The music was so beautiful, so sweet, that I wished Eli was here, just so I could look at him while I listened, but he’d kept his distance all day, and I found I missed him, and the music made me miss him even more. When Josie was done with the piece, she looked up from the keys and shaded her eyes a bit with her hands. Only the dais was lit, casting the rest of the chapel in shadows and she called out to me in her sunny way.
“Moses? Is that you? Welcome! Samuel, this is Moses Wright, the artist I told you about. Moses, my husband, Samuel Yates. Don’t worry, Moses, Samuel won’t bite.”
Samuel leaned toward me, stretching out his right hand, and I stood and walked toward him until I could clasp it in my own. I sat back down a few feet from him, and Josie immediately started playing something new, leaving me and Samuel to make our own small talk, which neither of us seemed especially inclined to do. But he intrigued me, maybe because he seemed so comfortable with himself, so in love with his wife, and so at odds with this town we were both connected to. When he began to speak, I welcomed it.
“Are you here to paint?” he said simply. He had the slightest hint of something exotic in his voice. A cadence or a rhythm that made me think his native tongue was Navajo. Or maybe it was just his presence. The man definitely had a vibe going. I imagined he could be damn intimidating, but people had said the same thing about me.
“No. Just to listen.”
“Good. I like the walls the way they are.” There was a hint of humor there and I smiled, acknowledging it.
“Does she do this often?” I inclined my head toward the organ.
“No. We don’t live here. My grandfather died a few weeks ago. We came back for his funeral and to help my Grandma Nettie with a few things. We’re heading back to San Diego tomorrow. Josie does this for me. I fell in love with her in this building. Sitting right here, on this bench.”
His candor surprised me.
“I fell in love with her here too,” I said softly, and his eyes snapped to mine. I shook my head. “I was ten. Don’t worry. Her music just made church a little more bearable. I had my eye on another little blonde, even back then.”
“Georgia Shepherd is a damn fine horsewoman,” he said. So Josie had told him about me and Georgia too.
“She is.”
“My grandpa was a dyed-in-the-wool old-timer. Rodeo, ranching, women-belong-in-the-kitchen kind of man. But even he had to admit she was something else. Georgia rides like my Navajo grandma. Fearless. Beautiful. Like music.” He nodded toward Josie and the music she coaxed from the keys. We sat, listening for several minutes before he spoke again.
“I’m sorry about your boy.” His tone was simple, his voice hushed, and it was all I could do not to bow my head and weep. I met his eyes instead, and nodded.
“Thank you.”
I found Samuel’s simple condolence as overwhelming as it was welcome. Eli was my boy. And I’d lost him. His loss was fresh. His loss was recent. For me, he hadn’t died two years ago. He’d died three weeks ago. For me, he’d died in the field behind Georgia’s house as she told me about that terrible day, as I’d seen it all happen. And somehow, this man had given me the validation I didn’t know I needed.
“You’ve come back to make things right.” It was a statement not a question.
“Yes.”
“You’ve come back to claim what’s yours.”
“Yes,” I agreed again, softly.
“I had to do the same. I almost missed my chance with Josie. I almost lost her. I thought I had time. Don’t make that mistake, Moses.”
I nodded, not knowing their story, but wishing I did. I listened to the music for a moment longer and then stood, unable to sit still any longer, even with the beauty of the music and the quality of the company. I needed to see Georgia. I extended my hand once more toward Samuel, and he stood too, before he took it solemnly. He was tall like I was, and our eyes were level as I shared my own condolences.
“I’m sorry about your grandfather. You will miss him. But he’s okay. You know that, don’t you?”
Samuel tipped his head, considering me. I wished I’d left that last part off. But I could feel his grandfather’s presence like a warm blanket, and I wanted to thank Samuel in the only way I knew how.
“Yes. I believe that. We are glad he’s not suffering anymore. We knew it was coming and we were able to prepare.”
My heart started to pound and my palms were sweating. I felt the anxiousness I’d felt all day flood my arms and legs as the words of Samuel and my client clanged in my head—I almost lost her, I thought I had time. We knew it was coming. I didn’t want to see the signs. All the warning signs were there.
I ran out of the church, down the stairs, not caring whether Samuel and Josie Yates now thought I was as crazy as all the rumors claimed I was. I ran across the grass and sprinted toward home, trying not to consider what all the signs actually meant.
I thought Eli was there for me. I thought he was there to bring me back to Georgia. But I was back and Eli hadn’t gone. Eli still hovered around. He still hovered around Georgia. Just like my great-grandfather had hovered around Gi in the days before she died. Just like the dead had hovered around the kids in the cancer unit. Just like that.
What if Eli had come for Georgia?
And then there was the girl. The blonde girl. All the blonde girls. All the dead blonde girls. Georgia was blonde. Even my mother, my mother had tried to warn me. All the signs . . . I’d seen them, and I hadn’t wanted to see them. I should have known! This was my life, it had always been this way.
I ran, berating myself, terrified, until I reached Georgia’s house. I flew past her little truck, up the walk, and pounded on her door like the mad man I was. When no one immediately came to the door, I ran around the side to the pair of windows I knew belonged to Georgia’s bedroom. For all I knew, they’d remodeled the interior and I was going to get an eyeful of something unwelcome, but I was desperate. I pressed my face against the window and tapped, hoping someone, anyone, would hear. I could see through the slats on the blinds. The mural I’d painted so long ago leapt out at me in dizzying color and I wondered how Georgia had ever gotten a decent night’s sleep in that room.
“Georgia!” I yelled, frantic. A small lamp on the bedside table was on but no one was in the room. I ran back around to the front yard, determined to go inside, whether the door was opened to me or not.
Georgia was staggering up the walk in a pair of running shorts and a sweatshirt, her long hair swept up in a messy ponytail.
“Moses?” The relief in her voice matched the relief in my limbs, and I crossed the grass in three strides and grabbed her, wrapping her in my arms and sinking my face in her tousled hair, not caring whether I was overreacting. I had never been so relieved to be wrong.
“I was so afraid—” we said in unison. I pulled back slightly and stared down at her.
“I was so afraid,” she began again, and I moved one arm from around her back so I could smooth the hair from her face. She had a streak of something along one cheek, and her eyes were wide and her teeth were chattering. I realized she was shaking, and her arms were clamped around me as if she was trying to keep from falling.
“Georgia?” Mauna Shepherd stood in the doorway of her home with a rolling pin gripped tightly in her hands. I wondered briefly if she was baking or if she had actually grabbed it to defend herself against the man banging on her door.
“Are you okay, Georgia?” she asked, her eyes flying between us.
“Yeah, Mom. I am. But I’m going with Moses for a while. Don’t wait up.” Georgia’s voice was steady, but her body continued to shake, and I was gripped by fear all over again. Something had happened. I hadn’t been completely wrong.
Mauna Shepherd hesitated briefly and then nodded at Georgia.
“Okay. You know what you’re doing, girl.” She turned her attention my way. “Moses?”
“Yes ma’am?”
“I’ve had all the heartache I can take. Give
me joy or go. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Good. And time would be good too. Give us all a little time. Especially Martin.”
I nodded but didn’t speak. But time was not something I was going to agree to. Time had never been my friend. And I didn’t trust her.
Georgia
I LEFT MY ARMS AROUND MOSES as we walked and he didn’t press me to speak, keeping his left arm tight around my shoulders, his lips pressing into my hair every few steps. Something had happened. Not just to me, but to Moses too, and I could not stop the tremors that kept rolling down my spine. We made it to the front porch and I suddenly couldn’t face the inside of the house. I knew Moses had painted; I was sure he’d fixed the peeling section. He’d been working on the house since he’d arrived weeks ago. But I was afraid of the face on the wall.
“It’s cold, babe,” Moses said softly when I held back, urging me to go inside, and the endearment nibbled at my control.
“Let’s just sit for a minute, okay?” I whispered, sinking down on the stoop. The wind was inconsistent, gusting up for a moment before it laid its head back down and decided to rest. It reminded me of trying to get Eli to go to sleep as a toddler. He never wanted to give up, and he would try desperately to keep moving, up until the last second, and then he’d take a little cat nap, only to revive himself enough to sit up and try to play once more. Tomorrow it would be two years since I’d lost him and the memory should hurt, but I found I loved the soft comfort of random reminders.
“I haven’t cried today,” I realized suddenly, and Moses gave in and sat down beside me, his size and heat making me curl against him and lean my head on his shoulder. He ran a big hand over my hair and left it cradled against my face. I turned my cheek and kissed his palm and felt him shudder. Then he wrapped both of his arms around me so I could bury my face in his chest and he could rest his head on my hair.
“If you keep being sweet I will break my new record,” I whispered. “And I’ll cry again.”
“Crying from sweetness doesn’t count,” he whispered back, and I felt the moisture prick my eyes, just as I’d predicted. “Gi used to say happy tears watered our gratitude. She even had a cross-stitch that said as much. I thought it was stupid.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Ah . . . so Gi was a believer in the five greats.” I pressed my lips against his throat, wanting to get as close to him as I could.
“Gi was a believer in all good things,” he rubbed his cheek softly against my hair, nuzzling me.
“Especially you.”
“Even me,” Moses said, lifting his hand to my chin. “What happened, Georgia? Why were you afraid?”
“I did something stupid. Got spooked. Ran home like a scared little girl.”
“Tell me.”
“Nah. It’s nothing. But you were scared too. Why?”
Moses shook his head, as if he didn’t quite know how to start.
“I feel like I’m missing something. Or losing something. Or maybe it’s just the fear of never having it at all. I lost Eli before I even knew he was mine. And part of me is sure that history is going to repeat itself. There are patterns, Georgia, and . . .” he stopped as if he couldn’t explain, and I could hear the note of desperation in his voice.
“This is happening, Moses,” I whispered, reminding him of what he’d said. “You and me? It’s happening.”
He smiled a little and leaned his forehead against mine. “It’s cold. Come in. Be with me for a while,” he whispered, a note of urgency in his tone that made me shiver. And it wasn’t from the chill in the air.
I wanted to. I needed to. But I couldn’t get her face out of my head.
“The girl . . . the girl you painted on the wall in there?” I said, my voice as hushed as his was. I turned my head to stare at the front door, thinking about the walls beyond. “I recognized her.”
“Molly?” he asked. I could tell I’d surprised him, baffled him even.
“No. Not Molly. The girl behind Molly.”
Moses was quiet for a minute and then he stood, pulling me up with him. Holding my hand firmly in his, he pulled me behind him into the house. I let him, my legs shaking and my heart quivering. He pulled me through the house until we stood in the center of the room, looking at the walls that were in various stages of sanding and repainting. Her face was still slightly visible. Moses looked at it soberly and then tipped his chin so he was staring down at me. His green eyes were hooded. Worried. And I drank him in, unwilling to stare too long at the girl who looked out from the wall.
“Lisa Kendrick, the girl who cleaned my house, told me her name is Sylvie. Her cousin,” Moses said. “She apparently disappeared the summer before I came to live with Gigi. She wasn’t from around here, though. Lisa said she lived in Gunnison, I think.”
I nodded, my heart sinking. “I didn’t know her name, but . . . I remember her. She was in a therapy class my parents taught and then she stopped coming. I heard my parents talking about it, but I didn’t realize it was because something happened to her. There’s a 90 day program in Richfield for kids with substance abuse problems. She was one of those kids. I thought she looked familiar when I saw her face on the wall the day I came to get my photo album. And it bothered me.”
Moses stiffened as if he knew I was gearing up for something else.
“I remembered your paintings at the old mill. I run by there all the time. You painted her there too, Moses. The paintings are all still there,” I finished in a rush, and watched as his eyes widened. He looked past me, as if he was trying to pull old details from the recesses of his brain.
“I didn’t even know the owner of the mill. Gi set the job up for me, arranged it all. And I just showed up and got paid, although I didn’t actually get paid, come to think of it.” He shrugged. “I meant to paint over the mural. I told myself I would. But . . . time ran out on me, I guess.” The thought seemed to make him anxious, and he frowned at me. “I can’t believe they’re still there. And I can’t believe you went inside, all alone, in the dark.”
“I didn’t think it through. And it just kept nagging at me, you know? I thought the girl looked familiar. But I didn’t know if it was because she was just a cute blonde like all the other girls have been.”
“They’ve all been blonde?” Moses asked, but it sounded like he was seeking confirmation more than information.
“As far as I know. Yes.”
“How many have there been?” Moses breathed, stunned. “I only drew three.”
He’d drawn more than that . . . but the other girls didn’t have faces.
“Mom and Dad were talking with Sheriff Dawson last July when the girl from Payson went missing. All told, there’s been quite a few. Eight or nine. And that’s over the last ten or twelve years. I don’t know before that, and Sheriff Dawson seemed to think there could be more outside of Utah.”
“And they think they are all connected?” Moses sounded resigned, like he knew what I was going to say.
“All blonde. All around the same age. All missing from small Utah towns. All disappeared during a two week span in July.”
“You’re blonde,” Moses said grimly. Quietly.
I waited for him to continue. His lips were drawn into a hard line, and his eyes were glued to mine.
“Someone tried to take you, Georgia. That summer. July. Someone tried to take you. I think that person ran right past me. He bumped into me, Georgia. Your grandfather was the reason I came back to find you. I saw him standing on the side of the road. And he showed you falling. So I went back. And I saw him at the fairgrounds, just like I’d seen him in the barn and in the corner of your room while I painted.”
“He was in the corner of my room?” I squealed in alarm.
“He showed me what to paint. The images on your bedroom walls are the way he saw the story. Haven’t you ever noticed the man who becomes a horse resembles your grandpa? He saw himself in the story, the way we all see ourselves in the characters
we love. It was his way of watching over you. And I liked the idea. He had watched over you before.”
I stared at him, oddly touched and more than a little freaked out. I couldn’t decide what emotion to go with when I suddenly remembered what Moses had said about Tag being Molly Taggert’s brother. It was so bizarre, that connection, that I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten about it.
“Molly Taggert?” I prompted.
“Molly, the girl named Sylvie, and you! You fit the profile, Georgia,” Moses stood abruptly and began to pace. “I got scared tonight. It all started coming together! I’m seeing her—Sylvie—I’ve seen her twice now. She won’t let me cover her damn face! I’ve sanded that wall three times and it will be good for two or three days and then the paint puckers right there over her face! And I’m guessing it’s because of Lisa. The thing is . . . Lisa didn’t live here when I did. I didn’t know Lisa. So I had no reason to paint Sylvie. I had no reason to paint Molly either, for that matter. I didn’t meet Tag until after I left Levan! And I have no idea who the other girl is. Or was!” Moses was ranting and pacing, and my head was spinning.
“So what do you think it means?” I asked. He stopped pacing and scrubbed his hands over the stubble on his skull. I imagined it was soothing and wished I could hold him close and do the same, but he wouldn’t hold still.
“The only thing I can think of is that I came in contact with the person who killed them. The connection is to the killer. Not to their family members. Their family members just bring them back . . . so to speak,” Moses mused, and he looked at me desperately. “And that person wanted you.”
“Maybe . . .”
Moses shook his head adamantly. “No. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”
“Or maybe it was just Terrence Anderson,” I finished flatly. Time for the rest of the story.
Moses stopped pacing and eyed me warily.
“I was at the mill tonight, back in the corner, looking at your paintings, feeling more than a little freaked out when I realized I knew that girl, when I heard the door open. The door I’d just come through. I squatted down, turned off my flashlights, and crawled along the wall toward the entrance, thinking I could kind of circle around.” I looked down at my hands and realized how filthy they were. My knees too. In the soft lamplight, my legs looked like Eli’s used to look every single night when I’d put him in the tub.