The Pinch Runner

by Robin Merrill

  “Mama? Who are the police chasing?”

  She didn’t answer Joanna. She was too busy watching, as was everyone else in the parking lot. Phoenix disappeared into the trees and then, ten seconds later, so did the policemen. She still stood there watching, though. She didn’t want to miss anything. They had to come out of the woods eventually.

  Nate appeared beside her and put his hand on her back. “Come on, Sandy, let’s get the kids home.”

  She ripped her eyes away from the woods to look at her husband. “What was that all about?”

  “No idea. I guess our pinch runner is about to get pinched.” He laughed at his own joke, and then took the stroller from her and pushed it toward their van. Joanna followed her dad. Sandra stood rooted to her spot, the tuna noodle casserole forgotten. Where did Phoenix think he was going? There was nothing on the other side of that woods, not for miles. And how had the police known that he was there? Had they been following him and had just finally caught up, or had someone called them? She looked around at the rapidly dissipating crowd. Did someone here know who Phoenix was and that he was wanted by the police? If they did, they weren’t letting on.

  Her minivan rolled to a stop beside her. “Get in, Sandy.” Nate was irritated, so she acquiesced, even though her feet felt like lead blocks. They didn’t want to go anywhere.

  Chapter 4

  When Nate pulled his family’s minivan into the large church parking lot on Sunday morning, Sandra gasped. Parked in the corner of the lot, near the outfield fence of the softball field, were three police cars. A gaggle of people, some in blue uniforms and some not, stood at the edge of the woods.

  “What’s going on?” Peter asked from the back.

  “No,” Nate said.

  “No what?” Sandra was unsure what or whom Nate was saying no to.

  “Just no. We are going to walk into church, and you are not going to get involved.”

  Sandra made a derisive pff sound. “Get involved? What are you talking about? We don’t even know what happened!”

  “Exactly, and yet I can feel you already thinking about calling Bob.”

  He was exaggerating. She hadn’t been thinking that. Police activity didn’t automatically warrant a call to the local middle school sports angel. She would at least find out if there was any reason to call him first. She caught herself hoping there was a reason to call him and then mentally slapped herself. Yes, she missed her angel friend, but she didn’t need to go wishing for tragedy so that she had an excuse to hang out with him.

  Nate pulled the van into the parking spot furthest away from the action.

  Like this was going to stop her.

  “Dad, why did you park so far?” Joanna asked. The kid had a point.

  “Dad’s afraid Mom is going to go all super sleuth again,” Peter explained, and though he said it without an ounce of respect, Sandra took it as a compliment and tried not to let her proud smile beam too brightly.

  “There may be nothing to sleuth about.” Sandra tried to sound demure. She failed.

  “Oh sure,” Nate said, “I’m sure that three state trooper cars means someone lost a kitten.” He blew out a puff of air that made his bangs twitch. “I just hope no one’s been killed this time.”

  Sandra had a feeling this wasn’t going to be the case. The image of Phoenix running into those same woods on Tuesday night flashed through her mind and she shivered.

  “What?” Nate asked. He was observing her far more closely than he usually did.

  “Nothing. Just got a chill.” This made no sense. It was already seventy-five degrees outside, and Nate still had the van’s heater blowing on her toes.

  Peter read her mind. “Do you think it has something to do with that guy who played in the softball game?”

  “Don’t know,” Sandra said. But she was pretty sure that it did. There just wasn’t that much action in her small town. What were the chances of two dramas unfolding in the same patch of Plainfield forest?

  “Did they ever catch that guy?” Peter asked.

  Sandra opened her mouth to answer him, but Nate beat her to it. “Though your mother has been glued to all news media for the last four days, she hasn’t heard a peep, so we don’t know. But I can tell you that he’s not that dangerous of a criminal, or it would have been on the news whether they caught him or not.”

  “Can we go in?” Joanna asked. “I’m scared.”

  “Of course, honey, and there’s nothing to be scared of. The police are here. I’m sure they have everything under control.” Trying not to stare at the edge of the forest, Sandra slid out of the van and then opened the sliding door to spring her youngest from his car seat. She grabbed the diaper bag and turned to head for the church—again, trying not to stare at the woods.

  Nate scooted ahead of her and opened the church door for her and then she was inside, where the quiet calm hit her like a sopping wet blanket. Now what was she going to do? All the action was outside, and now she couldn’t even sneak a peek! She swallowed hard and told herself it was none of her business. I’m not really a sleuth. I’ve just gotten into a few odd situations. Doesn’t mean I’ll ever get into another one. Right? Maybe. True, she didn’t want to get trapped or assaulted ever again, and she didn’t want to fear for her life ever again, but whatever puzzle was currently laid out at the corner of the woods—well, she really wanted to help put it together.

  “It’s not my place,” she muttered aloud as she entered the room full of well-worn rocking chairs. It was her turn for nursery duty, so she couldn’t exactly sneak away to spy on the cops, at least, not without a trail of babies in walkers following her across the parking lot. She could envision it and shuddered at the thought. She flicked on the lights and looked around the cluttered room. No, she would not go find out why the police were in the woods behind the church. She would stay in the nursery, right where she was supposed to be.

  She even avoided the urge to ask every mom who came in to drop off a baby if they knew anything. Most of these mothers asked her if she knew anything. But no one knew anything—until Ethel came in.

  “How do you know what’s going on?” Sandra asked her kids’ beloved babysitter.

  Ethel raised her eyebrows and tilted her head to the side. “Because I went and asked them. Why, I watched Chip Buker grow up in this very church! In fact, I used to wipe his hiney right in this very nursery! He’d better tell me what’s what!”

  “Well?” Sandra pushed. “What is what?”

  Ethel leaned in closer but didn’t lower her voice. “He wouldn’t tell me who, but there’s a body in the woods.”

  Sandra’s stomach sank. She’d wanted a puzzle to solve, yes, but she hadn’t wanted another death. “He told you that?”

  Ethel looked at the carpet. “No, but there’s a van marked coroner here.” They stood there together for a silent moment. Then Ethel said, “Why don’t you go see what you can find out? I’ll stay behind with the babies.”

  Sandra had never left a nursery so fast.

  Chapter 5

  Sandra crossed the parking lot toward the activity on the edge of the woods. She tried to act naturally, as if she had every reason in the world to approach a crime scene. Of course, she didn’t know for sure yet that it was a crime scene, but it looked that way. The entire trip across the lot, she had to fight the urge to look back over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t actually being followed by an entourage of toddlers pushing corn popper toys.

  She’d just stepped off the asphalt and onto the freshly mowed lawn, about fifty yards from the action, when a man in uniform stopped her. She wondered, not for the first time, why Maine state troopers wore such giant hats. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Necessary personnel only.”

  She tried to smile at him, but she knew it probably looked creepy. She’d never been good at fake smiling. Her mind raced to think of something to say. Why hadn’t she prepared questions in advance? She was nowhere near the super sleuth her son thought she was. “Is someone hurt?” sh
e managed. Pathetic.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t say.” He glanced over her head. “Do you go to church here?”

  As she nodded, she saw Detective Chip Buker in the distance.

  “You should go back inside,” the phlegmatic officer said.

  “Chip!” she called out. “Chip! Over here!” The embarrassment was almost overwhelming. The trooper looked amused and turned to look in Chip’s direction. She opened her mouth to shout his name again but then didn’t, because he glanced her way. She gave him an overly enthusiastic wave instead, feeling a little like a fan girl leaning on the ropes at a sold-out Garth Brooks concert. Much to her amazement, Chip headed her way. Wonders never ceased.

  “Hi, Sandra.” He glanced at his subordinate and then back to her. “What can I do for you?”

  “Hi, Detective Buker.” She tried to sound appropriately respectful. “Who died?”

  He stared at her as if he couldn’t decide whether to answer her, and though she returned his gaze, her peripheral vision caught Detective Slaughter looking at them suspiciously from a couple hundred feet away. Please do not come over here. Slaughter was such a party pooper.

  “You go to church here?” Chip asked.

  Why was that such a popular question? “Yes, why?” But as soon as she asked why, she realized that if she didn’t go to church there, it would be way weirder that she’d shown up at their crime scene. In pumps.

  He didn’t answer her question. He still appeared to be attempting to solve some complex puzzle in his head. She forced herself to be quiet and patient as he did so. Finally, he nodded and said, “Come with me.”

  She hadn’t completed her first step before Slaughter stomped their way. She wore a black pantsuit that seemed out of place on a Sunday morning in western Maine. It also looked very warm. How was she not sweating to death? She met them halfway across the lawn, trying to murder Chip with her eyes. “What are you doing?”

  Chip stopped walking, so Sandra stopped too, even though an invisible force was pulling her toward the forest. “I’m going to ask her if she recognizes the victim. She goes to church here.”

  Sandra blinked. Did Chip not know who the victim was? If not, then it probably wasn’t Phoenix, because the cops obviously knew who he was.

  Slaughter narrowed her eyes so efficiently they were almost shut. “Dozens of other people go to this church too. Let’s pick one of them”—her eyes threw some disdain Sandra’s way—“not someone who thinks she’s Miss Marple.”

  Sandra couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw defensiveness in Chip’s eyes. She couldn’t imagine why he’d be defensive of her. Detective Slaughter wasn’t entirely off base.

  “Karen, relax. She’s not after your job, and”—he looked at Sandra—“though I can’t explain it, she seems to have an aptitude for this.” He returned his gaze to Slaughter. “Let’s just see if she knows him. And either way, she can keep her eyes and ears open and then”—his tone turned stern— “she will report back to us.” He gave her a closed-lipped smile. “Right, Ms. Provost?”

  “Right,” Sandra said without thinking about it.

  “Good. Because Detective Slaughter is correct in saying that you are not a detective.”

  “Right,” she said again, bouncing on her heels in impatience.

  “Right. And we don’t want you putting yourself in danger again. So, you’ll call us the second you hear, see, or think of anything.”

  “Right.” It was much easier to be patient with children.

  “Okay then. This way.” He started walking.

  Disagreement and disdain rolled off Slaughter in waves, stinging Sandra’s skin as she picked up her pace to get away from her. But Slaughter fell into step behind them, leaving Sandra with the uneasy sensation that at any second she was about to be stabbed in the kidney. She couldn’t even blame the woman. If Sandra was objective about it, she’d probably even side with her. Why on earth was Chip being so forthcoming? It was true that Franklin County had only suffered two murders in the last year, and she had pretty much solved both of them, but that had been mostly thanks to heavenly help. Of course, Chip didn’t know that. So maybe he did think she had some super-sleuth-skill. She bit back a smirk. She liked the idea that he might think such a thing.

  She stepped into the shade of the trees and the temperature immediately dropped. Black flies appeared out of nowhere and buzzed around her face. She tried to wave them off with one hand, but it was like trying to wave away air. More air just flooded in. She squinted to keep them out of her eyes and followed Chip toward the commotion, which she soon saw to be about a dozen people forming a perimeter around a man lying on the ground. Her skin grew cold. She didn’t need to see his face to know who it was. He wore the same leather jacket and the same baggy black jeans. A man in uniform crouched nearby photographing the body, which lay on its side, almost in the fetal position, but with one arm flung out to the side as if reaching for something. The idea of his reaching through the ferns for help sent a shudder through her body. Maybe she shouldn’t have pushed her way into this situation. Suddenly, the nursery didn’t seem so bad.

  Chapter 6

  “His name is Phoenix.” Sandra’s voice cracked on his name and she envied Slaughter’s stoicism. Though Phoenix had never seemed animated to begin with, Sandra found his current stillness deeply disturbing. She looked at Chip. “At least, that’s what he said his name was. Does he have a driver’s license on him?”

  “Huh. We didn’t think to look for that,” Slaughter snarled.

  “No wallet. Did Phoenix give you a last name?”

  Sandra stared at Chip. “How do you not know who this is? I watched police chase him into these same woods on Tuesday.”

  “What?” Slaughter cried. Not so stoical all of a sudden.

  Sandra looked at Slaughter’s open mouth, then at Chip, and then back to Slaughter. They appeared to be telepathically communicating. Slaughter’s surprise morphed into anger. Chip just looked embarrassed. Finally, Slaughter looked at her. “Was it the Sheriff’s Department?”

  Sandra shook her head. “Town police.”

  Slaughter put her hands on her hips. “Of course. Those imbeciles.”

  Chip stepped closer to Sandra. “Would you do me a huge favor?”

  She didn’t need him to elaborate. She was embarrassed for them. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  “Thank you.” He took his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through a list of numbers before hitting the call button. Sandra held her breath as he talked to someone at Plainfield PD. She was impressed by his ability to get the information he needed without letting on that the State Police had been completely clueless as to Phoenix’s identity two minutes ago.

  “I take it they don’t know much?” Slaughter asked after he hung up. She dragged the toe of her black Dansko through the soft earth, like a bull pawing at the ground before charging. Sandra shuffled away from her and closer to Chip.

  He slid his phone back into his pocket. “No, but his name is indeed Phoenix, and we even have a last name now. Haynes. He’s got a record, but he’s managed to stay out of trouble for the last several years. Someone called them and said Bill Jackson was on the property. Then when they got here, this guy took off running, so they pursued. But obviously, he’s not Bill Jackson.” He stared down at Phoenix’s motionless body.

  “Who’s Bill Jackson?”

  Slaughter curled a lip. “Bad news, that’s who. So, someone just called in a false tip? How helpful. Bet they’d like to know who that was.”

  Chip nodded, his jaw tight.

  “Are they going to trace the number?”

  “Already did. Burner.”

  Sandra made a mental note that they were called burners, not fire phones. At least, that’s what Chip called them.

  “Doesn’t explain why he ran.” Chip turned his attention to Sandra. “Did Phoenix go to your church?”

  “I don’t think so. Actually, no, he didn’t. I would remember if I’d seen him in chu
rch. I never saw him until the softball game.”

  “What softball game?” Slaughter asked.

  “Right here.” Sandra pointed her chin in the direction of the softball field, which they couldn’t see through the trees. “We have a church team, and we played a game against Grace Evangelical from Livermore Falls on Tuesday.”

  Slaughter looked irritated at the idea of a church softball team. Sandra found herself caring less and less about Slaughter’s irritation levels.

  “Did he play for Livermore Falls?” Chip asked.

  “No. He played for us for a little bit. We had someone get hurt, and we didn’t have enough people—”

  “You didn’t have enough people?” Chip glanced toward the church building. “Your church is huge. You can’t field a softball team?”

  “Would you please focus?” Slaughter said, her voice tight.

  “Yes, a lot of people do come to church on Sunday morning, and yes, we do have trouble fielding a team.” She didn’t think she needed to tell him that Brendan Barney continued to scare off potential roster fillers. “So, someone got hurt, and my husband invited Phoenix to play. He was in the bleachers.”

  “Bleachers? Why was he in the bleachers?”

  How was she supposed to know? Although, in the past she had known things that Chip thought she shouldn’t have known, so maybe his expectations weren’t unwarranted. “I don’t know. He was alone. I mean he was sitting with a bunch of people, but it seemed like he’d come to the game alone. And he was certainly all alone when he ran away from the police.”

  Slaughter’s thin eyebrow perked up. “Does your husband know him? Why did he pick him?”

  She shook her head, maybe a little too emphatically. “He didn’t know him. We were desperate, and he was a man wearing sneakers. If he had said no, my husband would have asked the pastor’s wife next.”