The Desert Behind Me Page 13

  “You sound almost manic. Stop a minute and think about this. What do you know about these people? The Ranger? Have you worked with him much? And what kind of friend is this?”

  “This time the bitch is right. Someone talks nice to you and you’re all Sally Field. ‘They like me!’ Moron.”

  A horrifying memory battered me, one I wished would stay hidden.

  In the dark, outside the picture window in their dining room, the light from the chandelier over the table casts shadowy glow over the yard, making the grass look like a bed of nails. The trees struggle in the wind, black splashes with flashes of light from the window. The battle rages outside, and inside and I can’t distinguish the coming storm from the war in my head.

  “She’s going to put you away. He’s already hurt you. You must stop them.” Frank hisses, then yells. Then he screams so loud I can’t resist.

  The wooden knife handle pulses with life in my hand. They keep eating, both reading, no conversation. The door is locked but I have a key.

  Beethoven drowns out my stealthy entry. So quiet on the thick carpet, they don’t see me. I want to stop. Run away. But Frank is urging me on, giving me no choice.

  I raise my arm, knife aimed at the spot where his sweaty gray hair tapers to pale skin.

  Mom’s chair dumps over. Her body slams into me, knocking me to the floor, making Frank finally shut up.

  She easily wrests the knife from my weak grasp.

  Sorry. So sorry. Pills. Sleep. Hospital.

  I unclenched my fist and flattened my palms on the pool deck. “The Ranger is a woman. She’s got a couple of kids.”

  Mom probably nodded with that knowing expression. “That makes sense. Mother’s Day makes you want to connect with children. Like the kids across the street. That’s understandable. But, for your own sake, you need to take it slowly. Find out about people before you rush in.”

  I stabbed some ham and cheese and lifted it, set it back down. The image of Cali’s shy expression, her beautiful blonde hair. Was she really okay? Did the creep who took her make her answer her phone? “How do I get to know people if I don’t spend time with them?”

  A long sigh. “Just be careful. I don’t have to tell you; your closet is pretty deep. And what if people start wondering why you retired so young? What happens if they check out your past?”

  The Chorus woke up, with the volume of a busy restaurant at dinnertime.

  Frank: “Did you forget who you are? If Pete or Rafe knew about you, they’d set speed records for running away. And Sherilyn—obviously she’s a twit.”

  Mom softened. “Don’t listen to me. I’ve had a lousy day.”

  Glad to change the subject, I asked, “Election?”

  A glass clinked on the counter. Wine, no doubt. Deep red. “No. This damned investigation. She’s all over me.”

  “Sorry you have to deal with that.”

  “She’s digging into your case. So keep a low profile. ”

  Guilt washed down the back of my throat like thick sludge. “I’m not exactly making waves down here.” Except with Mrs. Thompson and Megan.

  “What are you going to do about Cali Shaw? What about Zoey Clark?”

  “I know. I’m out of sorts today. Don’t mean to take it out on you.”

  I spoke my truest emotion. “I’m sorry.”

  “Okay.” Brisk again. “Enough about me. How’s the mosaic coming along?”

  This was safer ground. “Great. Going to look nice on your deck.”

  “Oh, honey, you should keep it. That kind of thing isn’t really appropriate for snow and cold.”

  “How is the election planning going?”

  She charged like a dog let off a leash. “I’ve hired Toby Benson, one of the best strategists around. I hate to sound cold-hearted, but your father’s pension is making this campaign much easier to afford.” She rushed on. “Not that I wouldn’t rather have him with me.”

  The Chorus rose in a confusion of anger. Maggie’s voice felt soft and satiny. “Your father is gone.”

  I hoped my answer sounded normal. “Dad would be glad he’s helping out.”

  “I suppose. Toby has some great ideas, and with the increase in convictions over the last two years, we’ve got the law and order vote on our side. These days, that’s the trend, so I’m feeling confident.”

  With little input from me, Mom let her enthusiasm for Toby and the campaign carry the conversation. The roadrunner and I continued to stand off, and the Chorus carried on their chatter without me.

  She sucked in a breath. “Damn. Look at the time. I’ve got to get to bed. We’re shooting a commercial tomorrow and makeup only goes so far.”

  I hung up, the buoyant feeling of earlier now a burning memory. Today’s emotional rodeo showed the status of my health. Not as good as I’d thought.

  The bite of salad I shoved into my mouth tasted old and wilted. It stuck in my throat as my attention focused on a clump of something near the filter outlet. I swallowed and nearly choked on dread. My knees stung as I crawled across the pavement to lean over the edge and pull the sprig from the pool. Drops of water, like blood, dripped onto the concrete from the drooping blossoms of the lilac.

  Impossible. The voices rose, keeping time with my racing heart. Putting depth and power into my words, I said, “I’m Jamie Butler. I’m Amanda’s daughter. I’m a retired Buffalo cop.”

  Barely able to keep from running, I dumped the flower in my kitchen garbage. With shaking hands I poured ice water, sliced lemon and squeezed it in. Obviously, someone had a lilac bush in their backyard. I’d smelled it and now the flower in my pool. Nothing to be panicked about. A spring flower. No problem.

  The salad sat on the breakfast bar. I needed to eat. I’d promised Tara and Mom that I’d take care of the basics.

  My phone rang.

  Caller I.D. said Mitch Harris, my AZ Ranger commander. Maybe someone couldn’t make it to the horse races tomorrow and he wanted me to take an extra shift. The distraction would be good.

  But that wasn’t the case.

  After a quick greeting he said, “You agreed to back off from the Thompson girl. But I got a call from Jim and he’s fit to be tied.”

  The weight of dread pushed me to lean on the granite counter. I’d gone out, had some laughs. Spent time playing with those little girls. I should have been following up on Cali. “Maybe you can get the Pima County Sheriff to look into this girl, Cali Shaw. I think she might have been kidnapped or gone off with this predator at the ball park.”

  “Yeah. You said that. And they assigned an officer. He checked it out. It’s fine. But you’re still causing problems.”

  “I know, but—”

  He interrupted. “I hate to do this. But I’m going to suspend you.”

  “Wait—”

  “Not permanently and not officially. But until you’ve had a chance to calm down.”

  The Rangers was all I had. Without that purpose, the chance to do some good, I’d lose my tether. “Please don’t do this.”

  He left no room for negotiation. “I’ve done it. Sorry, Jamie.” He hung up.

  “Someone’s finally seeing the real you, huh, moron.” Frank sounded gleeful.

  I picked up my salad and dumped it in the trash, plate, fork, and all.

  22

  He ran the tattered bandana through his fingers, then held it to his nose. It smelled like her. He knew because he’d been in her house, her bedroom. He’d touched her things. The red hoodie that no longer smelled like its original owner, but instead now smelled like Jamie.

  She was coming apart. He saw in the way she questioned herself. She had to wonder if she was the last one to see the little girl, the confusion at the possibility she’d been at the ball park the night the girl disappeared, the shock when she found the bit of bandana at the doorway. He congratulated himself on that detail.

  He hadn’t expected her to weather Mother’s Day. She was stronger than he thought. But that only made her ultimate downfall sw
eeter.

  The girls were weak but they were holding on. He needed to make sure he didn’t take them too close to the edge. As long as one of them survived to the end, it would be okay.

  Not long now. He was pulling the rope tighter, drawing her closer. Soon, he’d make her pay.

  23

  The sun stayed tucked behind the Tucson Mountains and wouldn’t strike me for another hour. It couldn’t be more than seventy-five degrees just after 6 a.m. Surprisingly, I’d slept some last night. Frank and the Chorus raged for an hour or so after Mom’s and Mitch’s calls. Eventually, Maggie soothed them all.

  With Tara, and a few others before her, I’d worked on addressing most of the voices that visited me. Obviously, Frank demanded his share of attention. I made sure he never felt too neglected because it was Frank who got me in the worst trouble. He’d been the one to demand I jump from her bedroom window on the second floor. He was also responsible for me showing up at my parents’ door wielding a butcher knife.

  Maggie had been with me as long as I could remember. Tara called her the Mother and suggested she got her name from the loving television mother on a sitcom popular when I was a child. She wondered if I needed Maggie to comfort me because Mom could be cold.

  I understood Mom’s love for me came packaged differently than most mothers. But Tara had lots of ideas about the voices. I didn’t agree with all of her theories.

  Aside from Frank and Maggie, there were others. A group I called the Three liked to ambush me. I couldn’t discern how many spoke, but they always spouted three statements of doom and destruction. Tara and I concocted an antidote for them. I chose three declarations as a balance. “I’m Jamie Butler. I’m Amanda’s daughter. I’m a retired Buffalo cop.”

  If those didn’t soothe me, I’d add other statements about myself. I had so few that I’d recycle them, repeating my rosary.

  Then there was Peanut. So sad. So alone. Even Tara agreed I wasn’t ready to talk to her, yet. I wasn’t sure I ever would be.

  Mom thought I’d conquered the voices. She didn’t know it was more like taming them. Tara thought I’d always hear them. I knew I would. They were part of me and I’d miss them if they left completely.

  This morning they were all active. It sounded like a convention in a grand ballroom. I needed activity and my mesquite tree out front needed trimming. Before I picked up my saw, I checked in with Frank. Aside from his usual obscene commentary, he didn’t seem inclined to violence.

  Tara and I had discussed how to deal with this day. I’d planned to take the assignment at the horse races and had barricaded myself against letting Frank or anyone else take over. Since Mitch had scrapped that plan, I was at odds. Maybe I ought to get a Petunia of my own. When I thought about Shax, it led to Cali, and I had to stop thinking about her.

  I set the ladder under my tree, but the Dempsey’s mesquite branches hung so low over their front walk I repositioned myself under their tree instead. Mrs. Dempsey had complained to me about hiring someone to take care of trimming. Mr. Dempsey might putter around a golf course a couple of times a week, but climbing a ladder with his forty-pound belly begged disaster. Mrs. Dempsey couldn’t lift the saw for more than thirty seconds.

  I lopped away, letting the conversations swirl. It reminded me of spinning the knob on an old radio with the sounds moving and melding, nothing sticking with any meaning.

  A slammed door and slap of feet interrupted the static. Within seconds Cheyenne’s voice rounded the corner from the oleander. “Good morning Frank. Hi, Maggie.”

  I started down the ladder, thankful that I looked before I stepped. Kaycee’s pink hand rested on the second lowest rung and she stared up at me with her clear, blue eyes.

  “You’re out early, little miss.” I tried to sound cheerful but I took in her bare feet, her baby doll pajamas, her sleep ruffled hair. No mother.

  I maneuvered around her hand, dropped the saw and gently reached for her, wondering if she’d let me pick her up. She raised her arms when I bent.

  Oh, the feel of her little body, soft and squishy, smelling of sleep, sun screen, and baby sweat. It burned through me to hold her like that, the sweetness more than I could bear.

  Still no Sherilyn. I had no choice but to keep hold of Kaycee and make my way to Cheyenne, who squatted outside the birds’ enclosure. “What are you doing up so early?”

  I’d forgotten about the birds and was surprised to see them in the shade of the oleander, huddled close and backed under the branches. Their parents were obviously keeping them fed, whether I watched over them or not. They didn’t move and their shiny black eyes watched us.

  She squinted up at me. “We had to say good morning to Frank and Maggie. Mom said it’s okay.”

  I glanced at the house across the street and noticed the gray sedan parked down the way. With as often as it appeared, obviously it belonged to someone who lived on our street. I needed to isolate the voice that kept pointing it out to me and assure whoever it was that the car wasn’t a threat. “She knows you’re here?”

  Cheyenne turned back to the birds and poked her finger through the wire. “She said as long as you’re out here we can visit the birds.” Cheyenne sang in a high-pitched voice. “ABCDEFG, HIJK, elomento pee.”

  Kaycee squiggled to get down and I set her next to Cheyenne, where she imitated her sister’s squat and stuck her tiny finger through the wire.

  The front door across the street opened and Sherilyn appeared in a long t-shirt with Jackson on her hip. “I hope you don’t mind the girls coming over. They wanted to see the birdies and Jackson had a dirty diaper.”

  “Find your own damned daycare,” Frank fumed.

  I made myself wave and smile. “They’re fine.” She’d let them run outside without shoes. Across a street by themselves.

  “I’ll just be a minute.” Sherilyn slipped inside and shut the door.

  I stood with the two girls. Cheyenne stopped singing. “Kaycee says you like little girls but I think maybe you’re like the witch in Hansel and Gretel and you only pretend to like us and then you’ll eat us when we let our guard down.”

  Maybe they were both right. “I don’t eat much red meat.”

  Cheyenne stood up and folded her arms across her chest. “Mom, she told Daddy that you are sad.”

  “I am sad sometimes.”

  Cheyenne tilted her head. “Because of your little girl?”

  My heart stopped. The Chorus crescendoed. “What… what little girl?”

  Cheyenne toed Kaycee. “The one that talks to her.”

  The door across the street opened again and Sherilyn popped out in shorts and tank top. “Breakfast!”

  Kaycee jumped up and pumped her fat little legs straight for the street. I lunged for her arm and caught her as her bare foot slapped the sidewalk. Cheyenne placed her hand in my free one and tugged at me to cross the street.

  “Like Daddy says, safety first.”

  Sherilyn collected the girls and thanked me.

  I went back to my ladder and finished trimming the Dempsey’s tree. The sweet smell of mesquite and Texas sage rose on warm wings. If I concentrated on the moment, the sunshine, the pebbles that made up my front yard, the warming day, the spring smells, then I wouldn’t have to think about Mitch’s call. I could let myself believe Rafe’s assessment that Cali Shaw was safe. If I focused on the beauty of the desert I could convince myself today was simply another date on the calendar.

  Next door Mr. and Mrs. Dempsey wandered onto their front porch. Mr. Dempsey, thick white hair that looked silky enough to stroke, waved. “Well, would you look at this, Mother.”

  Mrs. Dempsey, heavy purse draped over her forearm and tucked into her belly, crunched along the gravel of their yard into mine. Her polyester pants singing with each step. “Bless your heart! What a Mother’s Day gift. Those ol’ branches were getting to be such a bother.”

  Mr. Dempsey hollered from his walk at the volume of someone hard of hearing. “You sure saved me a lot of wor
k, young lady.”

  Embarrassed by the effusive thanks, I mumbled, “No problem. I was trimming my tree so my tools were already out.”

  Mrs. Dempsey patted my arm. “That’s just the sweetest thing. Ted is taking me for brunch. It’s a Mother’s Day tradition. Would you like to join us?”

  Mr. Dempsey pointed his garage opener. “Don’t know why I’m taking her out today. She’s not my mother. But you’re not my mother either, so you’re welcome to come.”

  “Thank you for asking but I’ve got a lot to do around here.”

  Mrs. Dempsey cackled in a carefree way I envied, and yelled at Mr. Dempsey. “I’m the mother of your children. That deserves a nice brunch once a year.” To me, she said, “Honestly, that doesn’t begin to pay for the price of motherhood.”

  I knew the price of motherhood. Before she could ask about my plans, I started in. “Did your son and daughter call this morning?”

  Again, that laugh, so free of burden. “Heavens it’s two hours later in Omaha and neither of them have called yet. Ted and I, we never slept that late. Too much to do and church on Sunday.”

  Mr. Dempsey backed their Lincoln into the driveway and tapped the horn. “Oops. Gotta go. Ted gets peckish if he doesn’t get his Grand Slam.” She turned and picked her way across the yard in her sandals. “Sometimes I think Mother’s Day brunch is all about him.”

  After trimming the trees and dragging the branches to haul off later, I still had a long day ahead. My pool gave cooling relief and the mosaic table filled the rest of the morning. I fixed a lunch I had to force myself to eat.

  The temperature hovered in the eighties, a perfect day to run and maybe wear myself out. In my running shorts and shoes, I ventured out from my garage, ducking under the door before it closed. The baby birds hunkered close in the cover of the oleander, the sun creeping across their pen.

  Standing in the shade of my house, I fiddled with the settings on my athletic tracker. A long run seemed the best option for managing my stress, unless I wanted to obliterate myself with meds.