Trial by Twelve

by Heather Day Gilbert

  He pushes open the door and walks in front of me to the SUV. I feel shielded because if a rogue bowhunter is trying to take a shot, the arrow would have to go through Axel first. I don’t even think it could. The man seems like he’s sculpted from marble.

  I unlock my SUV door and Axel opens it. As I settle into the driver’s seat, concern etches his brow. “What happened in the heated room, Tess? Did the woman Dani hurt you?”

  The protective tone in his voice comes through loud and clear. If I answer yes, it might be like unleashing my own personal guard dog. I don’t think we need to get that drastic. But the whole sauna experience was baffling. Did someone know I was claustrophobic? Did Teeny have something to do with it? Did Dani have to put me in a chokehold?

  I shake my head, coming back to how Dani tried to talk me through my fear, how determined she was to get us out of the sauna. She was just as surprised as I was to be locked in there. “No, she didn’t hurt me. She tried to help me.”

  Axel nods curtly, scanning the woods and spa as if sensing the tainted vibes. He should probably be aware of this murderer on the loose. “There is a serial killer running around here somewhere,” I say.

  He nods again.

  I repeat myself. “Did you hear me? A serial killer—a person who has killed several people?” I explain, in case his German is the problem.

  “I know of this,” he says, still scanning.

  How does he know when it hasn’t even come out in the news yet? I’m probably a fool for trusting him. His entire demeanor screams “sleeping lion,” and yet my gut instinct says this lion would never turn on me.

  Dani emerges from the building, her usual confident stride downgraded to a half-hearted stalk. She goes straight to her sleek Honda coupe and waves at us before tearing out of the parking lot. She’s ticked, all right. She might be going to accost Teeny right now. As well she should, if he was the one who locked us in.

  It’s difficult to have a conversation with Axel, and right now I need to call Detective Tucker. He might be able to make sense of things.

  “Vielen dank, Axel.” My college German is rusty but I still remember a few basic phrases.

  He smiles and it feels like sunlight beaming on me. “Immer.” Always.

  As he walks to his older black Mercedes, I pull away, pondering. I’m fairly certain Axel was lying when he said he only returned to West Virginia last month. But I’m not going to question the one God sent to unlock that sauna door. I’m going to figure out who locked it in the first place.

  15

  I‘VE GONE TWO MONTHS without seeing her, then tonight she showed up in the parking lot and tried to follow me home. I finally lost her with some skillful car maneuvering, but the point is that your mother is getting to be a pain.

  Also, Julie at work asked if I wanted to join her at Cecile’s Restaurant after work. Can you believe it? A woman asking a man on a date is ridiculous. If I wanted to go on a date, I would have asked her. And Sea is always pointing to me, tittering away at the commune as if I’m invisible. I don’t know what I said, but she seems to have it in for me.

  Meanwhile, besides helping with the communal garden, I usually mellow out by reading. So far this summer, I’ve read through Nietzsche’s The Birth of Tragedy and Thoreau’s On Walden Pond. Yes, I confess I’ve never read that, even though I should have.

  Altogether I cannot complain. I am just having difficulty living in the “now” when all these women toss me about like waves, toying with my emotions. I came here for introspection, and sadly I have had little time to practice it.

  I PULL IN AT THE BUCKNECK Daily, a nondescript brick building you wouldn’t know was a newspaper office, save for a drooping, stencil-lettered sign over the door.

  A disinterested secretary mans the desk, barely glancing up at me, even though I’m probably her only visitor today. She flicks a greasy piece of hair from her face, staring at a chunky desktop screen that must be ten years old.

  “Excuse me. I’m looking for Tawny Creeden?”

  That wakes her up. She nearly knocks over her oversized Mountain Dew. “What for?”

  “She was researching a story and I didn’t get to say goodbye. Just wanted to clear up a few details.” That sounds better than “I wanted to make sure she got back alive.”

  “She ain’t been in all day. Our boss ain’t none too happy about it.”

  I nod, trying not to let apprehension creep into my voice. “Do you have some paper and a pen?”

  She hands me a yellow sticky note and a permanent marker. I write my name and cell number, adding a smiley face for good measure. “Please tell her to call me as soon as she gets a chance.”

  The woman unabashedly picks up the note, reading my name aloud. “Tess Spencer. Any relation to that lawyer in town?”

  “He’s my husband.” I’m not sure how this news will be received.

  She merely huffs and sticks the note on her smudged computer screen. “I’ll get it to Tawny, but if you see ‘er first, you’d better call me here. You ain’t never seen a rage till you seen Mr. Messer in one. She’s his star reporter, too.”

  She shakes her head, clucking as I go out the door.

  Back in my SUV, I call Detective Tucker. He finally picks up on the fourth ring. I briefly give him a rundown of the sauna debacle, including Dani’s covert Marine skills, and ask him about Tawny.

  “Did she catch you before you left?”

  “Actually, I didn’t leave. I parked my Hummer off-road and went up that back trail a ways. I’ve been camped here, watching the woods.”

  “You mean you were that close to the spa when we were locked in?”

  “Trust me, I had no idea you were in trouble or I would’ve shown up. I wasn’t watching the spa. I needed to know if someone has been visiting the woods. So far, no one has been here. Lots of trees that would be easy to climb up and sit in, though.”

  “Well, that’s not comforting. Shouldn’t we try to find Tawny? She drives a beat-up, rusty dark blue car.”

  “I’ll tell police to keep an eye open, but we can’t do much until she’s reported missing. She married?”

  “I’ll check the phone book and ask around.”

  “I’m sorry you were trapped in there, Mrs. Spencer. You mentioned you were afraid of small spaces?”

  “Yes.” I really don’t want to talk about my phobia.

  “Then you ought to be aware of this: we’re fairly certain the latest victim was stashed in the trunk of a car at some point, and forensics show some of the other women might have been, too. The killer may have abducted the women in the trunk, or toted them to the burial site in it. Point being, maybe you ought to read up on how to get out of a car trunk.”

  It takes a minute for that comment to register. “What? I thought you said you’d keep me safe!”

  “I said I’d do my dead-level best to protect you. Sometimes that means you have to keep yourself safe. For instance, where was your Glock when you were in that sauna?”

  I’m being scolded. My cheeks flame. “It was a sauna!”

  His voice gentles. “Keep it on you at all times when you’re at the spa. Even if you’re with someone you know.” Axel’s face pops into my mind.

  “I can do that.”

  “Okay. I need to stop talking out here in the open. Keep checking into Tawny and get back to me.” He hangs up.

  I finally head home, reluctant to gear up for Nikki Jo’s Independence Day party tonight. I need to tell someone about the sauna lock-in, but I don’t want to drop that bomb on Thomas. Finally, I call Charlotte on my speaker phone.

  “Tess. Everything all right?”

  “Not really.” I have a sudden brainstorm. “Are you doing something tonight? Could you drop by this evening so we can talk, then join us for a Spencer family picnic? I know Nikki Jo won’t mind.”

  “That would be great. I need to get out of this place for a while and I have nothing to do at home. Bartholomew’s at a conference. What can I bring?”

&
nbsp; CHARLOTTE ARRIVES AS I’m bathing Mira Brooke. She takes over so I can change, not caring if her quilted gypsy skirt winds up looking like she just left a water park. When Charlotte unbuckles her cork wedges, I gasp.

  “Those shoes are gorgeous! And look at your pristine coffee toenail polish. Girl, if I only had half your skill at accessorizing…or just looking swank in general.”

  Charlotte laughs as Mira Brooke squirts water at her dark hair, a perfect chocolate-cherry color.

  “Tess, you always look swank…more like glam. You put on some lipstick and I swear you look like one of those fifties’ movie stars. Now quit running yourself down and tell me what happened today.”

  Mira Brooke giggles in the tub, and a grassy-smelling, crickety breeze swirls through the bedroom window. I don’t want to think about my claustrophobic sauna moments. But Charlotte might have some insight into the lock-in, so I fill her in.

  “Wait—Dani Gibson put you in a headlock? And Axel showed up? Wasn’t he the German who had a crush on you last year?”

  “I wouldn’t say crush. I mean he did stalk me in college and steal a kiss there. But I don’t think he feels that way about me now. I’ll tell you who is disturbing—Byron, the computer guy.”

  “Right. Yeah, sounds like he was hitting you up what with all that touchy-feely stuff and asking to meet in town. What possessed him to ask a married woman on a date? Was he probing for information?”

  “I figure he’s angling to know something. Oh! And I didn’t tell you about Tawny Creeden.”

  Mira Brooke offers a few parting splashes before Charlotte takes her from her bath seat, wrapping her in a towel. “What about Tawny? I think she went to my school.”

  I assemble and dismantle outfits as I explain. “She asked me about the bodies. When I refused to tell her anything, she waited in the parking lot to talk with Detective Tucker. But he said she never caught up with him, and her car was gone before Dani came.”

  A pair of white jeans and a navy striped tank finally seem to fit the bill, so I leave them on. Charlotte finagles a wiggly Mira Brooke into a diaper and a red romper.

  “I’m worried about Tawny,” I say.

  “It is fishy.” Charlotte snatches my new favorite perfume, Very Irresistible by Givenchy, and sprays me three times with it. Then she rummages through my drawer, unearthing a bright green collar necklace and cubic zirconia stud earrings. “Put these on,” she commands.

  Mira Brooke toddles after Charlotte to my closet and starts pulling my shoes out, one by one.

  “Good girl—that’s just what I needed.” Charlotte winks. She matches up a pair of green ballet flats I forgot I owned and tosses them my way. “Now, hair and makeup.”

  By the time Charlotte’s finished with me, I feel like a new woman. I don’t want to worry about Tawny and Dani and Axel and Byron. I don’t want to think of the dead woman’s face and burial ground behind the spa.

  Thomas comes home just as I’m making the sweet tea. He gives Charlotte a wave, Mira Brooke a smooch, and then stops and stares at me.

  “Woah.”

  Charlotte grins and discreetly carries Mira Brooke out to the porch swing.

  Thomas steps closer, tracing my cheek with his fingertips. “You look…like jailbait.”

  I tip up to give him a long kiss, losing most of my pink lip gloss. “Thanks, babe. You’d better get ready. Mom will be waiting.”

  “I can’t even make casual conversation. You have derailed my brain. Unhinged? I can’t think of the word.”

  My phone rings. “It’s your Mom! Get ready because I know she doesn’t want that barbeque to get cold. We’ll go on over.”

  After assuring Nikki Jo we’re on our way, I carry the tea and Charlotte walks Mira Brooke up our gravel path to the big house. Red and purple flowers tumble onto the pathway, a wondrous profusion Nikki Jo has tended to. Mira Brooke stops to sniff as many as she can, enchanted.

  Although I tend to kill flowers, there’s an antique rosebush I’ve been watering all summer and it seems determined to survive. It’s finally blooming, its roses a dusty pink with apple green edging. Before the Campbells’ house sold, the Good Doctor—Bartholomew Cole—wanted me to have a keepsake of Rose. We dug up and transplanted this bush from her expansive rose garden, and every time I look at it, I’m flooded with memories. Above all, I feel awestruck that God protected me the last time I went to that house.

  Charlotte catches my misty gaze as I touch the satiny rose petals. She gives me a half-hug as we come up to Nikki Jo and Roger’s back yard.

  It’s more like a private paradise, the smooth circle of grass hedged in with large-leafed blue hostas and sprawling rhododendrons. A curtained pavilion is the latest addition to the bluestone patio. Nikki Jo runs out to hug Charlotte, always delighted to see Miranda’s daughter.

  Stella relaxes in one of the white rockers, looking sleek as a cat in a ruffly white blouse and black cigarette pants. Andrew does a goofy jig over to us and picks up Mira Brooke. When he spins her around, I gasp.

  “Your hair! I didn’t think you’d ever cut it.” He’s sporting a new layered haircut that makes his hair look even more blond. The ponytail is gone.

  “Figured I might as well get all duded up for Mom’s soirée.” He winks at me before focusing on Charlotte. “And who is this exotic creature?”

  Charlotte rolls her eyes. It’s rare that two perfect specimens of humanity, like Charlotte and Andrew, are in such close proximity. You have the feeling they’re on a collision course. They will inevitably be drawn to one another, like opposing magnetic poles. In this case, Charlotte is at least fifteen years older than Andrew, but something tells me that would only make her more of a challenge for him.

  Petey chases Thor onto the patio, a welcome diversion. He got a haircut too, and looks older without his unruly mop of red curls. Hard to believe he’ll be driving soon.

  “Hey Tess, we need to do some shooting. On the range or video games—I don’t care what. I just want to hang.”

  Thomas’ hand falls on my shoulder, and I lean into him as he answers for me. “Let’s go shooting tomorrow out on the property. Tess needs to practice with her new Glock. Andrew, you in? Would Stella want to join us? She could use Dad’s little revolver.”

  Stella pipes up, setting her jadeite tumbler of sweet tea on the table, where I’m afraid the frolicking Thor will bump it. “I don’t believe in violence of any kind.”

  Andrew grins and drops a kiss on her forehead. “Of course you don’t, darling.” He gives me a knowing look. “But sometimes the violence finds you, doesn’t it? And we Spencers look after our own.”

  16

  TODAY JULIE SCOLDED me publicly for ordering too many girdles for the floor. It was probably one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. When I was a professor, no one would have dared dress me down like that. I managed to keep quiet and take the verbal beating. Perhaps she is smarting because I turned her down on a date and she felt the need to put me in my place.

  The problem is, my “place” in life is far advanced beyond hers. She is wallowing in ignorance. I would love to teach her to be careful with her words, to develop right speech. But she will have none of it, I am sure. She sees me only as a servant, slaving away for my paycheck.

  I have deliberately taken time away from women, trying to sustain a celibate, unhindered thought life. And yet it seems at every turn, they inject themselves into my life in a very physical way. I don’t know how much longer I can ignore their unkind words and unwanted advances.

  ROGER PLACES NIKKI Jo’s jadeite platter, heaped with barbeque, in the middle of the table. Mira Brooke lurches for it, nearly slipping from my lap. Like the rest of us, this girl loves her grandma’s food.

  After Roger prays, we pass the seemingly endless parade of dishes, piling our plates full. I feed Mira Brooke while Thomas eats, then we’ll trade off.

  The conversation moseys around to how the town of Buckneck got its name. Charlotte is interested and Roger loves shari
ng the story, since it’s his family that was involved.

  “Back in the 1890s, not long after West Virginia became its own state, a family by the name of McBride lived in these parts. This was on my mother’s Irish side. They had a son named Thomas McBride.”

  I glance at Thomas as he takes a gulp of fresh-squeezed lemonade. This story always mortifies him because his parents probably named him after Thomas McBride, now infamous in the oral history of the Spencer family. His tan face hides his embarrassed flush well, and when his hickory brown eyes meet mine, I give him a comforting wink.

  “Our Tommy-boy obeyed his momma and didn’t booze around or gamble. But one night, some disreputable friends slipped a little white lightning in his punch—moonshine, you know.” Roger is just getting warmed up to the tale. Charlotte props her chin on her slim wrists, soaking up the details. Stella takes a dainty bite of potato salad and pays no attention.

  “A fast game of poker commenced. Tommy had nothing to bet, since all his mining income went to support his family. So instead, they got him to take a dare. If he lost, he had to run stark naked back to his house.”

  Nikki Jo chuckles, then calls Mira Brooke to her side. She picks her up and snuggles with her as the story continues. I quietly fix a barbeque sandwich, pile on the coleslaw, and take my first blissful bite.

  “Of course, being half-snockered, poor old Tommy-boy lost. But it was winter, you see. Snow piled everywhere as it often does. Our Tommy wasn’t about to break his word, no siree Bob. He gathered up his clothes and shoes and ran, buck naked, back to his parents’ house at the top of the hill.”

  We all know how the story ends, except Charlotte and Stella, and the two listeners are a study in contrasts. Charlotte bites her fingernail and leans in toward Roger, anxious to hear the ending. Stella absently twirls a piece of hair, eyes fixed on a tree.

  “So about ten years later, they wanted to rename the town. Those troublemaker boys never let Tommy’s mortifying story die, and they suggested “BuckNekkid.” Of course it was a joke, but no one could come up with anything better. And guess who got voted the first mayor of BuckNekkid? Our own Thomas McBride. Over the years, the name sort of broke down to “Buckneck,” which is a good sight more respectable. But if you go back in the town records, you’ll see what a big role our family played in its founding.”