One Last Scream

Miriam sighed, and fidgeted with her pearl necklace. “Yes, well, he seemed harmless enough, at least I thought so, until that day.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” Karen asked. “Do you remember?”

“As if it was yesterday,” Miriam said. “Around eleven o’clock that Sunday morning, Joy phoned me, asking if I’d seen Amelia. Well, Amelia or Annabelle, I couldn’t tell the difference, but I hadn’t seen either one. I guess Lon had gone searching for her over at Clay’s house earlier, and Clay even let him look through the place. Apparently, Amelia wasn’t there. But wouldn’t you know? Around five o’clock, I looked out my kitchen window and spotted that little girl in Clay’s backyard. She was all by herself, bundled up in a jacket. I saw her come out of that playhouse and duck in Clay’s kitchen door. So I immediately called Joy. Then Lon got on the line. He asked me to come over and tell him exactly what I saw. Well, once I told him, Lon announced he was driving to the police station. He said he’d bring an armed police officer back to Clay’s house. Then off he went, and he took Annabelle with him.”

Miriam removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Well, about twenty minutes later, Lon was back, with Annabelle. The child was hysterical, squirming and shrieking to raise the dead. Lon had his hand over her mouth most of the time. He said he didn’t even make it to the police station, because Annabelle starting pitching such a fit. None of us could figure out what was wrong with her.” Miriam put her glasses back on. “But do you know what I think it was?”

Karen just shook her head.

“It didn’t occur to me at the time, but I think Annabelle must have somehow known her twin sister was in distress. You know how some twins have a certain-thing between them?”

“Twin telepathy,” Karen said, nodding.

Miriam nodded, and patted Karen’s knee. “That’s what I think it was. Anyway, poor Annabelle was carrying on so badly, they locked her in her room.”

Karen squinted at her. “The child was upset, and their way of handling it was to lock her in her room?”

“My sentiments exactly,” Miriam whispered. “But Lon ruled the roost in that household, and he’s the one who locked Annabelle in the twins’ bedroom. Then he fetched his hunting rifle and called up the police. He told them he was headed over to Clay’s house to confront him and get his little girl back. All the while, Annabelle was screaming and crying behind that locked door. My heart just broke for her.”

Miriam clicked her tongue, and shook her head. “I told Lon I didn’t think the gun was necessary. I kept saying, ‘Let the police handle it, for goodness sake!’ I was so worried Amelia would get hurt. But Lon couldn’t be stopped, and out the door he went. I followed him down the block. Joy stayed behind. Lon was almost at Clay’s house when I heard the sirens. Two police cars came speeding up the block. Then, over all that noise, I heard screams.

“I turned toward Clay’s house and saw that pitiful little girl climbing out a side window and crying for help.” Miriam closed her eyes and put a liver-spotted hand over her mouth. “All she had on was her underwear. I just get sick when I think about it. After that, everything happened so fast: the sirens, tires screeching, all the policemen shouting, and that poor, sweet child running across the yard, practically naked. And this was November, mind you. Clay came out the front door, and he started to run after Amelia. That’s when Lon shot him. I remember how in midstride, Clay suddenly flopped back and fell on the ground.”

Miriam let out a long sigh. “Then Lon threw his rifle down, and Amelia ran into his arms. She was hysterical, crying, but Lon kept rocking her and telling her, ‘You’re safe now, baby.’”

“And Clay Spalding was dead,” Karen murmured.

Miriam nodded. “I think he died in the ambulance on the way to Samaritan Hospital.”

“What about Amelia?” Karen asked. “I understand she was never really the same after that day. I hear her parents had a very hard time with her.”

“Well, it might have been more gradual than that,” Miriam said. “I know she was giving Lon and Joy some problems even before that Sunday. So Lord knows how long Clay had been-pawing at that poor little girl. I heard stories later that he had Polaroid snapshots of Amelia, undressed.” She shook her head. “Anyway, if she had problems before that day, well, you’re right, they just got worse and worse after that. She tried to run away several times. I remember once, talking in the front yard to Joy and the twins, and a pickup truck came speeding up the block, like a bat out of you-know-where. I said to Joy something about how they could kill somebody, driving that fast. And before we knew it, Amelia broke away and ran into the street smack dab in front of that pickup-on purpose. The driver almost had an accident, swerving to avoid her. Four years old, and she was trying to kill herself. Can you imagine? Lon and Joy kept her home most of the time after that, and they didn’t take visitors. I hardly saw her. Then I heard they sent her to stay with Joy’s relatives, a cousin, I think.”

Karen imagined Lon’s solution to Amelia’s problems was to lock the tormented girl in her room most of the time.

“What about the sister?” she asked.

“Annabelle? Oh, she was very well behaved. I don’t think they had any problem with her.” Miriam rubbed her chin. “No, the only time I ever saw her kick up a fuss was that afternoon before the shooting. And then later, I remember noticing her in her bedroom window, looking out and crying. I guess she’d seen the whole awful thing. But she didn’t act up or anything after that, not like her sister.”

Karen reached over and put her hand on Miriam’s bony arm. “Did Lon run into any legal trouble for the shooting?” She winced a little. “I mean, even if it seemed justified, some people might say he took the law into his own hands.”

Miriam frowned. “Well, I know there were some concerns. But Lon cooperated with the police a hundred percent.”

“Did a doctor ever examine Amelia to determine whether or not she’d actually been molested?”

With a pained look on her careworn face, Miriam shrugged. “I really don’t know. But they found her clothes in Clay’s bedroom. And in the kitchen drawer, they found a wallet and a necklace belonging to a woman who had been missing for nearly a month, a waitress.”

“Kristen Marquart,” Karen interjected. “I read about her.”

Miriam nodded, then shuddered a bit. “You can just imagine what it was like for me to realize I’d been living next door to a serial killer for two years.”

“Did they ever find Kristen’s body?”

Miriam fiddled with her necklace again. “No, I don’t think so.”

“And did they ever really connect Clay with any of the other disappearances?”

“Well, they found whatever was left of one poor woman near the reservation where he used to live. That was enough for me. Oh, this girlfriend of Clay’s raised a big fuss….”

Karen nodded. She’d already left a voice mail for Clay’s friend, Naomi Rankin, who still lived in Moses Lake. But Naomi hadn’t phoned back yet.

“She insisted he was totally innocent, and incapable of hurting anyone. But she didn’t see what I saw that day. No, she certainly did not.”

“Then you believe Clay murdered those young women,” Karen murmured.

Miriam glanced at Karen over the rims of her cat’s-eye glasses. “Well, dear, the girls stopped disappearing after Clay was shot dead. So what do you think?”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Stephanie announced. “Real bad.”

“Well, hold on a little longer, honey,” Jessie said, with a glance in the rearview mirror. “We’re almost there. The last few blocks are always the worst.”

Driving up the cul-de-sac toward George’s house, Jessie kept looking for that beat-up black Cadillac with the broken antenna. She didn’t see it. She didn’t spot Karen’s Jetta either. Nothing looked unusual or out of place as she pulled into the driveway: no strange cars, no smashed windows, no one lurking around the house.

Approaching the front door with the children, Jessie didn’t notice anything wrong with the door handle. To be on the safe side, she would have left the kids in the car while she ducked into the house for the damn inhaler. But Steffie had to go to the bathroom. She was all fidgety and squirming as Jessie unlocked the door. At least the door was still locked. That was a good sign.