Prodigal

Chapter 21

21

The woman at the post office had been chatty, so by the time JJ’s driveway was in sight, she took a chance on Otto being gone and continued to the next one.

Dorothy’s was the only car at the Nicholson home, and she met JJ at the door. The woman had every right to be upset—if Evie were gone, JJ would be a raving lunatic—but JJ wasn’t in the mood for drama. It wasn’t particularly helpful, and JJ was still harboring some resentment over the baseball bat this morning. She skipped the embrace and words of comfort that might have set Dorothy off.

“You eat anything today?” JJ asked.

Dorothy stared at JJ as if she were speaking a foreign language.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ Come on—don’t be a zombie.”

JJ took Dorothy firmly by the elbow, parked her at the kitchen table, and put a couple of slices of wheat bread in the toaster. There was a jar of apple butter on the counter. She held it up for Dorothy’s approval.

“That’s the first batch of the year,” Dorothy said. “Will you have some with me?”

“You better believe it,” JJ said, removing the canning lid with a little pop. Apples and cinnamon and cloves and sweetness assaulted her nose. “Mmm… smells good. Nice consistency, too.” The dark brown spread was almost as thick as porridge on the spoon. JJ brought plates to the table and waited until Dorothy took her first bite before asking, “Otto out with the search?”

Dorothy nodded. “Believe it or not, I took Jacob to some kind of special practice this morning. Coach thought it’d be good to keep him busy, said he’d bring him home later.”

“I think that was wise,” JJ said.

“I feel like I should be doing something,” Dorothy said. She set her toast on her plate, and her eyes began to tear.

JJ squeezed Dorothy’s forearm. It felt no more substantial than a willow branch. “You’re exactly where you need to be right now. And I’m sure that’s what the Sheriff said, too. About this morning—”

“JJ, let’s not talk about this morning,” Dorothy said.

JJ didn’t appreciate the woman showing a hint of backbone at the worst possible time. “Dorothy, I know you’re under a lot of strain right now, but I don’t want to take a chance on hard feelings festering. Adam—”

“Adam needs to keep his goddamned sick thoughts to himself.”

And there’s that pesky backbone again. “I’m not making excuses, but Adam got the wrong end of something and ran off half-c****d. And he got the s**t beat out of him for his troubles, I might add.”

“Well, of course he did. He’s just lucky—” Dorothy snorted, “you were there to save him.”

JJ looked at Dorothy from beneath her lashes, doing her best impression of demure. Then the women started to giggle.

“If you could’ve seen yourself, like a monkey on Otto’s back,” Dorothy said. She laughed, and tears started streaming down her cheeks. Then her face crumpled, and JJ watched in horror as the woman came undone.

“Dorothy!” JJ resisted the urge to slap her, moving alongside her chair and taking her face firmly in her hands instead. “Dorothy! You can’t do this now. You have to hold it together.”

Dorothy’s lip still quivered dangerously, so JJ gave her head a squeeze, perhaps a little harder than was strictly necessary. “Are you done?”

She nodded, and JJ released her. “Good girl. Finish your toast.”

The petite woman looked more child than mother, with her watery eyes and small pink nose, dutifully eating the toast she held in her diminutive hands. But JJ knew Dorothy wasn’t a child. Far from it, and she hadn’t been one for a long time.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about,” JJ said. “Something that might help us find Rachel.”

Dorothy dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin and said, “Go on.”

JJ paused. Raised more by her father than by her mother, she’d acquired the man’s distaste for anything that might be considered gossip. But she’d lived in Cold Springs her entire life, so she knew her father’s reticence was in the minority. “We didn’t know each other very well when you married Otto, or when Rachel was young,” JJ began.

“That’s true,” Dorothy said uncertainly, obviously wondering where JJ was headed.

“Is there anyone else Rachel might think of as a father figure?”

Dorothy frowned, trying to make sense of the question. Then her face cleared. “You mean someone she might have gone to, someone she trusts.”

I mean someone she’d call daddy and beg not to hurt her, but close enough. “Exactly.”

Dorothy tugged on the ends of her hair, but just on the right side. Maybe that was where she kept her brain button. JJ closed her eyes, ashamed of her frustrated, exhausted thoughts.

“I told the Sheriff, I can’t think of anyone, man or woman,” Dorothy said. “My dad lives out of state, and we’ve checked—Rachel’s not with my mother and her husband, either.”

“I did notice,” JJ said, vaguely indicating the framed photos on the entertainment center in the next room, “that all of your wedding photos are head shots.”

“Ahh,” Dorothy said, blushing. “Yes, I was already pregnant with Rachel when we got married. Is that what you wanted to know?”

“Not entirely,” JJ said, wondering again why she’d agreed to interrogate the mother of a missing child. She slid the plates of toast out of range of stray elbows. “Okay, I’m going to ask you something, and I don’t want you to get angry. I’m just trying to get the fullest picture of Rachel’s life I can.”

Dorothy clasped her hands, bracing herself. “Okay.”

JJ’s voice softened as she leaned across the table. “Is Otto Rachel’s biological father?”

Dorothy’s face flushed. “Of course he is! What the hell kind of question is that?”

JJ backed away from the woman yelling in her face. “I’m not judging.”

Dorothy folded her arms across her chest. “Aren’t you?”

“No, I swear.” JJ shook her head so emphatically she felt her neck crack. She wiped her hair from the corner of her mouth where it had strayed. “Considering my track record, I have no right to judge anyone else on their mistakes. I was just wondering if there’s anyone else who could… have an interest in Rachel.”

A flush ran all the way from JJ’s neck to her face. This was ridiculous. Of course Rachel was Otto’s daughter. What had she been thinking? JJ put her head in her hands and tried to figure out her next step. She didn’t have one.

But when JJ lifted her head, she saw that Dorothy was staring at her.

“How did you know?” Dorothy asked.

JJ was speechless.

Dorothy began fidgeting with the rings on her finger. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure Otto is Rachel’s father. But there is a chance—a very slight chance—”

“Who?” JJ asked.

“I’m so ashamed.”

“Who, Dorothy?” JJ wanted to shake the woman by the shoulders.

Dorothy sighed, still spinning the small, diamond engagement ring around her finger. “Otto and I had been dating for about a year, and I thought this is it, he’s the one. But then along comes Becky Strawderman, flouncing around in her little cheerleader skirt. She was still in high school, for God’s sake.”

JJ rolled her eyes, but Dorothy was so caught up in telling her drama that she didn’t notice.

“And me and Otto had a big fight about it, and we broke up. It only lasted a weekend—I found out Otto hadn’t even touched her, that she was fooling around with this guy from Plattsville—but in the meantime…” Now it was Dorothy’s turn to hide her head in her hands. “Promise me you’ll never tell anyone else.”

“I promise,” JJ lied.

“Oh, God,” Dorothy said, tenting her arms completely over her head. “I sort of hooked up with Leslie Beck.”

“Leslie Beck? Luther’s brother?” JJ couldn’t have been more shocked if Dorothy had said it was their old shop teacher, a man twenty years their elder, rumored to be missing two toes on his left foot from a homebrewing accident.

“Well, he was a lot better looking back then,” Dorothy said, defensively.

True, JJ thought, but he’d been just as much of an asshole. “What do you mean, sort of?”

Dorothy lifted her head from the table. “We were down at the tavern, and I’d been drinking a lot. He was flirting with me, and I was just so mad at Otto, I went out to Les’s car. We started fooling around. Things got hot and heavy, and then Les said something about parking up on Daylor Hill.”

Daylor Hill was the place sixteen-year-olds parked to finish the transaction. JJ wrinkled her face in distaste before she could stop herself.

“Exactly!” Dorothy said, pointing at JJ. “I couldn’t do it. But Leslie wasn’t in the mood to hear that. He had me pinned in the back, and I couldn’t get out, but I didn’t want to start screaming unless I absolutely had to.”

“Because you didn’t want everyone to know you were in the back of Leslie’s car with him.”

Dorothy nodded. “I tried kneeing him in the doo-dads, but I couldn’t. He was so heavy. And my voice—I don’t know. It just wouldn’t work. I couldn’t make it loud. I was afraid he was going to hurt me down there, so finally I just gave up and let him finish.”

JJ became hyperaware of other sounds as Dorothy’s voice faded away. Some kind of machinery droned in the distance—maybe a chainsaw—and the television was on low volume in the other room. JJ’s eyes burned and she felt her bottom lip swell as she tried to match the other woman’s stoicism. “I am so sorry, Dorothy.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yes, it is."

Dorothy sighed. “You mean to tell me you never had a guy who wouldn’t stop when you changed your mind?”

“Just my husband,” JJ admitted.

Dorothy’s mouth fell open. Her hand snatched JJ’s and clasped it tightly, just for a moment. The two women took a couple of deep breaths together, dispelling the swirling emotions like sweeping leaves from a porch on a breezy day. It would do, for now.

“Have you had a paternity test?” JJ asked, and Dorothy released her hand.

“I know he’s not Rachel’s father.”

“Does Leslie know?” JJ asked.

“I don’t think so. We’ve never spoken about it, and Otto and I were married a few months later. I guess maybe Les could do the math.”

“I’m not sure he can count to nine,” JJ said, and Dorothy managed a wan smile. JJ stuffed the last bite of toast in her mouth as she took her plate to the sink.

“Your father found out, didn’t he? About Marcus not treating you right?” Dorothy asked.

“Yes, he did.”

Dorothy read the look of grim satisfaction on JJ’s face and said, “Good.” Picking at her toast, she added, “I thought Luther was going to kick Leslie’s ass, too.”

JJ dropped her plate in the sink more heavily than she’d intended, drawing a sharp look from Dorothy. “Luther knew?”

Dorothy nodded and paused to chew. “Les didn’t any more than have his pants up when the door flew open. Leslie’d done half-tore my blouse off, and I was upset, so it was pretty obvious what had happened. Luther dragged Les out, threw him up against the car, and punched him. I guess Les got him calmed down after that, but they argued for a while, and then Luther gave me a ride home.”

“Was Luther in uniform?”

“Yeah. I figured he was on patrol, because he drove me in the cruiser.”

“Did he ask if you wanted to press charges?”

Dorothy’s eyebrows wrinkled. “No,” she said, as though the thought had never occurred to her before.

“I have to go,” JJ said. “Will you be all right?”

Dorothy nodded, but her lips began to tremble, and she burst out crying. This time JJ let her, squishing onto Dorothy’s chair with her and holding her until the tears subsided.

“Shh, sweetie. Rachel’s going to be okay.” That’s what JJ whispered into Dorothy’s hair. But the whole time, a single thought spun through her mind: if Luther was willing to risk his job by covering up his brother’s rape, what would he do about kidnapping?