Murder Creek

by Jane Suen

  “Ladies first,” he said, opening the door.

  The chilled air hit me in the face. The fans were working hard overhead, and the AC was on. It must have been sweltering in the kitchen.

  At barely four in the afternoon, we were early for dinner, and we had the place to ourselves. The waitress came right away and seated us at a square table against the window. She took our drink orders. I said iced tea, and Mike said he wanted the same.

  “So, Eve, what brings you out here?” He got right down to business. No small talk, nothing about the weather.

  “Professor Reynolds fill you in?”

  “Vaguely. But I want to hear it from you.”

  I slid my sunglasses off and set them down carefully on the table. “I came here to do research for a class paper on Murder Creek and the missing woman, Lacey Walken.”

  “You want to know what happened to her?”

  “I couldn’t find much in the newspapers. Thought it’d be best to come here.” I sighed.

  The waitress brought our iced teas, then whipped out a pad tucked in her apron pocket and snatched the pen from behind her ear. “Y’all ready to order?”

  “What do you recommend for a vegetarian?”

  “Ma’am, the veggie plate is good. We make them fresh here. None of that canned stuff.”

  I scrutinized the list on the menu. “I’ll have the fried okra, mashed potatoes with butter and sour cream, and mac ‘n cheese please.”

  “I’d like two chili dogs and French fries,” said Mike.

  After the waitress took our orders and left, I unzipped my backpack and took out the files. I opened the one on the top. “Here’s the article with her picture.” I quoted the byline and summarized the contents in the brief paragraphs. “Lacey Walken did not come home. Her roommate reported her missing after her place of employment called the next afternoon, asking why she didn’t show up for work. The sheriff’s office questioned her and put out a missing persons alert.”

  “That’s the picture in the newspaper.”

  “You were here when it happened?”

  “Yes.”

  Mike gave me an overview of the small town here and described what Carlton was like back when Lacey disappeared. Our conversation drifted to how he had met Professor Reynolds in college. They had kept in touch on and off in the years afterwards, so when he got the call about me, he was glad to be of help.

  Our food arrived just then, so I shoved my papers back in the backpack. I had a ton of questions for Mike but held off getting started when our food came. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I took my first bite of the mac ‘n cheese. It was the real thing, thick and creamy, the cheese so gooey it stuck to my fork. It really hit the spot. I stabbed the fried okra with my fork and wolfed down the rest of my food, cleaning the plate.

  Mike was watching me as he took bites of his chili dog. He didn’t interrupt. I thought of telling him I had skipped lunch, but he could see how ravenous I was from the way I scarfed down my meal.

  I pushed my plate away when I finished. Mike was a fast eater too, and I didn’t have to wait long for him.

  “Good food?”

  “My kind of place,” I said.

  He grinned. “The best place to get a home-cooked meal.”

  I was feeling better now with my tummy full. I can be a bitch sometimes when I’m hungry.

  I welcomed the intrusion as the waitress came by to clear the table. I piled my fork on my plate and threw my napkin on top. She fussed over Mike a bit, then asked us if we wanted dessert. I had a sudden hankering for ice cream.

  “What ice cream flavors do you have?”

  “Vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry,” she said.

  I should have guessed. I’m a gal who likes chocolate, so it was an easy choice for me. Mike said to make it two.

  “Mike, could you take me there?” I said after the waitress took our orders and left.

  “Where?”

  “For starters, I’d like to go see Murder Creek. You know, where it happened.”

  “You might want to change your shoes and put on something more comfortable.”

  “I brought a pair of boots. How far is it?”

  “It’s close to here. When would you like to go?”

  “Bright and early in the morning.”

  Chapter 6

  I HAD A sleepless night, waking up several times. Horrific images of a bloodbath and killing at Murder Creek, the one occurring almost two hundred years ago.

  I was expecting to see Mike at eight in the morning. I was checking my phone when I heard the knock. He was right on time.

  Warm humid air flowed in when I opened the door. It was early, but the cool night air had already become warmer and moisture-laden. It was the cusp between spring and summer when the flowers, watered by the April rain, bloomed in May, their roots firmly planted in soil that’s rich and moist, their faces poking toward the blue sky. They hadn’t encountered the summer drought or the harsh merciless rays of the sun yet. This was my favorite time of the year.

  Mike was standing outside, dressed for the trek in his T-shirt, shorts, and boots. He had showered recently, and his hair still showed traces of dampness, strands clinging together.

  “Ready to go?” Mike said.

  I gathered my files in my backpack and closed the door behind me. I followed Mike to his truck, a big-ass shiny pickup parked in front of my motel room. He opened the door for me. I got in and noticed two coffee cups on the console and a brown bag.

  “I picked up breakfast biscuits made fresh at the diner,” Mike said, noting my stare. “I got you two egg biscuit sandwiches. Hungry?”

  I wasn’t fully functional before I had my first coffee. “Sure, thanks,” I said. I reached for the egg biscuit sandwich, grateful Mike remembered I didn’t eat meat.

  Mike drove with the practiced ease of someone used to eating and driving at the same time. He kept his eyes on the road, with one hand on the wheel and the other holding his breakfast, or gulping coffee to wash it down.

  My biscuit was perfect. The layers were flaky and buttery, the top crust browned perfectly just the way I liked it. I took my time and relished each bite.

  Finished with my breakfast, I grunted in satisfaction, settling back into my seat. “Yum, good,” I said, licking my greasy fingers.

  “What started this interest in Murder Creek?” Mike asked.

  “I saw the Murder Creek sign driving back to the city, as I crossed the bridge,” I said. “I couldn’t get it out of my mind.”

  “You know there are other Murder Creeks, not just here. It happened a long time ago. Historians tried to piece together the story.”

  “They say it was a traitorous deed. Men murdered in the dark of night while they slept. Bloody, violent. Committed over gold nuggets hidden in saddlebags used as pillows.” I pulled out my files and opened them. “There were missing pieces of the story, questions about what took place, even the exact date.”

  “But you came here anyway,” said Mike.

  “I’m more interested in Lacey Walken.”

  “They talked about it for weeks. At one point, we had so many news crews from out of town we couldn’t breathe.”

  I could imagine the crowd descending on this small town, like vultures fighting for the best pieces.

  “Day after day they encamped here. If you ran into them, they would try to get you on camera for almost anything. Even if it wasn’t newsworthy, it built up the excitement, sold air-time ads, or whatever.”

  “Meanwhile, poor Lacey had vanished.”

  “Without a trace,” Mike said.

  “Maybe her ghost haunts Murder Creek?” I mumbled, then regretted saying it. I didn’t really believe in ghosts. Besides, I was getting ahead of myself and assuming Lacey had died.

  Chapter 7

  MY BLADDER STRAINED to the max, I crossed my legs and looked for a gas station. I impatiently waggled my foot, and I tapped my fingers. I didn’t know Mike well enough to tell him. I merely requ
ested that he stop at the next gas station. We hadn’t gone that far, but I knew I couldn’t make it all the way to Murder Creek.

  When the gas station came into view, I jumped out of the truck as soon as he pulled up to the gas pumps.

  I made a beeline into the women’s bathroom and locked the stall door. It wasn’t clean, like I’d hoped. But then again, I wasn’t looking for anything fancy, and I was grateful for a toilet. It was a cramped, small space. When I bent to pull up my pants, I bumped my head into the stall door. Ouch if that didn’t hurt.

  I cursed and pounded my fist on the door. I caught sight of a name scratched into the wood. Lacey. Then a drawn heart with “L W + J M” carved inside it. I touched the initials, my fingers trembling as they traced the etching.

  I dug out a piece of paper from my pocketbook and scribbled it down. Could this be the same Lacey, the Lacey Walken who had disappeared? I searched for other carvings on the door with her name, but I found no more.

  This was a one-stall bathroom. I checked the outside of the door just in case, but the interesting stuff is always inside the stall.

  I quickly washed my hands and walked out of the bathroom. I glimpsed the men’s room on the way past and had the urge to look in there. But then I saw the attendant watching me. I snatched a newspaper and made my way to the counter to pay. I mumbled “Howdy” or something like that, then dashed out and got back in the truck.

  Chapter 8

  MIKE WAS WAITING for me. He had already filled up with gas and got coffee refills for both of us. As soon as he saw me, he switched on the engine. I could tell Mike was an action kind of guy and serious about getting going. He didn’t dillydally.

  The rest of the trip was pleasant and uneventful. I thought about this new piece of information. I wanted to check the phone book for any Walken, in case there was more than one Walken in town, and relatives of Lacey.

  Mike drove for about ten minutes before he pulled off the road, following a small sign on a wooden stake with an arrow pointing. We soon saw Murder Creek where the infamous nineteenth-century incident took place. We came to a large parking area worn bare of grass by countless tires. A way ahead, some trees overhung the creek, their branches casting shadows over the rocks that jutted farther out and broke the water line.

  We walked to the bank. It was quiet and peaceful, the only sounds the gurgling of the water and an occasional squawk of birds, and the usual forest noises as the insects and critters got busy with their day.

  Mike was talking and walking toward a group of trees by the bank. He gestured. “This is where it happened.”

  I walked, almost reverently, to stand by him. I closed my eyes, mouthing a silent prayer, shivering involuntarily. Scenes flashed across my mind; blood, screams, violence, and carnage. Betrayed in their sleep by strangers, men they thought were friendly. Unsuspecting and caught off-guard. They slept without a lookout. That’s how much they trusted the other men. It cost them their lives.

  I tiptoed to the edge of the creek, moving toward the shade of the trees.

  “And this, is this the place they found Lacey’s bloody scarf?” I said, pointing to the tree with branches hanging over the rocks in the creek.

  He nodded.

  I touched the trunk of the tree, feeling the rough gray-brown bark. My fingers knocked the edge of a loose scale, causing it to flake off.

  “So how did they know it was Lacey’s?”

  “She was wearing the scarf the last night she worked. They matched the blood to the DNA from hair and skin on her hairbrush.”

  “Who found this?”

  Mike said, “Visitors. Some tourists came to this place and climbed on the rocks in the creek, posing for a photo. It almost spooked them when they came across the scarf tangled in some fallen branches by the edge of the creek, and they suspected foul play when they saw the blood on it.”

  I felt my skin prickle with goose bumps.

  Chapter 9

  MY NOTEPAD WAS filling up with a list of to-dos. In the margins, I scribbled ideas and thoughts as they popped up. I planned to talk to Lacey’s old roommate.

  Mike offered to take me to see the long-serving sheriff, ensconced there for so long nobody could recall how long he’d been there. His familiarity with the officer might grease some skids if I needed their help. A meeting with the sheriff was a courtesy call to let him know what I was doing.

  I stopped by Motel 5 to get changed and rest for a while before Mike picked me up at two in the afternoon.

  Since I had a few minutes, I pulled out the phone book from the top drawer, flipped to the back to the “W’s,” and searched for the name “Walken.”

  I found two listings. I held my pencil, poised and ready to write their names, phone numbers, and addresses. None of the names listed Lacey as the first name. I didn’t expect that.

  I picked up my phone and called the first number. It rang four times before someone picked up. The voice on the other end sounded faint, but I could tell it was a woman.

  “Hello,” I said, introducing myself, and stating the reason I was calling. “Is this Mrs. Walken, Lacey’s mother?”

  I heard silence on the other end and erratic breathing. Okay, that was weird. So I repeated what I said.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you,” said the woman before she hung up.

  What did she just do? I made a note next to the number and added “not helpful.”

  The next number I called, a man answered on the second ring. I went through the same spiel and introduced myself.

  He sounded somewhat confused. I could almost see him scratching his head. But he didn’t hang up on me. I made an appointment to see him the next morning to talk about Lacey Walken. I hoped he would be more helpful in person than he was on the phone.

  It was about three minutes before two. This time I didn’t wait for Mike to knock. I stepped outside to wait for him.

  Chapter 10

  WE PULLED UP in front of a small brick building with a flagpole in the front. The wind was blowing; I watched as the flag unfurled in its glory. We got out and walked across the parking lot. Mike had called ahead and the lone sheriff in town was expecting us.

  I saw the words “Sheriff’s Office” neatly inscribed on the door. Mike held the door open for me. We walked up to the counter, then the receptionist ushered us into the back to a small room where the sheriff soon joined us. His name was Ray Moore. He had a beard and was almost bald with a graying half-rim head of hair. He had a pudge in the middle, and a stocky build. He greeted Mike warmly, and then Mike introduced me.

  “So, to what do I owe this visit?” he said.

  “I’m a student doing research on a project,” I said. “About the missing girl from Murder Creek.”

  He whistled and shook his head. “That was a long time ago. You sure you want to go digging again?”

  “I thought maybe you could help me.”

  He threw a stern look at me, like a disapproving parent. “You thought this case was a cold case?”

  I squirmed, detecting a change in the wind. I managed a weak smile.

  “So I’m afraid I can’t divulge information on the case,” said Ray.

  I shrugged, doing my best to hide my disappointment.

  “I suggest you stick with the facts and what’s already available to the public.”

  I thanked him for his time, and we left.

  “Where to next?” said Mike.

  “Next stop, the newspaper office. I’ll put an ad in the paper.”

  His eyes widened in bemused surprise. “Clever … you’ll get your own information.”

  “That’s right,” I said as I pulled out my notepad, penning the ad.

  By the time we arrived, I had finished. Mike waited outside. I handed the girl my ad, and she counted the words and gave me an invoice which I paid. The small town boasted a twice-a-week publication. I was just in time. The ad would be in the paper tomorrow.

  Chapter 11

  EARLY THE NEXT morning, I went b
ack to Murder Creek. I drove, following the route from the day before. I turned on the radio and heard the tail end of the weather report. They forecasted rain in the afternoon. The sky was already gray, dark clouds heavy and ominous. I suddenly remembered I didn’t have an umbrella. But what I wanted to do wouldn’t take long. Not long at all.

  The land that was so peaceful yesterday seemed different now in the dull light. This place, where violence occurred, the murders committed almost two centuries past.

  What happened that day so long ago? Was the evil released still here and lurking?

  I rolled the car slowly to a stop and opened the door. It was quiet. I missed the busy chitchat of the insects. The air was still, perhaps the calm before the storm. I walked to the creek’s edge. Now I could hear the gurgling of the water flowing. Suddenly I shivered. I didn’t know why, and I felt a chill. I stepped away from the water, turning around.

  My fingers grazed the rough bark of a tree bent over the creek. I traced the bark, moving down the trunk to the roots on the ground. I felt for a pulse, as if I could take it. I went from tree to tree down the banks of the creek. If anyone saw me here, it would look bizarre to them, I’m sure. But I was touching the trees one by one, as if in doing so, the trees would divulge their secrets.

  Chapter 12

  I STOPPED AT the gas station to pick up a copy of the day’s paper. I sat in my car and flipped to the advertisement page on the back. The section was barely a half page and I easily scanned it, locating my ad. It was in a good position, second column at the top. Short, but clear. They listed my phone number. I folded the paper and checked my phone to be sure it was on.

  It was still early as I drove back to town. I jerked, heart thumping inside my chest when I suddenly realized I had forgotten to reserve a room for the weekend. The motel clerk had warned me. I stepped on the gas, racing back.

  The motel clerk was at the counter with another customer, finishing up paperwork with a middle-aged man in a tan shirt.