“So, if you don’t want juice and you can’t have the beer, which I’ll be happy to take care of for you, do you have anything you want to bring to the party so we can visit?”
The three took her up on the invitation.
Stay away from her.
What does she want?
Grab the bottle and slam her on the head.
Time with Rafe had tapped me out, and now the bow. Normal people accepted simple invitations. “I’ll get some ice water.”
Frank wasn’t happy.
Sherilyn followed me up the walk and acted as though she’d keep going inside my house. I blocked her. “I’ll get it. You can wait here.”
Frank laughed. “She’s figuring out you’re a weirdo.”
I tried to make light of it. “Thought you’d like to keep an eye on your house. With your kids there.”
Frank’s voice held threat. “Because you know what daddies do, don’t you, cupcake?”
I shut my mind to the scenes, the arrests, the terrible things people did to the weak and helpless.
The bow. What to do about the bow? I used Sherilyn as a buffer so I could let the issue steep without having to think about it. I stepped inside and set the bow on the dining room table and tried not to look at it while I poured my lemon water.
I joined Sherilyn on the bench out front.
As one therapist told me early on, it was good to establish habits. For me, the ice water with a thick lemon slice acted as a reminder to stay cool and calm. A person could create triggers to channel positive emotions, not only be victim to triggers for negative reactions.
An empty bottle sat at Sherilyn’s feet, the other nestled in her grip. She grinned, looking like a mischievous elf. “Okay, Jamie Butler. Tell me all about you.”
I swallowed a gulp. “Not much to tell. Why don’t you start. You came from Oklahoma?”
Her relaxed smile looked a little loose. One guzzled beer on her tiny frame probably buzzed through quickly. “Me and Donnie went to the same high school. He dated my best friend. But she cheated on him and ran off and got married, had a couple of kids, and got divorced again. She doesn’t come from good stock. We got together to heal his broken heart. He hired out on Union Pacific, I shelled out kids, and here we are, in Tucson, Arizona. And frankly, glad to be away from that small town.”
She stopped, took a pull on her beer and tipped it my way. “You. Go.”
“Retired cop from Buffalo, New York.”
She let out a high-pitched giggle. “That’s it? Come on. Husbands? Kids? Lesbian lovers?”
Frank urged me. “Tell her all about it. Watch her run, throw her junk back in the boxes, and move away.”
“Nope,” I said. “Just me.”
She tucked away her boozy grin. “And the voices.”
The volume rose, the wave of confusion making me freeze and struggle to hold it in.
After a few seconds, I drank deeply and forced myself to look Sherilyn in the eye. “Yes. The voices.”
Her matter-of-fact attitude was not something I’d seen before. “I figured. I know that look you get. And that day, you were talking away and I didn’t see anybody.”
What could I say?
She patted the fist in my lap. “It’s okay. My old Grandma Curran heard voices. She talked to them all the time. Weirdest thing ever. But that’s just the way it was. She said it wasn’t a handicap. It was a bonus. You know, she had names for ‘em. One, she said, kept track of her schedule. She had twelve kids, so that was a big deal. And one of them knew all the recipes by heart and would tell Grandma so she never had to look ‘em up.”
Maybe like the voice I called Digit, the one who remembered numbers. The crowd inside my head jostled and murmured. All I could do was clutch my water glass and stare at Sherilyn.
“People made fun of her, especially when she was growing up, so she learned to keep her mouth shut when people other than family were around. In that small town it kind of scared folks. But we all grew up with it and it was natural to us.” Sherilyn paused to drink her beer. “You look scared to death. I’m telling you, it’s okay with us. In fact, I think Kaycee hears voices, too.”
That little girl deserved to be happy, not tortured being so very different from everyone else. At least she had a mother who understood.
“Grandma said sometimes the voices told her things that hadn’t happened, yet. And then it came true. If Kaycee hears them, too, then I’m wondering if she didn’t know something about you right away. And that’s why she’s so taken with you.”
The words struggled from me. “I don’t know about that.”
“That, and I saw you in your cop uniform the day we looked at the house and I figured you’re a good neighbor to have.”
Uniform or not, I doubted I’d do much good for her family.
She downed her beer and I did my best to keep up with her conversation. She seemed to accept I had little to contribute and carried most of it.
Doing my best to stay focused on her kept thoughts of the hair ribbon at bay, but after she returned to her family, I was left alone with the bow.
Just me and the crowd inside. I couldn’t call Rafe. After I’d brushed him off earlier, he wouldn’t want anything to do with me. Pete had two kids, and Mother’s Day meant she’d be busy.
I circled my table, staring at the ribbon. Black and yellow, a polyester jumble. Did it belong to Cali? I finally punched Pete’s number on my phone and waited for her to answer.
She sounded curious when she picked up. While we greeted each other, her kids kept a racket going in the background. With a voice steadier than I felt, I told her about the bow stuffed into my door handle.
She listened. “What do you think it means?”
I rubbed my throbbing temple. “I’m afraid that creep has Cali and he’s taunting us.”
She sighed. “That’s a big jump. My guess is that the girls are pissed you got them in trouble and they’re toying with you.”
The long blonde hairs clung to the clasp. “What if you’re wrong?”
The kids’ noise became a screaming fight. “I gotta go. Trust me. This is nothing and those little caviar-crunchers are baiting you. If you respond, you’re going to get kicked out of the Rangers and maybe be up on charges for harassing minors.”
I lapped the table a few more times. Pete was right. There was no other reasonable explanation. Only my paranoid imagination. I’d taken a small incident, three girls flirting harmlessly with some guy, and turned it into a personal crisis.
I wandered into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. A scant serving of romaine, a quarter tomato, and a smattering of other veggies made my entire food inventory. Tomorrow I needed to grocery shop. Tara, groceries. A normal day.
The yellow and black drew me in.
My phone only contained a handful of numbers in its contacts. The old phone, like my old life, had vanished. Somewhere I’d stashed an address book. I’d been teased about it, but countered that in the Apocalypse, at least I’d be able to send letters and make phone calls.
It took an hour to rifle through boxes until I held the red leather notebook. Flipping through pages, the names and faces fell from my memory, each dragging regret of how I’d lost them all. People I used to know. Friends I thought cared. All gone now. I couldn’t blame them.
I found her number and took a chance it would still reach her. I was met with the standard voicemail greeting, but the number still worked. With a hesitant voice, I identified myself and asked her to call me back.
I waited. It took some time to pour my ice water and lemon, then I entered the darkness outside my French doors. A flick of a switch illuminated my pool, the reflection of ripples dancing along the cinderblock fence.
She wouldn’t call me. Why should she? We hadn’t talked in years. Even before it happened. My bare feet slapped the patio and I stopped to stare at my half-finished mosaic table. A therapy project I was too agitated to work on.
I jumped when my phone rang. A
deep inhale. “Be quiet,” I told them. “Let me have this moment.”
They settled a little and I pressed the button on my phone. “Kari. Thank you for calling me back.”
Her voice, so familiar, brought a painful lump to my throat. But her tone didn’t welcome me. “It’s been a long time. What do you want?”
Despite her harsh answer, I ached to reach out to her. “How are you?”
“Do you care?”
“I know it’s been a long time, but of course I care. You’re my friend. You always will be.”
Her laugh picked an old scab. “Is that right? Friends don’t get their mother to transfer them if they get a little more recognition. Friends don’t abandon you when it’s out of sight out of mind.”
Her bitterness burned. I took a moment to follow her back in time and remember. “I was proud of your commendation. I admit it hurt my feelings when you applied to transfer. Mom said you’d requested a different partner, that you’d complained I wasn’t carrying my weight.”
She didn’t reply.
The strain in my voice came through. “I wanted to call you so many times, but I didn’t know what to say. I hoped you’d call me but you never did.”
She sounded like a block of cement. “I loved being your partner. I’d never have asked for anyone else. But I was transferred and it killed my career. I’m riding it out now, only two more years to my pension.”
Close to twelve years ago. Could we have both been so mistaken? I couldn’t remember all the details, only the hole in my life when she was gone. Misunderstandings destroyed something good. I rubbed my temple and tried to focus.
A moment passed before a softer voice continued. “I’m so sorry…about…what happened. So sorry.”
They were all pushing and shoving, wanting to be heard. I held them back as much as possible. “That’s kind of why I’m calling.”
She didn’t answer.
“I need to ask you for a favor.” I held my breath.
Skepticism crept into her voice. “What kind of favor?”
I rushed on. “Can you get me the files? Her case. I’ve never seen it.”
“Whoa.” She inhaled. “That’s not a favor. That’s asking me to risk my career on the eve of retirement.”
My head throbbed and hands tingled. “I know. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
There was no sympathy now. “Ask the Sheriff. She can do it for you.”
“She thinks the less I know the less it will hurt. But my therapist and I agree it’s time to face it. All of it.”
A long pause. “What do you know?”
“Only what Mom told me. A career criminal confessed and was convicted. She never said who and wouldn’t give me the details. I accepted that for years. But I need to know all of it now.”
She sighed. “I can tell you the guy who confessed was Grainger King. He was picked up for a rape about a week after….” She stuttered.
The crickets and cicadas wound up in solidarity to The Chorus, The Three, Frank, and all the rest.
“He’d been linked to at least three other incidences and he confessed to them all. He died not long after his conviction. Cancer or something like that.”
All Mom said was that they’d found the killer, got him locked away, and I needed to move on.
Blindsided by the horror of a memory so fresh I held my breath.
The room is so cold. My arms and legs are strapped to the bed and all I can do is flail my head. I can see Mom by the bed rail. But Frank won’t let me talk. He’s screaming at her. He’s saying unbearable things to the only person in the world who loves me. I can’t make him stop. He doesn’t believe her when she says it’s finished, that the murderer is caught. He’s going to kill her and then go after the other one. He tells her about the blood that will flow. She shakes her head, doesn’t know Frank is not me. She is walking away and she doesn’t hear me call to her. She only hears Frank threaten to murder her in her sleep.
“Jamie? Are you still there?”
“Yeah. Here. I need you to…. Can you find the evidence box? Take pictures of what’s there and send them to me?”
She grunted. “No way. It could cost me my retirement and it won’t change anything.”
I played my last card. “What if it was you?”
There was no catching up. No asking about family or coworkers. Only a terse goodbye and it was over.
Light from the pool waltzed around my backyard. Night noises buzzed alongside the constant chatter. No one had good things to say and they kept at me. In that mass of voices someone whispered what I needed to know. I listened but couldn’t find the one.
I could take a pill and probably sleep. But if I did, I’d never hear the key information.
I clamped my hands over my ears. “I’m Jamie Butler. I’m Amanda’s daughter. I’m a retired Buffalo cop. I’m 46 years old.”
My only chance to break something loose lay at the other end of the phone connection. With my ice water refilled, I sat at my mosaic table and worked, hoping to distract myself so I wouldn’t make the phone call.
Before I could stop myself, my fingers dialed his number.
My insides jittered and I wanted to clutch the phone with breathless excitement, at the same time I wanted to throw it into the cinderblock fence. Not many people had loved me in my life. But once, Larry had loved me.
I expected his voice and was struck dumb when Sue answered. The caller I.D. on this phone wouldn’t warn her. I gripped a tile. “Hi, Sue.”
I pictured her, short dark hair, eyes bright and waiting for the next laugh, body a whirr of movement. So different from me. She’d frown, placing my voice immediately. “Jamie. Wow. This is a surprise. And on Mother’s Day.”
There was another Mother’s Day so long ago.
We are sixteen and Sue and I are on our own in her mother’s kitchen. So many meals I’d eaten at that table. We follow her mother’s pot roast recipe exactly. This Mother’s Day her mother can take it easy. The lemon pie fails, but we bought ice cream just in case. Outside, we pick lilacs for the table from the bush between our two houses. Chris McMann and Darrell Hodges drive by in Darrell’s beat up Nova and we stop to flirt. They invite us for a ride and we tell ourselves we’ll be back before the roast is done, and hop in. We don’t account for running out of gas.
Sue’s mother covers for us, as usual. We returned to a juicy roast, removed in time, and a perfect lemon pie. Mom, who surprisingly makes it in time for her invitation, is impressed, and never knows Sue’s mother saved us. But Mom manages to sneak in a comment about women needing more skills than keeping house.
Sue’s mother didn’t work and she always had cookies and an extra place at the table for me. She’d kept my refrigerator stocked after the news hit. She was probably the one who threw out the food when it went uneaten.
I thought of what to say. I miss you. You are better for Larry than I was. I’m glad you had more children. I don’t hate you anymore. “Can I talk to Larry?”
She didn’t say anything but a moment later Larry said, “Jamie?”
“Hi.”
He sounded flat. “We haven’t heard from you in over four years and all you say is ‘hi’?”
I set down one tile and picked up another. I tried harder. “Okay. How are you? The kids? Sue?”
The words and tone were guarded. “Kids are doing well. My business is stable enough. Sue quit her job last year and loves being home full time. What are you doing?”
The smile slid onto my face so I’d sound convincing. “The desert is great. I’m settling in, have friends, lots to do. I volunteer for the Arizona Rangers.”
An uncomfortable pause built between us.
We’d shared the same bed for fifteen years. Carried the same scars, wore the same masks of forgetfulness. How could we have so little to say to each other?
“I’m really surprised they let you join.”
I tightened my stomach against the one-two.
He sighed. �
��I don’t want to sound mean, but don’t you carry a gun? How did you manage that?”
A bead of blood oozed between my fingers and I dropped the tile. “Mom did her magic with my files. It’s all clean and sweet. Retired at age 45 after twenty years on the force.”
“But you’re only 46. You retired two years ago.”
“See? Magic.”
Larry only used sarcasm at his most bitter. “Yeah, Amanda always knows best.”
Enough. Like a surgical procedure I needed to cut quick, minimize the bleeding, and stitch it up before it festered.
“After the… when I was….” I took a deep breath and started again. “Was the investigation conducted right?”
He hesitated. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“Mom has this thing about the slightest appearance of nepotism. I was wondering, did she put enough resources on the investigation.”
Edgy or just annoyed, he said, “Why is this coming up now?”
I gripped the table. My voice bordered on hysteria. “Just tell me, damn it. I’m asking now and I want to know.”
“Sure. Yeah. Let’s see.” He wavered in a very un-Larry-like way. “You’re the cop and I’m the computer geek, so you know, I don’t… I didn’t.” He exhaled, and when he started again, his voice cracked. “I couldn’t deal with the details. I’m sorry. She was gone and you were just as gone. Your mother wouldn’t let me in to see you. She took charge of the investigation and wouldn’t tell me anything. I should have fought. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.”
His tears unnerved me, scraping bone on bone. Without any warning, my eyes watered and overflowed. “It’s how Mom deals with pain. She takes charge. She works.”
He drew in a quivering breath. “With your mother so determined, I assume everything that could be done was done. They couldn’t find him for a long time. But he got arrested for another crime and confessed. Short trial and I didn’t go. I couldn’t.”
“You sound fine with that. As if it doesn’t eat at you every day.”
“I have a family. A busy life. You need to let it go. It won’t help you get better.”
“I don’t need to get better. I need to find her killer.”
The Desert Behind Me Page 15
