The Buried Book (6 page)

CHAPTER 10

They ever have any run-ins with the law?

The next morning, Jasper woke to the sound of tires rolling down the gravel driveway. They stopped, and an engine cut off. He sat up in bed with a start. Squinting out the window, he saw a black sedan was parked in front of the barn.

Mom?

It was a stupid thought, he realized. He’d never seen the car before. A hard knock on the door shook the house. His aunt answered it.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Are you Mrs. Leonard Williams?” a gruff voice asked.

“Yes.”

“I need to speak with your husband.”

“Of course . . . Come in, Officer. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you.” Hard footsteps slapped the floorboards, and a chair was pulled out from the table with a stuttering scrape. “Is your husband here?”

“Yes, out in the barn. Make yourself at home. I’ll go get him.”

The door opened and closed. The kitchen chair creaked as a large weight sank onto it. Jasper peeked out from behind the curtain at the back of the police officer’s head. He was wearing a light-blue shirt and a wide-brimmed hat, but it wasn’t a policeman’s uniform. A gun hung from a shiny leather holster at his side. Jasper glanced over at Wayne peeking through the other side of the curtain from his pillow. They exchanged bewildered looks.

The police officer let out a low whistle as he surveyed the room. Both boys ducked behind the curtain.

The front door opened again, and two sets of feet came into the house. The chair sputtered as the officer stood back up.

“Morning, Officer,” Uncle Leo said.

“Good morning. I’m Detective John Russo. Are you Leonard Williams?”

“I am. What can I do for you, Detective?”

“I’m investigating the disappearance of a woman—a Mrs. Wendell Leary. I understand you know her?”

“I do. Which police department did ya say you’re with?”

There was a pause as the detective flashed his badge. “Detroit PD. Perhaps we should talk outside.”

Through the curtain seam, Jasper could see the detective motion to the alcove where he and Wayne were listening.

Uncle Leo nodded. “Why don’t we step out to the barn. You caught me right at feedin’ time.”

The two men left the house, and it was all Jasper could do not to run right after them. Wayne grabbed him by the shoulder and motioned to the window. Catching his meaning, Jasper threw on his pants and shoes and went to open the sash.

His aunt’s voice stopped him cold. “Good morning, you two,” she sang, pulling the curtain wide open.

Jasper spun around. Precious seconds ticked by. “Morning, Aunt Velma.”

“Hey, Ma, who was that man?” Wayne asked.

“A police officer from Detroit.”

“No foolin’? What’d he want?”

“That’s really none of your business, young man. I need the two of you to collect extra eggs this morning in case our guest wants to stay for breakfast.” She handed a basket to Wayne.

“I’ll—I’ll get started.” Jasper snatched the basket from his cousin and was out the door before his aunt could object.

He ran a wide loop past the chicken coop and straight to the back side of the barn, where he’d be hidden from the house. It took several moments, darting from slat to slat, to locate the voices of the men inside. Uncle Leo was slopping the pigs.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Leo was saying.

“They didn’t have any problems?”

“It’s not really any of my business if they did.”

“What sort of man is Wendell Leary in your opinion?”

“Old Wen’s a nice enough guy. We were all happy when he came along.”

“Is he prone to violence? He ever smack her around?”

Uncle Leo slammed the slop bucket on the ground. “I don’t know where you were raised, Detective, but where I come from, you don’t insult a man with those sort of questions. Wendell is good, God-fearin’ folk, and if you’re implying otherwise, we’re gonna have words.”

“Fair enough. We have to ask these things, sir. Nine times out ten, in these sorts of cases, the husband is to blame.”

Jasper gaped at the detective through the wood planks. His dad had never laid a hand on his mother as far as he knew. Once she’d even screamed in his face for him to hit her. He never did. He’d just picked up Jasper and taken him to play catch.

“Are you suggesting that there’s been a crime?” his uncle asked.

“We haven’t ruled it out. According to her employer, a Perry Galatas, she’s been missing work for quite some time.”

“People up and quit jobs all the time.” The sound of another bucket of slop hitting the trough drowned out the detective’s response.

When the noise let up, he was saying, “. . . don’t often leave their car in the woods and disappear, do they?”

Uncle Leo stood rooted to the spot for a beat. “Where’d you find it?”

“A farmer a few miles up the road went looking for his dog in the woods. He stumbled on a forty-seven Chevy buried under a pile of branches. Looked like someone had gone to some trouble to hide it. There was no sign of Mrs. Leary. No hospital has any record of her. County sheriff didn’t know a thing about it. The car’s been down at the impound lot in Port Huron for almost a week. No one’s come to claim it.”

“Why didn’t they contact Wendell?”

“They did. He was hoping she’d come back for it, at least that’s what he says. He finally filed a missing person report. They’re processing the car as evidence today.”

“Evidence of what, exactly?”

“Well, for starters, I understand she’s wanted by the sheriff for questioning . . . Abandoning a car on county land isn’t a serious offense, but it does raise some questions. And then, of course, there’s the possibility that someone else was involved.”

There was a long silence.

“I’d hoped we might find her here. Hiding out. Pulling a Houdini like that makes a husband pretty angry. You sure she wouldn’t come back here?”

“I am. She was never afraid of Wen. Besides, she never really took to farming life.”

“Yes, I hear around Burtchville she was a colorful sort. I understand she has a son?”

Uncle Leo didn’t answer right away. “Yep. He’s been stayin’ here with us for a while.”

“Since when?”

“About two weeks. Althea brought him up here, said there was some things she had to do.”

“Was this unexpected?”

“A bit.”

“She ever leave him here before?”

“Sure. We’re family, ain’t we? Nothin’ strange about a nephew coming to visit for a few days here and there.”

“She ever leave him this long?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Back when he was about a year old, he came and stayed here for a spell.”

Jasper’s mouth fell open. He had no memory of being left the first time.

“How long?”

“A few weeks. Frankly, I encouraged it. City’s no place to raise a boy. Besides, the wife really enjoyed having another little one around for a bit.”

“Did Althea tell you what she was doing or where she was going this time?”

“Not really. Just said there was something she had to do. I’ve learned not to ask too much.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because Althea’s a private person.” His uncle sighed. “There’s nothin’ wrong with that. Last I checked, it ain’t a crime. I’m pretty private too, and I can’t say I’m liking all these questions. What’s it to you way down there in Detroit anyway? Isn’t this a bit outside your jurisdiction?”

“Althea’s a Detroit resident. The county sheriff here called it in to see if we had an open case.”

“Do you?”

“Not yet. Let’s just say we have our interests, but nothing for you to worry about. We’re the good guys in this. Did she ever mention any enemies to you? Anyone she felt threatened by?”

“You don’t really think somethin’ like that’s goin’ on, do you?”

Something like what?
Jasper wanted to scream.

“We’re not ruling it out. Will you answer the question?”

“No. She never talked about anyone, but she never talked much to begin with. Christ, Althea . . .”

“She seem nervous last time you saw her? Jumpy?”

Jasper remembered her hands gripping the steering wheel, trembling when she screwed open the flask.

“A bit.”

“Take my card. If you hear from your sister or think of anything at all . . .”

A hand slapped over Jasper’s mouth.

“We gotta move,” a voice hissed in his ear. It was Wayne. Jasper had no idea how long he’d been there listening too. He dragged him away from the barn by his arm and over to the chicken coop. “Sorry, kid, but he was done with the pigs. He always comes out to the pump after.”

In the distance, Jasper could see his uncle rounding the side of the barn to the well pump. He was carrying two buckets. Wayne grabbed the basket from Jasper’s hands. He’d forgotten he was holding it.

“I don’t think Detective Russo will be stayin’ for breakfast,” Wayne said and swung open the wire door to the chicken coop. A flock of feathers flew up at them as the hens scattered about. Wayne flopped open the wood ramp to the outdoor run, and most of them scrambled away. Jasper just stood there in a stupor while Wayne did the rounds, collecting eggs from the old apple crates.

A loud squawk snapped Jasper back to his senses. The family rooster pecked at his legs and then tried to eat one of his shoelaces. Jasper kicked him off. Wayne finished collecting and pushed him back out the door.

“Wayne?”

“Yeah?”

“Did I come stay with you when I was a baby? For like two weeks?”

“I remember somethin’ sort of like that. I was a lot younger than you are now.” He held the door to the coop open for Jasper, then latched it shut. “I remember being all excited about being a big brother. I kinda hoped you’d stay.”

Jasper stared at the ground and said nothing.

CHAPTER 11

Did you ever feel like they were hiding something?

Later that afternoon, Jasper dragged Wayne back into the barn.

“I don’t understand what you think this has to do with anything,” his cousin protested.

Jasper didn’t respond. The smooth prints of hard-soled shoes scarred the ground where the detective had stood and accused his father of terrible things. He tried to imagine his mother burying their family car under branches deep in the woods. It didn’t make sense.

Did she ever mention any enemies to you? Anyone she felt threatened by?

“She wrote that stuff years ago, you know,” Wayne continued, but he let himself be pulled along by the younger boy anyway. Probably because he felt bad for him. Jasper didn’t care why. The dried leather binding felt stiff in his hands as he pulled it from the gap between the siding slats and the girt. The yellowed paper still smelled of smoke and crackled as he ran his fingers over her name.

“You have to show me how to read this.” Jasper sat down in the dirt with the book in his lap.

“Why?”

“Because I need to know what it says,” Jasper pleaded, grabbing his cousin’s arm and pulling him down to the ground. He shoved the book into his cousin’s hands.

“All this thing says is your mom was a big blabbermouth as a kid.”

“Shut up!” Jasper was on the verge of tears. “It’s all I have, and if you don’t help me . . . I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Wayne smacked the top of Jasper’s head. “Don’t give yourself a hernia. If I do this for you, whatcha gonna do for me?”

“I’ll do all your chores for a week.”

“Hmm. Two weeks and we have a deal.”

“Fine.” Jasper sighed.

“Alright. Then school’s in session. If you want to read this stuff, all you have to do is recognize the letters. It’s the same alphabet as before. You can read, right?”

Jasper nodded. He’d been reading since he was four.
Don’t go thinking you’re something special just because some things come easy, baby,
his mother had warned when he started showing off.
Knowing how to read don’t make you smarter than anybody else, and thinking you are is the surest way to ruin your life.

“Good. Then you can read this stuff once you get used to it. A few letters look a bit strange, that’s all. There’s
L
. There’s an
S
. The ever-important
I
. Doubt you’ll even see a
Q
in this—them’s pretty rare. Now see if you can follow along with me.” Wayne cleared his throat and put on his best girlie voice.

August 5, 1928

Mama called me a liar again today. She says there’s nothing worse in this world than a dishonest woman. I’d like to argue that point, but what’s the use? Of course I know I shouldn’t lie, but I’m telling you it’s really not fair. You lie about one silly little thing like saying your prayers at bedtime or washing the dishes and you’re branded for life: Liar. And a young woman to boot. I guess I’m doomed.

Papa says I don’t have the sense of a headless chicken. Isn’t that a gruesome thought? Me just running around the yard with my head cut off, possessed with a twitching ghost? If anybody bothered to ask me, I’d say the fact he doesn’t understand me doesn’t make me stupid. It’s more of a commentary on his intelligence than mine, don’t you think?

Perfect Pearl is hardly a sister at all the way she’s constantly telling Mama all my secrets. She’s probably reading this right now, and if she is, she’d better understand that if she keeps reading, I’ll tell Mama all about her kissing Davey Harding behind the schoolhouse. I’m not kidding, Pearl. I’ve booby-trapped this book, and I’ll know if you’ve gone snooping.

My brothers are hardly any better. All Leonard cares about are tractors, and my oldest brother, Alfred, hardly knows my name. He spends all his time over at the high school in Port Huron. It’s like I don’t exist at all.

Wouldn’t that be nice? To not exist? To just up and vanish in the night? To fly away? My next life I want to be a bird. That’s assuming you get more than one, of course. Dear God, I sure hope I do.

Wayne stopped to take a breath. “See what I mean? Just a bunch of girlie whatnot. You sure you want to read this mess?”

Jasper just kept staring at the twisted-together words. His mother wanted to fly away. Maybe she’d finally gotten her wish.

“Fine. It’s your funeral. See if you can do it. Try that one again.”

Jasper spent the next hour reading and rereading the first two entries until he had a grasp on her penmanship.

“Not bad, kid. Maybe you don’t have rocks for brains after all. You read the next one.”

In a slow, faltering voice, Jasper sounded out the words.

August 12, 1928

Today was a terrible day. Papa was right. I’m worse than a headless chicken. Mr. Hoyt caught me in his barn. Mother’s always telling me not to go snooping where I’m not wanted, but I just had to see that new . . .

“Colt,” Wayne interjected.

. . . colt. Papa was talking all about it just the other day. Mr. Hoyt’s been trying to get the . . .

“Neighbors.”

. . . neighbors to invest in his new plan to breed racehorses. He says a single horse can fetch over $1,000. What a . . .

“Schemer!”

That’s what Papa called him, anyway. Of course, he decided it sounded too good to be true. I don’t think Papa believes in anything that doesn’t involve sweating yourself to death out in the sun, least of all horse racing. But imagine that! A $1,000 horse living just over the creek. I had to see it. It might’ve had golden hooves.

Turns out he was just a normal sort of baby horse, all . . .

“Wobbly.”

. . . wobbly and skinny. I sat down next to him and stared him right in his big black eyes, looking for some sort of sign that he was something special. A $1,000 horse should look like something, but I didn’t see nothing but the reflection of my own dopey face, the poor thing. I couldn’t help but pet him. He was just a baby after all. What was Mr. Hoyt going to do when he found out this prize pony was nothing but a plain . . .

“Quarter horse. Look at that—there’s a
Q
.”

. . . quarter horse? All I could think running my hand down his flank was that he would never be worth more than the plow he’d pull. It made me want to love him. He was so smooth and soft, but under the skin something wild trembled. Maybe he had some racing in him. Or maybe he was just cold being all alone without his mama. I put my arms around him and tried to make him warm and still. It wasn’t his fault he was stuck in that barn. I felt so bad for him, I began dreaming up ways to help him escape.

Right about then, Mr. Hoyt kicked in the barn door yelling, “Who’s in there, God . . .

“Damn it!” Wayne raised his eyebrows and grinned, daring Jasper to cuss out loud.

. . . damn it!”

I must’ve lost my voice, because I just stood there dumb. He came stomping through, checking stalls until he found me with my arms wrapped around his new horse and pointed a double-barrel shotgun right at my head!

“Wow!” Wayne piped in. “She’s lucky he didn’t shoot her. You don’t go messin’ around Old Hoyt’s place. He’s liable to kill you! Pop said he was robbed once, and that sort of thing leaves a mark.”

Jasper thought about this for a minute before continuing.

He looked so surprised to see me, you’d have thought I’d sprouted horns. “Don’t shoot! It’s just me, Mr. Hoyt. Althea.” I gave him a real stupid smile. Papa always said it was important to be a good neighbor. Doesn’t that include horses? I think so too, but Mr. Hoyt didn’t seem to agree. He just kept on staring at me down the barrel of his gun.

“Who said you could be in here? What’re you doin’? Get away from him! When I tell your father about this, you’re gonna wish you’d had more sense! It ain’t right sneaking around someone else’s place like this.”

I must’ve looked like I’d seen the devil himself, because out of nowhere he just starts laughing one of those laughs without any sound . . .

“Boys? You out there?” Aunt Velma called from the driveway. “Time for dinner!”

“Be right there, Ma!” Wayne hollered back, then hissed, “Hurry up before she comes in here.”

Jasper dropped his voice to a whisper.

. . . laughs without any sound, just a lot of hot air blowing out.

Then he lowered his gun and smiled at me. It didn’t look like a real nice smile, though. His lips were smiling, but his eyes were doing something different. I didn’t like it. “Say, maybe we could keep this between us, Althea. We’re friends, right?”

Jasper stopped, not sure he’d read the last line right.

Wayne jumped in, whispering the words twice as fast as Jasper could manage to get to the end.

I’m not sure if I said anything back. He didn’t look like my friend, but Papa would tan my hide if Mr. Hoyt asked him too. They’re the ones who was friends.

“Maybe you could do me a favor instead?” His strange smile got bigger. Doing a favor would be better than getting a whupping, right? “You come back here tomorrow, and we’ll figure something out.”

So I backed my way out of the barn and ran home. Now we have some sort of deal, I guess. But I really don’t want to go back there.

Wayne snapped the book shut and tucked it back into its hiding place. “We should get back to the house.”

Jasper reluctantly followed him out of the barn. Halfway to the cabin, he stopped and stole a glance out over the back fields to the split-rail fence that separated his uncle’s farm from Old Hoyt’s place.

I don’t want to go back there.