Ebon Moon Page 3

  “Jesus loves you, too, son.”

  “Stick it up your ass!” Sid flipped him the finger and turned to Terry. “Are you coming or not?”

  Terry gave Jasper one last look before walking to Sid’s truck.

  “Terry, don’t forget the love of our savior,” he called out to his back. “He died upon the cross for you.”

  Terry remained quiet and climbed in the passenger seat.

  “No one listens to you anymore, old man,” Sid said.

  The pimple-faced youth let out a long doglike howl before jumping in the truck cab. With a heavy heart, Jasper stood by the fence as the pickup gunned its motor and spun its tires, spewing grass and mud behind it. Once on the highway, the vehicle sped away toward Morris. He whispered a prayer for God to protect Terry’s soul and walked back to his lonely farmhouse. Along the way, he came to a stark realization.

  He had hung his last sign.

  No one believed the words he painted. Nothing he said convinced anyone of his innocence in his wife’s murder. He remembered what the police interrogator asked over and over. “What did you do with the body, Jasper? Why did you do it, Jasper? Did you lose your temper and kill your wife? Is that what happened, Jasper? Did you just snap? Did you get drunk and hit your wife with something and then hide the body? You can tell us, Jasper.”

  He never confessed to something he didn’t do.

  When he told them how the beast had killed his precious Emma, the investigating officers shook their heads. He knew they doubted his sanity. Sometimes, he doubted it himself. In the end, when no corpse was ever found, the police reached an impasse. They would not press charges until the discovery of more evidence, but the accusation turned him into a pariah to the locals and congregation at the church where he and Emma attended for over thirty years. Even his family and closest friends shunned him. Two years later, nothing remained in his life but the whiskey bottle and the sign making.

  But he would do no more. His body ached from seventy-three years of shuffling on the earth. His weary soul longed to see the creator.

  Tonight he would end it all and join Emma in heaven.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “What’s the matter, Mommy?” Megan asked.

  With her pocketbook open, Jessica turned to her daughter in the passenger seat of the Camaro. “We’re running out of money.”

  Jessica counted the bills again. Less than four hundred dollars remained. From a side pocket in her purse, she removed Blake’s credit card. Her husband may have already put a stop on the card, but she doubted it. Either way, she couldn’t dare use it unless in an absolute emergency. Blake would be able to trace the purchase and, eventually, find her. She slid the card back.

  “Mommy’s going to have to get a job,” she said, stuffing the purse in the glove box.

  Megan looked out the passenger window. “Are you going to dance some more?”

  Jessica shook her head. “No more dancing.”

  A year ago, Blake had forced her to work strip bars for extra money to feed his voracious coke habit. The only thing Megan knew was Mommy danced like the women she watched on Dancing with the Stars. She didn’t know Mommy’s job entailed taking her clothes off and giving sweaty lap dances to old perverts.

  “Am I going be home by myself?”

  Jessica let out a sad sigh. Working as a stripper meant leaving her daughter in Blake’s care. Many times after the club closed, she came home to find Megan, alone and crying, on the couch.

  “Listen, sweetie, I’ve got to go to work to make money, but I promise I won’t leave you by yourself. I’ll find a babysitter, okay?” She took the child’s hand. “You understand, don’t you?”

  “I understand.”

  She kissed Megan on the forehead. “Good girl.”

  “Where are we going to live?”

  “I’m going to call around and see if we can find a house to rent.” Sliding on her sunglasses, Jessica popped the door latch and climbed out. “I’ll be using the phone right outside.”

  “Okay, Mommy.”

  She had parked before a pay phone outside a Jiffy Trip located a block from the Highway 133 and 71 junctions in Hope Springs. Jessica fished some change from her jean pocket and dropped the coins into the phone. She dialed the numbers jotted earlier on her palm in the post office. The first one said the house was already rented. The second one didn’t answer. On the third call, she got a reply.

  “Hello?” a mature woman’s voice answered.

  “I’m calling in regard to the two-bedroom trailer house you have for rent. Is it still available?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “How much is the rent?”

  “Two hundred and fifty dollars a month.”

  The low rent amazed Jessica. In Chicago, she couldn’t rent a one-room slum hole for two fifty a month.

  “Is there a deposit?” she asked, praying there was none.

  “A hundred and fifty.”

  Jessica winced. She barely had enough money to cover both rent and deposit. There wouldn’t be anything left after that.

  “I’m a mother with a five-year-old daughter. I want to settle here in Hope Springs, but I don’t have much money.”

  The woman chuckled on the other end. “You want to waive the deposit?”

  “That would be great, but just until I can earn enough to pay it.” She hated asking a favor from a stranger, but desperate times required desperate measures.

  “It’s difficult to talk about such matters over the phone. I tell you what. Come out and look the place over. We’ll discuss it then. How does that sound?”

  “Wonderful.”

  “My name is Nelda Olson.”

  “Jessica Lobato.”

  “Well, Jessica …”

  “Call me Jess.”

  “Well, Jess, do you know how to find the house?”

  Jessica said she didn’t. The woman on the line gave her the address, and she jotted it down on her palm.

  “I’ll be right out there,” Jessica said.

  “I look forward to meeting you. Bye now, dear.”

  She hung up the phone just as someone let out a loud wolf-whistle from behind. Jessica cringed at the sound. Accustomed to men’s whistles while topless and dancing on a stage, she didn’t welcome such attention outside of a strip bar. Her anger flared but quickly cooled when she turned around and faced the offender. A tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in a brown khaki uniform stood on the passenger side of the Camaro. The ball cap on his head read “Sheriff.” Jessica glanced over to see a white patrol car parked next to hers.

  “Hello.” She stepped up to her driver door hoping she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt.

  “The Camaro is yours?” he asked in a strong voice, surprisingly minus an Oklahoma drawl.

  “Yes.” Jessica prayed he didn’t ask for registration or insurance verification. Blake may have reported it stolen.

  The sheriff let out another whistle. “She’s a real beauty. What is she, a ’74?”

  “Correct.” She put her hand on the door handle and prayed for the officer to go away. Instead, he walked around to the rear of the car. Jessica couldn’t tell if he was admiring the rear taillights or reading her license plate.

  “She’s a real classic. I love the silver paint job,” he said. “It’s fine.”

  “Thank you.” Jessica’s heart began to race. What if the sheriff searched the car and found the unregistered gun under the seat, or worse, some of Blake’s coke in a hidden stash? She sensed the man walking around to her.

  “They don’t make them like this anymore. I’m a bit of a car aficionado, myself.”

  “Really?” Jessica adjusted her sunglasses and turned to face the sheriff. For the first time, she noticed his medium-length sandy-colored hair, tanned skin, and blue eyes. He reminded her of a young Robert Redford. She guessed his age to be about thirty-five.

  My God, if they grow men this fine here in Oklahoma, why the hell was I living in Chicago?

  “The
name’s Dale Sutton,” he said with a white smile while tipping the brim of his cap. Jessica could tell he had an easy confidence around women.

  “Jessica Lobato,” she replied, nodding toward the interior of the car. “That’s my daughter, Megan.”

  “Hi, Megan.” He waved.

  “Hello.” Megan waved back.

  “Lovely girl.” He turned his attention back to Jessica. His gaze paused for a second on her face. She realized he saw her black eye and bruised cheek through the sunglasses.

  “Thank you,” she replied, turning her head slightly.

  “Are you visiting Hope Springs?”

  “Are you asking as a sheriff or just an interested citizen?”

  “Both,” he said with a low chuckle. “I couldn’t help noticing your Illinois plates.”

  “Actually, my daughter and I are thinking about settling here in your little town, Sheriff.”

  His eyebrows arched a bit. “That’s great news. Let me be the first to welcome you to our fair community. We don’t get new people often. Where are you staying?”

  Jessica hesitated. The man had such a calm demeanor it was hard to tell if he was friendly or flirting with her. She had to watch her words and not give too much information. The last thing she needed was a police officer hanging around, even one this attractive. She glanced down at his left hand. No wedding ring and no pale band to show there ever was one. The idiots at the strip bar who took off their wedding rings before entering never realized the white band around their finger still showed. She had become an expert at spotting married men, because they tipped the best.

  “I just got off the phone with a Nelda Olson about a rental home. Do you know where it is? I wrote down the address on my palm.” She extended her hand for him to read the scrawled words and realized she still wore her gold wedding band. The sheriff must have noticed it by now.

  He stepped closer and gently touched her palm to better read the writing. A pleasant smell tickled her nose, causing her pulse to quicken.

  Is it his cologne?

  “The Olson farm,” he said. “It’s about a mile and a half out of town. I know where it is.”

  “Could you tell me how to get there?”

  “I can do better than that. I’ll show you. Just follow my car.”

  “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your law enforcement duties, Sheriff.”

  “This is Hope Springs. Not much in the way of crime on a Wednesday afternoon.” He flashed his white smile again. “Or any afternoon, for that matter.”

  “Okay.” She smiled back. “You lead the way.”

  He returned to his car as she climbed in the front seat of the Camaro.

  “Are we going to jail?” Megan asked with a worried tone.

  “No, honey.” She started the engine. “He’s going to show us the way to the new house we may be living in. Isn’t that nice of him? He’s giving us a police escort.”

  * * * *

  Leaving the outskirts of Hope Springs behind, she followed the patrol car another couple of miles before turning down a lane of broken asphalt. Under the golden glow of the afternoon sun, farmland and rolling fields stretched to the horizon on both sides of the road. The landscape only served to remind her how far she had come from the crowded streets of Chicago.

  “Look, Mommy, cows.” Megan pointed out the passenger window. “And more cows.”

  “Even more cows.” Jessica nodded to the fields on the other side of the road.

  “I think Oklahoma is one big cow farm.”

  “It’s called a ranch, baby. We’ve certainly seen a lot of cows since coming here, haven’t we?”

  She nodded her head.

  The left turn signal on the patrol car flashed ahead and the vehicle turned into a drive. Jessica followed as gravel crunched beneath the tires of the Camaro. She parked beside the sheriff’s car in the front yard of a beautiful two-story white clapboard farmhouse and got out. The air smelled of freshly mowed grass. Large elm trees swished in the breeze, providing a shifting shade to the lawn. A fabricated metal barn and a toolshed stood beside the house.

  Sheriff Sutton climbed out of the patrol car as the front door opened. A slim middle-aged woman in jeans, a T-shirt, and a cooking apron stepped out of the house. She had graying brown hair and gold-rimmed glasses. Jessica guessed the woman was in her midfifties but still very attractive.

  “Sheriff Sutton, don’t you be giving anyone a ticket in my front yard,” she called out.

  “I’m not issuing a traffic ticket, Nelda.”

  Jessica shut the Camaro driver door. “He’s just showing me the way here.”

  “That’s fine then. We have too few visitors at the farm and don’t need Wyatt Earp here running them off.”

  Jessica chuckled. She already liked the woman.

  “You must be the Jess I spoke to on the phone,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron before offering a handshake. “I’m Nelda Olson.”

  She smiled and shook the woman’s hand, which was soft and damp. Just finished washing dishes, Jessica guessed.

  The passenger door to the Camaro opened and Megan climbed out. In the stark sunlight, the bruises on her daughter’s forearm showed in blue-green blotches against her pale skin. Jessica was certain both Nelda and the sheriff saw them.

  “Do you have any cows?” Megan asked shyly.

  “Sure do.” Nelda nodded. “Horses, pigs, and chickens, too.”

  “This is my daughter, Megan,” Jessica said, pulling her close.

  “She’s so pretty,” Nelda said. “An absolute angel.”

  “Can I go play on your tire swing?” Megan asked, pointing to a black tire swing hanging on a rope under one of the elm trees.

  “Sure, honey, if your mother doesn’t mind.”

  “Can I, Mommy?”

  “Go ahead. I’ve got to talk to Nelda here.”

  Megan ran toward the swing and jumped upon it, sending it spinning in circles.

  Sheriff Sutton cleared his throat. “If you ladies will excuse me, I’m going to be on my way.”

  “Sure you don’t want to stay, Sheriff? I got a fresh-baked apple pie cooling on the stove.”

  He patted his stomach above his gun belt. “Sounds tempting, Nelda, but I better get back to work. Don’t want the taxpayers to think I’m loafing on their money.”

  “Before you take off, Sheriff, answer me one question,” Nelda said when he was about to climb back into the patrol car.

  “Sure.”

  “How come a good-looking man like you isn’t married?”

  “It’s because you’re already taken, Nelda.” He flashed another smile before closing the car door. The two women watched him pull out on the blacktop and head back to Hope Springs.

  “Mmm-mm,” Nelda muttered. “That man is as handsome as the day is long. It’s a sin no woman has tied him down yet. How about you, Jess? Are you married?”

  “Separated.”

  “Well, you can do worse than a handsome man like Dale Sutton. Come on, I’ll show you the rental.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Fifty yards from the farmhouse, the double-wide trailer sat on a permanent stone foundation with a redwood deck jutting out on one side. Flowery curtains hung in all the windows, making the home look cozy. Atop a small hill, the trailer provided a panoramic view of the farm. To the west, a tractor plowed furrows in a brown field, turning up a cloud of red dust in the afternoon sun.

  Jessica, with Megan at her side, followed Nelda up the worn path through the grass leading to the trailer. She got another sense of being in a different time or another world. The scenic beauty of the farm was the polar opposite of the graffiti-covered slum projects of Chicago.

  “That’s my husband, Sam, out there on the tractor,” Nelda said, pulling a door key from a pocket on her apron. “Sam and I lived in this trailer until we got the farmhouse built. It’s nothing fancy, mind you, but I think it’ll suit you and your daughter.”

  “Where do I park my car?” Jessica asked,
looking around and seeing no drive leading to the trailer.

  “You can pull it around the barn and park it here in the grass, as long as there’s no heavy rain and the lawn isn’t too muddy.”

  Jessica liked the idea of hiding the car from the highway.

  “Look, Mommy,” Megan suddenly said, racing forward to where a fat tabby cat slept under the redwood deck. The cat tried too late to escape before Megan grabbed the animal up in her arms.

  “That’s old Tig,” Nelda said with a chuckle. “He used to be a good mouser when he was skinnier and younger. Now he just lies around all day getting fat.” She walked up to Megan and scuffed the top of the cat’s head. “You don’t look too happy, Tig. What’s the matter? You miss Rocky?”

  “Rocky?” Megan asked.

  “Rocky’s our hound dog. He chased Tig all the time. I’m sure old Tig is enjoying the peace and quiet of not having that big mutt around.”

  “Where did Rocky go?” Megan asked.

  “I’m not sure exactly. A couple of nights ago, he ran off barking at something in the woods. We haven’t seen him since.” Nelda ascended the three steps to the redwood deck and put the key in the trailer door. “He probably found him a girl dog and is out making puppies. He’ll show up again soon.” Turning the key, Nelda added, “You’d better leave Tig out here, honey. He’s not an indoor cat. He’s used to staying outside.”

  Nelda opened the door to the trailer, and Jessica followed her in. Megan remained on the porch petting Tig.

  “This is nice,” Jessica commented, looking over the interior of the trailer.

  The front room consisted of a couch, recliner, coffee table, and glowing light fixture mounted on the ceiling. Sunlight shone in through the paisley curtains a warm homey glow. Adjoining the living room was a small dining area with a bay window overlooking the farm’s acres.

  “Down that hall you have two bedrooms and a restroom with a shower.” Nelda pointed. “The kitchen is beyond the dining room with a working refrigerator and stove. It’s small, mind you. I’ll have to tell Sam to fill the propane tank before you can use the stove, though. There is also a utility room with a working washer and dryer. It’s not much, but we called it home for twenty years.”