Kill Me If You Can apam-2

by Nicole Young

  I stood in the corner of the large hall and watched them leave. With the Belmonts went my sense of belonging. Now I was merely a strange face once again. I willed a friendly person my way, but got only polite smiles and quick glances from those who even bothered to look at me. I refused to read anything into the standoffish behavior other than general discomfort regarding strangers.

  I zipped up my jacket and raced through the cold out to my car.

  7

  That afternoon, I treated myself to hot tea and the last pages of a romantic mystery along the lumpy length of my sofa. I had on three layers of clothes and a sleeping bag to guard against the chill. By evening, I knew I’d have to break down and invest in a new heating system and maybe some storm windows. While it didn’t faze me to live like a refugee, I knew the next owners wouldn’t be able to hack it.

  Monday morning I opened the skinny Manistique area phone directory and dialed the number of a Silvan Township–based heating professional. I got an answering machine.

  “Hi, my name is Patricia Amble and I’m at Number Three Valentine’s Lane,” I said after the beep. “I’d like a quote on a new heating system, please.” I left my cell number and hung up. If he were like the contractors in the rest of the state, a call back was questionable.

  I spent the remainder of the day washing down the great room. The stone surround of the fireplace presented my biggest challenge at the cabin so far. Dust had collected on the uneven ledges between every rock. I stretched as tall as I could and began wiping the chimney and hearth. I was exhausted by the time dark rolled around, but at least the stones sparkled with new life in the glow of my work lamp. Another day I’d borrow a ladder and clean all the way to the ceiling that soared above. While I was up there, I’d change the bulbs in the light fixture. For now, I called it quits and went to bed early, looking forward to meeting with Missy and the Belmont kids the next day in Manistique.

  The sun hadn’t even considered rising yet when I heard my cell phone ringing somewhere down in the kitchen. I jumped up and careened groggily down the staircase. Maybe it was Brad. He hadn’t forgotten about me.

  “Hello?” My lips were thick from sleep.

  “This is Ted from General Heating calling you back.”

  My heart shriveled. Brad had forgotten me after all. I cradled my forehead in my hand and leaned against the counter. “Thanks for calling, Ted.” I couldn’t keep the disappointment out of my voice. “I’ve got a big old cottage on Valentine’s Lane that needs a whole new approach to heating. I’m hoping you’ll have some good ideas.” I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  “Normally I would.” His voice became curt and gruff. “But I don’t do business with drug dealers.”

  I looked around the kitchen to see if there was someone else in the room that he could possibly be talking to. “Excuse me? My name is Patricia Amble and I just moved up here.”

  “I know who you are. Tell your granddad to get one of his buddies to help you out. I don’t get involved in that stuff.” The line clicked and went silent.

  Okay. I’ll tell my granddad as soon as I meet him for the first time, I thought to myself as I flung my phone on the counter. Of all the family skeletons I’d imagined, drug dealers hadn’t been among them. I yawned and rubbed at my eyes. As long as I was awake, I might as well make coffee and get the day started.

  The last Sinclair donut became breakfast as the sun lit the icy landscape outside the kitchen window. Six donuts. Six days. The sugary bear claw wasn’t the only thing getting stale. I couldn’t wait to meet Missy at noon. I had to get out of this house. I’d grown accustomed to a social life my last months in Rawlings. Being trapped behind four walls just wasn’t working for me anymore.

  I showered, dressed, and put on my regimen of light makeup, then frittered around to pass the time. About 11:00 a.m., I’d had enough. I started up the SUV and came back inside while it warmed.

  A corner closet held a broom. I swept the kitchen floor. I gathered dirt into a central pile, deciding to spend the rest of the day exploring Manistique. Maybe I’d come across some of the places Brad told me about. I remembered how pleasantly surprised I’d been to find out he’d visited the Upper Peninsula—and loved it. I simply couldn’t wait to try the pizza at Buddy’s Pub, drop in at the Olive Branch gift shop, and browse the books at Merchant’s Pointe Deli. Some of the other things Brad mentioned, like tackling the rocky jetty in Manistique Harbor to get to the lighthouse and strolling the boardwalk in the moonlight, would have to wait until summer.

  I found the dustpan under the cupboard and swept the pile in. Somehow not having Brad around to share my new experiences dampened my enthusiasm. But I’d thought that through before I moved. Back in Rawlings, Brad taught me a lot about taking time to enjoy God’s creation. And now I went for walks, went to town, and even went to church. He’d helped me start a whole new batch of great habits. I could keep up the routine even without him. I’d gone for one walk already this week, hadn’t I? I rubbed the bruise on my backside. That walk might have ended on a less brutal note if Brad had been with me.

  I stowed my cleaning tools, locked the back door in opposition to Ethyl Merton’s shaky advice, and started the drive to Manistique. The trees along US-2 looked like they’d sprouted crystals. Soon the forest gave way to Lake Michigan. Turbulent black waters beat against mounds of ice along the shoreline. Towers of spray shot up at random and settled atop the wall of white. A few minutes later, houses cropped up on the narrow strip of snow-covered dunes between the highway and the lake. I crossed the bridge over the Manistique River and took the first left. After three blocks of quaint shop fronts, I came to the high school. I navigated into the parking lot and took a space reserved for public library patrons. I snatched my purse and headed in, excited for a lunch date, minus the food, with my new friend.

  Teens peered out at me as I walked past their classrooms. I found the library entrance halfway down the hallway. I entered and passed between the stanchions of a security device, surprised to see the sophisticated system in a U.P. town. But, it was the twenty-first century, even in the Upper Peninsula. Although it seemed like a hundred years since I had last been up here, it was reassuring to know that time hadn’t totally passed the place by.

  I paused to get my bearings. A bank of computers filled the center of the large, square room. Tall shelves with numeric and alphabetic guides on the ends took up the right side. And straight ahead, past the librarian’s desk, was the modestly proportioned children’s section. Through the racks, I could make out the back of Missy’s shoulder-length hair. I smiled at the sweet older gal manning the desk on my way by. I rounded a bookcase and stepped into the kids’ section. Missy sat at a child-sized table, flipping through the pages of Curious George with Hannah. Andrew slept peacefully in his car seat next to them on the floor.

  Hannah looked up at me as I approached. “Mommy, that lady’s here.”

  I smiled. “How are you today, Hannah?”

  She ducked her head into the book. Missy barely turned to greet me.

  “Thanks for coming,” she whispered.

  I circled the table and slid into a seat made for a bottom half the size of mine. I met Missy’s eyes across the Formica top. She looked wiped out. Her eyes were puffy and she’d used heavy makeup to hide the dark circles under them. Her blush had been over-applied, making one cheekbone look almost purple.

  I squinted and leaned closer. “Is that a bruise on your face?” The words spewed out before I could add any tact.

  Hannah looked up from her book. Missy’s fingers rose to cover the dark spot.

  She bent forward and whispered to the girl. “Hannah, honey, why don’t you go find some more stories we can take home with us?”

  The four-year-old placed Curious George on a stack on the table and wandered over to a kiddy pool filled with picture books. She gave a long look in our direction before scrounging for new reading material.

  Missy slumped and closed her eyes. A tear slid down
one cheek. She struggled with her breathing before finally looking up at me.

  “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make him stop.”

  “Did your husband do that to you?” I asked. My hand made a move to touch the bruise, but I pulled back, not wanting to make a scene with Hannah so near by.

  Missy nodded. “It’s been going on for years. I watched my mom put up with it. But I want it to stop.” Her shoulders shook and her voice croaked. “I don’t want Hannah to think it’s something she has to live with.”

  I peeked over toward the pool. Hannah skimmed blissfully through some illustrations. My eyes watered as I turned back to Melissa. “Why don’t you leave him?” I asked.

  “I’ve threatened to. But he swore I’d never see the kids again, if he didn’t kill me first.”

  “There has to be a women’s shelter in the area. You’ve got the kids. You could go today. He’d never know. He’d never find you.”

  She sobbed silently into one hand. “I wish I could. But he would find me.” She exhaled sarcastically. “My own father would probably help him. Between the two of them, they wouldn’t stop until I was back with Drake. He’d want to make sure I wouldn’t tell about the marijuana he grows and the sick friends he sells it through.”

  I swallowed hard. I recalled what happened back in Rawlings when someone else had tried to turn over a new leaf at the expense of a career criminal. She’d ended up buried under the concrete in my basement. All the details of the villain’s devious life would have died with her, if I hadn’t somehow ended up unearthing the body, nearly costing me my own life.

  “Don’t you know anybody who could help you? Don’t you have somewhere to go?” I asked. The last thing I wanted was to be in the bad graces of some Port Silvan drug ring.

  Her eyebrows rippled. “That’s why I’m talking to you. Your grandfather could help me. Ask him. He’d do it for you, I know he would.”

  I snorted. “According to popular belief, he’s one of the dealers. Besides, I haven’t even met him yet. I don’t see how he’d do anything for either one of us.”

  “Please. Just ask him.” She looked over at her daughter. The girl gave a surreptitious glance in our direction. Missy pleaded to me with her eyes. “Do it for Hannah and Andrew. Please. It’s our only way out.”

  I nodded. “I’ll ask my grandfather at the first opportunity. But I can’t make any guarantees. I think you’re better off leaving him on your own.”

  “Thank you.” She reached forward and grabbed my arm across the table. “If you see me again, pretend you don’t know me. If Drake ever suspects I talked to you, I don’t know what he’d do.”

  “Pretend I don’t know you? Are you nuts? I’m so excited to have you for my friend.” I gripped her wrist with my other hand.

  Missy cocked her head. “I mean it, Tish. I’ll look past you like you don’t even exist. It’s safer that way. For both of us.”

  Missy was overreacting, of course, but I wasn’t the one who had to face Attila the Hun at bedtime every night. I only hoped she and the kids could weather it through until Drake Belmont got put behind bars.

  “I understand.” So much for my first friendship in Port Silvan. My time here looked like it would be riddled with the isolation I’d finally managed to shake off back in Rawlings. It was probably just God trying to teach me how to be happy on my own again. It seemed every time I got close to mastering the lesson, I botched it by getting too attached to someone or another. Maybe this time I’d get the point down pat. Goodness knew it shouldn’t be any problem with the heritage I’d been dealt. Drugs, suicide, and murder certainly didn’t fall on the list of how to win friends and influence people.

  I pulled out my golf pencil and scratch pad. “Here.” I scribbled my cell number. “Call me anytime.” As an afterthought, I wrote down Candice LeJeune’s name and number as well. “I have a feeling this woman could do more for you than my grandfather.” I tore the slip off and handed it to her.

  She looked at it. “Thanks, but I hope I’m never so desperate I’ll have to call her.”

  “I met her last week. She was a little uptight, but seemed like she had things together. I’m sure she’d help if you ever needed her to.”

  “That woman sits in judgment over everyone in this town. You, me, and especially your grandfather. He’s one of the most decent people I’ve ever met and she’s got nothing but venom for him.” Missy stared at the slip of paper and shook her head. “It’s hard to believe they were once in love.”

  “Candice and my grandfather in love? You’re right. That is hard to believe.”

  “Just rumors you hear from gossipy old ladies. Supposedly, Candice had left her husband for your grandfather, but then her husband was killed in a fire and she blamed Papa B for starting it. Nothing was ever proven, but she’s hated the Russos ever since.”

  I remembered my meeting with Candice and all her warnings about my family. I couldn’t blame her for being angry with my grandfather if he’d taken matters into his own hands. But I couldn’t condemn the man either. Hadn’t I done the same thing where my grandmother was concerned? The only difference was, I got caught, while he’d apparently gotten off the hook. Perhaps he’d mended his ways after so many years. Missy’s generous portrayal of him gave me hope.

  I strummed my fingers on the table. “Like I said, I can’t make any promises. I really don’t know anything about the Russos anymore.” I shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t even know how to get a hold of them.”

  Missy nodded. “I’m sure they’ll be getting in touch with you soon.”

  “They haven’t bothered trying to reach me the past twenty-five years. What makes you think they’ll start now?”

  “Something I overheard.” She reached up and touched her bruise. “It earned me this.” She half-laughed. “I should know better than to throw in a load of wash when Drake’s buddies are hanging in the garage.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “Missy, none of this is your fault. You don’t have to accept that treatment.”

  Missy bit her lip. “I know. But it’s just the way it is right now.” She wiped moisture from her eye. “You better get going, just in case Drake decides to check up on me.”

  I huffed. “I can’t let you go back there. I’ll make some phone calls. I’ll find you a place to stay.”

  Missy gave a vehement shake of her head. “Just tell your grandfather. Please, nobody else.” She looked over her shoulder at the library entrance. “Thank you for meeting me today. Now please go. And forget we ever met.”

  I stared at her as I stood up. It took all my willpower not to race up to the desk and dial 9-1-1 and put out a bulletin for Drake Belmont’s arrest.

  “Bye, lady.” Hannah gazed at me from the pool of books. I tried not to cry.

  “Bub-bye, honey.” My voice came out like the bleat of a goat. I turned to go.

  I averted my eyes as I walked past the librarian. Missy was a grown-up. She could make her own decisions. But she was pregnant now. And that meant keeping herself and all of her beautiful children out of harm’s way. If she wasn’t going to help herself, I’d have to do it for her.

  8

  I’d lost my appetite for sightseeing after taking on Missy’s personal problems as my own. I drove home, the once riveting lake and woods now a dreary backdrop to my thoughts. Ignorance would have been bliss. I could have said hi to Missy and her cute babies once a week at church, confident that everything was hunky-dory back home. But after hearing her story, and her refusal to take the steps I felt were necessary, I couldn’t exactly ignore the situation. If something ever happened, I’d have to live with myself. And my action or inaction under the circumstances would determine whether I’d hold my head up because I’d done the right thing, or hide in shame because I’d neglected to do what I could.

  But what was the right thing? Missy insisted I contact my grandfather and tell him alone of her situation. Yet I really couldn’t see that helping her at all. It would be like
having her go from one drug dealer to another. In my opinion, getting the authorities involved and getting Missy and those kids to safety was the better plan.

  But what if I called the police and everything backfired and Drake didn’t end up in jail? Drake would know Missy had talked to someone and she’d be in an even bigger mess.

  By the time I pulled up to the house, all the extrapolation had launched a headache the size of Kadavu, that faraway isle in Fiji where I should have gone instead of here. Was it just a few months ago that Brad had taken me to the Rawlings Public Library and introduced me to Google? I’d typed in “remote tropical island” and up popped the most beautiful stretch of sand and water I’d ever seen.

  I slammed the car door and waded through the snow. I’d need at least a year to get this place shipshape, but I promised myself the beaches of Kadavu would be my next stop. I’d promised myself that before. But this time I meant it.

  I hung my coat by the door and kicked my boots off on the rug. I’d turned the thermostat down before I left, hoping to be a wise steward of something called propane, a natural gas alternative that enabled this middle-of-nowhere cottage to have heat at all. I had a feeling I’d get to know a good deal about that sewer thing called a septic system as well. Rural life sure wasn’t like living in town where all the necessities were magically provided as long as you paid the bills. Out here, I half expected to find my electric running off some nearby windmill.

  After cranking up the wall heater, I headed for the phone book. If I called a heating contractor from Manistique, maybe my anonymity would garner some service. I flipped through the slim guide, hesitating at the “R” page. I ran a finger down the column. Raymond, Reno, Richard, Roberts . . . Russo. Three were listed: Bernard, Gerard, and Joel, all of Port Silvan. I stared at the print. I tapped at the names with my finger.