Page 36 of The Overnight Guest

“My grandma and grandpa when we dropped off the pie at their house and then Becky and I went looking for Roscoe. We stopped at that house, the one with all the junk.”

Sheriff Butler knew who Josie was talking about. June Henley and her son, Jackson Henley, lived about two miles away over on Oxeye Road. Word was that June Henley was very sick. Cancer.

Jackson ran a hodgepodge operation selling vehicle parts, scrap metal, and farm collectibles. Jackson was a Gulf War vet with PTSD and a drinking problem. He lost his license sometime back and took to driving an ATV around the back roads. Jackson was odd for sure but not known to be violent.

The sheriff jotted the name down in his notebook.

“One more question for now,” Butler said. “Becky Allen. When did you last see her?”

Josie closed her eyes trying to remember. They heard the gunshots. Heard someone call her name. Who was it? Ethan? Her dad? No, that wasn’t right. They grabbed hands and ran. More explosions rang out. Becky’s hand was ripped from hers. But she kept running.

Josie’s face was wet with tears. “I don’t know,” she cried, looking to her grandfather for help. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, now,” Lowell said. “I think that’s enough for now.” He laid a cool hand on Josie’s forehead. “There will be plenty of time later for questions. We really need to get that arm looked at by a doctor. We don’t want an infection to settle in. Is there someone who will be meet us at the hospital?”

“My wife. Oh, God, I have to call my wife,” Matthew covered his eyes. Dry, silent sobs shook his shoulders.

“Why don’t you go with Josie?” Sheriff Butler said. “I’ll stop by later and we can talk more.”

Matthew shook his head and ran a shaky hand across his gray whiskers. “I can’t leave,” he insisted. “Not until we find Ethan and the girl and not until they bring my daughter out.”

Sheriff Butler flicked his eyes toward Josie. Her eyes were closed. “They’ll be brought out once the scene is processed and the county medical examiner arrives.”

Two deputies stepped from the barn, and along with them came the impatient bleats of the goats, eager to be fed and milked. “Barn’s clear,” one of the deputies called out.

“Do we know how many vehicles should be here?” Butler asked.

“Two,” Matthew said. “Lynne’s car and William’s truck.” Matthew looked around the yard. “Three, actually. Ethan has a truck. An old Datsun. It’s not here.”

Two teenagers missing along with a truck. Parents dead, sister shot. Butler pulled Levi aside, out of earshot, his mouth set in a grim line. “Put out a BOLO for Ethan Doyle’s truck.”

At the ambulance, Matthew kissed Josie’s forehead. “Be good. Listen to the doctors,” Matthew said, wiping his eyes, his voice raw. “Your grandma will be there soon.”

“Hey,” came a shout from the edge of the cornfield. “We found something!”

All eyes swung toward the cornfield. Matthew didn’t know whether to be hopeful or terrified. He found he was both. Before anyone could move a breathless voice came from behind them. “What happened? What’s going on?” Matthew stepped aside and a woman came into view.

“Ma’am, you can’t be here,” Sheriff Butler said.

“Is my daughter here? Becky Allen?” Margo reached for Butler’s arm.

“You’re Becky’s mother?” Butler faltered. “Why don’t you step over here and we’ll talk?”

“Sheriff, we need you,” a deputy called again. “We found something.” Butler was torn. He needed to find out what was found in the field but couldn’t abandon the missing girl’s mother.

“Where is she? I heard something happened.” Margo looked around, bewildered. Lost. “Where is she?”

Josie lifted herself onto her elbows, the blanket covering her slid to the ambulance floor. No one spoke.

Margo looked from face-to-face. A cold knot formed in her chest, spread through her limbs. “Please,” she said weakly, “you have to tell me what happened.”

She set her gaze on Josie. She took in Josie’s bloody arm and clothing. “Oh, my God,” she breathed. “What happened? Where’s Becky?”

Sheriff Butler laid a hand on her elbow, but she shook it away. Josie stared up at her wide-eyed. “Where’s Becky!” she shouted.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Josie whimpered. The words came out in short gasps.

“Josie, where’s your mother?” Margo asked. She looked around as if Lynne Doyle would suddenly materialize. “You tell me where she is. I want to talk to her right now.”

---