At least he wasn’t pacing anymore. Ruth shot him a baleful look, catching a flash of orange eyes and a hungry snort in return. Well, if this was where she died, so be it. She didn’t have any regrets, and the only two people she ever missed were Dell and the Major. Well, she missed Dell; she worried about the Major.
But she’d made her choice. She couldn’t go back. And, likely as not, the Major was already dead. He’d been as old as dirt when she ran and that had been four years ago. She did wonder if Singley was still there and what had happened to that horrible preacher uncle of his. She’d never forgotten the man’s oily eyes and smile. The way his face lit up in a leering way when she said she’d been done wrong by another man.
Later, oddly enough, she’d found it to be a handy lie, when embellished just the slightest bit. She told one of the other girls that she’d had relations with numerous men, afterward relieving them of what money they carried and a tiny nick of earlobe sliced off with her knife. The girl had backed away in awed deference. It worked with the others too, keeping them at a distance and making her feel safe. The lying didn’t bother her, not at all. What she was—or wasn’t—didn’t matter one whit.
She might still be a virgin, but she was tough as any whore.
The lion roared, jolting her from her thoughts. Braced against the bars, her arms were aching now, thighs trembling from the exertion of holding so still. Trying not to startle the snuffling shadow, she eased herself down to a sitting position, whispering under her breath the only words that came to her fear-addled mind.
“Sittin’ by the roadside on a summer’s day. Talkin’ with my comrades to pass the time away . . .”
A snort and a whine. Scratching in the soiled sawdust.
She felt a trembling set in. A heat settling over her body as the creature neared. She smelled his sour, filthy smell. But the silly song was stuck in her head now, and strangely it made her feel better. She sang again.
“Lyin’ in the shade underneath the trees . . .”
The lion made a sort of mewling noise, an almost mechanical sound that came from deep in his throat. He was closer now. So close she knew she was in trouble.
“Goodness how delicious, eating goober peas . . .”
The lion snuffled and nudged her. Instinctively, she put a hand out, feeling thick fur and wet nose.
And something else. A needle of electricity, like lightning, zapping her body, zinging up and down along her spine. It filled her with a floating sort of peace. Maybe this is what you feel right before you die. If so, she was grateful.
She blinked, then looked into the lion’s orange eyes. “Come on, now,” she said to him. “Step back.”
Instantly, the great cat wheeled around and pressed his bony hindquarters against the bars. Ruth watched him for a long while, completely still, barely breathing. When he didn’t move either—didn’t pounce or tear her to shreds—she let herself lie down on the straw and close her eyes.
Chapter Nine
Tuscaloosa, Alabama
Present
The Embassy Suites was huge and seemed to be hosting a dozen conferences. I wished I’d tried a little harder to find a charming Southern B&B outside of town. A place out of a William Faulkner novel maybe, wallpapered with cabbage roses and crammed with rickety, peeling, homey furniture. A place where a person who’d just had their face shoved in a pile of dirty bones could melt down in peace.
Althea and Griff had somehow managed to maneuver me and the box of Dove’s belongings that Althea had brought from the Alabama house through the crowded lobby and up to my room. I texted Mom and Danny that I’d suddenly gotten violently sick to my stomach and had had to sneak away from the ceremony. It was a lame excuse, and I wasn’t sure if they were going to fall for it, but it was the only thing my addled brain could come up with in the moment.
Althea had texted her husband, Jay, too, and I didn’t know what she told him, but apparently, he was cool with taking the kids home and letting her stay with me. I felt a little better now that we were up in my room, door chained and bolted, an ice pack pressed against my tender temple. I sat on the bed, Althea and Griff on the narrow sofa. After I made them swear not to call the police, I told them everything.
Althea looked from me to Griff, flabbergasted. “You’re telling me this guy broke into Dove’s house and killed her and nobody knew it? I don’t see how that’s even possible. The authorities said she died of natural causes, right?”
“Yes,” I said. “But he had to be lying. He was just trying to scare me, right?”
Griff dug in his pocket and produced an airplane bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He cracked it open and handed it to me. I took it with my left, sipped, then closed my eyes, letting the warmth spread. I offered it back to him, but he waved me off. “All yours.” He looked royally pissed, but I was too tired and upset to ask why.
“Okay, I’m confused. Why were you outside in the first place?” Althea asked.
I shifted uncomfortably, my muscles screaming in protest. “I got a text from Griff. At least, I thought I did. I forgot he lost his phone.”
“Who’s this Steadfast guy he supposedly showed you?” Althea asked.
“I have no idea,” I said. “I didn’t know Dove that well, but I never heard her mention anyone called Steadfast. But that doesn’t mean anything. She knew a lot of people.”
“And Dove supposedly murdered this guy, hid his body, then stole a coin that belonged to him?” Griff asked. “That’s a lot for a young girl to do all on her own.”
“And if she did, I can’t imagine she’d sign a confession,” Althea said.
“Also, if she stole the coin, why wouldn’t she sell it?” Griff said.
“I don’t understand any of it.” I threw up my hands. “He implied she wanted to hang on to it, I guess for the kick of knowing she’d stolen something so valuable. He called it the Flowing Hair. I’m assuming it’s well known. I don’t know. None of this tracks.”
“You better believe it doesn’t track!” Griff spat out. “I’ve just spent the past three months, day and night, meticulously researching Dove Jarrod. Reading everything I could get my hands on, interviewing every single person who’d ever had any kind of personal interaction with her and her husband. And not one of them said anything about her spending time in Alabama after she left Pritchard. Not one!” He shook his head, exasperated. “My own parents have followed her career religiously for decades. They’re from Alabama, for Chrissakes, and even they didn’t know. How is that possible?”
I buried my face in my hands. He was right. But I didn’t have the words to tell him how, in some bizarre way, this was the real Dove, the Dove I’d known since I was fourteen years old. The woman who kept secrets.
“I guess Dove really wanted to keep her past hidden,” Althea said quietly.
“Sorry, Eve. Not trying to make this about me.” Griff glanced at Althea. “Mind if I borrow your phone?”
She handed it over and he started tapping on it, so loudly it sounded like he was going to break the screen. Althea winced, then turned to the coffee table where she’d dumped the contents of Dove’s box.