows about us. And I know that he will not keep our secret. Myles, I am in grave danger. Please, don’t leave without me.
My love, each night, I say my final prayer: that somehow, some way, we can be together.
&nb
sp; The letter went on for three pages, Laurel pleading with Myles to meet her at the river the following day, that fateful Monday afternoon, to make plans for their escape. I thought about how if Myles had gotten the letter and agreed, they might have run away together. But the letter was never retrieved from the tree, because in the middle of the night, Myles and Laurel both died.
While Laurel had confided in her father that Carl stalked her, the new letter spelled out that she’d discovered that Carl knew about her and Myles, and that she feared Carl would tell her husband. I thought about Jacob lying on the kitchen floor struggling for life, and again I wondered why Carl did what he did. He was angry with Laurel, perhaps, that I understood. But why did he attempt to kill his best friend? Why did he murder Anna and the two children?
As I walked toward the Suburban, I clicked through the evidence, compiled a mental inventory. A thought occurred to me, and I called Stef at the station. “I need you to do something for me,” I said. “I just realized that a document was missing when I went through the Johansson files yesterday. We need to check on it. I’m looking for the response to a subpoena.”
I gave Stef the information, and she promised to track it down and call me ASAP. When I reached the Suburban and climbed inside, I placed Laurel’s letter on the passenger seat. Time clicked by. I thought of Max waiting at the cabin. He would be expecting me. I thought of Naomi and Jacob. I wondered where they’d marry. Probably at the ward house in town where Jacob’s father used to be bishop. I looked at my watch and decided that it wouldn’t be long before the wedding.
Her Final Prayer: A totally gripping and heart-stopping crime thriller (Detective Clara Jefferies Book 2) Page 27
