“Okay.” This was nothing out of the ordinary in our culture, and while Jim Daniels was considered a sex offender in the outside world, in Alber he was simply a young husband. “I understand.”
That didn’t, however, get Jim off my radar. I wondered about him. I thought again about the coincidence that all the missing girls lived in houses that backed up to the cornfield he managed. I thought about him skulking around, hidden in the field. “Jim, Rebecca, what do you two know about Delilah?”
Their eyes met, a caution passed between them, and Rebecca shook her head at him.
“I need to know,” I said.
“I’m under orders,” Jim said, his voice as no-nonsense as it had been throughout the conversation. “I can’t tell you anything. If you want to know anything about Delilah, you need to ask your mother.”
“My mother’s not talking,” I said. “Delilah is in danger. I’m certain of it. I need to know what you know.”
“It’s not that we don’t want to, but we can’t tell you anything. It’s not ours to tell,” Rebecca said. “Like Jim said, we have orders. You need to talk to your family.”
“Where were you Thursday evening, Jim?” I asked.
For the first time, he looked vaguely interested. He answered as if it were a curiosity. “You think I took Delilah?”
I stared at him, such a strange man. “Interesting that you know that was the night Delilah was abducted.”
To this, Jim Daniels said nothing.
“I think maybe you’re picking up on the fact that my husband is a little different, Clara. That’s why you suspect him.” Rebecca looked over at him, questioning, and he gave her a casual nod as if agreeing that she continue. “Jim has… he has a hard time connecting with people. He can seem rather standoffish. But my husband’s a good man. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. We love Delilah. She’s Karyn’s sister, and that makes her family.”
“Then help me find her. You need to tell me what you know,” I demanded, my voice rising, indignant. “A young woman’s already dead, her body left to rot behind the cornfield. This isn’t a game.”
Daniels looked like he might say something, but his wife placed her hand gently on his arm and said, “Jim and I aren’t free to discuss Delilah’s disappearance. Ask your mother.”
“So you admit she’s missing,” I pounced.
Rebecca stuttered, “I-I didn’t mean to say—”
I wasn’t willing to hear anything more. “I am putting you both on notice—if something happens to Delilah while all of you are playing games, you will regret it,” I warned. Looking the man dead in the eyes, I said, “As for you, Mr. Daniels, if you’re involved in Delilah’s disappearance, now’s the time to speak up. Get ahead of this while you can, before I find out on my own that you aren’t being honest. Then, I promise, you will get no mercy.”
Jim Daniels’ expression remained calm. He showed no emotion when he said, “Clara, you need to leave. There’s no help for you here.”
Twenty-Eight
On the way to the trailer park to talk to the Heaton and Coombs families, Max mulled over his latest encounter with Clara. He’d had such mixed feelings since the previous afternoon, when he’d looked up and seen her standing in his office. At times, he blamed her for what happened to him in the past and for putting his job in jeopardy. Yet he couldn’t deny that he still felt the deep connection they’d shared as teenagers.
Something about Clara had never stopped touching his heart.
Max had thought about her often over the years, wanted to see her. Every time he asked Hannah about Clara, he’d been disappointed to find out that they’d lost contact. Now Clara was back, and they’d done little but argue.
Clara didn’t seem to care.
Then he reconsidered. That wasn’t fair. After all, Clara worried about Delilah, not unlike the way he worried about Brooke. He thought about what Clara had said, that later they’d have time to discuss it all. But what would he say? How could he make her understand?
What she’s seen is that I’m a coward afraid to contradict my boss.
When he thought about it, though, sometimes it wasn’t easy to know what to do. Should he have backed Clara? After all, Gerard investigated Eliza’s and Jayme’s disappearances, and both families insisted that they weren’t worried about their daughters. That should have put any concern about the girls to rest.
Of course, the dead body in the field brought everything into question. What if it turned out to be the Heaton or Coombs girl?
“Damn,” Max muttered. What if he’d sat back and done nothing while all along those girls were in trouble?
Max shook his head and made a vow: From that point forward he’d stop worrying about losing his job and concentrate on doing it, whatever that entailed. And someday when he had the opportunity, he’d tell Clara everything—that Miriam’s death and Brooke’s injuries were his fault. He’d been responsible, and the guilt had nearly killed him.
He didn’t know if Clara would understand, but he had to tell her.
At that, he pulled up in front of the Heaton house. A pack of little girls were running circles around the trailer, and Alma Heaton sat on a garden swing, idly pushing back and forth, enjoying the view. When she saw Max walk toward her, Alma’s smile melted and her face transformed, the frown lines circling her mouth deepening. He stood over her, waiting.
Alma squinted up at him and asked, “Why are you here?”
Twenty-Nine
Driving away from the Daniels house, I still had two suspects, Evan Barstow and Jim Daniels. I hadn’t eliminated or focused on either one. About the only thing I had accomplished was that I’d finally gotten clear confirmation that I hadn’t misjudged the situation. That came with Rebecca’s words: “Jim and I aren’t free
