The Chosen Page 3

  Clarice made her way to the kitchen. The dirty plates and bowls were piled in the sink. Clean dishes packed the dishwasher. She started to unload it. “Beautiful place,” she remarked.

  “Jesse always talked about adding another room,” Mrs. Tucker said.

  “For the grandkids?” Clarice found the right cupboard for the plates.

  Mrs. Tucker anxiously rubbed her meaty fingers together. “No grandkids. Jesse just wanted another project. He missed having the local boys over. Building this place was probably the best time of his life.”

  Finished with the plates, Clarice started on organizing the silverware. “How was he?”

  “What do you mean?” Mrs. Tucker.

  Clarice gave her a sympathetic smile.

  Mrs. Tucker understood the question. Her face hardened. “He was good…”

  “So, no problems with Ben?” Clarice pushed.

  “I’m glad you came to help, but if you’re here for local gossip, I think you should be going.”

  Clarice said kindly, “I just want to understand.”

  Mrs. Tucker fumed. “Are you a cop?”

  “No--”

  “Then stop asking questions,” Mrs. Tucker barked. “Or trying to blame my husband for his own murder.”

  Clarice took a step back. “I never said Jesse did anything wrong.”

  “You’re right he didn’t!” Mrs. Tucker shouted.

  The woman’s eyes were daggers.

  “Was there anything in their past—”

  “Get out,” Mrs. Tucker interrupted her.

  “Give me a second to explain,” Clarice implored.

  “You leave, or I’ll call the cops.”

  The woman wasn’t stable, and she wasn’t getting any nicer. Clarice decided it was time to go. She left the chores undone, wished the woman a good afternoon, and left.

  Mrs. Tucker watched Clarice get into her vehicle and drive off.

  As the farmhouse shrunk in her rearview, she flexed her jaw in frustration. It settled into a look of determination.

  She noticed a cop car in the rearview. Clarice slowed down, matching the speed limit. A feeling of suspicion tightened her chest. After following her a few miles, the cop eventually turned off onto another road. Clarice felt like she could breathe again.

  She arrived outside the Clawfords’ home. The house was a wide, single-story structure. Trees sprouted in the lawn. There were a few neighboring houses nearby that each owned a few acres of land. Clarice parked out front.

  After ringing the doorbell, she waited and kept an eye out for the neighbor. The blinds in the neighbor's house shimmered. Someone was watching her. Arden kept her expression neutral. She didn’t like the attention. Granted, she wasn’t doing the best job at keeping incognito, but time was of the essence. She rang the doorbell a second time.

  A woman in her mid-thirties answered. She was thin, wearing a tight shirt, jogging pants, and tennis shoes. Her brunette hair was in a loose bun. Her eyes were the color of rich black chocolate. Keeping one hand on her hip, her expression was hostile.

  “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”

  “I’m not here for that. I was in the neighborhood and just wanted to stop by to say I’m sorry about what happened to Ben. Oh, my name is Clarice, by the way.”

  “Thanks. Have a good day,” the woman replied bitterly and slammed the door.

  Clarice frowned and tried the doorbell again.

  It opened. The woman glared.

  Clarice said, “You want to talk about it?”

  “Lady, I don’t even know you.”

  “That makes two of us,” Clarice replied.

  The woman looked at Clarice like she was half-crazy.

  Clarice gave her a pursed smile. She spoke softly. “I didn’t know Ben too well, but when I heard what happened, it just felt right to stop by. You look like you can use an ally right about now.”

  “I’m okay, really. Thanks,” the woman said curtly.

  Clarice conceded. “I’m sorry to have caused you any trouble.”

  She turned to leave.

  “Wait,” the woman rubbed her brow. She released a deep sigh. “Sorry, who are you again?”

  “I’m Davis Holburg’s daughter,” Clarice replied.

  The woman nodded. “I think I remember you. Didn’t Ben help you at one point?”

  “He did,” Clarice replied. “I might not be alive if it wasn’t for him.”

  “I’m Lily,” The woman extended a hand.

  Clarice shook it.

  “Ben was my father-in-law. Mark and I have been staying with him since we had the kids. If you’re not a rancher around here, money is tight.”

  “Yeah, Jasper has that way of trapping people,” Clarice agreed.

  The conversation fell off into silence.

  Lily took some of the tension out of her shoulders. “You want something to drink?”

  “I’d love that.”

  Clarice followed her into the quaint house. Toys were scattered across the living room floor. The TV was playing middle-of-the-day soap operas. Unfolded laundry sat on the couch. Magnets and kids’ drawings hung on the refrigerator's face. The walls were a pale blue. A tall stack of newspapers stood in the corner of the room.

  Clarice waited near the door until Lily returned with two cups of tea. She gave one to Clarice and took a seat on the couch. She sat on one leg and pulled her other bent knee close to her. Clarice down next to her, leaving a cushion in between them.

  Clarice took a sip. “It’s good.”

  Lily looked down into her cup. She smirked and shook her head.

  “What?” Clarice asked.

  “You’re the only person who stopped by here since Ben died.”

  “Why is that?” Clarice asked.

  Lily shrugged. “They’ve all made a trip to the Tuckers’ house and the other witnesses, but apparently, I’m just as bad as my father-in-law.”

  “I thought Ben was a good man?” Clarice asked.

  “He is… was.” Lily put her mug on the coffee table. “He was never violent. He never bad-mouthed anyone. Yeah, he’d get a little heated when it came to politics, but it was stuff Jesse agreed with.”

  “So why did he shoot him?” Clarice asked.

  Lily gave her the evil eyes. “You’re a piece of work.”

  “Is it wrong for me to be curious? This is the first intentional homicide in Jasper in who knows how long. Something about it doesn’t add up.”

  Lily pulled her knee closer. “You’re right about that. Ben, he…” Lily teared up. “Gosh. I told myself I was done crying.” She waited until she had control of her tears. “I don’t know why Ben did what he did. He always treated the kids and me right.”

  “How was he on the days leading up to the shooting?” Clarice asked.

  “Normal,” Lily said, almost not believing her own answer. “That’s the thing about this. We ate dinner together. He played with the kids and laughed. He said he was going to take us to the park that Saturday afternoon. He was already talking about some of the plans he had next week with the church. Then, for no reason at all, he kills someone. Jesse Tucker of all people. They were friends.”

  Lily’s lower lip quivered as she battled her emotions. “I’ve known Ben since Mark and I were little, and he never showed this side of himself. Heck, he’d get the guiltiest look if he accidentally said swear word.” Lily turned to Clarice. “Have you ever heard of something like this before?”

  “Never,” Clarice lied.

  Lily sipped from her cup. She shut her eyes. “I wish I could just ask him.”

  “Does his family have a history of violence or anger?”

  “Not that I know of. I’ve been married to Mark for ten years. Yeah, he has his bad days, but the Clawfords are relatively quiet people.”

  “Where’s Mark at now?”

  “He took the kids to the park for the afternoon. He needed to clear his mind, and the funeral stuff was stressing him out. I stayed back
. I’m tired of people giving me nasty looks.”

  “Small towns have a way of isolating people,” Clarice replied.

  “What do you think happened?” Lily asked.

  “Everyone says it’s just a murder/suicide.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I don’t know. The truth might be more complicated than that,” Clarice replied.

  The door opened.

  5

  The Wall

  Mark stepped into the Clawford house. His eldest son Terry, nine, and his daughter Madison, seven, followed. He seemed surprised to see Clarice. He was a bearded man with gentle eyes. His camouflage hat had a bent bill and a fishing hook on its front. His NASCAR t-shirt was tucked into his jeans. He had long legs, muddy boots, and strong arms.

  Lily introduced Clarice.

  Mark eyed her. “You look familiar. The Holburg girl, right?”

  “The one and only,” Clarice stood and shook his hand.

  Lily asked, “How was it?”

  “People avoided me. Apparently, I’m supposed to know why my dad did what he did.”

  Lily gestured for Mark to sit down. He sat between the two women.

  “We were actually just discussing it,” Lily admitted.

  Mark sent the kids to another room. Terry was a nerdy kid with glasses and short brown hair. Madison was a blonde inclined to plumpness.

  Clarice asked Mark. “Has anything like this ever happened in your family?”

  Mark stared at the wall and frowned. “No. You think the cause could be mental illness?”

  She could hear the desperation in his voice.

  “I don’t want to assume anything,” Clarice said. “But just to clarify, no one in your family has a history of violence or has committed suicide?”

  Mark thought on it. “My great-grandfather… He killed himself.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “No. He died before long before I was born.”

  Clarice nodded. “Do you know what year?”

  “1970 something.”

  “Where did he live?”

  Mark looked at her, unsure why she was asking the strangely personal question. “He had a small cabin on Faulkner Road. No one lives there anymore.”

  “Do you have any other family around here?” Clarice asked.

  “It’s just us,” Mark answered and traded looks with Lily.

  Clarice checked the time. She smiled sympathetically. “Thank you for putting up with me. It’s late. I should head out.”

  “Oh...” Mark said with confusion. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, thank you for the tea, Lily.” Clarice quickly headed out the door. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

  On her way to her next destination, the cogs in her mind turned. She mindlessly chewed her lip. Her fingers tapped on the top of the steering world. The air freshener on the rearview mirror swayed like a pendulum.

  She arrived at the public library. Its single-story building was made of brick. The exterior didn’t have any distinguishing features apart from the large library sign. Inside, rows of bookshelves formed a systematic pattern throughout the store.

  Mr. Shultz, a hefty old man with glasses like flipped orange peels and a walrus mustache, sat behind the counter. Wearing a tucked shirt with suspenders, he had a book about trout fishing opened on his lap. He glanced up and noticed Clarice.

  “Today is just full of surprises,” he said with his low, slightly gruff voice. He set aside the book.

  Clarice smiled at him. “It’s been a while.”

  A rare smile formed on Shultz’s droopy face. “The little theologian. I never thought I’d see you again.”

  Clarice rested her crossed arms on the countertop. She glanced down at the drawing of different fish lining the inside of the book.

  “You’re back. You must’ve learned something,” Shultz said.

  Clarice replied. “The last six years made me ask more questions than I thought I ever would.”

  “And there’s always another one,” Shultz agreed.

  Clarice agreed. “How about you? The place looks good.”

  “You have a strange definition of that word,” Shultz replied plainly, fully aware of the lack of customers. “Tell me your story. I’m sure you went on many great adventures.”

  “Well, I found it,” Clarice said.

  “The answer to one of your questions?” Shultz asked.

  “Yeah,” Clarice replied. “It’s bigger than we could imagine.”

  “And what is it exactly?” Shultz asked.

  “Reality,” Clarice replied.

  Shultz gave her a long look as if trying to solve her like a puzzle. “You can’t just make a blanket statement like that and leave it open-ended.”

  “If you saw it, you’d know.”

  “You are being cryptic again,” Shultz replied.

  “We’re not alone.”

  Shultz studied her for a moment.

  Clarice broke her serious face with a grin.

  Shultz replied, “You’re just going to leave the conversation like that?”

  Clarice gave him a wry grin. “Do you still have the microfilm machine?”

  “It’s in the back,” Shultz said hesitantly.

  Clarice smiled. “Thanks.”

  Shultz’s gaze followed her until she was out of sight.

  She found the dusty microfilm tucked in the far back corner. The machine sat on a wooden desk. There was an eye portal that looked down at the magnified screen. A metal filing cabinet stood next to it. Clarice clicked it on. The machine hummed as the light bulb activated inside.

  She opened the metal filing cabinet and sifted through newspapers from the 1970s. She started with January 1970 and went all the way to June 1972 before seeing Mark’s great-grandfather's obituary. His name was Sidney Clawford. He was a gaunt man with deep-set eyes and salt and pepper hair cut like a gentleman. He died at the age of forty-eight. There wasn’t much said about it apart from he was a good listener and always stayed out of people’s business. Perhaps the isolation led to his suicide. Clarice wasn’t satisfied with the answer. She started backtracking, looking for anything that talked about him or the town. So much of it was trivial information. Clarice went from year after year before she started to see a pattern. There were a number of missing children reports throughout the years. None of them appeared to be solved. The vanishings happened years apart. One happened in 1972, another in ‘68, another ‘55, and the first in ‘49. There weren’t any follow-up reports. What intrigued Clarice the most was that they occurred near Faulkner Road. Sidney would’ve been twenty-five when the first one occurred.

  Could it be a connection? Clarice decided to investigate.

  As she walked out of the library, she said goodbye to Shultz. He still seemed lost in what Clarice had said earlier.

  It was late afternoon when she headed to Faulkner Road. The sun set, casting golden rays across the sky.

  She traveled down the road, keeping an eye out for Sidney’s house. She made two passes down the street before spotting a gate with a sign that said No Trespassing. It continued down an overgrown dirt road flanked by woods on either side. Clarice pulled up to the gate. She put the car into park, opened up the glove box, and pulled out an eyeglass case. She popped it open. Inside was a small leather sleeve about the size of a pen. She took the sleeve and walked to the gate. She looked over the rusted metal gate and found the old lock sealing it to a post.

  Making sure there was no one watching, she opened the sleeve and removed her lock-picking tools. It took a few moments before she overcame the lock. She put it in her pocket, dragged open the gate, and drove through. After she’d passed, she shut the gate and continued down the dirt trail. Her vehicle bounced on the unequal terrain. She kept the lock-picking tools on her lap. She was in the midst of the forest of skinny trees. Eventually, the old cabin came into view. Its body was constructed out of dark wood. Cracks splintered across the dusty glass windows. Weeds grew
up around the edges. Tall grass overtook the lawn. Birds tweeted out of sight. The breeze was slightly chillier here than elsewhere.

  Rusty wind chimes hung from the covered porch. They clinked together. Around the back was a tool shed. Clarice decided she’d check that out first.

  She marched through the long grass and around the edge of the property. Gopher holes had been dug underneath the foundation of the cabin. Clarice followed a small game trail to the shed. The door was chained over. Clarice easily unlocked it. She pulled it open, seeing old rusty tools and a massive wasp nest taking up over half of the wall. Clarice closed the door and returned to the cabin. She found the back door and tried the rust-spotted knob. After a few twists, it broke off in her hand.

  Wonderful, she thought sarcastically and put it aside. She walked around to the front of the building and picked the lock on the door. She was acutely aware of the No Trespassing sign on the door. She glanced back, noticing that the wind chimes had stopped clinking. They were perfectly still, yet a slight breeze blew.

  Clarice got the door unlocked and stepped inside. The moment she did, the chimes started clinging again.

  Junk furniture filled the place, giving her little room to navigate. Whoever owned the place now used it as a storage unit for car panels, old dressers, and desks. The furniture was heavy enough that the floor bowed underneath its weight. Her foot touched down. The floor creaked. She pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight. The furniture cast long shadows.

  Night quickly approached.

  Clarice walked through the place. As she made it to the center of the living room, something thumped on the roof. Clarice shined her phone up into the ceiling. Multiple waffle-shaped wasp’s nests hung from the rafters. Clarice listened.

  Silence.

  She decided to continue her search. She found a small desk and pulled open the drawers. Inside were documents coated with dust. Clarice flipped through them but didn’t find anything useful. She checked every drawer thoroughly, finding a few family photos, an empty cash box, some men’s jewelry, and a small income book. She put it all back and navigated the maze of junk toward the bedroom. She had to turn sideways to shimmy through some pieces. Most of them were broken parts. A few nightstands stood on top of one another. There were two couches standing on the sides and a wardrobe. Eventually, Clarice made it to the bedroom.