Write to Life blog

I extracted myself from the Lazy Boy and stood beside Lillian’s bed, wishing she was alert and healed. I needed her by my side, no matter what Jane Fordham was about to say.

My cell vibrated. Again, it was Kyla. She suggested we meet in the cafeteria instead of the small waiting room outside ICU. I agreed, kissed Lillian on the cheek, and walked outside her room, nodding to Stella Newsome sitting at the nurses’ station.

***

Kyla was paying the cashier for coffee when I entered the cafeteria. I was confident sis would buy me a cup, so I turned right to the open table next to the windows along the outside wall. Naturally, I chose the best seat, the one that presented a full view of the entire dining room. It was a habit that was hard to break.

I watched Jane as she paid the cashier. She was not wearing her red, close-cropped wig. Her hair was gray, bordering on white. I wondered if she kept her natural hair cut short or if she still suffered from the effects of two rounds of chemo, she’d endured a few years ago.

I pondered Lillian, and Dr. Mork’s encouraging statement while staring at the saltshaker, waiting for Kyla and Jane to reach our table. Instead of sitting, Kyla handed me a large coffee and announced she was heading to the ICU. Our eyes met, and she gave me a slight nod of encouragement. Or, it might have been a “brother, you’re on your own” look.

Jane sat in the chair to my right and offered me one of two bran muffins she’d bought. I declined, and she asked about Lillian. I shared Dr. Mork’s words and rejected any temptation to drift deeper into small talk. Jane thanked me for my willingness to meet.

I took this as an open gate to race forward. I couldn’t suppress my legal training and its natural quest for logical reasoning. “Kyla tells me you want to help.” I took my second sip of coffee. It was still too hot for my liking. I removed the lid and let the steam escape.

“I do, and I know you’re skeptical. As you should be.” I glanced at Jane as she stared at her coffee. She, unlike Kyla and Lillian, wasn’t aging well. There were lively crow’s feet engulfing both eyes, and gravity was doing its thing at both corners of her mouth.

“It might have something to do with the lies you told me when we talked on the phone.”

“I was just trying to protect you.” I raised my eyebrows and stared at Jane. Her statement made little sense. “I know that sounds crazy, but, in one sense, telling you Rachel had an abortion seemed easier to swallow than dealing with her child, Elita.” I noted Jane mentioned nothing about Kyle.

Kyla had told me she admitted to Jane that Lillian and I had gone prowling in her house and had seen Jane’s war-room, as sis labeled it. “I prefer the truth, no matter how painful.” This sounded righteous to me. And it was probably false. I suspect there are plenty of potential scenarios where the truth would be worse.

It was like Jane showed up. Rachel had said more than once over the years that Jane was the smartest person she’d ever met. I’d never given it much thought, or credence. The woman two feet from me sat straighter in her chair and angled her body to square her shoulders directly at me. Symbolically, as though she was penetrating my skull, she poured her piercing green eyes into mine. Her body language said she was ready to debate, or duel if need be. “Let’s be brutally honest. What you found in my study shocked you. I’m sure I could have conducted myself more honorably concerning Rachel’s child and many other things, but I’m here now, with more secrets to share, if you can forget the past and move forward.”

“That’s fine with me, but I have two conditions. One, you acknowledge and agree with my goals. By the way, they are the same as Lillian’s, Kent’s, and Mrs. Bennett’s. And Kyla’s, to be thorough. Second, you must earn my trust. I need more than words. I need you to show by your actions that you are trustworthy.” My coffee was better now.

Jane must have eyes on the side of her head. She caught sight of Stella Newsome as she entered the cafeteria. The nurse didn’t look our way. “I’ll agree, but why don’t you lay out the goals. I feel I know what you’re after, but I want to be crystal clear about what I’m agreeing to.”

“That’s fair. The top priority is to see that Kyle gets his long overdue justice. A close second would be justice for the family of Sharon Teague. I assume you are familiar with this case. Actually, it’s a few weeks or months older than Kyle’s.”

Jane didn’t answer my question. “Any other goals?”

“One, maybe two more. The first concerns the Hunt House fire. The arsonist needs to be convicted, not to belittle the death of Eric Snyder and his need for justice. From your conversation with Kyla, you know that Lillian and I believe Ray Archer is the mastermind behind the fire.” I paused for Jane to ponder.

She stared again at Stella, who was now dealing with the cashier. Jane turned her head back to me. “You said there might be another goal.”

“It’s now public knowledge Billy and Buddy James are missing. Today’s Sand Mountain Reporter has a lengthy article about them, including their friendship with Eric Snyder, and their last known whereabouts. The paper says they are people of interest concerning the Hunt House fire. To me, its apparent Ray had a motive to get rid of the twin brothers.”

Jane finished her first muffin and wadded up the paper wrapping. “That’s a bunch of goals, so why don’t you ask whatever questions you have. I’ll answer to the best of my knowledge and ability.”

“Before we go there, let’s revisit our phone conversation. I need truthful answers to the two questions I asked. Let’s start with the night Kyle disappeared.”

Before I could complete my question, Jane interrupted, “Kyle was still in the truck when Ray dropped me off at home.”

“I thought so, but let’s come back to that night a little later. Now, tell me the truth about Rachel’s abortion.” I was sure I knew the answer, since I’d seen the photo of Rachel holding a newborn in a Hong Kong hospital, but I wanted to make sure I wasn’t missing something, like another pregnancy or another opportunity for an abortion.

“Rachel never had an abortion. You saw the picture. She lied to Ray about having one before she and her family left for China in the tenth grade.”

“And she was pregnant just the one time?”

Jane seemed semi-pissed that I’d ask such a question. “Well, of course.”

“And Ray was the father, Elita’s father?”

“Yes. Rachel never had sex with anyone but Ray.” I wanted to ask how she could know this but opted to keep my question to myself. Jane picked at her second muffin and continued, staring at me again with those piercing green eyes. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I promise, from now on, I’ll be truthful, no matter how difficult or embarrassing your questions.”

Dr. Mork entered the cafeteria and walked toward Jane and me. Two tables before he reached us, he sat with an older couple, clutched their hands, lowered his head, and prayed. Or so it seemed. “Thanks. Now, one other question before we discuss the goals. Do you know who broke into my house in New Haven and stole Rachel’s diaries?”

Without hesitation, Jane said, “Ray was the snake’s head, but a friend, associate, whatever, of Ted King performed the slithering. He did it as a favor to Ray.” I liked Jane’s metaphor and she sounded believable. But I wanted to follow-up, anyway.

“How do you know this?”

Jane seemed distracted by Dr. Mork’s tuned-up volume. His prayer was intense. She turned back to me. “I believe in prayer but there’s a time and place, and it’s not here.”

I didn’t take the bait, if that’s what it was.

“Pillow talk. Well, it plays a minor role, but mostly from my friend Vanessa Clausen.” Jane used her second muffin as a pause button. “Let’s not go down that rat hole right now or we’ll be here till lunch. For now, just know that Vanessa’s husband, Barry, does some odd jobs for Ted King.”

Again, I refrained from getting sidetracked, although it was tempting. Why in hell would Barry help Ray, the man who’d banged his wife since early high school? I could only assume Barry wasn’t privy to that little detail. “So, what did Ray do with Rachel’s diaries?”

“He gave them to me. Ray doesn’t have the patience to read.”

“Did you?”

Jane raised her eyebrows and stared my way. “Yes, I have the patience and yes, I read them. Now, they’re locked inside Ray’s office. Along with my diaries and all the wall decor you saw while snooping around inside my house.”

“I assume this means you told Ray about Lillian and me discovering your decorated walls?”

“I did.” I stared straight at her and drummed my fingers on the table, hoping Jane would feel the need to describe her and Ray’s relationship. Jane would obviously know that Lillian and I had seen her and Ray’s high school dance photo.

Thankfully, she was perceptive. “Therefore, trust me. I’m willing to give up a lot to help you and Lillian. You’ve probably already figured out that I’ve been in love with Ray since high school. Thanks to Rachel.”

“Because she persuaded Ray to take you to the Valentine’s Dance?” It was like Jane, and I were playing chess, talking about our future moves before revealing our next one.

Two could play this game. “You fell for Ray when Rachel moved away, but to him it was just business.” I paused as she considered her next move. “Sorry to be so blunt, but you got what you wanted and so did he. It just wasn’t the same thing.”

Jane shook her head sideways and rolled her eyes. “You’re too smart for your own good.” Without skipping a beat, she again stood. “Want some more coffee?”

I declined. After she returned and sat, I didn’t hesitate to be bold, and knife edged. “You’ve been living a lie for physical intimacy?” I could be bolder. “In exchange for sex, you protected Ray?”

Jane’s face turned red, but she plowed ahead, undaunted. “Those days are over. That train has left the station. He’s headed to destruction and I’m afraid.” Snakes and trains, Jane liked her metaphors.

“Please explain.”

“You may not want to hear this, but I have more than one motive to help. Ray is in eliminate mode, and no one knows more than me. He’ll silence me, anyone who has the potential of exposing him.”

“Like Billy and Buddy?” I had no actual evidence of my accusation, but my education and experience fed my drive. It seemed only logical that Ray orchestrated their disappearance. Buddy had helped Ray burn the Hunt House. Buddy could cut a deal with the DA and leave Ray hanging. Now, I’d bet he’s dead. Ray had eliminated Buddy, maybe Billy too, just like he’d eliminated Kyle fifty years ago.

“Yes. Do you want to get into that now, or stick to the diaries and my wall decor?” Jane knew how to keep a conversation on track.

“We can come back to the diaries. Did Ray kill Billy and Buddy?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I’m highly suspicious.”

“Why?”

Jane told me how she’d disabled Ray’s ankle monitor, providing details I didn’t need to know. That was last Saturday. Later, she’d gone to visit Rosa and dropped by The Shack for a takeout order before heading home. There, inside the restaurant, she’d seen Ray and waited in her car. After two hours, she’d almost given up, but Ray and Ted King exited around 9:30, with both leaving in separate vehicles. Jane had followed Ray. He had driven to Dogwood Trail in a steadily increasing rain. Jane had hidden her car in a grove of trees and again waited on Ray. She knew he’d eventually have to exit the one-way road. Around 11:30, a pickup truck turned right onto Dogwood Trail. After another long wait, Ray, in his Suburban, approached the stop sign at the intersection of Dogwood Trail and Cox Gap Road, but instead of turning left to Hwy. 431, he turned right. What was stranger still was that he was pulling a flatbed trailer loaded with the same pickup that she had seen earlier. Jane had followed Ray all the way down the mountain to Attalla, where he proceeded south on I-59. After reaching the Ashville exit, Jane had returned home, not knowing where Ray was heading.

Sunday, Jane had conducted research and determined that Buddy owned a blue Chevrolet pickup, the same one she’d seen atop Ray’s flatbed trailer traveling south on Interstate 59.

Just as I was midway asking Jane if Ray had said anything about the Hunt House fire, she jumped up and literally ran to catch up with Stella exiting the cafeteria. It was five minutes before she returned.

“One other thought I had about last Saturday night. Earlier that afternoon, at the Lodge, I was sitting at his desk doing some final research on disabling his ankle monitor.”

I couldn’t resist interjecting, “trading favors.”

Jane shook her head and mouthed, “don’t go there, lurid details won’t get us anywhere.” I credited my nonsensical statement to my lethargy.

“Sorry, that was uncalled for and I’m thankful for your willingness to be open.”

“Next to Ray’s computer was a real estate flier advertising the Dogwood Trail farm for sale. You know his father is the legal owner?”

“I’ve heard that.”

“Anyway, I made a comment, something like, ‘I didn’t know you were selling your farm.’ Ray’s response seemed normal at the time, and I didn’t give it any thought. Until later that night.”

“What did he say?”

“I’m not. I’m trying to buy it. That was until my asshole father refused to sell it to me, and now he’s received an offer.” Jane fiddled with her iPhone and exchanged a quick text with someone. “This got me to thinking. Ray walked out of his office and back into his bedroom, but I heard him mumble. ‘I wish the weather would clear up. I’ve got stuff I need to move.’”

I couldn’t help but recall what Rachel had written in one of her diaries, that Ray had something to hide. “What were your thoughts?”

“That the sixty acres would have been a safe and private place to dispose of Sharon Teague’s body.”

“Or Kyle Bennett’s.” I added. Even though Rachel had written almost this exact thing, I guess I didn’t believe her. Especially after discovering her diary inside the wall at the Hunt House. The two supposedly covered the same time period but were anything but consistent.

Jane looked me straight in the eye and shook her head sideways. “No, I’m pretty sure Kyle’s not there.”

“Why do you say that?”

“That’s too obvious. Rachel was my dear friend, but she had her secrets. She pointed the finger at Ray, probably wrote that shit in her diaries.”

“Maybe you don’t see your bias. You favored and protected Ray.”

“Ray swore he had nothing to do with Kyle’s disappearance. Rachel swore she had nothing to do with Sharon Teague’s disappearance. Frankly, I don’t know the truth, but I’m certain they both could play games and they both kept secrets.”

It was a good time to ask. “So, did either of them ever confess to you? I mean, did Ray confess to killing Sharon or Kyle?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“What about Rachel, did she confess to any crime?”

Let me put it this way. Ray accused Rachel, and she accused Ray.”

“Of what?”

“Rachel of what happened to Sharon, and Ray for what happened to Kyle.”

“Let me see if I’m understanding. You’re saying Rachel accused Ray of killing Kyle, and Ray accused Rachel of killing Sharon Teague?”

“Pretty much, other than they both believed the other had help.”

“Help from who?”

“I don’t know, but I have my suspicions.” My iPhone rang before Jane completed her statement. It was Kyla.

“Hey sis, how’s Lillian?”

What I heard felt like I was experiencing a miracle. “Get up here, Lillian just woke up.”

Jane must have noticed the shock rolling across my face like a massive wave. “What is it?”

I stood and grabbed my empty coffee cup. “Come on, Lillian’s back with us.”

The two of us weaved our way around tables, tossed our garbage in the can by the exit, and raced to the elevators that led to the ICU. All I heard Jane say as my mind alternated between happiness and worry that Lillian might have suffered brain damage was the repeated statement that I needed to talk with Jackie and Jade Frasier.

I spent Tuesday night and all day yesterday with Lillian. It was now early Thursday, and the first light of morning was filtering in through the closed window blinds. Dr. Mork walked in two hours before his usual rounds. After a ‘good morning’ and a few minutes reading Lillian’s chart, observing her breathing, and registering the readings from the many connected monitors, he lifted her eyelids and focused a small light on each of her pupils. According to the doctor and head ICU nurse, Stella Newsome, who accompanied him, Lillian was doing great other than being in a coma. Her vital signs were good. She simply needed to wake up. After his examination, Dr. Mork head-motioned the nurse to leave, and sat beside me in the extra chair. He expressed his firm belief Lillian would exit her coma in the next few days. When I asked why he thought this, he surprised me. He and his staff were praying for Lillian and God had assured him she was going to be okay.

To his credit, he added a factual basis: the lack of swelling and bleeding, and near-perfect electrical activity. He emphasized he had seen nothing in Lillian’s recent electroencephalogram (EEG) that would lead him to a troubling diagnosis, things like seizures, epilepsy, head injuries, dizziness, headaches, brain tumors, and sleeping problems. I asked him several nonmedical questions and offered head-nodding to his responses.

It was troublesome to hear a medical doctor, especially one board certified in both psychiatry and neurology, ground his professional opinion, in whole or in part, on something as subjective as prayer and God. Regardless of Dr. Mork’s insane beliefs and sane thinking, I hoped he was right. I missed the intimacy Lillian and I shared and couldn’t imagine my life without her.

After he left, I stood by Lillian, held her right hand, and shared in a soft whisper the hypothesis that had been forming inside my head ever since leaving Ms. Bennett’s room on Tuesday. Rachel had not accidentally found Sharon Teague’s dog tag. Ray had given it to her for safekeeping, like he had the pistol he used to kill Kyle. I suspected Rachel had knowledge of what Ray had done to the Albertville cheerleader. Possibly, Rachel assisted in her disappearance and presumed death, like I suspected she had with Kyle.

 I had just kissed Lillian’s forehead and vocalized an ‘I love you,’ when nurse Newsome reappeared. At first, she didn’t say a word, but the look on her face was sympathetic, a slight smile with soft, non-staring eyes. She walked to Lillian’s bed, opposite from where I stood. She finally spoke. “Ray Archer came last night. It was early this morning, about 2:00.”

I released Lillian’s hand after Ms. Newsome noticed. “What did he want?”

“Lee, can I call you Lee?”

“Sure, that’s my name.” My tone carried with it a tinge of smart ass. I sensed Rachel telling me, once again, ‘Honey, it’s not always what you say, but how you say it.’

“Lee, working in ICU is great training for personal observations and what they mean. I know love when I see it.”

“Are you speaking of Ray?” The nurse smiled as though my question was funny. “I’m talking about a different type of love. Ray, according to my friend Jane Fordham, loves Lillian for the benefits she provides, things like status and respectability. Oh, maybe sex on demand, but that’s not what I see in you. Lillian isn’t an object of desire. She’s your heartbeat.”

“Okay.” I paused, hoping someone would summon Nurse Newsome away. This conversation was too, well, personal.

“By the way, in response to your question, Ray asked how Lillian was doing. It might be the rumors, but I didn’t want him alone with Lillian, even if you were in the same room.”

“Why? What rumors are you speaking of?” I felt like a stranger in my hometown.

“Ray has always been a bully and is used to getting his own way. You are taking away the principal thing that gives him respectability.”

We spent another ten minutes talking. Mostly, I listened. ICU nurse Stella Newsome seemed to have a monitor connected to the entire town of Boaz. She was aware of Ray’s trouble concerning the Hunt House fire and was sympathetic to the rumor it involved him in the disappearance of Billy and Buddy James.

The moment she returned her focus to me personally, declaring her sorrow over Rachel’s death, a gruff-voiced woman paged Nurse Newsome to Room 106. Our conversation was over. Thank goodness.

I returned to the Lazy Boy and explored the Internet for over an hour searching for an appropriate gift for the two law school colleagues saving my butt during upcoming exams.

A few minutes before 8:00 PM, my iPhone vibrated. It was a text from Kyla. She and Jane had just parked and were headed inside. I both dreaded and looked forward to my second meeting with Rachel’s best friend. Yesterday, I was eager to meet and talk but Jane had some all-day thing at First Baptist Church of Christ. Today, I was reluctant. Jane’s secrecy had me on high alert, especially given what Lillian and I had found inside her house.

I’d let Kyla convince me to hear Jane out. Somehow Jane persuaded my normally skeptical sister she was serious about joining our team and seeing that Ray receives justice.

I kissed Lillian on the cheek and whispered in her ear that I needed her to wake up. I then left the hospital and headed to Bridgewood Gardens. This time, I was paying a visit to Dorothy Bennett, Kent and Kyle’s mom.

While driving, I called Kent. Fortunately, he picked up the first ring. I thanked him for the email and asked if he minded me visiting his mother. He was almost offended when I asked. The four of us, Kent, Kyle, Ms. Bennett, and myself, had always had a great relationship. During the years growing up, especially before Kyle disappeared, it was like having two families.

Without question or prompting, Kent consumed the remaining fifteen minutes of my drive, sharing his hypothesis on what had happened to his twin brother. Kent believed Ray Archer had killed both Sharon Teague and Kyle. Sharon, to prevent her from disclosing her pregnancy and rape by Ray, thus destroying his relationship with Rachel, and exposing him to criminal prosecution. As to Kyle, to prevent him from disclosing anything about Sharon to the police, and secondarily, to eliminate him from interfering with Ray’s relationship with Rachel.

When I turned into Bridgewood Gardens’ parking lot, Kent’s confident voice disintegrated. His next words were whispered and laced with sadness. I could almost see him shaking his head sideways. “My problem, our problem, shit, every decent person’s problem, is we have no credible evidence. Kyle and Sharon will never enjoy a minute of justice.”

As I walked to the main entrance, I tried to give Kent hope. Before our call ended, I encouraged him not to give up. That many times in cold cases, some small and seemingly insignificant morsel was discovered and later proved key to solving the case.

Inside, I signed the guest register and walked to Room 114. Like Rosa on Sunday, Dorothy invited me in after one knock,

She stood, albeit slowly, when she saw me enter. She held out both arms. I crossed the intervening space, kissed her cheek, and gave her a big hug. She seemed in deep thought as she continued our embrace. Finally, she said, “see anybody you know?”

I had already spotted the many photos chronologically arranged beneath glass in an oversized picture frame hung on the wall behind Dorothy’s chair. “Oh boy, those trigger mixed emotions, bitter-sweet.”

After we untangled, she insisted I step around her Lazy Boy and inspect Kyle’s progressive growth, from first to tenth grade. Dorothy had chosen two photos per year: one from the school annual, and the other a random shot from many scenes, including several that Mom had taken during Kyle’s frequent visits to Harding Hillside. At the bottom right corner of the fourth row was one Dorothy had taken at the creek beside their house on King Street. It was a snapshot of Kent, Kyle, and me, each clothed only in a bathing suit. The sun reflected off the water behind us. It was almost as though we were standing in the bright shadow of the supernatural. I eased my way around Dorothy’s recliner and fixed my eyes inches from the glass. I couldn’t help but notice all three of us were wearing dog tags, those worrisome metal identification necklaces that practically became an additional appendage. It would have been a cardinal sin to remove them since you never knew when you’d die in a nuclear holocaust.

“Do you still have yours?” At first, I guessed Dorothy was asking about those god-awful pictures taken at the beginning of each school year. Before I could respond, she clarified her question. “Your dog tags?”

“This probably sounds strange, but I have them, along with every report card I ever received. They are in a lockbox Dad gave me when I was five years old.” I returned to the middle of the room and Dorothy motioned me to a couch. I couldn’t help but wonder if the dark green Army surplus container was still on a shelf in the garage or whether it had disappeared during the recent burglary.

Dorothy eased into her Lazy Boy and gave me a long stare. Her white hair and the dark circles under her eyes revealed the half-century mental strain she’d endured since losing her youngest son. “What I would give to see my baby sitting beside you today.” She reached for a Kleenex from the nearby end table and daubed her face high on each cheekbone. “Every morning before I sit, I look at Kyle’s tenth grade class photo and then at the three of you beside the creek. It never fails. I always think about Kyle’s dog tag and how that will be the first way police will identify him. I hope and pray I’ll hold that little metal tag in my hand before I die.”

I felt the need to apologize once again for my failure to help my dearest friend. “Mom.” The word came so naturally. “Mom, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for Kyle when he needed me.”

Quickly, soothingly, Dorothy responded. “Oh honey, you have no reason to apologize. How could you have known something bad was about to happen?”

An image of Kyle, upstairs with Lillian and me at Fred Kings, came to mind. “Since we’re talking about dog tags, I remember Kyle fiddling with his as we watched the parade that night. You know that was a good sign something was bothering him.”

“I do. Kyle was too curious for his own good and couldn’t conceal his excitement.” Her response seemed a little off key, but I let it go. Dorothy paused, once again using the Kleenex to catch her tears. “I’m the one to be blamed.” I was even more confused.

“Why do you say that?”

“I knew better than to let him go to the parade. My gut told me otherwise, but I let him go. I obviously didn’t take Kyle’s teacher seriously enough.” It surprised me Dorothy brought up a subject I’d come to discuss.

“Are you referring to Ms. Smith, Linda Smith, our tenth-grade English teacher?”

“Yes, she called. It was Wednesday or Thursday. The week of the parade. I think it was Wednesday afternoon. She was sincere and apologetic.

“Why? I mean, what was she apologizing for?” I thought I knew but needed to verify.

“She’d promised Kyle to keep secret what he’d shared with her. I could tell she was torn, but she was honest. On one side, she thought Kyle might be overreacting. For caution’s sake, she thought he might be in trouble, the type that could get him hurt.”

I moved the conversation forward. “I assume,” I caught myself. I shouldn’t do that. It might make Dorothy feel worse than she does. “I mean, did you speak to Kyle about Ms. Smith’s call?”

I caught the look, one that screamed, ‘well, of course.’ “Any good mother would.”

“Would you share that conversation with me? It might be helpful to our investigation.” I took the dive and told Dorothy what I was up to and what I had learned since returning to Boaz.

“Thanks for all you’re doing for Kyle. And me.” A knock at Dorothy’s door interrupted our conversation. The same tall and skinny young man who’d brought Rosa’s breakfast two days ago entered and delivered a banana and a small container of ice-cream.

Tad was cordial. “Can I bring you something?”

“No, but thanks for taking care of Dorothy. She’s always been my second mom.”

Dorothy continued even before Tad exited the room. “I’m sure Kyle shared only select details, but they convinced him Ray Archer had something to do with the disappearance of the Albertville cheerleader. Her name escapes me.”

“Sharon Teague.”

“Yes, that’s it.” Dorothy opened the ice cream and asked me to retrieve a metal spoon from the minimalist kitchen nestled along a wall inside the foyer. She despised the small wooden spoon Tad had brought. “What seemed to conflict with what the teacher said was Kyle’s take on Rachel. Even after I asked him whether he and Rachel had a spout, he defended her, said it caught her in a dilemma.”

“What exactly did that mean?”

“I took it to mean she, Rachel, cared for Ray but knew he was trouble. But that’s not what bothered me the most. And it’s not something Ms. Smith knew about. At least she didn’t mention it.”

I leaned back and motioned for Dorothy to continue eating her ice cream. She took another bite and set the plastic container and spoon on the end table. “That Rachel was pregnant?” I asked this question to motivate Dorothy to be completely open. I thought if I shared that I knew about my wife’s teenage pregnancy, it would be her permission slip to be factual about anything bad concerning Rachel.

“No, that’s not what I’m referring to, even though Kyle shared that fact. We’re back to dog tags.” Again, Dorothy paused. She had to have noticed my puzzled look.

“Huh?”

“I’ll probably never know the truth. Kyle, bless his loving heart, may not have known the truth himself.”

“You’ve kind of lost me.”

“Rachel had given him the Teague girl’s identification tag.” This news floored me.

“You mean her dog tag?”

“Yes. I’ll try to explain.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“She, Rachel, wanted Kyle to hide it. He said she’d found it one afternoon when she’d borrowed Ray’s truck. It was on the floorboard. I’m not sure if Kyle said where, passenger or driver’s side.” I thought there had to be more to the story, but Dorothy stopped talking, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes.

I waited thirty seconds before saying, “I may be wrong, but that seems like a made-up story. Rachel finds it in Ray’s truck?” I plowed forward. “Did Kyle offer any reason Rachel wanted him to hide Sharon’s dog tag?”

“Not really. He left me believing it could prove important, but not now.” I could never have guessed what Dorothy would say next. “And not for the next fifty-plus years and I’m still counting.” Again, I was confused. Dorothy was an expert at reading my mind. “I see you thinking, ‘what happened to Sharon’s dog tag?’”

That wasn’t what I was thinking. Instead, I was trying to figure out what exactly Dorothy was counting. “That is an excellent question. Do you know the answer?”

“It’s in my jewelry box.” Dorothy pointed to the door to my right, the one I assumed led to her bedroom. “I found it in a shoebox at the back of Kyle and Kent’s closet a month after Kyle disappeared.”

I uncrossed my legs and sat along the edge of the couch. I hoped she’d sense I wanted to see the mystery dog tag. Instead, she reached for her ice-cream and spoon. I asked another question that was burning a hole in my mind. “Not to be judgmental, but why didn’t you report this to the police?” The moment I finished my statement, I realized my assumption. “Sorry, awful question.”

“It’s not. There are two reasons for my secrecy. By the time I found Sharon’s dog tag, the police had already arrested Nick Pearson. My other reason is the most important. I had promised Kyle not to tell anyone unless he said it was okay. Since he never did, I kept quiet.” Dorothy again leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Kyle, my baby, please forgive me for breaking my promise.”

I wasn’t sure if I’d ever been so sad. My despair seemed equal to that feeling when I’d found Rachel hanging from the basement beam. I stood and walked two steps to Dorothy. After lowering myself to one knee, I took her hands in mine and poured my empathy into her eyes. “Kyle was so blessed to have you as his mother. You kept your promise and now, I believe you are hearing him say you did the right thing in telling me. You want justice for your son. So do I.”

She stared at me for a good long time, saying nothing. Finally, she released my hands and shooed me backwards. “Stop it. You’re going to make me cry,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes.

The two of us spent the next fifteen minutes standing beside her bed with an open jewelry box along the edge. She insisted I take Sharon’s dog tag, but it just didn’t feel right, so I refused. But I snapped a picture with my cell phone’s camera and with little thought asked, “Does Kent know about this?”

Unsurprisingly and promptly, Dorothy responded, “No. Remember, I promised Kyle, I’d keep it a secret.”

We exchanged another long hug before I departed.