James Smith - Hybrid

“Of course, you have… don’t be silly. You’re taking this way too seriously.”

“But you want me take it seriously, don’t you? That’s why you made a scene. Once again, I’ve stepped out of bounds. This time I’ve even placed your kids in danger. Correct?”

I’m not going to get into that right now. “My children are all I have in this world, Amy. They’re everything to me.”

She stared back at him, a hard expression he’d never seen from her.

“Look,” he said. “Maybe I’m a little edgy today. I didn’t mean to be so abrupt.”

He held out an open palm and she gave it a half-hearted slap and matching smile. “Okay, let’s forget about it, Dieter. Dad’s preparing a feast for all of us this afternoon.” She turned and started for the house.

“Wait.”

She stopped and looked back.

“I haven’t had a chance to tell you what happened to me.”

“What happened when?”

“After you brought the kids up here, I was out running around and stopped at the Madison. Hiked upstream and found a body.”

“A body ?”

“A dead hiker. I called the sheriff’s office and they sent out a deputy.”

She sat down in the grass and folded her legs in front of her. “My God, Dieter. You’re not talking a murder, are you?”

“I don’t really know. They’re going to do an autopsy.”

“A murder’s unheard of around here. Please tell me you weren’t waiting for me to find out about it on TV?”

“I should have called you, Amy. I’m sorry again. But there’s one more thing you should know.”

She cocked her head to one side.

“I’m considered a suspect.”

“A suspect ?” Her lower jaw hung on the word.

He quickly explained that since he’d discovered the body and there was no other obvious evidence, anyone who found it would be a suspect—standard operating procedure. He’d get it all straightened out with the sheriff’s office. But the longer he talked the more he realized she wasn’t listening to his words. Her eyes were bouncing around trying to grapple with the crazy thought that she was providing nanny services to a killer. The more he talked the more defensive he sounded to himself. He was babbling, trying to sound innocent. Hell, he was innocent.

“You do believe me, don’t you?” he finally asked.

She shot him that look of come on now! “That’s a silly question and you know it. Of course I believe you. I just can’t imagine how they even considered—”

“Please, Amy. Forget about this, too, for now. Forget about all of this. Maybe I just wanted you to understand why I’m a little rattled today.”

She agreed to keep his plight to herself. After reminding him of the planned visit to the powwow that evening, she stood and walked back toward the house while Dieter stayed behind. Rusty rushed to Dieter’s side with a wagging tail and a stick between his teeth. He stooped to put his arms around the dog’s neck and rub his fur.

Amy was right; he shouldn’t have been so angry about the kids in the lake. He had botched that miserably. Everything was moving too damn fast.

Mollyrested her arms on top of the split-rail fence and hitched her foot up onto the bottom log. It wasn’t the welcome she’d expected. A padlocked chain snaked through the rusted gate at the Loudermilk ranch.

A sign nailed to a post seemed to shout:

Katherine Belle Loudermilk had been apologetic again when she spoke on the phone the evening before. Her husband was never one for social grace, she’d said while Molly listened politely. Katherine Belle sounded genuine in the invitation for her to stop over at their ranch with measurements to discuss new window treatments and to look at fabrics. From everything Molly had heard, these women not only did good work, they were cheap. A winning combination.

After the Judge had reminded her, she did recall the hubbub when a reporter for Helena’s Independent Record portrayed the Loudermilks as some kind of religious cult. That’s the family’s own business, the Judge said at the time, and the newspaper deserved to be sued.

“Now, you pay no never mind to those posted signs, my dear,” Katherine Belle had said on the phone. “Joseph Vincent put them up just to keep busybodies away. I’ll have the gate unlocked for you.”

The only problem Molly faced at that moment was she’d forgotten whether Katherine Belle mentioned the morning or the afternoon. She was going to have to start taking notes whenever she made plans. Must be age, she thought, as she gripped the top of the fence and threw her rear end up on the rail to rest.

Buzzing grasshoppers soared among the tall weeds and overhead a red-tailed hawk circled against the clouds, searching for a meal. Maybe Katherine Belle meant for her to come in the afternoon. Or maybe she forgot to unlock the gate. Plenty of possibilities loomed. Maybe it was best just to walk up to the house and knock.

Brakes from a vehicle squealed behind her. A postman stuffed what looked like a catalog into the mailbox.

“Is this gate always chained?” she called out.

“I’ve never seen it open, lady,” he replied before pulling away.

Katherine Belle wouldn’t know what time she might arrive and probably wouldn’t want to keep the gate open all day. Molly hopped down onto the private property. Under a glaring noonday sun and with her underarms feeling clammy like molasses, she ambled down the graveled road toward a distant farmhouse. More doubt seeped in as she walked, an uneasy feeling, one of sneaking up on the family. She might be pushing the situation a little too far. No damned doubt what the Judge would say if he was there.

A gabled roof rose above the trees. She stopped, uncertain what to do next. Twisting her head about, she spotted the pillars of the front porch. She meandered toward it and waved her arm high, hoping to see the door open and someone wave back.

A muffled noise arose from a clump of trees on the other side of the road. She turned to her left to locate the source. There was no sign of life from the house and a strange noise had erupted from among the trees. What else did she need to tell her that she wasn’t supposed to be there? It was time to turn back. She had to keep her wits about her, had to use her better judgment at times like this.

Her old cousin curiosity shoved her into moving closer toward the source of the noise. She moved off the gravel and into the field grass so that her steps would be softer. A small shed appeared among the trees. The sound became more distinct.

An animal in distress?

She stopped to listen. Someone was weeping. She moseyed toward the weathered structure when there came the voices of a woman whimpering and a man grunting with labored breathing. Every few seconds there was the sound of a… whip ? Something thrashing against a wall?

Creeping closer, she sneaked up to the shed and stooped to squeeze between two scrub bushes, wiggling into a twisted position to press her ear against the wooden siding.

A woman was humming a lullaby beneath the slashing sound of a whip, delivered in a haunting rhythm. The crack of a whip, the muffled cry of a girl, the grunt of a man, a woman chanting a lullaby.

What in the name of…?

She cautiously rose up to the window. Through a thin layer of dirt and haze, a girl stripped of every stitch of clothing was bent over, clutching the back of a wooden chair. Her frail legs were spread-eagled, and her head and hair sagged down between her arms.

Straddling her from behind, with his coveralls and underwear dropped down to his ankles, was a tall man with a straw hat. He was shoving his member into the girl with a throbbing cadence, his eyes closed and his head tossed back in a trance, groaning with clenched teeth and saliva dribbling from a corner of his lips.