Bone Dust White (24 page)

“I brought you a cake just like I promised.” He lifts up the box so Grace can see it.

Grace leans in, admiring the pink ribbon wrapped around the outside. “I’m not sure you should have bothered.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

Grace shuffles backward a few feet and does a twirl. Her red coat spins outward like a cone.

“Hey, Grace, you okay?”

She stops mid-twirl and tilts her head. “Better now, thank you.”

“Your aunt home?” He turns to the apartment building. Before he hadn’t worried about being alone with her, but now he’s not so sure.

Grace rests against the door, coy again. “Yeah, she’s home.” She watches him for a few seconds. “You want to come in?”

“Only if you’re sure it’s okay.”

“Come on.” She giggles, pulling him by the arm through his truck window. “I want some cake.”

Jared hands Grace the box and gets out of the truck. A car horn sounds and he sees Ted Bishop turning into the parking lot. He waves and follows Grace inside the apartment.

Grace’s aunt is noticeably absent. Grace bustles about the kitchen and waves a hand toward a dark hallway when he asks. Her aunt is taking a nap. Jared unpacks the cake from the box and it sits large and pink on the kitchen table between them. It’s too grand for the small apartment.

Grace’s eyes light up. “It’s beautiful. I don’t have any candles though.”

Jared reaches in his jacket pocket. “I thought of that.”

In two quick strides she pulls him close into a hug and thanks him, then turns away and he knows she’s crying. Keeping her gaze downward, she moves about the kitchen. She’s wearing an old-fashioned navy dress with a high, slim waist. She’s wound her hair up in braids and pinned it loosely so stray strands fall about her face. Leaning over a drawer she resurfaces with a large carving knife and a strange expression. Then she laughs and her whole personality shifts again.

“Kind of a big knife for cutting a cake.”

“The others are in the dishwasher. I’m going to wake my aunt. I know she’ll want some.” She disappears down the hallway, leaving Jared alone.

There’s a knock at the door and Jared calls out, asking Grace if he should answer it. Receiving no reply, he steps forward and opens the door.

Pamela Larson’s voice is clipped tighter than a box hedge. “What in hell are you doing here?”

“Jesus Christ, keep your voice down.”

Pamela looks beyond him, catching sight of the birthday cake. “Don’t tell me you bought Grace Adams a birthday cake?”

“That’s none of your business. What do you want?”

She holds up a check. “I want to see Elizabeth.”

“She’s sleeping.” Jared looks at her properly for the first time. He can tell she’s been crying. She’s pulled her hair back in a haphazard knot and kohl is smudged above and below each eye. “What’s your problem anyway?”

“My daughter just tried to kill herself and you’re asking what my problem is? Seriously, Jared, you’ve got the emotional IQ of a doormat.”

His voice softens. Picking a fight with Pamela won’t get him any closer to seeing Hayley. “How is she?”

“Not great. She thinks you never want to see her again.” She looks back toward her parked car. It’s a big Cadillac and steam from the exhaust is billowing up behind it. A young man sits behind the wheel, waiting. “We heard about what happened out at Brady Monroe’s place. It must have been awful. I can’t imagine how Brady could have fallen so far.”

“You knew him?”

“Jared, this is Collier. Everyone knows everyone.” Pamela twirls her wedding ring. It’s loose on her finger. “How well acquainted are you with Grace Adams, anyway?”

“Don’t tell me you came here to gossip.”

She holds up the check again. “No, I came here for Elizabeth. She’s set up a fund for the Monroe children. I thought I should do my part.”

Jared regards her with hooded eyes. “That’s generous of you.”

The young man waiting behind the wheel honks the horn and Pamela waves before turning toward Jared. “What should I say to Hayley?”

“Tell her not to worry. Tell her I want to see her.”

She steps off the porch. “I’ll let her know.”

Jared turns away from the closed door and finds Grace standing in front of him with a worried look on her face. She speaks so softly Jared has difficulty hearing her.

“Who was that? I thought I heard voices.”

“Pamela Larson.”

She takes a quick glance out the window. “What did she want?”

Jared places the check on the counter. “She wanted to drop off a check for your aunt. Something about a fund your aunt has set up for Brady Monroe’s children.”

“It’s just like her to organize something like this when she should be resting.” Grace sinks into the nearest chair and holds a cushion to her face.

Jared looks past her toward her aunt’s bedroom. “Is she joining us?”

“She says she’ll be out soon but we shouldn’t wait for her.” Grace puts the pillow down and looks up at the ceiling. “She won’t tell me anything, but I know she’s not been well.”

Jared takes Grace’s hands and notices how cold her fingers are. He gestures toward the table. “It’s your birthday and that’s one hell of a big cake. I can’t eat it all on my own.” He pulls her up by the hand and guides her along, planting her in front of the birthday cake while he lights the candles.

Before dipping her head to blow them out, her eyes briefly meet his. “I never expected to live this long.”

They sit on the sofa eating softball-sized slices. Grace insisted, saying that it wasn’t as if there’d be other guests. Jared looks around the apartment properly for the first time. The shag pile rug is the color of spawning salmon and every wall surface is covered in wood paneling.

“Whose place is this, anyway?”

“Some woman who went to my aunt’s church used to live here. It’s pretty awful but it beats going home.”

“Do you think you’ll ever live up on Summit Road again?”

“My aunt wants to, but I don’t.”

“What will you do?”

“I’m not sure. I get scared if I think too much about it. I feel so cooped up in here all day.”

“If you like, maybe I can take you somewhere.”

Grace tilts her head toward the patrol car outside. “Macy would never allow it.”

“I’ll talk to her. I don’t see why you can’t have a few hours of freedom.” Jared reaches for his coat. Even though he’s tired he’s meeting Lexxie for dinner. They need to talk. “I’m sorry. I better get going.”

She puts a hand on Jared’s arm. “I know what it’s like to see someone die like that.”

Jared holds his car keys in his hands and waits for his nerves to settle.

“It’s the worst thing you can possibly see and everyone around you expects you to get over it like that.” She snaps her fingers together and turns away. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.”

Grace walks into the kitchen and quietly places the plates in the sink before leaning on the counter and pressing her palms to her eyes. She stays like that while Jared lingers near the door. He can’t reassure her. He feels exactly the same way.

“Grace,” he says, reaching for the door handle. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“You’ll talk to Macy?”

“And you think about where you want to go.”

18

Macy sits behind the wheel of her patrol car and concentrates on the little hatchback in front of her. Its hazard lights have been blinking at her for most of the trip. Twice Jared has had to pull over and coax the hatchback’s engine back to life. It’s taken almost an hour to travel twenty miles, but they are finally nearing the Canadian border. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Originally, Jared was going to ride with her, but when he found out how much the state was going to charge Sofia Jankowski to have her car delivered he insisted on driving it himself.

It took a while but the Canadian authorities tracked down the car owner and his girlfriend. Tommy Moss was serving time in prison while his girlfriend Sofia was living in her own purgatory. With Tommy in jail, she’d settled in Finley and was raising their two children on little more than a monthly check from the province and a prayer. According to officers sent to interview her, Sofia had been renting a room to Leanne Adams for the past two years. Further checking revealed that Sofia Jankowski, now a citizen of Canada, had first entered the country eleven years earlier when she was only sixteen years old. Macy is hoping her age and the timing of her arrival aren’t a coincidence.

Macy changes the radio station, skipping through what’s on offer until she finds some news. Since the story broke, the media has concentrated all its attention on three little girls. Two of the girls are alive and one is dead. The dead girl is named Molly Parks and her photo is everywhere. Now that there’s been a connection made with Leanne’s murder, the newspapers and television news run a constant stream of news about Molly Parks. It’s only a matter of time before someone makes the connection to Grace.

The talk radio programs have had people calling in from all over the state. They’ve formed groups on the Internet and have threatened to travel to Collier to hold protests in the Town Square. At the last estimate there were only a few of them standing out in the freezing cold, holding placards and shouting their demands every time a microphone is shoved in their faces. The more popular response has been to buy more guns and lock up their children.

One radio talk show comes on after another and it’s all the same.
If the law can’t deal with this we will,
says one caller.
If we leave it to the courts he’ll just get off on some technicality,
says another. A mother cries into her telephone,
We’ve got a right to protect our babies
.

Macy leans forward and shuts off the radio before picking up the phone and dialing her mother’s number. “Hi, Mom,” she says, slowing her patrol car further when the hatchback threatens to stall again.

“Hi, sweetheart. You sound tired. Is everything okay?”

“Stop worrying, everything’s fine. I just needed to hear your voice. How did the shopping trip go?”

Her mother lists all the stores she visited with her friends to buy everything Macy could ever need for a baby.

“You bought a high chair already? I won’t need that for months.”

“You’re lucky we stopped at the high chair.”

Macy spots a sign indicating that the exit for Finley is five miles farther on. “Listen, Mom, I’ve got to go, but I’m coming down next week so we’ll have plenty of time to catch up.”

“I know I say this every time we talk but I want you to be careful.”

“Don’t worry, the most dangerous thing I’ve done all week is eat fried chicken.”

“Please don’t joke about this. I’m serious.”

“And so am I. I’m fine, Mom. I promise.”

Boasting a population of 171, a faded sign welcomes Jared and Macy to the
BEAUTIFUL TOWN OF FINLEY,
but Macy’s first impressions fail to inspire anything other than despair. Finley is nothing more than a scar scraped across a high, barren plain. Farther along the road a vandal has summed it up nicely by removing letters from a request to
Please Drive Slowly
. It now reads
Please D i e Slowly
.

The diner where she and Jared stop for coffee has the best view, and that is of the on-ramp for the highway. The coffee tastes as if it has spent the past week cooling and reheating. Macy swirls it around in her mug but try as she might she can’t bring herself to have a second sip. The waitress returns and Macy asks for some hot water and a tea bag.

She asks Jared how he’s holding up and he closes his eyes. “Yeah, I suppose I’m functioning.” He gives her a lopsided grin. “I know Finley is no garden spot but this is a nice excuse to get out of Collier.”

“Have you spoken to anyone about what happened?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“It can help, given enough time.”

“That’s what everyone is saying.”

“Have you talked to Lexxie?”

He shows her his phone. “Lexxie has been calling me ten times a day.”

“She knows she’s losing you.”

“Well, she’s not making things any better for herself.”

“We both know this doesn’t have anything to do with Lexxie. The woman you want to speak to most is Hayley, and until you’re free to be with her you’re going to be a miserable fuck.”

Jared watches her over his cup of coffee. “It sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

“I’m speaking as your friend. Hard as it is, you need to move on.”

“Speaking of which, we should get going. What time did you say this woman was expecting us?”

*   *   *

Sofia Jankowski’s home is one of a handful spread out on a grid of scrubby windswept lots. She stands at the front door and watches as Jared and Macy pull up in their cars. Across the street, stray dogs gather in a children’s playground and root around in the churned-over snow. As soon as Macy and Jared step out onto the sidewalk, they start barking.

“They run in packs,” Sofia says with a strong Polish accent. “My kids, they don’t play outside anymore.”

There is a toddler on her hip, and an older son stands protectively by her side. Although they are not thin, they look hungry and their lives bear the same used-up quality as the hand-me-downs they wear. Sofia’s tired eyes follow Macy and Jared everywhere. She says she works as a hairdresser, commuting to White Sulfur Springs a few days a week, but Macy knows she is not much more than a shampoo girl. She also knows her boyfriend, Tommy Moss, isn’t up for parole for another year. She wants to ask Sofia how she manages on her own but she already knows the answer. Sofia isn’t managing.

While the kids watch television, Sofia and Macy sit at the cramped kitchen table. Instead of pulling out a chair, Jared paces what little linoleum there is, his eyes darting around, catching sight of everything that will never be fixed: a broken curtain rail, a ceiling lamp’s juryrigged wiring, and the refrigerator door secured with duct tape. He steps out, saying he needs to buy cigarettes at the store, but Macy knows this is a lie. A few miles north of the border he stopped at a discount outlet. There are boxes of contraband cigarettes stacked up in the back end of the patrol car like Christmas gifts.