Beneath Bone Lake

by Colleen Thompson

  With dusk still hours in the future, the huge, electric alligator sign at Hammett’s wasn’t lit yet. But after a year away Ruby was glad to see the familiar monstrosity, which lorded it over what had started as a bar/bait house and a clutch of fishing cabins on the shores of South Bone Lake. The cabins remained rustic—an unchangeable “tradition”—but the rest had been rebuilt: from a large two-story cypress lodge-style bar and grill with covered lakeside decks to a modern marina. For all his supposed net worth and the small castle of a home he’d built nearby a couple of years earlier, Paulie Hammett still drove the same rust bucket of a pickup he’d had for as long as she could remember.

  Though it was only four, about a dozen cars were in the lot, including Crystal’s red Jeep Liberty with the booster seat in back. After parking beside it, Ruby started inside but hesitated, stomach tightening, at the glass door. Dread formed icy shards inside her stomach as she thought of Crystal, Anna, Paulie, or any of Misty’s longtime coworkers swamping her with hugs and tears. Or worse yet, pelting her with questions to which she had no answers.

  With her limbs tingling a pin-and-needles warning, she cursed but couldn’t make herself move forward. Even when she heard a car door close behind her and an anxious female voice say, “’Scuse me, please. My shift’s about to start,” Ruby couldn’t manage to step out of the way.

  An African-American teenager in a short skirt and Hammett’s T-shirt edged past, then turned to look at Ruby with obvious concern. “You all right?”

  “Could—could you send Crystal out here?” Ruby asked her.

  The girl nodded, her brown eyes curious. “Sure thing, ma’am. I’ll send her to you right quick.”

  As the waitress disappeared through the glass door, Ruby, who had turned thirty only the week before, realized with a start that the “ma’am” had been meant for her. But the prick to her ego was the least of her concerns.

  Crystal soon appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. As feared, she immediately stood on tiptoe—she barely cleared five feet in heels—and flung herself into a tight embrace, treating Ruby to a mouthful of her curly auburn hair. Breath hitching, Crystal sputtered a greeting before bursting into sobs.

  When she could finally speak, she wailed, “Oh, Ruby. I can’t stand this. I just can’t stand not knowing. If anything’s happened to them, I don’t know what I’ll—what’ll I do, Ruby? Misty’s been my friend forever.”

  After a year in the war zone, where subdued reactions were a matter of survival, Ruby was taken aback by the onslaught of Crystal’s emotions. But instead of toppling Ruby’s control, as she’d feared, Crystal’s drama felt like a hard slap. Was she expecting Ruby, of all people, to comfort her now?

  “Let’s take a little walk.” Ruby extricated herself as she made the suggestion. “I need to talk to you about a few things.”

  Crystal glanced back into the restaurant, then furiously shook her curls. “Oh, to heck with that. They can do without me for ten minutes. I can’t believe Paulie’s making me work on a day like this anyway. I—”

  Sobbing, Crystal again threw herself into Ruby’s arms and squeezed her hard enough to hurt. “I should’ve known she wouldn’t just stop returning my calls for no reason.” High and squeaky, her voice sounded as girlish as ever, but there was nothing childish about the anguish in her tone.

  Misty had often joked about Crystal’s tendency toward drama, used to say she would probably spontaneously combust if ever confronted by a real emergency. Ruby pried herself free, wary of the flames. “Settle down, Crystal. Right now. I don’t have the energy for this, and Misty and my daughter may not have the time.”

  Crystal nodded and fell quiet. “I—I’m sorry, Ruby. I’m just—I wish I’d gotten your call yesterday, but I took Braden up to Mama’s, and the cell reception’s terrible out there.”

  Not wanting to rehash their earlier phone conversation, Ruby walked toward the docks, slowing her pace enough for Crystal to keep up on her killer heels. “What’s been going on with Misty lately?”

  “I should have known something was wrong,” Crystal said. “It was bad enough she stopped showing up for classes, but when she said she needed some space from me, too—I was mad, hurt, really. What I should’ve been was worried. I mean, when has Misty ever ‘needed space’ from me before?”

  Crystal had a point, though Ruby had always felt she wanted space when it came to Misty’s best friend. Crystal meant well for the most part, but Ruby found her one of those people best taken in small doses.

  “And right after that, she had some silly argument with Paulie about an order.” Crystal shook her head and added, “I’ve never seen her blow up like that, and then, the way she stormed out…”

  Ruby could scarcely believe it herself since the normally laid-back Misty hadn’t said a word about the argument. “Before this all happened, do you remember her mentioning anything unusual? Hanging out with different people or behaving strangely?”

  Crystal sucked her lip beneath her top teeth, her gaze drifting as she considered. “I remember a couple of days before she quit, we took the kids to the park—I guess it was about a week and a half ago. While we watched them playing, I tried to talk to her about coming back to classes, but she got real quiet. I asked if she was okay, and she said something about being tired. But then, I couldn’t help wondering…”

  “About what?” Ruby asked, trying not to feel distracted by the image of her daughter running, swinging, laughing…to feel heartsick, even jealous, that she hadn’t been there. How could she have imagined that leaving her child, missing out on one-quarter of her young life, would ever be worth it? How could she have traded what she’d had in her hands for something as nebulous as a better future for them both?

  “I got to wondering then.” Crystal tucked a reddish spiral behind one ear while the breeze teased loose another. This close to the docks, the air smelled of gasoline from the boat engines mingled with the complex freshwater-and-vegetation odors of the lake. “I’d heard something at the restaurant, one of the cooks guessing, really, about Misty acting as moody as her daughter had when she was pregnant.”

  “Pregnant? But Misty wasn’t even dating…was she?”

  Crystal started to shake her head, then shrugged. “She never said she was, but you know Misty. Wherever she went, the men turned up. Take that neighbor of yours, the fishing guide, for instance. I saw them laughing near the bar a few times.”

  “Sam?” Ruby felt a jolt, recalling Sam’s battered but still handsome face. Could it have been too handsome for her sister to resist? She thought of Elysse, who had been so hurt when she had fallen for a man unable or unwilling to return her love.

  “He stops in a lot, and he’s her type—pretty clean cut, especially for a fishing guide. But Misty’s friendly with everybody who comes in. Laughs and chats and pulls in twice the tips that I do, but never lets anybody crowd her. Wish I knew her secret. Every time I try the flirting routine, I end up getting groped and having to call Paulie.”

  Ruby suspected Crystal had a tough time making anyone take her seriously with her squeaky little voice and Tinkerbell-like stature. According to Misty, her friend never even tried to work “The Play Room,” a dark-curtained video arcade parlor located upstairs, but not the kind where anyone underage was welcome. Misty had told Ruby it mostly served as an Internet café that allowed customers—nearly all male—to kick back with expensive drinks and offshore Internet gambling. In other words, it was only legal by a whisker but kept Hammett’s in the black during the slow season.

  But Ruby wasn’t interested in Crystal’s troubles at this juncture. “Did you ask Misty if she could possibly be”—the word caught in her throat, but she forced herself to ask the question—“if she might be pregnant?”

  An old man in a fishing boat pull-started a noisy outboard motor and they waited for him to untie from the dock and rumble off toward the main channel.

  “I didn’t come right out and ask her, no,” admitted Crystal, “but I mentioned,
sort of casually, that with her acting so tired and out of sorts, there was this rumor at the restaurant. When she heard that, she stood up and told me I could tell anybody who said anything like that to go straight to hell.”

  “She was that angry?”

  “Furious. Her face got all red, and she called Zoe. Made her cry, too, ‘cause she was having so much fun with Braden she didn’t want to go home.”

  Ruby squeezed her eyes shut. “How—how was she, Crystal? Zoe, I mean.”

  “She’s doing great, Ruby. Growing like a weed and chattering like crazy. You’ll hardly know her when you see her.”

  Ruby took a deep breath to steady herself, though you’ll hardly know her had struck her heart like a guided missile. Unclenching her jaw, she asked, “I know Misty was mad, but did she ever answer the question? About being pregnant, I mean.”

  Crystal’s forehead crinkled, and fresh tears glazed her eyes. “She said she couldn’t believe I’d think she was that stupid. Which really hurt my feelings, as you might imagine.” Crystal’s son, Braden, only six months older than Zoe, had been born out of wedlock. Though Crystal never talked about it, Misty had confided that her old friend Dylan Hammett—long before he’d straightened up and met the woman who would become his wife—was the father, that Paulie and Anna paid the monthly support but didn’t acknowledge their grandchild.

  Seeing the pain in Crystal’s eyes, Ruby touched her forearm and echoed something Sam had told her. “Everybody makes mistakes. My sister included, if she said something so thoughtless.”

  Crystal nodded. “Believe me, I’ve said my share of stupid things to her over the years. More of them than I can count. She’s always forgiven me, and I’d forgive her, too, if she would only talk to me. But she hasn’t since, and now—”

  “She’s either lit out for parts unknown or been taken somewhere with my daughter.” If she’s still alive. “With my money, too, according to the sheriff.”

  Could Misty have simply run off with her lover and Zoe, feeling she couldn’t bear to relinquish the child? Was she starting a new life under an assumed name with the money?

  Crystal gasped before insisting, “Oh no. That can’t be right. Misty wouldn’t steal, especially not from you. When I asked her if she minded your leaving her with Zoe so long, she told me you’re the most determined, bravest person she’s ever known in her life, and she’d give anything if someday she could be as good a mom and as good a person as you are.”

  Ruby felt her eyelids burning. “Thanks for sharing that. I, uh, I haven’t been feeling like either one—a good mother or a brave and decent person lately.” She felt doubly guilty because of the doubts she’d allowed to creep in about Misty, doubts she cast out of her mind and determined not to think about again. Her younger sister might be in trouble—might have taken Zoe and gone into hiding to avoid it—but she couldn’t be a thief. Let alone a kidnapper.

  “Did you ever see her with some skinny guy, tattoos all over?” Ruby shuddered at the thought of the man who’d burst out of her house waving a handgun. “Kind of a wild look in his eyes, like he might’ve been on something.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell,” said Crystal, “and that really doesn’t sound like anybody Misty would take up with.”

  Ruby nodded, then jerked her head toward the sound of car doors closing and people laughing in the parking lot.

  Crystal, too, looked in that direction and saw the place was beginning to fill up. “I’m really sorry, Ruby, but I need to get back to work. We’ll be swamped, and since Misty quit, we’ve been shorthanded.”

  “If you think of anything, call me right away. I don’t care what time of day or night…just call me.”

  Crystal teared up, lip quivering. “I should tell Paulie I can’t work. I should leave and help you find her. She was my best friend, Ruby. My very best friend in the whole world.”

  “Let’s not talk about her in the past tense, Crystal,” Ruby pleaded. “And while you’re working, think as hard as you can about any men she might have mentioned, any financial worries or other problems she brought up. You saw more of her than anybody. You have to have heard or seen something.”

  “I promise you, I’ll get in touch if I come up with anything.”

  As they started back, Crystal said, “I took some pictures of the kids playing in the park that day. I can make you copies—there’s an especially nice one of Zoe on the slide.”

  “Thank you.” Ruby tried to come up with words that would express how much the offer meant to her, but the lump rising in her throat defeated the effort.

  Crystal smiled, sadness touching her eyes, then said good-bye and hurried off.

  Ruby was unlocking Elysse’s car when her cell rang. Pulling it from the borrowed purse, she saw Prest Co Sheriff in the ID window.

  Her heart lurched and her knees weakened. For an instant, she didn’t want to answer, couldn’t stand any more bad news. But she couldn’t just let it ring either. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Monroe, this is Deputy Savoy.”

  Though much of last night was a blur, Ruby recalled a man in his early to mid fifties, graying at the temples, with the slight paunch of a lapsed runner and the smooth delivery of a TV preacher. But he’d been solicitous, she remembered, bringing her coffee, asking her how she was, promising he’d do anything he could to help bring her family home.

  “Sheriff asked me to give you a call,” he said, “see if you might be able to stop over to the office. If you’d like, I’ll be happy to pick you up.”

  Ruby swung into the front seat before she crumbled into sand. “Have you found them? Do you know where they are?”

  “No, ma’am, but we do have information.”

  “What? What is it?” she demanded.

  “I’m sorry, but Sheriff Wofford asked that you come in to discuss it.” He sounded genuinely regretful, maybe even disapproving. “This wasn’t my decision, mind you. Now, where can I pick you up?”

  “That’s all right, thanks. I’m already in the car. I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

  “Drive carefully, Ms. Monroe. Be sure and buckle up.”

  Because of her shaking, it took Ruby three tries to jam her key into the ignition. What news was waiting for her at the sheriff’s office?

  All she could do was go find out, so she drove with terror riding in the seat beside her like the rotting corpse of an old dream.

  Pacheco’s disgust came through so clearly that Sam had to hold the phone several inches from his ear.

  “Are you freaking kiddin’ me?” his attorney demanded, his barrio accent stronger than ever in his anger. “If you’re not involved, of course you want to cooperate with their investigation. You want to be the most cooperative citizen these hombres’ve ever seen, or somebody’s bound to talk to Judge Phillips about rethinking the terms of your probation. You gotta be a Boy Scout, ese. Don’t you ever listen to nothing I tell you?”

  Sam wondered if Pacheco’s advice would be any different if he weren’t about to jump onto a plane to Cabo for a vacation. One undoubtedly financed, at least in part, by the exorbitant legal fees Sam had paid the sawed-off little jerk. “I don’t want to end up as the handy suspect,” he persisted, “and if that means delaying your trip—”

  “Forget about it, ’mano.” Pacheco downshifted smoothly, speaking as if Sam were a true brother…or a client who required “handling.” “You need anything, my associate, Alberto, will take care of you. You still got his number?”

  “I don’t want your cousin, I want you,” Sam insisted.

  In the background, he heard the buzzy, overamplified sound of a boarding announcement, followed by Pacheco’s rushed “Sorry, didn’t hear you. Gotta run now, amigo. This is the last call for my flight.”

  He terminated the contact, leaving Sam to curse his choice of attorneys. Why had he ever let Luke, his former partner, convince him that a streetwise little fighter like Pacheco was the way to go? Sure, he’d pulled off the feat of keeping Sam out of federal prison, but th
is bullshit—

  At the sound of a knock, Java jumped up from her place at his feet to race barking for the front door. Sam was sore enough that it took him more time to get up from the sofa and follow.

  “Sit, girl,” he ordered, but Java continued her leaping, wagging, and whining, all hallmarks of her hope that whoever had come might prove to be a decent playmate.

  Sam peered through the peephole, fantasizing that Misty would be there smiling and apologizing for all the worry she’d caused. That standing next to her, Ruby would be holding her grinning daughter in her arms.

  Instead, he saw a badge, held up to obscure his vision.

  “Damn it. Just what I need,” he grumbled, grabbing the dog’s collar and unlatching the front door.

  Two men, one white and one who might have been either African-American or Hispanic, stood on his doorstep. Both looked fit, in their midthirties, and prepared for anything, with their right hands lightly touching their weapons and their booted feet in a wide stance.

  “I’m Special Agent Acosta,” said the darker of the two, still holding out a badge. A faint trace of a Latin American accent, smoother and more cultured than Pacheco’s, colored his words.

  Sam looked at the badge carefully, saw it identified Acosta as a Drug Enforcement Agent.

  His partner, wearing wraparound sunglasses and a red-blond buzz cut that bore an unfortunate resemblance to peach fuzz, flashed his badge more quickly and mumbled, “Special Agent Felker. Mind if we have a few words with you about things you may’ve noticed next door?”

  “I’ve already spoken with Deputy Savoy and Sheriff Wofford,” Sam said, as if that might forestall them.

  “The federal government’s involved now,” Felker went on, “and we’d appreciate your cooperation. Sir.”