In the Arms of Stone Angels (3 page)

And I would have done anything to feel her brush the hair out of my eyes or tell me a story about when she was young. In the dark, I heard her laugh again and could picture her rocking like a big bowl of gelatin.
Green, my favorite flavor and the color of Grams's eyes.
In my memory and in my heart, she was alive.

But I knew I'd never see her again. She was a star in the night sky. I was sure of it.

When the house was quiet enough, I knew Mom was asleep. I crept out of my room and slipped outside. I hadn't changed my clothes, except to ditch the scarf and sunglasses and trade my old army boots for vintage Keds high-top sneakers. And I brought my trusty cell phone, like I usually did, just in case I got into trouble. Walking in the dark and breathing in the warm muggy air felt liberating compared to the old house. I picked up my pace until I was running through the streets of Shawano, heading to a place I knew well.

Pioneer Cemetery on Fifteenth Street. It didn't take me long to get there.

A wrought-iron gate marked the main entrance with the name of the cemetery on a sign overhead. And the barrier around the grounds was made of a dark mottled stone that looked like it was bleeding rust down the mortar. I wedged my foot into the stone, hoisted my leg over the wall and dropped on the other side.

The cemetery hadn't changed much.

I loved really old cemeteries, not the new kind that had no soul. Really old graveyards were like outdoor museums. And after getting familiar with where everyone was buried, a cemetery became familiar and comforting to me. And the
headstones were like…family. I would read the names and wonder who they'd been or how they died. Or I made up stories about them. Being at the Pioneer Cemetery again was like coming home.

With a small flashlight that I'd taken from Mom's car, I shined a light onto the headstones in a newer section of the grounds, looking for a name. When I found it, I took a deep breath and knelt beside the grave.

I ran my fingers over the name on the marker and remembered her face, but when I tried to imagine her alive, I couldn't do it.

“I'm…sorry,” I whispered. I didn't know what else to say.

I took out the page I had ripped from the phone book at Homeland and shined the light on it. The only mental hospital near Shawano was on the outskirts of town. And tomorrow I would find a way to go there. I wanted to see if what Mom had told me was true, that White Bird was in that hospital and sitting like a dead stump with vacant eyes.

I prayed my mother was wrong.

In my mind, I wished to God that I could see him again at that creek with the little bird in his hand, that tall boy barely older than me. And I tried to picture his gentle smile and soft brown eyes, but the image of him under the bridge at Cry Baby Creek—rocking back and forth and mumbling in his Euchee language—was burned into my brain.

To imagine his world frozen in that moment scared the hell out of me, but then again, I wasn't much better off than he was. My life had stopped that day, same as his. I couldn't move forward and I couldn't go back. I had to know why he did it. That was the reason I had to come to the cemetery tonight, to connect with someone else who had been there.

I curled up on the grave of Heather Madsen—the dead girl White Bird had killed.

Heather and I had our differences in the past when we were freshmen in high school, but no one deserved to be killed the way she was. Her dead body…all that dark oozing blood…and her filmy white eyes flashed in my head as I knelt on her grave. I couldn't shake the grotesque visions I had of her and I didn't deserve to be let off that hook. Imagining her in the ground now made my stomach hurt.

Guilt and regret had forced me to come here. I had no choice.

I put my ear to the ground and listened to the sounds of the cemetery in the dark. I heard the crickets in the grass and the breeze through the pine trees as I stared up at the stone angel on the next grave. Heather didn't have her own guardian angel, but she was in good company. She had one close by.

And in the bluish haze of the moonlight, I saw that the angel's nose was chipped and dark streaks lined her face like tears. But the angel's eyes looked so real, I could imagine them opening and seeing me. And her spread arms and faint smile made me feel safe as the graveyard stillness closed in.

Until the night air sent me a message that I wasn't alone.

A wave of electricity swept over me, causing the hair on my arms and the back of my neck to stand on end. And static pops swirled around and through me. I knew what it meant and I turned, peering through the dark.

A door had opened to the other side. I'd felt it before.

And a gust of cold blew through my hair and made me squint. Movement near the stone angel grabbed my attention. Fingers crept out from behind the angel's shoulder—a slow and deliberate move like the silent stealth of a tarantula—and a small hand slid down the stone arm.

Sometimes the dead had a weird sense of what was funny.

Heather Madsen peered out from behind the statue—more timid and frail than I remembered her—and dressed in the clothes she had been buried in.
Her mother's choice.
Heather wouldn't have been caught dead in that dress. So I knew her coming had to be important. In life Heather had never smiled at me, but tonight she did for the first time. And it made her look sad.

The dead never speak. I don't know why. So I didn't expect that to change with Heather. For whatever reason the drop-dead gorgeous brunette with fierce green eyes had come, she'd let me know in her own sweet time. Without a word, I waved a hand to say “Hi” and stretched out on the grass over her grave.

I knew I wouldn't sleep, but I hoped that Heather would rest easier knowing she wasn't alone…even if she only had me.

Pioneer Cemetery

Heather wasn't alone. And neither was I anymore.

While I was lying on her grave, I heard the crunch of grass behind me. Someone was coming and they were searching for something…or someone.
What the hell?
No matter how I figured it, this wasn't good news for me. A beam from a flashlight swept over my head onto the branches of the pine trees. And when the light hit the chipped face of the stone angel, I looked for Heather, but she was gone.

The dead always knew when to leave. And I suddenly wished I had her exit strategy.

I stayed low and rolled onto my belly, looking back over my shoulder. The dark shadow of a man moved between the
trees and through the old headstones. I held my breath and watched the beam move. It helped me track him.

I had to keep my cool. I couldn't get caught on my first night back.
Damn it!

When the light moved away from where I was hiding, I crawled toward the trees. And when it felt safe, I got to my feet and ran the other way. All I needed was a head start. If I could make it to the rock wall, I could use it for cover, but I ran from hiding too soon.

“Stop!” A man yelled. “Stop right there.”

The flashlight pointed at me and nailed my back in its light, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.

“Shit!” I cursed under my breath.

Now the man was running after me, yelling something I couldn't hear. As he closed in, I felt my heart pounding and my lungs were on fire. If only I could make the stone wall, I'd know where to hide, but the man's footsteps grew louder.

And I knew I'd never make it.

My chances of getting away were blown apart by the man chasing me. He was too fast. When I knew I wouldn't make the stone wall of the cemetery, images flashed through my head. I pictured getting raped or killed, but I wasn't going down like some crying, scared little girl. I stopped and turned, clutching the flashlight in my hands and bracing my body for a fight. And when I flicked on the light, I pointed it at him and clenched my right fist, ready to punch him.

Putting on a show—of courage I didn't have—was my only defense.

“Stop. Don't come any closer,” I demanded. I sounded angry, but I was mostly scared. “Why are you chasing me?” My voice cracked.

The light blinded him. He stopped dead in his tracks and raised a hand to block the glare. I kept the light steady on his face, but I saw how much bigger he was than me. And I saw one other thing.

The guy wore a uniform and he carried a gun. I'd been running from a cop.
Great, just great!

“I didn't know you were…” I choked. And I was seriously out of breath. “You…scared me.”

“I identified myself back there, but you kept running.” With all the yelling he'd done, the stuff I never heard, the cop probably did try to identify himself. Now he was winded from chasing me and he took charge. “I need to see ID.”

“You first. Show me your badge.” I had my rights. And even though I wasn't sure if I'd broken any laws being in a graveyard after hours, I figured it never hurt to stall. After all, I'd lived my life procrastinating. And that wouldn't change anytime soon, not if I could put it off.

But my biggest reason to stall was that I left home without ID.
What the hell? Who knew?

In the pale glow of my flashlight, I got a look at the badge of Deputy Will Tate. He wasn't ancient like Sheriff Logan. This guy was much younger. If I had to guess, I would say he was in his mid to late twenties. And he definitely tipped the scale toward cute. He had short brown hair and kind blue eyes with a faint dimple on his right cheek when he talked. The deputy hadn't been around two years ago when I had my troubles. If he had, I would have remembered him.

The way I figured it, I had a slim shot at talking my way out of being hauled in for trespassing by this deputy, except for one obstacle.

Talking. I hated talking, especially in sentences.

It wasn't my thing, but I had to give it a shot. I sure as hell didn't want Mom to find out I'd gotten busted on my first night in Shawano. And when I thought of facing Sheriff Logan again, I would have preferred eating glass to spending more time in his jail.

Talking. I had to talk.
Shit!

“How did you know I was here?” I asked. A girl had to know where she went wrong.

“I saw you scale the wall.” He didn't look happy. “What were you doing in the cemetery at this hour?”

It didn't take me long to come up with an answer.

“My grandmother died and I came to see her. To talk to her.” I had plans to visit Grams before I left the graveyard. I hadn't completely lied. “I missed her funeral and my mom and I just got back to town. I had to see Grams. We were close, real close.”

I nodded and shoved my hands into my jean jacket, avoiding his eyes. I never knew what to do with my hands. And even though I was laying it on thick, what I'd told him hadn't all been lies.

“By now you're probably figuring out that I left home without ID. I didn't figure I'd get carded at the cemetery. My name's Brenna Nash. My mom and I just got in to Oklahoma from North Carolina today.” I reached in my pocket and pulled out my cell phone. Using my thumbs, I keyed up the ID on my phone. “See? That's the 411 on me. And my cell number has the area code for North Carolina. I live in Charlotte.”

He eyeballed me sideways, like he still wasn't sure.

“Where are you staying here?” he asked.

“My grandmother's house. I'm helping my mom fix it up to sell.” I gave him Grams's address and told him about my mom being a Realtor, like he cared. “Like I said, we just got to town and I couldn't sleep. I had to see Grams.”

I chewed on the corner of my lip, hoping to God that he didn't ask me to show him where Grams was buried. If he knew I was blowing smoke, he'd bust me for sure. Deputy
Tate narrowed his eyes and focused them on me. I knew he was sizing me up.

I suddenly wished that I hadn't lied to him. He had the kind of eyes that made me want to tell the truth—like lying under the stars—but when it came to self-preservation and avoiding a night in jail, all bets were off.

He handed back my phone and said, “I'm driving you home. Come on.”

“But here's the thing, Deputy Tate.” I winced. “Mom doesn't know I'm here. And if I come home in a patrol car on my first night, she'd freak and ground me for life. I wasn't doing anything wrong. I was only visiting the grave of my dead grandmother.”

Playing the dead grandmother card was getting old, even for me.

“Is there any way you could cut me some slack,” I asked. “You know, as a welcome-home gesture?”

“I'm not the welcoming committee, Ms. Nash.”

“I know, but you're a young guy. You know what it's like, right?”

I didn't do cute. And I had another problem. I wrung my hands and shuffled my feet. On top of everything I had against me—now I had to pee.

“I'd appreciate a lift, but can you just watch me until I get inside Grams's house?” I worked hard to control the whine in my voice. “My mom will kill me if I wake her. She had a long day of driving.”

I held up the key to Grams's house and dangled it in the light. “See? Here's my key. To my dead grandmother's house.” I pictured Grams shaking her head. Sometimes—
like now
—I wished I didn't have to hear me talk.

“I promise.” I crossed my heart. “You won't catch me doing this again. I swear to God.”

I hoped he hadn't noticed my subtle wording that he wouldn't “catch me doing this again.” I would definitely have to be more careful next time.

Deputy Tate heaved a sigh and pointed a finger at me. “If I ever have to chase you down again for something…”

I didn't let him finish.

“You won't. I promise.” I forced a grin. Smiling made my face hurt. “And thanks for the lift. I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do.”

I followed him to his squad car and kept my mouth shut, something I wished I had done earlier. But I'd been serious about owing Deputy Tate. A guy in uniform, who knew how to bend the rules for a kid like me, was a good guy in my book and a real exception to the rule in this town.

For some reason, I seriously didn't want to let Will Tate down—not unless it became really, really…
really
necessary.

Next Day—Noon

I was dragging. And I was too stubborn to admit that pulling an all-nighter had anything to do with it. The brutal Oklahoma sun beat down on me as I pulled weeds and long strands of Bermuda grass from Grams's flower beds. And no matter where I worked, the heat made me miserable. I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand and took a gulp of lukewarm water from a bottle.

I went against my natural instincts as a teenager and didn't complain. I figured the heat and sweat were my penance for Deputy Tate taking pity on me last night. All things considered, I should have felt lucky, except White Bird was on my mind.

Today was the day I would see him again.

A part of me desperately wanted to be with him and talk like we used to. Even being with him in our comfortable silences would have been great. I wondered how much he had changed or if he would notice that I had grown up, too. I wasn't that thirteen-year-old awkward girl at the creek anymore. I was a sixteen-year-old awkward girl. But a huge part of me dreaded seeing him in that place—a mental hospital—knowing I had something to do with why he was there.

I hadn't actually seen him kill Heather and I didn't know anything about why he'd done it. But walking away from a boy I had grown to love—and betraying our relationship by siding with the sheriff and turning him in without talking to him—hadn't felt right, either. I was confused and completely unsure if I had done the right thing. And I knew my mom would have never understood that.

No one would.

“Bren? It's pretty hot out here. You okay?” My mom's voice came from behind me. She was coming off the porch, heading toward me.

I sat back on my haunches to stretch my back and said, “I'm good.”

“Yeah, you are. You've done a lot, honey.” She smiled and handed me a fresh bottle of cold water. “All these beds were really overgrown. This whole front yard used to be nothing but flowers. Do you remember that?”

I nodded and shrugged before I sucked down the cold water.

“Looks like we have an audience.” Mom stared across the street and caught the movement of miniblinds in a front window. I'd been seeing it all morning. We were the new scandal to entertain the neighborhood. And I had no doubt
that we were the subject of countless phone calls. If anyone hadn't found out that we were back in town, they'd know after today. Bad news spread like an Oklahoma wildfire in Shawano.

“Yeah, it's been like that all morning.” I grimaced and got back to work.

“People used to be friendly in this town.”

Yeah, but friends dry up when your daughter is linked to a murder. I didn't have to say it. I knew what she was thinking.

“I don't want you working through the heat of the day, hon.” She handed me her car keys, a piece of paper and cash. “I need more cleaning supplies and a few things from the hardware store. I wrote it all down.”

“You mean—? Ah…yeah, sure.” I almost smiled when I heard she wanted me to drive. I may have had a restricted driver's license, but that didn't mean I had a restricted spirit. Driving the car on my own was still exciting for me. After I looked at the list, I said, “Yeah, I can pick these up. No problem.”

“Good. And I found your old bicycle in the garage. It's not in bad shape. You could put air in the tires when you fill up my car with gas.”

“A bicycle?” I scrunched my face as an image of Pee-wee Herman flashed in my head.

“Oh, come on. You'll have it when I've got the car. Don't worry. You'll get plenty of driving time.”

Mom didn't give me a chance to argue. And I got over the bicycle thing in a hurry. Only one question remained. Could I run her errands and visit White Bird without Mom knowing it? Having wheels would make a big difference. This was too
good to be true and I had to take advantage of my stroke of good luck.

I'd see White Bird today, whether I was ready to or not.

 

Derek Bast had driven around the block more than a few times in his black Ford F-150 truck with heavily tinted windows. He didn't want the neighbors to notice his interest in Brenna Nash, so he'd parked down the block. And she'd made it easy for him by working in the front yard of her grandmother's house.

“How did you know she was stayin' here?” Justin asked and took a sip of his Sonic Blue Slush. “This is an old neighborhood. I would've expected her to be at some motel, man.”

“Word spread fast when that Indian-lovin' skank came back to town. Like I said, she ain't wanted here. That's all you got to know.” He grimaced at Justin through the rearview mirror. “And you gotta quit ordering those blue faggot drinks. Man up, asshole.”

Jeff and Garrett laughed. He knew he'd get a rise out of them. Justin was the guy everyone picked on and it was way too easy. The only reason he let the guy hang with him and his crew was because Justin did everything he was told.

“Hey, looks like something's happening.” Justin pointed. “She's goin' somewhere.”

When her mom talked to her in the yard, she handed over keys and some other stuff. And Brenna had gone back into the house.

“Let's wait awhile, see what she does.” Derek sent a text message and waited. It didn't take long for a reply to come back. His cell phone signaled that he had a text.

“Is that her again?” Justin asked, leaning forward to check
out his cell from the back seat. “She's been texting you all morning, man.”

“Shut your pie hole. You're giving me a headache.” Derek glared at blue-slush boy. “You're like some nosy little girl, dude. Mind your own business and grow a dick.”

Derek would have thumped Justin in the head, but movement down the street caught his eye. Like he figured, the bitch came out of her house again after she'd changed clothes. She was heading for her mom's car—and that made him smile.

“She's on the move. And so are we.” Derek started his engine.

He'd have to follow her at a safe distance until he picked the right time and place to clue her in. She wasn't welcome here. Before he pulled from the curb to follow her, he sent a quick text message on his cell.

Heather Madsen had friends in Shawano. He wasn't the only one who hated Brenna Nash's guts. That bitch would have to watch her back. Today would be a warning.

Next time would be…way more.

Nearly Two Hours Later

After hitting two stores, I had every item on Mom's list checked off in record time. As I came out of Home Depot carrying my bags and heading for my car, I glanced down at my watch. Visiting hours at the hospital had already started. I could be there in thirty minutes. It would have been tight for me to visit White Bird, but I'd called Mom from the hardware aisle and told her I was hungry and had a craving for Chick-fil-A.

That wasn't total bullshit.

But my being hungry wouldn't get in the way of the real reason I was taking a side trip. Red Cliffs Hospital was an
examination and detention center, according to what I'd read in the phone book. And I had called the facility earlier to find out about visiting hours. I wasn't sure how tight security would be in a detention center. Maybe I was fooling myself to think I could walk in and see him, but I had to take a chance.