The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. The Old Man and the Sea.
Crime and Punishment.
Feeling a flicker of something resonate in the back of her mind, Serena released her grip on one side of the dresser. Extending a single finger, she slid the volume out from the stack, a layer of dust having settled across the top of it.
As she pulled it toward her, the sound of the leather wrenching free from the books to either side became audible, time having fused them together.
Another subtle reminder that the place had existed much longer than she would care to admit.
Placing it flat on the dresser, Serena cracked open the top cover. The smell of old leather and paper rose to her nostrils as she rifled through the first few pages, a welcome respite from the scents already occupying the room.
With each one she turned, the spine cracked softly, from years of going untouched.
Along the outside of the pages, bits of yellow had started to creep in, the typeset resembling that of a typewriter, the item clearly an antique keepsake, better meant for a museum collection somewhere than as an actual item someone intended to use.
Keeping up the ruse as far as page six, Serena snapped the cover shut. Flicking it harder than intended, she heard it slam into place with a satisfying thud, giving her the first tiny bit of hope she’d felt since arriving.
The book would do. Regardless of what shape it was in or how it might appear, it would be sufficient for the small role it was meant to play.
After that, it was on her.
Placing a small bit of weight down onto her right toes, Serena hopped in the air, using her grip on the dresser to twist herself so she was facing the bed. Balanced on one leg, she slid the book away from the top of the dresser and tossed it over to the foot of the mattress, the item landing silently on the comforter.
Watching as it came to a halt, settling atop the floral covers, Serena lifted her gaze a few inches further. Past the edge of the bed and on to the nightstand sitting in the corner.
To the plain Styrofoam container and the next part of her plan tucked away inside.
Chapter Sixty-Three
The small metal sign along the side of the road was framed perfectly within Reed Mattox’s front headlights as he idled on the shoulder. Green with white lettering, it welcomed people to the town of Summit, announcing that there was a total population of one hundred and forty people.
A week ago, Reed might have thought to ask what the point was in even having such a sign made, though after just a couple of days back on the prairie, it barely even registered with him.
It wasn’t like one hundred and forty was anywhere close to the smallest number he’d spotted thus far.
With his foot still on the brake, the world through the rearview mirror awash in red from the glow of his rear lights, Reed stared down at the stack of notes Deke had sent over earlier in the day. Having had little time to look past the most recent couple of cases, it was only by sheer luck he’d even thought to print out the remainder.
This particular girl had been taken from Summit five years prior, the third one to go missing, assuming the group that Deke had uncovered was all that existed. Named Carly Whitehair, she was twenty-six at the time of her disappearance, a teacher at the local elementary school.
Though there wasn’t a photo included, the name alone was enough to denote Native American lineage. Coupled with Deke’s search parameters, Reed could already picture a pretty close approximation of the girl in his mind, the visual doing nothing to alleviate the acrimony he felt or the ever-growing pressure of the clock hanging above Serena Gipson.
Rifling through the sheets of paper, Reed checked over the girl’s financial background and what little there was in the way of personal history, the narrative being what he imagined was pretty common in this part of the country.
Young girl from a small town, she had stayed at home for college, commuting onto the reservation each day where she earned her teaching certificate from the College of the Muscogee Nation. After that, she spent a year making the drive to a school in Tulsa before a spot opened up in her hometown and she circled back.
Once she was situated back in Summit, the ensuing three years seemed pretty uneventful. Regular payments were being made on a modest student loan. No credit card debt to speak of, no car or house payment in her name.
No mention of a spouse.
Letting out a sigh, Reed piled the papers back into their original stack. Tossing them to the passenger seat, he glanced to the rearview mirror, seeing Billie still standing tall on her front paws, staring back at him.
Completely rigid, one ear flicked slightly to the side, the rest of her impassive as she met his gaze.
There was no denying that this case had been a vast departure from the way they were used to working together. Covering the graveyard shift in The Commons, their jurisdiction stretched no more than ten miles in any one direction. The most amount of time they ever spent in a car was an hour or two, and that was only under the harshest of winter conditions.
Otherwise, they were out walking, there always seeming to be something going on or someone to talk to.
Already, Reed was starting to feel like it had been days sitting in the SUV, everything from the moment they headed to the airport in Columbus seeming like an unending commute. Coupled with the antsy feeling he already harbored in the wake of being put on leave, nervous energy seemed to be spilling from every opening.
“Soon, girl,” Reed said, his voice causing the other ear atop Billie’s head to move.
Dropping the gear shift into drive, he eased away, the front headlights passing over the sign along the side of the road.
Barely needing to nudge the gas above an idle, they went two blocks before hanging a right. A block later, they turned left before pulling up in front of a single-story modular with light blue paint and white trim. In the driveway was an older-model Buick, the front porch light shining down over a concrete stoop, potted plants sitting on either side.
Easing to a stop, Reed pulled the keys, shifting his body in the front seat. Hooking a hand beneath Billie’s chin, he rubbed at the soft fur there, the gesture doing little to assuage the tension in her body.
“Give me ten minutes,” Reed whispered, a single blink being Billie’s only response.
Turning back to face front, Reed’s gaze landed on the pair of items Thad Martin had handed over before they parted ways. A response to Reed’s request for a favor, on the right was a badge from the Muskogee Police Department, the item belonging to Martin himself and handed over only begrudgingly on pain of death if it wasn’t returned.
A condition Reed couldn’t help but agree to, knowing that he would have done the same in the man’s position.
If he’d have handed his over at all.
The second item was a collapsible baton, the closest thing Martin had or was willing to part with in the form of a weapon. Knowing better than to even insinuate a gun, that already he was treading far into whatever goodwill existed because the man and his father were friends, Reed had readily accepted it.
With any luck, there would be no call for either.
Still didn’t mean he was foolish enough to endanger himself or his partner by not asking, merely hoping for the best.
Opting to leave both behind for this particular stop, Reed stepped out, the evening air beginning to cool. Wrapping around his body, it touched at the dampness in the small of his back, picking at the perspiration on his brow.
The street that the Whitehairs lived on vaguely resembled the one the Gipsons called home back in Warner. The lots were bigger and the homes a little less dense, though by and large, there was a close semblance.
All of the houses stood a single story tall. Driveways were sufficient for a vehicle or two, most with standard sedans or pickup trucks, American made within the last decade or two.
Recently painted mailboxes lined the road, the grass uniformly clipped.
Making it no further than a few ste
ps past the front of the SUV, Reed heard the sound of a metal storm door swinging open. Drawing his attention toward the house, he could see a wiry woman of middle-height step out onto the porch. Pulling the door shut behind her, she went straight down the stoop and cut a path across the front grass, her intentions clear.
“You the guy?” she asked when she was halfway to him, her voice much firmer than Reed anticipated.
Not sure exactly what the comment was supposed to mean, Reed adjusted his path. Moving away from the driveway, he looped around to the passenger side, remaining on the sidewalk as the woman came up alongside him, her arms still folded tight.
In the faint light from the front porch, the woman looked to be somewhere around fifty. Hair that had once been blonde but was now trending to silver hung in a bob by her chin, her cheekbones and chin both pointed and sharp.
Her lips she kept pursed tight, her entire visage reminding Reed of someone that was sucking hard on a straw at all times.
“The one the guy from MPD called and said would be stopping by?” she added, the clear disdain she felt for his presence - and the entire situation - palpable.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Turning her body to glance to the house, the woman said, “My husband is asleep in his chair. Passes out every night right after dinner, if you catch my drift.”
Assuming that the woman was referencing his nightly meal to be of a liquid variety, Reed only nodded. While he wasn’t quite expecting the overt hostility, it was far from the first time he’d been greeted in such a way.
Sometimes it was from people who merely hated the sight of law enforcement, reviling everything it stood for, lobbing comments his way for the duration of their interaction.
Others, it was in instances like he could already see this one was going to be.
“My name is Reed Mattox,” he began, gesturing with his chin toward the backseat of the SUV, “and with me is my K-9 partner, Billie. We’re detectives with the Columbus, Ohio Police Department.”
Not once did the woman’s eyes shift from Reed to the vehicle. “Ohio? What the hell are you doing here?”
With each word the woman spoke, it was plain to see her agitation growing more pronounced. At any moment, Reed could imagine her lighting into him, causing a scene her neighbors would be talking about for years to come.
Each thing he said from this point forward needed to be considered and measured; he had to be careful not to trip up anything unwanted.
“We’ve been asked to assist in the disappearance of a young lady from Warner.”
Stopping there, waiting to see how the comment was received, Reed watched as the woman stayed completely still for a moment. As the words resonated with her, Reed saw her head begin to bob slowly, her lower jaw working from side to side.
“Unbelievable, you know that?” she muttered. “You people are un-”
Cutting herself off before delivering the profanity-laced version of the same word she’d just said, she jerked her attention to the side. Pulling her arms tighter across herself, she stood rigid, waiting the better part of a minute before snapping her attention back to Reed.
“Four years,” she spat. “That’s the last time anybody was out here or even thought to check in with us. Four damn years since anybody cared about my Carly.”
Leaning forward at the waist, she peered his way, gaze practically boring into him.
“And do you know what that old prick said when he was here? When I was asking him basic questions, things that any mother would want to know?
“He said, ‘I’m sorry, but we’ve got to face facts. It’s been a long time.’”
Pushing out a sharp scoff, she jerked her focus back to the side. “But now that somebody else has gone missing, suddenly you want to show up and start asking questions. Suddenly, they decide to bring in experts with dogs from other states. Don’t that just figure?”
Turning, she took two steps toward the house, appearing that she might march right back inside, before spinning on a heel. “So I fell in love with an Indian? And we had a mixed-race child. Is that such a crime?
“Should my daughter not be protected by the same set of laws? Shouldn’t you guys try to find her just as much as you’re now trying to find this girl?”
Much like he’d seen the anger that the woman carried the moment he arrived many times before, Reed had seen things like this as well. In the absence of answers, people will search for anything they can, any way of making sense of what happened.
And when that often fails, they start concocting their own, latching onto anything that will help fill the gaps.
“You are absolutely right,” Reed said. “You did nothing wrong, and even if you did, that shouldn’t have mattered regarding your daughter.”
The words landed just as Reed had thought they would. The woman paused, clearly not expecting them, her lips parting ever so slightly.
Condemning fellow law enforcement was not something he took lightly, but much like encountering Adam Fisher earlier, sometimes he had to take a step back in the name of developing rapport.
This woman was clearly angry. Five years ago, her daughter had disappeared. Not a trace of who was responsible had ever been turned up, and in the absence of such, she’d been forced to pin her venom on the only available target.
The investigators who hadn’t brought her home.
So be it.
“But you’re absolutely wrong if you think we were called in to help this time,” Reed continued. “Billie and I just happened to be at the local gas station filling some cans for my folks when we heard it occur down the street.
“We were only here visiting, but there was no way in hell we could leave with that sitting on our conscience.”
Bit by bit, Reed watched as the hostility peeled back. Not completely, but to a level where the woman at least appeared reasonable. Perhaps even the tiniest bit remorseful for the accusations she’d been flinging a moment before.
At him personally, at least, if not law enforcement in general.
“Now,” Reed said, remaining rooted in place, his hands thrust down into the pockets of his jeans, “I am very sorry about what happened to your daughter, and I am even more sorry to be showing up like this tonight. I only do so because I believe what happened to Carly and what happened to this young woman are connected. As are the disappearances of a lot of other young women in this half of the state over the last several years.”
The information was more than Reed wanted to lead with, though it was apparent he didn’t have a choice. Standing across from the woman, he watched as she processed it, trying to make sense of what he said, deciphering if it was legit or simply a means of getting her to open.
“Yeah?” she asked, tinges of bitterness still present. “What makes you say that?”
“Because the young girl we’re looking for is also half Native American.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
The wooden frame of the back door swung into place as The Bear stepped into the mudroom behind his home. Pausing to brace himself against the casing surrounding it, he slid his work boots off without bothering with the laces, kicking them to the side before turning toward the kitchen.
The last couple of days had been interminable. Coming on the heels of planting season and the extra time spent tracking Serena Gipson in the previous weeks, the strain seemed especially pronounced, every part of his body seeming to ache in one way or another.
Part of it was his neck and back, stiff from being contorted into various vehicles. At times it was his stomach, bothered by all the meals eaten on the road or in diners like the one in Warner, forcing down food not fit for animals.
To say nothing of his head, fatigued from thoughts of the girl occupying so much of his active attention, perpetually causing him to be splitting his focus.
His father had always told him that time accumulated faster for people who did what they did for a living. While other people got to spend their days in air-conditioned offices or runn
ing in gym shorts in a sparkling facility, life to them was earned one ounce of sweat at a time.
There would be no stock options or dividends filling The Bear’s coffers. No inheritance or trust fund to let him take the occasional vacation or cut a few corners.
They had done well, but every last inch had come at a cost.
Now approaching his thirty-fifth year, The Bear felt as if he could easily be a decade older. Here it was, a Friday night, the start of summer just days away, and he was out in the barn until well after dark. The next morning, he would be back with the sunrise, on the road south, doing what he needed to.
Just as he always had.
Pushing away from the door frame, he could feel how tight his legs were as he marched into the kitchen and swung open the door of the refrigerator. Chilled air instantly picked at the front of his jeans and the flannel shirt he wore as he reached in, the material still damp from washing up in the barn just a moment before.
Lingering for a moment, reveling in the feel of it against his skin, The Bear waited until goose pimples began to arise on his skin before grabbing another bottle of Coors Light from the cardboard carton. Swinging the door shut, he pulled the top off and tossed it into the sink, the metal clanging around within the wash basin as he stood before the window looking out toward the side yard, his own reflection staring back at him.
If ever there was a time to take a weekend off, to not spend Friday night polishing his wares and all day Saturday hawking them to the masses, this would be it. Nobody who had even the slightest inkling of the stress he’d been under and the schedule he’d been keeping could fault him, months of the breakneck pace finally starting to wear on him.
But The Bear couldn’t allow such a thing.
To this day, he could hear what his parents would have said if he even considered it, reminding him that just because he’d put in one solid day’s effort, the next brought with it a clean slate. The last few months he might have gone above and beyond, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still beholden to do it again in the morning.
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