Faithless

  Despite his cheerful demeanor, tension hung in the air like a heavy cloud. It was hard to reconcile the man who had been screaming a few minutes ago with the kindly old grandfather offering his help to them now.

  Lena checked out the crowd of workers— about ten in all. Some looked as if they had one foot in the grave. One girl in particular looked like she was having a hard time standing up, though whether this was from grief or intoxication, Lena wasn’t sure. They all looked like a bunch of strung-out hippies.

  “Thank you,” Jeffrey told the man, but he looked like he didn’t want to leave.

  “Have a blessed day,” the man answered, then turned his back to Jeffrey and Lena, pretty much dismissing them. “Children,” he said, holding the Bible aloft, “let’s return to the fields.”

  Lena felt Jeffrey’s hesitation, and didn’t move until he did. It wasn’t like they could push the man to the ground and ask him what the hell was going on, but she could tell they both were thinking the same thing: something strange was happening here.

  They were quiet until they got into the car. Jeffrey started the car and reversed it out of the space so he could turn around.

  Lena said, “That was weird.”

  “Weird how?”

  She wondered if he was disagreeing with her or just trying to get her take on the situation.

  She said, “All that Bible shit.”

  “He seemed a little wrapped up in it,” Jeffrey conceded, “but a lot of folks around here are.”

  “Still,” she said. “Who carries a Bible to work with them?”

  “A lot of people out here, I’d guess.”

  They turned back onto the main road and almost immediately Lena saw a mailbox sticking up on her side of the road. “Three ten,” she said. “This is it.”

  Jeffrey took the turn. “Just because somebody’s religious doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with them.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Lena insisted, though maybe she had. From the age of ten, she had hated church and anything that smacked of a man standing in a pulpit, ordering you around. Her uncle Hank was so wrapped up in religion now that it was a worse addiction than the speed he’d shot into his veins for almost thirty years.

  Jeffrey said, “Try to keep an open mind.”

  “Yeah,” she answered, wondering if he’d let it slip his mind that she’d been raped a few years ago by a Jesus freak who got off on crucifying women. If Lena was antireligion, she had a damn good reason to be.

  Jeffrey drove down a driveway that was so long Lena wondered if they had taken a wrong turn. Passing a leaning barn and what looked like an outhouse gave Lena a feeling of déjà vu. There were places like this all over Reese, where she had grown up. Reaganomics and government deregulation had crippled the farmers to their knees. Families had simply walked away from the land that had belonged to them for generations, leaving it to the bank to figure out what to do. Usually, the bank sold it to some multinational corporation that in turn hired migrant workers on the sly, keeping the payroll down and profits up.

  Jeffrey asked, “Do they use cyanide in pesticides these days?”

  “Got me.” Lena took out her notebook to remind herself to find the answer.

  Jeffrey slowed the car as they breached a steep hill. Three goats stood in the drive, and he beeped his horn to get them moving. The bells around their collars jangled as they trotted into what looked like a chicken coop. A teenage girl and a young boy stood outside a pigpen holding a bucket between them. The girl was wearing a simple shift, the boy overalls with no shirt and no shoes. Their eyes followed the car as they drove by, and Lena felt the hairs on her arm stand straight up.

  Jeffrey said, “If somebody starts playing a banjo, I’m outta here.”

  “I’m right behind you,” Lena said, relieved to see civilization finally come into view.

  The house was an unassuming cottage with two dormers set into a steeply pitched roof. The clapboard looked freshly painted and well tended, and except for the beat-up old truck out front, the house could have easily been a professor’s home in Heartsdale. Flowers ringed the front porch and followed a dirt path to the drive. As they got out of the car, Lena saw a woman standing behind the screen door. She had her hands clasped in front of her, and Lena guessed from the palpable tension that this was the missing girl’s mother.

  Jeffrey said, “This isn’t going to be easy,” and not for the first time she was glad that this sort of thing was his job and not hers.

  Lena shut the door, letting her hand rest on the hood as a man came out of the house. She expected the woman to follow, but instead an older man came shuffling out.

  “Chief Tolliver?” the younger man asked. He had dark red hair but without the freckles that usually accompanied it. His skin was as pasty as you would expect, and his green eyes were so clear in the morning sunlight that Lena could tell their color from at least ten feet away. He was good-looking if you liked that sort, but the short-sleeved button-down shirt that he wore tightly tucked into his khaki Dockers made him look like a high school math teacher.

  Jeffrey looked momentarily startled for some reason, but he recovered quickly, saying, “Mr. Bennett?”

  “Lev Ward,” he clarified. “This is Ephraim Bennett, Abigail’s father.”

  “Oh,” Jeffrey said, and Lena could tell he was surprised. Even wearing a baseball cap and overalls, Ephraim Bennett looked to be about eighty, hardly the age of a man with a twentyish daughter. Still, he was wiry-thin with a healthy glint in his eyes. Both his hands trembled noticeably, but she imagined he didn’t miss much.

  Jeffrey said, “I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances.”

  Ephraim gave Jeffrey what looked like a firm handshake despite his obvious palsy. “I appreciate your handling this personally, sir.” His voice was strong with the kind of Southern drawl Lena never heard anymore except in Hollywood movies. He tipped his hat to Lena. “Ma’am.”

  Lena nodded in return, watching Lev, who seemed to be in charge despite the thirty-odd years that separated the two.

  Ephraim told Jeffrey, “Thank you for coming out so quickly,” even though Lena would hardly characterize their response as quick. The call had come in last night. Had Jeffrey been on the other end of the line instead of Ed Pelham, he would have driven straight out to the Bennett home, not waited until the next day.

  Jeffrey apologized, saying, “There was a question of jurisdiction.”

  Lev said, “That’s my fault. The farm is in Catoogah County. I guess I just wasn’t thinking.”

  “None of us were,” Ephraim excused.

  Lev bowed his head, as if to accept the absolution.

  Jeffrey said, “We stopped at the farm across the street for directions. There was a man there, about sixty-five, seventy—”

  “Cole,” Lev provided. “Our foreman.”

  Jeffrey paused, probably waiting for more information. When nothing came, he added, “He gave us directions.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t more clear about how to get here,” Lev told him, then offered, “Why don’t we go inside and talk to Esther?”

  “Your sister-in-law?” Jeffrey asked.

  “Baby sister,” Lev clarified. “I hope you don’t mind, but my brother and other sisters are coming by, too. We’ve been up all night worried about Abby.”

  Lena asked, “Has she ever run away before?”

  “I’m sorry,” Lev said, focusing his attention on Lena. “I didn’t introduce myself.” He held out his hand. Lena had been expecting the dead-fish flop that most men affected, lightly gripping a woman’s fingers as if they were afraid of breaking them, but he gave her the same hearty shake he had given Jeffrey, looking her square in the eye. “Leviticus Ward.”

  “Lena Adams,” she told him.

  “Detective?” he guessed. “We’ve been so anxious about this. Forgive my poor manners.”

  “It’s understandable,” Lena said, aware that he had managed to sidestep answering her question abo
ut Abby.

  He stepped back, graciously telling Lena, “After you.”

  Lena walked toward the house, watching their shadows follow her, wondering at their old-fashioned manners. When they reached the front door, Lev held it open, letting Lena walk in first.

  Esther Bennett sat on the couch, her feet crossed at the ankles, hands folded in her lap. Her spine was ramrod straight, and Lena, normally given to slouching, found herself pulling her shoulders back as if she was trying to measure up.

  “Chief Tolliver?” Esther Bennett asked. She was much younger than her husband, probably in her forties, her dark hair graying slightly at the temples. Wearing a white cotton dress with a red-checkered apron, she looked like something out of a Betty Crocker cookbook. She kept her hair in a tight bun behind her head, but judging from the wisps that had escaped, it was nearly as long as her daughter’s. There was no doubt in Lena’s mind that the dead girl was this woman’s daughter. They were carbon copies of each other.

  “Call me Jeffrey,” Jeffrey offered; then: “You’ve got a beautiful home, Mrs. Bennett.” He always said this, even if the place was a dump. In this case, though, the best way to describe the Bennett house was “plain.” There were no knickknacks on the coffee table and the mantel over the fireplace was clean but for a simple wooden cross hanging on the brick. Two faded but sturdy-looking wingback chairs banked the window looking out into the front yard. The orangish couch was probably a relic from the 1960s, but it was in good shape. There were no drapes or blinds on the windows and the hardwood floor was bare of any carpeting. The ceiling fixture overhead was probably original to the house, which put it at around Ephraim’s age. Lena guessed they were standing in the formal parlor, though a quick glance down the hallway proved the rest of the house followed the same minimalist decorating style.

  Jeffrey must have been thinking the same thing about the house, because he asked, “Have y’all lived here long?”

  Lev answered, “Since before Abby was born.”

  “Please,” Esther said, spreading her hands. “Have a seat.” She stood as Jeffrey sat, and he popped back up. “Please,” she repeated, motioning him back down.

  Lev told him, “The rest of the family should be here soon.”

  Esther offered, “Would you like something to drink, Chief Tolliver? Some lemonade?”

  “That’d be nice,” Jeffrey answered, probably because he knew accepting the offer would help put the woman at ease.

  “And you, Miss— ?”

  “Adams,” Lena provided. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  Lev said, “Esther, this woman is a detective.”

  “Oh,” she said, seeming flustered by her mistake. “I’m sorry, Detective Adams.”

  “It’s fine,” Lena assured her, wondering why she felt like she should be the one apologizing. There was something strange about this family, and she wondered what secrets they were hiding. Her radar had been on high alert since the old nut at the farm. She didn’t imagine he fell far from the tree.

  Lev said, “Lemonade would be nice, Esther,” and Lena realized how deftly he managed to control the situation. He seemed to be very good at taking charge, something that always made her wary in an investigation.

  Esther had regained some of her composure. “Please make yourselves at home. I’ll be right back.”

  She left the room silently, only pausing to rest her hand briefly on her husband’s shoulder.

  The men stood around as if they were waiting for something. Lena caught Jeffrey’s expression and she said, “Why don’t I go help her?”

  The men seemed relieved, and as she walked down the hallway after Esther, Lena could hear Lev chuckling at something she didn’t quite catch. Something told her it had to do with a woman’s place being in the kitchen. She got the distinct impression that this family did things the old-fashioned way, with the men taking charge and the women being seen and not heard.

  Lena took her time walking to the back of the house, hoping to see something that might explain what was so weird about the inhabitants. There were three doors on the right, all closed, that she assumed were bedrooms. On the left was what looked like a family room and a large library filled floor to ceiling with books, which was kind of surprising. For some reason, she had always assumed religious fanatics didn’t tend to read.

  If Esther was as old as she looked, then her brother Lev had to be closer to fifty. He was a smooth talker and had the voice of a Baptist preacher. Lena had never been particularly attracted to pasty men, but there was something almost magnetic about Lev. In appearance, he reminded her a bit of Sara Linton. They both exuded the same confidence, too, but on Sara this came across as off-putting. On Lev, it was calming. If he were a used-car salesman, he’d probably be at the top of his trade.

  “Oh,” Esther said, startled by Lena’s sudden appearance in the kitchen. The woman was holding a photograph in her hand, and she seemed hesitant about showing it to Lena. Finally, she made up her mind and offered the picture. It showed a child of about twelve with long brown pigtails.

  “Abby?” Lena asked, knowing without a doubt that this was the girl Jeffrey and Sara had found in the woods.

  Esther studied Lena, as if trying to read her thoughts. She seemed to decide she didn’t want to know, because she returned to her work in the kitchen, turning her back to Lena.

  “Abby loves lemonade,” she said. “She likes it sweet, but I must say that I don’t care for it sweet.”

  “Me, either,” Lena said, not because it was true but because she wanted to seem agreeable. Since stepping into this house, she had felt unsettled. Being a cop, she had learned to trust her first impressions.

  Esther cut a lemon in two and twisted it by hand into a metal strainer. She had gone through about six lemons and the bowl underneath the strainer was getting full.

  “Can I help?” Lena asked, thinking the only drinks she’d ever made came from a package and usually went into a blender.

  “I’ve got it,” Esther said, then, as if she had somehow insulted Lena, added in an apologetic tone, “The pitcher’s over the stove.”

  Lena walked to the cabinet and took out a large crystal glass pitcher. It was heavy and probably an antique. She used both hands to transfer it to the counter.

  Trying to find something to say, Lena said, “I like the light in here.” There was a large fluorescent strip overhead, but it wasn’t turned on. Three large windows lined the area over the sink and two long skylights over the kitchen table lit the room. Like the rest of the house, it was plain, and she wondered about people choosing to live in such austerity.

  Esther looked up at the sun. “Yes, it’s nice, isn’t it? Ephraim’s father built it from the ground up.”

  “You’ve been married long?”

  “Twenty-two years.”

  “Abby’s your oldest?”

  She smiled, taking another lemon out of the bag. “That’s right.”

  “We saw two kids coming in.”

  “Rebecca and Zeke,” Esther said, still smiling proudly. “Becca is mine. Zeke is Lev’s by his late wife.”

  “Two girls,” Lena said, thinking she sounded idiotic. “Must be nice.”

  Esther rolled a lemon around on the cutting board to soften it up. “Yes,” she said, but Lena had heard the hesitation.

  Lena looked out the kitchen window at the pasture. She could see a group of cows lying down under a tree. “That farm across the street,” she began.

  “The cooperative,” Esther finished. “That’s where I met Ephraim. He came to work there, oh, it must have been right after Papa bought the second phase in the mid-1980s. We got married and moved in here a little after.”

  “You must have been around Abby’s age,” Lena guessed.

  Esther looked up, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her. “Yes,” she said. “You’re right. I’d just fallen in love and moved out on my own. I had the whole world at my feet.” She pressed another lemon into the strainer.

  “The o
lder guy we ran into,” Lena began. “Cole?”

  Esther smiled. “He’s been on the farm forever. Papa met him years ago.”

  Lena waited for more, but nothing came. Like Lev, Esther didn’t seem to want to volunteer much information about Cole, and this only made Lena more curious about the man.

  She remembered the question Lev had avoided before, and felt like now was as good a time as any to ask, “Has Abby ever run away before?”

  “Oh, no, she’s not the type.”

  “What type is that?” Lena asked, wondering if the mother knew her daughter was pregnant.

  “Abby’s very devoted to the family. She would never do anything so insensitive.”

  “Sometimes girls that age do things without thinking about the consequences.”

  “That’s more Becca’s thing,” Esther said.

  “Rebecca’s run away?”

  The older woman skipped the question, saying instead, “Abby never went through that rebellious phase. She’s a lot like me in that regard.”

  “How’s that?”

  Esther seemed about to answer, but changed her mind. She took the pitcher and poured in the lemon juice. She walked over to the sink and turned on the water, letting it run so it would cool.

  Lena wondered if the woman was naturally reticent or if she felt the need to censor her answers lest her brother find out she had said too much. She tried to think of a way to draw the woman out. “I was the youngest,” she said, which was true, though only by a couple of minutes. “I was always getting into trouble.”

  Esther made an agreeing noise, but offered nothing more.

  “It’s hard to accept that your parents are real people,” Lena said. “You spend most of your time demanding they treat you like an adult, but you’re not willing to give them the same courtesy.”

  Esther looked over her shoulder into the long hallway before allowing, “Rebecca ran away last year. She was back a day later, but it put an awful fright into us.”