Payne & Misery Page 14

  “Praise the Lord!” Zora Jane said.

  I couldn’t contain my joy. “Wow!”

  Jesse asked. “Are there follow-up articles?”

  Ed continued down the list. The next article, dated a few days later, rehashed the tragic details of the baby’s discovery, including the alarm the tiny body created among citizens of Harvard. Statistics about abandoned newborns made it sound like an epidemic. Quotes from residents repeated rumors about the baby’s possible parentage.

  Jesse asked, “Why were the people of Harvard alarmed?”

  “It’s a baby, for goodness’ sakes,” I answered. “People get excited when it comes to babies.”

  “Also, it’s a small Midwestern town,” Zora Jane said. “In small towns, everyone gets involved in other people’s business. You know that.”

  The next articles, one written two days later and one the following week, detailed the exhaustive search for the baby’s mother or anyone with knowledge of the abandonment. The next, written March 8, outlined plans by the town of Harvard for a funeral to memorialize the unidentified infant. The townspeople named him “Baby Blue.”

  Ed asked, “Where did they get that name?”

  I guessed. “They found the baby wrapped in a blue blanket.”

  Next, five articles had been written over a period of several months. The last appeared in mid-July. A thorough local investigation with a plethora of false leads failed to end in arrest. Authorities widened the search area to include communities across the state on both sides of Interstate 80. Quotes from lead investigator, Guthrie County Deputy Sheriff Russell Silverthorne, pleaded for information. “This tragedy has severely impacted the entire state of Iowa.” The mayor of Harvard pleaded for the mother to come forward. A priest from the local St. Bartholomew’s Catholic Church urged people to prayer.

  The next article contained information released from the autopsy. Cause of death: a broken neck. Advanced decomposition from being buried beside the water tower for over a year, made gathering evidence difficult.

  Written on the first anniversary of the discovery of the body, the final article included a few lines to identify the case and then another quote from Deputy Silverthorne. “Despite concentrated efforts, no arrests have been made and all leads have been exhausted.”

  Zora Jane sniffed. “What a sad story!”

  I shook my head. “The baby died of a broken neck. That’s murder.” My stomach churned. “How could Lila murder her own infant?”

  They all looked at me.

  “You’re jumping to conclusions again, Slick.” Jesse said.

  “Well, there’s definitely suspicion of foul play.” Ed locked his hands behind his neck and tipped back in his chair. “They wouldn’t keep the investigation going without reason to think someone murdered the baby.”

  I stared at the monitor, trying to extract facts. “They discovered the body just before the Paynes moved to California.”

  Zora Jane wiped a tear from her eye.

  I glanced at Ed and Jesse. “The timeline works. This must be Lila’s baby.”

  “Easy there!” Ed said. “Don’t play ahead. We need proof to make accusations.”

  Proof or not, I knew it had to be true. A faint outline materialized from the random puzzle pieces we’d gathered so far, enough to know it wouldn’t be a pretty picture.

  In spite of growing evidence against her, I didn’t want to believe Lila had been responsible for Baby Blue’s death. Not the delicate Lila I met. Not even the troubled Lila who wrote those poems. Something completely out of her control happened to that little boy. And Lila never recovered.

  22

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I settled into a routine. Each morning and evening, I called the sheriff’s office, hoping Deputy Colter would have something to report. Most of the time, he was unavailable. Thursday, I didn’t call until late afternoon, thinking maybe it might be easier to find him later. The dispatch lady asked my name and requested that I hold. She returned in a few seconds to inquire whether I’d like his voicemail, since Deputy Colter had taken another call.

  I sighed. “If I leave him another message, is he likely to call me back?”

  She repeated in an impersonal tone, “Would you like his voicemail, ma’am?”

  “Sure, why not?” I paced while the recording completed. “This is Christine Sterling again. I’m calling to see what you’ve found out about Lila Payne—Lila Kliner, rather. Have you found the car? Can I file a missing-persons report on her? And what about my dog? Please call me back.” I left my phone number one more time and hung up feeling helpless. My blood pressure started to rise again.

  In the last few days, the fall colors had blasted out in chromatic symphony over the trees at our elevation. I stared at the vision of tranquility framed by the bay windows in the kitchenette. After several minutes of concentrated scrutiny, I sensed the peace of God’s creation and sovereignty.

  The waterfall gurgled into the pond while horses grazed across the valley. Sunshine lit the horse pasture and the whole top of the hill, making the versicolor leaves stand out even more. The air felt chilly outside, but a glimpse of sun imparted a notion of warmth. Above the hillside, huge, puffy-soft clouds hovered in arching layers against a clear robin’s egg blue sky. Life in its resplendent cycle continued despite the catastrophes that troubled me.

  Will’s white pickup had departed in customary fashion late in the morning, and I didn’t think it had returned yet. Looking out the windows, I contemplated another discovery mission to the gray house and had just about talked myself into putting on my shoes when the phone rang.

  “This is Deputy Sheriff Sam Colter of the Nevada County Sheriff’s Office,” the phlegmatic voice said. “I am returning a call from Christine Sterling.”

  What a surprise. “If you recall, I called about our neighbor who’s been missing now for over a week. Lila Kliner. I want to know if you’ve found her or the car. Or our dog.”

  A rustling filled the pause. For a moment, I couldn’t imagine what might make that sound. He must be shuffling through file papers. “The Truckee Sheriff’s Office located Mr. Payne’s abandoned 1985 brown Buick LeSabre this morning near Mantis Lake in Truckee at the Sierra Meadows Campground.”

  “Mantis Lake? Never heard of it. Where is that?”

  “East of the Truckee-Tahoe Airport off State Highway 267—a relatively remote area. It is just a lakebed at this time of year. The campground is closed, but a hiker found the vehicle in the middle of an access road with the driver side door wide open and an empty gas tank. Apparently, that is why it stopped there.” His tone softened. “And ma’am, there is one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “The trunk had been lowered but not fastened due to a rusted latch. Inside, they found the remains of a black-and-white dog wrapped in a light blue baby’s blanket.”

  “Remains?” My vision blurred for an instant and I went lightheaded. In slow motion, I sank onto a chair at the kitchen table. “No! No!”

  “I am sorry, ma’am. That is the report.”

  I couldn’t speak.

  “Ma’am?”

  As soon as I could, I whispered, “What about Lila?”

  “No sign of her.”

  I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. Even so, my voice wobbled when I spoke. “She’s been gone for more than a week. She’s missing. Officially.”

  “Yes. Well, the car will be towed to Grass Valley in a day or so and held in the impound lot, pending investigation. You must understand that this is not a high-priority case. Even though Miss Kliner has been missing for more than a week, there is no evidence of foul play. The crime lab will process the vehicle and report their findings. I notified Mr. Payne late this morning. He is convinced Miss Kliner merely ran off.” I heard what must have been a pencil tapping against his desk. “Did she mention anyone who might be interested in her whereabouts? A relative, for example?”

  “We didn’t talk about relatives. I only met her th
ose two times, as I told you. I don’t know anything about her family.”

  “I see … well, my condolences … about your dog.” He heaved a long sigh. “The public thinks all sheriff’s offices these days are equipped with high-tech gadgets like you see in TV crime shows. Truth is, Nevada County is small, without a big budget or adequate manpower. We do not have resources to check out every suspicious-looking situation. So far, I have found no evidence of a crime in this case, except a possible misdemeanor concerning your dog. I will turn my report over to the detective, but do not get your hopes up.”

  His loud disconnect severed the conversation with the finality of a guillotine slash. I sat dumbfounded holding the phone cradled to my ear. Poor, poor Molly! How did this happen to you? How frightened you must have been. None of this made any sense. If Lila took her, why would she kill her? Lila loved dogs.

  Why?

  Hot tears rained down my face and dropped onto my shirt. I slumped in the chair as waves of sorrow rolled over me. By the time I viewed myself in the bathroom mirror, my nose had reddened and my eyeliner smeared into dark smudges under my eyes.

  I sniffed at my frightful appearance. Wasn’t it Colter’s job to protect the public? How could someone with so little concern for our welfare be on the government payroll? I’d have to find Lila myself and hold her accountable.

  Aware of my impotence, I fell to my knees. If God had all power and cared about our problems, as Zora Jane promised, now would be a good time to intervene. Fast-falling tears dribbled down my chin. “I don’t know what to do, God. Help me.” While I prayed, a soothing presence settled over me, bringing a sense of hope. I knew this wasn’t the end. Despite what Deputy Colter did or did not discover, there would soon be more for me to do.

  Being a visual person and a list-maker, I committed this vexing mystery to paper. I sat at the kitchen table with a yellow note pad and wrote out every fact as I thought of it—kind of like free association. Before long, I ran out of actual facts and had to write guesses. When I had filled up one page, I reread it. Wasn’t this where a new connection displayed itself?

  I waited, but nothing new occurred to me. I slammed the pad on the table and leaned back in the chair, eyes closed. Maybe the solution would appear on my mental movie screen. Instead, I came to the realization that most of what I thought of as fact was actually inference. Just as Ed pointed out.

  What now, God?

  A sudden yearning to see Molly with my own eyes filled my soul.

  By then, I had memorized the number to the Nevada County Sheriff’s Office. Again, the dispassionate voice of the dispatcher answered. I repeated my request to speak with Deputy Colter.

  “One moment, please.” She put me on hold. I paced, waiting. “Deputy Colter is not at his desk. Would you like his voicemail?”

  Energy had been sapped away and I could only sigh. “Sure.” I mouthed the words of his recorded message while it completed. “Hello. Christine Sterling again. I want to file a missing-persons report on Lila Kliner. I want to bury my dog and I want to see the car. Can you arrange that? I know none of this is important to you. It’s probably not important to anyone else in the big scheme of things, but Molly is … was a special dog.” The words caught in my throat, making my voice crack. “It matters a lot to me. Please call and tell me when.”

  Jesse’s footfall sounded at the door. What should I say? Words failed me. I collapsed into his arms as tears flowed.

  That evening, time slowed to a crawl. Powerlessness suffused the house. Jesse and I gave each other grieving space as a cocoon of mourning enveloped us. I wandered aimlessly, watching but not comprehending bits of TV shows and playing mindless games on the computer. I knew I shouldn’t waste God’s precious gift of time, but couldn’t muster the effort to do something productive. I even entertained doubts about God’s ultimate goodness and sovereignty.

  Mostly I tried not to think about Molly.

  23

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  From the kitchen window, I watched Jesse lead Ranger out to the arena to practice maneuvering around the orange highway cones on an unusually sunny autumn morning. With a whole day to fill and nothing of interest to fill it with, I put in a call to our son. He could only talk a minute because clients sat in his office at his RV dealership. Our oldest daughter, the nurse, just finished working a twelve-hour night shift. I knew better than to call during her sleep time. A call to the middle daughter connected me with her answering machine at the university, where she worked as a science professor. She spent most of her time in the research lab. So much for staying connected with the children.

  While I went through the motions of my morning routine— exercise, e-mail, gardening, and tidying up the house—I forced myself to meditate on my blessings rather than complain about my problems. By being deliberate with my thoughts, I managed to keep them in check. Soon, the morning passed.

  When Jesse returned, he found me sitting in my dark green rocking chair in the library, stroking a lapful of cats. Roy and Hoppy snored in unison, enjoying a midday nap. I even remembered to thank God for these two fine companions.

  Jesse stopped at the head of the stairs when he saw me. “What say we have lunch at Rosita’s?”

  I beamed a smile his way.

  “And maybe we could file a missing-persons report and do a bit of sleuthing too.”

  Now he was talking.

  Jesse sang as we drove into town.

  Put your sweet lips a little closer to the phone.

  I’ll tell the man to turn the jukebox way down low.

  Chug a lug, chug a lug! Grape wine in a mason jar,

  Homemade and brought to school by a friend of mine after class

  Ramblin’fever, ramblin’ on.

  Enjoying his medley, I realized how different our relationship had become since I asked for God’s help with my unforgiving spirit. Another answered prayer? Maybe God did care about us insignificant mortals after all. Thank you, God, for mending our relationship.

  Jesse winked at me when he pulled out my chair at Rosita’s.

  I settled on the cushioned wood chair. “Such chivalry.”

  He bent into my shoulder and nuzzled my hair. “Maybe you’ll let me open your car door now too.”

  The car door thing happened just after I met Jesse. A newly liberated college woman, I resisted his “chauvinistic” gesture of opening the door for me on our first date. I hadn’t been sweet about it, either. It was a wonder he ever asked me out again. It had been years since I thought about that incident.

  I patted his cheek. “Let’s not get carried away.”

  He grinned as he slid into the chair across the table.

  I tried to look serious. “And you picked Rosita’s because …”

  He sandwiched my hand between his and gazed into my eyes. “It’s your favorite.”

  “Sure it’s not because it’s only a block to the sheriff’s office from here?”

  The waitress placed a bowl of savory salsa and a basket of warm flour and corn tortilla chips on the table. Then she retrieved her order pad from her multicolor apron. I opened my mouth to order, but Jesse spoke first, reading from the menu. “The lady will have homemade pork tamales smothered in rich reddish-brown enchilada sauce with rice and whole pinto beans on the side.” He glanced at me and wiggled his eyebrows.

  I clapped in delight. Who said Jesse didn’t have a romantic side?

  Jesse ordered a chicken fajita salad with whole pinto beans, smiling as he returned the menus to the waitress with his favorite restaurant joke: “We’ll wait here.”

  Her eyebrows scrunched together and she tilted her head to the side. She blinked as if she had missed something. Jesse said this same line to every waitress we encountered and we always got the same reaction.

  “Don’t forget the homemade tortillas,” I reminded her as she dashed away.

  At the appropriate time, the food arrived—mine smothered in melted cheese. I sniffed my order, relishing the spicy aroma of cornm
eal and pork. We talked like lovers while we ate, eyes locked in attention, instead of gobbling in silence like married people.

  Near the end of our meal, a round woman in my direct line of sight behind Jesse’s left shoulder scooped the mostly untouched contents of her plate inside her oversized red purse.

  I gasped. “Oh, my!”

  “What?” Jesse asked, turning

  his head.

  I lifted one hand. “Don’t look now, but the woman behind you just dumped a full plate of food into her purse.” I covered my mouth so a giggle wouldn’t escape.

  Jesse gave a short hoot. “Why would she do that?”

  “She has starving children at home?”

  Jesse leveled a long look at me.

  “She wants a snack later?”

  He forked a chunk of lettuce. “Or she’s a nut case.”

  Without looking up, the woman carefully positioned her purse on her lap. While I watched, she slid the chip bowl to the edge of the table and upended its contents into the purse. I whispered, “Now she’s pilfered the chips.”

  Jesse laughed. “Not the chips too?”

  Utensils tapped stoneware, glasses clinked, laughter and talking continued undisturbed all around me. I glanced at the other restaurant patrons. No one else seemed to notice.

  Jesse leaned toward me. “If she dumps the salsa on top of it all, we’ll get the food police after her.”

  I favored him with a tolerant smile.

  But the woman dabbed her lips daintily with her napkin, pushed back her chair, and tottered off in the direction of the ladies’ room, swinging her now-heavy red bag.

  My eyes trailed after her. “Where’s she going with all that food? You don’t suppose she intends to eat it in the ladies’ room, do you?”

  I popped to a stand but Jesse’s frown made me sit again.

  “Let it go, Christine. It doesn’t matter. Let’s just enjoy our meal.”

  I kept an eye on the hall to the ladies’ room but never caught another glimpse of her. I slowed my chewing, trying to clean every scrumptious morsel off my plate and give her plenty of time to come out, but eventually had to admit I couldn’t eat another bite. I’d never know her secret. I sighed, pushed back my chair and pronounced the meal, “Most satisfactory.”