CHAPTER 10
The old truck bounced down a deeply-rutted dirt road. Sam was still amazed at the red color of the dirt, even as he fought the wheel to keep the truck in the middle of the track. There were ditches on either side of the road to handle run-off during the rainy season; at the moment they were green with grasses and weeds just sprouting after winter. Fields were marked off by barbed-wire strung on skinny lengths of tree trunk, or maybe branches. Some of the fence posts were twisted and bent, and sometimes the three strands of wire sagged between them.
He could see freshly plowed fields covered with the green fuzz of new growth, though it was too early yet to tell what crop had been planted. Cows moved languidly through some of the fields and one held a herd of horses, the young colts and fillies running with tails held high just for the sheer pleasure of it. Tall black-jack oaks grew along the fence-line, shading the lane from the hot sun. This was a pleasant place, Sam thought. The people were friendly; Red had been almost embarrassed when Sam had paid for his lunch, though he'd accepted gratefully.
Al popped in, appearing to sit in the passenger seat. The truck's stiff suspension didn't seem to affect him. "Sam! What're you doing out here in the boonies? You're supposed to be looking for Sarah!"
"I am looking for Sarah," Sam replied. "I'm on my way to talk to her mother. She's not dead, Sarah must've wanted to cut all ties so she just told people that."
"You don't know where Sarah is?" Al asked in a panicked tone.
"No, but I think I know why she left so suddenly," Sam replied. "See, I think…"
"It doesn't matter why, if you don't find her soon she's gonna die!"
Sam had to concentrate on driving for a minute as the truck ran over a rough area where recent rains had created a washboard effect. He darted a glance at Al and said, "I thought you said there was no trace of her, alive or dead."
"I had Ziggy take another look at the unidentified bodies," Al said. "There's one in the Texas panhandle that matches the description; height, weight, hair color – and she was wearing a green sweater."
"Like the one Bud said was her favorite," Sam said grimly. "Why didn't the police identify the body?"
"Different jurisdictions, Sam," Al said in explanation. "Sheriffs in some of these little towns, they don't have the resources that a police department in a big city would. And this was way over in west Texas, so they probably never thought to check with the authorities in Oklahoma."
"Is Ziggy sure it's Sarah? A green sweater, a lot of people have green sweaters, that's not unique."
"Yeah, Ziggy's sure," Al said. "She compared the dental charts on file in both cases. It's Sarah. And Sam, you gotta hurry because according to the coroner in Texas she's killed sometime tonight."
Sam relaxed a little on hearing that. "Then we've got a little time, Al. It'd take her several hours to get all the way to west Texas. What do you know about the circumstances of her death?"
"No, no, no, Sam. She could already be in Texas by now," Al corrected. "We don't know when she got there or even if that's where she was killed. The police report only says the body was found at a rest stop along I-40. You know, one of those little places on the side of the road with half a dozen concrete picnic tables and a restroom. She was strangled to death."
"You're right, Al," Sam said. "She could've been killed anywhere, and her body dumped at the rest stop. I just can't figure out how she went from riding a bus to the rest stop. You couldn't strangle someone on a bus, the other passengers would notice. And, and, and…a bus driver has a regular route to follow, he'd stop at a diner maybe, but not at a little place at the side of the road like that."
"Maybe she met someone on the bus," Al supplied. "When they got wherever they were going he offered her a ride to a motel, then he killed her and dumped the body."
Sam slowed the truck at the top of a hill so he could read the name on the mailbox beside the road. The galvanized-steel box was grey and powdery from years of weathering the elements, but he could still make out the faint letters that spelled out "Guilford". He turned into the driveway.
"Sam, where are you going?" Al asked in surprise. "You don't have time to talk to the mother, you gotta find Sarah."
"But I think her mother might know where she is," Sam said reasonably. "Or at least where she might be going."
The house at the end of the long driveway was small and badly in need of repair. It was a two-story wooden structure that had once been painted white; big curls of paint had peeled up to reveal the warped and weathered lumber beneath. There was a large window on either side of the front door and two more windows on the second story, set squarely above the bottom ones. It looked rather like a child's drawing of a house Sam thought.
He could tell that the windows were open because he could see faded curtains stirring in the breeze blowing across the hilltop. The window screens were rusty, and the screen door hung at a slight angle. Sam parked the truck and got out. He didn't see a car or truck; someone from the church must pick her up for services.
He turned to take in the yard. Chickens pecked through the weeds and there was a rough pen to the side where several pigs lay in the dirt, sleeping away the afternoon. A lone large oak tree provided a bit of shade for the sagging wrap-around porch. On the other side of the driveway a huge old tractor tire lay on its side; it had been painted white, and the sidewall had been cut into triangles and turned outward like a fancy cuff. A few straggling geraniums grew in this homemade planter, adding a bit of color to the place.
Sam cautiously stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door frame. He was afraid if he knocked on the ancient screen door it would collapse.
Al said, "I'll go see if anybody's home." He melted through the rickety door and Sam could hear him inside the house calling out, "Hello? Is anyone here?"
Al popped in at the side of the house, pointing vigorously toward the back. "She's back there, Sam. The mother, I mean; I didn't see Sarah. She's working in the garden."
Sam walked around the side of the house to see a big garden area fenced in with rusty hog wire. There were neat rows of vegetables just coming up; some ran under lengths of wire supported at intervals by wooden stakes, and he could see twists of cloth left from where last year's bushy crop had been tied to the wire. An old hose snaked through the garden, dribbling water to one corner.
Sam approached the gate and called out, "Mrs. Guilford? Mrs. Guilford, could I talk with you for a minute?"
Molly Guilford was in the process of vigorously hoeing weeds, her back to the gate. She kept on working, calling over her shoulder, "Got to keep ahead of these weeds, or they'll take over. You come on in here, you want to talk to me."
Sam did as instructed. Molly was an old woman, thin as a rail, clad in a colorless and shapeless dress and wearing heavy leather shoes that were caked with red dirt. She wore an old-fashioned sun bonnet with a wide curved bill that kept the sun off her face, and Sam could see wisps of snow-white hair peeking out from under the edges. She paused in her efforts, leaning on the hoe, to peer up at him through thick-lensed glasses.
"Who're you, young man?" she asked truculently. "If you're up to no good, I can take care of myself." She brandished the hoe to prove her point.
Al appeared, looking excited but keeping quiet for the moment.
She looked crazy, Sam thought. He wondered how well she could see, even with the glasses. He was reminded of another time when a crazy old lady had threatened him with a weapon, and a daughter had been involved then too. "Millie – uh, Molly Guilford? My name's Joe Smithfield," Sam told her. "I need to talk to you about your daughter."
"I ain't got a daughter," Molly replied. She began hoeing weeds again, working with short, vicious chops as if angry.
Sam knew she wasn't mad at the weeds. "You have a daughter named Sarah. She's in danger, Mrs. Guilford. I need to know where she is."
"Ain't seen that one in years," Molly said gruffly. "Ain't seen none of 'em in years. They all up and left me."
"No, she's lying, Sam," Al contradicted her statement. "There's two plates and cups and forks in the dish drainer on the kitchen counter. Sarah was here for lunch."
"Sarah was here this morning, wasn't she?" Sam asked. "The two of you had a fight and she left. That's why you're so angry, isn't it Mrs. Guilford?"
Molly continued chopping at the weeds, deliberately bringing the hoe down close to Sam's foot so he'd move away. "The Bible says to forgive and forget, I done that. No reason to bring it all up again."
"There is if you lied to Sarah," Sam said meaningfully.
Molly stopped work to lean on the hoe; she was panting and sweat was running down her seamed face. "Lyin's a sin," she said plainly. "I've never told a lie in all my born days."
"There's no difference in telling a lie and not telling the truth," Sam told her. "Just because you twist the words around to make something sound true, doesn't mean it happened that way."
"People believe what they want to," Molly said. She went back to work with the hoe, but with less energy now. "You know so goll-darned much, what did I say that wasn't true?"
"For starters, that your first husband left you," Sam said. "You chose to stay here knowing your husband couldn't face working at the gin any longer."
"He was weak, else he'd of stayed and done what he ought to by me and the kids," she said.
"Just because you want to believe that, it doesn't make it true. But then you compounded the lie by pretending he'd died. Except that he hadn't, not until just a few months ago. I'm sorry to have to tell you, but Jess Luckinbill died early this year."
Molly looked up at that. "Well, he's dead now. Good riddance, I say. Why would my daughter have cared about that, one way or t'other?"
"Because he's her father," Sam said. "And you never told her that. You let her believe John Guilford was her father, and that her real father was dead. You never even told her the man's name."
"Geez, Sam, I get it now!" Al exclaimed. "Sarah is Bud's half-sister!"
"She must've seen the yearbook and figured it out," Sam said to Al.
"Speak up! What kind a book is it you're talkin' about?" Molly asked.
"I've got Jess' high school yearbook in the truck," Sam replied. "Look, it's a long story Mrs. Guilford, but Sarah found that book and she needed to know the truth, if Jess was really her father."
"Well, it don't make no never-mind now," Molly said. "John might's well have been her daddy."
"But it does make a difference," Sam said. "Because Jess re-married and had a son, Bud. Sarah thought she was falling in love with Bud. Now do you see why it's important?"
Molly's body suddenly sagged and she might have fallen if she hadn't clung to the handle of the hoe. "Oh, Lordy! Why didn't she just tell me that?"
Sam took the woman's arm and guided her to a shady spot in the garden, helping her to sit down. "Why don't you just sit here and rest," he suggested.
"We don't have time for this," Al reminded. "She's admitted that Sarah was here, you've gotta get her to tell you where she went, and when she left."
Molly took off the bonnet, folded it in half and began fanning her face with it. "I just wanted 'em all to love me," she said sadly. "Not a one of 'em would. They all up and left me, left me all alone to fend for myself. Why'd they go and do that, anyway? I only wanted what was best for 'em."
Sam crouched down beside her. "Not everyone agrees on what's best," he told her gently. "When you love someone you sometimes have to let them do what they want, otherwise it becomes a smothering love. Why did you think it was best for Sarah to believe John was her father?"
Molly sighed heavily. "I didn't want her to know her daddy done left her like that. John was a good man, he took care of us both, I wanted to believe he was her daddy, not Jess."
"Did Jess know you were expecting when he left?" Sam asked.
"No sir, he didn't," she replied. "I didn't, neither. Not until after he'd gone."
"I bet she tried to hang on to Jess the only way she knew how," Al suggested. "She couldn't talk him into staying here, so she offered to be a wife he'd want to stay with. She probably considered it her duty."
"Did you finally tell Sarah the truth?" Sam asked.
"No, I didn't," Molly answered. "But just after lunch we had us a real set-to. She asked me about it one more time, and called me a liar when I said John was her daddy. She picked up that bag of hers and walked right out a the house."
"Where'd she go?" Al asked frantically.
"I went on upstairs to tidy up her room," Molly continued. "That's when I saw one a my dresser drawers wasn't shut good. That's the one where I kep' all my important papers. She'd had a good look through 'em, too, they was all out of order. There ain't nothin' there that says for sure, but I guess she done figgered it out by the dates. Oh Sweet Jesus, I wish now I'd a told her the truth."
"Did she say where she was going when she left?" asked Sam.
"She just said she wanted to get as far away from me as she could," Molly replied. "Said she'd catch a ride down on the highway and she didn't care where she went."
"Hitch-hiking!" Al cried. "That's what happened to her, Sam. She got a ride with some psycho who took her to Texas and killed her. You gotta get to the highway and find her before she thumbs a ride."
Sam had a sudden vivid memory of standing beside a road with his thumb out in the classic pose, and watching a car whiz right past him. "Maybe she won't have any better luck than I did," he muttered to himself.
"Mrs. Guilford, this is important," Sam told Molly. "When did Sarah leave?"
"I come straight out here to hoe weeds after I shut that drawer," she replied. "I was mad, and figgered a little hard work would settle me down. Couldn't a been more than fifteen minutes afore you showed up."
"Do you know what route would she have taken to get to the highway?"
Molly pointed towards the road in front of the house. "Quickest way would be to walk on down the road there," she said. "Take her 30-40 minutes, I'd say."
"Come on, Sam," Al urged. "We can catch up to her, but you gotta get going!"
"Thank you, Mrs. Guilford," Sam said. "Would you like me to help you to the house? You've had a bad shock, and I don't feel right about leaving you here in the garden."
"Sa-am! We don't have time for this," Al said. "Sarah's running out of time!"
Sam got Molly inside her house as quickly as he could. He got her settled on the faded old couch and brought her a glass of water. Nor could he resist complying with her request for her Bible, though Al continued to loudly exhort him to hurry. Sam had a feeling she'd be reading up on several passages and thinking hard on their true meaning.
He finally got the truck out on the road with Al riding shotgun. "Molly said 30 to 40 minutes," Al said. "We don't know exactly when Sarah left, but if you hurry maybe you can catch up to her before she gets to the highway."
Sam drove as fast as he could down the rutted road.