Dead of Summer

by Sherry Knowlton

  “First thing after Middlesex identified the body. Needless to say, they’re devastated. We informed Children and Youth, too.”

  “Any idea how she ended up at a truck stop months after she vanished?” As the news sank in, Alexa became angry.

  “The working theory is she was hooking at the truck stops. Maybe for drug money. Or maybe someone was trafficking her. There’s a group out of Ohio that pimps out young girls along the truck stops on the I-81 corridor. There’s an interstate task force trying to shut them down—but so far no luck.”

  “So she wasn’t a runaway?” Alexa knew this was why Miller hadn’t come to the office to share this awful news.

  His tone was defensive. “Maybe not. But she could have run away and gotten swept up by these traffickers when she needed money. I hope the Middlesex police’s investigation can get to the bottom of this. But we pursued all the leads we had—and, you may remember, we didn’t have a whole hell of a lot to go on.”

  “Perhaps Meg’s death will spur your department to take a more aggressive approach to missing kids in the future. Unfortunately, it’s too late for anything to save Megan. Thanks for informing me of her death.”

  Alexa slammed down the phone and buried her face in her hands. What a fucked up mess. This vibrant teenager—with so much promise and a chance to become a permanent part of a loving family—tricked out to truckers and dead of an overdose.

  She wouldn’t intrude on the Bertolinos’ grief. She would wait until at least tomorrow to contact them. With a sigh, she remembered Tyrell. She buzzed her assistant.

  “Melinda, could you call Tyrell Jenkins and find out if I can walk over to Children and Youth to speak to him for a few minutes? Or if he can come here? I need to see him as soon as possible. Tell him it’s about Meg Wilson.”

  Ten minutes later, Tyrell sat in her office with tears running down his face. He’d already heard about Meg’s death from his supervisor. Seeing his genuine distress, Alexa now had no doubt that Tyrell’s interest in Meg’s disappearance and his support for the Bertolino family had been sincere. Still, the depth of his emotion shook Alexa.

  He raised his head and accepted the box of tissues Alexa offered. “Some days in this job are glorious—when a child is saved from harm or you see the pure joy on an adoptive family’s face when they hold their child for the first time. But there are just too many days like this. All too often, working in child welfare makes me feel like that dude, Sisyphus? You know, the one who pushes the rock up the hill day after day after day.”

  He wiped his eyes again. “I so wanted to hope that Meg just ran away. And that someday soon she would come back to Ed and Toni, tail between her legs and no worse for the experience. But, damn, that’s just not the way the world works. I knew that the longer she was gone the sadder the ending was going to be. I think the Bertolinos knew it, too.”

  Tyrell placed the Kleenex box back on Alexa’s desk and rose to his feet. “I better go alert Reverend Mayne and see what I can do for Ed and Toni.”

  He looked directly into Alexa’s eyes and spoke with barely contained fury. “There is so much evil in the world. Sometimes, I wonder why I continue to put my faith in the Lord and that rock. But I keep hoping. If I can move the rock just a few inches, maybe it will roll right over a posse of those evil motherfuckers and crush them into oblivion.”

  With those words, Tyrell walked out the door, leaving Alexa standing in the middle of her office, shocked. She felt as if she’d finally met the real Tyrell Jenkins and glimpsed why he’d chosen a career in social work.

  Still struggling with the news about Meg, Alexa couldn’t muster much enthusiasm for her noon lunch with Quinn. But she shied away from canceling. Unless she counted voice messages, she hadn’t spoken to him directly since she’d returned from safari.

  Quinn rose from his chair as Alexa made her way through the tightly-spaced tables on the outdoor terrace of Caffe 101. In deference to the hot July day, he’d rolled back the sleeves of his creamy linen shirt in sharply-creased folds. A lightweight sports coat draped over the back of his chair.

  Alexa felt the heat, even in her sleeveless sheath dress. Bowing to summer, she’d left her jacket at the office.

  “Finally,” he said as his lips brushed Alexa’s cheek. “I must apologize that it’s taken so long for us to get together. I went home for a short visit. When I returned, I became immersed in planning for the upcoming semester. Classes begin in late August.”

  “And I’ve been slammed with work. Although my trip to Africa was wonderful, the work piled up while I was away.”

  Over chicken salad for Alexa and gazpacho for Quinn, they chatted aimlessly. Alexa described some of the high points of her safari. Quinn talked about the lesson plan he was constructing for a new course he was teaching for the fall semester.

  “I’m calling it ‘Elegies and Eternity: Death and Dying in Western Literature.’”

  “Hmm. Do you think a lot of kids will be interested in the course?” Alexa had her doubts.

  “Absolutely. When you search for the theme of death in poetry and fiction, it’s everywhere. My biggest problem has been deciding which pieces to discard and which pieces to teach. Of course, I’m doing Gray’s Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard and Thomas Mann’s Death in Venice. I’ve settled on Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms for the death-in-war text, although I debated about Stephen Crane’s The Red Badge of Courage. Of course, Crane is so prep school. I’d love to do a semester on death in Eastern literature.

  Compare and contrast, all that sort of thing. But my department head is not enthusiastic enough about Eastern literature to go for something so specialized.”

  “Perhaps today’s not the best day for me to appreciate a course with a death theme.” Alexa took advantage of a brief pause in Quinn’s enthusiastic monologue to steer the conversation in another direction. “Two of my clients lost a child today. Her death is weighing on my mind.”

  “I had no idea. Of course, let’s talk about something else. Shall I fill you in on the board meeting you missed?” Quinn became solicitous.

  “Yes. Were there any major decisions that I should know about?”

  “I did bring you the materials.” Quinn passed her a small binder. “Actually, the meeting was totally uneventful. One of the division managers gave a dull report about the juvenile delinquency program, chock full of statistics and performance outcomes. Ralph Price has come back to work on light duty after his surgery. He gave a report on the planned expansion of overseas adoptions.”

  “Ralph Price?”

  “Oh, yes. I suppose you’ve not met him. Ralph is actually Jack’s right hand man—an Iago to Jack’s Othello, if you will. As I mentioned at Jack’s dinner party, Ralph was injured in late spring; a car accident, I believe. Needed some serious surgery and recuperation. So Jack has had to take on much of Ralph’s work for the past few months.”

  Alexa almost snorted aloud at Quinn’s analogy. She doubted either Ralph or Jack would want to be compared to Shakespeare’s legendary shyster Iago and the homicidal Moor, Othello. Despite his air of hip and effortless erudition, it was clear that Quinn worked hard to pepper his conversation with these literary allusions. Today, he was clearly off his game.

  “Speaking of Jack, he missed the meeting as well. I can’t recall him ever missing a board meeting before. But he was attending an international adoption conference in Brussels.”

  “Brussels?”

  “Yes. I believe he was in Europe for a week or more.”

  With a side-trip to Africa . . . Alexa kept that thought quiet. Her chance sighting of Jack in Nairobi still made Alexa uneasy. She wasn’t ready to discuss the incident with Quinn.

  “Quinn, it’s been lovely to catch up, but I need to get back to the office. I have several meetings this afternoon.”

  “Of course. I must run, too. I’m working on this new course and have a lot to do. We must get together again soon. Perhaps another dinner in Harrisburg?”

  “I
t sounds like we’re both pretty busy. Maybe in a few weeks? You’ll be at the Children of Light anniversary event, right?”

  “Oh, yes. Is that next week?”

  “Next Thursday.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  Because it was such a fine day, Alexa had parked on the other side of the lovely Children’s Lake. She gave her reflection in the still water a goofy thumbs up, pleased at her success in sidestepping another date with Quinn. Actually, Quinn’s suggestion of dinner had seemed pretty halfhearted. Maybe they could just drift apart without affecting their work together with Children of Light.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  “TELL ME ABOUT NAMIBIA. Was it as wonderful as Tanzania?” Alexa’s parents had arrived home yesterday and insisted on a Friday pizza night with the entire clan.

  Dad looked up from feeding Scout his obligatory biscuit and answered, “Very different landscape. Wonderful animals, and a fascinating tribe—the Himba. We’ll tell you all about it over dinner.”

  “And you can tell us about Kenya . . . and Reese,” her mother demanded.

  “Gran, when will the pizza be here? I’m so hungry.” Jamie tugged at Susan’s arm.

  Alexa laughed, glad to be together with the family. “You say that every Friday, Jamie.”

  “Because it’s true, Aunt Alexa. I’m absolutely starved for pizza. Pepperoni with lots of cheese.”

  An hour later, the Williams clan had worked their way through most of three pizzas. Courtney and Jamie huddled on the floor around a game involving dice in a dome that made loud popping sounds when pressed. “Ooh, Scout, you’re getting the board wet,” Courtney squealed as she tried to shove the dog’s big head off the game board.

  “Scout, come here,” Alexa instructed as Kate went to wipe the board with a paper towel. “Leave them alone.”

  “It’s not like he can hurt the game. I think that one belonged to Graham when he was a kid.” Norris consoled Scout by scratching the dog’s ears.

  “So, it’s over with Reese?” her mom asked Alexa again. Clearly, she was hoping for a different answer this time.

  “It was wonderful to see him. I think we’ll always have a connection, and we were able to get closure, as they say, to our relationship. But it’s over. And I’m OK with that.”

  “Such a wonderful man, Reese.”

  “Enough, Mom,” Graham insisted. “We all liked Reese, including Lexie. But she told you that the relationship is over. If she’s moved on, I think you can do the same.”

  “Spoken like a man.” Kate rolled her eyes.

  “Speaking of manly pursuits, I think the Phillies are on. Only Africa could make me miss four weeks of baseball.” Norris headed for the family room with Graham close behind.

  Kate watched her husband leave the room. “Looks like we’re here for a while. Susan, can I give the kids a bath and put their PJs on? That way, I can pop them both into bed when we get home.”

  “Of course, dear. Do you need help?”

  “Nope. I’ve got this. Come on, kiddos. It’s bath time.” Holding Courtney and Jamie by the hand, she push-pulled the children toward the stairs. As usual, the smaller of the two put up the biggest fight. “Noooo,” Jamie whined. “Mommy, we need to finish the game.”

  Courtney threw a prissy look over her shoulder at Alexa and her grandmother as if to say, “What a baby,” even though she was a year younger than her brother.

  In the ensuing quiet, Alexa said to her mother, “I’m trying not to be influenced by your story about Woodstock, but I’m starting to have some doubts about Jack Nash. Something weird happened before I left Kenya.” Alexa described what she had seen in the Nairobi airport.

  “There may be a reasonable explanation, dear. After all, Children of Light has a program for couples who want to adopt children from overseas, right?”

  “Correct, but these children were older than the typical adoption age. Mostly teenagers.”

  “Or maybe Jack’s helping out with something for RESIST. I’m sure they’re scrambling with Cecily gone.”

  “Maybe, but the whole thing seemed shady, somehow. And another board member told me that Jack had been at a conference in Brussels—at the same time I saw him in Nairobi. It’s just weird.”

  “Well, don’t jump to conclusions unless you have all the facts.”

  “Yes, Mom.” Alexa had heard this same advice from her mother many times over the years. Why hadn’t her friends included her in their night at the movies? Why hadn’t dreamy Julio Rodriquez called for a second date? Why hadn’t Yale Law sent an acceptance letter? It was Susan Williams’ mantra: Don’t jump to conclusions unless you have all the facts.

  “You know Jack Nash well enough to help me get the facts. I don’t want to be involved with Children of Light if the chairman of the board has something to hide.”

  “Lexie, I told you. I’ve spent as little time as possible with Jack since Woodstock, even during our last years at Dickinson. My God, that was more than forty years ago. I barely know him anymore.”

  “There’s a big anniversary celebration for Children of Light next Thursday at the Nash estate. Come with me. I want to ask Jack if he was in Africa and see what he says.”

  Her mother’s expression was dubious. “I’m not sure that’s the best course of action, Lexie. You’ve always been a little too fond of the direct approach. My years in politics have taught me that a subtler path usually leads to greater success.”

  Alexa’s face fell in disappointment.

  Susan pondered for a moment and continued. “Tell you what. I’ll grit my teeth and walk into that man’s house if you agree to a more measured approach. We can talk more about it before we enter the lion’s den.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  “WON’T YOU MISS THIS PLACE?” Alexa parked the Land Rover in front of Melissa’s dollhouse cottage. When she climbed out of the SUV, the hum of bees and the scent of old-fashioned climbing roses brought a smile to her face.

  “I will miss it. This place has been perfect for me, living on my own. But it’s not big enough for Jim and me. His head practically scrapes those low ceilings in the living room. And we need to start our official life together in a new home.”

  Alexa opened the back door of the Rover for Scout, but he was fast asleep. “Boy, our little hike knocked this guy out. I’ll leave the door open. I have no doubt he’ll make a beeline for the porch if he wakes up while we’re here.” Scout had been to Melissa’s many times and knew she kept special, giant dog cookies in the kitchen.

  “I got some great shots of the Stony Creek. Can you hold this?” Melissa handed her camera to Alexa and used both hands to turn the key and the knob simultaneously on the old door. “I won’t miss this damn door,” she muttered as she stepped into the house.

  Alexa turned to glance at the car. Scout was still sleeping. She left the front door hanging halfway open so Scout could join them if he woke. Alexa deposited Melissa’s camera on a small table inside the door and called, “Melissa. I desperately need something cool to drink. Do you have iced tea or lemonade?”

  When she heard no response, Alexa figured Melissa was in the bathroom. It had been a long drive from their hike in the Stony Creek Valley. As she glanced to the left, she noticed the chaos in Melissa’s living room. It looked as if it had been ransacked. In alarm, Alexa turned, poised to race out the front door and grab her cell phone. She gasped at the beefy man in a black ski mask blocking her way.

  Alexa struggled to remain calm, but panic nibbled at her mind: What was going on here?

  “This way,” the man muttered as he grabbed Alexa’s shoulder and forced her down the hallway, reinforcing his message with a few painful jabs from the ugly pistol in his hand. When Alexa smelled cheap aftershave, she knew she’d met this man once before—in this same hallway.

  Alexa gasped when they entered the kitchen. Pans and broken dishes littered the floor. An overturned chair rested on a haphazard pile of books. Alexa recognized the broken spine of the teal fleu
r-de-lis-flocked volume of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. She’d given it to Melissa as a gift last Christmas.

  With a flutter of terror, she finally focused on Melissa, sitting in a chair by the kitchen table. Another man in a shapeless charcoal sweatsuit stood behind her friend, a gun trained at her head. This man had made no attempt to conceal his Asian features behind a mask. Although his lank black hair lacked the traditional topknot, he looked like a Sumo wrestler who’d lost a few pounds. He was a massive man.

  With a sinking feeling, Alexa realized that Melissa was about to lose it. Although the free-spirited photographer had a sunny disposition, every once in a while something would set her off. And that old saw about redheads with a temper proved accurate with Melissa. When her face flushed scarlet and her eyes flashed, Melissa’s anger could be a thing to behold. But a rash action right now could get them both killed.

  Alexa caught Melissa’s eye, gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head, and mouthed a silent no. But Melissa only widened her eyes in disagreement.

  “What’s going on here?” Alexa blustered, trying to calm the situation. “What do you want?”

  “We’d hoped to find it in the house,” the Asian man replied without taking his eyes off Melissa. He waved his gun in Melissa’s face. “But it looks like Red here is the only one who can help us find what we’re looking for.”

  “What’s this about?” Alexa moderated her tone.

  “Cecily Townes.”

  “Screw you,” Melissa hissed and snapped her head around to look at the burly man. “Are you the ones who killed Cecily?”

  “Didn’t have the pleasure. We were just hired for clean up.”

  Alexa went cold at the confirmation that these men were professional criminals. Maybe they were from the Thai trafficking syndicate that John Taylor had mentioned. She and Melissa were caught up in something they didn’t fully comprehend. But it was clearly dangerous and getting worse.