Grave Sight (15 page)

I looked at Dell's picture, then back at Teenie's. Then again. They shared something, these two. I checked the years the pictures had been taken. Teenie's had been taken earlier in the fall, so had Dell's. Too early for Teenie to think she might be pregnant. What secret was it they shared? I wanted to print out the articles and take them with me. Then I realized I was getting too caught up in the lives of these two teenagers who were dead and buried.

While I was getting so much good stuff, I searched the computer for any stories or pictures including Mary Nell Teague. Mary Nell was in lots of pictures; she was a cheerleader (no surprise there), she was her class president, she'd been on the homecoming court. I even took a second to look at a picture of Dick Teague, the deceased husband of Sybil. He was a medium man; medium stature, medium brown hair, light complexion, narrow shoulders, and a tentative smile, at least in the newspaper pictures. He had a definite overbite, a generous nose, and he'd died of a sudden heart attack in his home.

Nonetheless, it was sad to hear that such an abrupt end had come to a man who'd done a lot for the community, at least according to his obituary. Dick Teague had been a county judge. He'd been in the Lion's Club and the Rotary. He'd been a member of the Chamber of Commerce, and he'd been on the Board of the Boys and Girls Club. He'd even been a local leader for Habitat for Humanity. I wondered if Sybil was upholding his banner in the civic department. Somehow I doubted it.

Speaking of Sybil . . . I glanced at my watch.

“We need to go,” I murmured to Tolliver, who was smiling at Dinah, maybe dazzled by the gleam off her many polished surfaces. “Could we print out these articles?” I asked, trying to be charming.

“Sure, for twenty-five cents a page,” she said. Guess I wasn't charming enough. “We don't mind doing it, but we have to pay for the ink cartridges, of course.” I could understand that, and I tried to maintain a pleasant expression as the printer slowly spit out the pages I'd designated.

Dinah Trout urged us to come back any time, which I didn't think was likely. She was wearing a wedding ring, so I knew Tolliver wouldn't ask her out, even if she sent a clear signal she would be willing.

Seeing we were slipping from her grasp, Dinah thought of a few more questions to ask us, and we dodged them more or less politely. “The Ozarks breed women of strong character,” I told Tolliver. He nodded a little grimly.

The most unremarkable woman I'd talked to all day was Sybil Teague, and she was no slouch in the grooming and looks department. She was wearing a skirt and sweater set in red and white, and she looked really good. I wondered if she was the kind of mother who scoured her deceased child's room, or if she was the kind of mother who kept that room intact as a shrine. I would have put money on her being a scourer, but I was wrong. When I slipped into Dell's room after lunch, excusing myself to use the bathroom, I found it was probably neater and cleaner than a teenage boy would leave it. But the dead boy's clothes were hanging in the closet, and though he didn't have a bulletin board of pathetic souvenirs as Teenie had, a framed picture of the girl
sat on his computer desk. I thought the better of Sybil that she had left it there.

It had taken some maneuvering to get a look at the house, but fortunately Sybil was egotistical enough to take my gap-mouthed admiration at face value. Tolliver and I got a tour the minute I showed interest; no “it's not in its best shape” protestations from Sybil, no “please excuse the mess.” The house was in perfect order, and probably always was. Even Mary Nell's room was spick and span—no clothes tossed on the floor, no unmade bed. The bathroom was scrubbed and there were clean towels out. If Mary Nell married a local boy, he'd have a hard act to follow.

There was a maid, of course, whom I had to credit with all this cleanliness and order. She was a gaunt older woman in a snagged knit shirt and baggy stretch pants. Sybil didn't introduce her, but the woman gave us an openly curious look as we strolled through the kitchen. Through glimpses of the backyard I caught at various windows, I spotted a man raking and burning the fallen leaves. I couldn't discern his features—that was how far it was to the back fence. This was a mansion, or as close to a mansion as Sarne could offer.

I wondered again how Sybil must have felt when Dell had picked a girl from the bottom stratum of local society. Having seen her house, I knew her talk of having accepted Teenie as a potential daughter-in-law was pure bullshit. I wondered how far she would go to prevent Dell from being trapped in that relationship by fathering a child on the girl; because I was pretty sure that was how Sybil would see it. Whatever part she'd played in the death of Teenie Hopkins, Sybil had surely loved her son Dell.

Mary Nell came home while we were sitting at the dining table. She dashed in, calling, “Mom? Mom? Look at my skirt!” Mary Nell turned red when she saw us in her home. I didn't know if that was because she was upset at seeing Tolliver, or because she was appalled at facing me after what her admirer had done to get me to leave town. Maybe both.

“Mary Nell, what are you doing home?” Sybil asked, obviously surprised.

“Stupid Heather spilled her stupid drink on my skirt,” Mary Nell said, after a second's pause. She held her leg out to show the splotch on her denim skirt. “I asked Mrs. Markham if I could sign out for thirty minutes and run home to change.”

“Mrs. Markham is the cheerleader sponsor,” Sybil explained to us, as though we cared. “Well, go change, honey,” she said to Nell. She might as well have said “Shoo!” and flapped her hands. Nell darted away, her cheeks flushed. In five minutes she was back, dressed in a dark blue long-sleeved T-shirt and a khaki skirt. I was willing to bet her previous outfit was on the floor of her room. “I'm gone, Mom!” she called as she went down the hall to the kitchen. The kitchen had a door leading into the garage, and I was sure that Nell had her own car. Sure enough, within a minute I saw a Dodge Dart zipping down the graveled driveway.

“She's so active in her school,” Sybil said.

“And what year is she?” I asked politely.

“Oh, I'll have her for one more year,” Sybil said. “Then it'll just be me rattling around in this big empty house.”

“You might remarry,” I said, in a completely neutral voice.

Sybil looked startled, maybe at my offering a suggestion
about a subject that was clearly none of my business. “Well, I suppose that's possible,” she said stiffly. “I hadn't thought about it.”

I didn't believe that for a minute. From the way the maid cut her eyes toward Sybil (she was carrying out the used plates), she didn't, either. We'd had iced tea with our salad and our chicken divan served over rice, but I'd only had one refill. I wanted to get into Nell's room, but I could hardly say I had to use the bathroom again. That would just be too suspicious. There was no way I could tell Tolliver what I needed, and he was not very good at sneaking, anyway.

A picture presided over the dining room, and I assumed the portrait was of Sybil's dead husband. I was seated opposite it, so I had forty-five minutes to stare at the painted features and look for their traces in the pictures of Dell and Mary Nell that were hanging on either side.

“Your husband?” I offered, nodding toward the picture. I thought it had been painted from a snapshot, but it was interesting. The eyes looked alive, and the tension of the seated body suggested that Teague was going to leap up at any moment.

She turned her head to look at the picture, as if she'd forgotten it was there. “He was a good man,” she said softly. “He was just nuts about the kids, of course. He'd had pneumonia, one of those strains that's resistant to antibiotics, so he'd been in the hospital in Little Rock. He'd had a little heart trouble, but the doctors kept telling us it wasn't much, not to worry. They were going to do more about it when he got over the pneumonia, you see. But one afternoon, while he was recuperating, he was in his study with all the medical records from the past year. He wasn't
satisfied with our insurance, or he thought that they should have paid more on his doctor bill, or something. I don't even remember now. But it had been a big year medically, you have those sometimes, I guess. Mary Nell had had a tonsillectomy, and Dell was the passenger in a car that had a little accident. The driver had a broken leg, and Dell had a little knock on the head and some stitches. Bloody, but really after it was cleaned up, he wasn't hurt too badly. And I'd had high cholesterol. So Dick had this pile of papers he was going through, and sometime in the afternoon he just . . . passed. When I went in to get him for supper, he had his head on the desk.”

“I'm so sorry,” I said. Sybil had had a lot to bear in her life, and I had to respect that, no matter how cold I found her.

“I'm curious, Sybil,” my brother said, sounding as if going from one subject to another was simply logical. Sybil blinked and refocused on Tolliver. “Why didn't you ask Harper to come to Sarne earlier?”

“I'm sorry?” Sybil's attractive face was blank.

“Why didn't you ask Harper right after Teenie went missing?”

“I . . . well, I . . . of course, at first I was shocked by my son's death, and I just couldn't think about Teenie. Frankly, I just . . . didn't care, in the face of my own loss.” Sybil gave us a noble face, telling us she was ashamed of that, but so what?

“Of course,” I said. “Of course.” This was just noise, to get her to continue.

“But when I heard all the rumors that were going around town, about how there was only justice for the rich, and why wasn't anyone looking for Teenie, and people seemed so sure
that Dell had done something terrible to her . . . I was talking to Terry at Sunday lunch at the country club, and he told me what he'd heard about you. Paul was dead set against it, but I just couldn't leave a stone unturned. There had to be something I could do besides get out there and search the woods myself. You know, they should have brought in tracking dogs right away. But no one knew Teenie was out there with Dell. When he got found, it was assumed he was a suicide. By the time Helen realized Teenie was missing, too, it was late at night. It rained real heavy. When they resumed the search the next day, the scent was gone, I guess. I don't remember any of that, at all. I was far from worrying about Teenie.”

“No cadaver dogs?” I asked.

“They're different from trackers, right? No, I guess not. After Helen thought about it, she said she was sure Teenie would turn up somewhere alive, and bringing in the cadaver dogs would be like saying she was dead. I thought for sure she'd back down on that one, but she said everyone was telling her it was not the right thing to do.” Sybil shook her head. “Terry thought it would give the town a bad name, too, but the hell with that. If a young one's missing, you got to look for 'em. Maybe if Jay had been around . . . Oh, he wants you to come by the house, by the way. He called here this morning to find out more about you. Anyway, Jay and Helen's relationship wasn't all bad. Helen was more of a woman after she lay off the alcohol, you understand, but she had more backbone altogether when she was with Jay. She'd just listen to this one and that one and end up all confused after she separated from Jay.”

That was totally not the impression I'd gotten of Helen
Hopkins. It sounded as though Sybil and Helen hadn't communicated face to face at all.

As if she'd heard my inner comment, Sybil said, “She never wanted to sit down and talk to me, so we could work out what to do. I'd call and get someone else. I'd send a message, and she wouldn't respond.” Sybil shook her head. “And now it's too late,” she said dramatically, able to be insincere now that she was no longer talking about the tragedy of her son. “Poor Helen. But at least she was spared the burial of her daughter. Harvey will catch the one who did it. The son of a bitch'll try to sell something he stole from Helen, or he'll get drunk in a bar and tell some buddy of his. Harvey says that's the way it works.”

Sybil Teague herself would never know how things worked, I thought. In some way I had yet to define, she was so far from the truth she wouldn't know it if it bit her in the ass.

“WHY
aren't you one of those computer hackers?” I asked Tolliver. “Then I could tell you all this, and you'd have some brilliant idea, and you'd hack into the law enforcement system, or the Teagues' home computer, and find out some critical information, and I'd put it to brilliant use.”

“You need to stop reading mysteries for a while,” Tolliver said, braking gently for one of the town's numerous four-way stops. “Or get a new sidekick.”

“Sidekick?”

“Yeah, if you're the brilliant sleuth, I must be the slightly denser but brilliant-in-my-own-useful-way sidekick, right?”

“Yes, Watson.”

“More like Sharona,” he muttered.

“That'd make me Monk?”

“If the shoe fits.”

Actually, that hurt a little bit, the way a joke does when it's just a tad too close to the truth.

“Of course, you're a lot cuter,” he said in a judicious voice, and I felt better. A little.

“Listen, did that sound like Helen Hopkins to you, all those things Sybil said?”

“No,” he said promptly. “By the way, where are we going?”

“To Helen Hopkins' house. Jay Hopkins wants to meet with us.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, it sounded like neither of them really wanted to make the effort to talk to each other, despite the fact that one was the mother of a dead teenager, and the other was the mom of a missing teenager. And those two kids loved each other. But it must have drenched them with a bucket of ice water, finding out Teenie was pregnant.”

“Yeah. And evidently, she hadn't told her mom. And Dell hadn't told Sybil, that's for sure. But he had told his little sister. Don't you think that's strange?”

“No. I'd tell you anything before I'd tell my dad or your mother.”

I felt warmer immediately. “But those were our circumstances. These two were brought up normal.”

“Normal? Helen was an alcoholic, and she divorced her husband because he drank and beat her. Sybil Teague is one of the coldest women I ever met, and if she didn't marry that poor guy to get his money . . . well, it seems to me that what she loves is one, her son Dell, two, herself, and running a long third, Mary Nell.”

“Okay,” I said. “Okay.” Sometimes Tolliver astonished me, and this was one of those times.

We drove around town, taking in the limited sights and sounds of Sarne. With the weekend over, the town had returned to its own preoccupation with battening down for the winter. The banners were being taken down from the ornamental streetlights. No one was wearing a cute costume. Aunt Sally's had a “Closed for the Winter” sign in the window. The horses and carriages were gone from the square.

Our cell phone rang as we made our way once again to the little house on Freedom Street. I answered it since Tolliver was driving.

“Hello,” I said, and a remote voice asked, “Harper?”

“Yes?”

“It's Iona. Tolliver's aunt.”

“Iona,” I whispered to Tolliver. I put my mouth back to the receiver. “Yes, what do you want?”

“Your sister's run off.”

“Which one?”

“Mariella.”

Mariella had just turned eleven. Tolliver and I had sent a card, enclosing money. Of course, we hadn't gotten a thank-you of any kind, and when we'd called—okay, I'd called—on the actual day, Iona had told me Mariella was out. I'd been sure I heard her in the background, though.

This seemed horribly like Cameron's history. I made myself say, “Did she run off with someone, or did she just disappear?”

“She ran off with a little boy who's thirteen. Some delinquent named Craig.”

“And?”

“We want you to come back and look for her.”

I held the phone away to give it the look of incredulous amazement her statement deserved.

“You told her for years how awful Tolliver and I were,” I said to my aunt Iona. “She wouldn't come back with me if I found her. She'd run the other way. Besides, I only find dead people. You look for her. Call the police, of course. I bet you haven't.” I pressed the button to end the conversation, if you could call it that.

“What?” Tolliver asked. I recounted Iona's words.

“Don't you think you were a little hasty?” His words were mild, but they stung me.

“We're due in Memphis and Millington, and we've been delayed here already. There's no telling where Mariella is, or this Craig either. How far could they be? They can't drive. They're right down the road from Iona, I bet. She hasn't gone to the police because she's too proud to let them know Mariella's run away.”

“You remember what Cameron was like at eleven?” Tolliver asked. “I didn't know her then. But I bet she ran off, too, huh?”

“No,” I said. “We were still safe when Cameron was eleven.” Though probably the signs of our parents' dissolution had been there by then, we'd just been too young to interpret them. We'd still been cocooned in upper middle class assurances. “Maybe Mariella and her friend went to join the circus,” I suggested. “Or travel with a rock band.”

“I think you're being old-fashioned,” Tolliver said. “Girls now want to be fashion designers or supermodels.”

“Well, Mariella will never make it,” I said. The last time
we'd seen our sister Mariella, she'd been on the short and plump side, and models notoriously aren't. It was a little early for her to have gotten her growth spurt.

“They'll call Mark next,” Tolliver said. His older brother lived not too far from Will and Iona.

“Poor Mark,” I said. He always helped other people, and he needed a break himself. His first marriage had failed spectacularly and quickly, and he'd been dating a string of losers ever since. Mark was a nice guy, and he deserved better, but he always sought worse. “We should call him tonight.”

“Good idea. Well, here we are again.”

The little house seemed drenched in gloom today. Jay Hopkins might have a hard time selling the place, though the paint was fresh and the yard in good condition.

Jay Hopkins was as thin as his ex-wife had been. I had a fleeting image of their skeletons clacking together during sex, an image I was quick to banish from my mind. He was sitting on the front steps, so I was able to get a good look as we crossed the yard. Helen's ex had the malnourished face of a longtime drinker, and he could have passed for anywhere between his probable age—which would be in his early forties—and sixty. His hair was sparse and silver-blond, and he smoked with quick jerks of his hand.

“Thank you all for coming by,” he said. “You must be the psychic lady.”

“I'm not psychic,” I explained, for maybe the thousandth time. I started to add I wasn't a lady, either, but that would become evident, and the topic bored me. “I just find bodies.”

“I'm Tolliver Lang, Harper's brother.” Tolliver extended his hand. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

“My whole family is dead now,” Jay Hopkins said, matter-of-factly. “Both my daughters, and my wife. You couldn't get a much bigger loss than that.”

I groped around mentally for something to say, but came up speechless. Maybe there just wasn't anything.

“Have a seat,” Jay said, when the pause became painful.

“Before I do,” I said abruptly, “I have a question for you. Did your wife leave Teenie's room just like it was?”

“Yes, because she always expected her to come back,” he said unsteadily. “Sally and Teenie shared that room until Sally married Hollis, and then Teenie had it all to herself. What are you wanting to know?”

“May I see it?”

“You said you weren't psychic. What are you hoping to find out?” Jay Hopkins was sharper than I'd given him credit for. Maybe he hadn't started drinking for the day.

I hesitated. “I want to see if some of her hair is left in her hairbrush,” I said finally.

“For what reason?” He lit another cigarette. It was his house, I reminded myself.

“I want to have it tested,” I said.

“To find out what?”

Now he'd asked one question too many.

“I think you know,” Tolliver said unexpectedly. “I think you wonder, too.”

Jay stubbed out the cigarette with vicious jabs. “What're you talking about, mister?”

“You wonder who her father was.”

Jay froze in position, I guess amazed that someone had actually been rude enough to say it out loud. “She was my daughter,” he said finally, in a final voice.

“Yes, in every way that mattered. But we need to know whose daughter she was in the biological way,” Tolliver said.

“Why? I'm burying that child. You can't take that away from me.” This was the voice of a man who had lost many things, though I was sure he'd tossed some of it away himself.

“If her father hasn't made a sound toward claiming her yet, he's not going to now,” I said reasonably.

“There's every chance I could be Teenie's father. I don't want anyone thinking bad of Helen.”

Too late for that. “I think everyone knows Helen was human,” I said gently. “I think the shame would be on the father, for not owning up to his responsibility.” I was thinking, Tolliver can hold him down and I'll run back to the room . . .

“All right, then,” Jay Hopkins said. He sounded defeated, beaten down, and I knew caving in to my request was one more item in a line of items that marked his unmanning. But at the moment, his sense of self was not too high on my list of things to preserve. I doubted he had much self left, anyway.

“What'll you do with her hair?” he asked.

“Send it to a lab, have it tested for her DNA.”

“How?”

I shrugged. “Via UPS, I guess.”

“Her room's on the left.” His elbows were propped on his bony knees, and he bent his head over his clasped hands. There was something smug about him, now. I should have been warned.

The house was so small there was little question of which room he meant. It still held twin beds, with a nightstand
jammed between them. The walls were covered with posters and memorabilia. There were dried corsages and party invitations, notes from friends and buttons with cute sayings, a big straw hat and a napkin from Dairy Queen. Little things like that would only evoke a memory for the one who saved them; and now those memories did not exist anymore. I was willing to bet that all Sally's memorabilia had come down when she married. All these items were Teenie's. There wasn't any hair in the brush on the shelf under the small mirror. I wondered if the police had taken it when she'd vanished, to get a DNA sample. I spied a purse was on top of the battered chest of drawers. I dumped it out on the nearest bed and was rewarded with a smaller hairbrush choked with Teenie's dark hair. I put the brush into a brown envelope I'd brought with me and glanced around the crowded space. I was sure various people had already searched this room thoroughly—the police and Helen, of course. I would search my daughter's room if she went missing. I would tear up the floorboards. There didn't seem to be any point in me combing it for clues.

I got a hair sample from Jay Hopkins, who made a wry joke about how little of it he had to spare. Now I had hair samples from both Teenie and Jay, and a fat lot of good it would do me. But I would send them in, nonetheless.

Tolliver had a friend in a big private lab in Dallas. He could get things done that I couldn't. His friend was a woman, and he had to give her a certain amount of sweet talk, but that never killed anyone. Well, it made my stomach clench, but I wouldn't die of it.

I was anxious to leave, but Jay wanted to know about our last talk with Helen, and I felt obliged to recount it just as I
had to the police. He gave me permission to get hair from Helen's brush, too, and he suddenly seemed more interested than upset by the idea that now he could find out if he was Teenie's biological father.