Payne & Misery Page 19

  When I gingerly entered the house, Jesse called from the kitchen, “You’re finally home. Ed has some news. He wants us to come—” While he spoke, he’d been walking from the kitchen with a salami sandwich in one hand. When he saw me, he stopped cold, eyes wide. “Oh.”

  I grimaced, wishing I had hidden my hair under a paper bag.

  Slowly, Jesse advanced, frown deepening. He circled without coming too close, staring at my hair from every angle. “Was … this the look you were after?”

  “Not exactly.”

  He circled again. “It’s … really … different.”

  I burst into tears.

  Now he looked puzzled. “What?”

  Sobbing, I tried to explain. “I just wanted to talk to Maxine. She knows Helen. I didn’t know she would—”

  Jesse backpedaled. “It’s not so bad. Just, uh, really … different. I never saw you this way before. That’s all.”

  I started crying again, louder, as I trudged up the stairs. Maybe I could comb it out. Make it lay flat. Maybe it wouldn’t look so bad after I worked on it.

  Half an hour later, the spikes were tamed—almost. I couldn’t do anything about the streaks of color or the ragged cut. I kept repeating, “Hair grows. Hair grows. It’ll be okay.” Fortified by this mantra, I emerged and we made our way to the Callahans’.

  Ed bounded from the house as soon as our car pulled into their driveway. Waving a yellow legal pad, he grinned as if he’d just won the lottery. Jesse climbed out the driver’s side, and Ed rushed toward him. “I found him!”

  Zora Jane appeared on the porch wearing a long orange turtleneck sweater atop orange-and-brown striped pants. “Oh, for goodness sakes, Ed. Let the folks come in before you start.” But just then, she saw me. Her smile faded. “Your … hair.”

  I patted my head self-consciously. “I got a haircut. Tell you about it later.”

  She tried to refresh her smile but couldn’t stop staring. It made the smile look forced. For a second, I feared she’d break out in prayer. “Well, come on in.” She gestured for us to enter, scooping up Harry before he dashed onto the driveway.

  Following into Ed’s computer room, I admired Zora Jane’s orange-and-brown striped cloth shoes with ribbons that tied around her well-proportioned ankles, and wished I’d never heard of Maxine or A Cut Above. I should have known better after I saw Grace’s haircut.

  Ed didn’t even look at me until he turned to face us from the other side of his computer desk. He held up his yellow legal pad, displaying lines of crossed-out phone numbers and scribbled names covering one entire page. He started to speak but tilted his head instead. “Something’s different.”

  I sniffed. “Bad hairdo. It’ll grow out.”

  Ed and Zora Jane gave slow nods, looking as sympathetic as possible.

  “Well, listen to this.” Ed patted his legal pad. “I’ve been working for a couple of days, and I’m happy to report my persistence paid off. The murder of this one baby created enormous press in Iowa. Because of the case, state legislators drafted a new law to allow mothers to leave unwanted children at a safe place with no questions asked. Everyone I spoke to remembers it.”

  We murmured appreciation.

  Zora Jane motioned us to sit, so we crowded onto the wrought-iron daybed while Ed sat at his computer desk. “Russell Silverthorne tried to keep this case active, but they exhausted all leads after a couple years without making any progress. Against his recommendation, his superior relegated the investigation to cold-case status. Silverthorne got so obsessed with finding the mother that he quit the sheriff’s department over it.” Ed shook his head. “Now he works as a private detective in Guthrie County but still searches whenever he can. Keeps boxes of information about the case in his office.”

  When Ed stopped for a breath, I said, “I can’t believe you actually found him.”

  Ed beamed. “In Silverthorne’s mind, this investigation will be open until the mother is apprehended. I told him about the poems and newspaper articles, as well as the blue baby blanket wrapping the black-and-white dog in the Buick. He got real excited. Called back twice to ask more questions. I told him we’d officially hire him if he’d come out to investigate. And …”

  He paused, watching our faces. We leaned forward as a group.

  “Yes?” Jesse asked.

  “He said he would!”

  Jesse’s eyebrows arched, and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly before turning up in excitement. The Callahans probably didn’t notice, but after thirty-five years of marriage, I knew what excitement looked like on my Jesse’s face.

  “When?” Jesse asked.

  “Just as soon as he can. Maybe tomorrow.” Ed slapped his yellow pad.

  I clapped. “Hooray!”

  Ed shifted in his chair. “Silverthorne remembers interviewing Will Payne all those years ago when he lived on a dead-end road about six miles north of Elk Grove. That was at the beginning, right after they found Baby Blue. Said Will had a small farm but operated a business in town repairing tractors and farm equipment. Town folks considered him strange because he withdrew after his wife died. Heard rumors that Will had wealth but lived like a pauper. Seems like the type who’d stash money under the mattress.”

  Jesse chuckled. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “What about Lila?” I asked. “Did he see Lila when he talked to Will?”

  Ed shook his bald head. “No, Silverthorne thought Will lived alone. Specifically asked about seeing a pregnant woman around and remembers Will adamantly denying it. Never suspected Will Payne might be involved in any way.”

  Jesse said, “Surely he didn’t talk to everyone in Guthrie County.”

  Ed tilted his head to one side. “Over several years of active investigation, I think maybe he did. Silverthorne said they covered the county thoroughly.”

  Jesse glanced my way. “Must be a rural area.”

  I could contain our discoveries no longer. I told them what I learned from Maxine and Cece. While I retold the story, I recalled Maggie telling me Lila didn’t drive because “speed kills.” Maybe she meant what happened to her dog.

  “Besides that, we found a phone number on Lila’s picture that turned out to be her brother’s.” I displayed it. “At last, we’ve found someone who actually knows her.”

  Ed looked as if he might burst. “And Russell Silverthorne is coming. I think we’re finally getting out of the sand trap with this game.”

  “God is good!” Zora Jane said.

  I wholeheartedly agreed.

  29

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Jesse got up before me on Sunday morning and let Molly out as he went to feed the horses. When I got downstairs to pour a cup of coffee, Molly poised in front of the sliding glass door on the back deck like a sphinx. In front of her paws lay a blackish object. I opened the door and bent to examine her scorched treasure.

  Not completely awake, I didn’t comprehend at first. “What’s this you found?” When I realized what fire it must have come from, my head jerked toward the open gate.

  “Molly! You must not go down there again.”

  Her eyes grew sad. She lowered her head, puzzled about my lack of appreciation for the trophy she offered. Tail between her legs, she retreated into the house.

  When Jesse returned from the barn, I stood beside the desk lamp, examining the black piece with my magnifying glass. About the size of my palm, the artifact measured less than an eighth of an inch in thickness, with a texture like leather.

  Jesse peered over my shoulder. “What’s that?”

  “Molly found it. I’m guessing in the fire pit at the Paynes’ because the gate’s open.”

  Jesse turned the charred piece to examine the other side. “What gate?”

  He let out a short gasp when he realized. Molly stood next to the open gate.

  Jesse scrambled out the back door. I jogged after Jesse, still wearing pajamas, robe, and slippers.

  Molly took off ahead, as if playing a
game of chase. She cleared the gate before we caught up and raced straight for the fire mound. Like a runaway parade, we dashed across the weedy pasture.

  Very soon, I regretted my haste in leaving without dressing appropriately. I must have looked like the parade clown. Hoping to hide my pink pajamas, I tugged my robe tighter around my chest. My multicolored hair stuck out all over my head again. Sharp burrs and stickers poked into one heel where my fluffy flip-flop slippers left skin exposed. I couldn’t stop to pull them out. Handicapped by both attire and size, I lagged far behind.

  Will’s pickup rested near the gray house, so we trooped as quietly as possible, hoping not to alert him. But just as Jesse reached the place where we had to climb over the fence, the back door flew open.

  Will’s tall frame filled the doorway. One arm dangled along the side of his body. In his hand, he gripped an imposing shotgun. He wasn’t threatening us exactly, but the mere presence of a firearm spoke with its own voice.

  Will growled a low but distinct snarl. “Git that varmint off my propity.”

  Hearing his voice chilled me. Perhaps his words made me shiver or the weapon dangling at his side. When I reached the place where Jesse halted, he stuck his arm out to gather me behind him like a mother hen protects her chicks. I peeked out around his shoulders to see.

  Jesse’s voice remained calm. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Payne. Our dog seems to have gotten out the gate, and we just came down to take her home.”

  Oblivious to the drama swirling around her, Molly waded into the middle of the ashy mound and dug rapidly with both paws.

  Will pointed his shotgun. “If you don’t keep her offmy propity, I’ll take care of it myself.”

  “No!” I pushed out from behind Jesse. “Molly! Come here.”

  Jesse grabbed at me but missed as I flew by.

  Molly’s head bobbed up at my call. She trotted back to our side of the fence, white paws now black with soot.

  Still calm, Jesse said, “Not to worry, Mr. Payne. We’ll keep her home.”

  I scrabbled up the hill with the errant dog in tow.

  Over my shoulder, I watched Will monitor our retreat. The shotgun dangled at his side again. My heart pounded and my breath came in short gasps as I returned to the sanctity of our house.

  At once, Jesse grabbed the phone to report the incident to the sheriff’s office. “Also,” he added after briefly describing what occurred. “Molly found a burned piece of something in the fire. We don’t know what it is, but it looks mighty interesting.” He listened. “Sure, I’ll save it.”

  I tugged a brown fake-fur hat over my hair, not wanting to face the stares of people who wouldn’t understand that sometimes you just get a bad haircut. We took Molly with us to church—not actually into the service, but in the car—because we were afraid to leave her outside at our house.

  On the drive to church, the whole world seemed out of kilter. The cornerstone rock at the bend in our driveway appeared hard and unyielding. The bones of the trees showed without their leaves. Clouds obscured the sun, and a strange hush filled the air. Hideous secrets lurked in the shadows, ready to pounce on us as we drove by.

  Passing the gray house, I considered Lila, who existed in a world of shadowy secrets every day. Poor Lila—that fragile shell of a woman—emaciated in body, mind, and spirit. How did she get to such a miserable state? Did she choose not to reach up to God or out to people? Or did that evil man foist those choices on her? Most important of all, where was she? I had heard statistics about the diminishing chance of her turning up alive after she’d been gone so long without a word or a sighting. It wasn’t looking good. God, please, protect Lila.

  Molly sat while we exited the Jeep. When I turned back to look at her as I followed Jesse through the parking lot, she had pressed her nose against the back window, making little crescents of steam where her warm breath met the cold glass.

  Desperate for comfort in the storm raging around us, I scanned the bulletin for the sermon title: “Man’s Search for Meaning.” Would the pastor have real answers today and not the usual platitudes? How could he explain the insanity we’d been living through? I couldn’t wait to hear.

  “God created each of us with a God-shaped hole inside,” Pastor Gregg said. “You’ve heard that before. We think we can fill it with earthly things—money, fame, hobbies, alcohol, drugs, promiscuity, even food sometimes; the lust of the eyes and the pride of life—but that hole can only be filled by God’s Spirit. We find completion and purpose in God alone.”

  Surprised that he addressed my primary retirement dilemma, I straightened to listen. In the rows ahead, people nodded as Pastor Gregg expounded. But, having articulated the problem, he did little more than repeat the usual verses about keeping our eyes fixed on Jesus.

  When he finished, a delicate older woman hobbled to the stage in response to an invitation by the pastor. Gleaming white hair circled her face like a halo. Pastor Gregg introduced her as Bessie Parrish. She told her simple story in a sweet, well-modulated voice. Her lifelong faith in God had sustained her through an often-arduous journey, which seemed to worsen after she retired from her career. “You’ve heard it said that pain is inevitable but misery is a choice. I determined early that I would not choose misery, no matter what life handed me. Instead, I thank God for whatever He allows into my life.”

  She had embraced retirement eagerly, she said, ready to be rewarded for perseverance in her duties as daughter, wife, mother, and career woman. “What I discovered, however, is that retirement is not the reward for a job well done. Heaven is. An intentional and continuous re-adjustment of thinking is required. You see there’s no retirement in the kingdom of God. I thought retirement would be a time of leisure. It is not. There is work to be done. There are challenges to overcome, just as in any other time. Health issues become increasingly more serious and debilitating. Money is often tight or at least fixed, while expenses continue to increase.”

  Expectant silence in the sanctuary was broken only by Mrs. Parrish’s reedy voice. I glanced at Jesse. He appeared to be absorbing every word.

  A glow surrounded her venerable countenance. “Sometimes we wonder why we were put here on earth. Must we spend our lives discovering our own individual life purpose? It’s simple. We were created to glorify God. That’s our purpose. The specifics may change as life stages and circumstances change. But there’s always only one purpose. When we strive to bring glory to God above all else, God provides whatever we need to complete the work he leads us to. That’s why I keep doing what I can.”

  To that end, she explained her project taking food twice a week to the homeless teenagers living at Pioneer Park. “These young people are our future. They have so much to talk about, but so few adults will listen. Bringing food for their bodies allows me into their world to minister to their souls.”

  Jesse’s eyes sparkled when he caught my eye. He inclined his head to whisper in my ear. “Sounds like she knows what she’s talking about.”

  Could our purpose for existing be as straightforward as that? Glorify God. What did glorifying God look like? What would my retirement life look like if I made glorifying God the focus of everything I did?

  As we left church, Jesse said, “It’s the weekend of the Draft Classic. What say we make a quick run through the art show?”

  The Draft Horse Classic, presented annually by the local agricultural association, provided one of the most outstanding entertainment opportunities held at the Nevada County Fairgrounds. The evening show featured Clydesdales, Percherons, Belgians and other draft horses prancing through various colorful exhibitions. In addition to the usually sold-out evening show, the chance to admire the magnificent animals in corrals and browse through art housed in one of the exhibition halls made the Classic an event not to be missed. Not to mention some truly great food. Almost everyone in the area attended one part or another of this autumn fair.

  “Molly’s with us.” I reached back to pet her. She nuzzled my hand, tail thumping on th
e back seat. “We’ll have to find a place to walk her. But sure. Why not?”

  Jesse headed toward the fairgrounds.

  I licked my lips in anticipation. Local charity organizations supplied the best junk food this side of Coney Island. Not necessarily healthy fare but delicious and mostly homemade.

  When we entered the parking lot, I breathed in the tranquil setting. Tall Ponderosa pines shaded the fairgrounds, cooling the temperature even on hot summer days. The midway sported a long swath of lush grass. Flowerbeds had been groomed to perfection.

  Jesse parked at the entrance near the art building and we got out.

  I stretched. “What a beautiful place.” Arguably the most scenic fairgrounds in the state.

  Molly jumped happily out of the back and sniffed the grassy patch in front of the entrance. We gave her time to relieve herself and refilled her water bowl. She jumped back into the Jeep and settled down for a Sunday afternoon nap.

  The art show displayed everything from quilts to photography, all crafted by local artists. Jesse’s interest in sculpting and watercolor made him linger at those in particular. When we exited the building, the sweet aroma of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls beckoned us to Treat Street. I stopped and gazed that way.

  Jesse asked, “Are you hungry?”

  “Always hungry for food like this.”

  He smiled. “The problem is deciding which guilty pleasure to partake of.”

  I nodded, and we sauntered toward the cobblestone food court. “So what’ll it be today?”

  As we scanned the row of vendors, Jesse’s eyes glazed over. “Might have to check them all out before we decide.”

  Choosing one often proved so challenging that we succumbed to the lure of more than one. The Job’s Daughters’ corn dogs were legendary. Steamy baked potatoes could be dressed with the most imaginative array of toppings I ever saw. Cornish pasties—made just like the meat pies Cornish miners ate while working in nineteenth-century gold mines—were a special treat. Of course, the gigantic cinnamon rolls ranked high on everyone’s list. But my favorite of all—ice cream sandwiches sold from an old-fashioned ice cream cart—were made from scratch with a variety of flavors of homemade ice cream and thick homemade cookies at least five inches wide. Plenty to share with someone you love.