The tall, thin officer met her gaze. “This isn’t the first time we’ve been called out to the Martins’ on domestic abuse allegations. But the wife always comes to his defense.”
Owen’s eyebrows shot up. “How can she defend him? It’s obvious he beats her. Hell, I could see the bruises from over here.”
“She claims that she fell down the stairs of the house next door,” the officer answered.
Owen’s hands went to his hips. “She wasn’t in the house next door. The cries I heard were coming from inside the brick home.”
“I understand, Mr. Nobles. Unfortunately, if the wife refuses to press charges, there’s nothing we can do.”
Jess threw up a hand in obvious disbelief. “And if he kills her? Then what?”
“Then we have a case.” The officer finished jotting down something on the notepad, flipped it closed and returned it to his shirt pocket.
“Look, folks, I know you mean well, and we appreciate you attempting to help. But we see this sort of thing more often than not. The abused are either too afraid to make a report, or they have some deep rooted need to be controlled.”
Jess opened her mouth to argue, but Owen sent her a look he hoped she would read. She did.
He extended his hand to the officer. “Thank you for responding.”
“That’s what we’re here for.”
Chapter Ten
Jessica watched the officers stride back to their squad car and leave without a backward glance. “I can’t believe they’re not going to do anything.”
Owen closed the door. “You heard them. Their hands are tied. If Mrs. Martin refuses to press charges, there’s nothing they can do.”
“But you saw the marks on her face.” Jess moved to the window to find Eustice standing on his front porch staring back at her.
She quickly backed away, a feeling of unease following her into the kitchen. “Dinner’s getting cold.”
Owen stepped up behind her and wrapped her in his arms. “It smells delicious. Listen, Jess, I want you to stay away from the house next door. I don’t want you anywhere near Eustice Martin when I’m not here.”
Jess merely nodded. She picked up a plate that held a burger and homemade french fries and offered it to her husband.
Kissing the top of her head, Owen accepted the plate and took it into the dining room.
Jessica quickly joined him.
The two of them ate in silence, each one lost in his or her own thoughts. Jess couldn’t help but think about the articles she’d read before Owen’s arrival home.
What suspicions had surrounded the investigation? she silently questioned, taking a bite of her burger. And who were they suspicious of?
She wondered if Eustice Martin had anything to do with it. Strange that he’d bought that house shortly after its foreclosure.
Owen paused with his burger half way to his mouth. “Don’t worry about the Martins, Jess. As long as you steer clear of their property, everything will be alright.”
Jessica nodded in an attempt to reassure Owen that she would be fine. When, in truth, she felt anything but. Her gut told her that Eustice had more than likely been trouble to the people who’d lived in that two-story house, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he had something to do with Terry’s disappearance.
Owen reached out and laid his palm over the back of Jessica’s hand. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
With a small smile, Jess put down her burger and wiped her mouth. “I’m sure. Let’s finish eating and watch a movie together.”
His eyes lit up with joy, sending a pang of guilt sliding through her gut. She’d neglected him—neglected his needs for the past three years, yet he’d always been there for her.
They finished their meal in silence, cleaned up their mess, and got ready for bed.
Owen turned on the television in the bedroom. “What do you want to watch?”
“It doesn’t matter.” And it didn’t. TV didn’t interest her in the least. Seeing Owen smile was her only goal tonight. “You pick something.”
He pulled her head down to his chest as he’d recently done and flipped through the channels. It wasn’t long until the room filled with the soft sounds of his snores.
Jess switched off the television and quietly slid from the bed. Sleep would surely allude her this night, her mind becoming a jumble of scattered thoughts and images of the day’s events.
She crept to her office and flipped on the light. Her painting supplies sat in the corner, resting against the wall. She hadn’t painted in years.
Setting up the easel, Jess began readying her paints along with a fresh canvas. She wanted to create Jacob, smiling and playing in the sun.
It took her a good minute to gather enough strength to mix her paints. It wouldn’t be easy to capture the image of a smiling Jacob, not with her last memory of him lying in that coffin.
Swallowing hard, Jess steadied her hand and started with the backdrop. It wasn’t long before she became lost in the feel of the brush moving over the canvas.
“Jess?” Owen’s voice penetrated her sleep fogged brain. “What are you doing in here? It’s three in the morning.”
Blinking to clear her vision, Jess met her husband’s worried gaze. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d come in here and paint.”
She shifted her attention to the canvas, the brush she held in her fingers falling softly to the floor at her feet.
Owen rushed into the room. “Are you okay?”
Jess couldn’t answer. Her gaze remained locked on the image before her—the image of a boy, lying in a grave. Though, she couldn’t see his face for the long, dark hair, covering his eyes, she would recognize that striped T-shirt, anywhere.
She cleared her throat, jumping to her feet and blocking Owen’s view of the painting. “It’s not finished yet.”
Owen came to a stop, his gaze searching her own. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He had no idea how accurate his assessment was. Jessica blanked her expression. “I must have fallen asleep in here. I’m sorry for worrying you. Go back to bed, I’ll be there shortly.”
Owen’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “It’s good to see you taking an interest in painting again.”
Jess sent him a reassuring smile. “It actually felt pretty good.”
He turned to go. “Don’t stay up too much longer. You look exhausted.”
Jessica waited for him to disappear around the corner before moving back in front of the image she had no memory of painting.
Her hand slowly lifted toward the little boy’s hidden face, but she let it fall away.
She would need to get rid of the painting before Owen saw it. He already worried about her sanity, and if he had any idea that she’d blacked out and painted the missing Dayton boy, buried beneath the ground, he would think she’d lost her mind. At this point, Jessica was beginning to question that very thing.
Snatching up the painting, she hurried across the room and placed it in the back of the closet.
Chapter Eleven
Jessica spent the next few days reading everything she could find on the internet about the missing Dayton boy.
In all the articles she’d found, one man’s name continued to appear—a reporter named Steven Ruckle.
She backed out of the current screen she’d landed on and typed in the reporter’s name. Steven Ruckle no longer worked as a reporter for the local newspaper. He’d moved on to an editor’s position at a much larger publishing house.
Jess wrote down the phone number that appeared on the screen and reached for her cell.
What am I going to say? Hi, my name is Jessica Nobles and I saw the missing boy from the house next door? They will lock me up for sure.
Taking a steadying breath, Jess dialed the number.
“Harrington Post,” a female voice announced, picking up on the third ring.
Jess wanted to hang up. Instead, she said, “May I speak with Steven Ruckle?”
“He’s not in his office at the moment, but I can take a message if you’d like?”
Jessica gave the woman her name and number. “Thank you for your time.”
“Not a problem.” The woman disconnected the call.