Disembodied Bones (19 page)

Voices began to interrupt Gideon’s thoughts.
The people waiting and watching in the shade of the trees were
freely speculating as to the police force’s activities. “What is
going on over there?” “I dunno. Something about a missing kid. My
cousin said a kid was found murdered in the creek.” “Some bastard!
He should be hung up by his balls.” “What makes you think it’s a
guy who did it? Remember Susan Smith and Andrea Yates, huh?” “Hung
up by something that hurts them bad, anyway.”

Leonie was sitting on a picnic table, holding
something the sheriff had given her and then she dropped it and if
it were possible she had turned even paler than she had been
before. Gideon straightened up, his neck craning to see her
better.

Unbeknownst to the people congregating behind
Gideon, he knew they had found the little girl. Olga was her name
and she was her mother’s pride and joy. The same black hair as her
mother and as Leonie’s, but with the delicately brown skin that was
the exact color of a newborn fawn. Olga was full of life, playing
and laughing like the six year old she was. However, she was
visibly cuddled up in her mother’s lap, safe and unharmed for all
intents.

A ferocious frown crossed Gideon’s face. A
young man standing near him saw it and took a step back, even if it
meant standing in the last rays of the sun’s light and sweating
like a pig. Then Gideon turned and walked swiftly away.

•

“You found that note on Olga?” Leonie said.
It wasn’t exactly a question. The words had been simple. A piece of
standard sized, white paper folded to expose the plain five lines
of text, which had been printed by computer in a common font:

-

Listen closely, I’m hard to understand.

I am as elusive as is a handful of sand.

Even if you perceive me, you know me not,

Before you can tell me, what I have forgot.

What am I?

“It was in the pocket of her jeans,” Scott
said softly. He put the plastic bag back into his own pocket,
carefully tucking it away so it wouldn’t fall out. “Do you know
what it means?”

“It’s a riddle, I said,” Leonie snapped. “I’m
hard to understand. Elusive as sand. Even if you perceive me, you
don’t know me. And what else? Before you can tell me, what I have
forgotten. So just what the hell am I?”

“An annoying female?” Scott snapped back, not
getting what Leonie was saying to him.

“God and Jesus Christ help me!” Leonie swore,
almost immediately restraining the impulse to cross her breast
because she used the Lord’s name in vain. She saw Dacey’s head rise
up and swivel toward her, her eyes concerned. Leonie took a deep
breath. “A riddle is hard to understand. A riddle is as elusive as
sand. A riddle forgets what it is because it always asks: What am
I? Or something like that. Who am I? What is it? In this case the
answer is a riddle. It’s a riddle about a riddle.”

“A riddle,” Scott echoed hollowly. “And you
just happen to know the answer to it?”

Leonie had gone back to studying the
scribbling on the top of the picnic table again when he asked his
question in a silky tone of voice. She brought her head up slowly
and said sarcastically, “You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t know.”

“Was she molested?” Leonie’s tone was
flat.

“The paramedics don’t think so. She said
there was a man with a mask on his face who grabbed her as she
passed the alleyway. No one saw him except her. He bundled her up,
covered her head and face with something that made her dizzy, and
then brought her here.”

“Thank God for that,” she muttered. Then,
Leonie looked toward the birthday party on the east side of the
park. “What about them? They had to see something. You can’t just
lift a child out of a car and carry her into the woods?”

Scott’s eyes flickered in the same direction.
“The officers are asking now. But there are dirt roads that lead
into the back of the park. Someone who knows this town might have
used those and carried her in that way so it wouldn’t be visible to
a crowd on a Saturday afternoon.”

“Don’t you think that this whole thing stinks
to high heaven, Scott?”

“It stinks all right,” he said emphatically.
His eyes bored into hers. “Why would a pedophile leave a little
girl tied up in a public park?”

“He wouldn’t,” Leonie whispered, inevitably
coming to the same conclusion that he had some time before. A long
distance endorsement from a Shreveport police officer wouldn’t help
her, even though Roosevelt was now the deputy chief of police.
Scott had been present when he’d seen her apparently fail with Jay
Harkenrider and he was willing to judge her on that account alone.
He was one hundred percent positive that there was no such thing as
psychics. “Are you going to arrest me?”

“No,” he said after a lengthy pause. “I don’t
think so. I don’t think I can, legally anyway. Not unless the
mystery man and you can be tied together in some fashion. You’ll
pardon the pun. I don’t think Dacey would stand for it, either. She
has utter faith in you. She thinks you saved her little girl from
certain death.”

Leonie didn’t say anything. Scott believed
that Leonie was guilty of something but he didn’t know what. His
idea was that she was seeking publicity of a twisted sort.
Perhaps for herself? Perhaps for the Gingerbread House? It
didn’t matter
. The plan was a simple one; Leonie was bartering
on her recognizable history with finding a few missing children.
She had found Douglas Trent and it had made both children as
infamous as Monroe Whitechapel for a time. Why not set up a false
kidnapping and who better than her partner’s daughter?

Scott looked over his shoulder at Dacey. But
Dacey Rojas wouldn’t have gone along with that. He’d known Dacey
much longer than Leonie Simoneaud. Dacey had been an owner of
another Buffalo Creek antiques mall before going into partnership
with Leonie and a member of the business association for as long as
she’d lived in the town. He’d asked Dacey out on dates a dozen
times but she’d refused just as many times, politely saying she had
to devote herself to her daughter and her business, in that order.
He had a feeling he was wearing her down.

“Fine, then,” Leonie said. “Unless you want
to throw me in the pokey, I’m leaving.”

“You’re not going to talk to the press?”
Scott asked skeptically.

Leonie’s eyes narrowed. She climbed off the
picnic table. “No. I’m not talking to the press. I don’t want to
talk to you, either, but I’ll do you one better. If you want to set
up a polygraph test for me, then I’ll take it. You can even search
my house, as long as you promise not to bother Vinegar Tom.” Then
she haughtily tossed her black mane of hair over her shoulder and
strode over to Dacey and Olga.

Scott stared after her and closed his mouth
when he realized it was gaping. Roosevelt Hemstreet had told him
over the phone that the Shreveport Police Department had vigorously
investigated any link between Leonie Simoneaud and Monroe
Whitechapel, looking into her family members and any other
association that might have enabled her to have the information she
professed to come by psychically. They had found nothing. Roosevelt
had concluded over the phone that while in all of his years on the
job he had worked with a dozen so-called psychics, that Leonie
Simoneaud was the only one he considered to be the real thing.

Dacey rose up, awkwardly carrying her child
in her arms and somehow managed to open her arms up to enfold her
friend in them, while still attached to Olga. She hugged Leonie
enthusiastically while she glared daggers over her friend’s
shoulder at Scott.

Scott rolled his eyes and wondered if he
would ever get Dacey Rojas to trust him enough to date now. It sure
as hell didn’t seem likely if he were the one who was going to be
forced to put her best friend and partner into jail for some kind
of fraudulent act. Life is never easy.

•

“Antonio is waiting to give us a ride back to
the store,” said Dacey, pulling away from Leonie. Leonie was
stroking Olga’s head with a soft hand, her face as innocent as a
child as she studied Dacey’s only daughter. “Then we’re off to the
pediatrician to check on my little girl here. The doctor said he’d
wait in the clinic for us.”

Antonio Fernandez was Dacey’s brother. Leonie
finally turned her head and saw the Hispanic man standing nearby,
anger ruining his face. She understood immediately that it was not
directed at her, but at the anonymous villain who had snatched his
niece. He was in his early forties and married with three children
of his own.

The Fernandez family was fiercely protective
of their own, but they were also open to the unusual. Dacey’s
mother, Sofia, regularly visited a
curandero
, a Mexican
healer, to cure her various ailments, most importantly, chronic
arthritis in her knees and feet. Faith healing went a long way with
the Fernandez’s, one generation away from Mexico; they reminded her
of the family. There were things that could not be explained by man
nor nature. The Fernandez’s and the family both embraced the
spiritual and the unnatural. The inexplicable was simply another
perspective that was to be incorporated into everyday life.

It was part of the reason that Dacey accepted
Leonie’s quirks as a natural occurrence.

Leonie reconsidered.
Except that I’ve
crossed a big line. Really, really, really crossed that sucker. In
fact, it’s a distant blur on the horizon behind me.

“Come to the house,” Dacey invited. “The
family’s already there. Apparently everyone is worried sick about
the munchkin here and wants reassurance. Plus any occasion is good
enough to bring food. I think my mama has tamales left over from
Christmas in the freezer that she’ll break out. My sister-in-law
makes the best flautas and her flan will make your hips explode,
not that you eat that much anyway.”

“Uh, Dacey,” Leonie began hesitantly. Her
eyes flickered down to Olga. The little girl’s eyes were drooping.
Exhaustion had set in. All the stress of the day and the sudden
resurgence of safety had made her one sleepy child. She was being
held in her mother’s arms and Dacey looked as if she would never
let her go. Leonie went on, her voice soft, “The authorities think
I…well, they think I had something to do with Olga’s
kidnapping.”

“Yes, Scott mentioned that,” Dacey said. Her
voice was deceptively calm. “I told him it was a big stinking
pile-o-rama.” She shifted Olga in her arms and repressed a low
groan. “Tonio,” she said. “Would you take her for a minute? My
back’s killing me and she’s got to lay off the pizza when my
ex-mother-in-law takes her out.” She carefully passed the child to
her brother and Olga didn’t even make a murmur as the transfer was
completed.

“I’ll take her to the car,” Antonio said.
“It’s too hot for the baby out here.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Dacey said to him, but
he had already turned away with his priceless consignment. When he
was far enough away, she turned back to Leonie. “Lee, honey, I
don’t believe you had anything to do with it. I’ve seen what you’ve
done too many times. Scott may not believe, but I do.” She grasped
Leonie’s arms and gently tugged her into a gentle hug, resting her
head on the shoulder of the younger woman. “Thank God you were able
to find her. Thank God you were here for us. If she’d…” Dacey’s
voice choked.

Leonie couldn’t say anything. There was a
lump in her throat the size of a meteor.

“Lee, I don’t know what this is all about. I
guess the guy flaked off when he heard us coming. He didn’t have
time to do whatever it was he was going to do. Or maybe he freaked
and left her tied to the tree and left. It doesn’t matter to me.
Olga’s safe and you’re okay.” Dacey’s hands dropped as she stepped
back. She brushed an errant tear away from her eye. “I’ll handle
Scott. I’ll fix his bacon but good.”

Leonie couldn’t prevent the snort of
laughter. “I didn’t mean you had to sleep with him to get him to
stop breathing down my neck.”

The spontaneous Dacey had returned for a
moment. “Well, I kind of like the way he breathes down my
neck.”

“Oh, Dacey,” Leonie laughed the words
out.

Dacey impulsively clasped Leonie’s hand and
led her away. They both did their best in ignoring the television
cameras that were trained on them. From the picnic table where she
had been sitting, Scott called out, “I’ll be talking to you later,
Leonie.”

“Looking forward to it,” Leonie called back,
her voice belying the irritation she felt. Inside she felt like the
criminal Scott thought her to be. The thought of the riddle
deliberately left in Olga’s pocket was tearing at her guts like an
indomitable malady. Its meaning was not clear. It was a riddle
about a riddle. A kidnapped child plus a riddle in her pocket plus
a psychic who only periodically finds missing children. It was an
odd combination. The ghost of Monroe Whitechapel had come back to
haunt her. Could it possibly be some weird coincidence? It didn’t
seem likely. Someone who knew about Monroe’s riddles was doing this
and who knew that? There were only a few people and Leonie was sure
of that.

Why now? Why not years ago
? Leonie
couldn’t help but wonder why it was that when her life was
seemingly settling into a safe, comfortable situation, it was the
time for the big shake-up. She wouldn’t be allowed any security,
any happiness with her existence. If Leonie was content, then the
universe wasn’t right.

“What happened to Elan?” Dacey asked, halfway
to her brother’s car. She was steadfastly ignoring a reporter who
had his microphone sticking in her face, while he shot out
questions at her rapid-fire. “Get that out of my way,” she said
suddenly to the reporter. “Or I’m going to put that mike where the
sun doesn’t shine.”

The reporter took a step back and even Leonie
was impressed.