Chapter 43 #2
“Yes. But it should be back soon. That’s what he said.
He wanted me to tell the detectives that I saw Carol that day, that she was fine when she left.
And I did that. Detective Sanchez was here this morning, and I lied for him.
I told her that I saw Carol and that she was fine.
I didn’t say anything about the screaming I heard.
I was afraid she wouldn’t believe me and that Alex would be angry.
I tried to do what he asked. When I get my car back, I’ll leave.
Then I’ll tell the police that I heard Carol screaming that day. ”
“Jesus.”
“As soon as I get my car back, I’m out of here.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. He’s still hoping I can give him an alibi.
He’s hoping I’ll talk to the cops again and, I don’t know, be more convincing this time.
I’ll tell him I suddenly remembered it all and that I’ll tell the detectives the whole story that Carol was perfectly fine.
She left and drove away.” I glance out the window, where dark has descended.
“Who knows about what you’ve found? Is that what you turned over to the detectives? ”
“No. I just figured this out. I’ve contacted the FBI, though. I’m meeting with them tomorrow. Is there anyone who can pick you up? Get you out of there?”
“I can’t think of anyone. I’ll convince Alex that I can help him.” And I hope he believes me.
“All right. Be careful, Emma. I’ll call you when I know more.”
He ends the call. I’m still sitting on Mary’s bed, my phone in my hand.
I’m numb and scared witless. I stand and pace the room, my mind darting in a hundred frightened directions.
Could Noah be right? Is my father a cold-blooded killer?
I can’t believe it. If he hurt Carol, I have to believe that he didn’t mean it.
He didn’t set out to murder her. They got into a fight, and she was accidentally killed.
Maybe it didn’t happen at all. Maybe she did leave after a heated argument.
But I’m shaking, pulling at my hair. Trying to hold down my panic.
If nothing else, I’ve got to remain calm.
I can’t give away my fears in front of Alex.
But what about the other women? The murders that Noah is looking into.
I pull up Noah’s notes on Janice Dixon, read them over, a broken bone in her throat leading cops to believe that she’d been strangled, and the position of the body …
It makes my blood run cold. But I need to see for myself how similar her case is to the murder in Alex’s first book.
Maybe Noah’s exaggerating, looking for something that isn’t there.
I wipe my face, brush my hair. I must look like a madwoman and start down the main staircase. Alex is in the foyer, slipping into his shoes.
“Do you think my car will be ready soon?” I manage, my throat dry.
“Shouldn’t be too long.”
“I’ve been thinking. I would like to talk to Detective Sanchez again. I was really nervous last time. But now, I’ve thought it through. I’m sure I can convince her that I remember Carol leaving the house. Driving away.”
Alex nods. “Good. I’m counting on you.” He forces a smile. “I’m going to run over to Ruth’s for a little while,” he says, and heads out the door.
I glance at his office. The door stands open.
I listen for Sunny and think I hear her in the kitchen.
I head inside the office, scan the bookshelves.
Alex’s books are lined up on a middle shelf.
All twenty of them stand like soldiers in gleaming dustjackets.
But are they more than fiction? It makes my skin crawl.
Could my father have actually used real crimes—crimes he might have committed—as inspiration for his writing?
I take a deep breath, try to calm my nerves, and pull Killer on the Trail from the shelf.
I drop down into a wooden chair, open the book to chapter six, and read.
Grace Callahan is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.
We’ve been on the trail now for weeks, and my desire for her has only grown with every passing mile.
But she hasn’t given me the time of day.
Lately, she’s been walking with Charles Martin at sunset after we’ve all made camp.
I hear her laughter as they stroll hand in hand, not too far away from the wagons to tempt the Indians or cause a scandal, but close enough that I can hear her gentle voice on the breeze.
The other fellas notice too, and that agitates my blood.
There’ll be a lot of competition for her when we reach California.
Wives are in short supply there. Charles Martin thinks he’s smart getting a jump on everybody, but I’ve got a surprise for him.
He’s an arrogant son of a bitch and needs to be put in his place.
In the morning, after the oxen have been tended, I slip around to the side of the Callahan wagon.
Grace is there by herself, washing clothes in a bucket.
I watch her as she bends over, plunges her hands into the water, then straightens and wrings out the clothes.
She’s taken her bonnet off. The sun is scorching this morning, and her pretty blond hair runs down her back.
There are sweat stains under her arms wetting her blue gingham dress.
She’s tired. We all are. She’s had a lot on her shoulders caring for her ailing mother and three little sisters.
“Grace?”
She squeals. I’ve scared her. I didn’t want to do that. I clear my throat.
“Sorry. Awful hot today,” I say.
“Yes.”
She’s slender and a little peaked. The rations have gotten thin the last few days. The men are going to have to search the woods for game before too long. It’s still a long way to California.
“I saw some blueberry bushes not too far into those woods,” I say. “You want me to help you pick some?”
She furrows her forehead, thinking, looking between the wash and the woods.
“They looked nice and ripe,” I say. “They’d be a real treat in this heat.”
She wipes her hand across her brow and pushes her fair hair behind her ear. “Yes. They would. Let me tell Ma. I’ll get a bucket from the wagon.”
“I got one already,” I say, and show her the little pail I’d brought with me.
I skip down the page, my heart fluttering in my chest. I look up at the door to Alex’s office.
Everything is still quiet in the house. I start reading again.
Deep in the woods, the killer has his hands around Grace’s throat.
I skip down the page. I remember that Alex’s descriptions of the killings in his books are graphic. I don’t want to read that part.
She looks so sweet lying there in the weeds, wildflowers around her head.
I sigh. She shouldn’t have resisted me. It’s her own fault.
But I can’t leave her out here like that for the animals to get at.
So I pull my knife out of my pocket and use it and my hands to scrape out a small grave under a pine tree.
When I’ve got it dug, sweat running into my eyes, I place her in it.
I point her head west, the destination she’ll forever be yearning for.
Then I raise her arm up over her head and open her hand like she’s waving us all goodbye.
Godspeed to California. Then I cover her up with dirt and wildflowers I’ve pulled—
“What are you doing, Emma?” Alex stands over me.
My heart nearly jumps out of my chest. I slap the book closed. “Just reading.”
His eyes search my face. “Thought you’d already read that one.”
I stand and shove the book back on the shelf, my legs quivering so hard I can barely stand. “Yes. I have, but it’s so good. I, uh, just came in and pulled it out at random and got caught up in it, you know?” I’m rambling like an idiot.
“Well, you can take it upstairs with you if you want. I’ve got to get back to work.” He glances at his desk.
“Sorry,” I mumble, and slip past him. Back in my room, I lock the door and pace.
Is the description in the book that similar to the dead woman in Truckee?
Maybe the dead woman just happened to have her arm stretched over her head.
Maybe it was just a coincidence that she was lying with her head to the west, that she was strangled like the character in the book.
Is Noah just trying to see something that’s not there? Or am I trying to rationalize?
I glance at my phone. I have a text, but not from him. There’s an answer to my text to the unknown number. I drop to the side of the bed, fingers shaking as I click on it.
My name is Nina Garrett. I run an animal sanctuary, Nina’s Retreat, in a small town in northern Maine. I can help you. I knew your mother, Lana. Meet me here. Tell no one.
This is crazy. How does she know me or my mother?
I’ve never heard of her. I sit at the desk and google Nina’s Retreat.
A nice website pops up. Nina takes in cats, dogs, horses, and other assorted unwanted animals.
There are photos of the animals and guests petting them.
There are lots of reviews, all praising Nina and her place.
It looks completely legit. When I leave, I’ll go see for myself.
In any case, I need to get out of here and go someplace where Alex can’t find me.
There’s a knock on my door. I flip the latch and open it.
Sunny. “Why was your door locked?” she asks, her arms crossed over her chest. She doesn’t wait for my answer. “Dad wanted me to ask you if you wanted to join us for dinner in Evansport.”
“Thanks. But I’m okay here. I have a headache. I think I’ll go to bed early.”
“Great,” Sunny replies, and walks back down the hallway.