The Buried Book (28 page)

CHAPTER 56

Why would federal officers protect a known crime syndicate?

Jasper stared blankly at his plate all through dinner. No one sitting around the campfire seemed to notice. They were too busy balancing their own plates across their laps. They’d had no luck finding the kitchen table.

“Wendell, you look like you could use a beer,” Uncle Leo announced from the other side of the fire. “Let’s you and me go down and visit the tavern. Whatdya say?”

“I suppose buyin’ a round is the least I could do.” Wendell flashed a tired smile at Jasper and tousled his hair. “Thanks for lookin’ after him, Leo. I don’t know what I would’ve done . . .”

Jasper attempted to smile back but couldn’t. He’d been hollowed out. Photographs of his dead sister scattered across his mind. He wished he’d never met Motega or seen the grave or found his mother’s diary. Dr. Whitebird was right—he should have stayed up in his tree.

Wendell was still talking. “I’ll call in and cancel work tomorrow. We need to get a start on that cabin.”

The two men cleared their plates in short order and headed up the driveway.

An hour later, Jasper and Wayne piled up blankets and towels on the floor of their cow stall by candlelight. Neither of the boys spoke of what they’d seen or heard. Aunt Velma opened the stall door and kissed them both good night.

When she’d retired to her end of the barn, Wayne sat up and whispered, “What the heck did Motega mean when he said, ‘Look inside yourself and you will find her?’ What kind of answer was that?”

Jasper didn’t say anything. He just stared up at the patchwork roof hanging over them, replaying everything the man had told him.
She gave me the necklace and asked me to bury it with Ayasha. She said she did not deserve it anymore. I’m sorry I cannot tell you where she went. Do not lose hope, my friend. There is a bond between you. You must look inside yourself, and you will find her.

What if I can’t?
he’d asked on the verge of tears.

Then you are not ready.

Wayne eventually gave up on the conversation and rolled over. Jasper could tell by his breathing that he wasn’t asleep, but his cousin let him be just the same. The shock of discovering a bastard cousin was enough scandal for Wayne to chew on for years. Jasper had sworn him to secrecy, but he could almost hear the wheels turning in the older boy’s head.

The full moon shone in through a hole in the roof as he turned the words over and over in his mind.
Look inside yourself.
More riddles. Motega seemed to be saying he already knew the answer. Jasper racked his brain over and over, going through every clue and conversation he’d overheard.

But there was so much he didn’t remember.

Jasper squeezed his eyes shut and tried. He tried to put himself back in his grandmother’s house the night it burned down. His mother’s face in the lamplight. The smell of the smoke. The black boots. Hands gripping his shoulders. The sound of her screaming while—

Jasper bolted upright, his heart racing.

Next to him, Wayne had started to snore. The barn was quiet except for the sounds of the cows chewing. And breathing. He could feel hot breath in his ear, a gruff laugh. He slapped it away with his hand, and his eyes circled the barn, searching for anything to block it out.

The children’s Bible leaned against the wall next to him. Someone had found it in the yard and wiped away the mud, leaving a shadowy brown stain smeared across the smiling face of Baby Jesus.
Aunt Velma,
he figured.
Count your blessings, boys.

But he didn’t feel blessed. He felt haunted, and he couldn’t bear to sit there in the dark with his thoughts. He wanted to hold her diary again, to hold her, but Uncle Leo had snatched it away.
If you want answers, go read your Bible.

After a moment’s hesitation, Jasper picked up the heavy book and slipped out of the stall. No one but the cows stirred as he crept to the open end of the barn. In the puddle of moonlight, muddy Baby Jesus beamed up at him.

He sat down and opened the cover, hoping against hope that he’d find something inside. A clue. A prayer. Anything. The pages were curled from sitting in the mud, but Aunt Velma’s soup pot must’ve kept out the worst of the rain.

He turned to the first page and found a listing of chapters:

Chapter 1: In the Beginning . . .

Chapter 2: God’s Garden

He scanned down the listings, searching for anything that might guide him to the right page. Maybe she’d given him the damn book for a reason, not just to taunt him with her jokes.
Everybody’s a sinner, Jasper.

There was no mention of mothers except the Virgin Mary. He turned the page and kept looking.

Chapter 22: Opening the Door of Faith

Jasper’s eyes stopped at the words
Door of Faith
and read them again. It couldn’t be a coincidence. He held his breath and began searching for the page where he hoped to find some piece of her. Kings and beggars and a choir of fat baby angels flew past as he flipped through sheet after sheet, looking for chapter 22.

Something that didn’t belong flashed between the cherubs.

Jasper’s hand halted mid-search, then backtracked one page at a time. After turning back ten, he was certain he’d imagined it, but he kept flipping through anyway until there it was. A strange piece of paper pasted over the commandments. It was a list of names and phone numbers.

“What the heck is that?” Wayne whispered from over his shoulder.

Jasper startled at the voice and slapped the book closed on his cousin’s pointing finger.

“Take it easy.” Wayne pushed it back open. “Look! The creamery’s on here. So is Big Bill and his roller rink, see? Who is Perry Gal-a-toes?”

Jasper didn’t answer. He read over the list of names and businesses. The roller rink, the dairy where his mother worked, even the diner where he’d eaten with Not Lucy were on the list. He scowled up at the moon. It wasn’t an explanation, but it was something.

“Are there more?” Wayne took the book from his cousin and flipped through it.

Jasper barely noticed. All he could hear was the detective’s voice.
She had something for me. Something very important. Do you know what I’m talking about?

“There’s a bunch of ’em.” Wayne showed him another page.

It was a ledger sheet filled with dollar amounts and dates and names. Jasper snatched the book back from Wayne and found another sheet pasted in and then another.

“What is all this?”

Jasper just shook his head. One name kept showing up over and over again next to the smaller dollar amounts,
C. A. Duncan.

Page after page, there was nothing but more figures. No instructions. No explanation. Nothing. Jasper flipped faster, growing more and more desperate.
I need more, Mom. What am I supposed to do with all this? Tell me!

He reached the last page, ready to throw the book against the wall, but the sight of her handwriting stopped him. On the back cover, written in her scrawling pen were the words:

John Russo – Woodward 16221

Federal Investigation #58-MI-0906

“Is that the detective that came here?” Wayne asked too loudly.

“What on earth are you two doing over there?” Aunt Velma demanded from the other side of the barn. “Get back to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they answered in unison.

Jasper closed the book, and both boys scrambled back to their stall. After a solid five minutes of silence, Wayne crawled over to Jasper’s ear and whispered, “What are you going to do?”

Jasper didn’t answer. He just stood up and grabbed his overalls.

“Where are you going?” Wayne hissed.

“I have to tell him.”

“Tell who?” Wayne jumped up and swiped the book from his hands.

“My dad. I have to tell him.” Jasper made a move to grab the book back from his cousin.

Wayne lifted the Bible high over his head where the smaller boy couldn’t reach. “Tell him tomorrow, dummy. It can wait.”

“No, it can’t. She gave this to me. I have to help her!” Jasper kicked his cousin in the shin hard.

The book dropped to the dirt with a thunk.

“Now look what you did,” Wayne muttered.

Aunt Velma came storming across the barn and threw back the stall door with a lantern in her hand. “What in God’s green earth are you two monkeys arguing about at this hour? After all we’ve been through, can’t we get some rest?” Her bare toe slammed into the book lying on the ground. “Ouch! Dammit!”

The boys jumped back as she stumbled forward. She snatched up the Bible and brandished it at them. “Sweet Lord! This is what you two are fighting over?”

Jasper panicked. “I’m sorry, Aunt Velma. Wayne wanted to borrow it, and I guess I just . . .”

She squinted at the cover in the yellow glow of the lantern. She shot Wayne a sideways glance, then turned her blazing eyes on Jasper in his overalls. “Why are you dressed? Going somewhere?”

“Uh. No.” Jasper backed himself into the corner. “I was just . . .”

“You were just lyin’ to me is what you were doin’. Why don’t you try again? What is goin’ on?” She tucked the book under her arm as a hostage. “Somebody better start talkin’.”

“Jasper found somethin’ in that book,” Wayne blurted.

Jasper whacked him in the arm.

“What?” Wayne gave him a shove in return. “You did, didn’t you?”

Aunt Velma frowned at her nephew. “What’d you find, honey?”

“I—I’m not sure.” Jasper swallowed tears of frustration.

She gave him a hard look, then sat down and opened the cover. Jasper punched Wayne in the arm with all his might.

“Hey,” he hissed back and showed the younger boy his fist. “She’s family, ain’t she? If you can’t trust us, who can you trust, huh?”

“Jasper, honey? Do you recognize this handwriting?” Aunt Velma motioned him to her side.

He knew he was trapped now. “Uh . . . yes. It looks like my mother’s. Some of it does anyway.”

“These are accounting records for the dairy where she works, see the letterhead?” Aunt Velma pointed to the top of one of the ledger sheets. “Any idea why she’d put them in here?”

Jasper dropped his eyes to the dirt and told the truth. “No.”

Aunt Velma picked his face up by the quivering chin. “You know I am gonna have to talk to your father about this.”

“Talk to me about what?” Wendell asked from the other end of the barn. He walked over to the stall with Uncle Leo. His cheeks were rosy with alcohol. “Whatcha all doin’ out of bed, Son?”

Jasper didn’t answer.

“The boys were just showing me something they found.” Aunt Velma stood up and motioned the men over to the book. “I think you’re gonna want to see this, Wendell.”

In the dull light of the lantern, Aunt Velma revealed his mother’s secret. Jasper tried to breathe. This was what he’d wanted his father to see, but he couldn’t shake the bad feeling in his gut as Wendell and Leo leafed through each piece of Galatas’s accounting.

Uncle Leo let out a low whistle at the last page. “Federal investigation. Jeez, Althea. And there’s that fellow Russo. What do you make of it, Wen?”

Wendell slammed the book shut and glanced from Jasper to Aunt Velma. “We should discuss this outside, Leo.”

He handed the book to Velma, and the two men headed out the open end of the barn, with Jasper trailing behind them.

“Get back to bed, Son. Everything’s going to be fine. Don’t you worry.” His father led him back to his bed and closed the stall door in Jasper’s face.

He watched the men walk out to the tractor shed with his nose pressed between the slats.

Aunt Velma took his hand and pulled him away from the wall. She gave the boy a worried smile, and then her eyes dropped down to the Bible in her hands. After a moment’s reflection, she set the book back down next to Jasper’s pillow and said, “Well, boys. I’m dead tired . . . I’m going to turn in now, and I’m stuffin’ cotton in my ears so you fools don’t keep me up. Good night.”

Jasper stood rooted to the spot, watching her walk back to her end of the barn.

Wayne gave him a gentle shove to the door. “Go, dummy! She’s letting you go, so git. Before she changes her mind.”

With that, Jasper slipped on his boots and was out of the barn running. He sprinted a wide circle around to the back side of the tractor shed where the men’s voices leaked out into the night.

“He’s a detective, Wendell. What do you want him to do?”

“I want him to leave my family alone, dammit! I told that son of a bitch to back off. I don’t give a rat’s ass about his investigation. It’s none of our business. I lost my wife because of that bastard. Askin’ her to take on a gangster like Galatas, pestering her at work. Back in Detroit, some poor family is still missin’ their father tonight. They never did find a trace of that police sergeant except the blood in my damned bedroom. I’m not lettin’ my family end up like that. We’re not gonna call him about nothin’.”

“What about that book? Looks like Althea went to quite a lot of trouble to hide them pages. There had to be a good reason. What should we do with it?”

“We ain’t gonna do nothin’ with it. I’m throwin’ it in the fire. Althea never should’ve gone messin’ with this stuff. Damn woman don’t know what’s good for her. If she’d have just taken care of Jasper and kept her nose out of it, none of this would’ve . . .”

Jasper didn’t hear the rest. His feet took off running for the barn before his head could catch up.

CHAPTER 57

Charles Duncan was a respected US marshal. Is there any evidence to support these claims?

Jasper raced into the cow stall and snatched the Bible off the ground.

Wayne sat up in his bed. “What are you doing?”

He just shook his head and ran back out before his cousin could stop him. He dashed up the driveway out onto Harris Road, clutching the book to his chest, eyes darting behind him. His father’s truck would be starting up after him the minute the man realized what his son had done. The long ditch on the other side of Harris was littered with fallen branches that scraped at his arms as he climbed down from the road into its shadow.

He stopped to catch his breath.
Oh God, what am I doing?
His father and uncle would kill him, but he couldn’t let them burn it. His foot sank down into the mud as he searched his head for options. There was no place on the farm to hide it. He supposed he could bury it, if he could find a dry spot.

“Jasper!” a voice hissed out on the road above him. “Where are you, dummy?”

Jasper debated whether or not to answer but finally decided he needed the help. “Down here.”

Wayne climbed down into the ditch and found him there under the branches. “What the heck are you doin’ out here? Pop and Uncle Wen are gonna be comin’ in from the shed any second.”

“I can’t let him burn it, Wayne. He knows the truth, but he doesn’t care.”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“He doesn’t care if they ever get Galatas. You heard Motega. They kill people. They killed Ayasha. They’re plannin’ something terrible. They’re gonna shoot a bunch of Indians, and no one’s gonna stop them!”

Wayne didn’t speak for a moment, until he said, “That’s probably why he wants to burn it, dummy. He don’t want anyone killin’
you
. Ever think of that?”

“But somebody has to stop them. That’s why she left me. That’s what she was trying to do. She was trying to do something right.”

“But this isn’t right, Jas. You really think you can do anything to fix it? You think she’d want you to?”

“No. But someone has to. What about that detective? His number’s on the back of the book.”

“Where you gonna find a phone out here, huh?”

“There’s a phone at the Tally Ho, isn’t there?”

“Well, yeah. But Pop will feed us to the pigs if we go runnin’ off like that.”

Jasper regained his footing and stuffed the book down the back of his overalls. “You don’t have to come. Just tell ’em I ran off again, alright? Say you saw me headin’ back to where Grandma’s house burned down.”

“You’re crazy!” But Wayne didn’t try to stop him as he took off along the bottom of the ditch.

It was slow going up and over fallen trees, with his boots heavy with mud, but Jasper couldn’t risk being seen. He kept his ears perked for the sound of his father’s truck. He had no idea what he might tell the barkeep, Mr. Sharkey. He’d have to make something up about an emergency.

As he approached the end of Harris Road, a car’s headlights blew past on Lakeshore. Jasper crouched in the shadow of the ditch until it was gone, then scrambled up into a small cluster of trees lining the field. The crops were too low to give much cover. He glanced back over his shoulder toward his uncle’s farm. Harris Road was dark and quiet. The lit windows of the Tally Ho glowed a half mile away at the edge of the road. Jasper searched for the safest route through the open field. There was none. He would just have to run for it and hit the deck if he heard a car.
One, two . . .

He took off running through the soft dirt with the heavy book banging against his back. His eyes stayed fixed on the windows, glancing back every ten strides at the road behind him. On the third look back, a pair of headlights appeared through the grove of trees lining the road.

Shit.
He flattened himself to the ground and watched them inch up Harris toward him. The lights stopped moving two hundred yards from where he lay, and for a horrifying instant, Jasper was certain he’d been spotted. But they began to roll again and continued on toward Burtchville. The sedan wasn’t familiar.

See any strange cars?
Sheriff Bradley’s voice repeated in his head.

Jasper stood back up on shaking legs. By now, his father would have discovered he’d gone. He could only hope that Wayne had pointed them soundly in the wrong direction and they were busy wandering the back fields and not climbing into his father’s truck. He started running again.

The Tally Ho was empty except for one man slouched at the table near the window where Jasper peeked in. He was wearing a tan uniform. Jasper watched through the bug screen as the barkeep approached his table.

“Shouldn’t you be gettin’ home, Cal?”

“Just one more for the road, Clint. I’ve had one hell of a day.” Jasper recognized the sheriff’s voice.

“Won’t Mrs. Bradley be missing you right about now?”

“You mind your bar. I’ll mind my wife. One more and I’m gone.”

“Comin’ up,” Clint agreed and grabbed the empty mug.

Next to the taps at the end of the bar sat a black telephone.

Jasper tried to work up the nerve to knock on the door. Sheriff Bradley knew his uncle and might drag him home by his ear, but he was the sheriff the federal marshal had been talking about. He’d found the bags of “product” Galatas wanted back. They were going to try to trick him into giving them back. Jasper sucked in a breath, knowing he had no choice. He had to talk to him, no matter the consequences. He headed around the back of the building to the door, but the sound of tires on gravel stopped him cold as another car pulled into the lot.

Jasper jumped behind the corner. The tavern door opened and closed.

“Evening, Clint. Evening, Cal. Mind if I join you?”

Jasper crawled back to his window. His eyes bulged as the same federal marshal who had been talking with Galatas at the reservation sat down next to the sheriff.

“Hey, Chuck,” Sheriff Bradley said with a slur. “What brings you here at this hour?”

“Need a beer. Same as you.”

The barkeep set down a mug in front of the marshal.

“Thanks.” The marshal clinked the sheriff’s mug with his own and took a swig. “So. You had any luck trackin’ down more of that horse?”

Sheriff Bradley grabbed his mug and drained it in one go. He smacked the empty glass on the table. “Only found two sacks so far. We sent them down to Detroit, like I said.”

“You will tell me if you find more, won’t you, Cal?”

“It ain’t exactly your jurisdiction, is it?”

“If it is what we think it is, this here’s federal. And we don’t want a bunch of strangers pokin’ around disturbin’ the peace, do we? Think of all the phone calls you’ll get.”

Sheriff Bradley nodded and stood to leave. “You’re probably right. I gotta get home to the missus.”

Marshal Duncan stood as well and held out his hand for a shake. “Good seein’ you, Cal. Listen, I have uh . . . a little situation up at Black River. Do me a favor. If you get a call tonight, take your time answering the phone. Can you do that?”

The fog seemed to clear from Sheriff Bradley’s eyes for a moment. “What are you sayin’, Chuck?”

“I’m sayin’ I need a little latitude tonight. I’m sure you understand.”

“I’m not sure that I do.”

“Course you do. We’ve given you a bit of latitude here or there up at the res . . .”

Sheriff Bradley held up an unsteady hand. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

Marshal Duncan pulled a small picture from his pocket and showed it to the sheriff. “Course you do. Remember her? A few months back?”

Squinting as the photograph went back in the pocket, Jasper could make out the ghostly pallor of a girl sprawled naked on a slab. It looked like one of the photos he’d seen at the clinic. “You understand what I’m sayin’ now?”

The sheriff lowered his hand and voice to almost a whisper. “That there had nothin’ to do with me.”

“Sure it did, Cal. Wasn’t it your cruiser that dumped her at the door of the clinic? Dr. Whitebird took copious notes, plenty of pictures too.”

“But that was just protocol. She wasn’t one of mine. She was just some junkie that got lost. I couldn’t help her.” His face was growing red.

“But you could help out a buddy, right? We’ve got a blood type on that friend of yours. He left evidence all over her. The file’s real thick on this one.”

“This is—this is bullshit, and you know it. You can’t just come in here waving wild accusations.” The sheriff was practically spitting in the marshal’s face. He pushed past his chair with an awkward stutter toward the door.

“Fifteen minutes, Cal. That’s all I’m askin’.”

The sheriff waved his hand in disgust at the marshal and slammed open the door.

“You say hello to the wife for me now,” Marshal Duncan called after him.

Once the sheriff had left, the marshal dropped a dollar on the table and abandoned his beer.

“Have a good evening, officer,” Clint called from behind the bar and went back to washing mugs.

Jasper stayed under the window, staring wide into the empty field. The sound of a car engine turning over and tires on gravel barely registered.
Ayasha,
he thought. They were talking about her.