As soon as it popped into his head, he knew he had to act. This was a now-or-never move and he didn’t intend to screw it up. He hopped off the trailer and grabbed Mary from the back of the car. She felt like a heavy doll as he lifted her onto his shoulder and hopped up onto the bumper. He saw the driver still inside the store chatting with the clerk at the cash register. Buddy had to be fast.
He slipped the plastic bag off Mary’s head and tossed her into the corner of the trailer. Her body naturally sunk into the soft fertilizer like it was quicksand and he was able to reach down and scoop a little more over her head until she was almost completely covered. He jammed the bloody plastic bag into his pocket. She had no identification and nothing that stood out in her clothing. If he caught a few breaks and the truck headed north, they may not have any clue where she came from.
Buddy hopped down off the trailer, slipped back into the Chrysler, and headed east from the interstate. He slowed a few blocks away and pulled to the side of the street. He intended to wait until he saw the tractor trailer pull onto the highway and, he hoped, drive north on the interstate.
Considering that it had appeared the driver was ready to leave the store, it took a surprisingly long time for the truck to move. Buddy glanced over to see the lifeless form of Cheryl sprawled on the floor. He said, “Why couldn’t you have been more like your sister? You had to play hardball. I’m an artist. I shouldn’t be pushed to do things like this. Now where should I leave you?” He thought about her abrasive manner and gaudy fake boobs. He wasn’t worried about her being linked to Mary now.
A smile washed over his face as he said, “Jacksonville Landing.”
It was perfect. He’d already been there this evening and knew that it would still be hopping at this time of night. No one would ever notice him slip in and slip out. A few minutes later he saw the trailer pull out of the gas station and onto the northbound ramp up I-95.
Being lucky had its rewards.
TWENTY-FIVE
Grace Jackson had talked to Stallings’s father the night before. She explained the current excess of volunteers to Stallings. There was an ongoing Christian revival in the area and the participants had flooded into the kitchen to help. Stallings’s father could’ve seen the crowd and decided not to stop.
Several times Stallings waited patiently while young Christian revivalists came in and asked Grace questions. She was never short or harsh with any of the well-intentioned young people but offered direct and simple advice or orders. Stallings thought she’d make a good cop. Finally he said to her, “Did he say anything at all about being busy today or visiting someone in another part of the city?”
Grace shook her head, keeping her intense brown eyes on him. “He always chats with me about his grandchildren and once he told me about being in the Navy. He really didn’t go over his schedule with me.” She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, then surprised him by wrapping her arms around him and giving him a loving hug. “It’s hard looking after parents and kids at the same time. I appreciate what you’re doing. I love your dad. I love hearing about his friends and family and the groups that he moderates. He once told me he wished he had the courage to do it when he was drinking and regrets what it did to his family.”
Stallings couldn’t imagine his father saying something like that, but he couldn’t imagine this lovely, caring woman making something up.
Grace said, “He’s very proud of the man you turned into and says you’re better than him. He says he would’ve held a grudge if his father had treated him like that as a child.”
“I still hold a pretty good grudge.”
“But you’re out here looking for him. I’ll pray for him and for you.”
Stallings nodded his thanks, barely able to speak. Finally he managed to say, “Did he seem all right to you when you spoke yesterday?”
Grace said, “He did do one odd thing.”
“What’s that?”
“He kept calling me ‘Jeanie.’ Even after I corrected him. After a while I just went with it.”
Now Stallings was really worried.
Buddy only took one pass in front of the tall parking garage at Jacksonville Landing. The trick was slipping inside the lot without being noticed. He waited until he saw the line of cars exiting grow and knew the attendant would be focusing on them. He drove the Chrysler through the second lane and snatched the parking ticket from the machine. Pulling onto the fourth floor, he found a spot in the middle of the row facing the St. Johns River.
Buddy did not hesitate to park the car, take the keys, make sure it was locked, and look around to be certain no one noticed him as he took the stairway down to the ground floor. He walked at a leisurely pace and took a right on the scenic walkway along the river. He heard a reggae band playing from the balcony of one of the restaurants and let his feet fall into rhythm with the music. Once he was past the main buildings that made up the touristy, commercial property, he crossed the street and walked past some of the smaller, locally owned establishments. His stomach rumbled slightly and he suddenly realized he was thirsty as well. The first place he saw that looked appealing was called Sal’s Smoothie Shack.
As he stepped through the door he noticed there were no customers and the young woman behind the counter looked up with a surprised expression. She started to say, “I’m sorry, we’re …” Then she looked at Buddy and smiled. This time she said, “If you flip the closed sign on the door behind you, I’ll give you the last of our fresh strawberry smoothies in a giant cup.”
Buddy didn’t hesitate. He turned and eased up to the counter and said, “Only if you have one with me.” He was dazzled by the girl’s smile, which was accompanied by dimples in her pretty face. He said, “My name is Buddy. What’s yours?”
The girl handed him his smoothie, then stepped from behind the counter with a smaller smoothie in her hand. She said, “I’m Lexie.”
Angela Lusk leaned back on the hard park bench and almost wished she could vomit up all the stuff that had upset her stomach. Her head pounded with a hangover that would’ve slowed down the most hardcore alcoholic. She had not bothered to do anything with her hair, deciding instead to tie it back in a ponytail. Last night, on the dance floor-and for a little while on top of the bar-she had her long bleached locks loose and flowing. Now each strand seemed to throb after all the margaritas and shots. Damn tequila night. Rum night seemed to go easier the next day. The early-morning sun didn’t help any part of her body right now.
Angela looked around at the other two quiet mothers watching their kids at the playground located inside Pine Forest Park. They may not have had as much to drink, but they seemed no happier to be out on a bright Saturday morning. It wasn’t even 7:15 yet. Shit.
Taylor had wanted to visit the park and Angela had promised they would if Taylor used the “big-girl potty.” There were no dirty diapers this week, so they were at the park. Angela had thought that once she had to pay for babysitters she’d slow her personal night life down. Instead she crammed more into fewer hours. She threw down too many shots between eleven and midnight when she knew she had to head home. She couldn’t even bring a guy with her because the snotty sitter would blab to her mom and others in the River’s End apartment complex. She didn’t like guys to meet Taylor right away anyhow. She preferred to hook them solidly first. That’s how she intended to approach the cute young lawyer from Arlington who spent a small fortune on Patron Silver for her last night.
Angela looked up to see Taylor and a cute little black girl move from the slide to play in the soft sand of the playground. She didn’t care if the girls dug; she and Taylor would take a dip in the complex’s pool as soon as they got home.
After a few minutes the girls stopped digging and the little black girl scurried back to her mom, squealing. Angela watched as Taylor slid away from the hole the girls had dug. Something tugged on her “mother” string and she stood and started to trot toward her daughter.
The sun slapped her in the face as she approached the mini-excavation. She looked over Taylor’s shoulder. The first thing she made out was cloth; then she saw fingers. It was a hand. It was a body.
They both started to scream.
