Gone to Ground

by Brandilyn Collins

  No wonder Trent wanted to know that. "True. But I left those brownies with her. She coulda eaten some later. Although she did tell me she was headed for bed."

  Wait a minute. "Deena, did Trent say the coroner found Erika was pregnant?"

  Deena's eyes rounded. "No. Not a word." She turned to Tully. "Maybe she wasn't."

  Hope flicked across Tully's face, then was gone. "But I saw the picture of Mike and her . . ."

  "The coroner didn't necessarily tell Trent everything." Deena shook her head. "This might be one of those we're-goin-to-keep-this-quiet details."

  I thought that over. "Could you get Trent to press the coroner for more information? Maybe let on he knows bout a pregnancy—see what the coroner says?"

  "But then I tip my own hand." Deena sighed. "The thing with Trent is—he's a good friend, but he's also an ambitious reporter. He'd be all over me like white on rice if he thought I knew somethin he didn't."

  We fell silent.

  Deena ran a finger along her jaw. "Tully, why would Erika be comin into some big money?"

  "I don't know. Maybe life insurance for her husband's death?"

  "Maybe." I thought bout my own Ben's life insurance. "But that shoulda come before now." On the paper I put a circled question mark near my notes bout the money.

  Tully shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. I peered at her ankles. They was swellin. "We need to get you home where you can get those feet up."

  She nodded.

  Some home. A house where she lived with a man she thought had murdered six women. A shudder rattled my backbone.

  "So what do we do now?" Deena shoved off the couch and started pacin again. "I can hardly sit still, thinkin about Stevie in jail."

  I rubbed my finger across the paper. "You need to go see him. Visitin hours for men is Sunday, two to four."

  "How do you know that?"

  "I visited a few young men there in my day. Somebody needed to cheer em up, try to set em straight."

  Deena scratched to a halt. "I can try again to get him to talk to me. Maybe now he'll be scared enough to do it."

  "That's what I'm hopin. Won't be easy, though. The visitin place there—you got people settin right next to you. Easy to overhear. And he'll probly see an attorney by then who'll tell him not to say a word to nobody."

  Deena sighed. "Sunday seems so far away. He'll have to spend all Saturday there."

  He'd be spendin a lot longer than that till this got straightened out, but I didn't say so. "As for me, I'm gon take some pictures at Mayor B's house when I clean Monday. I got to get proof a that ring in his office. Just hope it's still there."

  Deena paced around. "What then?"

  "Tell you the truth, I don't know. I just know I cain't do nothin or say nothin till I got some proof."

  "And me?" Tully looked so tired and scared.

  "Way I see it, they's nothin you can do but wait." And that would be mighty hard. "See if the police put that green or red construction paper in their window."

  "Cherrie Mae's right," Deena said.

  "But Tully"—I knew she wasn't gon like this—"how bout if you stay with your parents for awhile? You're not safe in your own home."

  "I can't. They didn't want me to marry Michael. I'd be telling my parents they were right."

  Deena made a face. "Looks like they were."

  Tully threw Deena a dark look, then turned back to me. "And they'd want to know what happened. What would I tell them?"

  Deena huffed. "That you need your own space away from Mike, that's all."

  "It's not that simple."

  "Of course it is."

  "Wait now." I held up a palm.

  "You want not simple?" Deena jammed her hands on her hips. "How about livin with a man you think is a murderer? A man who hits you and has now threatened to kill you. Why would you stay with that?"

  Tully's face reddened. "I don't see you turning your back on your brother."

  "I don't live with him."

  "Hush yourselves now!" I stood up, all five feet a me ramrod straight, and gave em both the eye. "Deena, you got to watch what you say. And Tully." My voice went softer. She was such a young thing. "You need to listen. Because you sure ain't safe in your home. You got to think bout that baby."

  Her face screwed up, and she started to cry. "I'm scared to leave him. He'll come after me."

  "He cain't hurt you in your parents' house. He do somethin in front a them, they'll see him for what he is."

  Probly already did. It weren't no secret Judy Starke couldn't stand her daughter bein married to Mike Phillips.

  Deena plopped back down next to Tully and laid a hand on her arm. "Come on now, it'll be okay."

  Tully sniffed. "You don't know what it's like at home. You just don't know."

  Deena and I exchanged a glance. I thought a my Ben and couldn't imagine.

  All the more reason for us to band together and do somethin bout this.

  "Listen now." I put on my best confident air, even though I didn't feel it. "We got to stay in this together. We're a team now, and that means makin a solemn pact. We got to keep in touch, help each other figure out our next moves—and most of all, don't talk to nobody else. We each got a piece a the puzzle. We put em all together, we'll see the whole picture. Thing is, one a us may not like what that picture shows. But we got to go where the evidence leads." I looked Deena in the eye, then Tully. "You willin to do that?"

  "Yes." Deena sounded decisive.

  Tully nodded. "Me too."

  The poor girl still looked like a scared mouse, but I could see a faint hope dawnin.

  "All right then. I'm in too." I lowered myself back in my chair. "First thing, let's get each others' home and cell phone numbers. We're gon have to keep in touch."

  "I just have a cell, no land line," Deena said.

  I wrote down the numbers, one list for each a us. "Here you go."

  Mercy, my bones was tired. "I think we all agree we cain't go to the police yet. We first got to see what they do with Tully's swab. Plus I need those pictures I'll get Monday. You both agree?"

  "Absolutely." Deena wagged her head. "I don't trust the chief or John as far as I could throw em. And the chief's too fat to throw very far."

  That got a tiny smile out a Tully. "Fine with me."

  Deena's leg bounced. "Even with those pictures, Cherrie Mae, you're goin to have a hard time convincin Chief Cotter to suspect the mayor. That evidence just might disappear too."

  "But I'll have the pictures on my camera."

  "Sure. And we can use Trent, if it turns out to be Mayor B. If the media comes down on the Amaryllis police, they won't have such an easy time keepin their secrets. The town will demand to know."

  Yes, but . . . "That would mean we'd have to go public. Think bout that. We'd be paintin one big target on our backs for the killer. And in the meantime if the police don't listen . . ."

  The reality sank in. We stared at each other.

  What had I got myself into?

  I pushed to my feet and held out my arms. They was shaky. "I think we better do a little more talkin to God."

  Deena stood and helped Tully up. The three a us formed a tight circle, holdin hands, and prayed the good Lord to watch over us.

  SATURDAY—SUNDAY

  APRIL 23–24, 2011

  Chapter 21

  Deena

  How do you wait for normal life to start up again?

  Since leavin Cherrie Mae's house Friday night I felt like my feet never quite hit the ground. I just floated, my mind in a haze. All the things Cherrie Mae, Tully, and I discussed swelled and receded in my brain. The more I thought of the different scenarios, the less I knew what was true. I only knew that wherever I went, people crossed the street to avoid
me. Saturday I drifted through my appointments—that is, the few people who showed up. Half of them cancelled for some cockamamie reason. How weird to talk to them on the phone—people I'd known all my life. The conversations were so strained. A week ago, I wouldn't have put up with it. Would have demanded, "Okay, tell me why you're really not comin." Now . . .

  I just plain didn't have the energy.

  Did friends avoid me because they believed Stevie was guilty, or because they knew he wasn't and didn't want to be overheard saying so? I wanted to believe the latter. But more likely most folks thought he did it. Why shouldn't they, after Chief Cotter had run his mouth?

  On Friday night Chief Cotter and John searched Stevie's trailer, this time with a warrant. I didn't even know about it until Saturday mornin, when Hesta Bradley asked me what they'd found. I nearly dropped my curlin iron. I called the police station right away. Chris Dedmon answered. Yes, he said, they'd searched with a warrant. But he wouldn't say if they found anything.

  The not knowin drove me crazy.

  Saturday late afternoon Trent came over. He planned on stayin in Amaryllis long enough to attend Stevie's court date on Monday. Then he'd have to head back to Jackson. Life went on, and there were other crimes to cover.

  He stood on the porch. I almost didn't let him in the door. "Well, there you are." My tone wasn't exactly friendly.

  Trent spread his hands. "Just wanted to see how you're doing."

  "You sure didn't seem to care last night. Soon as Chief Cotter got through you were gunnin to ask him more questions. Didn't have the time of day for me." Not that I cared where Trent was. But he said he loved me. So what came first—his work or me?

  I crossed my arms. "I suppose you've filed your story by now. The one that's gonna be read all over Mississippi, sayin Stevie Ruckland's the Closet Killer."

  "I didn't say that, Deena. I had to report he was arrested."

  "Why?"

  "Because that's my job."

  I glared at him.

  "Look—would you just let me in?"

  No. Yes. No.

  I was bein an idiot. Trent was one of the few people who'd at least talk to me. And the only one who'd bothered to come over.

  I stepped aside.

  We walked into the livin room in silence. He faced me awkwardly. "Deena, I'm really sorry about all this. I can't not cover the case. You have to know that. I need to write the articles as objectively as possible. That doesn't mean I agree with everything Chief Cotter does."

  Somethin cracked inside me. My eyes started to burn. "I know."

  "So . . . can I least sit down?"

  I nodded.

  Trent eased onto my couch, as if afraid I'd change my mind. I stumbled into a tired pacin. I didn't know what else to do.

  He cleared his throat. "Chief Cotter might've jumped the gun, arresting Stevie."

  I stopped in my tracks. "How?"

  "I can't see that they have enough evidence yet. Makes me wonder what the D.A. thinks of the arrest. D.A's are known for holding police back until there's enough evidence to convict. They want all their ducks in a row. Right now Chief Cotter doesn't even know if the bloodstains on that uniform came from Erika. I mean, if by some wild event that proved true, Deena . . ."

  If that proved true, Stevie was toast.

  "Way I look at it, the chief's made a big gamble. He really thinks Stevie's his man, and he wants to get the culprit off the streets. If he waits for DNA evidence to make an arrest—which could take weeks—and another murder occurs in the meantime, the town'll want to skin his hide. So he arrests Stevie, figuring he's got just enough for the judge to deny bond, given all the murders. Then the chief's got a couple months until the grand jury convenes to gather evidence—main thing being the DNA results."

  "A couple months?"

  "Afraid so. They don't meet until July."

  July. It was a lifetime away.

  Sudden knowledge punched me in the gut. That blood on the uniform was Erika's. I was goin to lose my brother. The only family I had left.

  My legs went weak. I stumbled to the couch and fell on it. Next thing I knew I was bawlin on Trent's shoulder. He just patted my arm and let me cry. "I'm so sorry, Deena. I'm so sorry."

  When I got hold of myself, I pulled away. Staggered to my feet to fetch tissues.

  That night I didn't sleep at all. Just stared at my dark ceilin like some zombie. Was Stevie safe? By some miracle, would the judge grant bond on Monday? To think of him stuck in jail until the grand jury met in July! Unless the DNA came back with no match to Erika. But if he was indicted he'd sit in jail months longer until his trial came. Then he'd be convicted. If Chief Cotter could gather evidence to charge him with more than one murder, Stevie would be up for the death penalty.

  Did my brother do this? Had he really killed those women?

  By 5:00 a.m. Sunday I still lay awake, my body rigid with one thought: get Stevie to talk. My visit with him meant everything. If Stevie could just tell me that blood came from someone other than Erika, I'd tell Tully and Cherrie Mae. We could concentrate on Mike and Mayor B. The quicker we managed to prove one of them killed Erika, the quicker I'd bounce Stevie out of jail. I didn't want to wait for Cherrie Mae's photos. Or Tully's swabs. Who knew if Chief Cotter would even pay attention to them?

  I dragged myself in and out of the shower. To the kitchen for three cups of coffee. I could barely eat. My face looked ten years older, dark circles under my eyes. By noon my brain had near shut down again. I slumped on the sofa—and fell asleep.

  A ringin phone startled me awake.

  "Hello?" My voice sounded drugged.

  "Deena, that you?" It was Cherrie Mae.

  I twisted upright, rubbin a crick in my neck. "Yeah. Just fell asleep for a little while."

  The time! My gaze jerked to my watch. One thirty. I had to leave soon to visit Stevie.

  "Just checkin up on you." Cherrie Mae sounded worried. "I know you bout to go."

  "I'm . . . okay. No, I'm not. It doesn't matter what I am. I just have to make my brother tell me the truth. I'm gonna do that, Cherrie Mae. I'm not leavin that jail till he talks to me. When I get back here we'll know more. I'll call you."

  "Hope you right, chil." She sighed. "I do hope you right."

  "Have you talked to Tully?" In all my worry over Stevie, I'd given her little thought. How selfish of me. Couldn't be easy bein around a husband she thought was a killer. And who abused her. "If Mike finds out what she did—I'd hate to think what he'd do to her."

  "Haven't talked to her. And I ain't stopped prayin since she left here. I wanted to call, but what if Mike answered the phone? I'm not sure Tully's got much freedom when he's off work. Wouldn't want to get her in trouble."

  "Yeah. I hear you." I flexed my shoulders. "I need to go, Cherrie Mae. Call you soon as I can."

  "I need to be goin myself. Erika's funeral's at two o'clock."

  The funeral. I'd forgotten all about it. Good thing I had an excuse not to attend. No one would want me there anyway.

  In my bathroom I threw on some makeup. Somewhere between foundation and mascara I managed to convince myself of Stevie's innocence. This was all just a big mistake. I'd get the truth—the whole story—out of Stevie, and put an end to this.

  I would.

  At 1:45 I slid in my car. Ten minutes later I drove past the pretty park in Bay Springs. Past the town's City Hall and toward the courthouse. Tucked behind the courthouse was the jail, a low-lying, bland buildin of faded red brick. I pulled into a parkin space and gazed toward the entrance. Two people sat on benches near the door. A third fed coins into a Coke machine.

  My eyes caught sight of a blue-trimmed sign. "Visitation," it read, with an arrow pointin down the length of the buildin.

  I pushed myself out of the car.
r />   For a moment I stood lookin dumbly at my purse. Would they let me take it in? My brain couldn't seem to make a decision. Just whirred like a machine out of gear.

  I opened the trunk and shoved my purse inside. Locked the car and dropped the keys in the front pocket of my jeans.

  Chin lowered, I shuffled down the sidewalk to the rear entrance for visitors. To my left sat the back of the red-bricked courthouse, where Stevie would be on Monday. I wasn't even sure I'd attend the hearin. Trent had told me Stevie would be handcuffed and shackled. How could I see him like that? Maybe I'd stay home, wait for Trent to call.

  I reached the jail's back entrance. Three other people, two black women and one young white man, waited ahead of me, sittin on mustard-colored chairs with steel legs. They glanced at me, then lowered their eyes. I pulled to a halt and stood awkwardly, arms crossed over my chest like it was a winter day.

  "You waitin to see somebody?" one of the black women asked.

  I nodded.

  "Sign in over there." She pointed to a small rectangular table to the left of the door. A piece of paper and pen lay on it. I stepped to the table and leaned down to view the list.

  Name: Deena Ruckland.

  Inmate: Steven Ruckland.

  Relationship: sister.

  A few minutes later the door opened and a man stepped out. He smiled at us and checked the paper. "Only four today. All right. Y'all can come in. No purses, no cell phones." His gaze swept over us.

  One by one we were checked and admitted inside.

  Behind me the steel door shut with a heavy clang. The air closed in, suckin away my breath. Already the outside world seemed so far away in this place. I could feel the thud of my heart.

  The man led us to a stark, rectangular area with five visitation stations—a lineup of steel stools and gray cubicles with white phones. A shelf you could lean your elbows on. Thick glass separated each visitor from the other side. A piece of wall stood between each cubicle both on the visitor and inmate side. My heart flipped at that. If Stevie and I leaned forward and spoke softly into our phones, no one would hear us.