River of Bones (7 page)

Sunlight streamed in through the tattered curtains. I woke with my throat throbbing, blisters on my tonsils and the worst chills ever. I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed a bottled water and some herbal pain killer. Willow bark extract. I rolled my eyes. Plain old aspirin wasn't good enough for Mom. Of course not. She had to order something that tasted like liquid barf and tree sap.

Benny fussed awake a few moments later. I fed him a cheese bagel and an apple juice. I craved a cherry soda with big chunks of ice to coat my sore throat. A nasty habit that drove my mother over the edge and earned me hour-long lectures about the evils of high fructose corn syrup and tooth rot. What a hypocrite, considering she guzzled gallons of soda—diet, of course. Like that was any better.

Maybe I could get Wolf to drive me to the store. Then I remembered three important things: no purse, no phone, no money. I ran my hand through my hair and added a few more things to the list: no comb, no lip gloss, or eyeliner either. All the basic tools a girl needs to transform from a plain Jane into a beauty queen. Or something like that. Not that I had a chance with a guy like Wolf, the good-looking biker type who probably only dated prom queens—not clumsy, awkward chicks with control issues and social phobia.

I shuffled into the bathroom and slipped into my clothes. One pocket of my shorts wasn't completely dry, but at least I didn't smell like a sewer.

I bent over and shook my hair to give it some body when I noticed something weird. My toenails were a funny color under the chipped red polish. I leaned closer for a better view. I squinted, scraping the polish with my thumbnail.
What the heck?
They looked almost—black.

A loud knock sent my heart into emergency pounding. The knock sounded again.
Calm down, psycho, it's probably just Wolf.
I hesitated, wondering how I looked. Without a mirror it was hard to tell, but I guessed it wasn't good. The knock came again. More insistent. Louder. I swung the door open and stared.

It wasn't Wolf.

A cop stood on the porch. I stared up at his stiff blue uniform with brown trim and a Smokey Bear hat, my throat growing tighter by the second. He was enormous, with a head that sat on his muscular shoulders like a bowling ball, and a ruddy complexion with tiny veins crisscrossing his nose. Too much stress or one too many swigs from the bottle. A pair of mirrored sunglasses concealed his eyes. Maybe they were as red as his nose.

“Miss Moore?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes.” Thanks to Mom, there was something about cops that made me nervous.

He leaned against the doorframe, at the same time tipping his head toward me in introduction. “I'm Officer Cain. Your mother home?”

“No, sir.”

“Any idea when she'll be back?” He craned his neck, peering over my shoulder into the house.

“I haven't seen her since yesterday afternoon.” My heart danced. What trouble had she gotten us into now? “Is there something wrong?”

“We found her Volkswagen bus about a mile up the road. The vehicle is buried pretty good in the brush. I saw the Nebraska license plates and knew Joe Crawford had hired someone from out of the area to work here. When he told me it was a single mom and kids, I thought I'd better do a welfare check.”

This guy sure took his job seriously. Good thing Mom wasn't around. She'd have a serious case of blue fever and be slobbering all over him.

A rush of guilt rolled over me like a rock slide. “You don't think something happened to her, do you?”

“We don't know anything yet. Don't want to jump to conclusions. Did she say where she was going?”

“She forgot the house keys and went back to the real estate office for them.”

He slapped a fat mosquito near his collar. “That's strange. Joe said he hadn't seen her since early yesterday.”

I stared at the bloody smear on the big cop's neck. I wasn't going to panic. Of course, the real estate agent wasn't going to admit to seeing Mom again. He was married and didn't want to get caught. They were probably mashing out in the bushes when the van died or got stuck or something. No telling with Mom. Maybe she ran off with some old swamp bum because he had a Rolex or something.

I felt guilty all over again for thinking those horrible things. It wasn't like I didn't love my mother. But her love was like a very sharp blade. If you slipped and let your guard down, you'd get cut. It wasn't like it was intentional; it was just her nature. I couldn't trust her and she never trusted herself either. She was spontaneous to the point of being dangerous, and it was so interwoven into the fiber of her being that she was totally unaware of it. I knew she loved us, but her compulsion for money and romance were stronger.

Growing up, I wanted her to be like other moms who took the time to ask their daughters about their day, their life, boyfriends—anything. It hurt me to know she wasn't the least bit interested in my life. It was always all about her.

There were times when I'd grab few precious moments with her, resting my head on her leg as she read my tarot cards. Fanning them out in front of me, she'd explain the suits: the wands, the cups and the Swords. She'd brush my long hair and share the story of how we received our coloring from the Celts, ferocious warriors who would draw out spears from their wounded bellies and hurl them back at their enemies.

“We come from ruthless stock,” she would say, stroking my head. “You need to learn to be stronger. Stop being so self-conscious. Be brave like your ancestors. Let go. Remember who you are—who you come from.”

I longed to be all those things: self-confident, brave and strong. But it wasn't like I could just flip a switch inside and change—no matter how badly I wanted to. Every time I tried, I'd fail. I'd have another panic attack or awkward moment.

The cop cleared his throat bringing me back to reality.

“I really need to get some things from the van,” I said. “Could you give me a ride?”

“All right, but we better hurry. Got a wrecker coming to pull it out. They'll have to impound it until the tow bill's paid.”

“Do you have to tow it?”

“I'm afraid so. It's parked on the preserve, leaking oil, and it won't start.”

Great, thanks to Mom and her escapades we'd be out of a car. Again.

“Let me get my brother and I'll be right back.”

The cop nodded and I hurried inside to refill Benny's cup, and slip on some shoes. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I followed the trooper to a black and white patrol car parked near the front steps. He'd driven over a forest of weeds in the process, smashing them flat. The tension in my shoulders eased, if I needed to walk to the road, at least there'd be a path broken.

“Sure hope your mom turns up soon. Otherwise, guess we're gonna have to file a missing persons report and search the swamp. She have any sort of mental disease, medical problems, addictions?”

Yes officer, my mother has an addiction to men, and you better have that club ready just in case she jumps out of the bushes and tries to drag you in. “No sir, not that I know of.”

He unlocked the trunk, pulled out a car seat for Benny and buckled it in place. “Do you have any other parent or guardian?”

“No, I'm eighteen,” I lied, securing Benny into the seat. Like age really mattered. I've been on my own for as long as I could remember.

“You're out of school?”

“No, I had a late birthday, so I was always a year older than the kids in my class.”

We started down the weedy path and he peered at me in the rearview mirror. “You'll be going to Terrebonne High in the fall?”

“Yeah, guess so.” What was this? A job interview?

“You'll like it.” He scratched at the swelling mosquito bite on his neck. “My oldest daughter went there. Good teachers, small classes.”

We took a sharp turn down a gravel road that seemed to stretch for miles. Branches and vines slapped at the sides of the patrol car. He steered into a clearing; thick stands of thorns scraped down the side of the vehicle like a witch's fingernails.

“There goes my new paint job,” the cop grumbled. He brought the car to a stop on the side of a narrow dirt road.

I climbed out, leaving Benny strapped inside with his cup. I leaned over and kissed his head before shutting the car door. “I'll be right back,” I whispered.

“Watch your step, young lady,” the cop said, leading the way.

Spongy moss and ferns squished beneath my feet. A few yards away, I spotted the bus, cloaked in weeds and vines, camouflaged in foliage. My heart dropped. It looked as if someone had tried to hide it on purpose. The cop waded through the brambles like a bull. I followed, my mind racing with all kinds of horrible possibilities.

I gripped the passenger side door handle, pulled it open and screamed.

A pig's head with cataract gray eyes sat on the driver's seat. Flies buzzed around the snout dripping with snot. A white circle of thick granules surrounded the decapitated head. Salt?

I slammed the passenger door shut, my throat tight and my stomach churning.

“What's the matter?” the cop asked.

I stared into his eyes and then at the mosquito bite on his neck the size of a quarter.

“T-there's something dead in there.” I pointed at the bus.

Officer Cain moved past me, yanked the door open and waved his hand in front of his nose. “Oh for heaven's sake. When are these swamp-hicks gonna stop this damn nonsense!” He closed the door and rolled his eyes. “Don't pay any attention to it. Just some silly old superstitions. I'll get rid of it and then you can grab your things.”

The big cop bulldozed through the weeds around the vehicle to the driver's side door, pulled it open and tugged out a club at his side. He poked at the hog's head. One of the eyes fell out and rolled to the floorboards. A fresh wave of nausea pretzeled my gut. He batted the head from the front seat with a dull thump. The cop jumped back and the head rolled onto the ground.

I plugged my nose, and darted inside the bus, grabbing my luggage and Benny's playpen. I set it on the ground and started to search for Benny's diaper bag when I spotted Mom's purse. My heart punched against my rib cage. Fear catapulted into overdrive. Mom would never go anywhere without her purse. Had she been kidnapped? Is that what that pig's head was all about? Some kind of a warning?

I shuddered and grabbed Mom's bag. Maybe something in it would give me a clue as to what happened to her. As terrible as it sounds, she could leave me and Benny in a hot second, but there were certain things she'd never leave behind. An arsenal of seduction: sweet pea perfume, blood-red lipstick in a shade called Vixen, acrylic nail glue and black mascara.

I opened the purse and stared at the contents. Only a few gum wrappers, a leaky ink pen, a blank notepad and some change. I clenched my jaw and snapped it closed, catching a whiff of her perfume. The witch had obviously skipped out on us again. Or had she? Her wallet was also gone, so it could have been a robbery. But, why would they take her makeup and cell phone?

“Let me help you with that stuff,” Officer Cain said, starting to collect the bags from the ground. I smiled gratefully as I made one last dive into the bus to grab the diaper bag I'd been searching for when I found Mom's purse.

We made our way to the squad car, fighting through thorns, bugs and weeds. Benny's eyes were closed, but he let out an irritated cry when I shut the car door. He seemed to be sleeping a lot more than usual. Poor little guy must be really stressed. Soon as Mom came back, I'd make her take us away from here. I swallowed hard—if she did come back.

The patrol car rumbled over the rutted path to the main road. I grabbed my cell phone from my bag and checked for messages. None. I tried Mom's number but it went straight to voice mail. Hearing her voice churned my stomach in a whole new way. Would this be the last time I would hear it? Would I save the recording and play it over and over again after I found out she was dead, just to hear her voice again?