lived on the far side of town. “Fenton” was a name his mother had heard before, since the guy had been the class valedictorian and had impressed everyone by doubling up on his college courses to graduate a year early. But most important, Fenton was someone his mother would probably, hopefully, never meet. “He happened to pass me on his way home from Texarkana after checking on some cattle for his folks.” It wasn’t a lie that the Fentons were among the more successful ranchers in the area.
His mother brushed her stringy, chin-length hair from her face. “Well, I hope you paid him for his trouble, or at least reimbursed him gas money.”
“He wouldn’t take any.” Slinging back the last of the milk, Harold rinsed out the glass and put it in the dish drainer, fully aware of what would happen if he didn’t. “He said he hoped somebody’d do as much for him sometime if he got into trouble.”
“Now that’s what I call a Christian gesture.” The trailer groaned as his mother rocked back and forth to get enough momentum to turn around and make room for him to precede her down the hall. “You be sure to add him in your prayers, and thank the good Lord for sending you an angel in your time of need. In this day and age, there’s no telling what kind of evil could have been out there.”
The only thing Harold prayed for was that Rose Bean’s Lord “took her home” via natural causes before he was driven to murdering her himself. “Ow!” he cried, as she pinched the back of his arm. “What was that for?” Hell, was the old witch capable of reading minds now?
“You could have called from the store so I wouldn’t have lost sleep worrying. I’ll bet Jack called home. I’ll bet his parents don’t hear any lip from him, either.”
Instead of answering, Harold escaped into his room, quickly shutting and locking the door behind him before she could ask another question. He’d had enough. Besides, the key to lying well was knowing when to shut up.
As he hoped, his mother’s heavy steps moved on down the hall to the other bedroom that she shared with Wendy— “Sow Jr.,” as he called his younger sister in the safety of his mind. What a relief that she hadn’t taken him up on his challenge to check his car to make sure he’d been telling the truth. He’d been counting on that, and if he’d been wrong…he didn’t want to think about the consequences.
Not at all hampered by the darkness of his room, he twisted around and dropped onto the middle of his twin-size cot, then fisted his hands over his head like a boxing champion before an audience of thousands of cheering fans.
He’d done it! Once again he’d made it home without anyone being the wiser about where he’d been and what he’d been doing. And that’s how he planned to keep things.
7
1:15 a.m.
Patrolling Split Creek by day was about as exciting as watching a cow chew her cud; things rarely got more lively at night. Until that message in the high school rest room and Michaele’s call, Jared had begun to believe, as did most of the rest of the community, that they were overprotected. Two cops patrolling the area at night, while Curtis Jarvis manned the station, should have been enough manpower for a town twice their size. Now, who knew? And yet despite his concern, he had to fight against another yawn. He would never make a good vampire. His internal clock was better suited for day work, and his butt and mind were starting to protest this extended time behind the wheel—especially since it was getting him nowhere.
With a deep sigh, he radioed the station for a status report, but Curtis informed him that Eagan and Griggs weren’t having any more success than he was. Next he called the sheriff’s office over in Quitman to get an update and to determine what else they were willing to do at this stage. By the time he once again had both hands on the wheel, he’d reached the southwest perimeters of the community. It was the least likely area for Faith to be—mostly farms, woods and marsh—however, it also had the main access road to Tyler, and Faith was a city girl at heart. Maybe she’d decided to go down there and had had car trouble.
There had been a full moon on Monday, and three-quarters of it was still high in the night sky, but an increase of low clouds kept the terrain pretty much dark. His car’s headlights picked up another pair of eyes in the tall grass on the side of the road, and he warned, “Don’t make my day,” to what he suspected was either a raccoon, small dog or cat. The last thing he wanted was to add to the roadkill count.
The woods abruptly ended to expose two chicken-coop-size houses, neither of which was lit by security lights. Old Mrs. Fahey lived in the shack teetering on cinder blocks, and her widowed daughter Pearl Wascom resided in the one with the screened porch, set farther back from the road. Jared often thought that the two women should move in together and rent the second house to supplement their meager income, but they squabbled too much to stay under the same roof for any length of time. Only their shared commitment to keep Ezekiel Baptist Church across the street polished and ready for any service, as well as the cemetery beside it groomed like a public park, assured any civility between them. What bothered Jared was knowing he could walk up to either house and find the doors and windows unlocked. These were the same two ladies who’d been among the most spooked when Sandy was murdered in her own home. It amazed him how quickly they’d forgotten that, or, more accurately, how they preferred the comfort of living in denial—as had so many in their community.
Continuing, he drove past a few dozen equally isolated residences. With every mile he covered, he willed the radio to relieve him of his growing tension. It didn’t happen, though, and when at last he’d come full circle, he drove past the gas station again.
Buck seemed content to spend the night where he was. Just as well, Jared decided. As much as he didn’t like Michaele being alone at her place, her father would only add to her stress.
Once inside the police station, he headed straight for the coffee machine. He’d barely begun pouring himself a mug full of the potent brew, when Bruce Griggs and Buddy Eagan shuffled in. Bruce, who looked more like a lifeguard than a doting father of two little girls, reported that all he’d come up with was a small domestic disturbance in the trailer park where the Mexicans who worked at area commercial nurseries lived. Buddy, divorced and always a bit edgy, grumbled how his trip hadn’t even yielded that much.
“Bet she’s holed up with one of her instructors getting…tutored.” Smirking, Buddy poured himself a mug of coffee.
“Knock it off,” Bruce replied. “Faith’s a sweet kid. She used to baby-sit our girls, and she was the most responsible sitter we ever had.”
“Hey, my ex’s kid sister went to college down in Austin, and is only a couple years younger than Faith. Some of the stories she told about when she sat kids—”
“That’s enough.” Whatever Faith was or wasn’t, Jared didn’t want anyone discounting the possible seriousness of the situation. He carried his coffee to the city map and studied it again before checking his watch. It was after two o’clock.
Where are you, kid?
“Bruce,” he said to the younger cop, “you take the section I just covered. Buddy, you repeat Bruce’s route, and I’ll go through yours again. Everybody, look a little harder. Pause to check out remote properties. If you see anything suspicious, call for backup, pronto.”
Bruce looked the least thrilled; however, he accepted the assignment as he usually did. He simply finished his coffee, rinsed out the mug and headed for the bathroom. Buddy went to shoot the breeze with Curtis for a moment. Confident the men would be back on the street in minutes,
