“I’m investigating a possible source. There’s a woman in Durango named Ruth Gilbert-”
It was then she heard an audible intake of air as he gasped.
Blinking, she asked, “Do you know her? Mr. Childs, do you know a Ruth Gilbert?”
“No,” he said, and Cameryn could tell he was lying.
Pressing the BlackBerry closer to her ear, she said, “Perhaps Ruth Gilbert was the one who gave the ring to your daughter. Could that be possible?”
“How would I figure that? That’s somethin’ you’ll have to investigate. I already told you I’ve never heard of the woman. Our child is dead and you’re makin’ her out to be in some kind of cult. What’s your name again?”
“Um, the sheriff needs me right now. Good-bye, Mr. Childs, and thank you for your time. We’ll get back to you when we have more information,” she concluded the call at a gallop and tried to calm her racing thoughts. As the shadows played across her dashboard, she thought of the interconnection of the two lives and wondered what it could mean. Mr. Childs knew Ruth Gilbert. He could deny it all he wanted, but she’d heard it in his voice. What she had in mind would be crazy, could get her into even more trouble, maybe even fired from her job. She didn’t care. Shifting her car into reverse, she headed out once again, for Durango.
It was time to find answers.
Chapter Fifteen
THE HOUSES ON the south side of Durango were different from the homes in Silverton. These were small places, rectangular and utilitarian, painted in softer tones than the Easter-egg colors splashed on the dwellings throughout Cameryn’s town. Durango was more upscale and respectable. Trees lined the streets, their empty branches webbed with Christmas lights. It was eight A.M., and already the streets were humming with traffic. Countless people hurrying along the shoveled walkways of College Drive.
Heading east, she saw the Loaf ‘N Jug, where the call had been made. Reflexively, she slowed her Jeep to a near stop, searching the building until she saw it: the pay phone, hanging on the front wall, protected by a three-sided metal box. At that moment it was being used by a man with long, straw-colored Rastafarian dreadlocks that splayed like octopus tentacles from beneath a multicolored knit cap. As he talked he gestured wildly, his free hand jabbing the air, and Cameryn realized if there had been any latent prints they were long gone, rubbed into obscurity by countless hands.
Beep-beep!
In her rearview mirror she saw a man honking at her impatiently. Waving, she gunned her engine and drove, making a sharp right onto Sixth Street. Two doors down was the Gilbert home. She parked, trying to steady her breathing. If she did this right, she had a shot. But it would be just one.
Ahead of her was an elementary school, overrun with vans and cars disgorging children onto the front walkway. She looked at the crumpled address she’d tossed onto the passenger seat, next to her Map Quest directions that showed her the way in bright yellow ink.
“Well, this is it,” she told herself softly. “Play it cool.” She grabbed her notebook and jumped out of her car. Trying to look confident, she made her way up the walkway lined with two rows of candy canes, the kind that lighted up from the inside in bright red and white stripes. A large Santa had been taped to a window, and a yellow plastic sled was propped on the side of the house. With a shaking finger, she pressed the doorbell, listening to its distant chime, hoping she looked old enough to be the college student she was about to claim to be. Cameryn waited, then rang the bell again. Maybe the house was empty-most people worked during the day. Maybe her crazy drive down here had all been for nothing.
A woman with a baby slung on one hip answered the door. “If you’re selling somethin’ I’m afraid I don’t want any,” she said. The woman wore a pink sweat suit emblazoned with a teddy bear holding a flowered wreath. Her hair was blonde and thick, and her eyes were a pale blue-the same palette, Cameryn remembered, that had appeared on Mariah’s perfect features. The door was just swinging shut when Cameryn cried, “No! Please! I’m a student up at the Fort, and I just need to ask you a few simple questions. It’s for my class and so far no one will help me. I mean, nobody’s home anymore. I’ve been knocking on doors all morning.”
Since Fort Lewis College was only two miles away, claiming to be a student there should make a good cover. She held her breath as the door swung back open. “What class?” the woman asked, eyeing her suspiciously.
“Psychology. This is my first year. Please, it’ll only take a few minutes. You’d really be helping me out a lot.” When the woman hesitated, Cameryn turned her attention to the baby in the woman’s arms. The child had the same champagne coloring as the mother, along with fat, cherubic cheeks. “Is that a boy or a girl?”
"Girl.”
“She is so cute! What’s her name?”
“Adriel.”
“That’s a pretty name! I’ve never heard it before. That’s, like, the prettiest name ever. If I have a baby girl someday, I’ll have to remember that name. Hi, little Adriel!” Cameryn could tell she was going over the top, pressing too hard, but she worried the door might slam shut any minute, so she filled space with a torrent of words. When she looked up, the woman was smiling.
“All right, all right-I’ll bet part of your psychological experiment is seeing if you can get into a house by charmin’ the baby.” There was something familiar in her voice, something Cameryn couldn’t quite place. “You’re sayin’ it’s a short survey?”
“Ten questions, that’s it.”
“Well, if you don’t mind that I’ll have to feed Adriel here while we do it, come on in.” The woman opened the door wider.
“Thanks so much! My name is Cameryn, by the way.” Cameryn extended her hand.
“I’m Ruth.” Ruth gave Cameryn’s hand a quick shake. “Don’t look at my house-it’s an awful mess. That’s what happens when you’ve got a lot of kids. Follow me.”
Contrary to what she’d said, the house, although cluttered, was clean. Photographs of children marched up the wall like stair steps, and a piano, buried beneath a flurry of sheet music, had been topped with more family pictures in shiny silver frames.
“How many kids do you have?” Cameryn asked, stepping over a Tonka truck as she followed Ruth’s retreating figure.
“Seven.”
“Wow! Seven kids!”
“Yeah. I get that a lot. Have a seat at the table there. Sorry, just move that cereal bowl. The rest of ’em are in school-thank heavens for mornin’ kindergarten. Can I get you anything?”
Cameryn slid into a vinyl-covered chair. “If it’s no trouble, I’d love a cup of coffee.”
“Sorry, I can’t help you there. We’re members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, so we don’t drink coffee.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that-I mean that you don’t…” Cameryn blushed, feeling as though she’d committed a faux pas. “Um, then, could I have some tea?”
Ruth smiled and pulled the tray off a sage-green high chair. With an expert motion she slid Adriel inside and snapped the tray back on. “We don’t drink tea, either. Except herbal, and I don’t have any. How about some juice?”
“Juice would be great. Or water. Anything’s fine.”
“Let me get this one settled, and I’ll get it for you.”
The kitchen opened directly to the family room, which had been turned into a kind of playroom. A toy plastic kitchen lined one wall and there was an old rocking chair that looked as though it was a family heirloom, carved in an intricate pattern across the top. Cameryn noticed a large photograph, this one featuring what must be the whole Gilbert family in a studio portrait with an artificial backdrop that resembled green suede.
“Do you mind if I look?” Cameryn asked, gesturing toward the portrait.