Page 61 of The Witch's Orchard
“Whose longing?” I ask.
She shakes her head and says, “I wish I knew, I really do. All I know is, when I think about those girls—now just Jessica—what I feel is desperation.”
I sit back in my chair, hands folded in my lap, and watch as Susan gathers the cards, shuffles them, stacks them, and slides them back intothe box. The rain hammers the cabin and the chickens peck outside and somewhere, likely in this town, Jessica Hoyle is waiting for me. And, because of this woman and her little spread of cards, I feel more like I can find her.
I let out a deep breath and say, “Thank you, Miss Susan.”
TWENTY-ONE
WHEN I GET BACKto the field that leads to Crow Caw Cabin, I am soggy and cold and irritated. I look at my phone and find that it’s nearly ten o’clock; apparently, a visit to the local psychic can really eat up a person’s morning. I think about Susan and her story, her tiny shack in the forest where she makes herbal remedies, her applehead dolls. I wonder if a transcript of Susan’s questioning is in the sheriff’s department files or whether the FBI had sole control at that point.
I’m so absorbed in my thoughts that I jump when I see a man sitting on the cabin’s front porch. Instinctively, I swing my hand around to my lower back, get my palm on cold metal, then realize who it is I’m looking at.
Hunched forward in the wooden chair, palms flat together, thin and lanky and birdlike but with deep lines around his mouth and wavy hair that’s more salt and pepper than chestnut now, is Greg Andrews, Max and Molly’s father.
“Hello,” I say as I step toward the porch.
He stands, and his hands hang awkwardly at his sides. He’s wearing Dickies and a button-up chambray shirt under a sun-washed barn coat.
“Hello,” he says. “Greg Andrews. I’m Max’s dad.”
“I’m so sorry about your daughter,” I say. “Truly.”
“Can we talk?” Greg says.
“Sure.” I unlock the door and lead the way into the cabin. I fill the coffeepot and flick the switch and the machine hums to life.
“When did you get in?” I ask.
“This morning,” he says. “As soon as Max called I found someone to finish my drive and flew back to Knoxville.”
I take two mugs from the hooks hanging above the back counter.
“I understand that Max hired you to find out what happened to Molly,” Greg says.
“Yes,” I say. “He hired me to look for her and then…”
Greg sits on the same barstool that AJ used the night before, and I remember the manila folder of autopsy photos, still sitting on the edge of the countertop. I pick it up, slip it into a drawer.
“And now you’re searching for her killer?” Greg says, watching me.
“Yes.”
He sighs.
“Well,” he says, “I’d like you to stop.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s police business,” he says, directing his eyes toward the wood grain on the counter instead of me. “It’s—look, it doesn’t matter.”
“It… What? What the hell doesthatmean?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Greg says. His voice is cool and emotionless. “Look, Miss Gore, you’ve been here, what, three days? And already you’ve turned my son’s life inside out. I’ve already lost almost everything to this… this applehead doll person. Whoever they are. I lost my little girl and I thought it would kill me. Then, itdidkill my wife. I thought losing Janice would kill me—finding her like that—and, instead, I only wished it had.”
He pauses, his jaws clamped together, and exhales through his nose before he starts again. “I cleaned out all their things. I didn’t want us to be ruled by their memory. I don’t know if, if that was right. But I did my best. I got my sister to look in on Max, make sure he was doing okay. He was always a quiet kid but… I thought he’d finish high school, go to college, get out of here, leave it all behind. Instead, he became obsessed. Wouldn’tspend his money on anything besides what would help him hire a PI. And now you’re here. And Molly’s gone. Forever.”
I sigh and sit down opposite him, make him meet my eyes. Like Max’s, they are a green-brown hazel like fall leaves, framed by long lashes and, in Greg’s case, deeply etched crow’s-feet. For all their beauty, though, they feel blank. Like someone tipped him over and drained all the juice out.
