Protector (40 page)
Authors: Laurel Dewey
Tags: #Police Procedural, #Denver (Colo.), #Mystery & Detective, #Psychic ability, #Women detectives, #Crime, #Suspense, #Women Sleuths, #Children of murder victims, #Fiction, #Occult & Supernatural, #Espionage
The place felt like a tight box to Jane. But still, the house was clean and appeared to be well taken care of by the owners. While Emily went to the bathroom, Jane checked out the aged radio console next to the television. Scanning the dials, she discovered only a handful of static-free stations, only one of which featured a talk radio format. No chance of tuning in the velvet-voiced Tony Mooney late at night when she couldn’t sleep, Jane thought to herself. Turning on the old television, Jane was greeted with one snowy picture after another.
“What’s wrong with the TV?” Emily said, bouncing back into the room.
“It seems we have an amazing three channels to choose from. But before you get too excited, Channel 5 is the crop report, Channel 2 is the weather report and Channel 7 seems to be one of the networks. But that’s only an assumption since there’s no picture on Channel 7, just sound. So, basically, this thing is one big radio.”
Jane and Emily dragged their bags into the house and did “Rock, Paper, Scissors” to determine who got the back bedroom down the hallway. Jane, as always, won the game. Checking the refrigerator, Jane found a lonely box of baking soda. The shelves were also bare, save for canisters of salt and pepper, a frying pan, two saucepans and assorted mismatched silverware. Jane jotted down a list of items to purchase at the local market.
“Hey, Jane!” Emily excitedly yelled from the backyard area. Opening the sliding glass door that led into the tiny backyard, Jane found Emily pointing eagerly across a thicket of tall grass. “I hear a creek running!” Emily said with adventurous eyes. “Let’s go find out where it is!”
“Emily—”
“Pleeeeese.”
Jane surveyed the area and reluctantly trailed off into the tall grass with Emily. After about ten feet of wading through waist-high field grass and the occasional prickly bull thistle, the two emerged into a verdant, wildflower filled, soggy meadow that spanned a good seven acres. Emily ran ahead of Jane, skipping across the ground and picking a handful of wildflowers.
“I found the creek!” Emily yelled out. “And it leads into a huge lake!” Jane caught up with Emily and followed the creek around a bend of cattails that flowed into a stunning mountain lake that reflected the clear blue sky. “Hey!” Emily said excitedly. “There’s fish in here!” Jane walked to the water’s edge and noted a few large trout cavorting under the water. “I’ve never caught a fish!” Emily announced. “Have you?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Can you teach me?”
“Not without a fishing rod.”
Emily’s attention was quickly drawn to a glint of sunshine refracted off metal. She spotted the backside of an enormous, round metallic structure. “What’s that thing up there on the hill?” Emily asked, chewing nervously on her bottom lip.
Jane strained her eyes against the piercing sun. “It’s a water tower.” The two then curved around the lake, ascended the gradual hill and came up on the immense tower. Standing beneath it, they felt dwarfed by its formidable exterior. Two ladders were built into the tower fifty feet tall and had a radius of at least thirty-five feet. Jane turned to Emily. “Come on, let’s climb up. You go in front of me.”
Emily stood paralyzed, her eyes scanning the sides of the tower. “No . . .” she said, turning away.
“Can you imagine the view? I bet you could see every fruit farm in this valley! Come on, climb up in front of me—”
“No!” Emily said defiantly, pulling away. She felt her heart racing and beads of cold sweat forming across her neck.
“What’s wrong?”
The feeling was obvious to the child. She knew. At that moment, Emily understood everything. “I don’t want to go up there, Jane.” Emily took a step backward. “I’ll . . . ah . . .” She searched for a suitable reason. “I’ll fall.”
Jane stood back for a second. “You weren’t afraid to climb up on your roof.”
“Maybe I should have been,” Emily said quietly.
“Oh, God, Emily,” Jane said very seriously. “Don’t do this to yourself.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t allow fear to rule the rest of your life. Take my word for it, kid. It takes a lot of energy to be scared all the time. It wears you out. One day it’s a water tower, the next day you don’t want to leave your house.”
“You were scared back at my house. You didn’t want me to go outside.”
“Hey, there’s a big difference between being aware of bona fide trouble that’s right in front of you and being afraid of what you can’t see.”
Emily stared at Jane. “I think you’re afraid of what you can’t see.”
“Really? I think it’s the other way around. I think I’m not lucky enough to be blind.” Jane looked up at the tower. “You’re just nine and a half. You could nip this fear in the bud before it gets out of hand. Think about it.” Jane started up the ladder while Emily cautiously watched. “You see?” Jane said, turning her head back to Emily. “Just one step at a time.” When Jane reached the top, she stood up and took in the view. “Oh, Emily, I’m telling you. You’re missing a helluva view!”
“I can hear your voice echoing,” Emily yelled up to Jane, feeling slightly queasy.
Jane hooked her two fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle. The sound reverberated from across the mesa. The wind carried the sweet scent of the early summer. There was a moment of peacefulness until Jane happened to look down on the metal surface of the tower. Sunlight bounced hard off the exterior, blinding Jane with its piercing reflection. Suddenly, staccato images flashed in front of Jane. First, there was an explosion of blinding light quickly followed by an outstretched Glock. The wolf’s face flashed next before the odd appearance of the palm print with the backwards date, 10-24-99. Jane shook off the disturbing and seemingly unprovoked vision, holding her forehead in her hand.
“Jane?” Emily said with an uneasy tone. “Are you okay?”
Jane centered herself. “I’m fine.” She lit a cigarette and descended the tower.
Emily stared at the ground in deep thought as Jane planted her feet on terra firma. “I’m starting to remember more,” Emily said, out of the blue.
Jane took a drag on the cigarette. “Like what?”
“I can’t explain it. It’s like I see or hear things that are no big deal and then I feel things and then my head wants to make a picture out of it, but my eyes don’t want to see it. Stuff like that happens almost every day.”
Jane did her best to act nonchalant, the whole time trying to reconcile her own startling visions. “That’s normal. I imagine you’ll continue to get little memory jolts like that until the pieces come together.”
Emily thought for a moment. “What am I going to see?” she said apprehensively.
Jane turned away. She knew the answer to that question all too well. To see the thing you fear the most . . . to go there the first time drives a knife through your heart that infects your soul. And if Emily ever remembered the brutal, bloody scene of her butchered parents . . . well, Jane couldn’t let herself go there. Standing in the lush meadow with the warm summer wind blowing through the grass, Jane decided to lie. “I don’t know what you’ll see.”
Emily looked deep into Jane’s eyes. “Yes, you do.” The child scuffed her shoe against the wet dirt. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.” The two retraced their steps around the lake and across the soggy meadow. “Maybe you can tell me this,” Emily carefully said.
“Is the person who hurt Mommy and Daddy the same person who was on my roof that night when I fell?”
“I would assume there’s a pretty good chance of that.”
“And we’re hiding out here so he doesn’t come and get me?”
“No, that’s not it—”
Emily stopped in her tracks. “It is the truth!”
Jane turned back to her. “I genuinely do not know if that asshole has the energy and desire to find you.”
“Yes, Jane. He does!” Emily’s voice raised several octaves in fear. “And you know it!”
Jane gently took hold of Emily’s shoulders. “Emily, I honestly don’t know!” She paused, considering how to best approach the subject. “Look, we’re masquerading as mother and daughter to hide your identity. That tells me that the Department senses a need for caution. So, I keep my eyes open, just like you should.”
“But I don’t know what he looks like! It could be anybody!”
Jane couldn’t disagree with the kid. “That’s why you stick close to me.”
They headed home, locked up the house and drove the five short blocks down Main Street to the Mountain Melon Market. As they got out of the car, a voice sounding like coarse gravel rattled across the street.
“I like your bumper stickers!”
Jane quickly turned. It was the town sheriff, a large, meaty fellow with thinning hair and a sallow complexion. “Excuse me?” Jane said, catching herself.
“You brake for butterflies, eh? I’ve never seen that particular one!” the sheriff said in a throaty tone, observing Jane’s car.
Jane remembered the annoying “I Brake for Butterflies” bumper sticker. “Well, I brake unless they smash into my windshield when I’m driving. Then it’s just tough luck, you know?” Jane turned to Emily, “Come on!”
The ting-ting of the front door bell rang out a cheerful greeting when Jane opened the door. She quickly surveyed the store. It was your typical small, mountain town grocery store: eight aisles surrounded by purring frozen food units. Jane grabbed a cart and started down the far left aisle near one of the banks of frozen food that was next to an old refrigerator with the sign “BAIT” taped across the front. The sheriff entered the store and stole a glance at Emily, who looked back at him and smiled.
“Patty,” Jane said abruptly, “come on.”
The sheriff observed Jane’s interaction with Emily before turning to the guy behind the counter. “How’s it goin’?” said the sheriff with a jolly ring in his voice.
“Hey, Sheriff George!” replied the guy, putting down his newspaper.
“Startin’ to feel like summer, isn’t it?” the sheriff said, making conversation.
“Yup. I think the cherries are gonna be early this year.”
The store was small enough that Jane could hear every word. The banal back-and-forth began to grind on her nerves as she plucked one frozen entree after another out of the case and tossed it into her cart.
Emily stared at the growing pile of frozen food. “We need vegetables.”
“Okay,” Jane replied. “Go pick what you want.”
Emily trotted down the aisle and out of Jane’s sight. Within seconds, Jane heard a saccharin voice coming from the produce department.
“Well, looky here! Patty Calver! We meet again!” Jane closed the freezer door and muffled a frustrated “shit” under her voice. “Are you down here all by your lonesome or is your mom with you?”
“She’s over getting frozen food for us,” Emily said.
“Frozen?” Kathy said, sounding a bit guarded.
Jane swung her cart around the produce aisle. “Patty!” Jane said abruptly. “Did you get what you need?”
Kathy stiffened slightly in response to Jane’s crusty words. “Well, there’s your mom!” Kathy said, false friendliness dripping from her cement smile. “How’s it goin’?”
“Just great,” Jane replied, grabbing a bag of chips and a large container of salsa from the shelf.
“My goodness!” Kathy said, looking into Jane’s cart. “That’s a lot of frozen food.”
“Well, that house you got us has a big freezer!” Jane said, intoning her own version of false friendliness as she deposited two six-packs of cola in the cart along with a dozen eggs.
“Mom!” a child’s voice rang out from another aisle.
“What is it, Heather?” Kathy asked.
“Come here!” Heather commanded. “I want you to see this nail polish!”
“Why don’t you come over here and show it to me, darling?” Kathy replied.
An overexaggerated sound of exasperation came from the child as she pounded her little feet down the aisle and around the corner. Heather was one of those kids that adults refer to as “precocious” when they don’t want to use the word “bratty.” She was dressed in a trendy outfit with a country western flair. Her long blond hair was tied into a braid and secured with a red barrette that matched her shirt. She stuck her left hand out into the air, fingertips pointed down. Each fingernail was painted with a different color of fresh polish. “Which one of these is the prettiest?” Heather asked her mother in a bitchy tone.
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