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“Well, you’re sort of right. I mean, she doesn’t have a restraining order against the guy. They’re not divorced yet. Technically, taking his daughter back isn’t illegal.”
“What did Sam say?”
It sounded strange, hearing her call my boss, Sergeant DelGrande, by his first name.
“That I should keep trying to reach the husband, then follow up with her again tomorrow. He said that these domestic squabbles usually blow over, and that next time I should suggest she get a lawyer and handle the custody dispute in court. It’s not really a criminal matter unless we have reason to believe the child is in danger.”
“What about his criminal record? Is he a dangerous guy?” Mom leaned forward, squinting at the computer again. A list of criminal cases lined my screen. I’d looked up all men in Tennessee with the last name ‘Nesbitt’.
“Not on paper. He’s had two traffic tickets. That’s it. There’s a couple other men on here with the same name, but they don’t have the same birthday or identifying characteristics as the one who lives in Granton.”
“So, he’s not a criminal. That’s a good sign. But that doesn’t mean he’s not guilty. Abuse can be so subtle…so well hidden sometimes.” Mom shifted around on the bed, looking uncomfortable. In the green glow of the computer screen, she looked gaunt and ghoulish.
“I found something I could work with though. It’s illegal to take your child away to another state without a court order. So, maybe I could nail him for that. Nova’s in West Virginia and he’s in Tennessee. If he grabbed the girl and crossed state lines…”
“Or you could nail her,” Mom corrected me, fluffing her rollers.
“What do you mean?”
“Her home is in Tennessee, right? I bet it still says Tennessee on her driver’s license. If she up and took the daughter away to West Virginia, then she’s the one in trouble here. Have you even looked up her criminal record?”
Instantly, I felt like a moron. “No, I haven’t. But you’re right. I should. I’ve been looking up info on him for the past hour.”
Determined now, I scooted my chair up closer and typed in ‘Nova Nesbitt’ in the search box. I widened my criteria, searching all states and genders.
Instantly, a list popped up and Nova’s name was at the very top. I gasped as a row of charges loaded beneath her name.
Domestic Battery.
Criminal Confinement.
Strangulation.
“Holy shit.”
I leaned back in my chair, full of disbelief. My mind floated back to the wispy, stuttering woman I met this morning. She seemed so fragile, so anxious. Could she be the real abuser in this situation? I wondered, incredulously. My gut was saying: no.
“Mom, you’re the best. I was so focused on him and whether the child was in danger, that I never looked up more info on her. It sounds like there are some major issues going on in the family and I need to figure this out.”
I expected my mom to make a crack about my investigative skills or get on me for cussing, but she just looked tired and worried. She patted me on the shoulder and stood up.
“Don’t go out there by yourself. You know what happened last time…”
I stiffened. “What happened to Ezra Clark wasn’t my fault. I was doing things by the book…”
“This is a small town, Ellie. And everyone in it knew Ezra was a mean drunk.” My mother’s back was to me, her hand resting on the doorknob in the dark.
So, even my mother thinks I’m a cop killer, I thought, squeezing the arms of my computer chair.
“Whether he was a drunk or a well-known cop, doesn’t give him the right to hit his wife. And it certainly didn’t give him the right to grab for my gun when I went to arrest him,” I hissed, waiting for her to turn around.
“I know, honey. I know,” she said, letting herself out and pulling the door closed behind her.
Turning back to the computer screen, I stared at the list of Nova’s charges until the words turned blurry through my tears. Maybe she really was a criminal. A reckless woman who assaulted her husband and skipped town with their child…
Maybe she wasn’t all that she seemed. Or…maybe she just got a bad rap like I did when I’d defended myself against Ezra Clark…
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_c96a473e-35a8-5b4a-8165-8b2072b931de)
The Neighbor
CLARA
I stopped sleeping after Krissy left. The house had gone quiet ever since she moved to Texas with her husband, Tim. Now twenty, she was no longer my little girl, but a woman on her own with her own family to take care of and worry about.
It had been two years since she left, but still, sometimes I thought I could hear her—the tap tap tap of her typing. That girl was always typing, either writing a story or doing research for some cause she wanted to fight for. And sometimes I heard the younger versions of her—Krissy with her Hot Wheels, the metal wheels scraping on the hardwood floors and running up the sides of the walls. It used to aggravate me to no end. I’d be reading a book or cooking supper, and here she’d come, buzzing down the hall with those obnoxious cars.
And Annie, too. Sometimes I still heard Annie. Unlike Krissy, Annie never aged—her sounds were always that of a three-year-old. Sucking on her bottle that I never got the chance to break her from. Giggling. Her laughter, a cute little snort. I’d open the bathroom door, expecting to find Annie in there taking a bubble bath, running little rubber duckies around the porcelain walls of the tub…
There were pieces of them all over the farm, like pieces of old ghosts. I couldn’t sleep in my own bed because Andy would be there waiting. I could feel the pressure of his weight, lying on his side of the bed…
Lately, I’d taken to leaving the TV on. Twenty-four hours a day someone was talking—Ellen DeGeneres, Dr. Phil, Judge Judy…But tonight, I couldn’t bear to listen. There was something about listening to other people’s lives that I could no longer stand. It felt stupid, really, living vicariously through other people. Meanwhile, I was wasting away, turning into a ghost myself, here on the farm.
It was late, nearly three in the morning, and nothing good was ever on at this time. A pale sliver of light poked through the curtains and there was a tightening in my throat. I hadn’t smoked in hours, but still, my mouth and throat felt dry.
Quietly, I tiptoed closer to the dining room window, peeking through the small gap in the curtains. Praying my new tenant wouldn’t catch me spying on her again.
But there wasn’t much to see, just a slippery shadow moving around behind the curtains in her bedroom window.
News of Nova’s missing daughter hadn’t made the nightly news. I’d seen her wandering the property in the middle of the day, but she hadn’t been out there long. I was so worried she’d come to my door and knock, but she never did. She’d ran around, frantic-like, then ran back inside.
Suddenly, the back-porch light of the cabin popped on and off. Then on again. From across the field, I watched my tenant emerge through the back-screen door. She was bent at the waist, dragging something over the threshold and then, she pulled a large object across the ground.
In the dark, it looked like a long, black bag.
I couldn’t see her face as she tugged and pulled, but her hair whipped around wildly in the wind until eventually, she disappeared through the trees at the back of the property.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_550ca474-1eda-565e-9ce8-bee7bd49a83d)
The Cop
ELLIE
Northfolk’s police station was a small brick building, reminiscent of a 1940s school house. On a Sunday morning, there was no one manning the front desk, the entire building deserted. I let myself in, using my key, then flipped on lights as I juggled my coffee and purse.
Working on Sundays wasn’t typical for me. Usually, there was no reason to. The four other officers and I rotated the on-call cell phone every weekend, and responded to emergencies as needed, calling for back-up when necessary.
But rarely did the phone ever ring.
This was Roland’s weekend, but I didn’t expect to see him either. He didn’t come in on weekends; sometimes he didn’t even work on weekdays.
The hallway was cold and colorless, one smoky lightbulb flickering in and out. I used another key to let myself into my office, then frowned at my neatly arranged desk. In the movies, police officers always had messy desks because they were too busy out in the field to deal with paperwork. But most days, I had more than enough time to finish my work and clean my office, too.
The organization in my office felt like a niggling sign of failure.
I took a seat behind the desk and fired up my computer. At home, my searches were more limited. I needed to know more about Nova Nesbitt. Needed to see that police report from when she was charged with all those awful crimes.
The computer was taking forever to load, probably installing some useless update. That’s when I heard the front door to the building click open and shut. Hadn’t I locked it behind me?
“Yooo-hooo!” a man’s voice bellowed. Roland. He’d probably seen my cruiser parked out front and decided to stop in just because. I released an internal groan.
Roland was nearly forty, and balding, but still acted like a frat boy, always telling inappropriate jokes and flirting with the women he was supposed to be protecting.
“What’s up, Sharp?” Sharp was short for Sharp Shooter, another stupid nickname because I wasn’t as experienced or interested in guns as some of my male compatriots. And also, a more sinister reference…they still looked at me as that cop, the one who had shot a fellow officer. A superior officer, to make matters worse.
It didn’t matter that the shooting was justified…no one seemed to care about the actual details of what happened that day with Ezra Clark’s death…they simply wanted to blame the newbie that had killed a veteran officer.
When they looked at me, I could see it in their eyes…She killed a cop. She killedone of us. She can’t be trusted.
But I did the right thing, didn’t I? Sometimes they made me doubt myself…and plans to join a big city force had dissipated. If I couldn’t make it in this small town, I couldn’t make it anywhere…
Roland’s head popped through my door, his smile wolfish and mean. “Whatcha doing here on a Sunday, huh? Looking up online pointers for your shooting exam?” He chuckled at his own joke, hard enough that his laughs evaporated into wheezy coughs.
I was seized by the sudden desire to stand up and punch him.
“Working on a case,” I grumbled, shifting unimportant papers around on my desk. He made me uncomfortable and for a brief moment, as he stood in the doorway surveying me, I forgot why I’d come in in the first place. “What can I do for you, Roland?” I sighed.
“Saw your car. And that reminded me. There were a few messages for ya, on Saturday. From some girl.”
I gripped the edge of my desk with both hands. “Why didn’t you call my personal cell? By girl, do you mean a woman? Was it Nova Nesbitt?”
“Well, I didn’t get the messages until this morning. But yeah, I think that’s the name she said in her message.”
“Roland! You’re on-call. That means you have to answer the phone when it rings. How hard is that to understand? What if it was an emergency?”
Roland shrugged, that lopsided smile coming back. “So, shoot me. It was an honest mistake.” His face flickered with anger on the word shoot.
His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. He’d probably been down at Mick’s Lounge when the calls came in. Roland and some of the other guys spent their free time at Mick’s, or Prissy’s, the strip club on I-90. Sometimes they spent their on-the-clock hours there too. They weren’t all bad guys, but Roland was definitely the worst in the group. He’s the reason some male cops get bad raps, I thought, shaking my head.
In a town where there were more bars than restaurants, and the closest thing to a strip mall was a strip club with a Dollar Tree attached, what could I really expect? Twenty-five years ago, Roland was playing football, or some other meathead sport that made him look cool, while I was being ignored and/or teased by guys just like him. Now he was just an older, fatter version of himself, but he had the power and authority that came with being a cop.
“Welp, if it was an emergency, she should have called 911. Anyway, she mentioned your name in the message, so I thought I’d pass it along. Something about a dispute with the husband and kid? Sounds like a domestic dispute that the courts should be handling…”
My jaw clenched. It was a terrible habit that often resulted in midnight migraines.
I clicked my computer screen off and gathered up my bag and keys, then I locked the door to my office behind me, nudging him aside with my purse.
I was going to walk out, but then I changed my mind. Turning around, I narrowed my eyes at Roland.
“You know what? I’ll take that on-call cell phone,” I snapped.
Another shrug. “Hey, that works for me.” He took the cell phone out of his back pocket and held it over my head, just out of reach. You must be fucking kidding me. I was far from petite, but I hadn’t grown an inch since middle school. Roland’s six-foot frame towered over my five-foot two-inches.
My fist struck the center of his abdomen and he let out a groan. Bent at the waist, I grabbed the cell phone as it clattered on the floor by my feet.
Roland looked up at me, smiling as he clutched his waistline. His cheeks were the color of cherry blossoms. “You got a thing for picking on other officers, don’t you? Maybe I should report you to the sarge for assault…”
“Go right ahead.”
Unlike some of the guys, Sergeant DelGrande was more supportive of me.
Moments later, I roared out of the parking lot, cussing myself for letting Roland get to me…and for not writing my personal cell number on the back of the business card I gave to Nova. The card had my office extension on it and the on-call number. But if she’d tried my office yesterday, then it would have just rung and rung, eventually going straight to voicemail.
Wildly, I drove around the twisty inclines of the Appalachians, afraid of what I might find. What if Nova found her daughter on the property and I wasn’t there to help? Images of bloody, bloated toddlers sliced through my head like razors. What if her husband showed up and tried to hurt her? I clenched my teeth together so hard I could almost hear the enamel cracking.
Someone should have been there to take her call, dammit!
Despite the beauty of the rugged, flat-topped highlands and majestic mountain ridges that seemed to reach the sun, the town itself looked like an ashtray. Like there was some sort of smoking giant, flicking its filth all over the city, and onto the people who lived here.
The houses were taped together, some barely standing. Boarded up windows and sagging roofs. Windows plastered shut with cardboard or old blankets. And the rivers and creeks were so full of garbage you couldn’t swim or fish. It seemed so wrong to see so much poverty amongst such a beautiful backdrop, but this town was poor. Most of its income came from tourism in the summer and springtime, thanks to hikers and ATV enthusiasts.
I couldn’t breathe when I pulled up in front of the house. Please let Nova be okay…I can’t afford to make another mistake that keeps me ostracized even more by my peers…
The cabin was quiet and dark, and there was something off about the place as soon as I put my cruiser in park.
I approached the cabin, taking in more details than I had on my first visit.
The grass was a soupy wasteland after last night’s rain and mosquitoes buzzed around my pant legs as I made my way up to the door.
I could still see Nova, the way she’d looked two days ago, desperation in her eyes as she ran out to meet me in her robe. She’d been so scared…but I didn’t know what to do for her then. And I still didn’t, I realized.
I knocked softly at first. But then, when no one came to answer, I gave the door a hard, authoritative rap. Her Celica was parked in the same spot it had been the night before.
There were two windows on either side of the front door. I tried to peek through both, eager to spot some sort of movement through the off-white curtains. Nothing. A sick feeling rose in my stomach.
Slowly, I moved around the right side of the house, looking in side windows and peeking in the car as I passed it.
Maybe Nova was still asleep? After all, it was Sunday. Most people, besides church-goers like my mom and her parish, liked to sleep in on the weekends. I silently prayed that that was the case with Nova.
As I reached the backside of the cabin, I immediately noticed that the back door was ajar. A tiny sliver of light peeped out through the crack.
I knocked harder, jarring the door, and I willed myself to be patient. I’d never barged into anyone’s house before, and I didn’t want to start now. Without a warrant, I had no business letting myself inside.
But if something horrible had happened to her…if that dangerous husband of hers had showed up…then it was on me for not taking her more seriously.
“Nova?” I shout-whispered through the crack.
I put my hand on the knob and nudged the door open a few more centimeters. “It’s Officer Ellie James. I need to follow up with you.”
