Trial by Twelve

by Heather Day Gilbert

  I recognize the wheedle in the voice before she gets to her name. “Hi. This is Tawny Creeden with The Buckneck Daily. I’ve heard that someone dug up bones on your property? Is this true?”

  Tawny is known for having all the tact of a pig at the trough.

  “I can’t answer that. You’ll have to talk with Dani, the owner. I can take your number—”

  “No need. I’m on my way over now. I’ll talk to her myself.”

  Our mutually snippy conversation concluded, I decide it’s time to let Thomas know what’s going on. Tawny knows at least two elderly women at church and she probably called them before she called me.

  Thomas picks up on the first ring. “Tess. You okay?”

  “Yes, hon—I don’t know what you’ve heard—”

  “Only that a human bone was found right behind where you work. I was hoping it was a hoax.”

  “Not really. I saw it myself.”

  “What! Did you find it? What’s going on? I’m coming to get you.”

  “Calm down. I have the SUV here, remember? And it’s just one bone. Granted, it does look like a human arm bone. But there is a detective here and everything is going to be fine—”

  “A detective? Is he by any chance a mountain man who resembles a skinny George Clooney with a beard?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Detective Zechariah Tucker is not one to be trifled with. He’s only pulled in for homicides. He spends most of his life hunting and camping in the woods, just like a real-live Bear Grylls. The only comfort I can take is that you’ll be safe when he’s around, because he repels bad guys. But could you please come on home? You know Mom will be in a state once she hears of this.”

  “Could you call her for me? I need to field the calls here and deal with a reporter for Dani. I promise I’ll come home early tonight.”

  “You get out of there before dark or I will come and get you.”

  I hang up, thankful it’s summer and it won’t get dark till late. Although Thomas’ sweet promise, similar to the “I will find you” line from The Last of the Mohicans movie, does touch me.

  Detective Tucker thumps down the hallway with his combat boots. As he reaches my desk, he pulls a Coke bottle from his pocket and spits some tobacco juice into it, adding to the gritty black pool at the bottom. My eyebrows rise of their own accord and he notices.

  “Dirty habit, I know. Not good for polite company, all that.” He leans over the desk. “And you are…?”

  “Tess Spencer, sir. My husband is a lawyer.” I have no idea why I mentioned that.

  “Thomas Spencer? Over with Meredith and Jenkins? I’ve seen him in court once or twice.” He gives me a critical look, as if memorizing my hair and eye color, weight, and various other mug shot details. “A good man and a tough lawyer.”

  I immediately decide Detective Tucker and I will be fast friends. You like my husband, you like me.

  “Mrs. Spencer. Were you out back when the bone was discovered?”

  “No, sir. I was working. I had no clue what happened until our masseuse—Teeny—came and told us.”

  “Strange name.”

  “I agree.”

  We sit in companionable silence until the front door bursts open with a gust of wind. Tawny Creeden wrestles her briefcase, small video camera, and laptop in the door. Detective Tucker, his face impassive, walks straight past her, heading out to the parking lot. She doesn’t pay him any attention, which shows me she has no idea who he is. Must not have covered a murder case before.

  She dumps everything on one of the leather chairs, dislodging two pillows in the process. Thankfully, Dani chooses this moment to walk in and extends a hand.

  “Danielle Gibson. I’m the spa owner. And you are?”

  Tawny shakes hands, her long nails nearly poking Dani’s wrist. “Tawny Creeden with The Buckneck Daily. We’ve heard some human bones were found on your property. I just have a few questions.”

  Dani smiles. I recognize that cat-that-ate-the-canary look. She has something up her sleeve.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Creeden, but the detective on this case said no reporters. He has two policemen outside who are more than willing to remove anyone who interferes with the investigation.”

  “But that’s not legal—” Tawny begins.

  “Detective Tucker.” Dani concludes.

  Tawny scoops up her paraphernalia and huffs out the door.

  “Well, that shut her down fast,” I say.

  “She knows who Detective Tucker is, even if she didn’t recognize him. His reputation precedes him. Oh, well.”

  Dani’s voice wavers and I take a second glance. All her bravado has evaporated. She drops into a chair. “I don’t know how this happened. This is a homicide investigation now. I’m going to have to lay people off for a while. They found more bones.”

  3

  I‘M SO GLAD WE WERE able to hike and to go shooting on my colleague’s land today. I underestimated your hunting skills. You have uncanny instincts, perhaps better than mine. You know which direction to go, picking up on the slightest sounds. You are a born predator.

  And yet something is lacking. Some drive. You take after your mother in this way. She never had any goals in life other than to marry. I want more than that for you. Some of us are not meant for nuptials. I hope you realize this before it’s too late and you are stuck, as I was. Amusing. The hunter became the prey. Your mother trapped me like a snared rabbit, with her beauty and charms. But I know something she doesn’t. The universe always gives us a way out.

  I CONTINUE FIELDING phone calls from customers and curious townspeople, barely looking up. Finally, my Doctor Who ringtone gives a whirring intergalactic shout-out, forcing me to yank my cell phone from the depths of my bag.

  My husband doesn’t waste time. “I’m outside.”

  I look out, and sure enough, dusk is falling fast. “Coming. Sorry, I just got busy. Let me find Dani and tell her I’m leaving.”

  I put the phone facedown and walk up the darkened hallway. The cloying smell of jasmine incense bubble-wraps any oxygen molecules I might hope to breathe. I play a hunch and veer toward the massage room. At my knock, Teeny opens the door on a candlelit scene, where Dani lies face down on the table.

  She lifts her head, her face red from the cushion, blonde hair mussed. If I didn’t know any better, I’d suspect some hanky-panky going on here. But the look in my boss’ eyes shows she’s far more freaked than romantic at this juncture.

  “Tess? Good heavens. What time is it? Teeny offered a massage—my nerves are fried—and I lost track of everything. I just about passed out once or twice, I think.”

  Teeny gives a slight nod and warms more oil in his hands before working it into Dani’s tan, toned back.

  “I just wanted to let you know I’m heading home. What about tomorrow? I canceled all our appointments for this week, like you asked.”

  “You’re a godsend. Honestly, I couldn’t survive without you. Stay home tomorrow. Catch up with your baby girl. I’m not coming in to work and—” She tries to look up but winds up staring at the wall. “Teeny, you aren’t either.”

  Teeny grunts his approval and applies extra pressure, propelling Dani’s head back into the pillow. The conversation is closed. I want to ask about Detective Tucker and the next steps in the investigation, but Dani is one step away from catatonic and Thomas is waiting for me outside.

  As I leave the overly warm room, I chill more than I should. Maybe I shouldn’t leave Dani alone with Teeny. Is anyone else in the building? The lights are out everywhere else, so I’m assuming we’re the last ones left.

  A voice from the lobby steers me back—Thomas’ voice blaring through the phone speaker. “You okay? Can you hear me?” I forgot I left him hanging there.

  “Heading out now.” I snatch the phone and my bags. Ever since I had a run-in with a demented killer last year, he’s determined not to let me out of range.

  Sure enough, Thomas waits for me just outside the
front door. As usual after work, he’s yanked his tie loose instead of taking it off, which gives him that studied preppy look he’s totally unaware of. He takes my bag and we follow the solar-lit footpath to the parking lot.

  “So?” He wraps a long arm around me, pulling me close.

  “Nothing much. I’m not going in to work the rest of the week.”

  “Well, that makes sense. You know, even though Dani looks like a washed-up surfer girl, she’s remarkably astute.”

  “‘Dani?’ Since when do you know her on a first name basis?”

  “Oh, we helped her set up the Crystal Mountain Spa a couple years ago. Didn’t I tell you?”

  Of course he didn’t. When it comes to business, Thomas is admirably closed-lipped. I wonder if his clients realize the vault of silence my husband constructs around their secrets. He probably only told me this because it happened so long ago it has no bearing on anything.

  “So…you met Detective Tucker. What did you think? Did he say anything about the case?” Thomas fumbles with the key to his old navy Volvo. No automatic door locks there.

  “Nothing to me. I’m just an administrative assistant, remember?” I click my key-fob and my red Escape lights up for me, beeping its enthusiasm. “You need a new vehicle, Thomas. That Volvo is on its last legs. I don’t know how you can stand to drive around with no A/C in summer.”

  “We’ve talked about this before. There’s no money for a new car. We’d need a serious windfall and for now, Freddie can keep it running.”

  Freddie is one of the oldest mechanics this side of Boone County and I’m beginning to think he’s determined to give the Volvo as many years as he’s had.

  Thomas opens my SUV door with a flourish. “Entrez vous, m’lady.” I climb in and he kisses my forehead. “We’ll talk at home. Mom said she’ll meet us at our cottage. She’s already fed Mira Brooke.”

  A wave of joy catches me off-guard every time Thomas says our daughter’s name. Our Mira Brooke, with the dark surprising curls and honey-soft skin. Our girl, who made me cry the first time she looked up and said Mama.

  “See you there. You’d better go first in case your car gives up the ghost along the way.”

  “Very funny.” He revs his engine and pulls out, and I throw a final glance at the spa. Is that a flashlight beam bouncing out back?

  AS WE MAKE OUR WAY down the Spencer family driveway, nearly every light is burning at Roger and Nikki Jo’s big white house. I wonder if we should stop in at our in-laws’, but Thomas rolls on by, to our cottage out back. The anemic bulb on our front porch lights a small circle, beckoning us in to the fully lit interior. Obviously Nikki Jo is a little worried.

  She meets us at the door, handing Mira Brooke to me. I kiss my daughter’s chubby cheeks while Mom talks.

  “Ooh, honey. I heard. Everyone’s wondering who on earth that is up there, dumped in the ground with no proper funeral or anything. Now it could be Widow-woman Charles. Goodness knows she’s been missing some fifteen years. But most everyone believes she went and drowned herself in the Ohio River, even though they never did find her. Probably threw herself off the bridge.”

  Mira Brooke pats my face and then reaches for her daddy. Thomas takes her, absently kissing her head.

  “Mom, do we really need to talk about this now? I’m tired; I’m sure Tess is tired…”

  Nikki Jo places a manicured hand on her heart, obviously taken aback by Thomas’ inability to play guess-who-died. I rush to her aid.

  “It’s hard to tell who it was. I figure they’ll turn something up, though. It’s Detective Tucker on the case.”

  “Zechariah? He went to school with me. Real quiet type, always noticing things. Shoot, he noticed my hair was permed before your daddy did, Thomas.”

  “Mm-hm.” Thomas drops his tie and shirt on the couch, then hands Mira Brooke off to me. I know he’s hungry, and sure enough, he heads right into the kitchen and fixes himself a plate of his mom’s homemade ravioli and garlic bread.

  “Well, whoever did this, I wouldn’t want to go up against Zeke. He was an Eagle Scout and all that. Survivalist.” Nikki Jo clacks her nails on the counter. “But Tess, you really shouldn’t go back until they get all this straightened out. What if it’s a recent killing?”

  What if it’s a recent killing? Nikki Jo, in typical candid fashion, just nailed what’s been lurking in my thoughts all day, what I’ve been unwilling to consider. What if this isn’t an old body? I don’t know the rate of decomposition, but even a couple years back isn’t very old for a murder.

  “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be home a few days, at least, till this gets cleared up.” Mira Brooke teases to get down, so I put her on the thick piece of carpet remnant Mom and Dad got us last year.

  “Music to my ears.” Nikki Jo swoops down to kiss her granddaughter, then hugs me and waves at Thomas. “See you tomorrow. Oh, and Petey said he’ll stop by after school to gang shoot or something with you, Tess.”

  I grin. Our “gang shoot” is in actuality a new Xbox multiplayer game we’re working our way through. “Thanks, Mom.”

  As Nikki Jo closes the front door, Thomas saunters over, plate of ravioli carefully balanced in one hand. We watch in silence as Mira Brooke digs into her toy box, her dark cloud of curls bobbing.

  He winks at me. “Hey shooter girl. You want to go real shooting with me sometime? Like for a date?”

  Thomas is anxious for me to practice shooting, ever since I finally got my concealed carry permit. He bought me a smaller Glock, a nine millimeter, versus the .45 that kicked too much for me.

  “Sure thing. I’ll see when my schedule frees up.” I grab his upper arm—solid muscle he somehow manages to maintain. Our playful banter quickly morphs into something charged, and he gives me a knowing look, dipping in for a kiss. Remarkably, his ravioli is still balanced in one hand.

  “Hold your horses, lawyer man. I need to eat something.”

  “Oh, sure. Sorry. Me too. You’re just distracting, wife.”

  His brown eyes simmer under ruffled blond bangs. My gaze travels again to his tan muscles extending beyond his T-shirt sleeves.

  Mira Brooke squeals in delight, pushing a button on a McDonald’s Barbie toy that repeats some unintelligible phrase. Weakness washes over me and I dish up my food. One bite of Nikki Jo’s cooking will boost my flagging spirits like restorative waters.

  Thomas settles on the couch, prays silently, and begins to eat. “So…what was your impression of Detective Tucker?” He’s fascinated with the mountain man detective.

  “I don’t know. Honestly, he didn’t stand out. Chewing tobacco, camo—you know, your typical West Virginia guy. Thick hair for his age, I’d say—”

  He interrupts, not interested in my descriptive prowess. “Some perps have turned themselves in, just knowing he was the primary investigator on their case.” By the awe in his tone, I’d say Detective Tucker is one of the select few who impress Thomas.

  Mira Brooke dances around with her toy, oblivious to how close she veers to the coffee table. I set my plate on the counter and rush toward her, but it’s too late. She seems to fall in slow motion, cutting her head on the table’s sharp edge. My stomach lurches and I drop to her side. Blood, unnaturally red against her pale skin, trickles from a gash near her eyebrow, and she cries pitifully. Thomas hands me his napkin to stop the bleeding.

  “What should I do?” he asks.

  “Get the phone.” I hold Mira Brooke close, pressing the napkin tight on the gash.

  Thomas obediently retrieves my cell. “Should I call the emergency pediatrics number?”

  “No, call your mom.”

  AFTER NIKKI JO RUSHES over and pronounces it a surface cut, we find gauze and tape stanch the blood flow pretty quickly. I knew my mother-in-law would have a quick and accurate diagnosis, having raised three boys, two with serious daredevil propensities.

  As I finally fall into bed, after bath duty and kitchen cleanup, it hits me. Mira Brooke’s scheduled pediatrician appoin
tment is tomorrow. And my worst nightmares will be realized: I’ll look like a negligent mom, not so far removed from the one I grew up with.

  4

  SOMEONE REPORTED YOUR mother to Social Services. I’ll admit, it might have been me. I’m sick of seeing that woman’s influence over you. She’s making you soft.

  In love, we have to make sacrifices. This is one of those times. I want you to remember everything I taught you. Tune out the lies your mother fed you and follow your own truth. I promise, I will find you someday and make sure you have followed the principles I have ingrained in you. I’ll keep writing you letters, to make sure you understand I’m looking out for you.

  Something might happen to your mother if she continues to press me. She is ungrateful and ignorant. I knew I had to free you to follow this text from the Atharva Veda: “Do not be led by others, awaken your own mind, amass your own experience, and decide for yourself your own path.”

  THE PEDIATRICIAN APPOINTMENT leaves me steaming, but not because of an attack on my parental abilities. More like an attack on my personal liberties. When Dr. Lopez casually asked me if we had guns in the house, the answer was an immediate yes. After all, not only do I live in West Virginia, but I’m also married to a Spencer, and Spencer men have been proud gun owners from time immemorial. Mountaineers.

  But I didn’t ask for the stern lecture she gave me about guns, as if I had no idea how to handle them. And really, it was none of her business. I feel like there must be a law about this somewhere. I’ll ask Thomas about it.

  Mira Brooke, oblivious to my angst, kicks in her car seat and laughs. I have no clue where this child got her lighthearted spirit, but I hope she never loses it.

  Suddenly, I realize I’ve turned the wrong way, as if my SUV has a mind of its own. We’re heading toward The Haven, not toward home. But maybe this is the right way. I need to see the woman who has been my friend and surrogate grandma for so many years, even if she doesn’t recognize me.