Page 64 of Bitter Falls

She gives me a hard look this time, and it reminds me that she takes no bullshit. “For now. But what happens after? You sendin’ me back to that foster family? They don’t give a shit about me. Probably don’t even know I’m gone except it’s one less mouth to feed.”

I don’t know if she’s right. Maybe they do care. Maybe they’re worried out of their minds about her. But I just say, “Until I say different, you’re staying with us.”

The hard look fades, and I see the vulnerable child underneath. The one who crossed a hundred miles of hard country to get to us. To safety. To some hope of acceptance.

“You’re with us,” I tell her. “I promise.”

Jesse’s Jeep takes a cutoff—unmarked, and almost certainly not on any map—that leads through wild, hilly country and up into the woods; I can only vaguely guess the location, but it can’t be very far from Stillhouse Lake, or from Norton either. It just looks like a rough trail, littered with rocks that challenge the suspension of my SUV. We go through three locked gates—the last warns me that trespassers will be shot—until suddenly the trail opens into a wide clearing.

Jasper Belldene might like to call it a lodge, but it sure meets my definition of a compound. There’s a ramshackle collection of houses clustered around a small pond fed by a stream coming down the hill. The biggest house is fairly handsome, built of heavy timbers; the others are far less fancy. I count three homes and two very large outbuildings, but there might be more up behind the big house. There’s a formidable fence all the way around—heavy-gauge chain link, with razor wire on top, and a corrugated steel fence a few feet behind it that blocks sight lines. The gate’s been rolled open for us, and that makes me think they’ve got surveillance cameras up in the trees along the road. They’ll see people coming a long way off.

Jesse parks, and I pull up next to him. The gate’s already rolling closed behind us. I get out and say, “Just in case your daddy is thinking of pulling any bullshit, I sent texts to Kezia Claremont, my boss in Knoxville, and the FBI telling them where I’ll be.” That isn’t a bluff. I really did it before we ever left the motel room. As contingency plans go, it’s the best I can manage at the moment.

Jesse just grins. He’s got the slick charm of a good-looking young man who skids out of every tight spot...until he doesn’t. “No problem, ma’am,” he says. “Jasper Belldene keeps his word once he gives it. Until you break yours. You planning on that?”

“No.”

“Then we ain’t got a worry.” He turns and heads up the wooden steps to the big house, and as he does, the front door opens and Lilah Belldene steps out. She clasps her hands in front of her and gives us a warm, welcoming smile. “Come on in,” she says. “I’ve fixed up a couple of rooms for you two girls. Gwen, I don’t expect you’ll be staying that long. Jasper’ll be out directly, you just wait right inside.”

The house is surprisingly...normal. Comfortable couches, a worn old recliner that’s no doubt Jasper’s exclusive domain. A rocking chair with a basket of colorful yarn beside it, and knitting needles stuck in. The place smells clean and feels warm. Welcoming. There’s a big high-definition TV set to a news channel that plays without sound.

It’s not exactly what I expected from the Hillbilly Mafia.

“Girls, you follow me,” Lilah says. “I’ll get you settled, and then we’ll have some hot cocoa. All right?”

Lanny’s still holding Vee’s hand, but she drops it and turns to me to give me a hug that takes my breath. I hold her like I never intend to let her go, but I know I have to, and finally I open my arms and watch her step away. “Lilah. A moment,” I say, and Mrs. Belldene stops.

She looks at me for a second, then turns to the girls and says, “Down the hall and to the right. Your rooms are across from each other. You’re going to have to share that bathroom, now, and I want it kept clean. Go on. I’ll be right along.”

She turns toward me and waits. I walk closer. Close enough that we could hug, if we’re so inclined. We are not. “People know where they are,” I tell her. “You understand me?”

She raises her thin, graying eyebrows. She looks so devastatingly grandmotherly in her red gingham shirt. She’s even wearing a necklace I recognize: one that dangles a cluster of birthstones of her children and grandchildren. It’s an impressive collection. A deliberate reminder that she has a family she loves. Everything this woman does, I think, is calculated to disarm.

“Trust but verify,” she says, and winks. “I’d do the same. We may be friendly right now, but we sure ain’t friends. Even so: if your daughter sticks to her story and my Olly comes home, we’re square for now. Then you leave this county, and we’re square for good.” She loses the smile like it was a paper mask she’d put up. “I would not hurt your child. You can be sure of that.”

I nod stiffly. It isn’t that I don’t believe her. It’s that I don’t want tohaveto believe her.

I have to wait only a couple of minutes before Jasper Belldene comes out of the kitchen. He’s holding two coffee mugs, and I admit, the smell of good beans makes me lose some of my edge. I gratefully accept and drink, even without milk or sugar. I need it. “How’s that head?” he asks me.

“Hurting,” I reply. “But it won’t hold me back.”

“They’re still driving,” he tells me. “On the interstate. Florida’s watching the GPS.” He clears his throat. “You can’t go at this alone, you know that.”

He’s right, of course. My instinct is to rush out there, but I don’t know what I’ll be running into even if I get a final location. I couldn’t win against the men from the RV. And if this leads back to Father Tom, to the cult that Carol was so terrified would find her again...then it’ll be infinitely darker than that. One gun won’t do it.

I feel very alone.

“You’re not offering, are you?” I ask.

“No. I got no dog in this fight.”

“Even if I pay you.”

“Ma’am, you can’t pay me enough to put the lives of my own children at risk to go get yours. That’s a fact. I’d advise you to look elsewhere, you want to drum up a posse. We ain’t in that business. I’ll point you where to go, and that’s the end of our dealings.”

My coffee tastes bitter for a moment. I drink it anyway. I don’t know when I’ll have another chance.

He drains his cup and says, “You may not have my help, but you’ve got my sympathy. I hope you get that boy back. No child deserves that.”

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