“Marshal rule number sixteen: slow and steady wins the race.”
Bible was smiling as he unwrapped his cheeseburger, but he seemed to pick up on her mood. He clicked on the radio. Yacht Rock trilled softly from the speakers. He drove with one hand as he took tiny bites of his burger.
Andrea finished her fries. She felt bad for her deflated mood in the face of Bible’s relentless positivity. Given the fact that he had endured unspeakable torture at the hands of a Mexican drug cartel, she should’ve been impressed that he managed to get out of bed in the morning, let alone joke about hedgehogs. Now, she found herself content to listen to the sound of his chewing over Toto’s ‘Rosanna’. There was only a couple of hours of sunlight left in one of the longest days of her life. She was looking at twelve hours of walking the Vaughn estate because of a threat that wasn’t exactly anonymous anymore.
To keep herself from spinning the magic dial of her thoughts from Mike to Emily to Alice to Star to Ricky to Clay to Jack to Nardo to Blake to Dean, Andrea stared out the window. They were in another residential neighborhood, this one not upscale but not blue-collar, either. The town of Longbill Beach was basically one giant circle with a state forest in the middle. Ricky’s house, the downtown area, the Vaughn estate and the farm were spokes on the wheel. You could probably walk from one side to the other in twenty minutes.
“Hey partner?” Bible turned down the radio. “I gotta confession.”
His confessions so far had been more like shocking revelations. She told him, “I don’t think that word means what you think it means.”
He laughed good-naturedly. “Don’t tell the boss, but I cleared it with Harri and Krump that we’re gonna be a little late. We’re only about three minutes from the Judge’s house as the crow flies. Figured you wouldn’t mind if we made another stop.”
He didn’t wait for her opinion. The SUV slowed. Bible pulled to the side of the road.
Andrea looked at the small cottage they were parked in front of. Gray asbestos tiles. Black trim. Seashells had been glued all over the mailbox. A converted attic with an eyebrow dormer in the shingled roof. The yard was overgrown, but not with weeds. The natural, low-water consumption landscaping reminded her of Laura’s yard.
Bible provided, “This is where Star Bonaire grew up. Her mom’s living there now. Thought we’d drop in for a chat, see if Melody Brickel knows anything about her daughter’s situation at the farm.”
Andrea caught the sly look he gave her before opening the door. Bible knew that Andrea recognized the name. She should have been surprised by the revelation, but it made a certain kind of sense that Melody Brickel was Star Bonaire’s mother.
She glanced around the street before following Bible up the walkway. The houses were tidier and farther apart than the ones in Ricky’s neighborhood. A yellow Prius was in the drive. A long cord plugged into the car and snaked into an outlet inside the carport. There was a water collection tank to catch the run-off from the gutters. Solar panels stood proud on the sway-backed roof. Andrea’s small-town experience told her that the copper rain chains alone could make the locals think that Melody was crazy.
Bible said, “Guess ol’ Star gets her green thumb from her mom.”
Andrea doubted that was something Melody was happy about. She stopped at the bottom of the steps and let Bible go ahead of her to the front door. She didn’t think Melody Brickel would greet them with an AR-15, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Sometimes a crazy bitch was really a crazy bitch.
Bible gave two soft knocks. The door opened almost immediately.
An older woman with short, shaggy, dark hair peered at them from the other side of the screen. She had to be Ricky’s age but she could’ve easily passed for ten years younger. She was also incredibly fit. Her tight black top showed sculpted arms and shoulders. A colorful tattoo of a butterfly was on the back of her right hand. Her left eyebrow was pierced with a small silver hoop.
Bible asked, “Melody Brickel?”
“The one and only.” Melody looked at Bible’s shirt. “USMS? If the M stands for Mormon, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“United States Marshal Service.” Bible gave her one of his better smiles. “I’m Deputy Bible. This is Deputy Oliver.”
“Well.” Her arms crossed over her chest. She glanced back at Andrea. “Let me feed my cats before you take me in, please. I know I violated my restraining order. I’m not going to tack on lying to a police officer on top of everything else.”
Bible asked, “What kind of cats you got?”
Melody’s eyes narrowed, but she said, “A bushy little calico and a very talkative Siamese.”
“I gotta Siamese called Hedy,” Bible said. “My wife calls her my girlfriend because I love her so much.”
Melody looked back at Andrea, then at Bible. “You’ll have to forgive me. I thought Marshals spent their time guarding airplanes and tracking down fugitives.”
“Well, you’re only half right there, ma’am. Federal Air Marshals are part of the Transportation and Security Administration of the Department of Homeland Security. US Marshals are with the Department of Justice. Fugitive-tracking is only one of the many services we offer.” Bible smiled again. “Right now, we’re just here to talk.”
She wasn’t amused. “According to my lawyer, I shouldn’t talk to the police without calling him first.”
“Sounds like good advice.”
“Well, you’ve clearly never had to pay a legal bill.” She opened the door. “Come in. Let’s get this over with.”
As with Wexler’s farmhouse, Andrea found herself surprised by the interior of the cottage. Based on the overgrown yard and rainwater collection, she’d assumed Melody Brickel’s decorating style would lean toward quilts and spirit catchers. Instead, the woman seemed to prefer large floral patterns from the 1970s with a few anachronistic posters of the Eurythmics and the Go-Go’s doing their best to complement the explosion of color.
“My mother’s house,” Melody explained. “I moved back here four years ago when I found out Star had lost her mind. Let’s go to the back. It’s more comfortable there.”
Bible let Andrea take the lead as they followed Melody through the living room. Andrea looked down at the woman’s left ankle. Her pants were cropped. There was no silver band.
“This is Star. My Star, at least.” Melody had stopped at a series of photographs filling the short hallway. “I know what you’re thinking, but I named her after Ringo Starr. She dropped the second R in middle school. I swear I wasn’t setting her up to join a cult.”
Andrea tried not to respond to the word cult. She leaned toward the photos. She barely recognized the young girl doing all the things that young girls did in photos. Star was ghostly now, nothing like the vibrant, healthy-looking teenager who smiled so openly at the camera.
Melody said what they were all thinking. “She’s going to end up dead if she stays at that place.”
Andrea followed her through into the kitchen, which was as cluttered as Ricky’s, but in a warm and welcoming way. A large pot simmered on the stove. The smell of yeast filled the air. There was a loaf of bread baking in the oven, which made Star’s bread-making feel even more poignant.