My mouth wouldn’t cooperate with my brain. My lips flapped senselessly. Then I burst into tears. Brad held me as I cried. His chest was warm against my face. His hands rubbed my back. His cheek rested on the top of my head.
“It was awful,” I said when I could speak. I looked up at him. “I got stuck up on the hill, then David tried to run me over. I jumped off the road and into the swamp so he wouldn’t kill me.”
Brad gave me a long look. “Tish. Where do you come up with this stuff? Just when I think you’re someone who’s got her life together, you pull something outrageous.”
I stepped away from him, slack jawed. “You think I’m lying? You think I jumped in that swamp just for thrills?”
“When did you say this happened?” Brad asked.
I calculated backward. “A little over an hour ago.”
He gave a condescending shake of his head. “David Ramsey couldn’t have been chasing you. An officer radioed in his name for a traffic violation earlier today. David was most likely still pulled over during the time you’re talking about.”
“Maybe you’re confused about the time. I know it was David. He was driving that silver hot-rod.” I could still see the sports car hunched at the top of the hill, chrome and glass glinting, just before it barreled toward me. “Aren’t you going to arrest him? I could have died today.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. What you’re saying sounds a little crazy.”
I poked a finger to his chest. “You’re the one that’s bonkers, here. David murdered Rebecca and buried her in my basement. I can prove it. And now he’s trying to kill me.” I stared at Brad. His brown eyes were filled with skepticism. “Aren’t you going to do anything about it?”
He stood silent. I humphed and shook my head, betrayed. “I can see I’m on my own. Which is just the way I like it.” I twirled and retreated to the bathroom.
I stuck my head out. “Mrs. Westerman? Could I have my clothes back, please?”
I locked the door and waited for my garments. In the meantime, I found a blow-dryer and took care of my hair. Brad certainly knew how to make me second-guess myself. I had been so sure the silver sports car had been the one from David’s garage. But from what Brad said, it couldn’t have been David.
But who else would try to kill me?
I found nail clippers in a drawer and did my toenails while I waited. Mrs. Westerman had tweezers too, so I attacked my eyebrows to pass time.
Fifteen minutes passed. Mrs. Westerman knocked on the door.
“Here are your clothes, dear,” she said.
I took my things, still warm from the dryer, and put them on.
Presentable once more, I walked out into the living room.
“Mrs. Westerman, I don’t know how to thank you for helping me today.” I ignored Brad.
“Win that election, dear. That will be thanks enough,” she said.
Brad leaned into my line of vision.
“I was telling Mrs. Westerman about your campaign plan,” he said.
“I’ve always wanted to enclose my front porch,” she said, “but the Historical Committee would never approve it. Officer Brad says you don’t mind altering historic details in favor of modern living.”
I thought about the magnificent front porch that made this farmhouse a classic beauty. I shuddered. I could never allow it to be marred with tacky screens and cheap storms.
“There are some projects that are certainly allowable in historic homes,” I said. Removing my cistern was one of them. Enclosing her front porch was not.
“Wonderful. You can look forward to my vote come January.” She shook my hand.
“Thank you, again, Mrs. Westerman.”
“I’ll drive you home, Tish,” Brad said.
I clenched my jaw, holding back words that would strand me west of Rawlings.
I followed him outside. I got in the police cruiser and slammed the door. I tuned out the obnoxious chirp of the two-way radio. Brad started the vehicle and shifted into drive.
“Do you want to see where my car is stuck, at least?” I asked as we approached the gravel road that led into the woods.
“Is it up that road?” Brad asked.
I nodded.
“Let me get you home so you can rest. You’ve been through quite an ordeal. It’ll be easier to check out your car and arrange for a tow truck once I know you’re safe.”
Safe at home. That was an oxymoron. But at least I’d have some time to work in the cistern. If I unearthed Rebecca, Brad would have to arrest David. The police officer couldn’t ignore concrete evidence forever.
Ten minutes later, Brad drove around the back of my place. He walked me up the porch.
“Stay warm. We don’t need you getting sick.” He touched my arm. “Call me if you have any problems.”
I nodded, then went in the house.
I made sure the lights of Brad’s squad car were out of sight before I headed down the basement steps.
44
I beat the chisel into the cement with heavy blows of the hammer. A sledge would have made the job easier, but with no car and no time to lose, my mini-version would have to suffice.
Pea-sized chunks of concrete flew toward my face. I blinked and kept pounding.
The heat of late July left the grass brown and withered. Still Grandma lived on. And so did I. The scholarship money would dry up in another month, and I faced spending eternity at the Foodliner.
“Tish.” Grandma called to me from the bedroom. Her voice sounded weaker lately. “Help me, Tish.”
I turned off the faucet and dried my hands.
“Coming, Gram,” I said. It was almost time for medications, anyway.
In the bedroom, I bent and kissed her forehead. She’d wasted away until she made barely a lump under the blankets.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
Her skin had washed out to a pale gray. “Terrible. I just want to die.”
“I know, Gram. It’s hard.”
“Tishy, give me some more of those pills.” She pointed a crooked finger toward her painkillers on the nightstand.
I put the bottle behind the tissue box. “No, Gram, it says two in the morning and two at night.” The dose had increased with the pain.
“I know, sweetie, but I hurt bad today.”
I rubbed her arm. “I know, Gram. You’ll be alright.”
“No, Tishy. I don’t have much longer. I don’t want to feel this way. Just give me one more.”
My fingers twitched. What could one more hurt? I hated to see her like this. I wished she could just slip away in her sleep instead of suffering on and on.
“Okay. One more. Just this once.” I took out a pill and set it on her tongue. I held a glass of water to her lips and she swallowed the painkiller down.
“You’re a good girl, Tisher. Just like your mama.”
Wow. The nicest thing Grandmother had ever said to me.
“Thanks, Gram.” I fluffed the pillows and smoothed her blanket, sorry that she felt cold even in this heat. Then I went back to my dishes, praying she’d die that night.
“Ow.” My voice shattered the stillness of the basement. I looked at my hand. A black blister formed under the skin. I sucked on it, waiting for the sting to go away.
After a minute, I grabbed my hammer and chisel and went back to work, picking away at a crack along the surface.
“Coming, Gram.” I grabbed the pile of whites from the floor and loaded it in the wash machine. I wiped the stifling humidity of late August from my brow. Five days left before classes started. I hadn’t enrolled again this year. It was goodbye scholarships. Goodbye college degree. Hello life of menial labor.
I dumped in the laundry soap and turned the dial to start the cycle. I didn’t want to go help Gram. I just wanted her to die.