Jillie Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Olive Balla and

  Jillie

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing

  Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc. and other major retailers

  Jillie dropped the metal lid as if it were red hot… Her stomach heaved, and something sour shot up her throat. Panic sent her running to the door where she pounded against the unyielding wood until the muscles in her arms cramped. She fell to her knees and clawed at the floor, ignoring the pain radiating up her arms from torn fingernails…

  The sound of approaching footsteps made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck move. Jillie snatched up the broken shovel handle and took a position in front of the door. With her legs slightly bent, she balanced on the balls of her feet as she’d seen a martial arts professional do on television. She gripped the pole in both hands as if it were a sword, aimed its broken, pointed end at the door, and waited.

  Praise for Olive Balla and

  her first mystery novel,

  AN ARM AND A LEG

  “A fine read!”

  “Compelling from the very first chapter.”

  “…a thrilling story.”

  “Thanks for the good read.”

  “Couldn’t put it down.”

  Jillie

  by

  Olive Balla

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Jillie

  COPYRIGHT © 2019 by Olive Balla

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Abigail Owen

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Mainstream Mystery Rose Edition, 2019

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2556-9

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2557-6

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For my siblings:

  Richard, Virginia, Joseph, and Ernest,

  who’ve been there through it all

  and know where the bodies are buried.

  Acknowledgements

  Christine Munsey, Criminal Investigator

  Carol Burns, M.D.

  Dennis Burns, M.D. Professor of Pathology

  Heath White, Torrance County Sheriff

  Michelle Wells, Torrance County Sheriff’s

  Administrator

  Susan Brazil, Torrance County Planning & Zoning

  Maggie Pino, Crime Scene Cleanup

  Frank Zubia, Director, Crime Victim Reparation

  Lee Havard, Ex-Military Medic & Paramedic

  Virginia Hutson, Editing & Beta Reader

  Alysia Hernandez, Beta Reader

  Ally Robertson, Editor, The Wild Rose Press

  ~*~

  Other Titles by Olive Balla

  available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  An Arm and a Leg

  Chapter One

  Trying unsuccessfully to ignore raised voices coming from inside the house where she lived with her sister and brother-in-law, eleven-year-old Jillie Ross stooped to retrieve a green plastic toy soldier and two milky white stones—the latest of many gifts left by a growing number of crows in exchange for the bits of bread she scattered on the porch daily. The toy soldier was missing a leg, but the crystalline stones were pretty. She did a happy dance for the benefit of the crow watching from its perch atop the backyard fence, stuffed the toy and stones into her jeans pocket, and headed for the back door.

  Her stomach tightened as it always did when her sister Beth and brother-in-law Digger argued. Usually, she’d walk the mile or so to their neighbor Mrs. Potter’s house and hang out long enough for the storm to die down, but for some reason, that day she chose to stay close by.

  She sighed, repositioned the eyeglasses on her sweat-slick nose, and shot a final glance toward a sumac bush underneath which she’d seen a huge rattlesnake that morning. After making a mental note to warn Beth about the snake, she stepped to the back door.

  “Stop your blubbering, and tell me where it is.” Digger Elliott’s angry voice blasted through the open door. The sound of flesh smacking flesh confirmed that the argument had escalated, as usual.

  Hesitantly, Jillie opened the screen.

  “You will tell me, you know,” Digger said. “It’s just a matter of time. I ain’t even started on you good yet.” He paused and looked thoughtful. “Or maybe I been going about this all wrong. Maybe it’s your little sister I should be working over, the white-haired little freak.”

  Beth sniffled but otherwise remained silent.

  “I’m talking to you,” Digger yelled.

  “Why would I lie?” Beth said. “I’d tell you if there was such a thing.” Her voice sounded tired and sad—like she’d said the same thing so many times she’d lost count. “She doesn’t know any more than I do.”

  “Well now, it’s a sad fact of life that innocent folks sometimes get hurt.”

  Beth’s quivering voice rose. “Don’t you touch Jillie. I swear I’ll kill you if you so much as look at her funny.”

  “Whooooeee, listen at you threaten
ing me. Just who the hell do you think you are?” Digger growled, the sound like something from a wild animal.

  Beth wiped her hand across her face and smeared blood over her mouth, chin, and cheeks. Tears streamed from the bright green eyes. The usually smiling lips were swollen and cut.

  “I gotta take a leak.” Digger lifted his shirt and unbuckled his belt. “You and me’ll finish this when I get back.” He weaved, bumped into the wall, stumbled for a couple of steps, then disappeared into the bathroom. The sour smell of booze floated on the air behind him. An open, half-empty bottle of yellowish liquid on the kitchen table offered testimony to his condition.

  Beth glanced down the hall then back toward her sister. She shook her head once and held her finger to her lips.

  Jillie stood still.

  “Go to Mrs. Potter’s.” Beth’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “He’s pulled the phone out of the wall, so you’ll have to call the police from there.”

  But Jillie couldn’t move. She couldn’t stop looking at her sister’s nose, all sideways on her face, or at the streaming blood that made parentheses around Beth’s mouth before dripping onto her white ruffled blouse.

  “You got to go get help.” A pink bubble appeared under Beth’s nostril, dangled for an instant, and then popped. “Hurry, before he gets back.”

  The sound of a door opening down the hall, followed by heavy footfalls and cursing, spurred Jillie to action. Wishing for the cell phone Digger had steadfastly refused to buy—I ain't paying good money so the gov'ment or some foreign hacker can listen to me trash talk my buds—she tore her eyes from her sister's pleading face, turned, and ran through the kitchen and out the back door.

  After only a few steps, she slowed. While she was running away, Digger would be hurting Beth. Her gaze frantically darted around the yard for anything big enough to make him stop.

  Sun glancing off metal caught her eye. Digger’s machete lay where he’d left it, next to a clump of sagebrush he’d gotten tired of whacking at.

  Jillie jumped over a discarded metal detector, grabbed up the machete, and ran back to the house. She flung the screen open, screaming at the top of her lungs, “Leave my sister alone!”

  Digger’s eyes remained fixed on Beth. “Get out of here, Freak,” he yelled “Go on back outside, and talk to your birds.” He dropped to his knees astraddle Beth. “You know what I hate? I hate the way you find money for her to feed those lousy birds when I have to beg my parents for cigarette money.”

  “That money pays the bills, and what’s left belongs to Jillie.”

  “Yeah, yeah, a monthly check for the poor little orphan after her mammy and pappy died.” Digger snorted. “That money comes from taxpayers like me, and all’s I want is some of it back.”

  “You’d have to pay taxes to be called a taxpayer.”

  “Bitch.” Digger growled. “Where is it? Ever’body knows it’s here someplace.”

  Beth moved her hands in slow motion. Her eyes grew unfocused, a far-away look in them like she saw things no one else could see.

  Digger lifted his fist.

  “Stop it!” Jillie hefted the machete above her head. “I said leave her alone.” Seemingly of its own volition, the heavy weapon dropped. The blade thumped against the side of Digger’s head then buried itself in the spot where his neck connected to his shoulder. He hollered a cuss word and made a grab for the blade. Then he grunted, made a funny kind of eep sound, swayed back and forth a couple of times, and collapsed onto the floor.

  The sisters stared in stunned silence at the dark circle of blood pulsing outward from Digger’s neck.

  Beth’s voice pulled Jillie away from the sight. “Here.” She held out one arm. “Help me up.” She kept blinking and shaking her head like she was trying to clear it. “I need to rest a bit.”

  “I hurt him pretty bad.” Jillie’s lip quivered. “I just wanted to make him stop.” She glanced back at Digger. “He’s going to be mad when he wakes up.”

  “Listen to me.” Beth looked into Jillie’s eyes. “He was working himself up to kill me for sure, and you stopped him. You got nothing to be sorry for.” She stroked Jillie’s hair with shaking hands. “We’ve got to go. The police’ll take you away from me after this.”

  “But what if he gets better and comes after us?” It’d be like Digger to play possum to trick them into feeling safe before jumping up and whaling on Beth again.

  Beth looked at her husband lying on the floor next to her. An odd look came over her face, and she sighed. “He won’t be coming after us.”

  With Jillie’s help, she stood, staggered to the sink, and poured a glass of water. She took a drink and immediately vomited. She stood there, her head hanging, and eyes closed, then turned the water back on, cupped her hands under the stream, and splashed her face. Spots of red splattered the counter and the wall behind the sink.

  “You’re sick.” Jillie’s stomach felt like she’d swallowed a boulder.

  “I’ll be okay. Go change out of those bloody clothes. Pack the big suitcase and your backpack with as much as you can get into them. And bring your coat.”

  “What about your stuff?”

  “I’ll get my things together after I’ve rested up a bit. Get the money we’ve been saving; it’s in the pouch in my right riding boot. And don’t forget your sunscreen and hair dye.”

  Trembling so badly she could barely control her body, Jillie ran up the stairs and into her bedroom. She pulled the old yellow suitcase down from the closet shelf and hefted it onto her bed. Unwilling to leave her art supplies behind, she shoved her sketch pad and tin of colored pencils into the suitcase, then filled it with a random pile of clothes and underwear. When the lid wouldn’t close, she sat on it and bounced up and down until it clicked in place. Then she stuffed her backpack with odds and ends before hauling everything downstairs.

  “All done,” Jillie said as she dragged the bulging bags into the kitchen. Careful not to look at Digger, she placed her luggage on the floor and approached her sister who sat on the floor against the refrigerator.

  Beth’s face was gray, and her legs were splayed out in front of her.

  “Don’t you need to pack some stuff?” Jillie said. She touched her sister’s slumped shoulder. “Are you asleep?”

  Her eyes half open, Beth stared at the floor. Her stomach had swelled up like she was three or four months pregnant.

  A cold shiver moved through Jillie’s insides. “Beth, wake up.” She shook her sister’s shoulder, softly at first, then a little harder.

  When Beth still didn’t respond, Jillie ran out of the house and down the road to their nearest neighbor, “Moms” Potter. She was crying so hard the old woman made her repeat herself several times before understanding dawned, and she called an ambulance.

  By the time Mrs. Potter hung up the phone, Jillie was sprinting toward the front door.

  “You should wait here for the police,” the old woman half yelled.

  “Beth needs me,” Jillie hollered over her shoulder.

  “We’ll take my pickup,” Mrs. Potter yelled back.

  Without a word, Jillie changed course. She ran to the white pickup parked in front of Mrs. Potter’s house, pulled open the door, and jumped in while Mrs. Potter started the engine.

  Once back at the farm, Jillie hurried through the back door and into the kitchen. Neither Digger nor Beth had moved.

  Jillie dropped onto the floor next to her sister. “It’s okay, Beth. I called the police. They said they’d send an ambulance.” She picked up her sister’s hand and squeezed. But when there was no return pressure, she busted out bawling. “Don’t die, Beth. Please don’t die.”

  The screen door shrieked open, then banged closed as Mrs. Potter came into the kitchen.

  Jillie glanced up at the elderly woman she’d known all her life. “Digger hurt her bad this time, Moms. He hurt her real bad.”

  Mrs. Potter stepped across the room to Digger, bent over his body, and pressed her fingers agains
t the inside of his wrist. After a couple of seconds, she blew a puff of air out of her mouth, stood, and stepped to a chair near the sisters.

  “I don’t think she’s breathing, Moms.” Jillie began to cry.

  Mrs. Potter put a hand on Jillie’s shoulder. “The ambulance will be here soon, Little One. Be strong for your sister.”

  Wordlessly, Jillie sat and stroked her sister’s hand. She was still there twenty minutes later when the Valencia County Sheriff and an ambulance arrived.

  Chapter Two

  Within the next few hours, Beth was taken to a hospital, and Jillie was taken into custody. While her sister was fighting for her life, Jillie sat in a small room at the police department answering the same questions over and over. A couple of hours later, she was sent to Bernalillo County Youth Services Center in Albuquerque pending a detention hearing. Based on the evidence at the scene, the District Attorney brought Jillie up on charges of murder, and the court assigned her a Public Defender.

  Jillie’s attorney requested a female police psychologist to interview her. The woman smiled a lot and talked softly as she asked questions. A one-eyed video camera recorded every sound and movement.

  “Were you afraid of your brother-in-law, afraid he was going to hurt you?”

  Jillie shook her head. “He yelled, but he never actually hit me. He hurt Beth a lot, though.”

  “By a lot, do you mean he hurt her at other times as well?”

  “Not as bad as this time, but he’d been getting worse, mostly after he got drunk.”

  After several more questions, the psychologist left the room, and Jillie’s attorney returned.

  “You’ll have to stay here for a while,” her attorney said.

  “I want to see Beth.”

  The attorney shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jillie. There are some things that have to be done first.” She promised to check on Beth then left.

  Moms Potter was allowed to attend Jillie’s pretrial. She sat silently, smiled, and mouthed the word Courage.

  After several minutes of discussion, the judge dismissed the charges, stating the defense had offered a compelling argument against bringing the case to trial. Then he gave Jillie the option of either going into foster care or staying with Cleg and Margo Elliott, Digger’s parents who’d requested custody.