Dead of Summer

by Sherry Knowlton

  “I know I’m out of touch with the life of teenage girls in this day and age. My niece and nephew are still children. But isn’t the sex trade a little R-rated for this age group?”

  Tyrell laughed. “You’d be surprised at how knowledgeable teenagers are today. They watch all these movies and television shows that leave little to the imagination. Some of them are sexting and God knows what else. But most of these kids are more naïve and vulnerable than they realize. We emphasize the slavery part of the issue and find that the kids relate to girls and boys their age or younger who are being taken from their families and sold or coerced into slavery. We don’t gloss over the sexual victimization aspect, but we don’t spend a lot of time dwelling on the details.”

  “My Meg is quite a crusader. She’s not interested in boys yet, not that Ed would let her date anyway. But the plight of these young kids Ms. Townes told them about—that just touched my girl’s heart.” Toni broke into sobs. “Now you have me worried, Alexa. What if the same people who killed Ms. Townes hurt my little girl?”

  “I was just surprised when you mentioned RESIST. I can’t imagine that there is any connection to Cecily Townes. Hopefully, Meg will turn up safe and sound.” Alexa stood. “Has she expressed any anxiety about the adoption? Maybe she’s trying to track down her mother?”

  “I hope it’s something like that. Ed and I are so worried.”

  Alexa ushered the distraught woman to the door. “I’ll be in touch after I speak to the police.” Alexa hoped that the cops had some good news. No wonder the Bertolinos were frantic.

  Tyrell handed Alexa his card as he swaggered out the door. “If I can help at all, just give me a call.”

  “I will. One more thing: I suggest you call State Police Trooper John Taylor to tell him about your last contact with Cecily Townes.”

  Chapter Five

  June 10, 1969

  Make love, not war.

  “Check out this concert. An Aquarian Exposition with Three Days of Peace and Music. Far out.” Sukie bounded from her bed, long blonde braids swinging. The bells on her ankle bracelet tinkled as she hit the floor and slammed the Sunday newspaper section into her best friend’s chest.

  Nina lounged in a butterfly chair in the corner, her bare feet propped on a stack of record albums. Enveloped in the mellow strains of Jefferson Airplane’s “Embryonic Journey,” she barely moved.

  “Look at the paper,” Sukie commanded, bouncing with excitement as she hovered over Nina.

  Finally, her friend opened her eyes and read the ad. “Where’s Wallkill, New York?”

  “What difference does it make? It can’t be that far away. My dad got a Road Atlas from the Esso station. We can look it up.” Sukie sank back onto the bed with a dreamy look on her face.

  “It’s a groovy idea. We’d need a ride.” Nina plopped down next to Sukie and spread the paper across the paisley bedspread.

  “I’ll talk to Ben. How cool if he could come with us. And maybe some of his friends. That guy Robbie’s a square, but his parents gave him that big green van.”

  “Sukie, is this about the music or Ben?”

  “Both. Lancaster isn’t that far, but I’ve only seen him once this summer. A whole weekend together would be unreal. How about Phil?”

  “Maybe. I don’t think he’s into me anymore. He really digs that tramp, Marie.” Nina twisted a dark curl around her finger. “But maybe I can get him back. What the hell. I’ll ask him. I know he likes some of those bands in the ad: Canned Heat, the Airplane, the Grateful Dead.”

  “We should buy tickets before they sell out.” Sukie grabbed a pen and notebook from her nightstand. “We need a list. Sleeping bags, food, drinks, a tent. Everybody could chip in for the food. Don’t you have a Coleman stove?”

  “Yeah. It’s like planning a camping trip.”

  “What else?” Sukie looked up from her notebook.

  “You and your lists. Mark this at the top: get permission from parents.” Nina’s expression turned bleak.

  “They let us drive to Maine to visit your cousins last summer. And now we’re juniors. And we went to that anti-war march in Washington.” Sukie knew that Nina’s concern about parental permission was spot on, but they had to at least try.

  “You and me driving to Maine or taking a college bus to a protest is not the same as taking off for a weekend with a van-load of boys.”

  “Don’t freak out yet.” Sukie’s voice took on an optimistic lilt. “Your mom and dad are pretty cool. If you can get them to say yes, mine will go along.”

  “I’ll try.” Nina rolled onto her back and examined the tips of her curls for split ends.

  Sukie bristled at Nina’s halfhearted tone. “Have faith. I will be so bummed if we can’t go. If I don’t get out of here soon―even for a few days―I’m going to freak.”

  On the portable stereo, the song “White Rabbit” reached a crescendo, with Grace Slick belting out advice from the dormouse.

  Everything clicked into place for Sukie. She knew that she had to go to Woodstock. She resolved, “That’s it. I have to expand my mind.”

  With an elated expression on her face, she declared to Nina, “I think this concert will be a transcendental experience that changes our lives.”

  Nina shot Sukie a mocking look and rolled off the bed onto the floor. “You’ve been reading too much Timothy O’Leary. Who cares about transcendental?” Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at Sukie and grinned. “I think this concert will be a blast, especially if Phil comes along. The only experience I’m looking for is to get laid.”

  Chapter Six

  ALEXA SKIPPED OUT OF WORK a little early and headed to her parents’ house. Always the snitch, Graham had told them about her role in finding Cecily Townes’ body. She knew that Mom and Dad would be concerned about her.

  “Sweetheart.” Her mom swept Alexa into her arms the instant she walked through the kitchen door. “I can’t believe this happened to you again. You’ve just begun to recover from that whole experience with Caleb and his crazy father. Now you find another woman who has been murdered. Your father and I have been so worried since Graham called yesterday morning.”

  Alexa remained close to her parents. Susan and Norris Williams were in their mid-sixties and quite active. Her willowy mother could have modeled for a magazine catering to trendy baby-boomers. The blunt cut of her short, ash-blonde hair looked like it came from a posh New York City salon. As always, the simple white blouse and blue jeans she wore could pass for an outfit in Vogue. Alexa had long ago come to terms with the fact that she could never compete with her mother’s beauty and innate sense of style.

  The women sat on stools at the kitchen counter. “I’ll admit that finding Cecily Townes was brutal. It was like reliving a nightmare. As horrible as it was, I’m dealing with it. I didn’t know the woman. There’s no way that this one will suck me in like the last time.” Alexa sighed. “The whole thing hit Melissa hard. She and Cecily were good friends. I wish she hadn’t seen the body. It was gruesome.”

  “What a tragedy. Cecily Townes was such a good woman,” Susan Williams declared. “Even though she left the convent in her late twenties, she still had the soul of a nun. I think she felt that the structure of the Church was too confining for her brand of hands-on activism. But she remained dedicated to doing good. Her entire life revolved around that organization she founded.”

  “I didn’t realize that you knew Cecily.”

  “I first met Cecily when I went to Dickinson Law, shortly after she relocated to this area. We were both involved in environmental issues with the Sierra Club. Then Cecily began to concentrate on children’s issues. I ran into her from time to time when I did staff work for the legislature. She testified in front of committees, that sort of thing.”

  “You sound like you knew her pretty well.”

  “Perhaps. In retrospect, our relationship at its core was mainly networking between two women with drive and a certain degree of power. We often had lunch when I wa
s a county commissioner. Then I retired. Dad and I started to travel a lot, and Cecily spent more and more time overseas on her anti-trafficking work. So, we lost touch . . . as people do.” Her voice faltered. “It has to be over a year since I last saw Cecily. I think it was at a fundraiser for her charity. What a horrible thing to happen.”

  After a few moments of silence, Mom looked searchingly at Alexa. “Let’s talk about you. Graham says that you’re working longer hours than necessary. You’ve lost weight. Frank Crowe tells us that you’ve cut back your volunteer time at the Women’s Clinic. Then there’s Reese. I’m not entirely sure what happened there. You two seemed pretty tight, and then overnight, he leaves the country.”

  Alexa sighed. She gathered some loose change from the counter and stacked it into columns of quarters, nickels, and dimes.

  Susan leaned closer to her daughter. “In the last few weeks, I thought I’d seen some signs that you were finally getting past all the trauma from last fall. And from Grandma Williams’ death. I know that both you and Graham are still grieving for her. But, now this.”

  “Mom, I’ll be OK.” Alexa didn’t look up from the counter as she arranged the pennies into a circle. “It’s taken me awhile to process everything that happened. Believe it or not, I’ve struggled more with being so blind to Caleb’s true character than with killing Reverend Browne. Shooting the reverend was self-defense, but I dated Caleb for months and never really knew him. Then Grandma Williams died when I was still reeling from everything else. But she never recovered from the stroke. We knew it was coming.”

  Alexa toppled the neat stacks of change and faced her mother. “Don’t worry so much. I’m getting better. I’m eating well. I’m doing extra yoga sessions with Isabella. I miss Reese, but he left for a great job offer. That’s all there is to it.” Alexa took a few steps toward the refrigerator and fished around for a bottle of water.

  “Anything to drink, Mom?”

  “No thank you, dear. Don’t try to distract me. I think this African safari is going to be just what you need. It will get you away from here for a few weeks. Give you time to clear your head and see some amazing wildlife.”

  “Mom, your answer to everything is a trip; the more exotic, the better. But I’m excited about the safari. And I’ve decided to tack a few days on to the end and visit Reese. You and Dad just head on to Namibia like you planned. Instead of flying home from Nairobi, I’ll get a flight to Samburu.”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea, dear. I’m sure Reese will be happy to see you. I know our trip is over a month away, but it will be here before you know it.”

  On the drive home, Alexa thought about her earlier conversation with the Carlisle police regarding Toni Bertolino’s missing foster daughter, Meg Wilson. Alexa had spoken to Detective Hiram Miller, a policeman she trusted from past experience. It turned out that the police had made a thorough effort to retrace Meg’s steps and talk to her friends.

  “At this point, we’re well into the investigation,” the detective explained. “We’ve talked to Meg’s friends. We’ve searched her room and computer to look for clues about a possible motive for running or a potential sexual predator. She and Mrs. Bertolino had an argument the night before Meg disappeared, but it seems like a typical parent-teen disagreement. Nothing unusual. The York police tracked her birth mother down. Found her in a homeless shelter. She hadn’t seen or heard from Megan in years.

  “We pinged the girl’s cell phone, but it’s either turned off or the battery died or has been removed. A few years ago that may have been cause for suspicion, but now cell phone pinging information is all over the Internet and television. A kid who wants to disappear could do the research.

  “Her disappearance doesn’t meet the Amber Alert criteria. Even though she’s been missing for nearly four days, nobody saw her snatched off the street. We’ve followed all the protocols. We alerted all the local police jurisdictions that Meg was missing. We talked to the FBI office in Harrisburg about her. An announcement went in the Pennsylvania Crime Information Center’s Daily Bulletin. We posted the information on Crime Watch, which generates Facebook notifications. From there, I think all of the local news outlets carried a story. There’s a new federal law that requires missing foster care children to be reported to the FBI, the National Crime Information Center, and the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. We followed that procedure.” The detective paused for breath.

  Alexa looked up from taking notes. “I don’t know her that well, but Meg seems to be well behaved. I’ve discussed the upcoming adoption with her several times, and she appears to be genuinely excited about becoming an official Bertolino. Children and Youth monitors all the kids in foster care and those in pre-adoption placement every thirty days. If she was having some crisis or change of heart, they would have picked up on that.”

  “I hear you.” Miller leaned forward. “We’re treating this seriously. But she’s a foster kid. She’s fourteen years old. And her girlfriends say that Meg has hinted around about a secret boyfriend. They don’t know his name, but both of them got the idea that he was older than Meg, and she was hiding the relationship from her parents. Those factors all point to this girl being a runaway.”

  “Look, there’s got to be something more you can do, right? My clients are frantic with worry. What if you’re wrong and this child is the victim of foul play? It may be a coincidence, but she disappeared right before she was scheduled to go on a trip to Washington with Cecily Townes. And we both know what happened to Cecily.”

  “The way I heard it, a whole busload of kids went on that trip. I can’t see any connection between the murder of Carlisle’s own Mother Theresa and a teenage girl. But I feel for the parents.” Detective Miller tipped his chair back. “Tell you what. I’ll try to get the local news to give the story some more coverage. We’ll continue to use social media as well. I suggest that her parents put out some fliers in town. Post something of their own on Facebook. Between the two efforts, maybe we’ll turn up a lead.”

  “Thanks. At least that’s a step forward. I’ll talk to the Bertolinos right away. Will you keep us informed?” Alexa rose from her chair.

  “Of course. And we’ll chase down any leads that we might get. With any luck, she’ll come back home on her own after a fight with that boyfriend.”

  Alexa had nothing concrete to refute Detective Miller’s certainty that Meg had left home on her own. Still, that scenario just didn’t feel right. The Sentinel and two of the Harrisburg TV stations had agreed to run an additional story on the missing teen. Alexa couldn’t help thinking that posting fliers was something that you did when a dog was lost, not a child. But the task of producing and distributing fliers had given the Bertolinos a focus and a sense action.

  As Alexa coasted the Land Rover to a stop in front of her cabin, she pushed aside thoughts of both young Meg and the late Cecily Townes. She needed to clear her mind.

  “Scout,” she yelled as she walked into the house. “We’ve still got some light. Let me change and we’ll go for a walk.”

  The big mastiff zipped through the open door, and Alexa ran upstairs for her jeans and sneakers.

  Chapter Seven

  ARIEL, OWNER OF THE OM CAFÉ, looked up when the three women walked in the door. She started preparing three cups of chai tea latte. “The usual, I assume?”

  Alexa nodded. She, Melissa, and their childhood friend, Haley, had turned these post-yoga get-togethers into a weekly ritual. They headed toward their favorite table.

  “Wasn’t class great tonight? I love Half-moon Pose.” Haley adjusted her Lululemon yoga top.

  “You must be crazy. I’d be happy doing nothing but spinal twists for the whole hour.” Melissa stirred the big cup of chai that Ariel had delivered.

  Alexa inhaled the spicy fragrance, took a long sip of the tea, and listened to her two friends chatter. For at least the thousandth time, she marveled that the three of them had remained such good friends.

  Haley was
a tall, slender brunette who handled media relations for the Chamber of Commerce. Always exquisitely dressed, Haley had grown more conservative over the years—not surprising given the conventional bent of her husband, Blair, an investment broker. Alexa sometimes pondered the chicken and the egg question with Haley. Did her conservatism come from the husband and her job at the Chamber, or was Haley’s natural reserve as a child an early indicator of her traditional nature?

  Melissa seemed to have recovered from the trauma of the weekend. The humidity and yoga had turned her long tresses into an auburn halo that danced each time she laughed at one of Haley’s jokes.

  Alexa leaned toward Melissa with a concerned expression. “How are you doing?”

  “Yes,” Haley chimed in. “Alexa told me about Saturday—jail and finding Cecily Townes murdered. It must have been terrible.”

  “You could say that. I hope they find the bastard who killed her and lock him away for life.”

  “The news reports don’t say anything about the police identifying a suspect.” Alexa took a quick look at the news feed on her cell phone.

  Haley shivered. “I swear that Carlisle isn’t safe anymore. We’re starting to get concerned down at the Chamber. First, that business last fall you were involved in, Alexa. Two women dead. Dr. Crowe wounded. Armed men chasing you through the forest . . . and now this. One of the most respected women in town. One with an international reputation for her accomplishments. Murdered in her home.” Haley shook her head. “Blair is upgrading our security system. He called the company yesterday morning.”

  Melissa sighed. “Haley, the last thing on my mind is the impact that Cecily’s death might have on tourism. I just found out that her brother is planning a big memorial service, but not until next Saturday—Memorial Day weekend. I hear that people are coming in from Thailand and India along with a whole contingent of muckety-mucks from Washington. I think it’s going to be at St. Agnes.”