Dream With Little Angels (21 page)

“She'd have to be
very
well hidden, Phil,” Chief Montgomery said. “Seriously, there's no way. We went through that place from top to bottom. Twice.”

“I already told you,” I said. “Mary Ann Dailey wasn't kept there, so why would Tiffany Michelle be there?”

With an exasperated sigh, Chief Montgomery leveled his gaze at my mother. “Why is your boy here, Leah?”

“Hang on a sec, Ethan.” She turned to me. “Why do you say Mary Ann Dailey wasn't kept at Mr. Garner's ranch?”

“Didn't you listen to what Officer Diamond said?” I asked. “There were
boll weevil
bites on her neck. Since when do boll weevils go anywhere near cattle ranches? They attack cotton fields. Everyone knows that. I can't
believe
none of you do.”

“Watch your tone, young man,” my mother said.

Chief Montgomery scratched the back of his neck. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than before. “Actually, the boy's right, Leah. There are no cotton farms anywhere near Bob Garner's place. The chance of there being boll weevils is pretty much zero.”

A mess of emotions swelled in my chest. I felt as though I were suddenly important. I also suspected I would be getting a firm talking-to the moment we returned to the car. After a few seconds of struggling between the two, I decided it was worth speaking out for.

“So Garner had the girl somewhere else, hidden on the property of one of the outlying farmlands, most likely,” Officer Jackson said. “Then, when the time came, he moved her to where we found her last Saturday.”

“I assume Bob's still not talking?” my mother asked Chief Montgomery.

He shook his head solemnly. “Not about anythin' important, anyway. Just about how disappointed your daddy'd be if he knew what was going on.”

My mother's gaze dropped to the floor.

Chief Montgomery leaned across the desk and reached out his big arm and put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Leah, he's playin' the only card he has left. Don't let it get to you. Problem is though, without a confession, we're stuck runnin' with whatever clues we can dig up. Which, as of now, means we gotta start lookin' for Tiffany Michelle Yates on some piece of farmland in or around Alvin.”

“And if we don't find her then?” my mother asked.

“We make a decision at that point about what to do next. We may have to widen our search to neighboring towns, I dunno. Hopefully, it won't come to that. Hopefully, new evidence will show up just by searching our own town.”

My mother looked over to Officer Jackson. “Alvin has like, what? Eight thousand or so acres of surrounding farmland?”

“Actually,” he replied, frowning, “it's closer to twelve.”

“Great,” she said, sarcastically. “Thanks, Chris, you just made me feel a lot better. Anyway, I gotta get these boys home.” She looked over at Dewey, just about to place cup number five on top of the water cooler. “You better drink all them, or I'm gonna make you ride in the trunk.”

Dewey's eyes grew wide. I think he feared my mother because, next thing I knew, he had quickly downed every single cup.

My mother smiled at me. “Now we really have to get him home before he has to go to the bathroom.”

M
om drove Dewey straight to our house after our stop at the police station. It was a good thing too, because by the time we got there, Dewey had already started wriggling around in the backseat. My mother noticed in the rearview mirror. “Dewey, you want me to drive you straight home instead of making you ride your bike?”

“No, ma'am,” he said, “I'm fine.”

“Dewey, you look ready to pee your pants any minute,” she said.

“Think of waterfalls,” I whispered to him.

“Shut up,” he whispered back.

“Well, then,” my mother said, “how 'bout coming in and using our toilet before headin' home. Will you at least do that?”

He considered it a minute. I couldn't figure out why he was so opposed to admitting he had to go. I know if I had just downed five full cups of water, I wouldn't hesitate to take up an offer like that. Most likely, I'd have already made my mother pull over so I could go in the woods. Finally, after more wriggling, Dewey conceded. “Okay, ma'am. I will do just that. And I appreciate the offer very much.”

“It's not a problem, Dewey,” she said. By the way she said it, I could tell she wanted to once again add something to the effect of
you really are a strange boy,
but she didn't.

“I'll get your boys' bikes out of the trunk. You go ahead and go inside and”—she looked at Dewey nearly bending over now that he was standing outside the car—“and do your business.”

I ain't never seen Dewey run as fast as he did then. He barely said thanks as he tore up the front steps, flung open our door, and raced down the hallway. I came in shortly afterward to find Uncle Henry standing there questioningly. “What's going on with Dewey?” he asked.

“It's a long story,” I said.

Uncle Henry nodded knowingly. I think he was growing accustomed to my and Dewey's stories always being long and sometimes unusual. Outside, I heard my mother's trunk slam shut and, a few minutes later, she came in and took off her boots. “Is he still in there?” she asked.

“Yup,” I said.

“What's going on?” Uncle Henry asked her.

“It's a long story,” my mother said.

“Yeah, that's the part I've heard so far,” he replied.

“Trust me,” my mother said, “it's really enough. The rest ain't so interestin'. What is interestin' though, is that the initial forensic reports on Mary Ann Dailey came back this morning.”

“Oh, is that what took you so long?” Uncle Henry asked.

“Yeah, we had to make a pit stop at the station,” my mother said.

Just then Dewey came out of the washroom with a look of utter relief and contentment smattered across his face.

“Better?” my mother asked.

Dewey nodded.

“Your mama's been callin' for you ever since Leah left to pick you boys up,” Uncle Henry told him. “She's called three times so far. I think you better be gettin' home.”

Dewey's eyes widened. “Did she sound mad?”

Uncle Henry shrugged. “I don't rightly know, but three calls in an hour and a half would generally indicate to me she isn't exactly happy.”

Dewey looked at me. “I think I'm in for it.”

“Then get goin',” my mother said. “Your bike's just outside in the driveway.”

In his marathon run to the washroom, Dewey hadn't even bothered taking his shoes off or nothing. “Okay,” he said. “Bye, Abe. Bye, Miss Teal. Bye, Uncle Henry.”

We all said bye as he ran out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

“I think he's in for it,” I said to my mom after a few seconds.

“Oh, he'll be fine. I bet his mom's not even sure she knows exactly what to be mad 'bout. Most likely, she's really only mad cuz I was, and that makes her think that bein' mad's the right thing to do.”

“I don't understand.”

Shaking her head, my mother said, “To be honest, Abe, I don't, either. But you know? At least Dewey was honest. I have to give him that. And he was willin' to back it up and admit it when I called him on it.”

“Mom,” I said, “you called him stupid.”

She let out a deep breath. “Yeah,” she said, “I probably shouldn'ta done that. Dewey is Dewey. He's got a good heart. He'll get along fine in life. Everybody's different, and sometimes even I forget that. Different doesn't matter. This is the thing you need to learn about what color people are and where they come from, Abe. What matters is how good your heart is. There's never,
ever
nothin' wrong with being too honest, so please forget what I said to him earlier. I'll make a point of tellin' Dewey the same thing next time I see him.”

I didn't reply, but something about what she just said struck a chord somewhere inside of me.

Then the smell hit. I hadn't noticed it until now, but Uncle Henry had the coffee on and I was willing to bet the smell of crackling bacon would soon be following. “You makin' eggs?” I asked him.

Uncle Henry smiled. “Figured if I waited long enough, you'd show up hungry.”

“Where's Caroline?” my mother asked.

“Where do you think?” Uncle Henry asked back. “It's not even ten. She's still sound asleep.” We followed him into the kitchen, where he started pulling out pans and took the eggs and bacon from the refrigerator. My mother opened the bread box and pulled out a loaf of white bread, setting it beside the toaster.

I turned one of the kitchen chairs around so it faced toward them instead of the table. Our kitchen chairs were white with small yellow daisies, much too light for the dark brown table they surrounded, my mother always said. For as long as I could remember, she wanted to replace that table. She had an ongoing dream to replace nearly all the furniture in our house one day. I took a seat. “Mom, can I talk to you about Mr. Robert Lee Garner?” I asked.

She sighed. “What?”

“Well, I have some questions,” I said.

“Actually, I'd like to hear how some of this morning went, too,” Uncle Henry said as the first strips of bacon hit the pan with a loud pop. Almost instantly the two smells, coffee and bacon, intertwined and, along with the bright morning light beaming in through the small window over the sink, it suddenly felt exactly the way a Saturday was
supposed
to.

“Oh, Hank, don't
you
start,” my mother said.

“Leah, there ain't no big secrets no more,” Uncle Henry said. “Least none that I can tell. You've started lettin' other people into this whole mess, and that's a good thing. Surely even you must've noticed the changes in yourself. I know me and the little soldier here sure have.”

That caught me by surprise, but as soon as he said it, I realized Uncle Henry was right. My mother had been gettin' less anxious lately, even though by all indications, the case was worse off than ever. I hadn't noticed though, so I doubted if maybe my mother had, either.

“You don't feel like part of the burden's been lifted from your back?” he asked her.

Placing both palms on the countertop, she looked down and thought a minute. “I don't know what I feel, Hank. I think maybe I'm just exhausted. Maybe I'm starting to wear out. Maybe I'm starting to just not care anymore.”

Uncle Henry came over and turned her around. “No, honey, that ain't it at all. You're just too close to it all to see it. You're going through a transition and I really can't wait to see what comes out the other end. I think it's gonna be a thing of beauty. Anyway, tell me about the forensics report.”

“No big surprises. Lots of evidence backing up what we already know. Everything still points to Bob Garner. We just need to sort out the details of exactly how he did it, and hope we do it fast enough to save Tiffany Michelle Yates, if she's still in need of savin'.” She cast me a look, as though she wished she hadn't said that last part, and part of me wished she hadn't, either. It was funny how Mary Ann Dailey and Tiffany Michelle were different in my head. I think it was because me and Dewey were the last people to see Tiffany Michelle, and I couldn't stop picturing how pretty she looked in that dress with that ribbon in her hair and how happy she was to have that big pink ice cream cone. Like I said before, I had been thinking a lot about how maybe we could have saved her, or maybe it could have been us instead of her. Mary Ann Dailey wasn't like that at all. When Officer Jackson showed me her lying in the dirt beneath that tree, that had been the first time I had seen her in near on two years.

Uncle Henry frowned. “I still don't believe he did it.”

“Well, believe it, Hank. Evidence doesn't lie.”

“You can say that, Leah,” he said, looking her square in the face, “but it still won't change my mind. I
know
the man. He knew your pa. He didn't do it.”

Tears came to my mother's eyes. “Hank, stop it! What do you want from me? It's not even
me
saying he did. It's these experts they got from Mobile. They got computers and all sorts of tests they run. They
know
he's guilty.”

“And
I
know he's not. And I don't even need a computer or tests. Anyway, my bacon's about to burn.”

“Mom?” I asked.

“What?” she asked back, distractedly.

“Can I ask you a few things about Mr. Garner?”

She heaved a big sigh. “Okay, Abe. Let me just grab a cup of coffee and we'll go sit in the living room, all right?” I watched her pour a mug and then she did something she never had before. She turned to me and asked, “Would you like one, too?”

I hesitated, unsure of what she meant. “Coffee?”

“Yeah. I think you're old enough for the odd cup.”

Even Uncle Henry paused at the stove where he was putting the fried strips of bacon on a piece of white bread to sop up the extra grease and looked back to see my reaction.

“Okay,” I said after a bit of thought.

She poured me my own mug and put in two spoons of sugar and a splash of cream. After she handed it to me, I carefully followed her to the living room, trying not to spill while also attempting to carry the mug by only its handle, because the edge of the cup was too hot to touch.

We both sat on the sofa and set our mugs on the coffee table in front of us. Uncle Henry's blankets were neatly folded with his pillow on top at one end. I sat at the other. The drapes were now pulled open and the day shone brightly through the window, filling the room with light. I could hear Uncle Henry starting a new pan of bacon in the kitchen. The eggs would soon be following.

“Do you know why I brought you to the station with me today?” she asked.

I had just figured it was because we were already out and it was convenient, but obviously there was another reason so I said, “I guess not.”

“Because I decided a while back that I can't shield you from the world anymore, Abe. I know you're only eleven, but Mary Ann Dailey was only fourteen and look what happened to her. Maybe if she had been better prepared for the way the world really was, things might not have turned out the way they did. That's why I finally agreed to let you come to Bob Garner's ranch and see her body when you asked to. Not because you were a witness, although that does help a bit, but mainly because you seemed to want to come so badly, and I couldn't figure out why. Do you know why?”

I thought about this a long while, watching the steam rise from my red mug still on the table in front of me. My mother sat beside me sipping from hers. “I actually
don't
know,” I said finally. “But something inside me really did want to come. I felt almost like I
had
to come. It still doesn't make any sense to me.”

From the kitchen, pots clanged as the bacon sizzled.

“If I had to guess,” my mother said, “I'd say your subconscious knows you're growin' up and is tryin' its best to do so with whatever tools it has available. Now, you're in a special situation on account of having a police officer for a mother. I'm sure, despite all my efforts to be careful about not doing it, you've heard many things throughout your childhood most children don't even have a clue about until they're in their midteens. You probably didn't always understand it all, but it got stored away inside your head, and as you got older, the pieces slowly came together one way or another. I think because of that, you have a much different view of the world than most kids your age. I'm not sure that's a good thing or not. In fact, it's most likely not, but it would be stupid of me to just pretend it wasn't true, because avoiding issues is nearly always a bad thing to do. At least by my experience.”

“You mean like the way you don't like talkin' 'bout Grandma and Grandpa?” I asked. “Or my father?”

My mother winced at this. I saw her hand reach for the Virgin Mother dangling from the silver chain around her neck the way she always did when she thought about Grandma and Grandpa, only this time she caught herself and set her hand back in her lap. Her other hand put her mug back on the table. “See?” she replied. “You've just turned my own argument against me in a way I cannot possibly defend. That is not something an average eleven-year-old boy would ever think of doin', or even have the ability to. Take Dewey, for example.”

“I don't think Dewey's average,” I said.

“Oh, you'd be surprised,” she said. “But Dewey don't think like you. And I'm willing to bet there are parts of what you saw that day out at Holly Berry Ranch regarding Mary Ann Dailey that you purposely didn't tell him. Am I correct?”