The Overnight Guest(58)
“We have tests to show whether a gun has been fired recently. What do you think that test is going to tell us about Ethan’s gun?”
“He didn’t mean it,” Josie cried. “He wasn’t aiming at us. He shot into the air.”
Agent Santos and Agent Randolph exchanged glances. “You saw your brother shoot his gun yesterday?” Randolph asked.
“Yes, but he wasn’t shooting at anyone,” Josie insisted. “My arm hurts,” she said, looking at her grandmother for help.
“That’s enough for now,” Caroline said firmly. “The doctor said Josie could go home.”
“We’ll talk more later,” Agent Santos said. “Get some rest, Josie.”
Santos and Randolph stepped into the hallway to find Sheriff Butler waiting for them.
“Two dead parents, a girl with a shotgun wound and the boy’s missing along with his truck and a thirteen-year-old girl,” Santos stated. “It’s not looking good for Ethan Doyle.”
Sheriff Butler shook his head. “I’ve known that family for a long time and I know how it looks, but I’m having a hard time believing Ethan did this.”
“How many murders did you say you deal with in a year?” Agent Randolph asked. There was no rancor in his voice, but Butler knew when he was being talked down to.
With the lowest murder rate in the state of Iowa, his county had little experience in dealing with crimes of the nature that took place the night before, but his department worked hard and did their jobs.
“Not many, but I do know the people in this county, and I don’t peg Ethan Doyle as a murderer,” Butler said. He rubbed his eyes as they walked toward the hospital exit. Agent Randolph went to get the car while Santos lagged behind.
“You okay?” Santos asked as they stood in the blinding sun.
“Yeah,” Butler said. “It’s not like we don’t see bad shit around here, but when kids are involved...” he trailed off.
“I understand,” Santos said. “If Ethan Doyle did this—this community will never be the same.”
The radio on Butler’s hip squawked. He toggled his microphone, “This is Butler, go ahead.” A muffled voice came through the speaker, but the message was clear.
“Sheriff,” the voice said. “Just got a report from the Allen house. Margo Allen said they received a phone call from someone claiming to be the one who has their daughter.”
Butler looked to Santos. “We’ll get someone over there right away to see if we can trace the number in case they call back,” she said. “Do the same for Josie’s grandparents.”
Butler relayed the message to dispatch while Santos called for more tech help.
“Could be pranksters,” Butler said as Randolph pulled up with the car.
“Yeah, but we can’t take that chance,” Santos said. “If it isn’t the killer, at least we’ll catch the sick asshole playing games with the family.”
Butler checked his watch. “Ethan and Becky have been gone for about eighteen hours now.”
“We’ll find them,” Santos said. “I just hope they’re alive.”
“What’s next?” Butler asked.
“We keep searching, asking questions, following up on any tips that come in,” Santos said. “And tomorrow, we bring in the dogs.”
Josie’s ride from the hospital to her grandparents’ house was made in silence. Her arm ached and her stomach churned. Images of her mother’s and father’s bodies flashed behind her eyes. They came to her in snapshots, brief but vivid. In Technicolor. Josie begged her grandmother to pull the car over and Caroline swung the car to the side of the road.
Josie opened the car door, gingerly stepped across the gravel to the edge of the ditch, and stood cradling her injured arm. She took big swallows of air until the nausea passed. The Queen Anne’s lace bobbed their white heads, and Josie snapped one from its hairy stem, rubbed it between her fingers, and pressed the tiny crushed flowers to her nose. They smelled like the carrots that grew in her mother’s garden.
Josie got back in the car, and her grandmother dug into her purse until she found a small wrapped disk of peppermint candy. She handed it to Josie and then went in search of another one. “It helps with upset stomachs,” she said. Together they unwrapped the red-and-white candies and slid them between their lips. The crinkle of cellophane and soft sucking sounds filled the car. After a few minutes, Caroline pulled back onto the road. She was right; the candy did help, but only a little.
By the time they got to the house, it was nearing 8:00 p.m., and the sun was melting into the horizon. Orange sherbet sunsets, Josie’s mother had called them. Just one mile down the road was her own house, so close, yet she knew that it would never be home to her again.
Night came flooding in so quickly and the house was dark and still. Caroline came to the car’s passenger side, opened the door, and held out her hand. Josie took it gratefully. Together they went through the back door and into the mudroom. Matthew’s shoes and boots were lined up in a neat row atop a rubber mat and brass hooks on the wall held his barn jacket and an oversized cardigan that Caroline wore on cool summer nights.
A wave of despair settled over her and she began to cry. Great, gulping sobs that came from an unnamed place deep within. Startled, Caroline pulled Josie onto her lap, though she was much too big. Josie pressed her face into her shoulder and cried. They sat there for a long time, Caroline rocking Josie back and forth on her lap like she did for Lynne when she was a little girl.