by Ninie Hammon
"And he thought Caitlyn—?"
"No, but it never happened again after she left. There was a party that night, and he and some other boys played a joke on a little girl named Missy, really frightened her and they felt bad about it."
Dobbs remembered — the Bartleys said the boys had tried to calm her, tore the snake and spider apart to show her they weren't real.
"The next morning, Tyrone's bike was missing and for a day or two, they thought maybe Caitlyn had ridden away on it. Then he found it — mangled, twisted up like a pretzel on the roof of a friend's garage."
"And Caitlyn had vanished."
"She was gone, but it wasn't a Houdini vanishing act or anything like that. If the police had tried, they could have found her easily enough. She walked from the Bartleys to a bus station and bought a ticket to Louisville, Kentucky."
"The Bartleys told us the police weren't trying very hard."
"Why would they? No sign of a struggle, a legal adult who wasn't required to get anybody's permission."
"Then she got married, right?"
"Wasn't married long, though. She and her husband were in St. Martin on their honeymoon and were attacked. She was found lying on the beach unconscious, her only injury a colossal shiner. But her husband had been dragged off into the bushes and beaten so savagely the police would have had to use dental records to identify the body if he hadn't been carrying a wallet — get that part, a wallet. The man had credit cards and several hundred dollars in cash — a Rolex watch, too. Nothing stolen."
He paused.
"Like I said, I saw the crime scene photos. Never seen a worse beating in twenty-five years as a police officer."
"And you think all this means …?"
"I have absolutely no idea what it means!"
Dobbs was surprised by the intensity of the outburst.
"I'm just saying that the alarm in my cop's gut has been going off ever since I started this case. There are too many unexplained … I mean, I checked everything I know to check and all I can prove to be fact is that ever since that wreck, bad things have been happening around Caitlyn Whitfield but not to her. It's like somebody's … is it possible there was somebody in her life I didn't find, somebody who … I don't know, kept showing up … to rescue her?"
Chapter Thirty-Five
T.J. hadn't never met Melody McCallum, had listened to others talk about her and had an image of her in his head. But he found it hard to think about her because whenever he did, his thoughts was overlaid by the image of Bailey's portrait of that poor little blonde girl trapped in the wrecked camper, and his mind'd shy away from that like a long-tailed cat from a rocking chair.
He had suggested to Bailey on the way to The Cedars that she might want to make up some reason why they was droppin' by, but Bailey just planned to wing it. Most times in his experience, if you decided to wing it, you ended up falling out of the sky and face-plantin' in a parking lot.
They parked T.J.'s old Ford pickup out front, and he thought he seen the heavy drapes on one of the front windows move as they was walking up the steps. The big, ornate front door looked like it had come out of some medieval castle, built with old, hoary wood and cross beams and metal straps. It was set in an arch of stonework so the door itself must have been twelve feet tall. He figured the ceilings inside were at least that, probably taller. Most of these old houses had high ceilings — built before the advent of air conditioning like they was.
A perfectly manicured flower garden snuggled up against the house on both sides of the porch. The rose bushes next to the walkway had huge, blood-red blossoms. A wind had come up ahead of the storm and the laden stems slow-danced back and forth. Bailey paused to smell them, stood for a moment, then squared her shoulders, climbed the steps, crossed the porch and rang the bell. They heard no sound so maybe it didn't work, but more likely the door was so thick you couldn't hear nothin' on the other side of it.
But wasn't two seconds later that the huge door began to flow so smoothly inward that it had to have been like power steerin' in a car, specifically designed to move effortlessly. The security system tone that sounded when the door opened tinkled like wind chimes.
Standing inside was a small, almost fragile woman with the delicately beautiful features of a cherub.
He'd been expecting her to have the almost-white blonde hair of the little girl in the portrait. But this woman's hair was the color of liquid caramel. Lots of kids' hair changed, got darker as they got older, but he figured this color was somethin' she'd picked. Her hair had red highlights, too, that she'd probably paid some hairdresser more'n his monthly pension to put there. It was thick and shiny, pulled into a curly ponytail.
Her complexion was pale, though, like that of a blonde.
All the descriptions of Melody McCallum had failed to paint the picture of gentleness she radiated, like warmth from a wood stove. He could easily see her cast as Glenda the Good Witch in the Wizard of Oz.
"Yes?" she said, her voice soft. No, it was more than soft. It was … soothing. She had been so totally typecast as a first-grade teacher she would have been a caricature if it hadn't been genuine.
"Miss McCallum, you don't know me. My name's Bailey Donahue."
Her face lit up like a candle flickering inside amber glass.
"Bailey Donahue! Brice's friend."
She reached out and took Bailey's hand in both of hers and squeezed.
"I'm so glad to meet you." Then she looked instantly self-conscious. "I was working out," she said, glancing at her long-sleeved black turtleneck and black tights. "I wasn't expecting company."
"I'm T.J. Hamilton and I'm Brice's friend, too."
He said it as if being a friend of the sheriff was some kind of magic word, and apparently it was because Melody took his hand without letting go of Bailey's and began to gently tug both of them into the house.
"Come in, come in. It's such a pleasure, really."
As he stepped across the threshold, T.J. felt … something. Not a premonition, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He looked around, saw nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that would cause … it was nothing, and he shook off the feeling.
The foyer of the big house was stunning. T.J. remembered the second-floor ballroom but had forgotten how unique and lovely the rest of the house had been as well. The foyer rose up to a ceiling not twelve but at least sixteen feet tall, with a chandelier dangling there that appeared to be a smaller version of the one on the second floor. Instead of multi-colored lights, the bulbs in this smaller chandelier were all clear, though the crystals dangling beside them fractured the light into rainbows that danced on every surface they touched. But … there was an odd smell.
At first, he thought he was imaginin' it, but the longer he stood there the more certain he was that the smell was real. He had no idea what it was. An earthy smell, though, like the dark ground where he used to dig earthworms to go fishin'. Fishing, that was it. It smelled like something having to do with fishin'. Somethin' about the smell put him in mind of baitin' his hook and tossin' it into the creek. He shot a glance at Bailey and wrinkled his nose. She wrinkled her nose, too, and looked confused. A multimillion-dollar house, furnishings that were one-of-a-kind antiques of incalculable value, beautiful flooring and drapes and rugs … what was there about that to smell bad?
And if you could afford all that — and obviously Melody McCallum could — why would you pay no attention to something as off-putting as a bad odor? Then it occurred to him that maybe Caitlyn Whitfield had never flipped the switch to restore her sense of smell.
"Come in and sit down, both of you," she said, gesturing into the parlor from the doorway. The room reminded T.J. of the rooms in Windsor Castle, absent the huge portraits of British royalty. Plush wallpaper, velvet curtains, furniture he would bet a year's pension had been made specifically to fit in this room — overstuffed lounge chairs, wingbacks, velvet sofas and settees. A huge china cabinet rested against the wall by the door. The other walls
were lined with bookcases filled with ancient books, or displaying porcelain figurines or … was that a Faberge egg?
Bailey suddenly stopped stock still.
"That necklace." She pointed to the locket that hung on a thin gold chain around Melody's neck. "I saw … wasn't that on Riley Campbell's desk the day I went to your classroom?"
Melody reached up perfectly manicured fingers and touched the locket. "You're very observant."
There was a blankness to that statement that clanged, like it'd been spoken by an automated attendant. Bailey didn't react, apparently didn't notice.
"Until I saw it, I'd forgotten there had been a locket on the desk. But I remember it now."
"I used the locket to demonstrate to the children what I meant when I asked them to bring to school something that was special to them. I told them how important this was to me, then I took it off and put it on Riley's desk. I said that now when I looked at his desk, I would see something there I loved."
"Where did you get it?" Bailey asked.
Melody rolled the locket around in her fingers as she spoke. "It's all I have from when I was a little girl."
Bailey shot T.J. a look.
"It was a birthday present, wasn't it?" he asked and Melody looked surprised.
"Maybe. I don't know. I was wearing it when I … I've just always had it. I never take it off. And that's why I … I felt lost without it, so after that first day, I took the locket back and the children never noticed it was missing."
She must have touched some tiny catch because the locket sprang open, revealing a picture in each half.
"These are my parents." Her voice was barely audible. "The only pictures I have of them."
She held the locket out and Bailey leaned closer, took the locket in her hand—
And froze.
T.J. had seen that look before. Bailey Donahue had left the building.
The stench!
It's breathtaking, so foul it is not just a smell but a taste. It is so gross the little girl tries to breathe through her nose so she can't taste it, but when she does that, the stink is worse. It smells so bad it makes her nauseous, but she has already thrown up over and over and there's nothing left to vomit.
It is not morning yet, but the black outside is fading and the sun will come up soon. When it does, the wasps and flies and bees will come.
She has to keep the wasps away. They hurt!
She's so tired, unable to sleep in the wet darkness. She knows the warmth from the sun will make her sleepy but if she sleeps, they will sting her. She's so tired of fighting them off, shooing them away, swatting at them. She can hear the hum of the swarm.
She wonders if a wasp sting could kill you. Not one, but a whole bunch of them. How many would it take? More than seven, she already has that many stings. How many more? Twenty maybe? She couldn't stand to be stung twenty more times!
She has trouble remembering the time when she was riding in the camper that was her castle she hadn't named yet, and her parents were singing along with a song on the radio. It is as if that time never happened, as if she has been all her life in this stinky place, that's wet now and cold and where wasps sting her.
As the light grows outside, she is able to make out … something that sparkles. In the place where the window was broken out, there is something shiny. Sparkly things, like tiny drips of water, hang there in the air. Gradually, the growing light reveals the rest — the twinkling things are dew drops on a spider web! The web stretches all the way across the hole in the window. It is beautiful, glowing red in the first shaft of sunshine through the trees. She stares at it, the only lovely thing she has seen since—
All at once, the sparkles begin to dance. It's the web, vibrating. She sees then that a fly has been caught in it, up near the corner, wiggling, trying to get free.
Suddenly, a black, hairy spider runs out across the web, grabs the fly with its front legs and the fly stops wiggling. The spider carries the fly away, crawls back with the fly into the shadows at the top of the web where she can't see.
She continues to stare at the web, glowing in the morning light that's growing brighter outside in the shadows of the forest floor. Then a wasp hits the web. It gets stuck there, just like the fly. It wiggles to free itself but it is caught tight. The significance of that grows in Katydid's tired mind slowly. That wasp would have come in and tried to sting her but it couldn't get in! The spider web stopped it. And soon the spider comes and rips the wasp apart.
All day long she watches the web. Wasps, bees and fat green flies get caught there. Whenever something hits the web, the spider races across and kills it, bites it, she supposes, to make it die. The spider isn't very big. She watches it rip apart the dead wasps, but it carries away the smaller bugs — little wasps and bees and flies.
She can't see up into the shadows at the top of the web, but then she notices a piece of broken mirror on the ground outside. In its reflection, she can see where the spider lives and it is full of little white sacks. She watches the spider carry away a bee into the shadows, watches it wrap the bee in shiny white stuff, like the spiderweb is made of, and hang it up with the other white sacks.
The spider is scary. It's ugly and creepy and has a monster face. But she remembers that Mommy said spiders were good bugs. It's hard to remember things, hard to think, but she remembers that, how Mommy said just because a thing was ugly didn't make it bad. She told Katydid that some pretty things are bad, like pink jellyfish that float in the ocean and have dangly things that look like Christmas tree garlands but if you touch them you die.
So the spider isn't her enemy. He's her friend. He protects her!
Tears well in her eyes and spill down her cheeks. Mommy always said that if she was afraid, she should ask for help from God. She had tried doing that a couple of times before she did the bad thing — whatever it was — and her parents left her here. But it hadn't worked. She had asked God to help her find Mommy when she got separated from her in the grocery store, and to rescue her when she climbed too high up into the tree. But God hadn't done anything either time, so she had stopped talking to him.
She had asked God to bring Mommy and Daddy back, but he didn't. She'd asked God to make the stink go away, but he didn't do that either. Last night she'd tried again, though. Shivering in the dark, she'd begged God not to let the wasps sting her.
And this morning, the spiderweb had appeared. It stopped the wasps and the spider came and killed them! Did God send the spider to help her? Did he answer her prayer this time?
He must have. God had summoned the spider!
She cries and thanks God for sending the spider to protect her. She names the spider Shannuck. She doesn't know where the name came from. It just dropped into her head and so it must have come from God.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Bailey stood as frozen as an ice sculpture, holding the locket at the end of Melody's necklace. T.J. put his hands on her shoulders because he knew she'd be kinda woozy when she come back.
"What's wrong with her?"
T.J. didn't know what to tell Melody, but it was clear that Bailey had connected through the locket, as she had when the locket was on Riley Campbell's desk. And if she was connected to that little girl in the camper, what she was experiencing right now likely wasn't no walk in the park among the petunias.
"Oh, she's fine." It was hard to sound convincing with Bailey frozen as a piece of lawn art, her eyes staring sightlessly.
"It's just she's got this … condition …"
What in the world was he gonna say—?
Melody took a step back and the locket pulled out of Bailey's fingers. Bailey instantly relaxed, sort of sank backwards against T.J.'s steadying hands. Then her eyes cleared and she dropped her hands to her sides.
"Is something wrong?" Melody's voice oozed concern. "Are you alright?"
Bailey looked at her, saw her and made eye contact.
"Yes and no." Bailey's voice was a little shaky. She took several deep br
eaths, then said, her voice stronger, "Actually, the answers are no and yes. No, nothing's wrong and yes, I'm alright."
Melody took over then, became the penultimate first-grade teacher, leading/shooing/directing them through a doorway into the parlor, clucking as she did so, a soft babble of kind words.
"You just come in here and sit down right this minute … you look so pale … I can get you some ice water … would you like a cool cloth for your forehead?"
Her words weren't really important, it was the soothing tone that propelled Bailey to a velvet settee where she obediently sat. T.J. settled in beside her.
"Now, tell me what I can get—"
A reverberating, two-note ding-dong sounded in the foyer, the doorbell they hadn't heard through the thick wood. Melody looked that direction, annoyed, but didn't move to answer it.
"I'm fine, really I am." Bailey managed to sound fine and nodded toward the foyer. "Go ahead and get the door. We've barged in uninvited — please, take your time. We're in no hurry."
"You're sure you're—" The bell sounded again, Bailey produced a pretty good imitation of a real smile, and Melody stood. "I won't be but a moment. I'm sure it's UPS and I'm expecting a package."
Melody left the room and the smile dropped off Bailey's face like the stickpins holdin' it fell out. She reached up and rubbed her temples, shook her head.
"You connected to her, didn't you?" T.J. kept his voice low. When Melody opened the front door, the security alert sounded, like the tinkling of a wind chime, and Bailey's head snapped that way so sharply it was a wonder it didn't yank a crick into her neck. Recognition lit her features … and then faded just as quickly.
They could hear Melody and a man talking but couldn't make out the words.
"Why would you connect touching that locket when Melody shook your hand a few minutes ago and you didn't—"
"I didn't connect to Melody. I connected to Katydid in the wrecked camper. She thought her parents abandoned her because she was bad. Then the camper moved … there was a storm and water must have washed it farther down the hillside until it hit a tree, broke out a window. There was a wasp nest in the tree and the wasps were attracted to the empty soft drink cans, food tins, wrappers. And they stung Katydid!"
