Protector (48 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
“I was in the workshop helping Kathy get extra jars for the cherries.”
Jane felt her cop radar encircle Emily and sensed that a lie was afoot. “Then where are your jars?”
“What?” Emily replied, feeling Jane’s probing eyes.
“Don’t ‘what,’ me!” Jane said angrily. “You’re not being truthful! What in the hell was going on in there?”
“Nothing!” Emily said, exasperated. “I know you don’t like Kathy, but that’s ’cause you don’t know her—”
“The hell I don’t know her!” Jane said abruptly.
“She’s nice!”
“Is that so?” Jane replied sarcastically.
“Yeah, that’s so! Emily turned away from Jane. “She just . . .” Emily said quietly, “she just wanted to know if I was okay, that’s all.”
Jane smelled a rat. “That’s all, huh?” she responded, not buying one word of Emily’s earnest statement.
Without realizing it, Emily looked down and to the left as she nervously licked her lips. “Yeah. That’s all.”
Jane saw the telltale signs of a lie. As much as she wanted to verbally force the truth out of Emily, she knew she couldn’t. Jane suddenly felt like an outsider and hated it. “Fine. Come on! We’re getting out of here!”
“We can’t leave yet!”
“I said in and out of here in two hours or less!”
“We’ve been here less than an hour! We can’t leave before we help with the cherries or it’ll look weird!”
“I don’t give a shit what it looks like!”
Emily approached Jane with a stern look. “Well, I do.” She brushed past Jane with a petulant step. Jane reached out to grab her arm, but Emily moved too quickly.
“Emily!” Jane said irritated, under her breath. “Goddamnit!”
Emily trod with purpose across the grass and into the house. Jane went after her. However, once Jane rounded the corner of Kent’s workshop, she slowed her pace in order to not draw attention. She caught up with Emily inside the house, just as the child was handed a huge bowl of fresh cherries by one of the women. Jane started to move toward Emily but stopped the minute she saw Kathy. She knew that if she pulled Emily away from the women, Kathy’s case against her would be wrapped up.
“Patty, darling,” Kathy said, a tinge of nervousness in her voice. “How ’bout if you hold that bowl while P.J. scoops out the cherries into the machine.”
Emily looked up at P.J., a fleshy woman who was dressed in an aqua pant suit and jaunty matching baseball cap. “What does P.J. stand for?” Emily asked quietly.
“Peggy Josephine,” P.J. said with a halfhearted smile on her face as she eagerly dug the cherries out of the bowl using two hands. “You can just imagine how that name went over with the kids in school. So, I decided to become just P.J.!”
Emily held the bowl steady, as P.J. continued to unearth more cherries and transfer them to the pitting machine. “I have a friend named A.J.—” Emily offered.
“Take it easy with those cherries, P.J.!” Kathy instructed with a smile. “There’s already a bunch of them bruised and leaking at the bottom of that bowl!”
Emily stole a glance through the crowd of women at Jane. Jane, in turn, regarded her with steely eyes, still smarting from their backyard confrontation. Kathy didn’t miss Emily’s glance, nor Jane’s irate facial reaction. As P.J. got down to the bottom of the ceramic bowl, she shoved her chubby hands into the cherries and screwed her face into a disagreeable expression. “Oh, Kathy! I see what you mean. We got ourselves a passel of bruised cherries at the bottom of this bowl!” P.J. withdrew both her hands from the bowl and revealed them to the group. Her skin was stained red from the cherry juice and dripping with red pulp. “How do you like that, girls?” she said with a chuckle.
The group of women chortled as they continued chatting amongst themselves. Not one of them noticed Emily’s reaction. No one, except for Jane.
Emily’s eyes fixated on P.J.’s hands. Her eyes followed one drop of scarlet juice as it traveled down P.J.’s wrist and disappeared under her sleeve, leaving a moist stain on the material. Her glance drifted down to the near-empty bowl filled with remnants of bruised cherries, floating in several cups of crimson juice. Everything went into slow motion. The women’s voices were muffled; Emily focused on the bloodred cherry juice sloshing against the bottom of the bowl. Without realizing it, she tipped the ceramic bowl, causing a stream of scarlet juice to pour onto the floor. The small puddle encircled her shoes. Her heart pounded wildly, her throat tightened and her eyes filled with sheer terror. Suddenly, a piercing scream cut through Emily’s memory. She quickly let go of the bowl as it crashed to the floor, smashing into hundreds of tiny pieces.
The sound of the breaking shards jolted Emily back into reality. For the first time, the dark memory held on just long enough for the sharp scream to linger amidst the din of female voices in the kitchen. The child looked around, not yet certain of where her body began and ended. She gazed down at the shattered bowl and then urgently looked for Jane. Once she spotted her, she pushed through the pack of women and grabbed her as if she were a lifeline. As she clutched Jane’s shirt and buried her head against Jane’s belly, she half-whispered in a terrified tone, “I’m sorry.”
Jane gently held her hand against Emily’s trembling head, knowing that every prying eye was pinned on her. It was the epitome of a rock and a hard place and she knew it. Jane looked over at Kathy, who was obviously disturbed by Emily’s reaction.
“It’s okay, honey,” Kathy said, calling over to Emily. “It’s just a silly bowl.”
Emily kept her head buried against Jane. “Can I help clean it up?” Jane offered.
“No!” Kathy asserted. “It’s not a big deal, Anne. These kind of things happen all the time! Kids can’t help themselves!” Kathy’s voice was bordering on desperate.
“I know, Kathy,” Jane said, trying her best to not look upset. She patted Emily’s head and bent forward. “Let’s go.”
Emily kept a tight hold on Jane as the two walked outside and got into their car. The child was still confused and embarrassed as Jane buckled her into the seat belt and stuck the key in the ignition. Jane looked up at the front living room window and found Kathy staring back at her. “Shit,” Jane whispered. She put the car in gear and drove onto the county road. Once she was out of sight of the house, she pulled the car over, leaving the motor running. “You okay?” she said quietly.
Emily leaned her head against the passenger window. “I don’t know.”
“Did you . . .” Jane stopped, hating every second of this. “Did you remember anything back there?”
“Almost.” Emily turned to Jane, hoping for an answer. “It was just a bowl of cherries and some juice!”
Jane stared out the front window. She knew exactly why the cherries triggered Emily’s memory of the crime scene. But the devil himself could not force her to reveal the blood-soaked connection. Jane felt helpless. Then she glanced into her rear vision mirror. Kathy was standing on the county road, several feet from her circle driveway. Jane realized that she was waiting for Jane to make a move toward Emily so she could report it to Sheriff George. Jane wanted to bolt from the car and rip her a new one. But, instead, she clenched her jaw, put the car in gear and drove toward home.
Twilight fell over Strong’s Mesa as Jane wound the Subaru around the dirt road that eventually emptied into Peachville’s Main Street. Not a word was spoken between Jane and Emily as they slowly crept down the main drag. The stores were closed for the day, leaving a seeming ghost town to occupy the darkness. Jane rolled the Subaru to a four-way stop sign and didn’t move. That uneasy, choking sensation she’d felt for the last few days was replaced with a disturbing dull ache in her gut.
She looked at Emily. Her head was propped against the window as she half dozed. The child’s palm lay flat against the glass, slightly twitching. Jane could see Emily’s eyeballs erratically moving side to side, engaged in an obvious dream. “Don’t,” Emily murmured, under her breath. Jane waited and watched. Emily’s hand twitched again before reaching out into the air as if she were trying to grasp at something. “Don’t let go,” she whispered. Jane looked on helplessly, not sure what to do. Seconds passed and Emily’s body relaxed, falling deeper into sleep.
Don’t let go, Jane thought. Probably a nightmare from when Emily hung off her bedroom roof, Jane determined. But then again, Jane mused, Emily told her she remained silent so the perp wouldn’t know she was there. So, whom was Emily talking to? Jane finally shook off the cop suspicion, chalking it up to the destructive power of nightmares.
She turned her attention to the street and rolled down the window. The crickets issued back and forth inflections to each other. In the distance, the coal train stood in place as the chug-chug-chug reverberated throughout the valley. A summer breeze, slightly cool and wet, swept through the car bringing with it the smell of dried grass mixed with engine oil that puddled on the asphalt. The air was heavy, primed to release a hard summer rainstorm.
And Jane waited. Within the silence, there was something both profound and forbidding. She started to tap the accelerator when she felt her beeper vibrate. Jane pressed the play button and heard Weyler’s voice. It sounded different. There was a dour intonation.
“Jane. It’s me. When you can get to a phone, please give me a call at my house.” Weyler said before hanging up.
Jane looked over at Emily. The child had fallen asleep. An acrid odor blew from the east as she drove down Main Street and up onto the highway. Her heart raced. Turning left, she headed south to The Pit Stop and parked in front of the outside telephone. As Jane dialed Weyler’s private number, she debated what tone suited her best for the conversation. But before she could decide, he answered.
“Hello?”
“It’s me. I got your page.” Jane suddenly felt sick. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, Jane,” Weyler said, his voice slightly breaking.
“Why are you sorry?” Jane asked, wincing. The coal train chugged closer.
“I don’t know any other way to say this. Jane . . . Your father died.”
The world hung in suspension for Jane. She gazed into the distance. A rush of heat raced down her spine, followed by an icy chill. The coal train approached on the tracks across the street. Jane stood still as the clamor of steel and metal ground against each other and screamed into the dark, summer sky. Within a couple minutes, the train passed and all fell silent again.
“It happened around three o’clock this afternoon,” Weyler continued. “Apparently he’d experienced minor discomfort in his chest and told the nurse about it. By the time she called the doctor and returned it was over. He didn’t struggle. No suffering.”
“No suffering?” Jane repeated, halfway outside of her body.
“None. Your brother called me. He’s already been over there and he saw your dad before they took him to the mortuary—”
Jane came back to life. “Oh, Jesus! Mike can’t handle that!”
“He sounded okay on the phone—”
“I should have been there for him,” Jane whispered.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know . . .” Jane said, her mind drifting far away.
“This is a mess. But I can’t have you come back here now. I’m sorry—”
“I have to talk to Mike,” Jane said urgently.
“I know you do. It goes against policy, but the Department will understand. Please keep the conversation short and do nothing to reveal your location. Has your brother got Caller ID on his phone?”
“No. And even if he did, who the hell is he gonna tell?”
“You never know. There can’t be any slips.”
Jane buried her head in her hand. “There won’t be any slips!”
“I’m not accusing you of being inept. Please don’t take it that way. We’ve just discovered some possible internal problems downstairs—”
“What internal problems? With this case?”
“No. Nothing to do with your case. Don’t worry about it. I’ve just got to try and keep a cap on it. I don’t need any slipups in your direction when you talk to your brother that could put the Lawrence case in jeopardy.”
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