Authors: Nancy Holder
Bobby gave her a thumbs-up.
As she opened the door, Ms. Wyman saw her. It was almost time for lunch, and Rhetta smelled hamburgers. Then Brenda wandered over and said quietly, “She’s helping in the kitchen. There’s a side door and a porch. It’ll give you the most privacy.”
“Thanks.”
Rhetta took a deep breath and headed into the kitchen. Three women were bustling around, grabbing
plates, and running the water in the sink. Jeannie was cooking a grilled cheese sandwich and laughing at something one of the other women said.
Then she saw Rhetta, and she went pale.
“Is everything all right?” She held the spatula in her hand like a mallet.
“Hey, yeah,” Rhetta replied. She was a terrible liar. She wasn’t even sure there was any benefit to be gained in lying to Jeannie anyway. “Well, not exactly.” She gestured to the side door. “Can we talk in private?”
“Is Hunter … is he okay?” She gripped the utensil. Rhetta eased her fingers from around it and set it on a ceramic sunflower spoon rest.
“Let’s go outside.”
It was getting blustery, really building up. Clouds were tumbling end over end, and Jeannie’s hair whipped around her head. Up this high, the wind was gathering momentum. Rhetta wondered what it would be like in a helicopter.
“I need to tell you a few things, Jeannie.”
Rhetta took her hands and told her about the fire, and Speckles. She didn’t tell her that Grace had been to the compound, but she did make mention of six witnesses, describing Malcolm, and waited to see Jeannie’s reaction. The wind was buffeting her clothes, and she wasn’t sure the tape recorder would be able to pick up the conversation.
Jeannie stared off into space for a long time. He profile was soft and her features were delicate. But there was still swelling, and bruises. If he had hit her any harder, she might have sustained a facial fracture. Scars.
“You have to understand.” Her voice was whispery, light, otherworldly. “Tommy got ’em all drunk. And he told them that those white girls should not be with those boys—”
“Were they African American?” Rhetta asked, fighting to stay neutral.
“Some of them. I think one was Mexican or something. And two Asian boys. And they saw them with the girls. So Tommy …” She balled her fists. “Hunter didn’t do anything. He swore it to me and I believe him.”
Rhetta was shocked down to her core. “They
killed
them? All of them?”
Jeannie shook her head. “Tommy tried to say it was okay, because they were a gang. Drug pushers and pimps.”
The Robertson Hood? Had the Sons killed the missing gangbangers?
Jeannie bit her lip. She winced from the pain, and stared at her hands in her lap. “But you have to believe me. Hunter had nothing to do with it.” She stared at Rhetta. “He was just
there
when it happened, and he can’t saying nothing about it or Tommy will kill both of us.”
Is that what he told you? And you believe it? Or are you just trying to convince us both?
“Now we can take care of it,” Rhetta assured her. “We can protect you
and
Hunter.”
Jeannie kept crying. “Except he tried to burn down your barn.”
Rhetta fought to sound calm. “But I can see why. He needed to find you, so you could explain. I get it.” She swallowed hard. “I won’t press charges.” Surely Jeannie wasn’t so naïve as to actually believe her.
“Because—because now we can tell the judge that he wasn’t in on it,” Rhetta went on in a wobbly voice. “But we have to move you again. To protect you. So you can stand up for Hunter.”
Jeannie looked panicky. “Move me … where? Can I stay with you?”
“That’s not the best place,” Rhetta said. “But there are good, safe places. The department will look after you. You and Hunter both.”
Funny thing about lying: the longer you did it, the better at it you got.
“Please, no, I’m so scared. If Tommy finds out—”
“We’re getting close to arresting him,” Rhetta promised.
And your husband, too
.
Time passed. Jeannie stared at her hands, then off into the distance again. Maybe Bobby should have handled this part; Rhetta didn’t think she was being very persuasive.
“So … if you leave me here, Tommy might … might find me …” She caught her breath.
“Yes, and I understand now that Hunter knew that, and was desperate to find you.” She was practically choking on her own words. “Because he loves you.”
Jeannie smiled uncertainly, and it was heartbreaking. “If I go … can we stop along the way? I want to get something … some makeup and things.” She grimaced. “Your things are very nice, but Hunter likes a little more color.” She gathered up her hair. “He says I look like a top model.”
Rhetta didn’t know what to say about stopping.
Bobby joined them. “I can’t get cell reception here,” he said. “I want to check in and see how the others are doing.”
Rhetta relayed Jeannie’s request. Bobby nodded; it was probably best to keep Jeannie as happy as they could. Jeannie went off to gather her things; Bobby headed for Ms. Wyman’s closely guarded landline.
“There’s a little town about halfway down the mountain,” Ms. Wyman told them. “There’s a couple of outlet stores, a market, and a pharmacy. They ought to have a few things.”
“Sounds good,” Bobby said, rejoining them after his call.
After a few minutes, everyone headed for the car. Jeannie held on tightly to Rhetta’s turquoise cat bag. The wind blew fiercely; Rhetta fought against it as she
climbed into the backseat with Jeannie. Jeannie set the bag on the floor, between her feet. Rhetta felt for her; she was practically hoarding, like a frightened animal.
Bushes rippled like ocean waves as they began their descent. The sky flattened into an angry dark gray. A storm, maybe even a tornado, was getting ready to hit. Rhetta thought of Grace and Ham up in the helicopter, and knit her brows.
About forty-five minutes later Bobby reached the fork in the road that led to the little mall. He said, “I told Captain Perry we’d be in a little later. But we probably shouldn’t take too long.”
“Look at the wind,” Rhetta murmured as newspapers and trash flew across the entrance of a dusty, abandoned-looking strip of stucco buildings.
The three got out. The wind chased them into the drugstore. At the makeup counter, Jeannie dawdled around, and then it dawned on Rhetta that she had no money. Once Rhetta offered to buy, Jeannie gathered up a ton of makeup, and perfume, and some hair elastics.
“Maybe we can put a little back,” Rhetta ventured. She was half afraid she didn’t have enough money on her card.
Buying the makeup chewed up some significant time. Nearly forty minutes had passed before they got back in the car. Jeannie sat behind Bobby, and Rhetta took the right-hand side. The road was level and straight along this section; it would get steep in a little bit.
Rhetta heard a beep. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought it was the tape recorder. But then she realized it was her cell phone. She must be in range again.
“Oh,” she said. “I have a message from Mae.” She played it.
“Mom? We’re at the mall. Mrs. Raimundo dropped us off. And there’s this weird guy. I think he’s following us. He has really blue eyes and—”
Beside Rhetta, Jeannie yanked something out of her bag and slammed it into the back of Bobby’s head. He grunted. She did it again. It happened so fast. The car swerved; Rhetta tried to grab Jeannie’s arm as the car wove out of control. Jeannie turned and thrust something straight at her.
It was a gun.
“Miz Rodriguez, please, put down your phone,” she said. “Drop it now or I-I’ll shoot you.”
Rhetta stared at her. “Jeannie, what?”
Jeannie wagged the gun at her. “I mean it, ma’am.”
Rhetta set the phone on the seat and raised her hands in the air. Jeannie fumbled at Bobby, who was limp, and pushed him sideways. She half rose and clutched the wheel, keeping the car straight.
I could try to take her
, Rhetta thought. But she stayed where she was.
The car rolled to a stop.
“Miz Rodriguez, you need to get out, please,” Jeannie said, her voice quavering.
“Jeannie, don’t do this.” Rhetta tried to look over the seat, to see how Bobby was. Jeannie cleared her throat. Her hand was shaking hard.
But not hard enough.
“Please, just do it.” Jeannie was tearing up. “I-I have to do this. I’m so sorry.”
Rhetta obeyed. She thought about running but she was standing in a vast plain of nothing. Her mind raced. She’d had self-defense; what should she do?
Jeannie crawled out, gun in hand.
“I—you need to walk around the car,” Jeannie said. “And then, I’m sorry, but you need to lie facedown with your arms and legs spread.”
“We need to take care of Bobby.” Rhetta started to turn around, and Jeannie raised the gun. Rhetta shook her head. “You won’t shoot me.”
A tear ran down Jeannie’s cheek. “I’m desperate, Miz Rodriguez. I know you don’t believe me about Hunter. I have to fix this, make it right.”
“We can talk it over.”
Jeannie was crying. “No, ma’am. People never listen to people like us. That’s why … I understand why he gets so mad. Because nobody listens unless we
make
’em listen.”
“I’m listening. I am.”
“You think he killed those people. And he didn’t. Now please do what I say.”
Rhetta staggered ahead of Jeannie, then lay prone in the dirt. The wind threw handfuls at her cheeks. Her heart pounded. Sweat poured off her, wicking in the wind. Mae, oh, God, was Hunter after Mae? Was Todd all right? He was going to a friend’s after school. The Handleys.
Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Oh, Blessed Mother, protect my child. Protect Bobby. And me
.
There was a sickening thud. Jeannie had hit Bobby again.
Then Jeannie said, “Help me get him out of the car.”
“Oh, my God, you didn’t kill him,” Rhetta begged. “Jeannie, Jeannie, listen to me—”
Jeannie walked back over to Rhetta; the tips of Rhetta’s own tennis shoes came eye level as she lay in the dirt.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Jeannie said. “Sorrier than you’ll ever know.”
Rhetta prayed.
Tech had requisitioned a much more sophisticated receiver than the one Father Alan had offered Grace.
While it couldn’t boost the signal, it did load coordinates and maps of the search zone that were more accurate and easier to read. Grace stared at the screen while the pilot, Scott Friesen, soared over the beautiful spare landscape. Ham stared out the window. They were both wearing earphones.
Captain Perry was on the radio, bringing them up to date: Rhetta and Bobby had taken Jeannie shopping and Butch had located a white panel van, on fire. A fire truck was on the scene, and a forensics team had been sent out.
“Is there a crucifix wrapped around the rearview mirror?” Grace asked, making a show of bracing for the answer.
“On the dashboard. Forensics has it. And there’s something else here, Grace.” He paused as if for effect. “A credit card receipt signed by Tommy Miller. Not even scorched.”
“Oh. My. God.” Grace slid a glance at Ham. “How stupid is that?”
Grace and Ham shared a moment—a tight smile, a mental high five. But things were too serious in the cockpit of the helicopter to truly savor the victory.
“Warrant,” Grace crowed.
“This time it looks like we’ve got what we want,” Captain Perry affirmed. “Any luck with the search?”
“Not so far.” Grace looked down at the face of the receiver. It looked like sonar, or radar, with contours of the hills, and the interstate in solid black. Each time they flipped over to a new part of the survey they initiated a new “circle of confusion.” Maybe some other time, she would think that was an amusing term. But not now. It would only work if Forrest had his transmitter. If it was on. If it was working. It could have been damaged when he was taken. If no one had stuck it in a tree. There were so many ifs.
If they found him in time.
If he wasn’t dead already.
“If what you told me is correct about this boy’s condition and how long he’s been without his medication, we need to hurry this along,” the doctor said tensely. His name was Julio Alcina, and he looked a little green. Not a fan of flying, probably less a fan of being thrown around in the air like wet rags on a windy clothesline; she hoped he knew his business.
“Sure thing, Doc,” Ham said affably. “Hey, Friesen, can you hit the turbo?”
“Bad news,” Friesen replied. “We’re going to hit a storm.”
“Please, let me call my daughter and see if she’s okay,” Rhetta begged as she drove the car. Tears rolled down her face. They were pulling away from Bobby, leaving him exposed to the wind, unconscious on the ground. She hadn’t seen any blood; if Jeannie hit him hard enough, he could die from bleeding on his brain.
Rhetta willed him to stay alive until she could get help. Gazing down at the odometer, she memorized the last three digits of the readout so that she could retrace their route to where Jeannie had abandoned him.
“Please let me see if Mae’s all right.”
Mae, call the police. Call Daddy. Call someone
.
Jeannie sat beside her, training the gun on her. She had told Rhetta it belonged to Brenda Kessel, who had stashed it in her locker. Jeannie had found it while investigating the lockers of the other women. Rhetta remembered that the only prior she had ever had before was petty theft, breaking into the locker of another woman at a health club. Apparently she knew a trick about how to open combination locks.
“Please,” Rhetta begged. She was crying so hard she couldn’t see where she was going. Fierce winds buffeted the car. Large raindrops plopped on the windshield.
“He wouldn’t hurt her,” Jeannie said. “He really wouldn’t, Miz Rodriguez.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Rhetta shouted. “He hurt
you.”
“He—he lost his temper. But we-we’re married. Married people get mad sometimes.” The wind pushed at the car again. “Maybe we should pull over.”