Sarah Sparrow - A Guide for Murdered Children

“Like us to come along?” said Lydia.

“No, I think you can sit this one out. I’m not even sure why I’m going. Definitely no need to show up with the whole cavalry.”

“He was cleared,” said Daniel. “He submitted a palm print. They both did—to my knowledge.”

“What do you hope to learn?” said Lydia.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “It’s just one of those intuitive things.”

“‘Intuitive’ can be overrated,” she said impishly.

Though he had no reason to, Willow parked around the corner from the Caplans’ driveway, so his car wouldn’t be visible—old stalk-and-skulk habits die hard.

But there was something else to his skullduggery; when it came to Adelaide, being surreptitious gave him an erotic charge. He’d been fantasizing about her again. He couldn’t have been happier about his sex life with Dixie Rose, but the idea of seducing his ex-wife (with the twofer of cuckolding Owen) set his heart aflutter. Some of it was sore loser’s payback—it would cut the sheriff to the quick—but mostly, it was the pure, verboten kick, the Blueberry Thrill of it all. Addie was great in bed, one of the few women he’d met who could come on a dime. So many of his lovers after the marriage (and during) seemed to have trouble in that department. It was practically an epidemic. After a while, a man couldn’t help thinking he was the problem.

As he walked the half block to Adelaide’s, his cell phone rang. It was Owen. Jesus, the man’s telepathic. He informed Willow that he was having his first interview with Honeychile in the morning. Then he dropped something that righteously pissed Willow off. The sheriff said he’d learned that Lydia and Daniel were in uniform when they stopped by lockdown “to have tea and crackers with my suspect. Do you make them wear deputy uniforms to work, Dubya?” Of course he didn’t and Owen knew it. Willow could tell that his boss was more irritated than anything else—there were too many things on his plate just now—but the Cold Case rookies’ costume party had been enough to warrant a mention. “You might look into that,” he reprimanded. “You bet I will,” said Willow.

He hung there on the sidewalk a moment, wrestling with the impulse to call the Devonshires, which probably wasn’t a good idea. Then he said fuck it and dialed them anyway.

Harold picked up.

Willow hadn’t thought it through—not his specialty—and had to do some tap dancing. He introduced himself as a detective, omitting that he worked Cold Case. He apologized for interrupting Harold’s day.

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t get you folks in to see your daughter that afternoon.”

“Well, someone finally made that happen,” said Harold. “But I appreciate it.”

“We had a couple of deputies who were upset that the hospital was being—well, going a little too ‘by the book.’ You may even have run into them while you were there.”

“Oh yes. They came to see us while we were waiting. They were very kind.”

“Do you work with veterans, Mr. Devonshire?”

“Excuse me?”

“Have you ever done any work with PTSD veteran groups?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Sorry for asking,” said Willow, milking his acting chops. “One of the deputies is a vet and he said that you reminded him of a fellow in his group.”

“Why were you calling again?”

The query sounded borderline tetchy; the last thing Willow needed was for Mr. Devonshire to call in some kind of complaint, as far-fetched as that might seem.

“I really just wanted to see how y’all were doing and wish you my best. Have a good evening and sorry to have bothered.”

“No bother at all.”

“Hey there, mystery man,” said Adelaide, inviting him in.

God, she was gorgeous. For the first time, he noticed a melancholy to the observation, though not over what he’d lost. No, the sadness came because Dixie had stealthily put a yurt up on the precious, long-barren land where he and his ex once lived. Willow hadn’t built on the property for years and Addie had the feeling he never would. She took comfort as well in knowing he’d converted the acreage into a memorial park—and Willow drew comfort in knowing that she knew.

It was complicated.

“Wassup, Dubya?”

“Not a helluva lot. Just doing the Cold Case deal.”

“Owen said that you went to see the Rummers.”

“Yup. That’ll put a dent in your mood.”

“Poor things,” she said. “God.”

“Speak of the devil—I think Ronnie found Christ.”

“Well, I guess if you can’t find your kids, you have to find somebody.” She winced. “Forgive me, that was awful.”

“You’re dark, Addie. It’s what I miss about you.”

“You don’t miss me, Dub. You might think you do but you don’t. Which is probably a good thing.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You might miss the ‘me’ you had before things went south… but things went south a long-ass time before we busted up.” She grew thoughtful. “I’m sorry for all the hurt, Willow. I’m sorry for my share.”

“We’re still standing.”

“That’s right. We didn’t take each other down—not that we didn’t try.” Oh! That gorgeous, crooked mouth when it smiled! “And we have a beautiful daughter to show for our troubles.”

“Yes we do. And a beautiful grandson.”

“I’ll drink to that,” she said. “Note I said I’ll drink, not you.”

It was so easy with her, but he needed to focus.

“I’ve really been traveling down memory lane with this Rummer case. Hey, remember Roy Eakins?”

“Roy? ’Course I do.”

“Whatever happened to him?” he said.

“No idea,” she said. “He moved away—not for a while, though. It must have been about a year after the kids disappeared. I heard he was teaching at some fancy school somewhere…”

“They were at the barbecue, weren’t they? I mean, Roy and his kid.”

“Well, I came late, remember? I declined the invitation—I wasn’t too thrilled when I learned you were riding back into town from New York on that surprise birthday puppy. Turned out to be a pretty good gift though, huh. Anyway, I only went over when I heard the kids were missing. When Pace and I got there, it was already after dark.”

Of course Adelaide hadn’t come till later; he’d blocked that out completely. He thought he was being so crafty with his little fishing expedition, but suddenly he felt old, senile, inept.

“It’s funny, though,” she said. “On the way to the Rummers’, we passed them on the road—Roy and Grundy. I’m just now remembering… You know that dirt road, how slow you had to go? There were cop cars coming and going, just—craziness. Folks with flashlights running in the fields… Do you remember the chaos, Dubya? Truly, truly horrible. And a car came toward us with two people fighting inside, like literally punching each other in the front seat! And I kind of pulled over—I’m just remembering this now—I thought it might be a couple of drunk kids but it was Roy . He slowed down—I think he probably must have seen it was me and felt he needed to explain. Gave us that big smile of his, which was weird considering the circumstances. Said something about Grundy having a nosebleed and how he had to get him home. You remember that boy. He was way off . Roy should have put him in one of those places they seem to have everywhere now, but I guess back then the choices were limited. I mean, he either had to keep him at the house or throw him in some county snake pit— anyway , he was trying to be a good dad, which I think he was. Grundy was always acting out, hittin’ his head against walls, remember? He was a ‘helmet’ kid. And I think that’s probably why—well, I know that’s why it didn’t work out in the romance department. It was too much work. Not so sexy when it came to the dating game. Poor, poor Roy. He had to concoct a whole system just to deal with that kid, it was seriously a full-time job. Quiet time for bad behavior, rewards for good… Grundy just sat in the car staring out the windshield with his bloody nose. It was a good thing he got him out of there, because his behavior was unpredictable. I don’t think he was ever embarrassed—that’s what I loved about Roy—but he knew that Elaine and Ronnie had enough to handle. That’s the understatement of the century.”