Cricket Hunters

by Jeremy Hepler

  She jerked her head up and scooted her back up to the camper’s license plate when she heard a car engine approaching from the opposite direction. When the headlights veered into a driveway across the street from Maria’s house, Cel levered herself to her feet and leaned back against the camper. She listened to the engine cut off, a car door open and close, a house front door open and close. The light-headedness had passed, but now she felt queasy. She fished the envelope out of her back pocket. She needed to slip the envelope into the mailbox and hurry home.

  She peeked around the camper. Maria’s car was in the driveway, Jose’s red Mustang behind it, partially blocking the sidewalk, a few feet from the curbside mailbox. The garage door was down, the gate to the backyard closed and padlocked—a new edition since the night she’d stolen Frito. She bet Maria’s bedroom window stayed closed now, too. The porchlight was off, the only visible window on the side of the house darkened by curtains.

  She followed the neighbors’ fence-lines up the street, moving in shadows whenever possible, her eyes locked on Maria’s front door. She crouched as she approached Jose’s Mustang and paused next to the back driver’s side fender. Looking over the trunk, she ran her eyes over the house again, checked the windows and front door, but saw no signs of life. Staying low, she slid around the Mustang bumper and placed the letter in the mailbox, wedging in the middle of the Monday mail the Lopez’s hadn’t retrieved.

  As she crept back around the back of the Mustang, she stopped when she noticed a smattering of green shards on the curb on the neighbor’s side of the driveway. A shattered beer bottle. Dos Equis. Jose’s favorite beer. When at his house with her abuela, Cel had heard him claim it was the only brand real Mexicans should drink. He’d probably tossed the bottle there. Such a fucking pig. Inconsiderate and rude. Always insisting he was right. Always demanding he get anything he wanted, when he wanted it. Disgusting. Just like Abby.

  Her eyes stolid, wrought with justified vindication, Cel picked up the largest shard, made her way over to the Mustang with purpose and dug the glass into the paint.

  “This is for my abuela. For Tia Dillo. Because you’re an arrogant asshole. Because your mom is a bitch. Because I can.”

  Spittle fumed from her lips as she whispered and scored the door and both adjoining fenders. As a final fuck you, she stabbed the shard at the back tire, but it punctured her palm instead of the rubber, drawing fresh blood. She cursed in Spanish, and without realizing exactly what she’d done until finished, she scratched TITS across the bottom of the door.

  She tossed the shard aside, sprinted to her bike, and pedaled back to the Gateway neighborhood as quickly as her legs and lungs allowed. When she turned onto Abby’s street, Abby’s mom’s Escort and Beverly Lundy’s Suburban were in the driveway, a police cruiser curbside in front of the house. The front door was closed, all the inside windows now lit.

  Keeping her eyes on the front door, she cautiously wheeled her bike up to the gate on the side of the house, and after peeking into the backyard to make sure the coast was clear, she eased open the gate, pushed the bike through, and lowered it to the ground. This wasn’t exactly where she’d found it, but considering all that had happened in the home, her bike’s exact placement wouldn’t be memorable, anyway. Besides, she couldn’t risk someone seeing her.

  She slipped across the street and headed home without chancing a glance back at the house.

  SEPTEMBER 2013

  Chapter 31 - Cel

  The sun had set by the time Cel marched out of the Oak Mott Police Station after the polygraph test. When she arrived home, Mila emerged from the darkness and greeted her just inside the door, weaving around her ankles, meowing for food. Cel whispered a soothing spell as she flicked on every light she passed on her way to the kitchen. She filled Mila’s food and water bowls and was on her way to the bathroom to pee when the landline phone rang. She knew the caller without checking the caller ID. Parker had insisted they have a landline in case of power outages or other emergencies, and Yesenia was the only person other than Parker’s mom and telemarketers who knew the number.

  Cel had debated stopping by her abuela’s house on the way home but decided against it. She knew Yesenia would insist on brewing tea, probably cooking something, too, and then want to sit at the kitchen table and talk for hours, discussing what Detective Hart had wanted, what he’d asked, what, if anything new, the cops had learned. Cel wasn’t hungry, and she wasn’t eager for a long, face-to-face rehashing session, either. She needed time to process everything first. But if she didn’t answer, Yesenia might drive over. Over the phone she’d at least be able to keep the conversation short.

  She picked up after the second ring. Natalie and Omar had driven back to Yesenia’s house after Cel left for the police station to let her know what had happened. They were still there, worried because Cel hadn’t answered their texts or calls. Cel gave Yesenia the short version of the interrogation, not mentioning the polygraph or that her phone had been confiscated, and politely rejected Natalie’s and Omar’s offer to come over, saying she was tired and just wanted to take a hot shower and get some sleep. She promised to call them and swing by her abuela’s house sometime tomorrow. After she hung up, she filled the tea kettle and placed it on the burner before heading to the bathroom.

  She changed into sweatpants and a tank top, and as the hours passed, moved from room to room with Mila on her heels and a mug of tea in her hand, erasing what the cops had done. She flipped her mattress to hide the missing chunk and remade the bed with fresh sheets. She reorganized the closets, emptied the dressers, refolded and replaced the clothes. She removed every dish from every cupboard, washed them and put them back. She re-stacked Parker’s paperback books in the computer room closet in alphabetical order by author’s last names with one exception; she put The Illustrated Man with Abby’s picture sticking out on Parker’s nightstand. She scrubbed the toilets and sinks and tubs. She vacuumed. The longer she worked, the more isolated and scared she felt. The house seemed larger and larger. The silence heavier and heavier. She left every light on, all closet doors open. Checked and rechecked every locked window and door. Tears occasionally fell from her eyes as her mind reeled, struggling to absorb and process her situation.

  When she’d completed every task she could think of, she went to the living room, sat on the couch, and turned on the TV. It was a little after four in the morning. She was exhausted but for some reason couldn’t keep her eyes closed. She found an I Love Lucy re-run, lay on her side, and stared blankly at the screen. Only after Mila hopped onto the couch and curled up against her belly did sleep finally find her.

  She awoke three hours later, not rested but alert. Leaving the TV on for noise, she made her way through the house, turning off the lights and opening the curtains and blinds, allowing the rising sun to light the place. After showering and performing a strengthening ritual, she toasted a piece of bread, refilled her mug with warm tea, and went back to the couch where Mila napped. The local news was on. She watched the weekly forecast and was about to change the channel when a short-haired woman anchor named Jesse Dalton said, “Coming up, Oak Mott Police are asking for help following the disappearance of two local teachers.”

  Cel gasped when Parker’s and Lauren’s pictures popped up in the upper right corner. Parker had on a white dress shirt and blue tie—his school picture from last year. Lauren’s picture was a headshot, too, but not a school photo. Cel stared at the screen, struggling to finish chewing the bite of toast in her mouth, as three excruciatingly slow minutes of commercials passed. When Jesse Dalton returned to the screen, the pictures returned, too.

  Cel scooted to the edge of the cushion and watched wide-eyed as Dalton talked about Parker’s Camry being found in Hunter’s Haven, how Lauren had disappeared from her apartment days later, and how they both taught English at Oak Mott Middle School. Stock pictures of Hunter’s Haven and the Grandview Apartment complex replaced Parker’s and Lauren’s photos while Dalton talked. She di
dn’t mention Lauren’s son Sammy, or that Lauren was Parker’s mentee and possible mistress. She ended the short segment by asking anyone with any information to call the Oak Mott police.

  Cel turned off the TV, cinched her robe tighter around her waist, and walked to the window that looked out at the front yard. She wondered how long it would be before reporters came knocking on her door. Or her neighbor’s. Or Abuela’s. The Oak Mott Gossip Train had probably already jumped into action, spreading the news far and wide that Lauren Page—a young, beautiful, single mom—had disappeared, too. Cel sighed and shook her head as she scanned the houses across the street. She had no doubt that by lunchtime, Oak Mott would be saturated with hushed speculations about the witch’s missing husband and his mistress.

  Cel reclosed all the curtains and blinds before heading to the back porch for some fresh air. She would’ve preferred to go for a walk in Woodway Park instead. She was too tired to jog but still craved the routine and scenery her morning jogs provided. But that would likely draw unwelcome attention. So she watered her plants, rotated them to different spots for optimal sun, and sat in a lawn chair for a while watching the sky brighten, knowing a social storm was headed her way. Soon enough, every eye in town would be casting suspicion and accusations her way. Every head in every car rubbernecking her direction.

  She went back inside around nine o’clock to prepare to go to her abuela’s house. In her bedroom, she changed into jeans and a T-shirt, and then applied enough eyeliner, blush, and lipstick to hide her skin’s pallor and the bags under her eyes. She’d just pulled her hair back in ponytail and was sliding on shoes when a woman called out her name. She gasped and cut her eyes toward the doorway. The voice hollered her name again. It was close. In the house. She hurried to the doorway and looked down the hall as the front door slammed shut. Hadn’t it been locked?

  “Where are you, Cel?”

  When Parker’s sisters Jennifer and Jill stepped from the foyer into the hallway, heat flushed Cel’s face. She wanted to point over their shoulder and scream, “Get the fuck out of my house,” but as the cops had made blatantly clear, it wasn’t her house. It was Beverly Lundy’s house. Cel fought back her desire to rage but refused to hide her disapproval of their intrusion. She strode down the hall to prevent the sisters from coming deeper into the home. “What are you doing in here? You can’t just barge in.”

  Jennifer, the elder Lundy sister, the spitting image of round-faced, thick-banged Beverly, held up a house key. A key Parker swore he hadn’t given a copy of to his mother. Fucking liar. “Yes, we can.”

  “Just because you have a key doesn’t mean you—”

  “Yes, it does,” Jennifer interjected, her beady eyes swelling with anger. “We’re going to do whatever it takes to find out what happened to our brother.”

  Cel crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that a threat?”

  Jennifer didn’t respond. She eyed Cel like a charging bull. Chin down, eyes angled up. Her chest rose and fell with each breath beneath her pink shirt. She was twice as wide as Cel. Her midsection blocked a good portion of the hallway. Behind her, Jill glowered, too. Though taller, thinner, and sporting longer hair and glasses, she had the same round face and beady eyes as her mother and sister. She lived in Houston with her dentist husband, Dylan Feck, and their two kids, William and Maci, ages four and five. Cel hadn’t seen her since last Christmas at the yearly Lundy gathering, where she maybe said two sentences to Cel. They might’ve shared two paragraphs of conversation over the last two years.

  “What do you want from me?” Cel asked.

  “Answers,” Jennifer said.

  “The truth,” Jill added.

  “I’ve told the cops everything I know.”

  “That’s bullshit.” Jennifer pointed at Cel. “You know what happened to him.”

  Cel tilted slightly forward at the waist. “No. I. Don’t.”

  “Then why did the cops find huge blood stains on your mattress and floor?” A smug expression found Jennifer’s face. “And why did they make you take a polygraph test, huh?”

  Cel scoffed in disbelief. Beverly had obviously talked to her good buddy Chief Sterling and passed the information onto her daughters. “First off, they didn’t make me do anything. I volunteered. Second, the stains weren’t huge.” Cel threw her hands out to the sides as she said the word huge, as if testing how far she could reach, then re-crossed them in a defensive position over her chest. “And it wasn’t even Parker’s blood. It was mine. Both of them.” Cel took one step forward, moving to within a couple of feet of Jennifer. “The blood on the mattress is from when I started hemorrhaging during my third miscarriage, and the blood stain on the carpet is from when Parker hit me in the face and bloodied my nose when we were drunk and arguing one night.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Jennifer said. “You know where he is, and I think you know where Lauren is, too.” She licked her lips. “I think you and your voodoo grandma did something to them because you were jealous and knew he was going to leave you for her.”

  Cel hesitated, stung by the statement. Not the voodoo grandma part. She’d been teased about her “witch” grandma and their “satanic” family her entire life. Countless times by the Lundy women, in fact. What stung was the possibility that Parker had told Jennifer he was leaving Cel. A possibility she’d dwelled on internally many times but had never heard voiced out loud. “He wouldn’t leave me,” Cel proclaimed, though her tone betrayed her lack of confidence.

  Cel’s rejection seemed to please both Jennifer and Jill. They were smart, she was dumb. “Uh, yes. He would,” Jill insisted. “He told me so himself. He said he was sick of your crazy ass mood swings. He said living with you is miserable.”

  Cel’s eyes bounced from Jennifer to Jill, Jennifer to Jill.

  “I think you knew he brought Lauren and Sammy to our house last week to meet Mom,” Jennifer added. “I think you knew he was falling in love with Lauren because she had a good heart and a good womb and would do anything to make him happy, and that’s what set you off, made you kill them, isn’t it?”

  Cel gritted her teeth and shook her head as her eyes shrunk to angry slits and brimmed with tears.

  “Is it your fucking goal to destroy our whole family?” Jennifer thumbed at her own chest and then over her shoulder at Jill. “Do you know where we just came from? Huh?” Her eyes misted, as well. “The hospital. That’s right. Our mom had a stroke last night when she learned that Lauren had gone missing, too. A stroke caused by you and your lies. You need to tell us the truth, Cel. Or I swear to God, I don’t care what kind of hoodoo voodoo shit you can do, I’ll—”

  “Get out!” Cel screamed

  “Or what?” Jennifer taunted.

  “Or I’m calling the cops!” Cel licked her lips, eager to sting Jennifer as hard as she’d been stung. “And then I’ll curse you so bad it’ll make your mom’s stroke seem like a joke.”

  When Jennifer made an aggressive move toward Cel, Cel jumped back and threw her hands up like a boxer. Jill grabbed her sister’s shoulders. “No, Jenn. She’s not worth going to jail over. Mom doesn’t need that to deal with, too. The truth will come out, and she’ll get what’s coming to her.”

  Jennifer glowered at Cel for a moment before allowing Jill to escort her to the front door. As Jill pushed the door open and stepped out onto the front porch, Jennifer glanced back at Cel. “You really think you’re a fucking witch?” That same smug smirk on her face. “Then you better be ready to be burned alive.”

  As Jennifer turned to follow Jill outside, Cel rushed her, shoving her from behind. Jennifer stumbled forward into Jill, knocking Jill off the porch and onto the grass. Cel tried to slam the door shut, but Jennifer spun around and jammed her tree-trunk-sized leg into the gap. Cel threw the door open, dropped her chin, and rammed Jennifer’s chest with the top of her head. Then Cel wrapped her arms around Jennifer as Jennifer backpedaled onto the porch and tackled her into the yard.

  “Get off of her,” Jill y
elled, tugging on the back of Cel’s shirt.

  Jennifer easily shoved Cel off, then rolled over and dug her knee into Cel’s back, pinning Cel to the ground. “How do you like that, you fucking bitch?”

  Cel struggled to inhale much less speak. A strained moan was all she could manage.

  Jennifer grabbed Cel’s ponytail, jerked her face off of the grass, and twisted her head sideways. She raised her other fisted hand, ready to strike. “You’re going to wish—”

  A blaring horn cut her off. Jennifer and Jill both froze, looked away from Cel. Cel cut her eyes toward the road and saw the tail end of a big gray truck stopped in front of her neighbor’s house. She looked the other way, saw the mailman on a porch three houses down, watching.

  Jill grabbed Jennifer’s raised arm and forced her off of Cel. “Let’s go.”

  Cel pushed up onto all fours, and after catching her breath, rose to her feet in time to flip off Jennifer’s Audi as it pulled away from the curb.

  Chapter 32 - Cel

  Cel and Yesenia had been sitting at the kitchen table sipping tea for half an hour, discussing Jennifer and Jill, Detective Hart and the polygraph test, when Natalie knocked on the front door and let herself in, calling out, “Cel? Mrs. G? It’s me, Natalie,” as she made her way through the living room. She set her purse on the floor and sat next to Cel.

  Yesenia held up her mug. “You want a cup?”

  Natalie flashed a grateful smile. “Sure.” She turned toward Cel as Yesenia retrieved a mug from the cupboard. “Do you not have your phone? I’ve been trying to text and call you all morning.”

  Cel shook her head. “I gave it to Sterling and Hart yesterday.” She threw up finger quotes. “To help eliminate me as a suspect.”

  Natalie thanked Yesenia, who set a mug of steaming tea in front of her before returning to a chair on the opposite side of the table, then met eyes with Cel again. “Detective Hart came by my house early this morning and told me something similar. He said he wanted to ask me some questions in order to…” She mimicked Cel’s finger quotes. “Help clear your name.”