Since She Went Away

by David Bell

  “He’s not.”

  “But if she was having an affair, doesn’t that make it more likely she’d run away?” Jenna asked.

  “Without the guy she was having the affair with? Why would she do that?”

  “Because . . . I don’t know. Shit. Maybe one of those guys, her lovers, was following her.”

  “Unlikely as far as we can tell,” Naomi said.

  “Ian told me he even gave you a name, some business associate of his.”

  Naomi took a moment to answer. “We’ve looked into everyone Celia or her family ever came into contact with. We’ve looked into every possible motive.”

  “You didn’t really answer my question.”

  “That’s true. I didn’t.” She reached up and scratched her forehead. “Some of these leads haven’t been completely closed. We’re keeping our options open.”

  “Is there any news about Benny Ludlow?” she asked.

  “I can’t say much about him either.”

  “Of course.”

  “But he’s denying he hurt Celia. Or Holly Crenshaw. We have to figure out where he was at the times these women disappeared. That’s tough to do with a guy who mostly lives and travels alone.”

  “But it’s possible,” Jenna said, sounding like a kid wishing for a miracle snow day.

  “He hasn’t been cleared,” Naomi said. “Like I said, we’re keeping our options open.”

  The conversation seemed to have reached its natural end. Detective Poole rose from the chair and said, “I think I need to be heading home. Rosie and I were just about to watch Sherlock.”

  “Rosie?”

  “My cat.”

  Jenna eyed the detective’s hand. She still wore the wedding band. “And your husband?”

  Naomi held her hand up, looking at the ring as though she’d forgotten it was there. “Oh. He died two years ago. I still wear the ring.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Naomi said. “I’d have all these young guys chasing me if they thought I was single.”

  Jenna walked the detective to the front door and retrieved her coat. Jared was out of sight, the door to his room closed once again. The backpack was out of the kitchen, so at least he was doing homework. Once the detective was zipped up, she turned to Jenna. “I’d tell you to try not to think about this too much, but I know you will.”

  “I think you’re getting to know me too well.”

  “It’s kind of the job. You know, you mentioned Ian and Celia’s daughter back there, Ursula. How is she doing?”

  “I haven’t seen her either.”

  “Good kid?” Naomi asked.

  Jenna knew Naomi knew the answer to that question. She was a cop, investigating the disappearance of Ursula’s mother. If Naomi wanted to know something about the girl, she knew it. But Naomi clearly wanted to get Jenna’s opinion. Someone who’d known Ursula since the day she was born.

  “She’s a smart girl,” Jenna said. “Popular. She’s become a little brattier over the last few years.”

  “Teenagers do that.”

  “Sure. But she has a tougher edge than most teenagers. She runs in a prominent crowd at school. Rich kids. Why do you ask?”

  “You said you were worried about her. What did Ian say about her?”

  “I asked him today. He said she’s doing her best.” Jenna remembered what a willful child Ursula was. Sweet most of the time, but also endlessly stubborn. When she and Jared played together as children, there was never any doubt as to who the leader would be in any game. It was always Ursula, not easygoing Jared. In her own mind, Jenna used to think how perfectly the girl was named. Ursula. The Bear. “I’m just remembering something.”

  “What?”

  Jenna paused for a moment as the memory crystallized in her mind. “She shoved Jared once. They must have been three or four and were playing some game together. Jared didn’t do things the way Ursula wanted. I guess he actually stood up to her and said no for a change, and she shoved him. Hard. He hit his head against the coffee table.”

  Naomi cringed. “Ouch.”

  “It was scary. I thought he was going to need stitches. You know how head wounds bleed. But it stopped eventually, and Ian and Celia fell all over themselves apologizing.”

  “That makes me glad I only have cats,” Naomi said, her voice deadpan.

  “She got into that fight at school right after Celia disappeared.”

  “I remember that,” Naomi said. “Kids fight sometimes.”

  “Ursula always had Ian wrapped around her little finger. God, I hate when girls do that.”

  “Do what?” Naomi asked.

  “That whole ‘I’m Daddy’s little girl’ thing. You know? Climbing into her dad’s lap? Acting like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth? Ursula always did that with Ian. I guess he went along with it because he wasn’t around as much. With everyone else, Ursula could be a challenge. I guess she’s more like her dad. Tough to read.”

  “It looks like her mom was tough to read too,” Jenna said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  On Friday, Jenna came into the break room where the employees drank coffee or ate their lunches or retreated when patient demands and craziness grew too intense. When she entered the room, two of her coworkers were already in there, and the moment she stepped through the door, the conversation halted. Jenna knew they were talking about her.

  She looked at the two women, their faces sheepish. Emma was another nurse and Charlaine helped with the books. Jenna didn’t know them well, didn’t care much what they thought of her. She thought about just doing what she came to do—grab a cup of coffee and slip away without speaking—but why should she let things go unchallenged? If they had something to say to her, they should say it.

  “You don’t have to treat me like a china doll,” she said to them. She went over to the pot, pulling a mug down from the cabinet above her head. “What is there to talk about now? I haven’t cursed on TV for a few days, and none of my other friends have disappeared.”

  Jenna kept her back to them while she added sugar, stirring with a beat-up spoon, the metal clanking against the side of the mug the only sound until Charlaine cleared her throat. Jenna turned around. The two women looked sad and not offended. Their eyes were full of sympathy, the corners of their mouths turned down.

  Something was going on.

  “What?” Jenna asked, looking down. “Am I wearing two different shoes?”

  “It’s not that, honey,” Charlaine said.

  Honey? Charlaine never called her “honey.” No one called her honey except her mother and maybe Sally.

  “What, then?” Jenna asked.

  Emma said, “Didn’t you watch the news today?”

  “No. I’m kind of done with the news these days.” But her mind raced. News? Celia? She set the mug down and moved closer to the women. “What is it? What happened?”

  The two women exchanged looks, each hoping the other would speak up.

  “What?” Jenna asked as images of Celia rushed through her head.

  A body found. A break in the case.

  “You don’t want to hear this kind of news from me,” Emma said.

  “What news?”

  Finally Charlaine took one for the team.

  “Why, Jenna, it’s that Holly Crenshaw girl, the one who disappeared from Clay County? They found her body this morning. She’s dead. We just thought you’d have heard.”

  • • •

  Jenna paced in the break room, the phone to her ear. Everyone else had cleared out, giving her space, and word rippled through the office to stay out of Jenna’s way.

  She dialed Detective Poole over and over again, getting voice mail every time.

  Sally came in once while Jenna dialed. She placed a reassuring hand on Jenna’s shoulder and t
hen folded her up in a hug. Jenna gave in to the human contact for a long moment, letting some of her weight fall into Sally’s surprisingly strong grip. But then she just as quickly pulled out of it, straightening up and trying Naomi’s number again, leaving her third voice mail of the morning.

  “What are they saying on the news?” she asked Sally.

  “Not much, of course. Are you sure you want to hear any of it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I heard on the radio they found her in some remote area. I guess a farmer was out working his land in advance of spring, and he came across the body and called the police.”

  “Not the same barn?”

  “Oh, no. This was near the county line, but on our side. Not close to where you were Monday.”

  “So it’s murder,” Jenna said. “She was murdered.”

  “They’re not saying.”

  “What are we supposed to think? She wandered out into some field and had a heart attack? She’s in her twenties.”

  Jenna’s voice was harsh, sarcastic, and unforgiving.

  Sally didn’t even flinch. “I guess we’ll know more as the day goes on,” she said, stepping over to pour herself a cup of coffee. “Do you want water or something? I’d offer you wine, but they frown on that here.”

  “I want this cop to answer.”

  “I’ve been reading about this girl, this Holly Crenshaw,” Sally said. “I understand if you’ve avoided it.”

  “I know a little,” Jenna said. “Married. Young.” She took it all in for a moment, the phone in her hand and away from her ear. “Her parents, Sally. God. They’re going to have to bury their daughter.”

  “Maybe you should head home,” Sally said.

  Jenna didn’t want to leave. She’d missed enough time already, but how was she expected to stay and work with all this craziness swirling through her mind?

  “I’m staying,” Jenna said. “I think. I don’t know. Shit, Sally, I’ve missed a lot of work. I have a kid who wants to go to college. He wants to get a car. I need to work.”

  “That’s fine,” Sally said. “Would you like me to sit here with you?”

  “I’ll be out as soon as I can,” Jenna said. “Thanks.”

  Then Naomi called back. Jenna answered, and she didn’t even try to keep the eagerness out of her voice. “What can you tell me?” Jenna asked.

  “My information is limited,” Naomi said. “Why don’t I call you back when I know more?”

  “No,” Jenna said. “You tell me now. I don’t care if it’s only part of the picture.”

  Naomi sighed. “Okay. I’ll tell you what I know, which isn’t much. And really, I shouldn’t be telling you anything at this point, but it’s getting out on the news, so I’ll share some things. We did find a body, a woman’s body, out near the county line this morning.”

  “How do you know she isn’t Celia?” Jenna asked.

  Naomi paused. “Given the condition of the remains and other identifying factors at the scene, we can tell this body hasn’t been there that long. Certainly not as long as Celia’s been gone.”

  “But what if Celia didn’t die right away?” Jenna asked, holding out hope as long as she could.

  “It’s not Celia,” Naomi said. “It’s Holly Crenshaw. The coroner will make an official identification and do an autopsy, but we can tell. It’s Holly.”

  Jenna’s hands shook as she pulled a chair out from the table. She sank into it, her weight dropping down like a sandbag.

  Naomi said, “We don’t know a cause of death yet. We don’t know many other details. Some idiot talked when he shouldn’t have talked and now it’s all over Twitter and the rest of the news. I had to scramble to get in touch with her husband and parents before they found out from some disc jockey’s tweets.”

  Jenna stared at the random scattering of items on the table. Napkins, a coffee cup, the newspaper, and some old full-color ads. The objects seemed foreign to her, artifacts from another world, one where women didn’t disappear and end up dead.

  “But she was murdered, right?” Jenna asked.

  “I’m not going to jump to any conclusions, but we’re certainly treating it as a crime scene.”

  “And you’re searching the area. . . . What if whoever did this, what if Celia is there?”

  “We’re one step ahead of you,” Naomi said. “I’ve done this job before, unfortunately. We’re searching the area, of course. But, Jenna, don’t get your hopes up for anything.”

  Jenna’s elbow rested on the table, and she cupped her head in her hand. It all seemed like a bad dream. Months of her life seemed like the most horrible dream imaginable.

  And then she thought of Holly Crenshaw’s family again. They were suffering something unspeakable. The death of their child. The death of a spouse. A sister, a cousin, a friend. Would they ever know the truth about Celia? Would that day ever come for them?

  “I have to get back to it,” Naomi said. “I’ll keep you in the loop as best I can, but it’s going to be a long day of sorting things out. And in the end, this case may have no connection whatsoever to Celia’s.”

  “I know. You told me that.”

  “Take care, Jenna.”

  “Benny Ludlow,” Jenna said. “He’s a suspect.”

  “Everyone is this early. We’ll talk soon. Okay?”

  “Naomi?”

  “Yes?”

  “Will you tell Holly’s parents how sorry I am for them?”

  “Sure I will.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  In the parking lot, someone called her name.

  Along the horizon a red band stretched as the sun disappeared, and birds, black dots against the sky, flew past in a giant mass. A chill approached, encroaching on the town as the night came on. Jenna pulled her coat tighter, thinking she’d only imagined hearing her name.

  But the voice said it again. It was faint, a soft, childlike voice. She looked around. Most of the cars were gone, the other employees and patients clearing out. Late Friday afternoon, just before five. People had plans, or else they just wanted to get home to their families, order pizza, and watch mindless TV. All of those things sounded appealing to Jenna. She’d survived the day, working as hard as she could, trying to keep Holly Crenshaw’s death out of her mind. Nothing in her life, even raising a child, had ever required such deep wells of patience.

  Jenna carried a canister of pepper spray in her right hand, and her grip on it tightened as she saw the figure approaching. But as the young woman emerged from the dark, Jenna decided she didn’t intend to cause anyone harm. The girl looked scared, her eyes wide and pleading in the darkness.

  “Tabitha?”

  The girl wore the same old coat, the same scuffed shoes. She carried something in her hand, something awkward and blocky. Jenna saw it was a book, a thick paperback, its cover worn and its pages dog-eared. Had she seen it before?

  “Mrs. Barton?” she said. “I wanted to ask you a favor.”

  “Is Jared with you?” Jenna asked, although it seemed obvious he wasn’t. She’d texted her son before she left the office, letting him know she was on her way. He wrote back quickly, telling her he was home.

  “No.” She hesitated, looking around the lot as though someone might be spying on them. She acted as if they were two agents making a dead drop under watchful eyes. “He must have told you we broke up.”

  “No, he didn’t.” Jenna felt a little heartsick for her son, and she understood why he’d been in such an unpleasant mood. “But I could tell something was wrong.”

  “I know he’s probably upset.”

  “Yeah. He seems like he is. Now I know why.” She studied the girl, remembering Jared’s question about the fatherly kiss. Had that been part of the breakup? “What are you doing here? Is there a problem?”

  Tabitha held the book out in fron
t of her. “Would you give this to Jared? I borrowed it from him, and I know it’s one of his favorites.” She hesitated, emotion flashing across her eyes. “It’s hard for me to see him now, but I knew you worked here. I was out doing some other things, but I have to get home.” She looked around at the darkening sky. “Would you mind?”

  “No.” Jenna took the paperback from her. The Great Book of Amber by Roger Zelazny. She’d seen it in Jared’s room, seen him toting it around the house on more than one occasion. The thing must have had a thousand pages, and she shifted to tuck it under her arm. “Can I ask you something?”

  The girl looked poised to go, but Jenna’s voice stopped her.

  “It’s none of my business,” Jenna said, “but was the decision to break up mutual or not?”

  Tabitha’s eyes darted around.

  “It’s okay,” Jenna said. “I’m not trying to take sides here.”

  Tabitha relaxed a little, the rigidness in her shoulders easing. “It was my idea,” she said. “I can’t get involved with anyone now.” She searched for the right words. “My dad, he wants me to go to college, and he says now isn’t the time to get serious with a boy or spend my time doing other things.”

  The words came out in a torrent. Something about them sounded practiced, forced, as if Tabitha was just repeating what someone had told her to say.

  “Your father’s pretty strict, isn’t he?”

  “He wants what’s best for me.” The answer sounded less robotic. “He really does. That’s part of the reason we moved here. The schools are better. He . . . he’s trying to give me a better life.”

  The light slipped away, making it more difficult to see the girl’s face. Jenna cocked her head to one side, studying Tabitha. Again she was struck by the familiarity of the girl’s features: the set of her eyes, the shape of her chin. She’d seen this girl somewhere before, or more likely, a relative of hers. She got the same feeling when she saw Ursula, and embedded in the teenager’s face was the ghost of her mother.

  “And did you say your father isn’t from Hawks Mill? I knew some other Burkes, not just Tommy. What’s your dad’s name?”