“Can’t I stay with my grandpa?” Josie asked. “My arm really doesn’t hurt that bad.”
“Sorry, kiddo,” Lowell said. “We have to take you to the hospital, doctor’s orders.”
“I don’t want to go,” Josie said and tried to slip past Lowell.
“Whoa now,” he said, catching Josie around the waist. “Hold up there. You don’t want to get me in trouble, do you?”
Matthew, seeing the ruckus, came over to the ambulance. “Come on, Shoo,” he said. “You stay put now. Let them help you.”
Josie reluctantly sat back down. “You’re going to come with me, aren’t you?” she asked her grandfather.
Instead of answering, Matthew took her hand. “Listen,” he said. “The police will want to talk to you for a few minutes before they take you to the hospital. Do you think you can do that, Josie? It’s really important. We need to do all we can to help find your brother and friend.”
All Josie wanted to do was to forget. Forget the blood and her parents’ broken bodies and the terror of being chased into the field, but the images were seared into her brain. She would never be able to forget but she could try and help. She would hold on to every detail and tell them to the police, so whoever did this would be caught and so that her brother and Becky would come home to them.
In Burden, Becky’s mother, Margo Allen, had just started her shift at the grocery store and was pulling her green apron over her head and signing into her cash register when her first customer of the day approached her checkout lane. “How are you today, Bonnie?” Margo asked when Bonnie Mitchell laid her items on the counter.
“Oh, just fine,” Bonnie said. “Did you hear what happened west of town?” she leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper.
“No, what?” Margo asked as she handed Bonnie her receipt.
“Big to-do near the old bitternut. All kinds of police out there, and that must have been why I heard the ambulance scream down the street a little while ago.”
“Bitternut?” Margo repeated. “On Meadow Rue?” A brief flash of concern swept over her, but she quickly dismissed it. The Doyles lived on Meadow Rue. But they were supposed to leave for the fair in Des Moines a few hours ago. If something was wrong, surely she would have been contacted by now.
“Bet it’s one of those meth houses,” Bonnie said, shaking her head.
Margo handed the woman her bagged items and wished her a good day. How many homes were actually on Meadow Rue? She replayed the drive over in her mind. At least four, probably more. Chances were it had nothing to do with the Doyles.
Margo looked around the store. There were only a few customers. “Hey, Tommy,” Margo said to the boy placing freshly picked ears of corn on a display, “can you watch the front for a few minutes?”
Margo went to the break room and pulled her purse from the cupboard where she stored it during work hours. Inside was the little red notebook where she kept important numbers. She picked up the phone and dialed the Doyle house. It rang and rang. She hung up. Of course there was no answer. She checked her watch. It was just after 9:00 a.m. Margo fiddled with a strand of hair that escaped its clip.
The owner of the store, Leonard Shaffer, wouldn’t mind if she stepped out for a bit. Tommy could cover things for a while. Her husband, almost ex-husband, she amended, would think she was silly, overprotective. Becky was growing up so fast, but she was still her little girl. A niggle of doubt kept poking at her. Something’s wrong, something’s wrong. Margo looked at her watch. She’d be there and back in about forty minutes. And what could it hurt? She’d just drive past the Doyle farm and then come right back.
Oblivious to the gathering crowd of law enforcement and paramedics, Levi burst out the front door and stumbled from the house. Hands on his knees, he gulped in the fresh air, trying to clear his nose and throat of the smell of blood and death. Close behind came Sheriff Butler, grim faced and drenched with sweat.
“Sheriff?” a young deputy stepped forward, his face shining with anticipation.
“Seal off the property,” Sheriff Butler ordered. “No one comes or goes without my permission.” The deputy nodded and ran off to spread the word and retrieve the yellow crime tape from his cruiser.
“Levi,” Butler said.
Levi stood up straight and willed his stomach to settle. “Sir?” he asked.
Butler looked over to where Matthew Ellis was standing beneath the maple tree, watching them carefully, hat in his hand. Butler gave a little shake of his head and Matthew’s face fell.