Dark Signal

by Shannon Baker

  “You were digging around someone’s dump?” I asked Newt.

  Earl gave Newt the evil eye. “No sir. We were not.”

  Newt shrugged. “We were out there anyways, doesn’t seem like a big deal.”

  Earl rested his head on the steering wheel. “Pea brain.”

  I was nearly as irritated with Newt as Earl seemed to be. I wanted to clear the brothers, send them on their way, and get myself back to my cruiser. “You cleaned out someone’s shed and stopped at their dump on the way home?”

  Newt took my question for acceptance. “They don’t want their stuff or they wouldn’t leave it in the dump.”

  “And you found the ladder?” I prompted.

  Earl didn’t look up, just rubbed his head on the steering wheel.

  Newt nodded. “It’s a damn good ladder.”

  The only thing I cared about at that point was getting out of the wind before my nose froze off my face and landed at my feet.

  “Okay, boys. You’re bumping up to your third strike with me, so straighten up your act. No hunting on other people’s land, no rummaging around dumps. To be on the safe side, don’t tie junk to the roof of your car. Don’t speed—”

  Earl threw himself back in his seat. “I ain’t never.”

  “That’s good. Keep it up.”

  I waited for them to drive away. When Newt slipped past me, easing onto the highway without benefit of a blinker, I casually looked in his back seat. I’m sure I didn’t see correctly, but it looked like a stack of boxes with the Dell logo. And it looked like they’d never been opened.

  16

  Louise and Mom sat at the picnic table in the kitchen when I rushed into the house. I shed my coat and locked my Smith and Wesson in the gun safe on the top shelf of the pantry. I wanted to stand under a really hot shower for about a month and maybe then my blood would start moving again.

  Mom’s heavy teapot, the one she made in a state of deep mourning, sat between them, along with heavy mugs she’d painted with an owl motif. She brought this set out at least once a year.

  I ignored it, already feeling sad.

  Louise turned red-rimmed eyes my way. “Sit down and have a cup of tea with us.”

  For once, there were no sugary treats to go with the hot brew. I hesitated, feeling a pull of guilt. Mom might gain some comfort from having another daughter sit with her. Louise always advocated family for what ails a body. But this kind of gathering wouldn’t do anything except tug me down into the gray loss I’d successfully ignored all day.

  I hugged my arms. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  Mom nodded, her gray mass of curls sliding up and down her thin back. I put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. What words could possibly heal the gaping wound that oozed with constant pain?

  I slid my hand over Louise’s head on my way past her.

  She sighed. “It wouldn’t kill you to lean on your family sometimes.”

  Kill me? Probably not, but sitting around in gloomy memories wouldn’t help. I trudged from the kitchen to the living room.

  Two blonde and scantily clad twentysomethings bickered on TV while Ruth, David, and Esther sat in the darkness, lit by the blue tones from the screen.

  Ruth sat up from where she’d been stretched out on the couch. “Hey, Kate.”

  A thump on the ceiling followed by giggles told me the twins were causing chaos upstairs. Sounded like they were in the boys’ room, so maybe they hadn’t rifled through my stuff. Maybe.

  I stopped for what I hoped would be a second. “Are you guys ready for Chester County next week?”

  Ruth flopped into a boneless slouch. “Coach is killing us with wind sprints.”

  I inched toward the stairs. “Probably a good idea. Those Bosch twins can run a whole team into the ground.”

  David didn’t take his eyes from the TV. “Doesn’t matter how many sprints they run, Hodgekiss girls aren’t gonna beat Chester County. Not gonna happen.”

  Ruth barely offered a retort. “Shut up. The Bosches got fat this summer. They’re not as good as they used to be.”

  I had a foot on the first stair, ready to make an escape. “Good luck. I’ll make it to the game if I can.”

  I was halfway up the stairs before Ruth started up. I poked my head into the boys’ room. “Hey, little dudes. What’s up?”

  Mose and Zeke had the blankets off the beds and were in the process of building an epic tent. They managed a mumbled hello, too busy in their mission to bother with an old auntie. Good enough for me.

  Ruth was already stretched out on her stomach on my bed when I entered my room. I thought of the days, not more than nine months ago, when I had my own room in my own house. I had whole evenings when it was only me and my old boxer, Boomer. Even after Carly moved in, I could easily find privacy.

  Carly was fourteen when her father, Brian, died. Since Louise and Norm had kids around Carly’s age, we all thought the best plan would be for her to move in with them. That hadn’t worked out, and I’d gladly taken Carly. I’d never be able to fully hate Ted because he’d welcomed Carly into our home and seemed to enjoy her living with us.

  Despite Hurricane Carly, with her passion and often explosive energy, Frog Creek had been my sanctuary. Grand Central Fox didn’t have quite the same feel.

  I unbuttoned my brown shirt and shrugged out of it. Off went my pants.

  “I hate this day.” Ruth rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling.

  I cringed at the thought of removing my long underwear and wool socks. I might have to share my room with every niece and nephew, but I didn’t have to give away all of me.

  Ruth didn’t notice my silence. “I mean, yeah, we all miss Glenda. It’s, like, a total tragedy she died and everything. But, you know, doing this whole sadness thing every year is, like, really messed up.”

  Ruth didn’t inherit Louise’s deep attachment to ritual. I loved all of my nieces and nephews, of course, but I enjoyed some more than others. “One day each year your grandma and mother take the time to remember and mourn the loss of someone we loved. I don’t see that as such a bad thing.”

  Ruth shot me a look of betrayal. She clearly hadn’t expected me to side with the grown-ups.

  As if competing for the world title in speed undressing, I shed the final layer, wrapped my fluffy robe around me, and started for the bathroom.

  Ruth sat up. “You know who I really feel sorry for? Carly.”

  Yeah. Me, too. Carly had lost her mother, then two years later her father died. She’d just been getting her bearings when her grandfather was murdered. Now she was off God knows where on some foolish mysterious mission.

  By the time I’d defrosted and my skin took on a rosy glow, Ruth had gone back to her reality catfight on TV.

  Mom and Louise still sat in the kitchen, and Diane had joined them via Dad’s laptop. I passed in front of the screen and waved. “Hi, Diane.”

  She frowned at me. “A hoodie? What, are you in high school?”

  I stuck out my tongue at her.

  She rolled her eyes. “Nice. When are you moving into May’s lake house?”

  Mom turned surprised eyes on me. Louise spun on the bench and jumped all over me. “You didn’t tell me. That would be a perfect place for you.”

  Mom watched me without saying anything.

  I pulled my canvas barn coat from a hook by the kitchen door. “Gotta go.”

  “You chickenshit,” Diane said.

  Louise slapped the table as if she really wanted to slap Diane. “My kids are in the next room. Language, please.”

  Diane snickered. “Lighten up, tight-ass.”

  Louise reared back as if punched. “That was uncalled for.”

  I zipped my coat and wound my damp hair into a makeshift bun. A bright purple and red wool cap tipped over the shelf above the coat hooks, and I reached for it.

  I tugged the cap over my head and tucked in stray hair to keep it from freezing as Diane continued to bait Louise. Mom held her mug clo
se to her chest. A hint of a smile played on her lips as she watched my sisters.

  I reached for the doorknob, and Diane’s voice smacked the back of my head. “Oh no you don’t. You can’t leave until you tell me you’re taking May’s house.”

  Mom lost her smile and gazed at me with no expression.

  Louise lumbered from the picnic bench and grabbed my arm, jerking me back to stand in front of the computer screen. “Tell her it’s time to get over Ted.”

  Diane laughed. “For the love of God, Louise, let her go.”

  Louise didn’t. She clutched a handful of my coat.

  Diane sighed. “Man up, Kate. You’ve got a psych degree for fuck’s sake.”

  Louise gasped, and I swear Mom sipped her tea to keep from laughing.

  Diane had her CEO mojo juiced up, and I let it run. “You know you need to take charge. Get your own place. Get laid. Maybe even get a dog.”

  Louise let go of me. She put her hands on her hips. “That’s it. I’m hanging up on you now. You can’t talk like that in front of my kids.”

  Mom placed her hand over the keyboard to keep Louise from cutting Diane loose into the ether. I scurried to the door and caught Mom’s wink as I slipped outside.

  Since I was off duty, I left my gun locked up and opted for Elvis, my 1973 Ranchero. I didn’t lose much body heat on my drive to the courthouse. I commissioned an unwieldy wooden chair from the meeting room and dragged it to my office and shut the door, turned up the heat, and set the ceramic space heater on turbo mode. The place still had the feel of a ransacked crime scene, but I didn’t have the energy to deal with filing and straightening.

  I sank into the hard wood of the commissioner’s chair. On this dreadful anniversary, Mom and my sisters always had a strange sort of wake to mark Glenda’s death. If I was more like Louise, I might cry or pray or even sit in Mom’s kitchen. I kind of envied her ability to turn herself inside out, instead of letting all the feelings burn and molder like a compost pile.

  If I could, I’d apologize to Glenda. She’d left me her beloved daughter. And I’d failed. Carly was out there somewhere. Alone, maybe in some kind of danger.

  I ached to pull Carly close. On this day, we usually curled up together on the couch and watched a movie. Sometimes a sappy romance but usually a stupid teenage boy flick like Dumb and Dumber. I hated them. But I loved being close to Carly.

  I clenched my fists as if in solidarity with my heart. I let go and turned on my computer. Anything to distract me from the loss of two people I missed so much.

  I Googled “railroad accidents” and found more scenes of cars smashed on crossings than I’d ever care to see. Typing in “railroad crime” brought up several murders but mostly by transients or those who prey on them in rail yards.

  An article caught my attention, and I clicked on it, interested to read about thefts on trains. I reached for the case file on the edge of my desk and rifled through it. I came up with the business card from the BNSF investigator and punched the railroad security officer’s number. I glanced at the clock. It wasn’t too late.

  “Burke.” He answered, all business.

  I took his cue. “Kate Fox, Grand County sheriff. In Nebraska.”

  He paused. “Nebraska? Is that the decapitation?” It sounded like he was in a car with a radio broadcasting news.

  I confirmed, asked whether it was a good time to talk, and when he said yes, I started. “What can you tell me about train robberies?”

  He laughed. “The history going back to the Wild Bunch?”

  “I was thinking a little more contemporary. I’m trying to find some motive for this murder.”

  The radio clicked off. “There is more loss than people suspect.”

  Clete hadn’t mentioned theft as a possible motive. “What kind of loss?”

  He hmmed. “Mostly merchandise from container cars.”

  “How would someone go about stealing from the container cars?”

  “A lot of theft takes place in busy rail yards. You see it in places like New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Basically, a person climbs onto the car, slips inside, and tosses stuff out. If they’ve got a gang, they have an accomplice on the ground to haul it off. If they’re solo, they don’t get away with as much, of course.”

  “What kinds of things do they steal?”

  He sipped something and slurped into the phone. “That could be anything. Unless they’ve got an insider at the railroad telling them what’s in the cars, they’re hit and miss. They can get a container of fifty-pound rice bags or hit the jackpot with microwaves or smartphones.”

  I flipped a pen through my fingers, remembering Louise saying Chad gave great gifts to his basketball boys. “They haul a bunch of coal through here, but what else comes down these tracks?”

  “Just about anything you can think of. The railroad is a big land bridge. Used to be, ships would go through the Panama Canal if they needed to haul from Europe to Asia or whatever. But the ships are bigger or the traffic is too hectic, and for the time being it’s cheaper and faster to off-load on one coast, strap the containers onto the tracks, shoot them across the country, and load them back on a boat on the other side.”

  I doodled on the back of an envelope from Ted’s old mail before realizing it was an order form for Victoria’s Secret. I jerked my hand away from it as if it were a spider. I wadded it up and tossed it. “How often are the cars inspected to make sure they haven’t been tampered with?”

  He chuckled. “They aren’t.”

  “Then how can you pinpoint where a theft took place?”

  “Unless you catch them in the act, you really can’t.”

  “That doesn’t seem like a very smart system.”

  His booming laugh made me pull the phone away from my ear. “Sometimes you get lucky. Like what happened in the desert outside Needles.”

  I waited, and when he didn’t go on I asked, “What happened?”

  “Oh, sorry. I just pulled into my driveway, and my two-year-old is waving like a terrier on crack.”

  He had a family, a life to go home to. I should let him get on with his evening.

  “Basically, there was a whole gang. One guy worked on the railroad so he got his hands on the manifests, what they call wheel reports. So he knew what train was carrying what. They threw a bunch of debris on the track at a highway intersection and the train went into emergency and stopped. Then three guys jumped up and started throwing stuff down to others who loaded the back end of the pickup, and in five minutes, they made off with a ton of big screens.”

  “They got caught?”

  Thumping, like little hands on a car window, and the shouts of a happy baby voice wiggled through the phone. “Yeah. Hey, you can look it up. Saunders versus BNSF. They went to trial last week.”

  I wrote it down. “Anything else?”

  His voice was lighter, as if he smiled. “Well, I heard of a case where the railroader tampered with a car and down the way they had to set it out at a siding. Then, the thieves had more time to steal the goods since the car had to sit there until it got repaired or some other train came along to pick it up.”

  I pictured a young dad with a toothy grin for his kid. “Thanks, Burke.”

  “You bet. Call tomorrow if you need more.”

  I thought about thefts on the BNSF, but in no time my mind turned away from the railroad, and I stared at my computer screen, the silence closing in on me. I pushed away images of Glenda bouncing a squealing Carly on her back, galloping around Mom’s backyard. The two of them adored each other, and I missed them both so much my bones hurt.

  I searched Saunders v. BNSF and was rewarded with court transcripts, which I dug into, anxious to distract myself and learn something concrete.

  Burke hit the high points for me. This gang had made off with forty-five 52-inch Sony HDTVs at a value of about $3,000 each. Except they’d been caught and would spend time in jail. It didn’t take a math whiz to figure out that if they’d been successful, as Burke said
many were, there was big money involved.

  By the time I finished reading the report, I felt tired enough I could probably drop off to sleep and end this awful day for another year.

  I stood, the scrape of the wood chair legs on tile sending a chill up my spine. I reached for my phone. It jangled as my fingers closed on it. My scalp tingled even before I saw the 714 area code. I didn’t doubt myself and answered, “Carly?”

  She squeaked in surprise. “How did you know?”

  “How are you? Where are you? Come home. Now. Please.” I don’t know how I managed to say so many words when my heart was booming like an August thunderstorm.

  She drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, Kate. I miss you!”

  I gripped the side of my desk. “Are you okay?”

  I couldn’t see her nod. “Yeah. I’m good. I’ve still got a bunch of Granddad’s money left, and I’m figuring some things out.”

  “Figure them out at home.”

  She sniffed, maybe trying not to cry. “Usually I get along fine. But today was hard.”

  “Why did you run away?” I stopped short of telling her how broken I felt. She didn’t want to be away, I knew that.

  “Dad’s death wasn’t an accident.” She spoke it without emotion, as if she dammed up all her feelings.

  Carly’s father, Brian, died when he crashed his plane into a hillside. Of course it was an accident, but Carly couldn’t accept that. “Come home. I’ll help you.”

  “I can’t explain now. I don’t have the proof. Just trust me, okay?”

  She wanted me to trust her instincts? I winced, hearing myself say the same to Trey.

  An engine sounded in the background. A city? It sounded more isolated, not like traffic. Maybe a small town or even a rural setting. On the West Coast, I guessed, because of the time of day and the area code. But maybe it was the East Coast, and it was late at night. Carly couldn’t sleep because of the grief weighing on her heart.

  “I miss Mom,” she said. “I miss Dad and you. Grandma and Grandpa. And Granddad Eldon.”