Crooked River: A Novel

by Valerie Geary

  “Sam!” Zeb shouted through the trees.

  Travis relaxed his grip.

  I jerked my arm away from him, pulled it close to my chest, and rubbed at the red sore spots forming on my wrist.

  “Sam!” Crashing, crashing through the brush.

  He broke into the sunlight and kept coming, hobbling across the meadow toward us with one hand on his bad hip, the other grabbing the air and throwing it behind him, saying my name over and over.

  I pushed away from the table and ran to Zeb. He grabbed hold of me, leaned. I put my arm around his shoulder and held him up. He was out of breath and panting. Sweat beaded his forehead. His cheeks were flushed red and his eyes glittered moist.

  I hushed him and told him to calm down. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Ollie,” he said. “She’s gone.”

  Those were the exact words Grandma had used the morning after Mom died when she sat me and Ollie down on the couch and said, “Sometimes life’s not fair. Sometimes we pray and pray and God says no.” She’s gone.

  An invisible hand grabbed my throat and squeezed. It was hard to tell at this point if Zeb was leaning on me, or if I was the one leaning on him.

  Zeb said, “She took her bike.”

  The invisible hand released me, and I could breathe again.

  “She didn’t tell Franny where she was going?” I asked.

  Zeb shook his head. “Franny said she didn’t even hear her come downstairs.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Okay. Let’s not panic.” More for my sake than his. “I’m sure she’s fine. I’m sure she just got bored and went for a ride. She probably went into town. I bet she’s on her way back now.”

  Zeb nodded. “I hope so.”

  “But maybe we should still look for her, just in case?”

  “You know where she likes to go?” he asked.

  I squeezed his hand. “We’ll find her.”

  I glanced over my shoulder to where I’d left Travis by the picnic table, but he had disappeared. I took a few steps in that direction, scanning the meadow, the apiary, the trees all around, but he was nowhere. Just like that—vanished into the bright sun.

  Zeb said, “Sam, let’s go.”

  Beneath the table, the rattlesnake lighter winked and glinted in a freckle of sunlight. I picked it up and slipped it in my front pocket.

  Trying to sound more confident about finding Ollie than I actually felt, I said, “We’ll try the library first.”

  I hooked my elbow into Zeb’s and hurried us along the path toward the truck.

  30

  ollie

  I left something behind. When Mrs. Roth was pushing me out the back door and up the concrete steps, the gray tabby ran under her feet, and she tripped. I pretended to trip, too, and dropped Alice on the ground. If my sister is looking for me, she will probably go to the library first, and when I’m not there, she’ll come to the store second. If my sister is looking for me, the book will be obvious, and she will know I left it behind on purpose and that there is something important for her inside the pages.

  If my sister is looking.

  I am in a shed, tied to a chair. Every time I move, even just a little, the ropes dig deeper into my wrists and ankles. I am in a shed, tied to a chair, and though the sun is high above the trees right now, it will set soon.

  I don’t want to be here after dark.

  Mrs. Roth stands beside the half-open door and keeps the gun at her side where I can see it. She glances outside and then back at me. Outside and then at me.

  The one who follows me won’t come inside the shed. Or can’t. Maybe it’s too thick in here for her, the air too unsettled and broken. So she stays close to the small building’s only window where I can see her out of the corner of my eye, sparking white.

  Behind me, Billy Roth hammers something. The sound rings in my head and makes my teeth hurt. His pale girl is close by. I can’t see her, but I hear her moaning. She is trying to let go and being ripped in half.

  When Mrs. Roth first pushed me into the shed, Billy Roth turned around and smiled at me. He said, “I remember you.”

  Mrs. Roth shoved me into a chair and tied my hands and feet. She told me not to move a muscle.

  Billy Roth leaned in close and grabbed my braid, ran it through his finger and thumb. “So much like my Delilah.” He straightened and returned to his workbench, saying, “I’ll be finished with her soon and then you can see for yourself.”

  Mrs. Roth tied double knots and stuffed a rag in my mouth. I gagged on the oil taste at first, but I’m used to it now.

  Outside, there are engine sounds coming up the driveway.

  “Finally,” Mrs. Roth says, and then, “Billy, honey, keep an eye on her.”

  He strikes his hammer, down and down in a steady beat.

  Mrs. Roth goes out the door but stays close enough to the shed that when the engine stops I can still hear everything she says.

  “Where is she?”

  Travis answers, his voice, distant at first, then getting closer and louder, “Zeb showed up before I could get her to come with me.”

  “Did you tell her that her sister was here?”

  “I didn’t have time.”

  They’re standing together outside the door now, just out of sight.

  “What do you mean you didn’t have time?”

  “They know Ollie’s missing. They’re looking for her.”

  “Who is?”

  “Zeb, Franny, Sam. Probably the sheriff by now.”

  Mrs. Roth sighs, then says, “Jesus Christ,” and I can’t tell if she’s praying or cursing.

  Travis rushes his words. “I tried, Mom. But then Zeb was just . . . there. And you said no one else could know. You said she had to come alone. I didn’t know what else to do. I did the right thing, didn’t I? Leaving? Coming back here? Mom? Say something.”

  She speaks softly. “You did the only thing you could have done. You did what you thought best for our family.”

  “She doesn’t know what really happened, Mom,” he said.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “We’re not in handcuffs, right?”

  “Don’t be smart with me.”

  “She might have theories, but she doesn’t have any real proof,” he said. “So we can just forget this whole thing, right? Take Ollie home, wait for the trial, see how it plays out, keep on pretending we had nothing to do with it?”

  “No,” Mrs. Roth says. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “But they’re leaving soon. Sam told me. She said her grandparents . . . she said she wouldn’t be back. So it’s okay, right? We can just—”

  “I wish it were that simple.” And then her voice changes into something jagged and scarred with holes. “All these loose ends.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mrs. Roth comes back inside with Travis close behind her. He stops just inside the doorway and stares at me and the double-knotted ropes and the rag keeping me quiet.

  “Fuck,” he whispers.

  “Language.” Mrs. Roth stands a few steps away and taps her thumb against the pearl white pistol grip. Taps and taps and taps.

  Travis looks behind me then, to where Billy Roth is working, and his face scrunches. He takes one step forward, then a half step back, like he can’t decide what to do. He says, “What the hell is that?”

  Mrs. Roth says, “Keep your voice down.”

  “This is what he’s been working on?” He shuffles closer, but not too close, squints and tilts his head. “Is that . . . ? What’s that at the base? Are those . . . are those bones?” He stumbles backward, staring at his mother and shaking his head. “It’s made out of wax, right? Or wood? It’s not real. I mean, it’s not—”

  “Travis!” Mrs. Roth slices her hand sharp through the air, silencing him. />
  There is a moment where we all hold our breath, waiting for something to happen. Then Travis wipes his hand down his face and turns away from his father’s sculpture, focuses on me instead.

  “We have to let Ollie go.” He moves toward the chair. “We have to just untie her and set her loose in the woods. That’ll buy us enough time—”

  Mrs. Roth grabs his arm, stopping him from coming any closer to me. “Leave her.”

  He looks at her, fear darkening his eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

  “We can still fix this.”

  “What? How? Mom. Listen to me.” He’s talking fast now, his words tripping and mashing together. “We’re in way over our heads, we can’t just, this isn’t the way it was supposed to go. You promised everything would be okay but it’s not, it’s a goddamn fucking mess and there’s no fucking way we’re ever going to fix it, not like this, not now, no fucking way.”

  “Language,” she says calmly, and then, “Call her.”

  Travis shakes his head, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

  Mrs. Roth continues, “Call Sam and tell her that if she ever wants to see her sister alive again, she won’t tell anybody what she knows, not the sheriff, not Zeb, not a single person. She’ll come straight here so we can work things out. And she’ll come alone. Do you understand?”

  Travis nods.

  Mrs. Roth turns and smiles at me.

  A silver-white moth bangs against the window.

  31

  sam

  The librarian nodded and said, “Sure, she was here. Real cute kid, right? With pigtails and purple glasses?”

  “Yes, that’s her. That’s Ollie.” I gripped the edge of the counter so hard my knuckles turned white.

  The librarian scratched his cheek and glanced at the ceiling. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember her. She came in about three hours ago, around two thirty, maybe. Looking to do some research on Billy Roth. Not a very talkative one, now is she?”

  “When did she leave?”

  “Now, let’s see . . .” He stared over my shoulder and drummed his fingers on the countertop.

  I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, one foot, the other. Zeb was waiting in the parking lot, engine still running. I glanced at the front door. The bottoms of my feet itched. My palms itched. I leaned closer to the librarian.

  He stopped drumming his fingers and said, “Actually, I’m not really sure.”

  “What do you mean you’re not sure?” I had to unclench my teeth to get the words out.

  “Well now, well, let me think.” His fingers scratching and scratching at his five o’clock shadow. “She was still here when I ducked into the back to load up a cart with returns. That was around three, I think, maybe a little before . . . and that took about twenty minutes . . . and when I came back up to the front, your sister was gone. Cleaned up her work area and everything. Nice girl. Why? Has something happened?”

  I glanced at the clock hanging on the wall above the librarian’s head. A lot could happen in three hours. So much could go wrong.

  “Is she okay?” The librarian started to come around the desk. “Did she—”

  I ducked away from his questions and hurried outside. I climbed back into Zeb’s truck, slammed the door closed, and said, “She’s not here.”

  Zeb reversed, spinning the truck’s front end toward the driveway exit. “Where to next?”

  The sign in the Attic’s window was turned to SORRY WE’RE CLOSED, PLEASE COME AGAIN, but I tried the front door anyway, rattling it inside the frame.

  I knocked on the glass. “Hello? Mrs. Roth? Are you in there? It’s me. It’s Sam.”

  Zeb leaned out the passenger-side window and waved me to come back to the truck idling at the curb. “If they ain’t home, they ain’t home.”

  “I think there’s a back entrance,” I said, and when he started to protest, “It’ll only take a few seconds.”

  He nodded and settled back into his seat.

  I went around the corner of the building into the alley. A shock of bright green stood out against the dull gray asphalt. I bent and picked up the hardcover book, rubbed my fingers over the embossed white rabbit. I looked up and down the empty alleyway.

  “Ollie?”

  No answer.

  I went down some concrete steps to a closed door that I assumed led into the Attic’s basement. I pounded and pounded and shouted her name, but the only response was my own muffled echo. I tucked her Alice book under my arm and returned to the truck where Zeb was waiting, one hand hanging out the driver’s window.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  I showed him the book, then slipped it into my back pocket. “She was here, but I don’t know how long ago.”

  He nodded and leaned across the bench seat to open the passenger door.

  I said, “We should try Patti’s.”

  “You think she’s there?”

  “No,” I said. “But maybe somebody saw something.”

  He rolled up his window and turned off the truck.

  We went inside Patti’s together. Most of the booths and tables were empty. An old man sat at the bar. He turned when we came in and nodded at Zeb.

  Zeb nodded back and said, “Albert.”

  The old man Albert hunched over his coffee cup again.

  Belinda pushed through the swinging doors from the kitchen carrying a plate piled with a roast beef sandwich and fries. She glanced at Zeb and me waiting by the front counter and said, “Be right with you folks.”

  She took the sandwich to a booth near the back of the diner. When she returned, she straightened her blouse, reached for two menus, smiled at us, and said, “Just the two of you today?”

  “We’re not here to eat,” I said.

  She frowned and dropped the menus back into their rack.

  “We’re looking for a little girl,” said Zeb.

  Belinda’s penciled-in eyebrows shot up.

  “You remember my sister?” I asked. “Ollie? Remember we came in on Monday? For lunch? She ordered tomato soup and grilled cheese. She’s about this tall. Wears purple glasses and pigtails that go all down her back . . .”

  “Of course I remember,” Belinda said.

  Albert was watching us now, leaning close.

  “Did she come in here today?” I asked.

  The lines on Belinda’s forehead creased, and a dimple formed in her chin. “No, sweetheart,” she said. “No, I haven’t seen her since the two of you came in here together.”

  “Sam?” Deputy Santos was standing a few feet from us in the middle of the diner, dabbing her mouth with a napkin.

  She was in plain clothes, and her dark hair was pinned back from her face with hot pink barrettes. She must have been tucked away inside some booth when we came in, just out of sight, but she came closer now, saying my name again and then, “Is something wrong?”

  Everything. Absolutely everything.

  She lifted her eyes to Zeb.

  “Ollie’s took up missing,” he said.

  Deputy Santos was close enough now to put her hand on my shoulder. “Tell me where you’ve looked already.”

  Zeb left out the part about me and Ollie being grounded for taking his truck, but he told her all the rest.

  When he finished, Deputy Santos pulled out her wallet and handed Belinda some money. “Change is yours,” she said, and then to Zeb, “You and Sam go on back to the house now in case she shows up. Double-check the meadow again, and down by the river. I’ll call in a report, then swing by the hospital.”

  Belinda said, “Oh dear, oh dear,” and then put her hand over her mouth.

  Deputy Santos continued, “I’ll take a couple passes through town, too, drive out Smith Rock Way and then down to Lambert. If she hasn’t turned up in the next hour, we’ll get some search-and-rescue dogs ou
t to your place.”

  Albert tossed a five-dollar bill on the counter and said to Zeb, “I’ll round up Clinton and Mack and some of the others who ain’t got nothing better to do on a Friday.”

  Zeb nodded. He put his arm around my shoulder.

  Belinda untied her apron and laid it over the cash register. “I’m coming, too.”

  Deputy Santos checked her wristwatch. “It’s almost six. Let’s plan on everyone meeting at the Johnsons’ in an hour.” She rubbed her thumb over the watch face and then looked at me. “I’m sure she’ll be back by then and we’ll all just end up sitting around eating some of Franny’s famous hot-from-the-pan crullers.” But she rushed out of the diner like she believed something else entirely.

  Zeb ushered me toward the door. Over my shoulder, I asked Belinda, “Is Travis working today?”

  “He was scheduled for the lunch shift, but he never showed. Kids.” She shrugged in a way that made me think he’d skipped out on work a few times before this, and then she disappeared into the kitchen to tell the rest of the staff she was leaving.

  On the ride back to Zeb and Franny’s, the knot that had been forming in my stomach since we left the diner grew and pulled tighter with each mile. I stared out the window, rubbed my thumb along the spine of Ollie’s Alice book, and played Travis’s words over in my head. There’s something you need to know. Something important. Come with me. I spun my wrist in a quick circle, feeling the bruises where he’d grabbed on so tight I thought my bones were going to snap in two. What does your gut say?

  “Please,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Please, Zeb. Go faster.”

  He pushed down on the gas pedal, and I did something I hadn’t done in years. I closed my eyes and prayed.

  When Zeb pulled into the driveway, I jumped out of the truck before he could even turn off the engine and ran into the kitchen, where Franny was waiting at the table, staring at the phone on the wall like she thought, if she only stared hard enough, she could will it to ring and Ollie would be on the other end, telling her everything was all right.

  I stopped in the doorway. Franny spun her head around to look at me. Our eyes met and what small glimmer of hope she had blinked out in the time it took me to say, “Anything?”