The Bones Will Speak (26 page)

“Okay. Did you hear the news? That girl that Missoula was supposed to be guarding got away.”

“What do you mean, ‘got away'?”

“I guess she ran away.”

“This whole afternoon has turned into one big goat rodeo.” Dave crossed to his car, got in, and called dispatch. “Where's Dre?”

“He's 10–7.”

“Call me when he's back in service.”

“Ten-four. I have a note here for you from a reporter—”

“I don't have time for the press right now.”

“This one was returning your call. She said she did see a man reach into your car at the McCandless place and grab something out, then toss it. She was going to say something to you, but forgot.”

“Did she say who it was?”

“Just that he wore blue rubber gloves.”

Wes
. “Can you patch me through to Detective Jeannie Thompson, Missoula PD?”

After a few moments, Jeannie answered. “Yeah, Dave, what can I do for you?”

“I heard about the girl. What can you tell me?”

“Apparently Gwen Marcey broke into Mattie's room—”

“I know.” Dave gripped the mic tighter. “She's been suspended for it.”

“My officer caught her trying to draw a composite. He arrested her, thinking she was the press. I had him let her go. Anyway, Mattie was left alone for less than an hour. The nurse checking on her discovered she was missing. The window was open. An aide reported a stolen wallet a short time later, so we checked the supply closet where she'd left her purse. We found what looks like Mattie's hospital gown. That makes me think she grabbed some scrubs. Beats the heck out of me how she could have done that with two broken hands.”

“Are you sure she ran away? Could someone have taken her?” Dave asked.

“The deputy guarding her put an orderly by the door while he took Gwen away. No one went in or out. The window she crawled through was tiny.”

“Okay.” He thought for a moment. “Was there any money in the wallet?”

“Less than a hundred dollars.”

“Mattie's pain medication should be wearing off. She'll be looking for a fix. Do you have her known associates? Her supplier?”

“I'll call the narcs. We're talking to the hospital people who left around the same time. Of course we put out an Amber Alert.
And we've checked Search and Rescue to see if they could put some dogs on the ground, just in case she made it to the woods.”

“It sounds like you have things covered on Mattie. I'm also looking for your Wes Bailor.”

Jeannie didn't respond immediately. “
My
Wes Bailor? What's he done now?”

“So you're not happy with him either.” Dave started the car and turned up the heat. “I have a confirmation that he was the one to throw my cell into the bushes at the McCandless place. And my secretary saw him going through my case files.”

“So, in addition to conducting his own investigation, he's tampering with a crime scene.” Jeannie cleared her throat. “He's turned into a real loose cannon. We're going to fire him . . . as soon as we find him.”

“Start by looking where he shouldn't be.”

Mattie stared at the neat log home surrounded by a well-tended lawn. Daffodils poked up through colorful river rocks next to the house, and a row of flowering shrubs lined the driveway. “Are you rich or something?”

Aynslee stopped. “Hardly. I've been asking for an iPhone for months. And my laptop is at least two years old. And you wouldn't believe my TV . . .”

Mattie glanced at her. Aynslee had a hand over her mouth and was studying Mattie's stolen, oversize shoes.

Mattie cleared her throat. “Ah, what if the house is locked?”

“Mom keeps a spare key under a fake rubber dog poop in the yard.”

“You're kidding!”

“Nope. It's right over . . .” Aynslee dropped the rubber poo. “Great. She forgot to put it back.” She tried the door. Locked tight.

Mattie glanced around. “Maybe we could hide until someone comes home?” The distant throbbing in her hands grew. The pill was wearing off. If they couldn't get into the house, she'd have to try to call Ace again. But how? They were in the middle of nowhere without a phone. Mattie hugged herself and tried not to think about it.

A lone howl wavered on the slight breeze before a second howl joined in.

Mattie spun around. “W-what's that?”

“Coyotes. Don't worry, they're only dangerous to cats and small dogs.” She thought for a moment. “We can't wait. It's almost dark. And getting colder by the minute.” She glanced at Mattie. “Are you afraid of spiders?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

MATTIE FOLLOWED AYNSLEE TO THE SIDE OF THE
log house. Aynslee parted the shrubs and pointed at a window-like shape near the ground.

A small sigh escaped Mattie's lips. It was an access door to the space under the house or maybe a basement. The door hinged on one side and was held shut by a sliding lever on the other.

Aynslee knelt and tugged at the lever, then reached for one of the smooth river stones edging the bushes.

“What if we can't get in?” Mattie's voice sounded high-pitched even to her.

“We'll get in.” Aynslee hit at the latch, breaking the bolt. “Yesss!” She pulled the hatch open, then looked up at Mattie. “Are you
sure
you're not afraid of spiders? Mom's terrified . . . and . . . I hate them too.”

“I don't much mind spiders. Now snakes, that's different.”

Both girls stared at the inky opening.

“Tell you what,” Aynslee said. “Why don't I go in there, unlock the kitchen door, and let you in.”

Mattie shivered, the afternoon chill and pain in her hands growing by the minute. “We made it this far together. I'll go with you. Help me down.”

Aynslee held Mattie's elbow as she eased to her knees, then to her stomach.

“You're going to have to crawl in first,” Mattie said. “I don't know which way to go.”

Aynslee took a deep breath and crawled forward, disappearing under the house.

Mattie used her elbows to pull her body forward. Blackness engulfed her, and she waited until her eyes adjusted to the dark. Soon she could see Aynslee's prone shape ahead of her. Heavy beams crisscrossed overhead, providing ample places for spiderwebs to create dense, lacy curtains. The only sounds were the tiny skittering of disturbed mice. “Which way?”

“Give me a minute,” Aynslee answered in a raggedy voice. She sneezed, then crawled forward.

Mattie followed, elbows pushing the cold dirt aside. One of the oversize shoes slipped off her foot, and she used her toes to propel forward.

Up ahead a faint light marked out a square.

“Soggy wookers,” Aynslee said as she pushed through the spiderwebs and stopped.

Mattie caught up with her.

Three feet above their heads, edges outlined by the light passing through the cracks, was a trapdoor.

“Please, oh please, don't let it be locked.” Aynslee rolled to her side, pulled her knees to her chest, then rocked up until she was kneeling. She crouched and stood, keeping her head bent so the weight of the door was across her shoulders. It moved.
“Yes!” She slowly stood. The weight moved down her back, then crashed open with a bang.

Mattie let out a deep breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

Lightly hopping through the opening, Aynslee quickly reappeared and reached down.

Mattie wasted no time in scuttling out of the crawl space. She was in a small pantry with the door open to an old-fashioned kitchen. A low humming sound came from an ancient refrigerator. Like vomit, a memory came into her mind.

She let out a slight grunt.

Aynslee frowned at her. “What's wrong?” She helped Mattie to her feet.

“Thanks. Your kitchen kinda reminds me of someplace.” She sat in a nearby chair.

“Really?” Aynslee sat beside her. “Where?”

“A bad place.” Mattie placed her now filthy, splinted hands on the table in front of her. “I've been in foster homes since I was eight.” She'd learned at an early age to recognize the look in the eyes of men who wanted her to call them “dad.” The crazies. That's what she'd thought of them. Groping hands with sweaty bodies.

So how did the man fool her when he'd picked her up? The question tumbled in her mind like clothes in a dryer. She'd never made that mistake before. Never.

“Helloooo?” Aynslee gave her a funny look. “So where did you live before you were eight?”

“With my grandma.”

“That's cool.”

“I guess. She was real religious, then she died.”

“I'm sorry.” Aynslee crossed to the fridge. “Do you want something to eat?”

“What time is it?”

“About four something, but I'm always hungry.”

“Okay, yeah. But what about those drugs?”

Aynslee left the room, returning a few moments later with a handful of amber bottles. “I'm not sure which ones are for pain and which ones are for puking. Mom had plenty of both.” She placed the bottles on the table and returned to the fridge. “Um . . . I can make us a . . . jelly and, ah . . . jelly sandwich.”

“Jelly's good.” Mattie swiftly went through the bottles before selecting one. “Would you open this?”

Aynslee brought her a glass of water, then opened the bottle. “How many?”

“Uh, maybe two, no, three.”

Biting her lip, Aynslee complied. “Are you sure? That's a lot. Mom only took one at a time.”

“I'm used to drugs.” She opened her mouth.

Aynslee popped three pills in, then held the water so she could wash them down. “I'm going to try and get ahold of Dad or Mom.” She picked up the phone, listened, and returned it to the cradle. “The phone's dead.”

Mattie glanced quickly around the room.

“Don't worry, we're safe. When Mom tries the phone and it doesn't work, she'll come or send someone.” Aynslee brought her a sandwich on a chipped plate, placed it in front of her, and sat.

Mattie looked at the snowy-white bread, then at the dingy bandages covering her fingers.

Wordlessly, Aynslee picked up the sandwich and offered it to her. They quickly consumed the simple meal. “Do you want
to see the rest of the house? Mom's set up a, like, investigation room. And she has an art studio.”

“Your mom has an art studio too? Yeah.” She followed Aynslee down a central hallway, through a living room, into a large, converted porch. A drafting table and small set of drawers on wheels sat in the corner. Mattie crossed to the table. Pencils, erasers, and a host of other art tools rested in a tray attached to the side. The wide window ledge held an assortment of sketch-pads and drawing papers, and half-finished paintings filled a deep bin against the wall.
This is what heaven would look like.
“Maybe she'll teach me to paint.”

“Sure. Now come and see the investigation room.”

Mattie reluctantly followed Aynslee into a rather cluttered office.

A large whiteboard sat on an easel with taped drawings, writing, and arrows. One of the drawings was Mattie. A photograph of Aynslee was next to it.

Mattie moistened her suddenly dry lips. “What is this?”

Aynslee slowly approached the display. “Mom's been working on it. It looks like her form of link analysis.”

“What's that?”

“A way to connect parts of crimes.”

“Is that why a drawing of me is on it? She's trying to find the crazy who did this?” She held up her splinted hands.

Aynslee studied the board. “Yeah. According to this, the killer started a couple of years ago. You weren't the first, but you were one of the only ones to live—” She looked quickly at Mattie. “Sorry.” She rubbed her arms as if cold.

Mattie leaned against the wall to steady herself. “You said your mom has a gun?”

“Yeah. A pistol and a rifle. Follow me.” The girls entered the living room, and Aynslee opened the rifle display case.

“I've never seen a pink gun,” Mattie said.

“It's pink camo. Mom says pink is a killer color.” Aynslee lifted the rifle from the case, clicked something, and pulled on a lever.

Mattie took a step back. “Do . . . do you know what you're doing?”

“Sure. Dave, the sheriff, made me take a bunch of NRA safety courses.” She put the rifle back into the case. “Now for the pistol.” The girls trouped into Gwen's bedroom. “She keeps it on the top shelf in the closet.” Aynslee grabbed a chair from the corner of the room, stood on it, and reached to the back of a shelf. “Ta-da!” She held up a gun.

“What's that?”

“A 9mm SIG Sauer,” Aynslee said proudly. “Cool, huh?”

“Is it loaded?” Mattie asked, then yawned.

“Of course.” Aynslee opened the clip. “One bullet, at any rate.”

Mattie tried but couldn't hold back another jaw-cracking yawn. “
Ahem
. . . could we put that gun someplace easy to reach? Just in case?”

They returned to the living room where Aynslee placed the pistol next to the rifle. “There. Now we just have to wait.”

Mattie could barely keep her eyes open. “Do you have someplace I can crash?”

“You can sleep in my bed. Come on.”

Mattie followed the other girl down a hall and into a cluttered bedroom.

Aynslee swept the collection of stuffed animals, pillows, and clothes onto the floor, then helped her take off the remaining
shoe. She frowned at Mattie's feet. “I was going to say the sheets aren't all that clean, but never mind.”

Mattie sat on the bed, then rolled onto her side.

“Hear that?” Aynslee said. “I told you we just had to wait for a bit. I hear a car outside. I'll be right back.”

Mattie was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR