Rosemary Danced: Ivy Book One

by Charley Lynn

  Mike grabbed the steering wheel and growled out his frustration. He reached for his phone and sent his mom a text.

  Mike: Going to be late for school. Rosemary gone—no idea where. I’m blocked from her phone. I need to get myself together for a little while. Will you call the school office?

  Patty: I will call. I love you, Mickey. Remember Miranda and I love you.

  Mike: I love you, too. Don’t worry. I never forget you and Miranda.

  Patty: I know. <3

  Mike drove out of the parking lot, the anger roiling through him unlike anything he’d ever felt before. He was driving toward the lake when his phone’s ringtone blared. It was the reporter who had written the article in Sunday’s paper. He recognized the number because he’d been trying to call the guy.

  “Yeah, this is Mike Studor. What do you want?”

  “I’d like to talk to you about Rosemary Bakker.”

  “Why? You haven’t done enough damage?” Mike snarled his response.

  “She did her own damage. You need to focus on what’s important. My only intention was to report the truth.”

  “Wrong. It was intended to excite your readers and sell newspapers. What was your name again?”

  “Rick Hewlett.”

  “Where did you go to school?”

  “Harding.”

  “So, do they teach ethics there? Or are you taught to write the most inflammatory stuff you can without backing it up with truth?”

  “Your grandma called me, man. She knew all the stuff about the girl. She even had the case number from the Chicago police. Why would your grandmother lie?”

  “My grandma’s reasons are manufactured. In her own head. So, you’re telling me you didn’t check anything out? You didn’t verify my grandmother’s story?”

  “Uh, well…”

  Mike interrupted. “No, I know you didn’t. Because if you’d done your job, you would have discovered that story was a lie. The police case number naming Rosemary? She was the victim. She was the victim of an assault. Through no fault of her own.”

  “Mike, I know you’re young, but you’ve gotta accept it—women lie. The girl lied to you about all of that so you’d feel sorry for her. She wanted to get you, so she lied and you fell for it.”

  “Rick, you’re a moron. A complete idiot. That’s forgivable, but you’re also lazy and, if you ever had them, you’ve lost your professional ethics. After the dust settles here, I’m coming for you. I’m going to make it my personal mission to expose you for the journalistic hack that you are.” Mike disconnected the call. He ignored it when Rick called right back. He turned his car around and headed east. To his grandparents’ house.

  The garage door was open and Harold’s car was gone. But her car was in the garage. He walked to the front door and knocked. He’d never knocked on the door in this house in his life. He knew where the key was hidden so if he wanted to go in when they weren’t home, he could. He’d had his issues with his grandma, but he’d always felt welcomed here. No longer.

  He waited. He finally heard her steps on the other side of the door. “Mickey!” Jean Studor said tremulously.

  “I want to speak to you.”

  “Why didn’t you come through the kitchen?” She opened the door for him.

  Mike stared at her. “I’m never doing that again. You’re a stranger to me; I wouldn’t go into a stranger’s house without knocking.”

  “What do you mean? I’m not a stranger! I’m your grandmother.”

  “No. Not anymore.” He looked at his dad’s graduation picture, hanging in the hall before he turned to face her. “Since my dad died, I’ve watched how you treat my mother. You’ve never lifted a finger to help her while she was trying to raise us alone. You’ve never so much as offered to babysit while she struggled to keep her head above water.”

  “I’ve watched you ignore my sister because you somehow think she’s less than human. I know you refuse to admit she exists to your friends. I’ve allowed you to pretend I’m your only grandchild. Because I look good enough for you. Because with you, it’s all about how things look. You’re despicable.”

  Jean didn’t answer. “I’m ashamed of myself for allowing those things, but I’m most ashamed of not confronting you about the way you treated Rosemary. I’m here to tell you I’m done. You publicly humiliated the most loving, beautiful girl I’ve ever known. You weren’t content to spread your lies with gossip. You went to the newspaper and somehow found an unethical hack to write about the lies you told. He helped you do your dirty work and you’ve met your goal—Rosemary is gone.” Jean’s eyes lit up.

  “Yeah, she’s gone. But I’ll get her back—and I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care what it costs or what I have to give up. If I have to quit school, if I have to give up going to college, I will. I would give up everything, willingly, to get her back.” Jean looked shocked. “You did your best to destroy my life, but you won’t win. I don’t care if I work for minimum wage my whole life.”

  He stared at her. “When I walk out this door, I’m not coming back. You’re dead to me. I hate what that might do to my grandpa, but I can’t look at you. I never want to see you again.” Mike walked out, ignoring the woman’s noisy sobs.

  Mike tried to look attentive in his classes that morning, but he wasn’t listening. Rosemary’s disappearance was the hot topic, but nobody mentioned it to him. He was pretending to listen to a guest speaker in his business law class when the guy said something that jarred him.

  According to the lawyer, libel laws take on an added dimension when the information goes out over the internet. When the speaker finished and asked for questions, Mike asked a question. “So, if a reporter publishes a story and admits he didn’t check his sources, and the information was false and went online, would that be libel and a cyber-crime?”

  “Each case is different, of course. But the simple answer is that it is likely what you’re describing would be libel and a cyber-crime. Even harassment and bullying. The posting of libel on the internet could cause an array of issues that a victim could sue about.” Mike nodded, took out his phone and sent John an email.

  Chapter 42

  “Mike.”

  Mike lifted his head out of his calculus book. He wasn’t studying, but it was good cover.

  “Hey, Coach.”

  “Mike, I know you’re in a bad way. I wish I could help you with it, but nobody is talking about where she’s gone.”

  Mike nodded miserably. Rosemary had been gone for two days. She’d arranged to finish her semester work and take semester tests over email. His mom told him that she’d applied to graduate early. She had just…vanished. “I hoped you would stop by at middle school basketball practice tonight. Caleb is really struggling and I’m worried about him.”

  “I can talk to him, Coach, but I don’t think I’ll be much help.”

  “You might be surprised. He feels guilty as all get-out about telling your grandmother about Rosemary being your girlfriend. He has the mistaken idea that your grandma’s interview with the media wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t told her about it.”

  “Nobody can control what my grandma chooses to do,” Mike said wearily.

  “He’s a kid; he still thinks that he could have changed things. Would you talk to him?”

  “Yeah. I’ll stop by there after school.”

  “Thanks, Mike.” Coach clapped him on the shoulder. “Mike, I hope this all works out for you and Rosemary.”

  When Mike walked into the gym, Caleb was sitting on the bench, his head down. The rest of the team was on the court. Mike sat down next to Caleb. “Hey, buddy.”

  Caleb looked up. “Mike! What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to see how you’re doing. Things are pretty rough, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah. My mom cries all the time and Dad never smiles. I never realized that one person gone in a big family can make the house seem so empty.”

  “Yeah, well, Rosemary is a pretty big
part of your family.”

  Caleb’s head went down again; his shoulders started shaking. Mike put his arm around the boy. “Caleb, this isn’t your fault. Nothing is your fault.”

  Caleb nodded, but he didn’t answer for a long time. Finally, he wiped his face on his arms and looked up. “I don’t know if she’ll ever come back.”

  Mike felt a stab of pain so strong it almost caused him to gasp. “Don’t say that, Caleb. She’ll come back.”

  Caleb shook his head. “I don’t think so. I heard Mom tell my dad that she was sending Rosemary’s passport to her.”

  “Her passport? Where is she going?”

  “I don’t know. She’s in Chicago now. She’s staying with our Aunt Rosemary.”

  Mike felt a stab of hope. Now he knew she was in Chicago.

  “Do you know your Aunt Rosemary’s last name?”

  “No, she just got married and had a baby; I don’t know her new name. I know her husband is some big computer guru guy and she is a lawyer or a judge or something like that.”

  “Do you know where she lives?”

  “In Chicago. In a cool apartment, on like the fortieth floor or something.”

  Mike nodded. “Caleb, I want you to stop worrying about telling my grandma that your sister is my girlfriend. I told her myself a couple of hours after you did, so you’re not responsible for anything. My grandma did a mean and nasty thing. It didn’t have anything to do with you. Okay?”

  Caleb’s head went down again. Mike pulled him closer and held him for a few moments. “Caleb, I’m going to get her back. I promise you.”

  Caleb didn’t look up. “I hope you do.”

  At home, Mike emailed his dad’s friend Jason; they had played football together at William Penn. Jason had gone home to Chicago after graduation and now worked as a social worker for the city of Chicago. While he waited on a response, Mike looked at his bank balances. He only had about three hundred bucks in his checking account, but he’d saved about five thousand dollars over the past three years. It was supposed to be for college, but he didn’t care. He might not be going to college. He transferred all of the money from his savings to his checking account.

  After Jason responded, Mike packed his gym bag with several changes of clothes. He went to school the next day and finished his semester tests. While school wasn’t officially out for the holidays for another ten days, he didn’t care. He wrote his mom a long note and left it on the kitchen table when he stopped at home to get his gym bag. By three-fifteen, he was on the road, headed to Chicago.

  When Patty came home and found the note, she cried and put her head down to pray. She asked God to protect and help her son. She asked Him to help Mickey find Rosemary. She didn’t think Mickey would ever be the same without Rosemary.

  Jason pulled Mickey into a hug. “Come on in, Mick. Have you eaten?”

  “Yeah, I had a burger on the road.”

  “Not enough. Sit down right there. I’m not much of a cook, but I make a mean PB & J. I’ll throw together the sandwiches; you start talking.”

  Mike told the whole story about dating Rosemary, the guy who drugged her and took the pictures, and ending with the interview his grandma had given. By the time he was finished, he’d eaten three sandwiches and had three glasses of milk.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to find her.”

  “Mickey, this is a big city—you don’t know her aunt’s last name or Armand’s last name.”

  “I know. I’m going to the modeling agency first. Then the police. After that, I don’t know.”

  “Okay, let’s say you do find her. Do you have any idea how you’ll convince her to go home with you?”

  “None.”

  “Let’s think about this.” Jason sipped a cup of tea. “I know quite a few cops. I’ll make some calls in the morning and see if I can find you someone to start with. I gotta warn you, though, a lot of that stuff is confidential. I don’t know how much they’ll tell you.”

  Mike nodded. “Yeah, I know. All I can do is try.”

  Jason nodded. Thirty minutes later, Mike was stretched out on the couch with a pillow and a quilt. He tossed and turned; he had slept very little in the ten days since they had found out about the website. He got up and paced, trying to get calm enough to sleep. He finally kneeled and bowed his head. He tried to pray, but the words wouldn’t come. He suddenly remembered his dad telling him once that he didn’t need to find words, but if he opened his heart, God would hear him. So, that’s what he tried to do. The next morning, he realized he’d slept better than he had for the past ten days.

  Mike was up, showered and drinking coffee when Jason texted him with a contact name. The modeling agency didn’t open for another hour, so he decided to try the police first.

  After several wrong turns and a long search for a parking space, Mike asked for the detective Jason had told him to see. After a short wait, Mike was approached by a tall African American guy with a gold badge on his lanyard.

  “Mike Studor?” The detective held out his hand.

  “Yes, sir.” Mike shook his hand.

  “Trayvon Brown. Come on back.” They walked through a long hallway and back to a small office. He pointed out a chair to Mike, closed the door behind them and sat behind a battered metal desk.

  “Jason called me this morning. He told me a little bit about this. You’re looking for your girlfriend?”

  “Yeah. She isn’t a runaway, her parents know where she is. But she ran away from me.”

  “Son, that’s not a crime.” The detective chuckled.

  “Yeah, I know. I think I might be able to find her on my own, but I’m also trying to find the guy who took a bunch of nude pictures of her without her permission about a year ago.”

  “How did that happen?” The detective looked intrigued. He listened without comment while Mike told the story. “Mike, I’m sorry she had to go through all that, but I can’t give out a name, you understand that, right?”

  Mike sighed. “Yeah. I knew it was a long shot.” He stood up. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

  “Hold on. Sit down. Because I do have something for you.” The detective leaned back in his chair. “I’ve known Jason a long time—since we were kids. He says if you’re here, it’s important. So, I checked out Rosemary’s name and I found the case. I can’t tell you anything about the case, but here’s what I can tell you. This guy Armand—we think he’s done this at least three times, but he’s been smart; we haven’t been able to catch him at it yet.”

  “What I can give you is a name. The brother of one of the girls he did this to—a couple of years before your girlfriend—has been dogging Armand’s every move, hoping he’ll make a mistake. The brother’s name is Trey Freed and I have his number. He’s going to want to talk to you. Mike punched the number and name into his phone, plus Detective Brown’s contact information. When he got back to his car, Mike called Trey Freed.

  The phone was answered immediately. “Freed.”

  “Uh, I was looking for Trey Freed.”

  “Who’s this?”

  “My name is Mike Studor. Detective Brown gave me your number. I’m looking for someone named Armand.”

  The string of curses almost burned Mike’s ear off. “If you’re calling about Armand, somebody in your life has been hurt by him. Your sister?”

  “My girlfriend. Rosemary Bakker.”

  “Oh yeah. You’re the football player?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come on over.”

  Mike found Trey Freed in an old office building just north of the Loop. The frosted glass on the office door was painted with the words, Freed Law Office. A woman sitting at a desk in the front room sent him to the inner office.

  Trey Freed was much younger than he had sounded on the phone, no more than thirty years old, by Mike’s guess. At least Mike’s height, he had black eyes and a shaved head. “Come on in, Mike. Sit down. I’ve been reading about Rosemary. He’s real
ly done a number on her, hasn’t he?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is she all right? I mean, she hasn’t attempted suicide, or anything like that?”

  “Not that I know of. Four days ago, she packed up and left. She somehow finished her classes online and has applied to graduate early. I think she’s in Chicago, at least temporarily.”

  “Not with him?”

  “No. I think she’s with a friend of her mother’s. But she’s asked her mom to send her passport, so I don’t know what she plans to do next.”

  “And you want to find her?”

  “I do.” Tears filled Mike’s eyes. “I love her...I need her.” He ducked his head. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize. I get it.”

  Trey sat back in his chair. “I hate the guy. My sister Tina was in high school when our parents passed in a car accident. I was in law school at University of Chicago, living in a house with a bunch of guys, but I moved back home to be with Tina. When she decided she wanted to model. I thought it was a good thing—a way to make money, to wear pretty clothes we couldn’t afford, and a way to build her confidence. All of that was true, but Armand was a different story. I hold myself at least partly responsible. She was floundering; she was lonely and scared and I was wrapped up in myself and law school. Like an idiot, I thought if I kept the lights on and food on the table, we were good.”

  “After the fact, I learned he had been abusing her for a year. The last six months he abused her…in all ways. She tried to break away from him, but he threatened to send nude pictures of her to the Catholic school she attended, so she stayed two more months. She did finally leave him and he did what he threatened. She attempted suicide. I was a clueless…jerk. I freaked out. I yelled at her—called her weak, a lot of things I’m ashamed of saying. A week after she got out of the hospital, she attempted again. That time she almost didn’t make it back. She spent a month in the hospital after that attempt and I was so scared, I finally listened to every word she said. I spent time with her therapist; I heard everything about Armand. It was all I could do to keep from killing him.” Trey pulled two bottles of water out of a mini-fridge. He tossed one to Mike and drained the other one.