Читать книгу Before She Was Found - Heather Gudenkauf, Heather Gudenkauf - Страница 16

Thomas Petit

Monday, April 16, 2018

A shrill ringing yanks Thomas from his sleep. With his sons grown and his day-to-day role as owner of Petit’s Bar and Grill greatly diminished, Thomas thought perhaps he would finally be able to start sleeping past 6:00 a.m. In the early days his schedule had been brutal. For years, he tiptoed into bed well after 1:00 a.m., careful not to wake his wife and kids. The couple would get up just a few hours later to head next door to Petit’s to prepare for the lunch crowd.

He is in the house alone. A predicament that is both unfamiliar and unsettling. Tess, his wife of forty-five years, is convalescing in a skilled-care facility in Grayling after a nasty fall and his granddaughter, Jordyn, is spending the night at the Landry girl’s house. The ringing continues and Thomas realizes that this won’t be his day to lounge beneath the covers. With effort he sits up, shoves the down comforter aside and eases his legs over the edge of the bed until his toes find the cold wood floor. He shivers through the thin fabric of his boxer shorts and T-shirt.

Each step sends bolts of pain through the soles of his feet and coursing through the ropy purple veins that line his legs, the result of years of standing behind the bar. As the day goes on, the aches will become less pronounced but until then he will limp along, clutching at heavy pieces of furniture to keep upright.

“Dammit to hell,” he mutters, nearly tripping over Jordyn’s soccer ball, and the house phone stops ringing.

Thomas wishes briefly that he had kept the smartphone his youngest son, Donny, sent him last Christmas. “This one works just fine,” he said, holding up a flip phone that Jordyn called archaic. A word she said she learned in English class. It means old, Grandpa, just like you, she teased. “What do I need a fancy phone for?” Thomas asked incredulously.

“Emergencies,” Tess said.

“Shopping,” Donny offered.

“Snapchat,” Jordyn giggled.

Thomas gave them a look that let them know the topic wasn’t up for discussion and the phone disappeared back into its box and then reappeared a few months later on Jordyn’s twelfth birthday. Now he is considering buying two smartphones. One for Tess and one for himself.

With the house quiet once again, Thomas debates whether to go back to bed or keep pushing forward to the kitchen. Again, the phone begins its maddening trill, making Thomas’s decision for him. He picks up his pace, trying to ignore the needle-sharp prickles of pain that he thought he would have become accustomed to by now. No such luck.

“Hello,” Thomas says into the receiver, not bothering to disguise his irritation.

“Mr. Petit?” an official, unfamiliar voice asks.

“Is my wife okay?” Thomas asks. A shiver of fear runs down his spine. He knows how quickly hip injuries can lead to something even worse like pneumonia and blood clots and infections of the bone.

“Mr. Petit, this is Officer Blake Brenner from the Johnson County Sheriff’s Office. Does a child by the name of Jordyn live in your household?”

“What happened now?” Thomas asks. He loves Jordyn beyond words but drama seems to cling to his granddaughter like cockleburs. Last month, the local police brought Jordyn home after she was caught climbing the Pitch water tower east of town.

“Relax, Grandpa,” Jordyn had told him. “It’s no big deal.”

“Sir, does Jordyn Petit reside in your home?” the officer asks firmly, his voiced edged with tension.

Thomas leans against the corner of the kitchen counter. “Yes, she’s my granddaughter. Is she okay? She’s supposed to be spending the night at a friend’s house.”

“Is her mother or father available?” the officer asks.

“No. My wife and I are her legal guardians. Jordyn’s parents aren’t able to care for her.” It pains Thomas to admit that his eldest son and Jordyn’s mother were deadbeats. Unfit to care for Jordyn. “Did something happen?” Thomas asks, finally registering the concern in the officer’s voice.

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. So, you’re telling me that Jordyn is not at home right now?”

“No, she’s at a friend’s house. Cora Landry’s,” Thomas says but uncertainty pricks at the corner of his thoughts.

“Jordyn isn’t at the Landrys’ home at this time. That I can confirm,” the deputy says.

“I’ll go check her bedroom,” Thomas says. “Maybe she came home and I didn’t hear her. Can you hold on a second?”

Thomas lays the receiver on the counter and moves as quickly as he can to the bottom of the stairs. “Jordyn, are you up there?” he hollers. There’s no response. With a sigh he begins the ascent, one knee catching and crackling with each step, the other refusing to bend. By the time he reaches the landing, he’s out of breath, damp with sweat and thoroughly irritated.

“Jordyn!” he booms, pushing through the bedroom door, finding it empty. Grabbing tightly to the banister, Thomas makes his way back down the steps and picks up the phone, hoping that the officer hasn’t hung up, impatient for his return.

“She’s not here,” Thomas says, anxiety squeezing at his chest. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“We’ll send an officer over to your house, Mr. Petit. She’ll fill you in on what we know.”

The line goes dead and Thomas slowly lowers the receiver from his ear. He and Tess have raised Jordyn since she was four, after their oldest son, Randy, came back home and dropped her off. “I can’t deal with her,” Randy said, “and I can’t find her mom.” Then he left. They hear from him only a few times a year by way of a phone call, a postcard or birthday card.

Thomas wanted to tell Randy to stop calling altogether. That the sound of his voice and his letters made Jordyn sad and out of sorts. But Tess told him that barring Randy from Jordyn’s life would be a mistake that Jordyn would hold against them one day. So he held his tongue.

Jordyn is the daughter he and Tess never got the chance to raise. Betsy, their third-born, didn’t live to see her first full year and Tess never quite recovered from the loss. She loved her boys but they weren’t Betsy, and Jordyn reminded them of their daughter.

If Jordyn wasn’t at the Landry house, then where was she? The bar and grill, Thomas thinks. Maybe Jordyn went next door. She spent a lot of time in the office and the restaurant part of the business. Thomas limps to his bedroom and pulls on a pair of jeans from the bureau and a shirt from the closet.

Despite the recent trouble with the local police, the over-the-top drama, the slammed doors, the icy silences that come with a preteen girl, Jordyn has been more joy than trouble over the years. Tess taught her how to make gingerbread and ptichie moloko—birds’ milk cake—and how to knit. She braided her hair and told her about growing up on a farm, the daughter of immigrants from Russia, and stories of Baba Yaga and Kikimora, the House Hag.

For his part, Thomas taught Jordyn about how to run a business. Put her to work sweeping and taking inventory, taught her, much to Tess’s chagrin, how to mix drinks. All alcohol-free, of course.

Thomas pushes through the front door, the newly risen sun momentarily blinding him, the air mild against his face. Holding tightly to the wrought-iron railing, he picks his way down the four concrete steps that lead to the sidewalk. Directly next door is Petit’s. The twin buildings are two stories tall and made of red brick and weeping mortar.

When the boys were small they lived above the bar in the cramped second floor but eventually bought the building next door after Tess complained that the noisy patrons kept the boys up late into the night and filled their ears with crass language and their heads with unsavory ideas.

By the time Thomas climbs up the steps to the bar he is breathing heavily and sweating. Peeking through the window he sees Kevin, the young man who has taken over the day-to-day duties of running the bar, wiping down the scarred mahogany counter. He tries the door handle but it doesn’t open. Kevin keeps the door locked before opening time to ensure that no one wanders in with hopes of getting an early-morning cocktail.

He raps on the door but Kevin doesn’t even look up. Thomas can hear the faint trill of the phone and bangs harder, the glass shivering with each strike. He must be listening to music, he thinks. That’s why Kevin doesn’t hear the bar phone ring, why he can’t hear him knocking. He waves his hands in front of the window and Kevin finally glances up. Kevin takes his time unlocking the door and when he does Thomas reaches up and rips the earbuds from his ears.

Kevin looks down at him, startled. “Jesus, you scared me. What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Jordyn,” Thomas says, his voice cracking. “Is Jordyn here?”

“She’s in the back,” Kevin says, hitching a thumb toward the kitchen. “Why?”

“Jordyn,” Thomas calls, brushing past Kevin. “Get out here.”

“Jeez, what?” Jordyn rounds the corner in exasperation and halts at the sight of her grandfather’s angry face. She’s dressed in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, flip-flops and a T-shirt as if she’s just rolled out of bed. “What did I do now?”

“Why don’t you tell me,” Thomas says, hands on hips.

Jordyn looks him directly in the eye and lifts and drops her shoulders and as if daring him to contradict her says, “I have no idea.”

Thomas wants to shake the defiance from her face. He wishes that Tess were here. She’d know what to do and say. She would go to their granddaughter, pull her into a hug and Jordyn would apologize for making them worry. But Tess isn’t here and Kevin has returned to scrubbing the bar, earbuds placed firmly back in place. It’s just the two of them.

“The police are looking for you,” Thomas says. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at Cora’s house?”

“The police?” Jordyn asks, the confidence draining from her voice.

“Yes, the police. They’re on their way over here right now. What’s going on, Jordyn?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Jordyn exclaims, looking panicked, eyes brimming with tears. Thomas almost believes her.

There’s a tap on the door and both Thomas and Jordyn look over to find Officer Bree Wilson looking in at them. Curious, Kevin pulls his earbuds away from his ears. A freckle-faced redhead, Bree comes into the bar every so often with a booming laugh and a fondness for Bushmills Irish Buck. Thomas beckons her in and the door squeaks open as she enters.

“Morning,” Officer Wilson says. “Glad to see you home safe and sound, Jordyn.” To Thomas she says, “We’ve got a bit of a situation here, Tom, and I think that Jordyn might be able to help us out.”

Thomas’s relationship with the Pitch Police Department is made up of equal parts irritation and respect. Though the local cops tend to be hypervigilant in pulling his patrons over and running them through sobriety tests, Thomas had to admit that every time he called and asked for assistance with the occasional bar fight, they came right over. “We’ll do whatever we can to help. What’s going on?”

“We’re just at the beginning of the investigation so I don’t have much to tell you, but there appears to have been some kind of incident early this morning and there were some injuries.”

“Injuries?” Jordyn asks, gnawing on her thumbnail.

“I’m afraid so,” Officer Wilson says.

“Cora?” Jordyn asks. “How bad?”

“Do you know something, Jordyn?” Officer Wilson asks. “If you do it’s very important you tell me right now. One girl was beaten and the other one is in shock. Someone attacked them, Jordyn, and we need to find out what happened.”

Jordyn shakes her head and inches back toward her grandfather. “I don’t know anything.”

“But you’re okay? Not hurt?” the officer asks and Jordyn nods. “You were with Violet Crow and Cora Landry last night?”

“Yes,” Jordyn says in a hushed voice. “Are they going to die?” Thomas finds this question jarring, odd for a twelve-year-old, and he wants to shush her. Instead he puts a hand on her shoulder and Jordyn gives him a dirty look.

Officer Wilson rubs her fingers across her lips as if she might find the right words there. “They’re in good hands,” she finally says. “But we need your help now, Jordyn. Can you answer a few questions for me?”

When Jordyn doesn’t answer, Thomas responds. “Of course she’ll answer your questions, won’t you, Jordyn?”

Officer Wilson walks slowly toward Jordyn much like someone approaching an injured animal. “Take a seat, Jordyn,” Officer Wilson says and they situate themselves on round stools in front of the bar. “What time did you last see Cora and Violet?” Her voice is gentle, warm.

“I don’t know. It was late,” Jordyn says.

“Late last night?” she asks in a soothing voice.

“Yeah, I wanted to come home.”

“You left? Can you remember what time?”

“I don’t know, late. After midnight,” Jordyn says, her eyes fixed to the floor.

“You walked home all the way from Cora’s house?” Thomas asks his granddaughter. “That’s almost two miles away. Why?” His voice is sharp. Lately, Jordyn has been a mystery to him, with more sass than he’s equipped to handle.

“I just wanted to come home.” Jordyn’s eyes fill with tears. She lays her forehead on the bar top. “I don’t know what happened.”

“She came over about thirty minutes ago,” Kevin pipes up from behind the bar. “Said you were out of milk and cereal at the house and was going to eat breakfast here.”

Officer Wilson pauses, waiting for Jordyn’s crying to stop. When it doesn’t she sighs and gets to her feet. “Why don’t you and your grandpa come to the station and we’ll talk more, Jordyn. We could really use your help. There’s a bad person out there who hurt your friends. Anything you can tell us might help us catch him. Okay?” Jordyn peeks up and sniffles and nods.

“Go wash your face, Jordyn,” Thomas says, “then we’ll go down to the station. Okay?”

“But I don’t know anything.” Jordyn wipes her eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Just tell the truth,” Thomas tells her. “The police will decide whether or not it’s important.”

The three adults watch as Jordyn slouches off to the bathroom. “Jesus,” Kevin says when she’s out of earshot. “What happened to those kids?”

“I’m not sure,” Officer Wilson says, “but there was a hell of a lot of blood. When we got there the Landry girl was being loaded into an ambulance. She looked really, really bad. The other girl emerged a few minutes later covered in blood. They put her in a police car and took her to the hospital, too.”

“Jim Landry runs the Appliance Barn, doesn’t he?” Kevin asks.

“Yeah, the mom works at the elementary school. Nice people,” Thomas says. “This happened at their house?”

“No, down by the old depot,” Officer Wilson says.

“The depot?” Thomas asks in surprise. “What were they doing by the railroad tracks so late at night?”

“A lady walking her dog found the Landry girl and called for help.” Officer Wilson shakes his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Jordyn comes out of the bathroom. Her face is splotchy, eyes red.

“I’ll meet you and Jordyn at the station in an hour,” Officer Wilson says and Jordyn’s eyes fill again with tears.

“I don’t want to—” she begins but Officer Wilson stops her.

“This isn’t a request, Jordyn. Someone messed those girls up pretty bad,” she says and moves toward the exit. “See you soon.”

“Come on, Jordyn,” Thomas says. “You need to get dressed and then we’ll head over to the station. You got things covered here, Kevin?”

Kevin assures them that he’s got things under control and Thomas and Jordyn walk next door in silence. Once inside Jordyn runs up the stairs to her bedroom. The smell of freshly brewed coffee beckons, and Thomas, aching for the rush of caffeine, lifts the carafe too quickly, sending searing liquid down the front of his shirt. Cursing, he quickly sheds the soaked shirt, makes his way to their small laundry room and tosses it in the basket overflowing with dirty clothes. Ever since Tess has been in the hospital the daily chores of laundry, dusting and sweeping have gotten away from him.

Thomas pulls a wrinkled but clean plaid shirt from the dryer. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to press his own clothes—he did—but Tess always said she didn’t mind and he had gotten spoiled that way. Thomas looks at his watch. There was no time for ironing right now; Officer Wilson was expecting them soon. He pulls on the rumpled shirt and tries to smooth out the creases with his fingers.

A pair of Jordyn’s tennis shoes and her jacket are lying in a jumble next to the stacked washer and dryer. No matter how many times Thomas reminds Jordyn to pick up after herself it just doesn’t seem to stick. He has resorted to piling all of Jordyn’s scattered belongings into a laundry basket and dumping them onto her bed, thinking they will be impossible for Jordyn to ignore.

No such luck. With a sigh he reaches down and retrieves the jacket, a light blue fleece that cost about fifty dollars more than it should have. To think that even in the dinky town of Pitch labels matter. Thomas finds it ridiculous, but Tess says that it’s important for Jordyn to fit in, especially with not having her mom and dad around.

Thomas drops the jacket and tennis shoes into a laundry basket filled with more of Jordyn’s wayward possessions when a dark stain on the sleeve of the fleece catches his eye. He fishes it from the pile and examines the three-inch splotch on the cuff. His first thought is that chocolate is a bear to get out of fabric but this stain is more red than brown. He lifts it to his nose and instead of a sweet sugary scent his nose is met with the smell of copper.

He scratches at it experimentally and a rusty patina is left behind on his fingertip. Blood. Thomas searches for any other drops of blood on the jacket but it only seems to be in that one spot, just below where the palm of the hand meets the wrist. Jordyn didn’t say anything about getting hurt, didn’t complain of a recent injury. There wasn’t a lot of blood. Barely enough to mention. But still. He thinks of Cora Landry lying in a hospital bed with her terrible injuries.

Thomas turns away from the basket filled with Jordyn’s shoes, a hairbrush, a pair of socks, a soccer ball and an array of books and magazines and carries the jacket to the sink and turns on the cold water. He reaches into the cupboard for a stain stick and plastic jug of ammonia. It would be a shame, he thinks, scrubbing vigorously at the stubborn spot, if the jacket ended up being ruined.