“Yep,” Andrews agreed with a nod. “Our job.”
Victor turned to his deputy. “Andrews,” he spoke sharply, “don’t you have some papers to go fill out or something?”
“No sir. I got them all filled out this afternoon,” the deputy replied in a satisfied voice. He sounded very happy with his accomplishment.
“Well, go check out the other side of town.” The annoyance rang clear in Sheriff Victor’s voice.
“What’s happening on the other side of town?” Deputy Andrews asked, completely missing the nowhere near subtle hint.
“Anything…everything! Without you out there patrolling the streets, this town is left wide open. There’s probably drunkenness running rampant in the streets… gambling, drugs – you name it.” He paused. “They need you out there.” He placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder and added, “I need you out there.”
“Don’t you worry about it, sheriff,” the deputy said as he rushed towards his patrol car. “You just finish up here, and I’ll take care of it,” he yelled back. He had to hurry before it was too late.
Turning back around to Jason, the sheriff shook his head showing that his patience was quickly being depleted. “Maybe now we can concentrate,” he muttered. After letting out a deep sigh, he looked from Tomas back to Jason. “Was there any conflict?”
“No. He must have dropped the purse in his hurry to get away.” The sheriff might find his original lie a bit unbelievable considering.
“Was anything missing from your wife’s purse?”
“Not that I can think of, but I didn’t check. It’s in the truck, but even if something is missing, I wouldn’t know it unless it was like her wallet or something. She carries everything in there.”
The sheriff sighed and shook his head. “Probably won’t find anything, but we’ll need to take it in, go through it, see what we can find. Her phone in there?” Jason nodded. “We’ll need to take a look at that too.”
It was then that Jason thought of something. “How did you figure out we were the ones robbed the other night at the restaurant?” he asked.
The sheriff gave him a look of contempt. “You paid with a check,” he stated bluntly. “It had your name, address, driver’s license number and date of birth on it. With all this high tech technology they’ve come out with now days, we can actually identify a person using there identification.”
Jason put his hand to his forehead and rubbed it. “Boy, I feel stupid.”
“Good, because judging by all your previous actions, you are stupid. Did you not know that this park has a curfew? Y’all weren’t even supposed to be out here this late.”
All the smart, arrogant, and brave remarks to answer that question with had been beaten out of Jason, so he just lied. “I guess I didn’t see the sign.”
The sheriff turned to look at the sign that was posted close by. It had Park Hours: 6:00 AM – 10:00 PM written in big bold letters. Jason knew what he was implying.
“I’m really glad you stuck around to talk with us this time,” the sheriff spoke, cutting Jason a hostile glare. “It really helps with the investigation and all.” Any trace of sympathy he may have shown before was gone. “Did you get a good look at the purse thief?” he asked after a moment. “Could he be one of the kidnappers? Many times crimes like these tie in together.”
“It was dark. All I saw was the thief’s outline.”
“Were there any witnesses?”
“Just an old drunk sleeping it off in a little side ally,” Jason said, letting the information slip out before he realized it.
Victor raised an eyebrow in a gesture that said he was happy to finally get some useful information. “Do you think that what happened at the restaurant could have anything to do with what happened at the park tonight?”
“No, they are not related,” Jason answered without hesitation.
“You seem awful sure of yourself.” The sheriff’s suspicion shone through in his voice. “What makes you so certain?”
“Nothing,” Jason answered abruptly. “I just can’t think of anything that would tie them together.”
“Maybe not, but sometimes it’s the obvious things that are the hardest to see,” Victor said as he looked at Jason with a sharp, discerning eye.
“I know that for a fact. I’m a psychiatrist,” the doctor piped up, trying to earn a bit of recognition.
Ignoring him, Sheriff Victor handed Jason a card. “You can contact me anytime at this number,” he instructed. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll wind up remembering something useful.”
Spinning around to leave, he took a few steps then turned back to Jason. “Run down to the station in the morning and give our sketch artist the description of the two men you described. She’ll be there at seven.” Then the sheriff left without another word.
Chapter Seven
Assaulted by guilt, grief, and anger at his own helplessness, Jason drove by all of the old hangouts he and Misty had shared. Memories floated through the darkness, seeming to mock him because, while you can always remember yesterday, you can never go back. But that didn’t keep Jason from trying. Every time he crossed the path of an old memory, something deep down in his heart forced his eyes to search for her. It was like a part of him believed that if he looked hard enough into the past, he would find Misty there.
Finally, utterly defeated, he turned towards home. It was well after midnight when he finally pulled into their gravel drive. Opening the door of his truck, he walked numbly to the house, unlocked the door and flipped on the light as he stepped in. Standing by the door, he scanned across the empty living room, into the dining room then over to the kitchen. So empty. He began walking down the hall, compulsively going from room to room, flipping on all the lights. He knew it was useless to search the house for her but was unable to stop himself.
The laundry was on the bed where she had been folding it, half in a neat stack, half still in the laundry basket. He walked back into the living room-kitchen area. A few dishes were in the sink. A book by Misty’s favorite author lay open on an end table. Her life sat in neutral, waiting for her to come back and pick it up where she left off.
Jason sighed deeply, his eyes darting around. Okay. Have to act. Have to do. She needed him. Pain of the helplessness swelled in his chest. All the worst possibilities of what could be happening to her played out in his mind, and he was in torment. He ran his fingers through his hair. Then paced. Then stopped in the dining room and began taking things out of his pockets and tossing them on the table. His single fold wallet fell open as it landed. Jason saw the credit card he’d went behind Misty’s back to get. It taunted him. It represented all of his selfishness. Anger filled him. He hated that card. He hated what he’d done to get it. He hated himself. He hated his weakness.
In anger, he yanked the card from its slot, placed it on the wooden table and looked around the room. His gaze fastened on Misty’s latest find – the old axe. Old but sharp. He snatched it up, walked over to the table and raised it high above his head. Bringing it down, he sank the axe blade into the table, splitting the credit card into two pieces. He yanked the handle up then down, working the head of the axe out of the table. Then he brought it down again… and again… and again. When he was finished, a section of the table top was in splinters and the credit card was nothing but small plastic fragments. Heaving, Jason stood, axe head to the floor, propping on the handle. After a few moments, he returned the axe to its corner then racked the bits of plastic mixed with wood splinters into his hand. Making his way into the bathroom, he dumped the handful of plastic into the toilet and flushed.
Returning to the dining room, a sound at the back door drew his attention. It sounded like a low whine. Dixie. Jason almost smiled. He walked to the door and opened it. “Hey girl,” he whispered as he stepped out and wrapped his arms around her neck. She licked him on the face several times, and he didn’t even bother to wipe it away.
“Come on in, Dixie,” Jason coxed. She cocked her head to one
side, seeming to say that she didn’t understand. She usually wasn’t allowed in the house, much less begged to come in. “It’s okay, girl,” he promised. “I want you to come in.” Finally, she lowered her head, her tail drooping as she made her way across the threshold.
“Good girl,” Jason spoke giving her head a rub then turned and closed the door. Still unsure of what to do with herself, Dixie simply sat down in front of the door.
As he gazed down the hallway into the void leading towards the master bedroom, Jason knew he wouldn’t be able to face their queen size bed all alone. He could see himself tossing and turning throughout the night, searching for Misty and, again and again, finding her side of the bed empty.
Sitting down in the floor by the front door, Jason leaned against the wall and listened to the echoes of the laughter that he and Misty had shared there several nights before. The memory still seemed to reverberate through the house. He gave a sad smile.
“Dixie,” he spoke gently to the animal who seemed to understand him like no human could. The loving creature began whining her happy response and wagging her tail. She trotted over to him and lied down, resting her head on his lap. Her presence reassured and lulled him. After a while, he began to drift off to sleep. The last thing he remembered was the soft feel of the golden retriever’s fur and his own groggy voice mumbling, “Dixie, you need a bath.”
- - - - - -
Smack! Jason awoke with a start as his head slammed into the hardwood floor. The sound of scurrying feet drew his attention. In action mode, he bolted upright and spun towards the door. Dixie. It was just Dixie.
At some point during the night, apparently, Jason had started using her for a pillow, and when his pillow heard a sound outside that could not go without investigating, she had leapt up, determined to go check it out.
Struggling to his feet and squinting at the early morning sun, Jason unlocked and opened the back door before glancing, first one way and then the other, just to insure it was safe. Seeing no potential for harm, he stepped aside so Dixie could go out into the back yard and make sure that the world had gone on without her presence.
“Don’t go too far, Misty.” Realizing his mistake, Jason put a hand to his muddled head. “I mean Dixie,” he said, shutting the door behind her.
He heaved a deep sigh and walked towards the kitchen. He didn’t want to do anything today but lay around. From the top of his bruised head to the bottom of his feet, all Jason did was hurt, but he knew that doing nothing would only succeed in driving him crazy. He had to keep his tortured mind occupied.
He’d never been forced to fix his own breakfast before, but he had seen Misty do it a thousand times. So fix his own breakfast, he was going to try. I mean, how hard could it be, right? Ten minutes later, Jason knew the answer. He sat on the counter, spatula in hand, surveying the damage he had created. Wisps of smoke curled into the air. Everything was burnt.
Finally, he just grabbed the frying pan, scrapped it out into the trash before tossing it into the sink. It made a loud crash on impact. He wished to hear the sound of Misty’s feet running down the hall, wondering what happened. But no, all Jason heard was silence. He would gladly have taken a house full of screaming, hyper kids over the quietness that engulfed him.
After his attempt to fix breakfast had failed, Jason put on a pot of coffee. While it was brewing, he went into the bathroom. Looking at the reflection of himself in the mirror caused him to bob his head back in a bit of dismay. One eye was almost swollen shut; he could feel that but, still, seeing it with his good eye was a shock. There were several other swollen places on his face, bruised blue and red from the beating. He looked down at his shirt. It was torn and dirty; a trail of blood stained the area below his nose.
Aching to the core, he pulled his shirt off and began trying to wash his face. It was more of a gentle dabbing procedure, the wounds too fresh to scrub. After the tediously painful process of cleaning and dressing himself, Jason returned to the kitchen. The coffee came out so strong it could almost walk around by itself. Misty had always fixed breakfast, but the coffee had been Jason’s department… and it was just right.
Holding the steaming cup in one hand, he began tracing his eyes along the walls that, although they couldn’t talk, had a ton of memories nailed up on them. There was the picture that Misty had taken of them together a short time after Jason had fractured his ankle. They had gone snowboarding and, of course, Jason had to show off. After hurting himself, Misty had insisted that she could take a picture of them together, his leg in a cast and all, using the delay on her camera. She did. It worked, a fact documented by the photograph.
He looked up at a larger picture above and to the left of the other. It was the one of his wife in the long, white dress she had worn on the day she’d become his. He brushed the cold and lifeless glass that covered her face, remembering the vows they had repeated to one another. “…from this day forward, to have and to hold…” That was one promise Jason wished he could be keeping at that very moment.
He gave a sad, fond smile as he remembered another promise they had made to each other. “…in sickness and in health, for better or for worse…” It seemed like all he’d given Misty lately was the worse.
His gaze trailed over to the next frame just as someone rapped on the door. Jason’s hand jerked in response to the abrupt intrusion of his thoughts, causing his hot coffee to slosh out of the mug and onto his clean shirt. It had been so quite in the house that the knock sounded like somebody was trying to beat the door down.
Muttering to himself, Jason made a pointless attempt to brush the coffee from his clothes before glaring at the door. He didn’t feel like having company – nor did he wish to hear anyone’s words of sympathy. It was kind, but for right now all he needed was to be left alone and be given a chance to try to sort through this mental night-mare.
Walking over to the window by the door, Jason pulled back the curtain to see who the intruder was. “Oh goodness,” he mumbled to himself. It was Susan. She was standing outside with her back to the door. She must have been headed to work for the breakfast shift at a local café because she wore her waitress clothes.
She must’ve heard the news of last night’s happenings and come over to spread hope and cheer about her religion. The thought made Jason roll his eyes a little as he started to open the door. He could hear her giving the God speech now. “God is going to take care of her. God loves her.” God this, God that. He almost envied her the anchor of peace she had in troublesome times such as this. Even if it was false at least it was an anchor – something to believe in and someone to turn to for those who themselves had no strength.
Opening the door, Jason greeted her. “Hey Susan.”
She turned around to face him. Uh-oh, she didn’t appear to be in a very spiritual mood this morning. She approached without so much as a word.
Jason thought he’d better start trying to explain. “Susan I…” but his explanation was cut off short as she slapped him with the open palm of her hand, part of it catching him in the nose, of course. Ouch. That hurt. He had been caught completely off guard… again… by a woman!
“What is wrong with you?” Susan screamed so loud Jason was afraid she might wake the neighbors. Then again, judging by the look on her face, he might need them to form a posse to come save him.
“How dare you?” she asked out of bewildered anger. Placing a finger in Jason’s chest she continued. “How could you take my sister out into some God-forsaken park in the middle of the night?” Jason just stood in stunned silence. “God only knows where she is or what’s happened to her,” she cried, mostly to herself. “I promised mom and dad that I would look out for her.”
What? Why would they ask her to promise that? Did they think that Jason couldn’t take care of his own wife, for goodness sake? Then again, where was she?
“Look Susan, I’m sorry. I just…” Jason started to speak but was cut off short.
“You know,” Susan butted in, “I’m
realizing for the first time just how right you are. Only a sorry excuse of a man would put a woman in such a dangerous situation. I’m starting to think that maybe our mother was right about you.” She took a step back and shook her head before going on. “But Misty was in love with you, and I try to think the best about everyone,” she said with a wave of her arms, like it was one of her faults. “But maybe we were blind. Maybe Momma was the only one who could see the real you.”
Jason just reached up and wiped the blood that trickled from his nose. The slap had started it to bleeding again, but at least she hadn’t nocked it back out of joint.
“You went and got your nose broke, huh?” she asked in a satisfied tone. “Good, ‘cuz you earned it.” Stepping forward, she pointed her finger up in his face, and almost touching his broken nose, added, “But if there was any true justice this side of eternity you’d have gotten a whole lot worse.”
She lowered her accusing gesture and shook her head as a new thought came to mind. “You didn’t even have the decency to call me,” she exclaimed, like she truly could not believe his lack of consideration for others. “No sir,” she said, flinging her hands in the air. “I had to see it just like the rest of the world… on the news.” She paused for a moment then sighed. “When I saw it on TV, I was pouring coffee. I poured hot coffee all over a costumer.”
“Well,” Jason said smartly, “I have more important things to do than worry about your poor pouring skills.” He reached inside the door and locked it. Walking past Susan he said, “As much as I’d like to stay and chat, I’m headed over to the jail. I’m working with the law to try and pin-point Misty’s whereabouts. So…” he spoke before letting his voice trail off, hoping she would catch the drift. Well, unfortunately her drift was drifting a little different direction than his.
“I’m going, too. I’ll meet you there,” Susan shouted out as she bolted off the porch and raced past him, making a mad dash towards her car.
Beneath the Tombstone (The Tombstone Series) Page 8
