The Girl Named Mud: A Gripping Suspense Novel

by Ditter Kellen

  Once she’d had her fill, Mud replaced the cup on the table and plucked up the rope she used to tie the door closed.

  She would lock herself inside, get some sleep, and in the morning, she would bait her traps with some of the food she’d brought with her. This was her life, where she belonged. Not in the village, surrounded by evil.

  An image of Grace floated through her mind. If Mud were being honest with herself, she would admit to liking Grace. Even a little. No one had ever been as kind to her as Grace had in such a short amount of time. Not even Mud’s mama.

  Where had that thought come from?

  Mud immediately felt guilty. Flora had taken care of her all her life. She’d taught Mud right from wrong, seen to it that her daughter had been fed, and had taken care of her when she’d been sick. She’d protected Mud from the evils of mankind, even at the cost to her own life.

  Tears threatened, but Mud fought them back. She hadn’t cried since the day she’d been forced to bury her mama. And she never would again.

  Arranging her pallet to her liking, Mud crawled beneath her orange blanket and rolled onto her side. But sleep evaded her.

  More images of Grace began to haunt her. “Would you like some ice cream, Mud?”

  Ice cream had been a treat Mud had never had before. And she would give just about anything to have some now.

  Shaking off her thoughts of Grace, Mud flipped to her other side in hopes that sleep would come.

  It didn’t.

  “Opa, if Mud killed Albert Dyson, no place on this earth will be safe for her. Especially if Horace gets wind of it.”

  Was Mud in danger for killing the Devil? And who was Horace Dyson?

  With an apprehensive shiver, Mud forced her mind to stop racing and allowed sleep to finally claim her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Grace stepped from the shower early the following morning, blow-dried her hair, and pulled on the outfit she’d chosen to wear. The clothes consisted of a pair of white jeans, a black button-up blouse, and black flats.

  She had a busy day planned for Mud, and she also needed to take the girl for her follow-up doctor appointment to get her vaccinations. She doubted the child had ever had her shots.

  Grace stepped into her flats, applied some light makeup, and left the bathroom to wake Mud for the day.

  The door to the guest room stood ajar as if maybe Mud had forgotten to close it after using the restroom during the night.

  Grace tapped on the door. “Mud?”

  When no answer came, she poked her head inside the room. “Honey, are you awake?”

  Silence.

  Entering the bedroom, Grace trailed around to the other side of the bed, where she’d found the little girl sleeping the night before, only to find her pallet empty.

  That’s odd, Grace thought, leaving the room to go in search of. Perhaps she’s in the kitchen.

  Grace arrived in the kitchen moments later to discover it empty as well. “Mud?”

  When Mud still didn’t answer, Grace rushed back to the bedroom and glanced around. She noticed a drawer to the dresser standing ajar.

  With a sinking feeling in her gut, Grace tugged the drawer open to find it empty of the clothes she’d purchased for Mud.

  The rest of the drawers were empty as well. Mud was gone.

  Hurrying to the living room, Grace unplugged her cell phone from the charger and called Beulah’s number.

  The older woman answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Beulah, it’s Grace.”

  “Good morning, Grace. You’re up awful early. Is something wrong?”

  “You could say that. Mud is missing.”

  A brief pause ensued. “What do you mean missing?”

  “I mean she left. I’m assuming sometime last night. I went to wake her after my shower this morning, and she’s not here. Most of the clothes I bought her are gone as well. She ran, Beulah.”

  Beulah blew out an exasperated-sounding breath. “I’ll notify the authorities. Don’t go anywhere, as I’m sure they’ll be coming by for questioning. Any idea of where she might’ve gone?”

  Grace thought about that for a moment. “My guess is back to the swamps where she was originally found. I’m pretty sure she was living out there. Oh, and Beulah? The authorities won’t be able to do much. Those swamps are on tribal lands.”

  Another sigh came through the line. “Then we’ll need to notify the tribal police as well. They’ll be the ones with jurisdiction. Neither the county nor city will be able to breach tribal lands. And the FBI definitely won’t get involved with a case of a runaway. The Bureau of Indian Affairs won’t either. Not unless that child is considered a danger to society.”

  Beulah continued. “At any rate, the state will want an accounting of what took place and will need to file her as a runaway.”

  “I understand,” Grace quietly confirmed. “I’ll stay here until they arrive.”

  “Give me twenty minutes, Grace, and I’ll be right there. I’ll need to document everything as well.”

  Grace ended the call with another promise not to leave.

  The front door suddenly opened, and an exhausted-looking Jasper stepped into the room.

  “Jasper,” Grace breathed, never happier to see her husband than she was in that moment. “You’re home early. How was your trip?”

  He set his suitcase down, closed the door behind him, and opened his arms. “Uneventful. What are you doing up at this time of the morning?”

  Grace moved across the room to give Jasper a hug. “It’s a long story, and you look like you could use some sleep.”

  Jasper pulled back slightly. “What do you mean it’s a long story? Has something happened?”

  Grace fidgeted. “You could say that.”

  Leading his wife over to the sofa, Jasper took a seat and pulled her down next to him. “What is it?”

  Here goes, Grace thought in dread. Might as well rip the Band-Aid off quickly. “Remember the girl Talako found in the swamps? The one I drove to the hospital last week?”

  At his nod, she swallowed and continued. “I signed the paperwork to foster her.”

  Jasper’s gaze hardened slightly. Grace could tell that he fought anger over her words.

  “Why would you make a decision like that without talking to me about it? I mean, a decision such as this affects more than you, Grace. It affects me as well.”

  Grace knew that. “I know, and I’m sorry. But you were gone, and it was only supposed to be temporary. I just…”

  “Where is she, now?” He glanced behind him toward the hall.

  “She ran away,” Grace quietly responded.

  Jasper ran a hand down his weary-looking face. “You do realize the cops will be crawling up our butts with a microscope about this, right?”

  Confused by his statement, Grace asked, “What do you mean by that?”

  He jumped to his feet, obviously angry. “I don’t need this right now, Grace. Why would you go behind my back like this?”

  She stood as well. “I’m sorry, Jasper. I don’t see why you’re so upset. She’s just a young girl who needed a place to stay for a little while. I just thought—”

  “You thought what?” he snapped, striding toward the kitchen.

  Grace followed. “That it was our Christian duty to help her. It’s no different than the missions you’re involved in.”

  Jasper stopped next to the table and turned to face her, the look on his face both exasperated and still angry. “It’s completely different. We talked about this and both decided not to foster again. You always get too attached and end up depressed for months after a child is returned to their parents.”

  “Well, Mud doesn’t have any parents!” Grace shouted back, her own anger growing with every word that spilled from Jasper’s lips. “Her mother is dead!”

  Jasper’s hands came to rest on his hips. “Mud? And you know this how?”

  Talking several calming breaths, Grace stated, “The little gi
rl’s name is Mud. And I know about her mother’s death because she told me. The woman was raped and killed in front of Mud.”

  The angry mask Jasper wore seemed to momentarily slip. “And you’re sure the child was telling the truth?”

  “I’m pretty sure she was.” Grace attempted to get her emotions under control. It wasn’t working as well as she’d like, but at least she managed to calm some. Barely. “Come, I’ll show you.”

  She marched off toward the office with Jasper tight on her heels.

  Flipping on the light, she plucked up the printout lying on the desk and handed it to her husband. “That’s Mud’s mother.”

  All the color drained from Jasper’s face. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m not positive, but Mud told me her mother’s name was Flora. It’s not a very common name. And she’s the only one who lived near Jena Village.”

  Several heartbeats ticked by before Jasper spoke again. “She’s the woman who burned down our church.”

  “I know,” Grace whispered. “And that’s not all.”

  “There’s more?” Jasper asked incredulously.

  Grace nodded. “If what Mud said was true about the man who killed Flora, I believe that man to be Albert Dyson.”

  Jasper’s expression blanked. “Albert Dyson? Why would you think that?”

  “Mud described him as having dark hair and green eyes. It makes sense. Albert has been missing for the past two years.”

  Jasper continued to stare at Grace with that blank expression. “If that’s true, then where is he? Where has he been for the past two years?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “What did you say?”

  Grace briefly closed her eyes before opening them to lock gazes with her husband. “Mud killed him…”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mud stretched awake, the familiar sounds of the swamps reaching her ears.

  She slowly sat up, throwing back her blanket. She needed to relieve herself something fierce.

  Getting to her feet, she untied the rope holding the door closed and pushed it wide. It was going to be another warm, muggy day.

  With a jaw-popping yawn, Mud bypassed the shoes Grace had bought her and moved to the table. Besides, as pretty as the shoes were, they’d rubbed blisters on Mud’s heels.

  She quickly opened the pillowcase containing the items she’d taken from Grace’s house and took out two slices of bread. She then picked up the shiny silver knife lying on the table and jumped to the ground on bare feet.

  The bread would prove to be good bait for Mud’s traps.

  The rest of the morning was spent baiting traps, gathering firewood, and heading to the water to catch a fish or two for later.

  Mud picked up the pole she’d left lying at the water’s edge, baited the hook with a balled-up piece of bread, and swung the line toward the murky waters.

  It wasn’t long before she had a bite.

  Waiting for the fish to get a firm hold on the hook, Mud gave her pole a little yank. She had him.

  Mud took a few steps backward, carefully pulling the fish to shore. She removed the hook from his lips, laid him on a patch of grass, and added more bread to her line. It wasn’t five minutes later, and she had another catfish in her grasp.

  She gathered up her soon-to-be meals and headed home.

  Back at the shack, Mud skinned the fish like her mama had taught her, removed their heads, and ran a strong, shaved stick through them from end to end. She then went inside, grabbed a box of matches, and started a fire in the pit.

  Before long, she had both fish on a spit, hanging above the licking, hot flames beneath them.

  As good as that fish smelled cooking, it didn’t come close to the scent of the meal Grace had made for her.

  Why was she constantly thinking of Grace? Mud had made it safely home, where she belonged. She needed to put Grace Holloway out of her mind.

  Mud didn’t belong in the village. Especially a village full of followers of the Devil.

  But the Devil’s dead.

  Shaking off her unwanted thoughts, Grace set about cleaning up her home. She wanted it to look nice… Like Grace’s home did.

  Angry with herself for not controlling her thoughts, Mud turned the stick she’d speared the fish with and trailed off a few feet to her mama’s grave.

  She stopped at the foot of the slight mound of dirt and locked her teeth to keep the tears at bay.

  After several, long and torturous minutes of attempting to control her emotions, Mud lowered to her knees. “Hey, Mama. I sure wish you was here with me. You’d be so proud of me, Mama. I did like you showed me and found some good stuff in the village.”

  A gentle breeze blew through. Mud would like to think it was her mama’s way of letting her know she could hear her. So, she kept talking.

  “I met this woman named Grace. She was nice to me. She ain’t nothing like you, Mama. Nobody can ever be like you. But she was good to me. She gave me some clothes too.”

  The emotions Mud had fought to control threatened to overtake her, but she fought her way through them.

  “Grace had something called a shower. It’s where warm water comes down from the roof. She washed my hair with some stuff that smelled like flowers. You woulda loved the shower, Mama. I know you would.”

  Mud’s gaze swept over Flora’s grave. “I know I shouldn’t have liked the stuff at Grace’s house, but I did, and I’m sorry, Mama. It’s just that I don’t think Grace follows the Devil. ‘Specially since I killed him. He ain’t got no hold on Grace, Mama.”

  The words spilling from Mud’s lips felt foreign to her. Why was she kneeling there, talking to her mama about Grace? Flora wouldn’t be happy with her, and she knew it.

  Leaning forward, Mud rested a trembling hand on Flora’s dirt-covered grave. “You ain’t got to worry none, Mama. I ain’t going back. I’m staying here with you, forever.”

  A choked sound echoed around her, and Mud realized it came from her. “I miss you, Mama. I miss you bigger than the sky…”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Grace sat on the sofa, facing Officer Gilbert Gaston, who happened to be parked in the chair across from her.

  He sat forward, pen and pad in hand, asking dozens of questions that Grace had no answers for. “About how tall would you say the girl is?”

  Indignation began to set in. “Her name is Mud. I’ve told you that more than once.”

  “Grace,” Jasper scolded gently but firmly. “He’s just doing his job.”

  The officer in question appeared contrite. “I apologize, ma’am. Do you know approximately how tall Mud is?”

  Grace thought about that for a moment. “Maybe four-foot-six. I’m only guessing, of course. I’m short, and she’s at least six to eight inches shorter than me. The doctor at the hospital where she stayed a week said she’s smaller than average, probably due to severe malnutrition. We thought she was around eight years old. But according to Doctor Frazier, she’s closer to twelve or thirteen.”

  The doorbell rang, bringing Jasper to his feet.

  Grace watched him stride across the room and open the door, his shoulders stiffening instantly. He spoke a few words to the new visitors and then backed up to allow them entrance.

  Two tribal officers dressed in uniform stepped into the room. They immediately sought out Grace. “Mrs. Holloway?”

  “Yes, I’m Grace Holloway.”

  The older of the two officers extended his hand. “I am Officer Red Bear. I came to ask you some questions about the runaway girl you had staying with you.”

  Grace accepted his hand. “Thank you, Officer.” She waved toward a love seat resting next to the chair the local cop sat in. “Please, have a seat.”

  Red Bear swiveled his head in Gilbert Gaston’s direction. “We can handle things from here. I will notify you if we have further need of you.”

  Stunned that Red Bear had dismissed Gilbert Gaston so easily, Grace could only stare.

  Red Bear exuded autho
rity and more than a little power. He had a regal air about him that Grace couldn’t look away from.

  Gilbert snapped his pad shut and got to his feet. Sending a nod in Red Bear’s direction, he strode toward the door without a word.

  Red Bear brought his attention back to Grace. He flicked his wrist in the direction of the man who’d entered with him. “This is Koi.”

  Grace nodded to Koi but immediately returned her gaze to Red Bear. “Thank you for coming.”

  Jasper suddenly cleared his throat. “I have something pressing to take care of. I’ll be back in about an hour.” He turned and left by way of the front door.

  Odd, Grace thought, noticing his demeaner change. Was he upset because of the tribal police being there? He’d certainly seemed okay with Gilbert Gaston asking questions.

  Red Bear didn’t hesitate. His intelligent gaze locked onto Grace. Like his commanding presence, he got right to the point, speaking in a strong, sure voice. “According to Opa, the child previously residing with you is possibly the daughter of Flora Ramer.”

  Grace nodded. “She could be. The little girl’s name is Mud.”

  Red Bear didn’t flinch. “Mud is a strong name. Did she confide in you about her mother?”

  “She told me that she witnessed her mother’s rape and murder.”

  Unlike Gilbert Gaston, Red Bear didn’t take out pad and pen. He simply watched Grace with those all-knowing eyes. To say he intimidated her would be an understatement.

  “That is unfortunate. A girl her age should never have to know of such heinous acts of violence, let alone witness them. Did you believe her?”

  Grace wasn’t certain what he asked. “Did I believe her about what? Seeing the murder?”

  Red Bear didn’t answer right away. He only watched Grace as if he could see straight through her. And then, he tilted his head for affirmation.

  “Yes, I believed her. You could see the horror in her eyes. A look like that couldn’t be faked. Especially by a twelve-year-old.”

  Red Bear’s back remained ramrod straight. His long, dark hair hung over his shoulders, held back from his face by a fawn-colored bandana. But his eyes, those eyes, remained glued to Grace. “Tell me all that you can remember about Mud. Do not leave anything out. I want to know everything, from her speech patterns to her mannerisms.”