by Laurel Dewey
Jane stood back, feeling foolish. She turned, staring into the dense cluster of pine trees that cradled the back of the house. Her eyes dropped to the soggy soil and traced the outline of blurred footprints that led into the stand of trees. Jane followed the footprints, maneuvering her way around the low-hanging branches, laden with heavy droplets of moisture and threads of sap. Moving another twenty feet, Jane detected a distinct stench. Her heart pounded as she followed the footprints deeper into the stand of trees. The nauseating odor was familiar. It was the smell of a dead body. Instinctively, Jane moved her right hand to her Glock. The fetid aroma grew more intense. She turned to her right and saw nothing. Turning to her left, her eyes caught the glint of a metal shovel handle. As Jane moved closer, the stench turned from putrid to downright nauseating. Directly in front of the shovel, Jane noted a freshly dug grave, approximately four feet long. A heap of pine needles lay over the grave in what looked like an attempt to hide the burial place. The wind sent a hard, gushing current through the conifers. An uneasy chill raced up Jane’s spine as she grabbed the shovel and started digging. But the muddy ground made the dig more difficult. Each scoop of water-soaked dirt felt as though it weighed 100 pounds. Jane punched the ground with the shovel and persevered. Five minutes passed and she’d only managed to remove less than four inches of ground. But the stench grew more intense, signaling that she wasn’t far from hitting the body.
Suddenly, her cell phone rang, startling Jane. She stabbed the shovel in the ground and checked the number. It was local. “Hello?” Jane said, breathlessly.
“Jane!” Kit replied in an equally breathless and nervous manner. “I went back in and she was gone. I looked everywhere! Finally, I went outside and she was getting in her car and leaving. She turned right, heading toward the house. But I couldn’t use the damn pay phone until now. Some kid was talking to his girlfriend—”
“How long ago did Rachel leave?” Jane yelled.
“Ten minutes!” Kit exclaimed. “She’ll be there in five minutes or less!”
“Fuck!” Jane hung up and debated what to do. The smell of death intensified. She knew she was close. She resumed shoveling, plunging the shovel into the saturated ground and hitting a soft object. Tossing the shovel aside, Jane fell to the ground. She used her hands to push away the soil before working her right hand into the dirt and coming in contact with flesh. Jane was able to grab hold of the body with her right hand while using her left hand to scrape away the mud. Jane gasped and pulled back as a dead, hazel pupil stared back at her. Her racing mind attempted to make sense of it. She carefully moved both of her hands around the head and pulled the broken neck away from the suction of the mud. The disintegrating remains of a large goat emerged from the grave. Thousands of maggots covered the neck of the carcass, ingesting the pink flesh. Following the disturbed trail, a mass of ants slipped onto Jane’s hands and eagerly began their journey up her sleeves.
“Jesus!” Jane exclaimed as she let go of the carcass and stood up. She peeled off her jacket, shaking it hard to release the insects. There was no time to replace the dirt on the grave. Donning her jacket, Jane figured she had less than two minutes to get to her Mustang and drive away from the house. She sprinted through the mass of conifers, heading for the far end of the front fence line where she’d parked her car. Thirty feet before the fence, she knew what she had to do. Making a bold, unstructured leap, Jane hurled her body over the fence and landed in front of the Mustang. Drawing the keys out of her jeans pocket, she opened the door, got in, and stabbed the keys into the ignition. Jane burned rubber and tore away from Rachel’s house. As she crested the far hill, she looked in her rearview mirror. Rachel was pulling up to her front gate.
To be on the safe side, Jane continued to speed up the hill for another five minutes. She waited another ten minutes before turning around and heading back to Oakhurst. What a mess. That’s all Jane could think about. In all her years of law enforcement, she had never been forced to operate in such a half-assed manner. She reasoned that everything she did was done for a good reason. Rachel might concede that the broken window was courtesy of the wind. But there was no getting around the obvious removal of the dead goat.
Kit stood waiting outside the store near the pay phone. Her eyes widened when she got into the Mustang and saw Jane’s muddy clothes. Jane recounted everything to Kit, who was like a big kid as she interjected words like, “Wow!” and “Really?” throughout Jane’s story. Kit let out an overwhelmed sigh. “Did you ever wake up on a Friday and think, ‘Wow, if I’d known on Monday what would happen this week, I’d never have believed it!’” Kit dug in her large bag and pulled out a bottle of Arnica. “Here you go! You know how to use it! Those aches and pains will be history!”
They decided to grab a take-out meal at The Circle 9 Diner before heading back to the cabin. There was no parking in front of the Diner, so Jane let Kit out and parked three doors down in front of The Barbeque Shack. Jane’s body began to ache from the trip she had taken over Rachel’s fence. It was the kind of stunt a twenty-two-year-old rookie would pull; not a hardened cop who was turning thirty-six in ten days. “I’m getting too old for this shit,” Jane mumbled to herself as she cracked the window and lit a cigarette.
Jane caught a quick glimpse of a black SUV pulling up behind her. The driver got out, not caring that his vehicle was blocking traffic. Jane knew what was coming next. Clinton rapped his knuckles on the driver’s window and leaned down. Jane reluctantly rolled down the window, cigarette tightly clenched in the corner of her mouth. Between the pain in her body and her sheer disgust for Clinton, she couldn’t repress her true feelings. She opened her jacket to reveal her Glock. “Clinton, if you don’t get off my ass, I’m gonna shove this Glock—”
“Whoa!” Clinton said, backing off in a pseudo display of fear. “No need for threats! I’m on your side, Jane! Look, I got an idea. You and me band together to find Miss Charlotte—”
“I’ve already told you—”
“Spare me the bullshit,” Clinton interrupted. “I’ve got access to a cameraman who can follow us and document our search! I’m thinking about the future—a crime documentary with the famous Jane Perry? It’s solid fucking gold! Whether we find the kid alive or not, it’s must-see TV. I’ve already sold my producers on the idea—”
Jane wanted to pull Clinton’s throat out of his mouth. “What in the fuck are you doing talking about me to your producers?”
“Hey, this could make you a star!” Clinton said, puzzled by Jane’s reaction. “You could have your own reality show on cable. Maybe network if you lose some weight and color your hair—”
“Clinton, you’re blocking traffic! Get the fuck outta here!”
“I’ll take that as a maybe,” Clinton said as he gleefully turned and ran back to his SUV. Jane watched as he sped away, releasing the logjam of cars.
Now the tension was ratcheted up a few more levels for Jane. It wasn’t enough that she was covertly attempting to track down Lou Peters. It wasn’t enough that she was trying to quietly figure out Shane Golden’s connection to this crime. It wasn’t enough that there was a deadline date, however realistic, hovering just five days away. It wasn’t enough that Leann Hamilton’s behavior was becoming increasingly suspicious to Jane. Now she had to worry about Clinton following her with a camera crew. “Unfuckingbelievable!” Jane said to herself.
Two cars pulled out of their parking spaces to the left of the Mustang as a Chevy sedan pulled into the space farthest away from Jane. Leann Hamilton cracked open the passenger door and finished talking to her mother. Jane inconspicuously observed the girl. Kit returned with the food and plopped into the passenger seat.
“That’s Leann,” Jane whispered to Kit.
Kit took an immediate interest in the scene. Jane’s eyes, however, focused on something more specific. Something that suddenly clicked. “Goddammit!”
“What is it?” Kit asked.
Leann got out of the car and closed the door.
>
“Want to know what guilt looks like?” Jane said before discreetly pointing her index finger at Leann. “It’s wearing an ugly uniform and heading to work.”
CHAPTER 26
Jane shared her sudden insight with Kit as they drove back to the cabin.
“Her mother drives a Chevy sedan.... Yes, it makes sense.” Kit stared straight ahead, deep in thought. “I think you’re right. I know you’re right. This will change everything! This will finally make the cops look elsewhere!”
“Not necessarily. Fagin was still found with the bracelet—”
“But he obviously just saw it in the woods when he took a pee!” Kit insisted.
“Obvious to you and me, but not to the cops. The only thing that’s going to help Fagin is if some reasonable doubt is cast over his guilt.”
Kit thought for a second and then turned to Jane. “You have to talk to her, Jane.”
“Kit.... It’s just too risky. And what the hell am I going to say to her, anyway?”
“You can get her to confess! I know you can!”
“How? Hold her over The Barbeque Shack’s grill and threaten her?”
“Use your powers of manipulation, Jane! Grab her by the psychological shorthairs. You have to do this! She’s the lynchpin in this mess right now.”
Jane turned into The Bonanza Cabins’ parking lot and came to a quick stop in front of the Hop Sing cabin. Kit started to get out of the Mustang when Jane informed her of Clinton’s plan to follow her with a camera. The news elicited a tart exclamation of “That asshole!” from Kit.
Jane took a shower to wipe off the grime and warm her muscles. She happily noted that while her back still hurt, the intensity had certainly diminished. Popping another few pellets of Arnica into her mouth, Jane started to change into jeans and a nondescript shirt. Then a thought crossed her mind—an idea so crazy that it might just work. She glanced briefly again at a few pages in the astrology book she’d been reading that morning before turning to Kit.
The individual who left the Hop Sing cabin alone in the Mustang bared no resemblance to Jane Perry. This woman wore a diaphanous purple jacket that covered a white cotton turtleneck with iridescent beads around the collar. Since Jane was slimmer than Kit, she opted to wear a pair of stonewashed jeans and a pair of tennis shoes she had thrown into her bag. The finishing touches, however, were the large crystal necklace and the short, blond wig atop her head. It was the same wig Jane had donned at The Red Tail Hawk Bar except, this time, it didn’t reek of smoke or look as if it had been dragged behind a truck.
Jane kept an eye out for Clinton as she drove closer to The Barbeque Shack. Checking the time on the bank clock across the street, Jane factored that her timing was perfect. Moving closer to The Barbeque Shack, she glanced to a side area behind a short wall where the employees took their breaks. There was the kid, seated alone at a table, reading a newspaper. Jane briefly closed her eyes as she slipped into character and walked toward the table.
“Excuse me,” Jane said to Leann, affecting a soft, southern accent.
Leann looked up from her newspaper. Her doe eyes took in the spectacle. “Yes?”
“I assume you live in this town?” Jane asked, touching the oversized crystal that hung from her necklace.
Leann was still in awe of Jane’s appearance. “Yes, ma’am. Can I help you?”
Jane moved closer to the table. “I’m afraid I’m all turned around. I’m looking for the sheriff’s office. Do you know where that is?”
There was a moment of palpable concern on Leann’s face before she gave Jane precise directions. “Thank you, darlin’,” Jane replied as she stared above Leann’s head with glazed eyes.
“What is it?” Leann asked tentatively. Jane continued to stare, seemingly in a daze. “Ma’am?” Leann said, her voice becoming more concerned.
Jane let a look of gravity fall across her face before speaking. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I can’t control my gift. I really need to get going—”
Leann stood up. “Why are you going to see the sheriff?”
Jane looked around with a faux sense of secrecy. “I can’t tell you, darlin’.”
“They hired you, didn’t they?”
Jane moved closer to Leann and spoke confidentially. “Well, which one of us is the psychic? Yes, they hired me. But I can’t tell you—”
“They want to know where Charlotte is,” Leann said quietly but emphatically.
Jane made a point to look troubled. “Yes. But my appearance in this town is meant to be very hush-hush. You understand, darlin’?”
Leann sat down, nervously biting her lower lip. “You were looking at me. What...what were you seeing?”
Jane sat across from the girl. “I’ve had the gift of clear seeing since I was a child. I was looking at your aura.”
“What’d you see?” Leann asked with great trepidation.
Jane gave a dramatic pause for effect. “I see distortions around your head.”
“Distortions?”
“Yes. It indicates great stress and...well...how can I put this? You feel great concern over something that you’ve done. Something that was misunderstood?” Leann’s chin began to tremble. “May I see your hands, darlin’?” Leann reluctantly held out her palms. Jane studied them with great precision. Leann’s nails were bitten to the quick. The flesh around the nails had been chewed until it bled. Jane quickly recalled that Leann stated during her interview with Lesley Stahl that she would turn seventeen within the week. Calculating the dates, Jane proceeded. “You’re a Capricorn.”
“Yeah!” Leann was shocked. “You can tell that by looking at my hands?”
“Oh, I can tell a lot of things by looking at a person’s hands. Your Capricorn nature makes you hardworking, diligent, and determined.” Jane stared into Leann’s eyes and spoke from her heart. “You need a purpose in life in order to feel useful. You have a stubborn streak that is admirable. You do things because, deep down, you want to make this world a better place. You want to help your fellow man. You’re a hard worker and you take your responsibility very seriously. You work on holidays—even Christmas Day. Family’s important to you. So is your pride. You like to feel a certain amount of acknowledgment. You don’t want your name in lights. In fact, too much attention to your good deeds makes you feel very uncomfortable. The downside is that you feel as if you must suffer in order to feel alive. You think that all your good deeds carry a heavy price. Because, while you truly want to help people, sometimes you want to help them too much...what starts out as an admirable plan can easily turn into a cloak of deception.” Jane paused briefly, realizing how close her words hit home for her. “Then there’s that pessimism. You worry you’re not strong enough to make it to the next day. You want to give up because you don’t want to be wrong...you don’t want to fail because you don’t just fail yourself. Your failures are reflected in everyone around you. And your pride is too strong to handle that kind of failure. You’re too hard on yourself.” Jane felt as though she was stepping back into her body. “My advice to you? Don’t beat yourself up so much. You’re human. Forgive yourself and do the right thing.” Jane held Leann’s palms together.
Leann tried to speak but she was choking on tears. “You can see...what I did?”
Jane talked to Leann as herself, albeit, a softer version. “You thought you saw something...or someone...but it was so fast that you weren’t sure.” Leann nodded, tears streaming down her face. “And then you heard news about a terrible crime. You wanted to help.” Leann nodded. “You convinced yourself that what you witnessed was correct. That strong pride of yours overrode your clear memory. You figured you could make it fit if you tried hard enough. Because you just want to help...you want people to think you’re a good person.”
Leann burst into tears, burying her head in her arms on the table. “But they still won’t talk to me!” She sobbed uncontrollably. “What does it take?”
Jane felt deep compassion for the kid. She softly stroked Leann�
��s hair. “It’s okay.”
Leann lifted her head. “No! It’s not! I told the sheriff it was a Chevrolet sedan because that’s what my mom drives.”
“What did you see?”
“I was standing outside over there on break,” Leann said, weakly pointing toward the street. “I happened to look over by the curb. There were a lot of people walking by on the street. I looked up again and I saw a girl get into this car. She had short blond hair.”
“Charlotte’s got long blond hair.”
“I told myself her hair was tucked down her jacket.”
“What color was the jacket?”
“Pink. But I told myself it was red. Just like Charlotte’s jacket.”
“How old was the girl you saw?”
“Eighteen...but I told myself she could have been younger.”
“How many people were in the car?”
“Three. But I told myself I could have been wrong.”
“Because you wanted to help.”
Leann looked Jane in the eye. “I never thought they’d arrest somebody just ’cause of the car description. I feel so bad for that man. But then they said on the news that he had something on him that belonged to Charlotte. So maybe the cops just lucked out!”
“How many times have you told yourself that over the last week?”
The tears flowed again. “A lot!” Leann sat back, a look of real discouragement crossing her face. “Please don’t hate me. I mean, that’s the messed up part of this, isn’t it? I just wanted people to talk to me and now, if they find out what really happened, they’re gonna hate me!” Leann started to hyperventilate. “I won’t be able to go to school. I’ll have to move! I’ve never lived anywhere else but here—”
