Portrait of Vengeance

by Carrie Stuart Parks

  “How can you say that, Beth?” I took a bite of steak slathered with mashed potatoes and gravy. “Grits are corn, and corn is a vegetable.”

  You told me grits were an excuse for butter, salt, and pepper.

  “Well, that’s true . . .”

  And two desserts?

  “Excuse me? Lemon meringue pie? Plus, everyone knows chocolate is good for you. And fighting bad guys constitutes exercise.” My impeccable logic silenced my friend.

  Partway into the meal, my scratches hurt, my eyes drooped, and the fork became exceptionally heavy. The unmade bed beckoned for a quick nap. This time I undressed before crawling between the sheets.

  When I opened my eyes, it was still daylight. I glanced at the alarm to see how long I had dozed. The digital clock read eleven thirty.

  Checking my watch, it said the same. I stood and peeked out the blinds. Did I really just sleep for . . . I worked out the time in my brain. Seventeen hours straight.

  No wonder I felt stiff, sore, and starving. And smelled like a barnyard.

  A light flashed on the phone. Had I actually slept through a ringing phone? In tiny type I found an explanation for how to retrieve messages. Seth’s voice came on the line. “Hi, Gwen, things are crazy here. I’m sending Dad over to take care of you. I just got a call from some folks in Lenore. They think there’s a possibility of . . . Well, let’s just say we’ll be doing some digging. I’ll probably be there until really late. Law enforcement’s spread pretty thin right now, so I won’t see you for a bit. I’ll . . . um . . . call you. Bye.”

  “Bye, Seth.” I pictured his deep sepia eyes, smooth skin, full lips . . . I reached up to fluff my hair. The smell reminded me of my original goal. A shower.

  A shower took care of the stench, but I still had to wear clothes I would rather have burned. Last night’s leftovers were disgusting, and the brownie had turned to stone. I was considering trying to reconstitute it with coffee when someone knocked on the door. I peeked, then opened it to Dan Kus. “Greetings.” He held up a Starbucks cup.

  “I think I love you.” I opened the door wider and took the steaming cup.

  “Have you turned on the news?” He entered.

  “No. I can’t believe I’ve been out of it for almost two days.”

  “I suspect you needed time to rest and recover.”

  “So it would seem.” I eyeballed the brownie again.

  “To catch you up, let’s just say your capture of Jacob Greene has stirred up a beehive of activity in the law-enforcement community. Everyone wants to talk to you, but Seth said to keep you hidden for now. I’m charged with making sure you’ve eaten a real meal.” He glanced at the tray of congealed food, then stepped back and gave me a head-to-toe evaluation. “I see we need to get you some proper clothing.”

  “Seth left word you were coming over. Food first? I’m starving.”

  “Barbecue?”

  “Perfect.”

  Dan drove me to the tiny town of Culdesac, just south of Lapwai. The day was warm, the air clean, and traffic nonexistent. We pulled up to a log building where the fragrance of smoky barbecue had my mouth watering. Opening the door set off a loud cowbell.

  I winced, but none of the diners even raised their heads from conversation. The waitress didn’t blink at my Orofino Maniacs sweatshirt and bloody pants.

  Over a massive meal, Dan caught me up on what had happened since I’d left Two Rivers B and B two nights before. “I suppose there’s no way of breaking this to you easily. Jacob Greene is dead.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  “OH NO!” I PUT DOWN MY FORK. “HOW?”

  “He was unconscious in the emergency room, or so they thought. Somehow he got hold of a sharp instrument and . . .” Dan shrugged.

  “But that means . . . that means they won’t know where to look for the children’s bodies.”

  “According to Seth, they’re already doing soil samples off the one body to see if they can at least pinpoint the region. They’re still following up on active leads.” The cell phone Dan had placed on the table vibrated. He picked it up.

  “Yes.” He listened for a few minutes. “Okay. We’re almost done.” After hanging up, he looked at me. “Lewiston PD said you can retrieve your things at the bed-and-breakfast. They want you to stay at the motel until they’ve had a chance to think of more questions.”

  “Okay. I’m done eating.”

  “Why don’t you take the rest of that with you.” Dan pointed at my still-loaded plate.

  Though the idea of food wasn’t all that appealing at the moment, I agreed. Something tickled the back of my brain, but when I focused on it, all I could think about was the duck Eric had fed us.

  I’d never eat duck again.

  We drove to the Two Rivers B and B. The parking lot was full of police vehicles, and an officer was near the front recording who entered and exited. Television trucks with mounted satellite-dish antennas lined the street. The coppery stench of old blood permeated the hall and game room.

  An officer spotted Dan and waved. “Ta’c halaxp.”

  “Ta’c halaxp.” Dan waved back. “Greetings to you too.”

  “Dan, it will take me a few minutes to pack up. Go ahead and talk with your friend.”

  Dan smiled and wandered over to chat.

  The foam board showing Jacob’s killing rampage was missing, but all my notes and drawing supplies were still on the table in the game room. I closed the door to my bedroom and showered again, then changed into cream slacks, a collarless matching blouse, and a peach-colored merino-wool sweater. Adding a matching cream-and-peach scarf, I felt ready to take on the world—or at least appear in public without finding my picture on the “People of Walmart” page. I found a plastic bag and folded Detective Perez’s sweatshirt into it.

  Beatrice’s teddy bear, the Lamb Chop puppets, and the three-ring binder of the Sinopas’ case were sitting on the dresser where I’d left them. I added the bag with the sweatshirt, opened the door, and placed the items on the sofa in the game room. Returning to my room, I packed the rest of my clothes and Holly’s jewelry box into my mismatched luggage.

  I did a final room check, then moved toward the game room.

  Dan stood at the table. “Gwen, what do you want me to do with all this stuff?”

  He’d set a box on a chair and placed my light box inside along with some of my drawing supplies. He waved at the sketchpads, files, drawings, and notes still on the table.

  “The teddy bear, puppets, and binder go to your son.” I pointed. “The sweatshirt in the bag goes to Detective Perez. I can finish up the rest of this stuff. My suitcases are packed in there.” Dan headed to the bedroom to load my luggage into his SUV.

  I sat down to sort through the jumble of papers. Opening a file, I found the summary of the missing children stapled to one side and the flyers from the year of my parents’ deaths on the other. I put my hand over the file and said a quick prayer for the remaining families, then stared, my eyes unfocused, at the stack. A weight settled on my shoulders. How could I have gotten so far in the investigation and then failed at the most important part—finding the children?

  Someone softly coughed.

  I jumped.

  “I’m sorry.” Dan stood in the doorway. “I was trying not to startle you.”

  “Don’t worry. I was a million miles away.” I glanced at the cases. “I was just thinking about the carnage Jacob left behind.”

  Dan moved closer. “The children?”

  I nodded.

  Dan pulled out a chair and sat. “Our people never reveal the identity of our Wy ya kin, our animal spirit guide.”

  Blinking, I looked at him. “Excuse me, but—”

  He held up his hand. “Humor me here. I have to ask you, what animal did you first see when you went into the wilderness?”

  “A cougar.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. I . . . No, wait. A bear. A mama bear with two cubs. Why?”

  “
Yes.” Dan nodded. “That’s what I thought. A bear often means you’ll have a tough time in life, such as the loss of your parents.”

  I bit my lip but remained silent.

  “It also means you value protection of life.”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t do much to protect the lives of the kids.” I lifted the file. Underneath, Beth had clipped the autopsy report on the body found in the tarp to the case information she’d downloaded. In the box describing the description of the deceased’s clothing was written: long green pants, size 5, green-and-white striped shirt and white sweater, also size 5.

  Frowning, I turned to the missing-person’s flyer. She is described as being 38 inches tall and weighing 35 pounds. She was last seen wearing a pink top and white shorts. “She was wearing different clothing.”

  “Gwen, are you okay?”

  “Look.” I unclipped the two reports and placed them side-by-side. “Her height, her weight. She was wearing summer clothing.” I pointed.

  “Yeeess?”

  “But here.” I pointed again, this time at the autopsy report. “She’s wearing a sweater and was a size 5.”

  “Right, right.” He picked up both reports, then put them down. “Um . . . he bought her some clothing?”

  “No. I mean, yes, he did, but look here.” I underlined a sentence with my finger. “She’d been buried for between four and six years.”

  “Uh-huh.” He stood and pulled out his cell. “Excuse me. I need to make a phone call.”

  I put my hand over the phone. “I’m not going nuts. I’m pointing out the significance of what she was wearing. He didn’t just buy her new clothing, he bought her a bigger size. She grew. He kept this little girl alive for some time after he abducted her.”

  In the silence that followed, the murmur of voices came from the other room. I hadn’t peeked in when I passed, not wanting to remember that horrible scene.

  Dan put away his phone. “You think that Beatrice is still alive?”

  “Maybe, yes. I wanted to believe it, because the body we found showed no sign of trauma, but something tickled my brain at the restaurant where we just ate. I couldn’t figure out what it was. When you told me to take home the food, I think it triggered a memory. Lila told me Jacob took food to the homeless.” I stood and paced. “I bet if we checked with the different homeless shelters, no one would know who Jacob was, or that he provided food.”

  “She would have to be nearby.” Dan slowly nodded.

  “A reasonable distance, say, within an hour or so.” I stopped and picked up a pencil. “And he brought Beth and me applesauce. In the Sinopas’ cupboard was applesauce. Maybe Beatrice’s favorite food?” I put the pencil behind my ear, opened the sack I’d set out to go to the police, and picked up the teddy bear. “But where would he keep her?” I asked softly.

  Dan once again took out his cell and dialed. When someone answered, he handed the phone to me. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Gwen.” Seth’s voice was brisk.

  I updated him.

  Seth listened, asked a few questions, then had me put Dan back on. Dan said, “Okay, yeah, not a problem,” and hung up. “Seth said if she’s still alive, she’ll soon be out of food if she isn’t already, and water. He’s going to set this up as a joint investigation with Lewiston. Everyone will search the B and B again, along with phone records, the computer, credit-card purchases, gas receipts, you name it.”

  “Weren’t they going to do that anyway?”

  “Yes, but there wasn’t any reason to hurry. Now we have a ticking clock.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  I HUGGED BEATRICE’S TEDDY. “WHAT DOES HE WANT ME TO DO?”

  “Go over all of your notes and see if you can find something else, some other clue.”

  I looked at the pile of papers, sketchpads, files, and printouts still covering the table.

  “I’ll help you.” He patted my arm, then started gathering the scattered pencils and placing them in a pencil box. I snagged another one and twirled it in my fingers as I paged through a sketchpad.

  Dan picked up a pad and opened it. The sketch was of the logo on the T-shirt Mr. Wolf had been wearing. “Where did you see this?”

  I took the pad from him. “Mr. Wolf was wearing that on a shirt when I tried to interview his wife. Why?”

  “It’s the logo of the American Indian Movement. AIM.”

  “That’s right. You talked about it. Pine Ridge.” I flipped the page. The next drawing was the farmhouse I’d remembered while on the boat. I stared at the image for several moments. Red roof. Mr. Wolf. Red. Blood. Wolf in Kamiah. “Dan, do you think you could drive me to Kamiah?”

  “Did you remember something?”

  “I don’t know. I just . . .” I shrugged.

  “Sure. Let’s load all this into my Sequoia. If nothing pans out, I can at least get you and your things to the motel.”

  The sun was setting as we loaded the SUV. “It will be dark by the time we reach Kamiah,” Dan said.

  “I know. But I don’t want that little girl to spend one more night alone.” I kept the teddy bear in my lap.

  We drove in silence for half an hour before Dan said, “Do you have any children, Gwen?”

  “A daughter, Aynslee. She just turned sixteen.”

  “Husband?”

  “Ex. Aynslee . . . stays with him when I travel. How about you? Other children besides Seth?”

  Dan was silent for a few moments. His jaw muscles tightened, then loosened. “I did. A daughter. She and her mother, my wife, were murdered.”

  “Oh. I’m so very sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago. Seth was just a baby.”

  I looked down at my fingers, trying to figure out how to get my foot out of my mouth. “Did you raise Seth by yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “You did a great job. You must be very proud of your son.”

  “I am. I am.”

  I glanced at his profile, barely visible now in the gathering darkness. A slight smile played around his mouth. “Seth’s the first one in my family to graduate from college. And the youngest chief of police in Idaho.”

  We finished the drive to Kamiah in comfortable silence. We stopped for gas at a convenience store at the edge of town. Taking my farmhouse sketch, I went inside the station and showed it to the clerk. “Do you know where this house is?”

  “No. But I’m new.” The woman turned to an older man thumbing through the paperback-book rack. “Hey, Tony, would you look at something?”

  The man shuffled over to the counter.

  “Have you lived around here long?” I asked.

  “My whole life. Seventy-three years come this July.”

  I showed him the farmhouse drawing. “Does this place look familiar?”

  He shook his head.

  “It may be run-down . . .”

  He continued to shake his head.

  I sighed and turned to leave, then stopped. The house in Kamiah . . . the one I fled from so many years before . . . on that day I went to a store . . . Returning to the old man, I asked, “Is there a grocery store around here that was open twenty-some years ago? Actually, it may still be in business, but it was at the bottom of a hill.”

  The old man pursed his lips and closed his eyes. “Let’s see. Thirty or more years . . . hill.” Slowly he nodded. “Pat’s. Pat’s Market. Outside of town. Became a thrift store, then a car-repair business. Closed down completely ten, twelve years ago.” He gave us directions.

  Dan and I returned to the SUV and got in. “Should I give Seth a call?” Dan asked.

  “Not yet. I have no idea if this place still exists and, if it does, if it’s where Jacob was keeping Beatrice. This could be a total wild-goose chase.”

  If the old man hadn’t told us to watch for a broken-down Studebaker on the right, we never would have found the building in the dark. Our headlights picked out a parking area overgrown with weeds. The building was boarded up and decorated with graffiti, and a tree was gr
owing into the side.

  “Now where?” Dan stopped his SUV.

  “I’m not sure.” I stepped outside. The cool night air enveloped me, bringing the scent of freshly turned soil. A coyote wailed in the distance, answered by several dogs. A few stars glinted between the clouds. The road we’d taken to get here was void of traffic.

  Nothing looked familiar.

  I stuck my head back into the SUV. “Do you have a light?”

  He reached under the seat and pulled out a small LED flashlight. I took it and wandered around the parking lot, flashing the light. If I walked from here, there should be a road. Circling the lot, I found only discarded beer cans, a rotting shoe, and broken glass. The weeds didn’t look crushed as if a car had driven over them. Returning to the Sequoia, I got in and shut the door, then slumped in my seat. “I’m sorry. This was a waste of time.”

  Dan used the parking lot to turn around. The headlights swept across the building, making it look even more run-down, then over a line of pines that edged the lot. Behind the pines stood a large cottonwood. “Wait!” I said.

  Dan obligingly stopped his SUV again.

  Jumping from the SUV with the flashlight, I approached the pines, then pushed through them to the cottonwood. A dirt track angled upward and away from the main road. I followed the track back. When I’d cleared the trees and could see Dan, I waved him over. As soon as he pulled next to me, I jumped in. “There. Straight ahead.”

  Haltingly we climbed the rutted lane, quickly passing out of sight from the road below. “Well, I’d never have found this route.” Dan slowed even more. Grasses stroked the underside of the SUV. Craggy ponderosas hemmed us in. We climbed for what seemed like forever but was probably less than ten minutes. “You’re sure there’s a house up here?” Dan finally asked.

  “I think so. Someone’s been driving up here enough that they’ve kept the grasses from growing.” I pointed to the two worn trails we followed.

  We finally leveled out. Ahead something glinted in our headlights. An old metal mailbox with part of a reflector still attached. Beyond that, the farmhouse from my drawing.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR