“You have no idea,” Sandy said, and her voice was thick with emotion; her jaw trembled. “The thing is, Travis was special. It was more than the fact that he made good grades and did the right thing. He was steady, and he had a good heart. He shouldn’t have died in such a stupid, senseless way; he shouldn’t have died at all. I don’t know how Jenna or Jordy are going to get through it, but at least Jenna has our parents. Jordy’s got no one. I mean, he has me, but he’s not talking, so—” Sandy shrugged. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, and she pinched the bridge of her nose.
Libby thought of the things she might say, that it would take time, that the human spirit could be remarkably resilient. In the end she said nothing.
“Jenna can’t stand the idea that Travis was doing anything as stupid as driving drunk, and I don’t blame her, but I can’t let Jordy go to jail if he isn’t responsible.”
“No.”
“Do you think he’s lying?”
“I want to believe him,” Libby said.
“I do, too.”
But Sandy wasn’t sure. Libby could see her doubt and how it unsettled her. “Is there any word about the girl who was injured? Is she expected to recover?”
“Michelle?” A look crossed Sandy’s expression, some odd mix of disdain and worry. Libby didn’t really know. Sandy said there was no change. “She’s still in a coma.”
If Michelle were to waken, she would settle the question of who was driving, Libby thought. Jordan must be desperate for that to happen. Libby would be if she were innocent, as he claimed to be, but he had never mentioned Michelle. Libby couldn’t decide if that was significant.
Sandy said, “Huck is like family to Jenna and my parents. They love him. I felt that way about him, too, until he started his harassment campaign.”
“But they must not like it, that he’s targeted Jordan.”
“They don’t believe that’s what he’s doing. They think he’s providing Jordy with the guidance and discipline he’s lacking at home. According to them, Jordy has a drinking problem, and I’m in la-la land, letting him get away with it. While we were in the hospital, before Travis died, Jenna even said that to me—words to that effect.”
It hurt; Libby could see the evidence of Sandy’s pain at her sister’s judgment lodged in her eyes, and like a deeply embedded splinter, it festered. “So, I’m guessing Travis was never part of this, he was never pulled over?”
Hell no. Sandy didn’t say it, but she might as well have. “Huck is like everyone else. He thinks Travis hung the moon. But Huck’s feelings went deeper than most, you know, because Trav was John’s son. Not only was he never pulled over, he was never in the car when Jordy was. To me it’s proof that Huck’s intention all along has been to single Jordy out, to make his life miserable. But he’s always made sure there weren’t any witnesses.”
After a moment, Sandy met Libby’s eyes. “I can’t even imagine what you must be thinking, that I—that Jordy and I both have made the same mistake—it’s—”
“At least you know you aren’t imagining it.” Libby cut Sandy off. “The harassment, I mean.”
“Huck’s motive makes sense now, I guess, but I don’t understand why, with so much on the line, Jordy wouldn’t tell me or, at the very least, his lawyer, what was going on. Or Emmett.”
“The sergeant warned him not to shoot off his mouth about it, or he’d find a way to get Jordan for something a lot worse than a traffic violation.”
“Are you serious? He threatened Jordy?”
Libby nodded. “Not recently, but back right after he found out.”
“That bastard.”
“It shook Jordan. He’s always thought of the sergeant as a friend, like family, as you said.”
“It just doesn’t make any sense. Huck doesn’t care about Coleta—unless that isn’t behind it. Or maybe it was originally about her, but now—” Sandy’s expression seemed to lighten, as if she’d been struck by some newfound comprehension.
Before Libby could prompt her, though, Sandy gathered her things and said she had to go; she was late. Libby followed her to the parking lot, and when they reached Libby’s truck, Sandy turned to her, saying, “I’ll never be able to thank you enough. I know it can’t have been easy for you to talk to me.”
“What will you do now?” Libby asked.
“Well, one thing’s for sure, I won’t be asking for help from the cops in this town.”
“It seems to me the sergeant is risking his job. His whole career could be destroyed.”
“He may have lost sight of that.”
“You’re suggesting he isn’t rational,” Libby said.
“I don’t know. It’s all so crazy.” Sandy looked into the middle distance. “There was a witness, a trucker from Detroit, who was on 440 and saw what happened that night. At first he identified Travis as the driver, but then he changed his story. Roger hired a private detective when that happened, and while he was digging around, he found another witness, a local guy, Ricky Burrows—”
“Ricky Burrows?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“I do, but—”
“When the detective showed Ricky photographs of Jordy and Travis and asked which one of them was driving, Ricky swore it was Trav, the same as the trucker.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. He not only witnessed the accident, but told the detective he was almost involved in it. We need Ricky to tell the police, to be a witness at the trial, if it comes to that, but the detective can’t find him. Do you know where he is, how to get in touch with him?”
“I wish I did—” Libby loosened her gaze. I don’t think he’s who he says he is. Ruth’s warning from a week ago came to Libby’s mind. Ruth had heard it from the Graysons, who’d bought the parcel of land with the old farmhouse on it next door. Ruth had thought she’d already told Libby about the sale, her new neighbors. They weren’t moved in there yet full-time, Ruth had said, but already Mr. Grayson had called the local law enforcement about a man the family had found sleeping in one of the bedrooms. They’d caught the same man cooking on the old woodstove. As if he owns the place, Mr. Grayson had said. And in fact that’s what the man told them. He had insisted to the Graysons that they, and not he, were the trespassers. Mr. Grayson had told Ruth that the deputy who’d responded to their report of an intruder had identified the man as Ricky Burrows. Mr. Grayson had also told Ruth that around a month or so ago, they’d found a gutted hog on their property. Exactly like the slaughtered hog you found on your property, Ruth had said to Libby. She’d added that the Graysons believed Ricky was responsible, but when Libby asked why—why would Ricky do something so awful?—Ruth couldn’t answer.
“What is it, Libby?” Sandy prompted. “What do you know about him?”
“I’m not sure my information is accurate,” Libby began. It doesn’t matter what his motive is. He’s not rational. Ruth’s voice rose again in Libby’s brain. But Ruth was basing her opinion on what the Graysons had told her. It wasn’t much better, really, than the gossip they both deplored. She hadn’t repeated it to Robert, either, for the same reason. It was hearsay.
“Please tell me what you know. It could make the difference for Jordy.”
It was the way Sandy put it, in terms of what was at stake for Jordan, that pushed Libby to relate the details of the Graysons’ encounters with Ricky, but when she finished, she added a caveat. “Who knows if he’s still around there?”
“You said he’s worked for Augie Bright. I could call him and see if I could find Ricky on a job site.”
“Yes, but, Sandy, I think you should go to the police—”
“In Wyatt? No way. Huck has threatened Jordy and pressured at least one witness. If he finds out about Ricky, he’ll pressure him, too. I’ve got to get to him first.”
“I think it might have already happened,” Libby said, and she went on, telling Sandy about finding Huckabee and Ricky together at the police department in town on Monday. She repeated th
e bit Huckabee had said, that Ricky had finally gotten his story straight. “I don’t know what he meant,” Libby said.
“Huck got to Ricky,” Sandy said, her shoulders falling. “He’s threatened him, too, somehow; I’d bet money on it.”
“Can you go over his head?”
“I don’t think it would do any good, not with the good ol’ boy network we’ve got in this town.”
“You could go to another town. Greeley, maybe.”
“Maybe,” Sandy said, and she smiled, briefly. “I’ve got to run; I’ve left a client waiting. But thank you for this, talking to me. I’ll never be able to make up for what I did, the trouble and pain I caused you, but that was my mistake. No one should blame Jordy.”
“No, of course not. I don’t—”
“It doesn’t matter to me, you know? I mean if he was driving that night or not. Either way, he’s my son, and I love him. I would give my life for his, do anything to keep him safe. Huck should know that. Everyone should. It’s just that simple.”
And just that complicated, Libby thought, watching Sandy go. She didn’t have a good feeling about any of this. In fact, her stomach ached with apprehension, the sense of foreboding, of some ill wind brewing. But from what direction it might come, she didn’t know.
Libby got into Beck’s truck, tracking Sandy’s progress across the parking lot. Debating whether it was wise, letting Sandy go. Watching as her truck backed out and another car, a light-colored sedan, fell in behind it. Libby kept her eye on both vehicles as they turned left out of the lot. Ruth had wanted to talk to Captain Perry in Wyatt about Ricky. But like Sandy, Libby was wary of that.
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and called Ruth.
“I’ve been trying to get hold of you,” Ruth said when she answered. “Was your phone off?”
“What’s the matter?” Libby asked.
“After we talked earlier, I called Aunt Tildy about Ricky Burrows. You know how she is. She knows everything about everyone in this town.”
“But he isn’t from here.”
“Oh, but he is. He’s a descendant of the Scroggins family. He was born here. Fran’s sister, Jewel, is his mother.”
“No, that can’t be right. Ricky’s what? Late twenties, early thirties, maybe? Fran’s in her seventies—”
“Jewel was a lot younger. Aunt Tildy called her a change-of-life baby. She said Jewel’s mama was way over forty and didn’t handle the news of the pregnancy well.” Ruth sniffed. “Maybe that explains why Jewel was such a nutcase. She sure did a number on Ricky.”
“What did she do?” Libby asked.
“There are various stories, that she locked him in a closet or chained him up outside with the dog if he misbehaved, but the worst thing was the day she went to Ricky’s school—he was in fifth grade at the time—and started shouting about aliens and a massive invasion, screaming they had to leave the building immediately or they’d all be killed.”
“Oh my God, that’s horrible.”
“I know; the kids were scared to death, Tildy said. Ricky was so scared and humiliated he wet himself. He was sobbing, a complete mess. It was awful for him. You know, the cops came, medical people. The way Tildy described it, it was total chaos.”
“I can’t imagine the effect it must have had on Ricky. But how does Tildy know all this?”
“She worked in the office. She brought him home with her that day. She let him take a shower, found him some clean clothes, and fed him. They played checkers until his dad could come for him. She told me he came to see her.”
“What? You mean like recently?”
“A few days ago. I almost fainted. It’s so scary, thinking of the hours he was in her house alone with her. Tildy said she thought he came by because he remembered her kindness to him when he went through all of that.”
Tildy was kind. Libby loved her, too, but she was also old and garrulous. When it came to this or any other story, no way did she even begin to approach the status of a reliable source. Libby was on the verge of pointing this out when Ruth said she knew what Libby was thinking.
“I didn’t entirely trust Tildy’s story, either, so I called Fran.”
“She confirmed it?”
“Yeah, that and worse. Fran was contacted not long ago by someone at a Colorado mental hospital who told her that her nephew, who’d been locked up there for the past five years, had escaped. Fran had no idea he was there. But evidently this person found her name in one of Ricky’s files and wanted her to know he might be headed to Texas, specifically to Wyatt and home, and he was dangerous.”
“But how did he get out?”
“He got hold of a knife and managed to incapacitate a male nurse. He didn’t kill him, but after he took his uniform, he sliced the guy up badly enough that he passed out. Ricky left him in a closet, then he walked out pretty as you please. It was hours before they discovered he was gone.”
“This is unreal.”
“Ha! Wait till you hear this part. Fran said Ricky had a fascination with knives even when he was young, and he liked carving things up, including the occasional animal. Fran said Jewel thought he might have a future in forensic or mortuary science.” Ruth’s laugh was dark, truncated. “Fran also said they tried to help both Jewel and Ricky. There were psychiatrists involved, antidepressants, yada yada, but the situation didn’t improve.”
“It must have been heartbreaking,” Libby said.
“I’m sure, but you see what this means, don’t you? That it has to be Ricky who gutted the hog at your place and the Graysons’. He’s the one who left the dead rats in your mailbox, the hummingbird on your kitchen floor, the note—”
Libby’s pulse tapped lightly in her veins. “But why?” She asked the same question she had asked earlier. “What’s his motive? What does he want?”
“I don’t know. He called the Graysons trespassers. Maybe he wants the ranch—the Little B?”
“But that’s crazy.”
“Yeah, well, we are talking about a mental-hospital escapee, a known lunatic. Fran told me the police in Colorado issued a BOLO when Ricky escaped, but that’s two months ago now.”
“And he was here, right under my nose—”
“All our noses, Libby. Don’t go blaming yourself.”
“But I should have warned Sandy.” Libby felt awful. “Suppose she finds him and he goes off on her? What if he uses a knife on her?”
“Sandy? Sandy Cline? What are you talking about?”
Libby gave Ruth the gist of her meeting with Sandy, scooting by Ruth’s exclamatory Oh my Gods and You must be kiddings, getting to the heart of it—that of all people, Ricky had apparently witnessed Jordan’s accident, and Sandy was trying to track him down. “She’s afraid Huckabee has already pressured one witness. She’s worried about him getting to Ricky first, but I think he may have already.” Libby paused and let out a little groan. “But what am I doing, Ruth? As you have so often pointed out, it’s really none of my business, is it?”
“No, but now that we know all of this, how is either one of us going to feel if this all goes wrong and Jordy lands in prison for something he didn’t do? Or Sandy gets hurt trying to convince Ricky he has to testify for Jordy, assuming she can find him?”
“You haven’t spoken to anyone at the police department in Wyatt, have you?”
“No,” Ruth said. “I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Good. I’m coming to pick you up. We’ll go to the police in Greeley,” Libby said.
Ruth said she’d be waiting, and Libby clicked off her phone.
She wasn’t a mile from Inman’s when it rang again. She pulled over to check the ID, and when she saw who it was, she answered quickly. “Jordan? Is everything all right?”
She didn’t know what prompted her to ask. Some weird intuition, she’d guess, and when he answered, “No,” and said, “Can you come and get me?” her heart fell against the wall of her chest.
“What’s wrong? Where are you?” She was al
ready keying the ignition, pulling cautiously back onto the road. She didn’t like driving and talking on her cell phone, but it seemed imperative.
“I’m at my dad’s apartment,” Jordy said. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but I’ve called my dad like a hundred times, and he’s not answering his phone. I didn’t know who else—”
“It’s fine, Jordan. I don’t mind that you called me.” In fact, she was pleased that he thought of her in terms of someone who would help, and she found that disconcerting. “But what’s going on?”
“It’s my mom. She’s at my aunt Jenna’s, and I think she’s in some kind of trouble.”
14
It happened in a flash.
Sandy saw the light-colored sedan in her rearview as she left Inman’s, and her temper flared. She slowed, letting the car come close enough to her tailgate that she could tell the driver was a woman. Patsy Meade. Surprise, surprise. The snarky voice in Sandy’s brain was a cover for the jolt of her alarm. She would never know what demon took possession of her, making her veer off the crumbling edge of the country road into the tall grass that verged on the pavement. Patsy did the same, stopping behind Sandy, their bumpers only inches apart. Sandy looked at Patsy in the rearview for a moment, then, heart hammering, she jumped out of her truck, thinking, Fine. Thinking, Bring it on. Thinking, Lady, you picked the wrong day.
It was irrational, totally not a smart move, but Sandy headed toward Patsy’s car anyway, mind racing, primed for battle as soon as Patsy got out. Before she could open her mouth, blasting her indictment, shouting her accusations, Sandy would set her straight. But Patsy didn’t get out. She just stared at Sandy through the windshield, flat mouthed, empty eyed. Motionless. Sandy’s step faltered. She thought of all the whacked-out people in the world, the crazy things that could happen. Suppose Patsy had a gun? Suppose she was only waiting for Sandy to get close enough that a single shot wouldn’t miss? Had Michelle died, then? And Patsy had gone over the edge? Oh God—
The certainty came down on Sandy hard enough that her knees buckled. She flailed her arms to keep her balance. Backed up, stopped. Stupidly, she had left her cell phone in the truck. Turning away from Patsy’s eerie gaze, Sandy looked into the field at her right. The wind blew, hot, dry, noising in her ears, whipping stray tendrils of hair across her face. A cow moseyed over to the barbed-wire fence, and she thought how beautiful its eyes were, liquid and brown, somehow ancient and wise. She wondered if she would take the vision of the cow’s eyes with her into the next world. If there even was a next world. Her dad didn’t believe in an afterlife. This was it, he said. You get this one shot, then nothing.
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