Sean rolled down his window and turned off the ignition. Warm, sticky air met his skin, and immediately perspiration prickled. “Hello.”
“Howdy.” She curled her gnarled fingers over the edge of the window casing and rose on tiptoe, her beady eyes shifting from Meghan to Sean and back again. Her flowered housedress slid low and revealed her sharp collarbones. “You two ain’t druggies, are you?”
Sean coughed into his hand to keep from laughing. “No, ma’am.”
“That’s good, because my husband, Hud—that’s him over yonder.” She bobbed her whisker-dotted chin toward a bungalow with a full front porch. An old man sat on the porch in a wheelchair. His pant legs were folded under at the knee, and he held a rifle across his thighs. “He don’t take to druggies. He might not look too fierce, but I can tell you, he’s tough. Spent three years in Vietnam, an’ he’s still got a sure aim. It’d be hard to drive out o’ town with your tires full o’ holes.”
Meghan leaned forward. “Ma’am, I promise you, we aren’t druggies.”
The woman narrowed her gaze and stared hard at Meghan. Finally her face relaxed. “I guess you don’t got the look of druggies on you. But what’re you doin’ sittin’ here under my sugar maple? I ain’t never seen you before.”
Sean pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and gave it to her. “I’m Sean Eagle, and this is Meghan DeFord. We’re detectives with the Arkansas Cold Case Unit in Little Rock.”
The woman fingered the card, her eyebrows high. “Cold case…like what’s on the TV?”
Sean swallowed a chuckle. People would probably be surprised to know how much television differed from reality. But he nodded. “Yes, ma’am, something like that. We’re investigating a missing-child case from 1943—a little girl named Maggie Blackwell.”
“You don’t say!” Delight broke over her features. “You probably ain’t gonna believe this, but my brother, Luther—Luther Krunk—bought the Blackwell farm at auction in 1969.”
The hair on the back of Sean’s neck stood up. One of the names on Mrs. DeFord’s list was Krunk.
“He’d been kind of sweet on the older Blackwell girl, Hazel Mae, when they was in school, but she never paid him no mind. My mama said that one was always too lost with her nose in a book to pay attention to the folks around her. Well, Luther now, he gave up his road construction job an’ piddled at growin’ corn out there until he passed on three years back. His boy’s livin’ in the old house now since they couldn’t get nobody to buy it. An empty house is an invitation for druggies to set up shop.” She made a clicking noise with her tongue.
How many drug problems had the little town encountered for the woman to be so concerned about it?
She beamed a smile, giving them a view of a wide gap between her front teeth. “So you’re huntin’ Maggie Blackwell. I wasn’t much older’n Maggie herself when she wandered off an’ got lost in them woods. My mama used to scare me into stayin’ close to home by tellin’ about how that little girl fell in the creek an’ got swept far, far away.”
Meghan wriggled, eagerness dancing in her dark eyes. “Would you mind if we asked you a few questions?”
“I reckon I don’t, but would you two mind comin’ out to our porch? Hud’ll want to listen in. Don’t get too many visitors around here, an’ he gets lonely. Besides, my toes’re hurtin’ from standin’ on ’em. This is a mighty tall truck.”
The truck wasn’t all that tall. She was just that short. Probably no bigger than the average ten-year-old. Sean smiled. “Yes, ma’am. That would be fine.”
She scuttled backward, the heels of her slippers stirring dust. “You come right on up to the porch. I’ll fetch a couple of foldin’ chairs for you—that rockin’ chair you see next to Hud is mine—an’ I’ll bring out a pitcher of Kool-Aid. Hud an’ me generally have some Kool-Aid in the middle of the afternoon, when the shade’s moved on away from the porch, but we can do that early today without it hurtin’ anything.” Still jabbering her plans on entertaining them, she hurried toward the porch.
Sean grinned at Meghan. “I think we just made her day.”
Meghan nodded grimly. “Clearly she likes to talk. Let’s hope she says something worth hearing.”
Meghan
The sagging porch roof provided shade, but a muggy breeze coursed over them, rustling the paper in Meghan’s lap and turning the soft tendrils around her face into frizz. She took another sip of the sickeningly sweet Kool-Aid. Edith Yarberry, wife of Hud Yarberry, whose daddy had been Cumpton’s longtime banker, must have gotten confused and doubled the sugar. Her stomach whirled. But maybe it wasn’t the sweet drink making her sick to her stomach—Mrs. Yarberry hadn’t stopped talking since she and Sean stepped onto the porch an hour ago.
Mostly she’d bragged about how Hazel Mae Blackwell lost out by not marrying Luther. When Meghan informed her that Hazel was her grandmother, Mrs. Yarberry paused, stared open mouthed at Meghan for a few silent seconds, then said, “Well, then, you’ll really enjoy hearin’ about this.”
By the end of the sixth long-winded tale, Meghan was greatly relieved Grandma had “gone off to the college in Little Rock an’ busted Luther’s heart.” Family get-togethers with this talkative woman would have been torture. But then, maybe at least they’d have had family get-togethers.
Mr. Yarberry stared at his wife, his unibrow shaped in a V. When she paused to take a breath, he said, “Edith, let me talk now.”
She immediately clamped her lips together, linked her hands in her lap, and stilled the rocking chair. She smiled complacently at him.
Meghan stifled a sigh. She wished he’d made the request about forty-five minutes ago.
He’d leaned his shotgun against a stack of cinder blocks shortly after she and Sean joined him. Now he placed his empty glass on the blocks and cleared his throat. “You’ve been holdin’ a piece of paper the whole time Edith’s been talkin’. Can I see it?”
Meghan glanced at Sean and he nodded, so she handed it to Mr. Yarberry. “Those are people my grandmother remembered from town. We’re hoping some of their relatives are still in the area and might have heard something from their folks that would help us.”
He ran his finger down the list of names, working his lips in and out like a child blowing bubbles. “Most everyone on here’s from my folks’ generation. All long gone. Even those of my generation are mostly gone these days, too, although you’ll find quite a few of their names on headstones in Cumpton’s cemetery. Most of our young folks left Cumpton, lookin’ for jobs in Bentonville or some of the other bigger cities.”
After Mrs. Yarberry’s shrill, fast-paced yammer, his voice was like warm honey flowing over biscuits. “Now this’un, Beth Spann. She married a car salesman from Beaty and raised her kids over there. She’s been gone a couple years now an’ is buried in the Beaty cemetery alongside her husband’s kin. The Crudgington boys, Jay an’ Barry, stayed around until ’80, ’81, or so. Then they sold off their folks’ farmstead an’ the older one, Jay, moved up near Denver, Colorado. Not sure where Barry landed.”
Meghan glanced at Sean, who sat with his elbows on his knees, holding his sweaty cup between his palms. His expression said what she was thinking—they were wasting their time here. No one would know anything that could help.
“But now Elaine Burton…” Mr. Yarberry gave a solemn nod and flicked the page with his fingertips. “She’s still in town. She stayed out at the orphanage even after her ma passed on an’ the state closed the asylum. She married a local boy, Nolan Durdan. He’s been gone now for, oh, I don’t recall how many years. Been a while, though. Something to do with his kidneys. Up until he died, she an’ him kept foster kids in the added-on part her ma built on the side of the old orphans’ home. Like I told you, he’s gone, but Elaine’s still livin’ there.”
He passed the sheet to Meghan. “I’m not sayin’ Elaine’ll know anything that’ll help you, but her ma knew everything that went on across Benton County. Nora Burton drove all over the countryside
in her automobile, pickin’ up orphans from different bus stops or train stations an’ cartin’ them to the orphans’ home.”
Mrs. Yarberry cackled and increased the speed of the rocking chair’s motion. “Oh, how the folks around town was jealous of Nora Burton an’ her automobiles. More than half the folks in these parts used horses and wagons clear into the forties, but Mrs. Burton bought herself a different motor vehicle every year from 1935 on. My daddy used to complain, ‘Why don’t she wear the new off ’em before she goes tradin’ ’em in?’ Daddy bought a Chevy in ’52 and drove it until it fell apart in the eighties. Then he—”
The woman’s husband reached over and placed his hand over hers. The chair and the woman’s jabber came to a halt. He kept his hold on her hand and continued. “Yep, Nora Burton got around, an’ she knew what’n all was happenin’ everywhere. If she blathered it all to Elaine, an’ if Elaine recalls any of it, there might be a tidbit or two you could use.”
Mrs. Yarberry nodded so hard her topknot bobbled. “Chances are Nora Burton did repeat everything to her girl, because my daddy used to complain how that woman dearly loved to hear herself talk. She liked talkin’ even more’n my own mama liked talkin’, an’ lemme tell you, my mama—”
“Liked to talk.” Mr. Yarberry smiled. “They’ve likely figured that out by now, sweet pea.” He picked up his glass and held it out to her. “Could you fill this for me again? My mouth’s some dry.”
She took it and bustled inside.
Mr. Yarberry aimed an apologetic grimace at Meghan. “Don’t hold all her talk about her brother an’ your granny against her, Miss DeFord. She idolized Luther. There was just the two of them kids in the family, an’ she misses him something terrible. Other than Luther’s lazy son, who don’t come around at all, Edith’s whole family is gone now. Well, except for me, an’ I ain’t much to brag on. Not since that land mine in ’Nam stole my legs.”
Sean rose and put his hand on the man’s sloping shoulder. “We appreciate your help, Mr. Yarberry. Thank you for taking time to talk to us.”
“Talkin’ don’t cost nothin’.” His blue eyes twinkled. “If it did, I’d likely be bankrupt with all the words my wife spends.”
Mrs. Yarberry returned with a full glass of red liquid. “Here you go.” She gave her husband the glass, then planted a kiss on his balding head. She straightened and flashed a smile at Meghan and Sean. “You two young folks stop by anytime. Me an’ Hud are always here.”
Meghan shook Mr. Yarberry’s thick, leathery hand, then reached for Mrs. Yarberry’s slender one. “Thank you for your hospitality. I would like to ask one more thing before we go.”
“What’s that?”
“Since you’re familiar with the entire town, could you give me some easy-to-follow directions to the orphanage, the farm your brother bought at auction”—she wanted to see the house where Grandma grew up—“and…the town cemetery?”
Mrs. Yarberry’s face pinched into a sympathetic pout. “You wantin’ to pay respects to your kin?”
Meghan nodded.
“I’ll write it all down for you so you can find those places. Not that it’s easy to get lost in Cumpton—goodness knows, even back when we was young, the town wasn’t big enough to hardly warrant a dot on the state map—but there’s a handful of folks who aren’t as friendly to strangers as Hud an’ me.”
Sean coughed, his telltale cover-up for laughter, and Meghan knew he was thinking about the rifle leaning against the cinder-block stack.
“You go wanderin’ on their property, even by accident, they might sic the dogs on you.”
Meghan thanked her for the warning.
She smiled. “Got to look out for Hazel Mae Blackwell’s granddaughter. Why, if things’d come out different, you might’ve been my great-niece. Wouldn’t that’ve been a blessing?” She turned toward the house. “Stay right here until I fetch a pen an’ paper so I can write everything down for you. I’ll make sure you don’t go wanderin’ where you shouldn’t.” The screen door slapped into its frame behind her.
Meghan hoped Mrs. Yarberry was less talkative on paper than she was in person. Her pulse thrummed with eagerness to visit with Nora Burton’s daughter and find out what secrets her mother might have shared that would help in their search for Maggie.
Thirty-Three
Sean
Mrs. Yarberry’s directions proved amazingly accurate. Sean followed them to the edge of town, along a tree-lined lane, to a three-story clapboard building badly in need of paint. A weathered sign stating Benton County Orphans’ Home hung from a crooked bracket attached near the pair of oversized front doors. He hadn’t expected something so big. How many children would have lived in the facility?
A single-story addition on the north side of the large structure spread across the ground. This section had a fresh-looking coat of pale-yellow paint, dark-green shutters, and ruffled curtains behind the windows. The addition must be the wing where the former director’s daughter still lived.
He parked under a tree near a detached garage painted the same color as the addition. Mrs. Yarberry had told them to knock on the back door of the wing, and from this angle, he spotted a concrete slab and solid door on the northwest corner of the boxy add-on.
He turned to Meghan, who sat forward, seeming to examine the grounds. “Why don’t you stay here until I know if she’s home? There’s no sidewalk that I can see, and the ground looks a little rough.”
“All right. But come get me before you ask any questions.”
“Don’t worry, I will.” He left the engine idling and trotted to the concrete stoop. He knocked, waited, then knocked again a little harder. But no one came to the door. He leaned out a bit to catch Meghan’s eye. She held up her hands in a silent query, and he shrugged in reply. She gestured for him to return to the truck. He jogged back over and climbed in.
Meghan pointed to the garage. “One of the doors is open and there’s no car. She must have run some errands.”
She’d have gone to another town, then. Sean put his hand on the gearshift. “So what do you want to do?”
A hint of apprehension colored her expression. “I know you’re on company time, but I’m not. Would you mind taking me to the cemetery and then to Grandma’s old farm? I’d like to explore. Then we can come back here later and try to catch Mrs. Durdan at home.”
There wasn’t much else they could do. Sean put the truck in gear. “Let’s go.”
Mrs. Yarberry had told them the cemetery was behind Cumpton’s stone chapel—“Only buildin’ in town built all of limestone. If you look close, you’ll find little fossils in the blocks.”
Sean located the quaint structure tucked well back from the road. He followed a winding driveway to a square gravel patch where the people who attended service probably parked. As the woman had said, headstones were scattered like children’s toys over the expanse behind the church on sloping ground so full of trees the entire cemetery was shaded.
He frowned. “You won’t be able to navigate with your crutches. It’s too uneven.” If she fell and reinjured her ankle, he’d never forgive himself.
“Let me at least try.” She was already reaching for the door handle. “If I can’t make it, I’ll give you my cell phone and let you take pictures of my great-grandparents’ headstones.”
“All right.” He helped her out, then moved alongside her. Their feet crunched on the gravel, a somehow intrusive sound. He was glad when they left it for the quiet grass.
Someone had recently mowed, but apparently they’d left their weed eater at home. Tall, scraggly tufts circled each stone, hiding some of the words from view. Sean scanned the stones, searching for the name Blackwell. In the corner of the graveyard, beneath a towering pine with cones the size of a man’s foot weighing down the branches, he finally found it. He pointed. “Over there.”
Meghan planted the tips of the crutches in the grass and swung herself in the direction of the stones. She moved amazingly well over the rough terrain, o
nly wobbling once, but Sean caught her elbow and kept hold until she regained her balance. Then she pulled loose and kept going. He stopped several feet away from the headstones, tense, ready to leap forward if she needed his stabilizing hand but sensing she needed a few minutes of privacy.
She stopped directly in front of the pair of stones. For a few seconds she stood as still as one of the solid monuments itself, her gaze seemingly fixed on the wedges of gray sandstone dotted with lichen. Then she drew in a breath, leaned on the crutches, and let her air release in a whoosh. “Burl Thomas Blackwell.” She tilted her head slightly to match the angle of the leaning slab. “Mae Clymer Blackwell.” Her tone held reverence. She glanced over her shoulder and shot him a teary grin. “Come meet my great-grandparents.”
Sean ambled up and stood beside her. Blades of grass and weeds climbed too high to see little more than the names, so he crouched and began tearing them away. When he’d cleared a section, he gave a start. “Look here, Meghan. These stones were joined at one time. You can see where the piece cracked and broke into two halves. I bet it was meant to look like an open book.”
She frowned at the tree. “Do you think the roots did it?”
“Probably. There is a pretty good bump in the ground right here at the center of the stone.” He flattened the tall grass to give a better view of the headstones and then rose. “Do you want some pictures? I’ll take them for you.”
She handed him her phone, and he snapped close-ups of each half, then the whole, and finally backed up so he could catch Meghan gazing at the gravestones. While he snapped the photograph, she spoke.
“ ‘Yet a little while, and the world seeth me no more; but ye see me: because I live, ye shall live also.’ ”
It took a moment for him to realize she was reading. The verse from John 14 had gotten split when the stone divided, but now with the grass crushed down, he could see it. His heart sang at its meaning, and a smile of joy pulled at his lips.
Bringing Maggie Home Page 26
