Sleep Softly. Gwen Hunter
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hell.” Jim’s laughter was gone.
I looked at him and my eyes ached, tears flowing as if I had opened a faucet. “And I wasn’t joking about my aunt Mosetta. The worst thing you better say in her presence is dang or dantucket. Even my nana is careful about her language in front of Aunt Moses, and Nana could cuss the bark off an oak in her younger days.”
“I thought it was Mosetta,” he said, his tone half laughter.
I shrugged. “Mosetta, Moses, she goes by either. The old ones mostly call her Moses.”
“Please stop crying, Ash.” That tone was back in his voice again, the tone that said he was my boyfriend-sort-of-maybe and didn’t want me to cry.
Boyfriend. I was facing fifty in a few years and I had a boyfriend. What in heck was I going to do with a boyfriend? It made me cry harder, and the sobs felt as if they were raking my throat with claws. “I can’t…I can’t seem to stop crying.”
“Why not?” He put his arms around me and pulled me close.
I had the feeling that most cops didn’t hug most suspects. I snuggled my face into his dress shirt and wrapped my arms around him. I hadn’t known how badly I needed a hug until he tightened his arms. “Why not?” I repeated. “There’s a dead child buried about twenty yards ahead, a huge group of investigators and crime-scene people behind me, my entire family’s a suspect in a murder case and I haven’t slept in over thirty-six hours.”
“That sounds like a good group of reasons. You worked last night?”
I nodded, my face against the starched fabric. It smelled of laundry detergent and man-sweat, an altogether satisfying scent. Amazingly, my tears slowed. I pressed into Jim’s shoulder with my aching face, my skin feeling burned and salty. If she saw me, my mother would drag me to Charlotte to her aesthetician for an emergency session, probably screaming that my epidermis and lipid layer were permanently damaged. She’d done it before. I sighed into Jim’s shoulder, the sound muffled.
“Feel better?”
“Yes. Thank you. Now all I want is a nap.”
“Me, too. Feel better, I mean. I needed this.” His arms tightened a moment and we stood in a shadow, birds tweeting nearby, and a squirrel scampering through dry leaves. Jim released me, easing me away. “Company’s coming.” He brushed a strand of my hair back from my face. “I need to get back to the site.”
I took a breath that still burned down my throat and dropped my hands away from him. “Okay. Thanks for the hug.”
“There’s water in one of the bags at the site.” A half smile raised his lips on one side. “Wash your face so your horny layer does whatever a horny layer is supposed to do.”
“Prurient epidermal thoughts, Agent Ramsey?”
“Thoughts of skin have been known to give me sleep-induced orgasmic pleasure.”
I laughed softly, the sound almost normal as we walked back to the two old oaks and the body buried beyond.
“So. Tell me about Hoddermier Hilldale Jr. and his gentleman friend.”
I sighed. I had a feeling that my neighbors were going to be as abused as my own family.
I considered Hoddy Jr., a slight, delicate man who listened to classical music, wore cashmere in winter and silk blends in summer, and offered cooking classes through the Episcopal church. He looked as if he couldn’t hurt a fly. Could Hoddy be the killer? Surely not.
But how many other friends and neighbors would the cops target? And would they find the killer among them?
5
He entered the mega-store, whistling Vivaldi. The notes were classic and quick, spare and tripping. A good omen for today’s business. He trailed through the grocery aisles, buying things she liked. Blueberry yogurt, bagels, soft cheese in a wheel, pears, caramels, frozen pizza. Because he had to keep her healthy, he added baby spinach—organic, of course—and tomatoes, apples. Big, red, seedless grapes. For himself, he tossed in a bag of shrimp and a couple of thick steaks, baking potatoes. Sour cream. A bottle of merlot, an underappreciated label but a very good year. Surprising to find in a superstore.
Dawdling, enjoying himself, he pushed the buggy through the clothing section, picking up a pair of jeans, a few T-shirts in vibrant pinks and purples. Satiny nightclothes. The ones in her room were getting worn. He wasn’t sure what underwear size she had worn, so he added three packets in different sizes, each containing several pairs. Socks. There were athletic socks with pink stripes and fuzzy socks for sleeping. He selected a half-dozen packets. She had no need of shoes.
In the toy section, he picked through the dolls until he found a nine-inch-tall, plastic, teenage doll wearing a soccer outfit. He added casual clothes and dress clothes for the doll and a new lunch box with a picture of a girl kicking a soccer ball on the top. Perfect. She would love it.
A quick trip through the cosmetic department allowed him to replace the shampoo and bubble bath the other one had liked. This one was independent, outgoing. She’d probably like a fresh scent, not floral. He added a perfume with a sporty name.
And finally the jewelry section. He bought the bracelets. The rings and earrings had already been delivered from eBay. All he had to do was pick up the black velvet throw from the cleaners and he would be ready to begin. This time he had managed all the variables. This time it would work. He was quite certain.
Paying cash, he exited the store and stowed his purchases in the back of his Volvo, still whistling Vivaldi.
The afternoon wore away as all the surface evidence was collected in bags, labeled and stored. As the hours passed, my eyes grew heavy, gritty from lack of sleep, and my limbs seemed to take on a distant buzz, as if they had a current flowing through them. Exhaustion was setting in.
The numbers of federal investigators grew and diminished as the need arose and as Jim dispatched them to question neighbors. With the discovery of a human body, a child, this had officially become an FBI investigation. The locals were here because it was their turf, but everyone knew they were mostly errand boys, not the stars of the investigation. Jim disappeared once to question Hoddy Jr. and his significant other. Hoddy had been out shopping earlier, when a special agent had gone by, and the second attempt fell to Jim.
He left again to oversee the questioning of my nana and Aunt Moses. He was gone a lot longer that time but was back by the designated hour the grave was to be opened and the body recovered. I didn’t ask about the session with Nana. I knew she’d tell me soon enough and would want to know why I hadn’t warned her about the problem on her land. The fact that I was trying to protect her would not be an acceptable reason. Nana wanted her finger in every Chadwick Farm pie.
Around 4:00 p.m., they were ready to open the grave. I might have felt a spurt of excitement or fear except I was too tired to feel energy of any kind. Skye looked up from the ground in her position two feet from the body. Her knees were protected from contaminating the evidence by a layer of special paper and she had an open evidence kit beside her. She was gloved, her blond-streaked hair pulled back and secured. Across from the body knelt Steven, his pate glistening, though the heat of midday had passed.
It was warmer than usual for April, the temperature near eighty in the sunlight. Under the canopy of trees, leaves still not at their summertime fullness, it had reached the seventies. As the sun moved off to the west, it grew cooler fast, and I was glad of the flannel shirt I wore. On the damp earth, Skye shivered.
Using a brush that looked a lot like one I had under my sink to sweep up dry spills, she began pushing the sand away. Behind her squatted another cop, holding what looked like a huge sieve. As Skye moved the earth, he scraped it up and placed it in the sieve. When it was full, he handed it off to yet another cop, who took it to the sidelines, held it over a plastic mat and shook it till all the soil was gone.
Everything that remained after the dirt passed through the sieve was placed in an evidence bag marked