Solomon's Oak (27 page)

“I don’t believe you. What was your hairiest crime ever? Did you ever pull a gun on someone? Kill anybody?”

Joseph took a sip of water. “I didn’t like it. The second I could, I switched to the crime lab. I analyzed evidence, wrote reports, and took pictures of crime scenes.”

“But that’s cool, too,” Juniper said. “Just tell us a story.”

Joseph ducked his head and looked at the china plate smeared with meat sauce. A chip was on the rim, and had this been Isabel’s kitchen, she would have thrown that dish out so fast it would break the sound barrier. “Cops pull guns so infrequently you wouldn’t believe it. Just having it on your hip is usually enough, but sometimes things happen. I got shot.”

“Oh, my gosh,” Juniper said. “That’s why you have the limp! What happened? Was it a bank robbery? A suspect fleeing the scene? Grand theft auto? A meth lab employing underage children?”

“Meth lab, but the shooter was eighteen.”

“Whoa,” Juniper said. “You got shot by a teenage meth addict? No wonder you carry a gun. Do you have flashbacks? PTSD? Scars?”

Glory interrupted, “This is why you wanted a slice of bread, isn’t it? The medication upsets your stomach unless you take it with food. You must think I’m a shrew. I’m sorry.”

“You were just being a careful mom.” He hoped that was the end of things because he didn’t want to talk about Rico.

Glory looked at him steadily. “If that were my job, I’d be afraid every day of my life.”

“So did you at least shoot him back?” Juniper asked.

“No, I did not. I’d stopped being a cop a long time before this happened. I was there to take pictures of the scene. That’s all.”

Juniper leaned in on her elbows, rapt. The wind rattled the kitchen window. Joseph looked toward it and wondered if putty would silence it. Glory set down her wineglass.

“Oh, come on,” Juniper said. “You’re leaving out the good parts. We can take it.”

“You’re a pushy one, aren’t you? My grandmother would call you
testaruda
.”

“What’s that mean? Hormones? Adults blame everything on hormones.”

“Bullheaded.”

“Your grandmother doesn’t know the half of it,” Glory said.

Joseph’s pill was making him mellow, and with the absence of pain and an interested audience, he relaxed a little. “I’ll only tell one cop story, you understand? Don’t ask me again.”

“I won’t,” Juniper said. “I can get a Bible if you want me to swear on that. We have a King James.”

“I started out as a cop. I ticketed speeders, drunk drivers, and went on domestic-violence calls. Every day was difficult. In the lab I thought I’d be insulated from all that. There was a missing person’s case, where we found the girl too late. There are some pictures you don’t want in your head, trust me.”

Glory, who had just taken a drink of her wine, suddenly had a coughing fit. Juniper looked down at her plate, stunned.

“You wanted to know,” he said. “I warned you.”

Juniper got up from the table so quickly her chair nearly toppled over, but at the last moment Joseph stood up and caught it. She booked it down the hallway and into her room, slamming the door. Cadillac followed her, then came back to Glory. She let him out the back door. Joseph looked at Glory. “Man, this place is like the Bermuda Triangle. I mean well, but everything I say around you two comes out wrong. I’m sorry.” He started to get up but she placed her hand over his arm.

“Let me explain. You’re new here, so you probably don’t know. Juniper is Casey McGuire’s younger sister, the girl who went missing in the late nineties.”

Joseph felt the weight of all that food in his gut. “¡
Qué idiota
!” he said under his breath. “How can I apologize to her?”

“I’m not sure you can.”

“But this is terrible. I have to apologize. I reminded her of what happened to her sister, and worse, I implied the level of violence … ”

“Casey being gone is a fact of life. Juniper’s learning to deal. She’s come a long way since the pirate wedding, but, oh, her backslides are Olympian. Today, I can’t even go into it. Want some decaf? I make great decaf. That’s because on nights like these I pour a big old shot of whiskey into it. You can have one shot, can’t you?”

“I can have a sip. Will you let me clear the dishes?”

“As long as you let me load the dishwasher. It would be too much for your back to bend down to the racks. I don’t even like doing it.” She turned on the tap to fill the saucepan to let it soak. Suddenly she put her hand across her eyes and Joseph could tell she was trying not to cry. “Why does everything have to be so hard for that girl? Why can’t she catch a break?”

He touched her shoulder and felt it tremble. “Seems like she caught a huge break, finding a home with you.”

Glory looked at him, rubbing her eyes with soapy hands. “I don’t know. Trying to get her to behave, do her schoolwork, you have no idea. I think I’m making things worse.”

“Doesn’t look like that from where I stand.”

They worked alongside each other quietly, with only the click of dishes and silverware fitting into their slots to break the silence. Not a sound came from Juniper’s room. When the coffee was brewed, Glory poured Joseph a cup and added cream. “Oh, gosh. I didn’t ask, I just—”

“Made it just like your husband would have liked it,” Joseph finished. “It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not.” She poured it out. She filled another cup for him and fetched a bottle of Scotch from the cupboard above the fridge.

They sat down at the table again, waiting for the coffee to cool enough to drink it. Under their feet, the brown dog sighed. Juniper came out of her room, her eyes puffy and her face flushed. In her hands was a large manila envelope.

“Hey,” Joseph said, standing. “I didn’t mean to dredge up sad memories. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Juniper said nothing. She undid the clasp on the envelope and poured its contents onto the kitchen table. Out spilled newspaper articles, flyers, and bumper stickers reading
BRING CASEY HOME.
They just about covered the tabletop. Juniper looked up at Joseph and smiled. “It’s like you were sent here to help me,” she said, just before she started crying. “You can be the one to find my sister.”

Part  III

J U N I P E R  T.  M
C
G U I R E

A dog will never forget the crumb thou gavest him,
though thou mayst afterward throw
a hundred stones at his head.

—S
A
’
D
,
Gulistan
,
A.C.E.
1258

Chapter 8

H
ONEY
,” G
LORY SAID
as Juniper pushed papers toward Joseph, “we’ve been all through this. After such a long time, it’s unlikely—”

“There’s always hope. Miracles happen sometimes. Elizabeth Smart came home. That could happen to Casey. Right, Joseph? Cops solve hopeless cases, don’t they?”

Joseph ran his hand over his mouth, trying to find words that wouldn’t drive the shattered bits deeper into this girl’s already broken heart. “How old are you, Juniper?”

“I’m nearly fifteen.”

“Then you’re an adult. Sometimes adults have to face facts.”

Her hopeful expression crumpled. “Facts aren’t right a hundred percent of the time! What good are they? I hate facts. I hate whoever took my sister. And I hate you!” She swiped the table clean with her right arm, brushing all the papers to the floor before she put her head down, sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” Joseph said, bending down and picking up the papers one by one, even though it hurt him to do so. He straightened the wrinkled pages and automatically began sorting them by date, latest to oldest, until he reached that first bold headline in the
Monterey Herald
:

LOCAL GIRL MISSING—FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED

When Casey McGuire’s dog returned from a walk without her, police issued an Amber Alert …

Joseph’s hands automatically reached for the beige file folder with the police department logo on the front, but it wasn’t there. This wasn’t his job anymore. Besides, only the details the public was allowed to see were here in Juniper’s possession. Certain aspects were purposely held back. When a case went cold, usually one detective close to the community kept it on his desk and checked every couple of months for anything possibly connected to it. Occasionally the police got a break. Joseph took a breath. “We’re friends, Juniper. True friends don’t lie to each other. Nothing good ever comes of lying or secrets. That’s why I’m being straight with you, as much as it hurts you to hear it.”

Glory put her arms around the girl. While Juniper sobbed, Joseph sat down at the table, scanning the papers as he went. He couldn’t stop himself from reading. It was all there, the hopeless stench of a bad ending, beseeching parental pleas printed on newspaper that had dried out and turned brittle. Rusted-paper-clip imprints. The delaminating plastic edge of a button with Casey’s school photograph smiling out into her short future. Detectives pretended not to let such things affect them, but stories ate at them, the same way they had Joseph. He carefully straightened the pages, knowing how sacred they were to Juniper, slid them back into the envelope, and rewound the string closure. Then he looked at Glory, who returned his glance with so bleak an expression all he could think to do was motion toward the door and mouth,
I’ll go now.
She shook her head no, so he waited, as uncomfortable as he was listening to the girl’s weeping.

“If I could, do you know what I’d do?” he said, touching Juniper’s shoulder.

“Besides make it not have happened?” she mumbled.

“Of course, but since I can’t do that, I would make you some
ch’il ahwéhé.
”

“What’s that? Some kind of memory-erasing potion? Why not just give me a lobotomy?”

“Cota tea from the green thread bush. It’s good for stomachaches, it purifies the blood, and when my grandmother made it for me, just looking at the golden liquid in my cup always made me feel braver than I really am.” He looked at Glory. “What are the chances of you having Navajo herbs in your spice cabinet?”

She chuckled. “Not good.”

“Next time, I mean it, when you guys come to my place for
espagueti
dinner, I’ll make us a pot of cota tea. You should plan to arrive early so we can go down to the lake and look for arrowheads. There’s a good rock to sit on and watch the sun set, and right now is too early for tourists to spoil everything with their Jet Skis and motorboats.”

“Oak Shore,” Glory said. “That’s where you live? I haven’t been there in a while, but it used to be such a pretty place.”

“Still is, so long as you look toward the lake and not the houses. When I was a kid, I thought that rock was where all the sunsets went, like solar collection. I figured it slept in the lake all night, then seeped out by morning to become the dawn. It was alive to me then. I’ll make us green-chile spaghetti, New Mexican style.”

“That sounds nice, doesn’t it, Juniper?” Glory asked.

Juniper lifted her face from Glory’s arms and looked at Joseph. Her skin was blotchy and her eyes as swollen as if she’d been in a fistfight. “You really can’t help?”

“No,” he said, maintaining firm eye contact. “Losing someone you loved so much never stops hurting.”

“It sucks beyond sucking,” Juniper said, standing up and wobbling a little. “I think I’ll go to bed now. Where’s my dog? I want my dog.”

“I let him out back,” Glory said. “Go wash your face and I’ll fetch him for you.”

Joseph said, “Thank you for inviting me to dinner, Juniper. I like your spaghetti recipe, but I have to say, I think mine’s better.”

Juniper laughed for real, but one of those fake smiles he considered a plague of the Caucasian race followed. If you’re sad, be sad, he wanted to say. She walked down the hall. He heard a door click shut, then water running. At the back door, Glory whistled for Cadillac and brought him to Juniper when she came out of the bathroom. She took her dog with her and closed her bedroom door. Joseph and Glory sat at the table, their coffee cold. She took both cups and emptied them in the sink.

“Why did you ask me to stay?” he asked.

She turned around, her silver hair falling loose from its bun, strands swinging one second behind her. He saw a glimpse of her true self then, and how she made herself plain on purpose, proving Lorna’s words. Glory was scraped-raw vulnerable. As if someone had removed her outer layer of skin. She was always going to be prettier than she let herself believe, and this ability to ignore that natural beauty was what made the older sister so critical of her life. Maybe keeping a distance was part her grieving, a way to stave off feelings. Though how it was possible to remain distant with Juniper on board he could not imagine.

“Because I want to talk to you.”

“So talk,” he said.

“Let’s go outside and let Dodge out for a run. That way we can have privacy. Back soon,” she called out to Juniper, who didn’t answer.

Glory opened the kennel door to let Dodge out, then returned to the back steps and sat down. Joseph walked down the steps and past the barn-red chicken coop, Dodge pushing to get in front of him. The hens were inside for the night. He wondered how she’d trained the dogs to let the chickens alone. Dodge raced toward the corral and disappeared in the dark. Joseph waited for Glory to say whatever it was she needed to tell him.

“I appreciate you letting her know up front, like you did about her sister’s case, where things stand. She’s battling demons you can’t imagine, or maybe you can.”

Joseph nodded.

“And thanks for keeping the details of that case you were on to yourself.”

“Wild horses couldn’t drag it out of me.”

Glory got up, walked to the barn, and pulled the sliding door shut. One of the horses whinnied. “It’s difficult sometimes. Juniper’s so defensive. She won’t talk about things. She lies, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“I hope you don’t think that’s your fault. Hormones do make them a little bit nuts. I’ve witnessed kids stab each other and at the end of the day they’re best friends.”

“Do you have kids?”

“I haven’t been too lucky in that department.”

“Then how do you know all this?”

“I tutored kids like her back in Albuquerque, smart kids who dropped out of school because what else could be more fun than breaking and entering? At that age, their circuitry is all fouled up. Juniper told me you had foster sons before her.”

“We did.”

“Then you know that things’ll get better. All I did was listen and try to help them pass their GEDs. What you’re doing is so much harder, but ultimately it’s the kid’s choice. At the end of the day you have to go home to yourself.” As Dodge completed a lap of the yard, Joseph could just make out his shape in the darkness.

Glory leaned against the fence. “After she goes to bed I lie there and think, what am I doing? Either I’m making decisions for her, or she makes bad decisions by herself.” Glory turned to face him. “Juniper really likes you.”

“I like her, too. She’s a smart kid.”

“Then I’m just going to come right out and say this. Men have only let her down. The police, her dad abandoning her, boys in her last placement, it’s all been negative.”

“Okay, but what’s that got to do with me?”

Glory rubbed her temples. “I don’t want you to hurt her, too. You said you’re leaving in April. I’m worried that if she bonds any more with you, it will kill her when you go.”

Joseph paused before he spoke. “Glory, you may not be Juniper’s biological mother, but you are a good mother. My back injury’s changed my life. I can’t coach soccer. I can’t do the job I was good at. One thing I know is, I’m good with teenagers. From now until April, I have nothing but time on my hands. If you’ll allow it, I’d like to give Juniper some photography lessons. Does it have to be an all-or-nothing thing? When I return to New Mexico, we can e-mail photos back and forth.”

“But you saw how unglued she got tonight. You’d subject your life to that kind of emotional drama?”

“That was grief coming out is all. Everyone’s been there.”

“Doesn’t make sense. Your accident, the pain you’re clearly in, your cabin being torn down—why take on this, too?”

“Sometimes you meet people and you just know you’ve crossed paths for a reason.”

Suddenly Dodge returned, ran a circle around Joseph, then jumped up, hitting him hard on the chest. The dog was a good fifty pounds, heavier than he looked. All that force pushed into Joseph’s chest and knocked the breath out of him.

“Dodge, down!” Glory said sternly, and took hold of Joseph’s arms. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” he said, gasping until his lungs filled again. It hurt like the dickens, but until the dog’s paws connected with his sternum, he’d been experiencing a minor miracle. His back pain had existed separately from their conversation. Put aside. No spasm, no dull ache, just a sense of being alive in the way he used to be. Living in the moment.

“Excuse me a minute while Dodge and I have a little lesson,” Glory said. “Dodge, drop.” The dog lay down. “Good boy. Now stand.”

The dog was on all four legs in an instant.

“Sit. Good boy, now lie down. Roll over. Stand, and circle.”

Joseph saw how the dog read her body language, and how she was partnered with him so well, it reminded him of formal dance competitions.

“Good boy! Now weave! Zigzag!”

Then she began to walk backward, bending her legs at the knees, lifting each one to the side, making a quick opening for the dog to duck under. Joseph couldn’t believe this was the barking, jumping, rowdy dog that had almost knocked him down. It was more than obedience; it was a woman dancing backward with her dog in the moonlight. “Where did you learn that?” Joseph asked.

Glory changed direction so that Dodge was now the one backing up. “It’s called freestyle canine dancing. There are competitions for it. You should see it when it’s set to music. I haven’t figured that part out yet, but someday.” She held her arms up. “Jump!” she called, and Joseph couldn’t believe she could catch fifty pounds of dog without hurting her own back. She gave Dodge a kiss and set him down. “Okay, Dodge. Free dog. Go do your business.”

“Very impressive.”

It was fully dark now. Dodge was visible only when he ran under the barn light. The dog bumped his nose against Glory’s leg, a tennis ball in his mouth. “We’ll play tomorrow.” She rubbed his head. “Dodge has a ways to go. I’d always thought of myself as a pretty good dog trainer, but I’ve never been so wrong about a dog as Cadillac.”

“How so?”

She switched on the outside porch light, one of those compact fluorescents, and he saw her frown deepen. “My husband could read kids like they were books. Not me. I like to think I have a gift at sensing a dog’s talent, helping it to hone its skills, learn manners, and eventually find the right forever home. Cadillac was Casey McGuire’s dog. The one she was walking the day she disappeared.”

“Predestinado.”

“Are you serious? You believe in fate?”

“Why not?
La mano poderosa
, the work of the mighty hand belonging to our Creator, is always at work. All the time things happen that are larger than we can understand.”

“You really believe that? What kind of God allows a girl to be kidnapped and murdered?”

“
No se
. I don’t know. We’re mortals. But who says we have to know everything?”

“Because there are
some
things we need to make sense of. For example, I could tell from the start Cadillac needed kids. He’ll play ball or Frisbee all day long. The McGuires were his first placement—Juniper was barely ten, Casey fourteen. They were a happy family, a stay-at-home mom and a hardworking dad with two adorable little girls. Caddy instantly clicked with them. They had a fenced half acre, pretty much ideal. I did home visits, trained them, trial weekends, and then Cadillac was officially theirs. Another happy ending, I thought. At Christmas I’d get a card with a picture of the dog wearing felt antlers, stretched out in front of the family fireplace. The night Casey went missing, Cadillac came back here. He passed half of the Lassie test.”