Dream With Little Angels

by Michael Hiebert

  “The killings were almost identical,” I heard my mother say. “Mary Ann was even killed the same way—slit right across her throat.” I cringed, remembering that slash.

  “Did they find the knife?” Uncle Henry asked.

  “No, but whoever dumped her walked in from the road. They found traces of blood leading back to where she must have been taken from a truck or a car, so she was killed somewhere else and brought to the swamp.”

  “Well,” Uncle Henry said, “there must be a heckuva lot of blood somewhere, don’tcha think? Can’t you just look in every car seat, trunk seat, vehicle trunk, and truck bed in town for blood?”

  “You know we already arrested Bob Garner. They found evidence linking him to the shovel used to dig the shallow grave the body was laying in.”

  “Yeah,” Uncle Henry said, “but do you really think it was him?”

  “She was found on his property. His shovel was used to try and bury her. It’s pretty cut and dried, Hank. Least the forensics guys think so. They’ve still got some more test work to do, but for the time being, Bob Garner’s being held for the murder.”

  “You know that man was a good friend of your daddy’s.”

  “That’s got nothin’ to do with nothin’.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I always thought he was a pretty smart man, though.”

  “What’re you sayin’?” my mother asked.

  “I’m sayin’ a smart man don’t leave a shovel round with evidence on it settin’ him up for murder.”

  “Maybe he was in some kind of hurry.”

  “Or maybe—” Uncle Henry cut off his sentence.

  There was a pause and then I heard my mother, her voice choked with tears: “She was laying in almost the exact same place as Ruby Mae. Almost exactly, Hank. It’s too much of a coincidence, ain’t it?”

  “It’s been twelve years, Leah. Coincidences generally happen faster than that.”

  I heard her sigh. It almost sounded as though she was going to break down completely. “I told the Daileys today that their little girl was gone forever,” she said. “It was horrible. It was Ruby Mae Vickers all over again.”

  “Oh, come here,” I heard Uncle Henry say.

  And then my mother’s sobs wound their way down the hall, echoing off the bare yellow of our kitchen walls.

  I sat on the floor of my room, listening to them talk, piecing together LEGOs in seemingly random ways. I had no idea what it was I was building, I was just doing stuff to pass away the time, sorta like the way me and Dewey used to kill off afternoons in the front yard balancing rocks on the ends of sticks. But as I assembled what looked to me like some sort of strange molecule, I began to think about how Dewey and me were the last two people to see Tiffany Michelle Yates alive that afternoon and how weird that was and all.

  That coldness came back, only this time it started at my feet and rose right up to my neck as I realized Dewey had been right. It could very easily have been him or me that went missing that day. What if one of us had ended up beneath that willow?

  The image of Mr. Robert Lee Garner being handcuffed by Officer Jackson flashed in my mind and a sour feeling came to my stomach. I remembered what Mr. Garner said about Ruby Mae and how bad he seemed to feel about finding her body all them years ago. I remembered him telling me and Dewey how he still left flowers for her. I remembered the fresh flowers we had seen earlier today when we rode our bikes to his ranch. I was near on positive he didn’t have anything to do with Mary Ann Dailey’s death, yet he was now sitting in the Alvin jail for it. Then I remembered the fifteen minutes I spent in that cell and the sourness in my stomach grew worse. I checked my watch. Mr. Garner would have already been there at least two hours.

  I don’t think I could’ve survived another fifteen minutes in that sickly mustard-colored room.

  It occurred to me that since Ruby Mae was killed twelve years ago, in all likelihood, Mr. Wyatt Edward Farrow wasn’t behind this on account of him just moving to Alvin at the end of last summer. From what little I knew of him, his interests leaned more toward roadkill than young girls anyway.

  So if it wasn’t Mr. Garner and it wasn’t Mr. Farrow, who was it?

  It was a mystery I didn’t find nearly as fascinating as the disappearing roadkill, so I finally stopped thinking about it, figuring it was one of those things best left to grown-ups to work out.

  CHAPTER 17

  Nearly a week later, my delusion that the little talk I had with Carry the night she came home four and a half hours late had somehow changed her came crumbling down to the ground, leaving me with an ethical quandary for which Carry was entirely to blame.

  After the heart-to-heart we’d had that night, I had really hoped she would now second-think the way she had been acting, especially with Tiffany Michelle Yates still being gone and Mary Ann Dailey showing up dead and all. Mr. Garner was still in the Alvin jail, and I couldn’t imagine how bored he must be. He continued giving no indication of knowing anything about the whereabouts of Tiffany Michelle. In fact, after that first day, he pretty near stopped talking all together except for occasionally telling my mother how disappointed her pa would be in her if he was still alive.

  I figured that wasn’t helping his case much.

  Tonight, I lay in bed with the light from the occasional star barely managing to find its way through my window and into my bedroom, and I listened to my mother and Uncle Henry talking while I drifted off to sleep. I couldn’t understand what they were saying tonight, it was all just murmurs, but the fact that they weren’t loud or hysterical was comforting, especially given how things had been lately.

  After seeing Mary Ann Dailey’s lifeless body beneath that tree, I worried I might have nightmares about it for the rest of my life, but surprisingly, the incident didn’t seem to plague my sleep much. If it did, I must have forgotten any dreams I had recounting that day by the time I woke up. What it did do, however, was make it harder for me to fall asleep. I kept thinking about Mary Ann’s eyes, and how lifeless they looked. How they were wide open, but staring at nothing.

  It made me think of my own life and how lucky I was to be alive and still able to look at things. To still have life in my eyes. And those thoughts always led to others, like maybe I wasn’t always living the way I should be. Maybe I should spend every day thinking tomorrow might be the one where I end up under a tree like Mary Ann. I sure as heck wouldn’t spend the day balancing rocks on the ends of sticks if I knew I only had one day left.

  So these days, I spent a lot more time awake in my bed thinking about stuff I really hadn’t paid much attention to before. Maybe this was a good thing, I wondered. Maybe that’s why my mother didn’t put up quite the fight about me coming along as, now that I thought back, she probably should have. Maybe she was considerably smarter than I had been giving her credit for over the years.

  At any rate, tonight my mother and Uncle Henry were having what appeared to be a relatively normal conversation again for once, and the quiet mumbles reverberating through the house calmed my mind immensely. I was nearly asleep when I heard a different sound entirely. This one filled my stomach with fire because, as soon as I heard it, I realized how stupid and heartless my own sister actually was.

  I thought I had somehow made her understand it was important to stick together and help each other, the way I had heard my mother tell Chief Montgomery she wished her family had supported her during those years after she had Carry. Honestly, I had thought I had somehow gotten through to her, that she now knew that if she looked out for me and my mother, I’d look out for her.

  But now I realized Carry had just written me off as a little kid and told me what I wanted to hear. Either that, or she was already testing how well I’d watch out for her.

  The noise had come from her room: the unmistakable sound of her window gently sliding open, followed by her climbing out through it and dropping down into the shrubs on the other side. Just to be sure, I got up on my knees and watched out my own window as she came c
reeping around the house and snuck like a shadow through the pin light darkness of our front yard.

  She left me not knowing what to do. I had spent a half hour that night telling her I would be there for her, but now I couldn’t figure out what the best way to do that was. Should I just let her go and pretend I never saw her? That would be easiest. But what if something happened to her?

  I don’t think I had fully understood how Ruby Mae Vickers had haunted my mother’s life the past twelve years until that day I saw Mary Ann Dailey’s dead body. But now I think I did, and if there was one thing I knew, it was that I didn’t want my own Ruby Mae. And if something did happen to Carry on account of me not tellin’ anyone I saw her leave, she very well could become just that.

  That thought cinched my decision. I got out of bed, feeling the hardwood cold on my bare feet, and shuffled down the hall in my pajamas. Passing through the kitchen, I went straight on to the living room, spending the whole trip trying to figure out how I was gonna say it. I thought of at least ten different ways, but when I got there, it didn’t make any difference because I just blurted it out anyway.

  “Carry snuck out her window,” I said.

  Uncle Henry’s eyes closed and he took a deep breath. My mother’s face went through a range of emotions until finally settling on anger. Uncle Henry started talking, but my mother wheeled on him after bolting off the sofa to her feet, immediately cutting him off. “Not a word!” she said. Then to me: “Get your coat on. You’re coming along.”

  “Now, why is he—” Uncle Henry started, but again she cut him off, this time with just a sharp glare. My uncle raised up his palms in surrender.

  Uncle Henry followed me to the door as I quickly struggled into my boots and slipped my big green winter coat over top of my pajamas. My mother went to get her own coat. She came out of the bedroom wearing it. “Seriously, Leah, why is Abe—”

  “Because I’m his goddamn mother and I say he’s coming, that’s why,” she snapped. “Is that good enough for you?”

  Again Uncle Henry raised his palms, this time with a shrug. “Fair enough.” He looked at me. “Take notes. This is what you don’t do to stay out of trouble. Be smarter than your sister.”

  I was still sort of in shock, wondering if somehow I was in trouble. It kind of felt like it. But once we were in the car, my mother assured me I wasn’t and that I did the right thing by telling. I think the real reason she brought me was to make sure she kept at least some semblance of calmness as she hunted the streets of Alvin for her daughter. She couldn’t bring Uncle Henry and leave me alone, and she knew she wouldn’t be completely irrational with me in the car.

  It was a dark night, and some of Alvin’s roads didn’t have streetlights. Others were eerily lit under their yellow sodium glow. Once we drove maybe a mile or so, going up and down the neighborhood streets, my mother almost seemed calm. “At least this time I know she’s actually gone somewhere,” she said. “She wasn’t taken by anyone.”

  “Maybe she went out to meet her boyfriend?” I offered.

  Mom clucked her tongue. “That’s the part that still scares me.”

  “You think he might kill her?”

  She sighed, shaking her head. “Ironically, it’s not death on my mind this time, but life.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing. I’m just ramblin’.”

  We drove the circle from Cottonwood Lane down Hunter Road and Blackberry Trail. I saw the yellow eyes of an owl sitting on the branch of a large oak tree go by out my window. “Well,” my mother said, “if she was on foot, we’d have passed her by now. Which means she’s in a car.” She pulled over and grabbed her car phone from the stand on the console.

  “Who’re you calling?”

  “Jessica Thompson.” Jessica Thompson had been Carry’s best friend since sixth grade. I listened to my mother’s end of the conversation as she talked to Jessica’s mother. It was full of frustrating pauses and I could tell my mother was fighting to remain calm. “Yes, I understand, Mrs. Thompson, but I would really appreciate it if you could get your daughter out of bed for three minutes so I can ask her a question . . . See, mine’s snuck out and I need to find her . . . No, I’m not insinuating anything . . . I’m sorry Jess has the flu, but I really . . . Okay, thank you so much. Yes, of course, I’ll hang on.”

  There had always been some weird tension between Jessica’s family and ours that I never understood, as though both families waited for the day when one of their daughters would corrupt the other. You would think Mrs. Thompson would be happy to hear it was Carry and not Jessica on the Alvin Police Department’s most-wanted list tonight.

  My mother was still waiting for Jessica to come to the phone. I searched the trees outside my window for more owls, but saw none. Then my mother started speaking again.

  “Hi, Jessica? Listen, it’s Mrs. Teal. I need you to tell me what make and color of car Carry’s boyfriend drives . . . Jess? Don’t cover, please? I promise I won’t flip out on her . . . I just have to find her . . . Yes, it’s an emergency . . . Red? What make? You sure? That’s fine. Okay, thank you . . . Oh, and just so I don’t have to bother you again, on the off chance his vehicle doesn’t turn up, what’s his name? Thank you, Jess. Thank your mother for me, too. I hope you’re feeling better tomorrow. No, I won’t tell her it was you.”

  My mother always kept a notepad by her steering wheel. She wrote all the information down as Jessica told it to her.

  She hung up and immediately hit a number on her speed dial.

  “Who’re you calling now?” I asked.

  “Mind your business. Hi, Chris? I need you to run a name for me. Stephen McFarren, lives in Satsuma.” She waited. I looked for more owls. “Okay, give me all twenty-seven. No, on second thought, scratch that. Check if any of them happen to have a red Pontiac, most likely a Firebird, registered in their name or their father’s name. No, I don’t have a year.” She waited some more. “1982? That sounds about right.”

  She wrote down some information and then said to Officer Jackson, “Okay, he sounds too old. At least he better be too old. Any chance he’s got a son named Stephen? Perfect. How old is the son? Jesus Christ. Okay, give me the phone number.” She was about to hang up when she stopped and said, “Chris, one last thing. Do me a favor? If you aren’t too busy, forward the office phones to your car number and help me look for that vehicle. It’s somewhere here in Alvin or within three miles of the city limits right now. No, actually, scratch that, too. He’s nineteen years old, which means speed zones mean nothin’ to him. That vehicle could be six miles outside city limits by now. Odds are though, it’s parked down some dark alley. Yeah, I’m on the east side. If you take west, that should cover things pretty well.”

  There was a pause while I assumed Officer Jackson asked my mother why she wanted this particular vehicle hunted down in such an emergency.

  “Because my daughter’s in that car,” my mother said. “That’s why.”

  She hung up and looked at me. “I’ve got one last call to make.” She smiled. “This one’s the fun one.”

  I didn’t dare ask as she dialed the number she had written on her pad.

  “Hello, Mr. McFarren. Hi, this is Detective Teal from the Alvin Police Department. I was just wondering if you happened to know the whereabouts of your son? I see. And you know his girlfriend? You’ve met her? Mmm-hmm. Well, funny thing. It turns out your son is dating my daughter.” She made a fake laugh, only most people other than me wouldn’t know it was fake. “Yes, nice to meet you, too. I am just wondering if Stephen told you that Caroline’s only fourteen years old . . . ?” I noticed she avoided pointing out that she’d be fifteen in less than two months.

  There was a long period of silence after she said that.

  “Yeah, no, she’s not seventeen, she’s fourteen . . . I dunno, I guess your son lied. No, Mr. McFarren, I am quite sure of my daughter’s age.”

  She paused to cough and roll her eyes at me.

  “Actual
ly, Mr. McFarren, I’m wondering if you are familiar with the statutory rape laws in Alabama? No, no, you’re probably right . . . but just in case, let me educate you so you can make your son aware. You know, for next time.

  “There actually are no statutory rape laws in this state. The age of consent is sixteen. If the person is under sixteen years of age it is automatically considered rape in the second degree whether it was consensual or not and can carry a prison sentence of up to twenty years. You may want to sit your son down and make certain he is aware of these facts. You probably also heard someone has been taking young girls from our town? One was found butchered just days ago . . . No, I’m not accusing your son of having anything to do with it, I’m only sayin’, if I were him, I wouldn’t want to throw that kind of suspicion out there by being found with fourteen-year-old girls in the backseat of his car. You know what I mean.”

  A hesitation while she listened. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be doing the same with my daughter. I’m in no way pinning the blame completely on your boy. But remember, he is the one that could be convicted if things went the wrong way. And I’ve visited the jails in this state. They are not the nicest in the country. No, I am actually out looking for them now. Don’t worry, I will be sure to let him know you wish him home at his earliest convenience. I trust this won’t be a problem any longer? Thank you, Mr. McFarren.”

  She hung up, sat back, and took a big breath. “Okay, I actually enjoyed that a bit too much.”

  “Is Carry’s boyfriend going to jail?” I asked.

  “No, probably not. Probably he’s just going out to the woodshed.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing you’ll ever have to worry about.” She turned and even smiled at me before pulling back onto the street. We drove down all the clumpy gravel roads following the basin where Stillwater Creek and Clover Creek ran. These weren’t even roads at all, just ruddy patches of hard-packed mud where nobody but fishermen and truck drivers generally come. Occasionally, me and Dewey rode through here on our bikes, but not very often.