Wednesday's Child

“And a biscuit,” Lorena said, continuing to draw the basket closer. “Jeb, if you’ll pass that apple butter…”

He obeyed, watching as his great-aunt placed the apple-shaped glass dish near Susan’s plate.

“Now then,” Lorena said again, stepping back, her hands crossed in front of her apron as if she had performed some sleight of hand and was waiting for her audience to respond with the proper amount of awe.

Susan looked as if she wasn’t sure what had just happened. She took a breath, deep enough that it lifted her shoulders. Then she put a biscuit on her plate, split it deftly, and began filling it with the apple butter. She glanced up, finding his eyes on her.

“My aunt and I were wondering how long you plan to be in town, Mrs. Chandler.”

Not only did he really want to know the answer to that, Jeb also knew the question would constitute polite conversation in Lorena’s eyes. Never let it be said that he hadn’t done his part to make their guest feel welcome, he thought dryly.

“I’m not sure. I suppose it depends on how long it takes for certain things to happen.”

Like getting the autopsy results? Or the accident report? If they even did one of those for something like this.

“Like what?” Lorena asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.

“Lorena,” he warned softly.

“Did I say something wrong, dear? Don’t mind me. I’m just a nosey old woman who never knows when to keep her mouth shut.”

“It’s all right. I want the medical examiner’s report, of course, but…Actually, I need to stay until I can find out what Richard was doing here.”

“In Linton?”

Susan nodded, looking from one of them to the other.

“You don’t know?” Jeb asked.

“I have no idea. I can’t imagine why he would come somewhere like this—” She stopped, conscious of how that must sound. “I don’t mean to be insulting. It’s just that Richard was very much a big-city person. He’d take the freeway even if a local route were much quicker. It was just the way he was.”

“Maybe he was visiting someone,” Lorena suggested.

“If so, I need to find out who. As far as I know, he didn’t know anyone around here.”

What the hell difference could it make why he was here? Jeb wondered. The guy had been dead for seven years.

“In the circumstances,” he said aloud, “I understand your being curious about what brought him to Linton, but…” He lifted his hands, the right still holding a biscuit, in a gesture that questioned why it could possibly matter.

“He took my baby with him that morning.”

Into the river? If that’s what she meant, her phrasing was macabre. It also didn’t make any sense, he realized quickly. The papers had mentioned only one body.

“When he left home,” Susan clarified, as if sensing his confusion. “I was out of town for the weekend, and Richard was keeping Emma. When I got back, they were both gone.”

“And you think he brought her down here?” Lorena’s tone expressed her puzzlement.

“I don’t know. All I know is the authorities have been looking for her for seven years. I’ve questioned everyone either of us ever knew. No one saw them after that weekend. So if she was with Richard…”

Then she must also have been with him when the car went off the entrance to the bridge. Jeb looked down at the cooling breakfast on his plate, trying to imagine how a mother could deal with something like that.

“Her body should have been in the car,” she went on after a moment. “And apparently, it wasn’t. So…it’s possible she’s still alive. Maybe even right here in Linton.”

It was understandable that she didn’t want to accept the death of her daughter. But after this length of time, and especially after her husband’s body had been found, it must be very hard to cling to any kind of hope.

“And you think you’ll be able to find her?” Despite Jeb’s attempt to keep the skepticism out of his question, it obviously came through.

“All I want right now,” Susan said, her voice steadier, “is to know whether or not she was with him when he got to Linton. I just want to talk to someone here who saw them.”

Without a body, maybe a witness that the child was in the car with her father would help her find closure. There didn’t seem to be any other way for that to happen now, given the time that had passed and the ultimate destination of the river.

“I can’t imagine that coming to Linton was in Richard’s plans when he left that weekend,” she went on. “Something—or someone—sent him here. If I can figure out what that was…”

The soft voice faltered. Jeb looked up to find that she was looking at him. Hoping he could supply some kind of answer? He couldn’t. After all this time, there probably was no answer.

“Truck stop, maybe,” Lorena offered. “Maybe somebody there sent him into town.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he had car trouble. Maybe he needed a part for the car.”

Susan nodded as if that made sense. Maybe it did, but to Jeb there was something wrong with his aunt helping her with this hopeless quest. It was also macabre, just as he’d thought before.

The reality, whether either of them wanted to accept it or not, was that her daughter’s body had probably been washed downriver by the current. All the other what-ifs Susan Chandler wanted to consider seemed to him only attempts to deny the inevitable. A denial he didn’t intend to be a party to.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, pushing up from the table.

His leg had stiffened during the few minutes he’d been sitting, which would make his limp more pronounced. And why the hell should I give a rat’s ass if it does?

“Land’s sake, Jeb. You’ve hardly touched your breakfast.”

“Why don’t you take my place and keep Ms. Chandler company? I’m not really all that hungry this morning.”

“Why don’t I leave instead?” Susan began to rise, but Lorena put her hand on her shoulder.

“Nonsense. You stay right there. We haven’t thought of half the people you ought to talk to. The truck stop on the interstate like I said. The two mechanics in town, of course. And the drugstore. Maybe he needed something for the baby.”

As he crossed the room, Jeb could hear his aunt pull out the chair he’d just vacated to take her place across the table from her guest. He had had too much experience with the brutal finality of death to play this kind of game, however.

Even as he walked away, he knew he was judging both of them too harshly: a mother who wanted to know what had happened to her baby and an old woman who always wanted to right the wrongs of the world. And if what they were doing helped Susan Chandler deal with the loss of her daughter, who was he to begrudge either of them that comfort?

CHAPTER FIVE

“HELL, LADY, I can’t remember who came in here yesterday, and you’re asking me about something that happened seven years ago?”

In response to her inquiry, one of the waitresses had called the owner of the truck stop out of his office. His impatience to get back to whatever he’d been doing was obvious.

Thankfully his attitude was in contrast to most of the people she’d talked to in Linton. They’d all known who she was and why she was here, one benefit of an effective small-town grapevine. Their willingness to help had made the process of asking questions easier than she’d expected. The downside was that none of them remembered seeing Richard.