Marge paled. “Oh dear. I am so sorry to hear that. I had no idea. Please accept my deepest sympathies.”
“Thank you,” Owen murmured, hating the pity he saw in Mrs. Hawthorn’s eyes. “We lost Jacob a little over three years ago.”
Marge blinked back tears. “I’m really sorry to have come here like this. Had I known…” She touched her throat and tried again. “My apologies.”
Gaining her feet, Marge’s mouth opened and closed without sound. She reached into her pants pocket and withdrew a handkerchief. “Have a nice day, Mr. Nobles.”
“You too, Mrs. Hawthorn.”
“Marge. Call me Marge.” She turned and left without another word.
It took Owen several minutes to calm down enough to pick up the phone. He quickly dialed Jessica’s cell only to reach her voicemail.
Gathering up the papers in front of him, Owen tucked them away in the top drawer of his desk and stood. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was a little before ten AM. After being up half the night, Jess was probably sleeping.
He’d find out soon enough.
* * * *
Owen pulled into his driveway, immediately noticing the garage door had been left open and Jessica’s SUV was nowhere in sight.
Leaving his own car running, he jumped out, unlocked the door to the house, and hurried inside.
The scent of perfume permeated the air, surprising him. Jess hadn’t worn perfume in as long as he could remember.
He approached the closet, noticing a pair of heels missing from her shoe rack. Jealousy ensued.
Jessica hadn’t wanted anything to do with him in years, yet she’d apparently dressed up, smelled like a million bucks, and wasn’t answering her phone.
Owen dug out his cell from the pocket of his pants and tried her again. Voicemail.
He pressed the end key and typed out a text. Tried calling a couple of times. Where are you?
No reply.
Had she met someone in town and was now in his arms?
Owen shook his head at the direction of his thoughts. Jessica would never cheat on him. Would she?
Chapter Eighteen
Jessica stopped her SUV along the curbside of Jasper and Melanie Dayton’s house. At least she hoped it belonged to them. She’d called Ruckle and talked him into giving her their address.
She sat outside for several minutes, trying to work up the nerve to get out, when the front door to the house opened and a petite blonde exited the home.
Quickly climbing from the SUV, Jessica strode across the yard, her high heels sinking into the freshly mowed grass of the manicured lawn. “Mrs. Dayton?”
The blonde woman stopped, surprise registering on her face. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
“No,” Jessica admitted, reaching the woman’s side. “My name’s Jessica Nobles. Do you have a minute?”
Melanie gave a curt nod. “I was just about to head into town. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to speak with you about your son, Terry.”
A shadow passed through Melanie’s eyes. “Are you a reporter?”
“I’m not. I moved into the house next door to your old place. I’d like to ask you some questions, if you don’t mind?”
Melanie hesitated a moment and then waved a hand toward the house. “Would you care to come inside?”
“Thank you. That would be great.” Jessica followed the pretty blonde through the front door of a pale yellow, stucco home. The first thing she noticed were the lack of pictures in the front room. Not one photograph of Terry adorned the walls or any of the tables that made up the large space.
Melanie gestured to the sofa. “Please, have a seat. What is it that you would like to know?”
Jessica waited for Melanie to sit in a straight-back chair before lowering herself onto the sofa, facing her. “I’m really not sure where to begin. Let me start off by saying how sorry I am for your loss.”
“I appreciate your kind words, Mrs. Nobles, but Terry isn’t dead. He’s missing. I would know if he were dead.” She rubbed her palms over her knees. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
Holding Melanie’s gaze, Jess responded softly, “I do understand. I lost my only child a little over three years ago. He was seven years old when he passed.”
Melanie paled. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I—”
“You’re fine, Mrs. Dayton. There was no way you could have known.”
An awkward silence fell. Jessica nervously cleared her throat. “Tell me about Terry.”
A faraway look entered Melanie’s eyes. “He’s twenty years old now, did you know that? It’s hard to wrap my mind around. I often try to imagine what he looks like today, but I can’t. In my mind’s eye, he’s still the seven-year-old little boy who went missing so long ago.”
“The newspaper articles stated that he was taken in the middle of the night. It also said there were suspicions surrounding his disappearance.”
Melanie’s eyes sharpened, losing the lost look they’d exhibited only seconds before. “Yes. There was this woman who lived across the street—this psychic they were looking into. Also, Eustice Martin. Have you met him yet?”
“Unfortunately, I have.”
“Well, then you’ve seen what type of person he is.”
Jessica nodded. “I know that he’s been in prison for murder and that he abuses his wife.”
“Why are you interested in Terry?” Melanie suddenly asked, catching Jessica off guard.
Wondering how much to reveal of what she’d seen, Jessica hedged, “Since finding out about your son and what happened in that house next door to me, I haven’t been able to think of much else. I’ve read everything the internet has to offer on the investigation, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Eustice had something to do with his disappearance.”
“I understand your curiosity, Mrs. Nobles, but why would you want to get involved?”
Jessica looked down at her fingernails. Her heart began to pound, and her palms grew sweaty. She decided to be honest with Mrs. Dayton. If the woman threw her out on her ear, then so be it. “I saw him.”
“Saw who?”
Jessica lifted her head. “Your son.”
“You—” Melanie’s mouth opened and closed several times. “You saw Terry?”
“More than once…”
All the color drained from Melanie’s face. “Where? When? I don’t understand!”
Jessica recognized the signs of a panic attack, and Mrs. Dayton was definitely on the verge of one.
Surging to her feet, Jessica skirted the coffee table that sat between them and touched Melanie on the shoulder. “This is going to sound crazy, but I need you to please hear me out.”
Melanie raised a tear-filled gaze but remained silent.
“I…” Clearing her throat, Jess tried again. “I saw him in the upstairs window of the house next door to me. Your old house.”
When Melanie didn’t respond, Jess continued. “He-he had dark hair, and he was wearing a striped T-shirt. I saw him the first night I moved into the house next door.”
Melanie pushed to her feet, forcing Jess to take a step back. “You came here today to tell me that you saw the ghost of my son Terry?”
“I know it sounds crazy, Mrs. Dayton, and I wish to God I had a different reason for being here, but I don’t. I know what I saw, and I’ve seen him more than once.”
“Please leave.”
Jessica’s heart ached for this woman who’d lost her child. She ached for the sadness Melanie tried to hide, the deep grief that lay just beneath the surface. “I didn’t come here to upset you. I came here hoping that I could help.”
Melanie marched to the door and held it open. “You can help by not contacting me again.”
“Sandy Weaver saw the same things I did. Things that didn’t make the papers, things I had no way of knowing about.”
Something flickered in Melanie’s gaze. “How do you know what Sandy saw?”
“Beca
use I saw her.”
“Saw her where? She left the area thirteen years ago. Just up and disappeared in the middle of the night.”
Jessica stopped at the open door but remained inside. “She lives in Summerville, Alabama. I paid her a visit to reveal to her what I’d seen. I had no idea that she’d seen the same things.”
“I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing, Mrs. Nobles, but I want no part of it. Now, good day.”
“Melanie, please…”
“Go.”
With an apologetic nod, Jessica stepped out onto the porch, the click of the door closing, echoing behind her.
Unsure of what to do next, Jess jogged to her SUV, grabbed a pen and paper from her purse, and wrote down her cellphone number. She strode back across the yard and slipped the paper beneath the door.
Chapter Nineteen
Owen sat on the couch facing the door when the sound of a car pulling into the drive reached his ears. Jessica was home.
He remained seated, waiting on her to enter the house. He’d been calling her cell and texting her for hours to no avail.
The door opened and she stepped inside. “What are you doing home?”
“Waiting on you. Where have you been?”
She closed the door and turned to face him. “In town. Why?”
“I’ve been calling and texting you for hours. What good is having a cellphone if you never use it?”
Stepping out of her heels, she bent, picked them up, and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “What’s with the third degree?”
Anger quickly replaced his concern. “Why are you evading my questions?”
“I left my cell in the car, Owen. Are we really going to argue over that fact?”
Owen surged to his feet. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks…up all hours of the night, arguing with neighbors in the street.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Arguing with the neighbors? If you’re referring to Eustice Martin, I—”
“I’m talking about Dale Schroder. Why the hell were you standing in the street having words with him after midnight? Furthermore, why didn’t you tell me about it?”
She stared at him for long moments before blowing out a defeated breath. “I wasn’t standing in the street arguing. I’d stepped outside to get some air when he approached me at the end of the drive. He’d been drinking and was simply running his mouth. It had nothing to do with you. I handled it just fine.”
“I’m a local bank manager, Jessica. Everything you do reflects back on me.”
“Are you kidding me?” she snapped, taking a step closer. “You’re worried I’ll make you look bad to the local gossips? Jesus, Owen. It was a simple misunderstanding with a drunk.”
“It’s more than that and you know it, Jess. You’ve been traipsing around outside in the middle of the night since we moved here.”
Her mouth dropped open. “What are you doing, creeping around to watch my every move?”
“I don’t have to. People talk, Jess. Especially in small towns like this.”
“Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you moved us here!” She spun on her heel and stormed off down the hall.
Owen followed. “Where did you go this morning?”
“I told you,” she bit out, entering their bedroom. “Into town.”
“For what? What did you do in town? You didn’t shop, I checked the bank account.”
She tossed her shoes into the closet and squared off with him. “You’re spying on me, now? Checking the accounts? How about the mileage on my car, have you checked that too?”
“Do I need to?” he shouted, growing angrier by the second. “What are you hiding from me? And don’t lie to me, Jess. Your right eye always twitches when you lie, exactly as it’s doing now.”
Jessica pinched the bridge of her nose and lowered her head. “Fine. I went to see Melanie Dayton.”
“Who the hell is Melanie Dayton?”
She jerked her thumb toward the bedroom window. “The woman who used to own that house next door.”
Though still angry, Owen took a calming breath and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “What made you go see the woman who used to live next door?”
Jess lifted her head to reveal moisture swimming in her eyes. “You wouldn’t understand, Owen.”
“Try me.” It pained his heart to see Jessica’s tears.
She moved to sit next to him on the bed. He noticed her hands trembled. “Remember the boy I saw in the house next door the night I was accosted by Eustice Martin?”
At Owen’s nod, she continued. “That wasn’t a random neighborhood child I saw. It was Terry Dayton.”
Owen thought about that for a moment. “It couldn’t have been the Dayton boy, Jess. He would be an adult by now.”
“I know,” she sniffled, picking at her thumb nail. “But it was him. I looked up his disappearance on the internet. There’s no doubt in my mind that the child was Terry Dayton. He even wore the same striped T-shirt Terry had on when he went missing.”
Owen’s heart cracked. The longer he sat there, listening to her story, the more he realized he was losing her. She sounded paranoid, delusional…insane. “Ah, Jess…”
“You think I’m crazy.” She stood and moved to the window facing the Dayton house.
“I don’t think you’re crazy, Jess. I believe that you think you saw something in that house. But the missing Dayton boy couldn’t be it. He’s been gone for thirteen years.”
Owen left the bed to stand behind his wife. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head. “I think we should see a doctor.”
Jessica broke free of his hold and stepped out of his reach. “That is exactly why I can’t tell you anything, Owen. You think drugs are the answer to everything. The bottom line here is that you don’t trust me. Well, guess what? I don’t trust you either.”
She stormed from the room, leaving Owen standing by that window.
“What are you doing?” Owen questioned softly as she marched back in and grabbed her shoes from the closet.
She stopped at the bedroom door, her back remaining to him. “I’m going for a drive.”
Chapter Twenty
Tears dripped down Jessica’s face as she backed out of the driveway and headed west. In the weeks that she’d been in Sparkleberry Hills, she’d experienced nothing but insanity. At least in Chicago, she’d had Dr. Knox to turn to when things got bad.
She wiped at her tear-soaked cheeks with the back of her hand and jerked up her cellphone.
Scrolling through the alphabet, Jess found the doctor’s name and pressed the call key.
“Doctor Knox’s office,” his secretary answered on the second ring.
Jessica pressed the cell firmly against her ear to keep her hand from trembling. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. What the hell was she going to tell the doctor, anyway? Hey, I’m seeing the ghost of a missing neighborhood boy. And he just happens to be the same age as Jacob.
“Hello? Dr. Knox’s office,” the secretary repeated.
Jessica took a fortifying breath. “This is Jessica Nobles. Is Doctor Knox in?”
“He’s just finishing up with a patient. Would you like to leave a message?”
“I,” Jessica began, only to falter.
The secretary spoke to someone in a low tone before announcing. “The doctor is free now, Mrs. Nobles. Hold please.”
Jessica’s stomach lurched. She suddenly wished she hadn’t dialed the psychologist’s office.
“Mrs. Nobles?” The doctor’s deep, soothing voice came over the line. “What can I do for you?”
Jess hesitated before losing her nerve altogether. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”
She quickly pressed the end key and tossed the cell onto the passenger’s seat.
It buzzed almost instantly, the vibrating sound muffled by the cloth of the seat.
Jess let it ring out, and then plucked it up and called Ruckle
. “I need to see you.”
“Come by my office. I’m just finishing up some things.” He rattled off the address.
“Be there in ten.”
For some reason the thought of seeing Steven Ruckle calmed her nerves a little. She supposed it had to do with the fact that he didn’t judge her. He simply let her talk things out, offered help where he could, and didn’t push.
Jess returned her cell to the passenger seat and gripped the wheel with both hands. She had a ten-minute drive ahead of her, and she planned to use that time to regain some of her composure.
* * * *
“Hey,” Steven greeted, his fingers flying over a keyboard. “Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.”
Jessica sat in one of the two chairs in front of his desk. She let her gaze sweep his spacious office, taking in the numerous plaques and certificates hanging on the walls.
The sounds of typing suddenly stopped. “All done. What’s up, Mrs. Nobles?”
“I really wish you would call me Jessica.”
He grinned, making his normally appealing face, downright handsome. “Yes, ma’am.”
Jess relaxed, somewhat and returned his smile. “I paid a visit to Melanie Dayton, today.”
Steven’s smile faltered. “How did that go?”
“Not good. I told her about my sightings. Needless to say, she wasn’t happy about it.”
“I imagine not. From what I heard, she flipped out on Sandy Weaver for her psychic claims of seeing Terry.”
Jessica shifted in her seat. “They weren’t merely claims. Sandy really did see what she said she did. She even saw the same thing that I saw. But I’m no psychic.”
“Then what do you call seeing ghosts in windows and painting shallow graves?”
“Crazy?”
Steven shrugged. “Could be, but I doubt it. I believe there are people walking this earth with the gift of seeing things that are beyond our comprehension. In fact, we are probably all capable of it on some deeper level. Only most of us wouldn’t begin to know how to reach into that part of ourselves.”
“I’d give anything to be like everyone else,” Jessica whispered. “I feel like I’m losing my mind. I’m keeping secrets from my husband, slinking around and digging up everything I can on the Dayton investigation. I’ve become obsessed with it.”
The Boy in the Window: A Psychological Thriller Page 7
