Heinous by Debra Webb Page B

appeared to be attached to the back of each jar. She reached for one, lifted it from the shelf, and turned it around. The label was actually a Polaroid photo. Her pulse started racing as she checked more of the jars. Some of the people in the photos wore clothes from decades gone by. One or two Jess was sure she recognized from the photos found in the lockbox at the Brownfield farm. Had Mooney been a friend of Amanda’s grandfather?
    Hayes joined her.
    “Lieutenant, call Agent Gant and let him know what we’ve found here.”
    “Making the call now.”
    “I don’t understand this.” The sheriff’s face looked as somber as his voice sounded. “How could all this have been going on for so long in my county without me hearing something?”
    “We rarely recognize the face of evil,” Jess assured him, “unless we catch it in the act or find some evidence that leads us to it.”
    While Hayes updated Gant, Jess continued to inventory the jars, snapping photos of the contents as well as the Polaroids with her cell phone. When she reached the next row, she hesitated. “Sheriff, do you know if Mooney was related to the Brownfield family?” If not, maybe the family business extended to friends. There had to be a connection.
    “Hell if I know,” Foster confessed. “It’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone else. At least that’s what I’ve always thought. I guess I didn’t know some as well as I thought.”
    “Chief.” Hayes had concluded his call and had stalled at the other end of the row of shelves Jess was currently working her way down.
    Though he and Jess hadn’t worked together for that long, she instinctively recognized the combination of dread and disbelief on his face.
    She closed the distance between them, her nerves fraying a little more with each step. A sticky note was fixed to the wide-mouth quart jar that had caught his attention. The note, again handwritten by Spears, was for her.
    This is the one you’re looking for, Jess.
    In the jar was a human fetus, approximately ten inches long, ten or twelve ounces, probably twenty or so weeks based on the development chart she’d seen at the doctor’s office last week. Jess’s mouth felt dry. Her body felt cold. She moistened her lips and said, “Turn it around.”
    Hayes did as she asked. Like all the other jars, there was a photo attached to the back, but this photo was different from the others.
    This was a photo of her mother.
    Jess couldn’t get out of the building fast enough. Hayes stayed right behind her. No doubt ready to catch her if she fell apart.
    She refused to fall apart.
    Her head was spinning. Her stomach was churning. And her chest was hurting, but she would not fall apart.
    Her mother wasn’t pregnant when she died. Was she? Wouldn’t she have told Jess and Lil? Wouldn’t there have been a celebration?
    Outside, she stumbled to the middle of the yard, and then set her hands on her hips trying to steady herself. She drew in a lungful of fresh air. When she could speak, she turned to Hayes. “Lieutenant, ask Sheriff Foster to round up the coroner or mortician—whoever was responsible for preparing my parents’ bodies for transport to Birmingham thirty-two years ago.” Fury and pain roared through her. “I want to know the names of everyone who touched their bodies until they arrived at the funeral home in Birmingham.”
    “I’ll take care of it. Would you like to sit down, Chief?”
    “I’m perfectly fine, Lieutenant. Are you suggesting otherwise?”
    He moved his head from side to side. “No, ma’am.”
    “Good, because I’m fine. Perfectly fine.”
    Her lips started to tremble first and then it was her legs. Suddenly, she couldn’t hold her weight anymore.
    Hayes caught her before she hit the ground.
    He was saying something but Jess couldn’t make out the words. All she could hear was that damned music box tune... the one she’d only just remembered her mother kept on her dresser.
    Then the world went