by David Bell
She bent down and laid the flowers on the dirt-covered plot and then straightened up again.
I pushed the car door open and made the slow, careful walk to the grave.
When I was about ten feet away, I stopped.
Jade must have heard me. She spun around, but didn’t seem scared or nervous.
“It’s you,” she said. “Why are you here of all places? Do you want to wrestle me to the ground or something?”
“I’m sorry I startled you at my house,” I said. “I just needed to know where she was.” Jade stared at me, her eyes still obscured. “And I wanted to thank you. You told Marissa how to find me, and she did.”
“I’m glad,” she said.
“It was short,” I said.
“That’s life on the run,” she said. “I’m on my way out of here now.” She turned away from me and back toward her daughter’s headstone.
“Jade?” I said. “You can’t go.”
“Why can’t I?” she asked, her back still toward me.
“Because an innocent man is in jail for killing Emily. And he tried to hang himself last night.” She lifted her head a little, as though she’d heard something that caught her attention. “Jade, there are a lot of things going on here. Emily was killed. Someone tried to kidnap my stepson. Don’t you think it’s possible that it’s all related? Those people . . . the people who lost their son in that accident . . . they’re responsible for these things as well.”
“Based on what?” she asked.
“What else could it be?”
“And you want me to throw myself on the mercy of the cops on a hunch?” she asked.
“Andrew, my stepson, he’s only nine. He shouldn’t be paying any kind of price for this.”
“What happened to your stepson?” she asked.
“Someone tried to kidnap him, to hurt him.”
Her shoulders slumped a little, but she still didn’t turn around. “I’ve paid a higher price. The proof is right here. Hell, even Marissa didn’t pay that kind of toll. And she was driving the car that day. She’s on her way back to Wisconsin now, you know? Her kids. Her house. She still has all those things. I don’t.”
“I know. And it’s really not fair.”
“You bet it’s not.” She sniffled a little.
“But think of that family. The Maberrys. Their child was killed. They need answers too. Everybody deserves answers. Everybody needs to try to move on.”
“Dad said we’d all get a fresh start once we moved. Marissa got it. She always got everything she wanted. But what happened to me? I gave up my baby. I never had another kid, Nick. Is that fair? Is that justice?”
“It’s not. I’m sorry. You’ve been screwed over by all of this as well. But you’re here now. We both are. And there is something you can do about it.”
She turned toward me and lifted the sunglasses. I saw the tears, the red-rimmed eyes and red nose. “Really? There’s something I can do that will bring Meredith back to me?”
I took a step toward her, my hands out, signaling peace. “No, not that. But you can try to bring the people responsible to justice. And you can get an innocent man off the hook.”
“Why don’t you ask Marissa, my sister, to do it?”
“Because I don’t know where she is,” I said. “She didn’t tell me. You can just come back to Eastland and confirm the story I told the police. They’ll track Maberry down with this new evidence. Who knows? Maybe they’re innocent and we can all cross them off the list. Just come back and see if you can end all of this.”
Jade reached into her pocket and brought out a crumpled tissue. She wiped at her nose and eyes, making loud sniffling noises as she did so.
“Do you know why Meredith—Emily or whatever—died with your name and address in her pocket?” she asked.
“I don’t. But I’d like to.”
“I gave it to her. It’s my handwriting on that note. When all of this started coming to a head, and I worried that Mer—Emily might be in real trouble, I knew she needed someplace safe to go. Someplace that couldn’t be directly traced to either one of us, Marissa or me.” She rolled her eyes. “The McKee sisters or whoever we’d become.”
“What on earth happened to Emily that she would be so spooked?” I asked.
“First it looked like someone tried to break into her apartment. The lock was bent out of shape and scraped up. It freaked her out, and she called the cops. But what could they do? There are college kids all around, and people try to break into student apartments all the time. She got a new lock and a can of Mace and life went on.”
“When was this?”
“A few weeks ago. She called me and told me about it. It scared me, but I wasn’t certain it was the Maberrys. Then . . . then, right before she died, someone tried to get her into their car. She was walking home alone, near dusk. She shouldn’t have been alone, but she was. You can’t tell kids anything. I guess I regret that I didn’t really and truly emphasize how dangerous the situation was. Maybe we’d relaxed over the years, let our guard down.”
“Get her into their car? You need to tell me more about this.”
“Meredith was walking home and someone pulled over right next to her. This person . . . they wore a hat and sunglasses. She couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman for certain, but she thought it was a woman. The person opened the passenger door and asked for directions. It seemed innocent enough. But this person, this lunatic, said they couldn’t hear well, and when Emily leaned in to give the directions, they made a grab for her. They got ahold of her arm, but Emily pulled away. She was strong. She was a fighter, I promise. She ran. No license number. Nothing.”
I felt weak all over, like my bones and organs were made of glass. They tried to get Emily before they killed her. If they had managed to get Andrew into that car . . .
“And she told the police?”
“Of course. They put out an alert all over campus. It got a lot of attention, but they couldn’t do much with her limited description.” Jade studied me. “You don’t look so hot.”
“I’m having some things confirmed. Some disturbing things. So . . . why didn’t she go to you for help?”
“She did. She called me right away. She was scared. I’d warned her, and she’d promised to let me know if anything weird ever happened to her. When it did, she called. I put the two things together, and so did she. The attempted break-in. The attempted kidnapping or whatever it was. Someone meant to do her harm. Her. Meredith. It wasn’t random. And I told her what to do.”
“She should have gone to her parents,” I said.
“No. Then they’d be in danger.”
“So you sent Emily to me?” I asked. “For God’s sake, why?”
She looked off into the distance. “I remembered you. How nice you were to me when you and Marissa dated. How you talked to me like I was an adult and not just a pesty little sister when you came to visit. I remember how much Marissa cried when she knew she had to go back to school after the accident and break it off with you. She cried all night. I know she was crying for that boy she killed, but she was also crying because she had to go back to school and break your heart. I’ve never known a man I felt that way about.”
“I’m sorry, Jade.”
“I’m sorry too. I threw a grenade into your lap. Honestly, Nick, I didn’t know it would all go this way. But I needed someone I could trust, someone the Maberrys couldn’t immediately connect to us. Meredith . . . Emily needed a safe house. I thought if she could hole up with you for just a few days or whatever was needed . . .” She sniffled some more. “I went up to Hanfort the other day. I put flowers on Marissa’s grave. Lilies of the valley, her favorite.”
“You did that?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“Why?”
Jade looked away, her gaze trailing up to the sky
where a flock of birds, frantic black dots, swept across the clouds. “It seemed fitting. I did it for whoever is buried there. Just so they aren’t alone.”
I reached out to her, but I didn’t grab.
“Come with me,” I said. “Let’s try to put an end to this. For Meredith.”
She stepped toward me and took my hand.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
While Jade spoke to the police, I waited in the lobby, sitting on a hard plastic chair that made my back cry. A middle-aged man in a polo shirt and khaki pants sat nearby. Every five minutes he made a phone call and spoke to someone in an exasperated tone.
“No,” he kept saying, “I haven’t seen him yet.”
The room smelled like burned coffee and disinfectant.
I texted Laurel and gave her an update. I didn’t hear back, but I knew I couldn’t expect her to always be there. She had a job. She had a life.
I called Brosius and got him caught up. He offered to come to the station, practically insisted, but I told him not to worry about it. I promised to call if I needed anything.
At one point, Reece came out and called me back. When he opened the door, the man with the phone looked up expectantly, but then his face fell in an expression of utter disappointment. Reece wasn’t the person he was hoping to see.
The detective led me back to his desk, and when we sat down, I asked if I could see Jade.
“Not yet. She’s talking to my colleagues.”
“Is all of this helping?” I asked.
Reece looked at me like I was an especially slow child. “Do you think I’m going to discuss these matters with you, Mr. Hansen? I can’t.”
“It was worth a try.”
He shuffled some papers around on his desk, and then lifted something but didn’t show it to me.
“Do you know this William Maberry she’s talking about?” he asked.
“I don’t know him personally. I’ve only heard what Jade has told me about him.”
Reece nodded. He slid a photograph over to the edge of the desk where I could see it. “Do you know this man?” he asked.
I studied the photo. It showed a man about ten years older than me, a man with a head that looked too small for the broad shoulders it rested on. His hair was yellowish blond and thinning, and he wore a goatee that had some streaks of gray. His eyes were small and blue, the lids narrowed as though caught in a flash. It might have been a driver’s license photo or a mug shot. I wasn’t sure, but something lurked beneath the surface of his placid face, some coiled violence that might spring off the flat page at a moment’s notice.
“Is this him?” I asked.
“Do you know this man?” Reece asked.
“I’ve never seen him before.”
He nodded. “That’s William Maberry, the father of the boy those girls apparently ran over twenty years ago.”
“You believe Jade, then?”
“We want to talk to Mr. Maberry again, so if you see him, call us. Don’t try to talk to him on your own.”
“He’s dangerous?” I asked.
“He has a record from a while ago. But he’s been a model citizen the last decade or so.”
“So you think he might have killed Emily? And he might have tried to lure Andrew into that car? You think all of this might be some act of revenge?”
Reece slid the picture into a manila folder. He held it against his chest but didn’t stand up. His rolling, reclining chair allowed him to tilt back, the springs squeaking, and he considered me from that position, his chin nearly resting on his chest.
“All of these things are yet to be decided, Mr. Hansen. It’s all just a theory now.”
“Can I talk to Jade?” I asked again.
“Not a good idea. We’re going to be with her for a while, maybe late into the night. You should head home, get something to eat. She can call you when she’s finished. If we get finished and are able to let her go.”
He didn’t let me ask any more questions. Instead he stood up and ushered me to the front of the station.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
As I cruised through the darkening streets, lights came on in the houses, and the sky turned purple. I felt tired and anxious at the same time, drumming my fingers against the dashboard the whole way. I looked forward to seeing Riley, who had been in the house alone all day.
On the way, I called Gina. When she answered, I asked her how things were going.
“Everything’s fine,” she said. “Andrew is perfectly safe. We drove him to school this morning and dropped him off right at the door. Shit, Nick, I drove by the school on my lunch break. I just had to . . . look at the building and see that it was safe. Like that really did any good.”
“Did it make you feel better?” I asked.
“Yeah, I guess. I picked him up at the end of the day. He was never out of an adult’s sight.”
“Good.” The relief coursed through me like a healing drug. I felt it hit every atom in my body. “What about now? How is he?”
“He’s here. He has a friend over. And all the doors and windows are locked. Look, it’s quiet. Where are you? Are you driving?”
“I’m on my way home. It’s a long story.”
“I’d rather you got off the phone and watched the road.”
“I’ll tell you all about it someday. I promise.” As I spoke, the idea of sharing the story with someone made me feel better, like going to confession or therapy. Gina would listen, and so would Laurel. “But I just want you to know that the things I’ve been saying are true. Andrew may very well be in danger. All of you might be. This guy who may have tried to get Andrew into that car is bad news.” Then I thought of something, and I pounded the steering wheel. “Shit. I meant to get you his picture in case he showed up at the door or something.”
“It’s fine.” But she didn’t sound fine. I heard the fear, the uneasiness in her voice, the slight tremor of nerves that Gina almost never displayed. “Maybe I’m better off not seeing a picture. I’ll just be on alert for everything until this is over.”
“Can you go to your mom’s house? Or Dale’s?” I asked with the hope I’d hit on the right solution. “Somewhere off the beaten path a little.”
“Yeah, maybe we should,” she said, her voice full of agreement.
“You should. Or I can come by and watch again.”
“No, don’t do that. Jesus, Nick, you need to have a normal life. We all do. I’ll go to Dale’s. Okay? We can spend the night there.”
“Excellent. And I want you to know something.” I stopped at a light a mile from my apartment. The traffic streamed in front of me in both directions, headlights and taillights glowing in the dark. A car pulled up close behind me, its brights filling the rearview and making me squint. “I want you to go to Dale’s house so you’re safe. But I also don’t mind you going there because I’m not jealous or anything. I’m happy for you. I think it’s good for you to date and have a new relationship. As long as the guy is good to Andrew. That’s my concern.”
She laughed. “But no concern for me?”
“I don’t mean it that way.” But I liked hearing her laughter. It broke the tension, eased my mind. The light changed, and I pulled through the intersection, the car behind me still too close, its lights still too bright. “You can take care of yourself. Andrew’s just a kid.”
“I knew what you meant,” she said. “And I appreciate you telling me how little romantic interest you have in me.”
“It’s true,” I said, squinting more against the brights. “Go around.”
“What?”
“The asshole behind me. Anyway, we both should be moving on.”
“Aren’t you still in love with the dead girl?” she asked, her voice light and joking.
“I guess I am,” I said. “Except . . . well, surprise, she’s not dead. I love her and she�
�s not dead. But it looks like we won’t be together.”
A long pause settled over the call. I was a half mile from home, anticipating seeing my old friend Riley and taking him for a walk.
“Wait, Nick, you sound serious.”
“I am. That’s the short version of the long story I promised. She’s alive. But for now, just get to Dale’s house.”
“Really, Nick? Are you telling me the truth? After all those things I said to you about moving on and how you always loved her more than me. I feel like an asshole. She’s alive? Where was she? Are you getting back together?”
“No, it’s over. Don’t worry. Just take care of Andrew—”
Then the headlights behind me grew even larger in the rearview mirror. And they didn’t stop. They grew and grew until with a bone-rattling jolt and a grinding smash of metal and glass, the car plowed into my rear bumper, pushing me off the road and into a drainage culvert. The force of the landing rocked my head back and forth and threw the phone from my hand.
The air bag popped and smacked me in the face, clouding my vision.
I hovered for a moment, trying to make sense of it all. Gina’s voice reached me from somewhere in the car, calling my name. Fainter and fainter I heard my name being called until I slipped away into blackness.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
I blinked my eyes open. My nose felt like I’d taken a punch from King Kong, so I reached up and felt the center of my face. Everything was numb, smacked into feeling nothing, and my hand came away covered with blood.
My neck ached. I squeezed my hands into fists, hoping they functioned the way they were supposed to. Then I moved my legs, which also worked. My left knee screamed with pain. I’d banged it against the steering column, but I could move it. Stiffly, roughly, I could move it.
The car sat at a forty-five-degree angle, tilting with the driver’s side higher than the passenger’s. Only the seat belt kept me from sliding out of my seat and down to the other door, which was pressed against the bottom of the culvert. I knew from driving by it daily that a thin trickle of water usually flowed through the bottom, and I saw some of it leaking in through the cracked window below me. The phone sat down there as well, getting soaked.
