Chapter 17

Valerie Boren-Odell, 1990

Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the river

Fell here and there through the branches a tremulous gleam of the moonlight,

Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1847. "Evangeline."

In the watercolor gray of evening, Myrna Wambles's house looks even less appealing than the first time I stopped by. Every exhausted inch of me wants to continue down the street and leave this for tomorrow, when I'm not covered in dried mud from working a death scene and body recovery. The scent of human decay has secreted itself into the fibers of my clothing and between the strands of my hair—or maybe I just imagine it. I know that the feeling won't stop haunting me until I've showered and run my uniform through the washing machine with just enough bleach to leave the fabric smelling like a freshly treated swimming pool.

I'll need to stop by the store for a bottle of Clorox after picking up Charlie, which will be one more hiccup in the usual evening routine. The poor kid is already stuck at the daycare for supper because I was tied up overtime at the station. With the NPS end of the death investigation expected to be mostly paperwork, Chief Ranger Arrington has left me in as incident commander after all. The general consensus is that the medical examiner's report will eventually come back with cause of death: drowning, manner: accidental. Unless something more surfaces, we may never ID the man, or find out why he entered the waterway, or where. A flood has the ability to carry a body for miles along swollen creeks and rivers.

This trip to Myrna Wambles's place can't really wait until tomorrow—not if I want to sleep tonight. I need some concrete answers about the lanyard and the shoe. Sydney is the one who has those answers. Aside from that, tomorrow is a day off for me, and I've promised Charlie plenty of together time. That will not include dropping by the Wambles house.

By showing up this late in the day, I'm hoping to catch Myrna a bit off guard, and maybe slightly more cooperative. But as I dig through the console for a clean notepad, grab my hat, and exit the truck, I steel myself for whatever might ensue.

The house's front door once again opens before I can get there. A shadowy figure in a housedress steps out. "You got me another one?"

She advances several steps, as people typically do when they don't want you to see what's going on inside. The maneuver rings all my bells, but then again, everything about Mrs. Wambles does. "Heard we had a drop-off comin' this evenin'. You got it in the truck? Boy or girl?"

I hesitate at the bottom of the steps, off balance at hearing a child referred to as it. "Valerie Boren-Odell. Park Service. We spoke the other day at the church. About Sydney Potter?"

"Sydney Potter?" The name explodes in a hail of spit. "Oh…sure, I remember you. How're you this evenin', ma'am? I heard round town that y'all found a dead escaped prisoner today…and y'all had a mountain fall down last week, with some hikers trapped underneath it, squashed to a pulp. Them mountains claim their price from fools. Always have."

"Fortunately, the rockfall event happened in the middle of the night during the storms." Sorry to disappoint you, but, "No one was around and there were no injuries."

"Too many wanderin' spirits up there. Too many bones." Her voice deepens, grows gritty and bizarre. Fisting her dress, she pulls the neckline protectively close. "Y'all hadn't oughta made a park up there, let folks to walk over the graves, wake the spirits. I know you government people stole some of the bones off that land. I heard."

A shudder runs under my shirt. Having worked a death scene today, I'm more easily rattled than usual. I thread my fingers around my duty belt, clench down on the leather. "Well, rumors are like flies, aren't they? They feast wherever they land."

Myrna peers in the general direction of the Winding Stair. "My mama used to tell of it. She could see things…haints, demon spirits on a person." The bare-bulb porch light casts uneven shadows over her craggy face as she turns my way again. "Was a man round here once. A man-devil. Ran laundry houses from one town to the next, took in little girls to work—orphan ones, or ones with folks that needed the money. He got my mama's half sister, Evelyn. Took her off their dirt farm down near Bald Mountain. Tried to get my mama, too, but Mama seen the devil on him. She cried and spit up and fainted till he wouldn't take her. The family never heard of Evelyn again. That man did bad things. Terrible things. Buried the bodies up in them mountains. Here in Talihina was where he met his end. The men of the town took him from that laundry buildin', hauled him up in the mountains to pay for his sins. Let the coyotes and the wolves tear up his body. Man-devil, he still walks by night, looking for all his parts."

"That's quite a story." I think of the cave, the bones.

Stop,I tell myself. Don't even listen. If there are answers to be had, they won't come from this shrew of a woman.

"Wasn't no trial." Myrna tsk-tsks under her breath. "So you can't look it up at the courthouse or nothin', but the old-timers still tell it. You best watch yourself up in them mountains."

I pull off my hat, rub my forehead to clear my mind, replace the hat. "Ma'am, I just came by to ask Sydney a few more questions about her brother."

The horror-movie act vanishes, and blatant curiosity replaces it. Myrna's nose twitches my way and her voice normalizes. "The boy in trouble with the law now, is he?"

"Not at this time."

"Because nothin'…and I mean nothin' would surprise me. That girl I have here, she has got a attitude on her that is nothin' but bad. If I hadn't made room for her when Alton Parker found them kids on their own, Sydney would've ended up in the real emergency shelter, throwed in with the teenagers and criminals. But she ain't grateful to me or Mr. Parker. Not one darn bit."

I catalog the scattershot background information. "Kids are hard to read sometimes. I'm sure that's a particular challenge in these situations."

"Oh, yes, ma'am. I could tell you stories!"

I'll bet."Maybe her case worker could contact…"

"She ain't got one. Mr. Parker arranged all this. Like I said, he was tryin' to do them kids and Budgie Blackwell a favor. Keep this mess out of the legal system till Braden could get on his feet, workin' and turn eighteen, and be guardian for his sister…or else till the grandmama got better and came home. Mr. Parker didn't want the courts to know Budgie had gone off and left them kids by theirselves, so he took care of it as a favor to her."

Even though the story somewhat fits with Sydney's, it sounds exponentially more ridiculous coming from an adult. A flighty seventeen-year-old kid is supposed to become his sibling's legal guardian? A grandmother with resources and connections couldn't have found someone to look after the kids for her?

Myrna's phlegmy cough interrupts my train of thought. Finally she clears her throat and rasps out, "Hon, alls I can tell you about Sydney's brother is, he hasn't been by here in a while, and that is upsettin' for Sydney. But in this business, you learn that folks don't always keep their promises. Not even to fam'ly. It'll only grieve Sydney if you bring it up to her. If she'd heard from her brother, I'd know."

A clamor arises inside the house—kids wrestling or playing…or fighting. Squeals and yells and thumps. Somebody blows a whistle. An adult voice rises over the din, but I can't make out the words.

"I'll do my best not to upset Sydney, Mrs. Wambles, but I would like to talk with her. I'll be quick."

"The whole bunch is in their jammies and settlin' down." Myrna shifts foot to foot, the muumuu swinging around her fleshy calves. "They see you, they'll be climbin' the walls. Anythin' different stirs them up."

"Why don't we have Sydney step out here a minute? I'd like to speak with her in private anyway." Mrs. Wambles is probably wondering whether I have the power to force the issue, but I'd rather not get into the weeds about jurisdictions—better to keep this voluntary.

A June bug whirls past and suffers an unfortunate collision with Myrna's nested-up hair. Savagely plucking it free, she tosses it down and takes a moment to squash it. "All right. But as I have said before, you can't believe a word that girl says anyhow."

The carcass engages in its death throes while Myrna heads inside.

Sydney inadvertently finishes off the writhing beetle when she emerges. "Hey, Ranger Valerie!" Clearly, Mrs. Wambles has prepped her. "I wondered why I didn't see you for a while."

"Well, in general I work in the park, you know? They don't let me come to town much." The joke wins a grin wide enough to show in the dim light.

"Must be tough to get a cheeseburger then."

I laugh. "You have no idea."

"When I get to be a park ranger, I'm never comin' to this stupid town."

And…boom. Fun time is over. Threading her arms behind her back, she wanders closer, her tank top riding up. The skinny, slightly arched belly reminds me of Charlie, as do the pajama bottoms and slippered feet. I want to banish the comparison, but I can't. "You'll have to show me what park rangers do, though."

"We'll talk about that sometime." I'm careful to avoid promises, but Sydney continues as if we've sealed a bargain.

"I can do a ride along, like when Braden had his JROTC camp last summer. He got to ride in big trucks and stuff, and planes, too, I bet."

"I didn't know that about him. I think you said he hoped to go into the military, but JROTC—that's really great." And with that going on in his life, why would he just take off? Junior ROTC takes discipline. Commitment.

"He's gonna be a pilot." Leaning closer, she cups a hand alongside her mouth and adds in a whisper, "After he springs me from this stupid place." Then she threads her arms behind her back again, rocking onto her heels. Her voice resumes normal volume when she says, "So you could take me on a park ranger ride along up in the Winding Stair Mountains. I can show you some awesome places, too. We used to go there a lot. Well, before Grandma Budgie got sick and stumbly and stuff. That's how Braden knows so much, from her showing us. You run into Braden up there yet?"

"No, I haven't."

"He has places nobody ever goes. He's real smart like that."

"It's a good skill. Hey, so I'll recognize it if I come across his trail or his camp, what kinds of things does he usually take with him? Tent? Backpack? Clothes? Keys? What type of shoes was he wearing? That sort of thing?"

She ponders longer than necessary, which tells me she's inventing at least part of her answer. "Boots, brushpopper shirt, jeans, I guess. He's got keys on a neck thing everybody got free at school. His tent was still at Grandma Budgie's. I bet he borrowed one from somebody, though."

"So, boots then, you're sure?" I open my notepad, take notes. "Not tennis shoes or maybe high-tops?"

"Oh, no, ma'am. He's got high-top tennis shoes. Blue-and-white ones for Antlers. But Braden wouldn't go to the woods in somethin' like that. A copperhead snake or a timber rattler could bite right through it. He'd…" Her head swivels toward the front window as the curtains shift a bit.

"Hey, hold that thought." I give the words enough volume to carry through the glass. "I need to step right over there real quick and check on something in my truck."

"K." A curious look slides toward the driveway.

I've barely made it to my vehicle before Sydney is on my tail. Stretching upward, she peers through the windshield to investigate Charlie's handheld video game, which I'd set on the dashboard while digging out a clean notepad. Charlie lost game rights after trying to sneak the toy into daycare this morning.

"Whoa, radical! Is that the new Game Boy?" Sydney cranes to get a better look.

"Yes, it is."

"Lucky," she grumbles. "Braden's girlfriend, Rachel, has a Game Boy. She's gonna bring it…if she ever gets to come see us. After the doctor makes Grandma Budgie all better, she's gonna let Rachel come stay with us a few days, and we could meet her. Mama didn't want Braden's girlfriend to come at all, though. She said Braden is too young and Grandma Budgie has enough goin' on at the ranch with the pond dam and the hay barn getting fixed, plus Grandma Budgie's too old for company."

"Your brother had…has a girlfriend?" I jot girlfriend, Rachel on my notepad. "Where does she live?"

"Around Tulsa someplace. They met at JROTC camp last summer and fell in lu-u-uv."

That could explain some things, like where Braden may have disappeared to, and why.

Sydney returns her attention to the vehicle. "What other cartridges you got for your Game Boy?"

I'm momentarily stumped. The toy was Charlie's Christmas gift from my mom. Video games are not my thing. "You know…I can't remember."

Sydney rolls a look my way. "That's your kid's Game Boy, huh?"

"Let's talk about that another time."

"Your kid with its dad right now?"

The question hits like a blind punch. I do my best not to let it show, but I can feel Sydney studying me. "So, about Braden, are there any other family members he might have gone to stay with? His father maybe?"

"Braden's daddy died. He got wrecked on a motorcycle, Mama said. But they wasn't any good together, anyhow. That's because you shouldn't fall all goo-goo in love in high school. Mama told Braden that. Him and Rachel want to marry right off, if Braden makes it into flight school and stuff."

"Do you know Rachel's last name? Or her phone number?"

"Huh-uh."

"But Rachel lives somewhere near Tulsa and they met at a JROTC camp?" I recap.

Sydney shrugs. "Rachel's in college at Oklahoma City now, but if she goes with Braden, her daddy will cut her off. Boom. She hates it anyway, though. College. Her roommate in the dorm is a jerk, plus she misses Braden." As quickly as Sydney became mesmerized by the Game Boy, she disengages. Grabbing my arm, she gasps in a moment of eureka. "You could go ask my Grandma Budgie."

"What?"

"You could go see Grandma Budgie at the City of Faith doctor place. That's in Tulsa, too!" A palm slaps her forehead, hard. "And ask her where to find Rachel. And ask Rachel where Braden's at, because Braden and Rachel don't go one single day without yakkin' on the phone for-ev-er."

"The City of Faith?" I jot the name in my notes. At least it's concrete information…and something new. Last time I talked to Sydney, she claimed she didn't know any details. "And did you hear your grandmother say that's where she would be?"

She's slow to answer, careful, as if she's composing on the fly again. "Braden said it."

"So, your Grandma Budgie told Braden?"

"I think so. I didn't talk to him till after I woke up in the morning." Her face turns my way, catches the glow of the truck's dome light. Moisture-tipped lashes close tightly, then part again. "Can you tell Grandma Budgie we really need her to come home?"

My heart shatters into a million tiny pieces and I'm a little girl again, eight years old, terrified that my daddy would never return from Vietnam.

I know I shouldn't, but I reach out and smooth a hand over Sydney's hair. It passes like silk through my fingers. "I'll try." It's the wrong thing to say. If Budgie Blackwell were able to communicate, she would have done so by now. "But I need you to be honest with me. Is there anyone who'd know Rachel's last name or phone number? Or maybe Braden had it written down at your grandmother's house?" Do I have a pair of young lovers who've run off together? Or a pair of bodies washed away in a flood? Or a breakup that caused Braden to take to the woods…or worse?

A quick head shake, and Sydney's moment of raw emotion evaporates. "If he did, he'd probably burn it, so nobody could get it and call Rachel and break them up, or…" Her lips snap shut. She's let out something she didn't mean to. I'm just not sure what the something is.

"So…who would've called the phone number if Braden had it lying around?" Truth and invention are tangled like multicolored spaghetti here. "Was anyone else there with you the night your grandmother had to leave?"

"Oh, no, ma'am. Sometimes people would stop by to visit with Grandma Budgie, that's all. And the housekeeper used to come once a month—Sharla Watson. She was Miss Nosy Rosy. Braden broke up with her daughter to go with Rachel, but they moved away after spring break and—"

"Syd-ney?" Myrna Wambles's shrill voice pollutes the evening stillness. "What're you doin' way out there? Did I not say stay on the porch? Did I not?"

Wincing, Sydney ducks her head.

"My fault!" I call. "Checking on my truck."

"Time to come in." Myrna has had enough. "Now, little missy."

Sydney stiffens to full height, as if that might level the balance of power in this place. "You ask my Grandma Budgie," she whispers before dashing across the yard, up the steps past Myrna Wambles, and into the house.

Myrna stands guard as I climb into my truck, jot down a few final notes, pile all the loose items in the console, then back out of the driveway.

I'm only too happy to see Mrs. Wambles and her house disappear from the rearview mirror. Unfortunately, the eerie feeling and the unanswered questions follow me like a fly buzzing around my head, looking for a place to land. I do my best to brush it off and switch to family mode as I pull up to the daycare. Charlie is sitting in the porch swing, chatting with the owner. He bolts for the truck and climbs into his seat almost before I can wave a thank-you out the window.

"Whew! What stinks?" Pinching his nose, he looks me over, takes in the mud-covered uniform. A dozen rapid-fire questions follow.

He's immediately perturbed when I don't offer any interesting stories from the day—no dumpster-diving bears or raccoons in the camp showers. The only kid-approved tidbit I have is that some of the crew was busy studying the rockfall event that knocked a segment of hiking trails out of service. No, I didn't get to see it for myself, I just heard the chatter. I was tied up in another part of the park.

"But tied up how?" he whines as we stop in the dollar store parking lot.

"Just tied up, Charlie. Near Holson Creek. That's all."

"In the water or on the creek bank?"

"Neither. In a backwater off one of the trails."

"Which trail?" He's been studying the park maps incessantly, planning hikes we're going to take on my off days, whenever the schedule settles down. "The one where all the rocks crashed off the mountain?"

"No. Not that one."

"Did the rocks fall all the way to the bottom or just a little way?" He illustrates with his hands.

"I don't know. I haven't been there. That's not where the scene…where I was working."

"Working doing what, though?"

"Charlie, just hang on a minute while I grab a bottle of bleach."

"For what?"

"Charlie!" My voice reverberates through the vehicle. "Just sit here, all right?" From the console, I retrieve the contraband Game Boy. "Here. If you'll wait patiently, you can play it."

"Can I have the other cartridges, too?"

I fish out the two matchbook-sized accessories. "There you go."

"Can I keep it when we get home?"

"You're pushing it."

"Ohhh-kay," he sighs.

"I'll be right there at the cash register where you can see me." Tweaking the bill of his ball cap, I try to lighten the mood. "Hey, buddy, I'm not mad at you, okay? It's just been a crazy day. Don't unbuckle. Don't get out, all right?"

"I know." With an exasperated eye roll, he hunches over his Game Boy. "I'm not four."

Despite everything, a tender laugh tickles my throat. This kid. Really. "Back in a flash," I say, then hurry into the store.

The three-minute break plus a pile of on-sale dog food bags by the door leave me with an idea as I return from my errand.

"We going home now?" Charlie inquires.

"I need to make a quick stop and talk to someone while things are fresh in my mind."

His curly head falls back and bounces against the seat. "Why-yyy?"

"Long story, and it's not something I can share," I tell him. "But, listen—the good news about this place is, there are puppies."