“Go right ahead. Four girls, three boys, ages ten down to nine months. That’s my husband Charlie, the one who’s responsible,” she said with a laugh.
“What does your husband do?”
“He works for a company called Lore International. He’s out of the country right now-been gone all week.” Ruth looked at her, her face hopeful. “Do you babysit?”
“Not very often,” Cameryn said. “You know, because of school.”
“I never can get anyone to do it. Here’s your juice,” she said, setting down a glass of apple juice on a place mat. “So what are your questions?”
Pulling herself away from the portrait, she slid into a chair and opened her notebook. Removing her pen, she clicked the end, trying to look official. “My report is on people’s perception of the role of government. Would you identify your home as Democrat or Republican?”
“Republican. But just so you know, not all Mormons are Republican. There are a lot in my ward that are Democrats, too.”
“Ward?”
“That’s what we call the buildings where we go to church.”
Cameryn checked a box on the printed-out form she’d constructed just that morning. All night she’d tossed and turned, trying to come up with a plan to get the information she needed, until she’d hit on the idea of a survey. That was just one more breech of forensic protocol that could get her fired, but everything she’d done lately could cost her her job. Even cost her the scholarship. Don’t think about that now. Just do it. See where this goes.
“So, Ruth, do you vote?”
“Every election.” She shoved a small spoonful of baby food into Adriel’s mouth; the baby promptly spit it back out. Scooping it up with the side of the plastic spoon, Ruth slid the food back into the open mouth, parting her own lips as she did so.
“Do you regularly attend church?”
“Yep. Every Sunday.”
Cameryn marked another meaningless box. Her hands began to sweat as she asked, “Do you believe in the death penalty?”
“Yes,” Ruth answered firmly. “A life for a life.”
“Right.” Cameryn checked her sheet. “Now, speaking of the death penalty, do you personally know anyone who has been murdered?” She said this quickly, without looking at Ruth’s face. She could hear Ruth pause as she studied her paper.
“What class did you say this was for?”
“Psychology.”
“What’s the name of your teacher?”
“Ms. Dunham,” Cameryn said, lying with the first name that popped into her head. “So do you know anyone who has been the victim of a murder?” she repeated.
Silence. When she spoke, Ruth’s voice had grown dim. “No. Never.”
“Have you-have you been following the case of Baby Doe in the Durango Herald?”
“No.”
“They have a name for her now. It’s Esther Childs. Someone made an anonymous call from the Loaf ‘N Jug. That’s right by your house, isn’t it? The Loaf ‘N Jug. It was called in to Silverton.”
No answer.
“The woman tipped the police as to the victim’s true identity.” Cameryn slid a newspaper from the inside of her folder. The color had drained from Ruth’s face, and Cameryn noticed she was trembling. It was as if they’d each had a stick that sparked against the other and the fire was taking hold, burning. “Look,” Cameryn said, tapping her finger on the picture. “Do you see the girl? Have you ever seen her before?”
Esther’s death had made front-page news. The sketch of the girl showed eyes wide and clear, the hair plaited in the long braid. Cameryn positioned the paper so that the face was dead center on the table.
The baby made a gurgling sound and smacked her hand impatiently on her tray.
“I have a lot to do. I think I’m done with your survey,” Ruth said, standing up.
Desperate, Cameryn said, “Esther had on a ring that said ‘Keep Sweet.’ You know about ‘Keep Sweet.’ Don’t you, Ruth?”
“You’re not here for a psychology class.”
“I’m not,” Cameryn admitted. “I’m sorry, but there are things I’m trying to find out.”
As Ruth pulled her baby out of the high chair, she took a step back so that she was against a wall. Pure fear radiated from her eyes. “Who are you, then? Are you a Messenger?”
It took a moment for her to register what Ruth was saying. “Am I a what?”
Ruth began pacing, chastising herself. Adriel was perched on her hip. With every step, the baby’s head bounced like a doll on a spring. “How could I have been so stupid? They knew I wouldn’t open the door for a man, so they sent you. I see your long hair. You’re living the Principal. You’re checking up, seeing if I talked. You go back and tell the Prophet it wasn’t me! ” Ruth clutched her baby so hard Adriel cried out. “You need to leave. Now! Tell him!”
“Tell who what?” Cameryn’s mind was working and working and she couldn’t think this through. “Ruth, I’m not a Messenger.”
“I want you out of here! ” she demanded. She pointed to her front door. “Now!”
“I’m sorry,” Cameryn answered softly. “I can’t.”
She stayed planted in the wooden chair, the rungs pressing into her back. Looking at the blue plastic bowl and the dried cereal, she tried to make her mind put together the pieces. Something had frightened Ruth deeply, but fear wasn’t anything Cameryn could take to the sheriff. What she needed was proof. If she waited, Ruth could pull herself together and deny the conversation even happened. Cameryn opened her folder and set out a photograph she’d printed from her camera. It was a close-up of Esther’s face. The eyes stared, wide and blank.
“I work for the coroner’s office,” Cameryn said. She pulled another photograph of Esther and set it next to the first. This one showed the bullet hole in the side of her skull. “Somebody shot her. Shot Esther. In cold blood.”
Ruth raised her hand to her mouth, and Cameryn heard an angry, muffled groan. Her face had gone scarlet. “Put those away,” she cried. “I can’t look at them!”
“You have to look,” Cameryn told her, “because the authorities are trying to say my mother did this.” Cameryn pulled another picture from her folder. The boot print in the center of Esther’s back showed up in sharp relief. “Whoever did this cut off Esther’s hair. Fourteen years old and her life was taken. I think you made that call from the pay phone because you know this girl. That’s right, isn’t it?”
Ruth nodded. “She was my niece,” she said. Tears streamed down her face. “My sister’s child.”
Cameryn’s heart raced wildly as she formed her next question. “Do you know who killed her?”
Her mouth moved, but her words were only a whisper. “I do.”
Cameryn felt elation until she heard what came next: “I know exactly who killed her. But I will never, ever tell.”
Chapter Sixteen
THEY SAT STARING at each other. Cameryn counted the seconds as they ticked away on the kitchen clock. They baby began to wiggle in Ruth’s arms, but she held her tight. “Just so you understand,” Ruth said, “I’ll deny everything I just told you. I can’t help you, Cameryn. I wish I could but I can’t.” She set the baby down on a brightly quilted blanket that had been tucked inside a playpen. Then she gathered up the photographs of Esther and shoved them into the folder. “I want you to leave my house.”
“You know who killed this girl and you won’t tell?” Cameryn cried.
“I know who killed this girl and I can’t tell. Because they said they’d kill me. Me and my family.” The voice edged on panic.
Cameryn rose to her feet. Her blood rocketed as she cried, “But they’re accusing my mother! ”
Ruth’s fingernails dug so hard against the edge of the table they looked bloodless. “I converted to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints years ago. I have a good life now. That nightmare is over for me.”
“And my mother’s in a jail cell in Silverton! She’s in a nightmare!” Cameryn practically screamed the words, her hands gesticulating wildly. Suddenly, Ruth grabbed Cameryn’s left wrist in her hand. Her grip was like iron as she turned Cameryn’s palm up. “What’s that?” she shrilled, pointing to the digits written on her skin. “That’s the Childses’ number. Did you call them?” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you ask them about me?”