“But, but,” he sputtered like a put-put car, “I dunno why ‘e tore ‘is clothes up.” His head bobbled as he turned and looked up at Deputy Andrews. He held it there until the weight of it seemed to force it back down. Then he just sat there and rubbed the smooth surface of the interrogation table for a moment, seemingly intrigued by its simple design. His thoughts appeared to shift as he reached up and straightened the lapels on his torn and stained sports coat. As he brushed the faded rose, which was poked through a button hole on his suit, an honest pride shown in his eyes. “Not everyone I know has nisse clothes like me,” he spoke in a much more hushed and sober voice. “I know a lot of folks who could use some nisse clothes.”
Confused, he looked up at the deputy who seemed a bit confused himself. “If you got nisse clothes like us you oughta take care of ‘em,” he spoke as he petted the material he wore, which actually did possess the appearance of having been very expensive at one time.
Turning to Jason from their vantage point behind the mirror, Sheriff Victor asked, “So why did you tear your clothes up?”
“What? You’re really buying that, that,” Jason pointed into the room unsure of what to call the drunk, “that man’s story?” Jason asked, doing his best to sound stunned.
“Yes,” the sheriff answered without blinking an eye. “I’m buying his story because I believe it. I think he’s telling the truth. You see, even with his senses diluted, his story still makes perfect sense. Yours does not.”
Jason looked away so the sheriff couldn’t see the uneasiness in his eyes before he kindly pointed out, “But he’s nothing more than a drunk.”
His observation didn’t help the already ticked off sheriff to relax any. In an angry voice, Victor spoke, “That may be true… maybe not, but look at him. Do you see him?” Jason didn’t think that the question merited an answer. Of course, he could see him. The man was the object of their obvious interest. “Well,” Sheriff Victor went on, “take a good look at him because he has ten times more integrity than you’ll ever dream of having. Now, we’re going to lock him up ’till he sobers up, just to keep him from hurting himself or anyone else.” The sheriff took a step closer to Jason. “But if I ever get you in there,” he spoke, nodding towards the interrogation room, “I’ll lock you up and loose the key.”
Jason averted his eyes. The sheriff had a lot of nerve calling him a liar to his face. He now knew why Andrews was in there and Victor out here. The drunk was not the one being interrogated, Jason was… and he was starting to feel trapped. “Which way to the sketch artist?” he demanded. “I mean, that is the reason you asked me here, right?”
The sheriff glared at him. “You’ve wasted enough of my time,” he spat. “Go ask someone else.” With that, he walked out the door, leaving Jason alone, trying to sort through the mess his life had become.
Chapter Nine
She was always there in Jason’s mind. Every way he turned, it seemed that he would run smack-dab into something that reminded him of Misty; at this moment it was a necklace that had drawn his attention. A gentle gold hue ran the length of its chain, pulled down to a v by the weight of the locket that hung from it. The locket was of a somewhat darker tone and slightly pitted, designed like it had spent years being blasted by sand. Two silver roses, smooth at the blossoms but jagged and thorny down the stems, stood out, like two candles surrounded by a sea of darkness, against the golden backdrop. Twisted and entwined together by the thorns and ragged edges, the two roses were locked together.
Susan gently fondled the locket that hung from her neck. Her gaze was lost out the jail house window, a million miles away as Jason approached. “I remember the first time I saw Misty; she was wearing hers,” he said, nodding towards the necklace.
Susan’s attention was drawn from whatever place her mind had been visiting. She gave Jason a confused look, momentarily unsure of what he was talking about. But then she caught his gaze, and understanding came to her face as she looked down at the locket in her hand.
“Yes,” she said with a weary smile. “She always wore it.”
Jason had heard the story several times from Misty but figured it might make Susan feel better to talk it out. “I’ve never seen another necklace like the ones you and Misty have,” he spoke gently.
Susan’s eyes watered up a bit, but her words held a hint of some distant happiness. “That’s because daddy had them costume made… special for us,” she replied. Jason waited quietly for the rest of the story. “He always called us his two roses in the desert.” She smiled. “That’s why the lockets look pitted – like from desert wind and sand.” She brushed a tear from her eye. “But the two roses,” she half laughed, half sobbed, “the two roses are us – me and Misty.” She let out a sigh and looked up at the ceiling, trying to compose herself. “Daddy said that even though all the things around us become broken down and worn out with adversity, all it ever did to me and Misty was knock the dust off of our petals so we could shine a little brighter.”
She paused for a moment. “The thorns on the vines are all the rough times we’ve been through together. They lock us together. We’ve grown together. Her thorns are mine and mine are hers. It’s not her problem or my problem, it’s our problem. It’s not the good and easy times that have made us inseparable but the hard.” She paused. “And this time is no different.” A determined look came into her eyes. “I will not let her down.”
“We” Jason corrected quietly. “We won’t let her down.” They stood silent for a moment, Jason thankful that she hadn’t argued his worthiness before he remembered something. “Did the lady you ran into,” he started to ask but paused when he remembered she literally did – almost plowed the poor lady under, “um, did she say where the sketch artist was?”
“She was her,” Susan spoke quietly. She shook her head, realizing how confusing that sounded. “She was the sketch artist. She was in a big hurry – didn’t ask who we were, but she did tell me how to find her office.”
Jason really didn’t want to be roaming around the jailhouse alone with the sheriff there on the loose, so he had to come up with a way to get Susan to go with him. Plus, nothing keeps a man’s manners in check like the presence of a woman, so he figured he could use Susan as a deterrent if he came up against the sheriff’s wrath.
“Rather than give me directions and risk me getting myself lost, would you mind showing me the way?” he asked Susan kindly. “I’m not overly familiar with the inside of this particular jail,” he added in an attempt to lighten their weighed down spirits.
Susan showed a trace of a smile. “You should be,” she responded. “You seem to fit the type.” He could tell she appreciated his attempt at humor. What she didn’t know was that she was exactly right. He should be locked up for what he did, and if Sheriff Victor had his way, he would be.
“So what’d the sheriff want?” Susan asked as she headed off, leading the way.
Jason caught up and eyed her suspiciously, sure that she had figured it all out, but she seemed to be just asking an honest question. “He had a few more things to ask,” Jason answered, not telling a lie but greatly diminishing the truth.
Finally, they rounded a corner and Susan stopped, pointing to a door. “She should be in there,” she said before turning slowly, with eyes cast downward, to leave.
Knowing how much the strings of Susan’s heart were connected to the things that would go on inside of that room, and considering the fact that one never new just when he might run in to Sheriff Victor, Jason made an offer. “You’ve already met her, so if she’s okay with it you can come in, too.”
“Oh… really? Thank you,” Susan accepted with grace and a bit of disbelief, even though he knew she had been hoping he would offer all along.
As Jason knocked, inside he heard someone slurping on a straw, sounding like they had reached the sad end of a very delicious beverage. “Come in,” invited a high pitched voice that sang out in cheer, but sounded as though it might be powered by a mind that c
ould have the tendency to drift off to a land so very far, far away.
As they entered, to their left Jason spied the woman who Susan had run into. She had that same stack of papers now dumped haphazardly on her desk. She held a cup of iced frou-frou coffee turned up a little with the lid off as she eyed the ice at the bottom which she began vigilantly probing through with her straw. She seemed to be convinced that there was more of that sweet nectar hiding in there somewhere.
Seeing her visitor’s, she slammed her cup down on the desk and all but leapt to her feet. Even though she had invited them in, she still acted as though she hadn’t been expecting anyone. She hurriedly straightened up a few things on her desk then stood and tried to iron the winkles out of her black skirt with her hands. One final pass then she extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Jenny,” she chirped as she cocked her head a bit to the side, like she thought she was a bird.
“I’m Jason and this is my sister-in-law, Susan,” Jason said, introducing them. “I’m the one who was attacked last night.”
Jenny looked him right in the eye and said, “Oh my goodness! What happened to your face?”
Jason was silent for a moment, thinking she was joking, but after she held her look of child-like innocence for a few awkward moments, he finally gave a hesitant answer. “I… was attacked.”
Her eyes grew big as if she couldn’t believe it, and almost danced up and down, like she needed to scoop him up in a big, big hug as she cried, “Oh, you poor dear! How did it happen?” Jason wasn’t going to name any names, but it seemed that a particular someone had imbibed in a little too much caffeine.
“I… was attacked,” Jason repeated, “and they, um, they kidnapped my wife.” He couldn’t believe that being in the police department, she hadn’t heard.
“Oh!” she shouted. “You’re Jason Hathaway. Victor told me to look for you this morning, but then came back and said he didn’t think it would be necessary. Said somthin’ about it wasn’t going to be necessary after all.” She thought a moment before adding, “I’m not necessarily sure why it wouldn’t be necessary. It’s not necessarily my place to say, but you’d think finding a missing woman would be a necessity.”
Though the kind woman she usually was, Susan couldn’t help the appalled look on her face, but Jason had stopped listening, zoning in on the statement the crazy lady had made a few turns back. Had the sheriff been so confident of Jason’s guilt and in his own ability to prove that guilt that he’d actually canceled the appointment with the sketch artist? It appeared to be so.
Jenny dug through her drawer, spilling some of its contents out onto the floor. Coming up with a pencil, she stated, “Sketching is only a small part of my job here. I do lots and lots of other things. You could call me a jack of all trades,” she said as she held up her pencil like it was her scepter to rule the world. But then she lowered it, seeming to have a thought on her brain. “No, you’d better not call me that… I’m a woman” she stated, like she had just made that discovery, “so I guess you’d better call me a jenny of all trades,” she added, bursting out into hyena-like laughter.
Neither of her guests smiled. “You don’t get it?” she asked, surprised. “You know, a jack is a male donkey and a jenny is a female.” When they still didn’t laugh, Jason could see she was getting worried. “And I’m a female… plus my name is Jenny!” she said, trying to explain. Her tone showed that she couldn’t believe her audience wasn’t dying with laughter.
Jason gave the most un-heartfelt “ha-ha” he’d ever given then said, “Now I get it.”
“Yes, yes,” Susan joined in, “that was, um, very funny.”
Jenny gave a quick, satisfied nod, smiled and leaned back in her chair, happy that her guest had gotten as much humor out of her joke as she did. Suddenly, she lurched back forward, remembering where she had been before her thoughts jumped overboard.
“I’m sorry,” she hurried to explain as she picked up the pad and pencil. “I guess y’all aren’t in much of a laughing mood. I don’t blame you, don’t blame you at all.” She shook her head. “I haven’t ever been married, but if was and I did,” she paused thinking, “you know, have him get stolen… not by another woman but kidnapped,” she clarified, shaking her head at the scene in her mind, “I just don’t know what I’d do.”
Jason was anxious, annoyed and aggravated at the delay… and so it slipped – his tongue that is. With a smart-aleck smile, he calmly spoke, “At least then you’d have something to blame his disappearance on.” The moment he said it, he regretted it because her smile disappeared… and it was replaced with a huge toothy grin.
Jenny made a move as if to punch Jason on the shoulder, like they were just a good ole’ boys, as she replied, “There ya go. I believe we can make it through anything if we just keep our chin and our spirits up… and jokin’ around, well, I’ve found that to be one of the best ways.”
“Yes,” Jason agreed with about zero percent of his heart. “Do you want to start with the leader?”
“The leader?” Jenny asked. “Yes, the leader!” she exclaimed. “The leader would be fine… Height?”
Jason pointed at his shoulder. “He hit me right about here.”
Jenny gave him a look of compassion. She completely understood his need to express his pain. “Does it still hurt?” she asked gently.
“Huh? Hurt?” Jason asked as he cocked one eyebrow in confusion.
Jenny shook her head, obviously upset. “Men,” she scolded. “Why do y’all all have to act so tough? If it hurts just tell us about it.” She sounded like it was a bit personal. “A wound that we deny is a wound that cannot heal.”
Jason finally understood the misunderstanding and corrected it before she gave him the full-blown sermon. “Standing side by side, the top of his head is about as high as my shoulder. I’m sorry I confused you,” he half sighed.
“Oh,” Jenny stated abruptly, realizing her mistake. Her face flushed up in a bit of embarrassment as she jotted something down on a piece of paper.
- - - - - -
Things were starting to wrap up with the sketch artist and, come to find out, in spite of her erratic behavior, Jenny was very good at getting the details from Jason’s words onto a piece of paper. She had drawn the ugly one with such accuracy that she had to give a small gasp of horror at his features.
She had insisted on drawing a sketch of the unidentifiable one, as well. The purpose of that, Jason did not know. All it turned out to be was pretty much what Jason had seen - which was the unidentifiable silhouette of a face in a hoodie. How interesting. Jenny said something about getting a literal image of something, at times, will help trigger more memories of the image. Whatever. It would take less time to agree than to argue.
About the time they were wrapping things up, Jason saw movement through the open door. It was the drunk being led down the hall by Deputy Andrews. “Look at that old sorry drunk,” he whispered, leaning over to Susan. She gave him a scolding look in response, but Jenny’s reaction was much more severe.
Her head snapped up. “Donald is much more than just a sorry drunk,” she defended the man. “He used to be a respectable businessman in this town. But that all changed after he…” her voice trailed off as moisture came to her eyes. “Never mind,” she sniffed then her tone went from a personal to a professional sound. “I’ve got the sketches done and so are we.”
Jenny didn’t look up at Jason or Susan as they left. She just busied herself by placing one of the sketches face up on the scanner to make copies. Susan went out into the hall, but Jason stopped in the doorway and turned to watch the printer began spitting out blank pieces of paper. As soon as it did, Jenny began pushing the cancel button at a rate of about twenty clicks a second, got it stopped, then, with a dignified look, she opened the scanner, pinched the paper between her index finger and thumb, gracefully flipped it over, placed it face down and began printing for real.
Knowing that Jason was still there and saw the whole thing, without turning, she st
uck a hand in the air, wiggled her fingers like a little kid, and chirped, “Goodbye.” Jason took the hint and left without saying a word.
As he exited the jail house, Jason saw that the morning traffic was beginning to slack off a bit, now that everyone’s rush to work was about over. Without having to wait for an opening in traffic, he led the way across Main Street, Susan following close behind. Jason’s truck came into sight. Unfortunately, his vehicle wasn’t the only familiar one he saw.
“They’re already here?” Jason heard Susan ask, speaking of her parents, in spite of the fact that there they were, standing by their car, right in front of her.
Susan’s mother turned and saw her daughter. “Oh Susan,” she cried out in a voice that was filled with the sorrow of one daughter missing, mixed with the happiness of the other one present. She rushed forward and wrapped her daughter in a hug. Susan’s father walked up and, as always, he moved and spoke much more calmly than his wife. He waited patiently until Susan was finished being smothered by her mother, then just quietly stepped forward, put his arm around his daughter and said, “Don’t worry. We’re gonna find her, sweetheart.”
“Yes, we are,” Jason declared with confidence. The fact that no one even turned to look at him made Jason realize that, in their minds, he was not included in “we.” Talk about feeling awkward. He just stood off by himself, as they discussed how to best save his wife, with no idea what to do. Trying to join in the conversation had been to no avail, standing there just made him feel like a big fool, and turning to leave would be a sign of accepting defeat.
Several minutes ticked by and still no one seemed to have become aware of Jason’s presence. He knew that they knew he was there. There were just giving him the silent treatment, and it was making him just a bit annoyed. They could at least try to understand what he was going through.
Beneath the Tombstone (The Tombstone Series) Page 10
