Redemption

by Laurel Dewey

  Kit walked into Jenny’s Hair Salon at the stroke of eleven A.M. She expected to find a horde of media holed up in the bubblegumcolored establishment, but the place was eerily vacant. A row of hair dryers lined up against the left wall of the tiny salon. Across from them were four shelves, all holding Styrofoam molded heads and every kind of wig a woman could desire. Kit meandered over to the display. Underneath each wig was a label describing the celebrity style of the coiffure. There was the “Bo Derek from 10”—alluding to the corn-rowed hairstyle she wore in the classic 80’s flick—sitting next to the “Bo Derek 2000”, a more up-to-date blond wig. The names of the celebrities ranged from those Kit recognized to those she never heard of. She noted that there were two Styrofoam molds that were missing wigs. One placard under a missing wig read OLD LADY. The other missing wig placard read CHRISTINA AGUILERA/MTV 2003 VIDEO LOOK. Her eye briefly caught sight of a long strand of purple and red from a wig tucked in the corner. She moved two hairpieces out of the way and saw the familiar rainbow-colored wig Charlotte wore in the birthday video. Kit removed the wig from the Styrofoam mold and held it with great reverence. She lifted the wig to her face, her mind momentarily drifting far away.

  “Hello?”

  Kit turned around. She immediately identified the woman standing across from her as Aunt Donna, also infamous from the birthday video. “Hi. My name’s Katherine.” Kit held out her hand to Donna, who remained stoic.

  “Are you with the press?” Her voice was weary, her attitude guarded.

  “Oh, heavens no!” Kit turned around to face the wigs and hatched an excuse. “I’m heading to Fresno with my daughter to have chemo. The doctors suggested I find a wig so that I’ll have something ready to go when my hair falls out.”

  Donna’s face sunk. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me. I’m just exhausted and not thinking straight.” She halfheartedly crossed to the shelves of wigs. “I honestly doubt you’ll find anything here that you want. None of them are new. We rent them out for costume parties, community theater, and school plays.”

  “Ah, I see,” Kit replied, still tenderly stroking the rainbow wig.

  “Why don’t you cut off your long hair before you lose it and have a wig made out of it?”

  Kit was genuinely impressed with Donna’s creative suggestion. “What a wonderful idea!” She handed the rainbow wig back to Donna.

  Although she tried to hide it, the portly woman started to choke up as she placed the multicolored hairpiece back on the mold. “I’m sorry,” Donna stammered.

  “Don’t apologize,” Kit countered with her trademark empathy. “Come here.” With that, Kit drew Donna toward her and hugged her tightly. The woman lost control and uncontrollably sobbed against Kit’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” Donna uttered though her sobs. “You have enough troubles of your own, what with your chemo.”

  “Forget about that. Come on. Let’s sit down.” Kit led Donna to the row of pink-vinyl hair dryers and sat next to her. “Talk to me,” Kit said, like a mother to a child.

  Donna dried her eyes. “I assume you’ve heard about the little girl who went missing here in town?”

  Kit furrowed her brow, looking confused. “Ah, I think I did. Charlene?”

  “Charlotte. She’s my niece.” Donna melted into another puddle of tears.

  “Oh, darling. I had no idea.” Kit carefully weighed what she was about to say. “I know people say they understand, when they don’t have any idea what you’re going through. But I can honestly tell you that I truly do know what you’re feeling right now.” Donna wiped her nose and looked at Kit with sad, doe eyes. “My granddaughter went missing fourteen years ago when I lived in Big Sur.”

  “How long was she gone?” Donna asked, feeling an immediate kinship with Kit.

  “Fourteen days.”

  “Charlotte’s been gone nine. May I ask what happened to your granddaughter?”

  Kit considered the question. “She was found... alive.”

  Donna smiled as tears streamed down her face. “Really? After fourteen days? You know what they say, don’t you? You have to find them in the first forty-eight hours or—”

  “Oh, that’s just rubbish! They found my girl alive and safe. She’s twenty-eight now.” Tears welled in Kit’s eyes. “She’s still strong and still as beautiful as she was at fourteen. And she visits her ol’ grandmother all the time. She’s worried about my cancer, but I tell her I’m going to be fine.”

  “I can’t tell you what it means to me to hear this. I’m going to tell Jenny. That’s my sister.... Charlotte’s mother. She hasn’t been in here since Charlotte went missing.”

  “Has Jenny got good people around her?” Kit asked, arriving at the critical core of her improvised visit.

  “She’s taking advantage of the media’s interest in order to keep Charlotte’s disappearance on the minds of the public.”

  “One thing I learned when my granddaughter disappeared is that you have to be very careful who you allow into your circle. You wouldn’t want...oh...what’s that awful man’s name....” Kit pretended to struggle with her memory. “Clinton! Clinton Fredericks! You would never want that terrible man near your sister!”

  Donna’s eyes showed immediate concern. “Why?”

  “Didn’t you hear what happened to that lovely bank teller woman in Arkansas two years ago?” Donna shook her head, obviously getting more worried. Kit gently informed Donna how Clinton’s actions had led to the death of the bank teller. Donna put a hand to her shocked mouth. “And what’s more,” Kit said with a disapproving glare, “the bastard manipulated the family into giving him half the reward fund! Where there’s money, there’s Clinton Fredericks!”

  Donna let the information sink in. “Thank you so much, Katherine! I’m going to let my sister know about this immediately!” Kit got up as Donna headed to the front counter. A stack of flyers with Charlotte’s photo were prominently displayed. “Maybe you could take a few of these to Fresno when you go for your chemo treatment,” Donna said, handing Kit a small stack of flyers. “It doesn’t hurt to spread the word, right?” Donna stared at Charlotte’s photo. “Nine days! She’s never been away from home that long. Not when she went to visit Disneyland, or her class trip to Yosemite, or that stupid local youth camp....”

  Kit’s ears perked up. “What youth camp?”

  “She was only there two days because she hated it and made the woman who ran the camp drive her home early. I happened to be at Jenny’s house when she dropped Charlotte off. She was pissed that Charlotte wouldn’t do what she was told. But if you know Charlotte, she’s an independent kid. I remember the woman turned to my sister and said something like, ‘Your daughter does not appreciate what it means to have clean Christian values!’ She basically suggested that Charlotte was a slut!”

  Kit leaned toward Donna. “You should report that woman to her church. Do you remember her name?”

  “Jenny said her name was Rachel.”

  Jane heard the door open and close. She pressed her back against the wall and tightly drew her legs up to her pounding chest. If she was lucky, the red vinyl tablecloth was long enough to obscure her body. For some peculiar reason, she recalled Kit’s advice about “hummingbird people,” of whom Jane was a cardcarrying member thanks to being born on the 11 of the month. “People with hummingbird medicine should learn to take note and back out of touchy situations before they get out of hand!” Maybe that woo-woo warning was not so crazy after all.

  The individual in the room cleared their throat, signaling the presence of a male. Jane cautiously leaned her head down to see if she could identify him. The man stood dead center of the lockers and was wearing black motorcycle boots. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to charge out from under the table and hold Lou at gunpoint, demanding that he take her to where Charlotte was hidden. However, that kind of stunt was only played out in action films and bad murder mysteries. If Lou was smart—and Jane knew he was—he would plead ignorance regarding Charlott
e Walker and the kid would most likely die before anyone located her. There was only one way Jane knew of to connect Lou to Charlotte, and that was to somehow tail him and hope he would lead her to the girl.

  Jane spotted a cigarette burn in the overhang of the vinyl tablecloth. She leaned forward and peered through the minuscule opening. Jane caught sight of Lou just as he was securing his helmet over his head. With his back to her, he donned his black leather bomber jacket and quickly checked his appearance in the locker’s mirror. Lou made what looked like an acknowledging nod into the mirror before quietly closing the door, wrapping his pack around his back, and heading out the door.

  When she was sure he was far enough away, Jane crawled out from under the table. But halfway to the door, she heard the echoing sounds of voices heading into the employee room. “Fuck!” she whispered as she dove back under the table.

  Two Mexican women entered the room, speaking rapidly in their native tongue. Precious seconds ticked away as Jane listened to their banter. Peering through the hole in the tablecloth, she realized that they were planning an extended stay in the break room. She had only choice. She cleared her throat loudly, hoping this would prevent a loud, startled reaction. The women immediately stopped talking. Jane purposely pounded the underside of the table with her fist and crawled out from underneath it. She stood up, brushing off the dust from her pants and looked at the women. They stood expressionless. Jane grabbed the table from both sides, appearing to check its integrity. “Table was wobbling!” Jane announced to the women. “But don’t worry. I fixed it!” She leisurely strolled to the door. The women continued to regard Jane with impassive stares as she exited the room.

  Jane dashed into the parking lot. Lou’s motorcycle was gone. “Shit!” She pounded her boots down the concrete walkway and onto the sidewalk. Looking both ways, there was no sign of him. Jane drew a cigarette from her pack, lit it, and made her way across the highway to her Mustang. Slamming the door shut, she took a hard drag and drew the nicotine into her lungs. The blond wig began to irritate her scalp, provoking Jane to brusquely remove it. She released the pinned tendrils of her brown hair, combing them out with her fingers. Checking her appearance in the rearview mirror, she let out a sudden, stifled gasp. Lou Peters sat on his motorcycle behind the Mustang, staring directly at Jane through his darkened helmet. How long had he been there, she wondered? Had he seen her remove the wig? It took every ounce of discipline for Jane to nonchalantly act disinterested. His attention moved to the Mustang, lingering momentarily on her license plate before leaning his head toward the driver’s side mirror. Jane clandestinely slid her hand inside her jacket, unfastening the holster on her Glock. He revved the motor several times. Jane wondered if that action was meant to intimidate her. She stole a glance in the side mirror. His only movement was the slight turn of his darkened helmet toward the road. Another nerve-racking rev of his engine cut through the tension. Jane felt her frustration turn to anger. She wanted to jump out of the car, turn the Glock on Lou, rip off his helmet to expose the pretty-boy face underneath, and terrorize him into disclosing what he knew about Charlotte. But instead, she’d stay still, waiting for him to make the next move. A painfully heavy minute passed before Lou revved the engine and sped onto Highway 41, heading north.

  CHAPTER 30

  Jane knew it was too risky to follow Lou. His strong interest in her Mustang made Jane wonder if he had been expecting her. But how could that be? Had he caught sight of her classic vehicle during the chase up Highway 41 the day before and become suspicious? Paranoia did seem to run rampant in the bloodstream of all Lamb of God Congregation members. Whatever the reason, there was no way Jane could trail Lou now without giving herself up. All she could do was watch him speed up the ribbon of highway and into the distance. Thankfully, the road remained straight for another half mile and the traffic was light, affording Jane the opportunity to trail Lou’s movement. He nearly approached the point where the highway curled to the right when he made a sudden turn to the left and disappeared.

  Jane couldn’t help herself. She gunned the Mustang up Highway 41. She approached the area where she thought he’d turned, but there was no road to the left; just a solid, mud-slicked hillside. The distance between them, while not great, had deceived Jane. “It was before the bend,” Jane told herself. She made a U-turn and slowly came up on what appeared to be a single faint tire track that led up a steep gravel road. She turned onto the road and rolled down her window to listen for the sound of a motorcycle engine. Nothing. The sky darkened overhead and the wind whipped a violent gale around the Mustang, signaling that another heavy storm was about to hit. She started to crest the road when a series of rocks cascaded down a nearby embankment. Within seconds, a slow slurry of mud roamed down the slope, covering the loose cushion of gravel. The Mustang’s wheels slightly sunk into the water-soaked ground. Jane weighed her options. She wasn’t certain Lou had even taken this road. Mother Nature bellowed, pelting the car with a wave of water, forcing Jane to turn around.

  The weather abated by the time she got back to Oakhurst. Once back in town, Jane drove past Rachel’s house. There was no sign of her car or Lou’s motorcycle. Jane wanted to raid the guesthouse and turn it upside down in an attempt to prove Lou lived there. Sure, he could have given the distinctive red vinyl tablecloth to Rachel to use in her guesthouse. It didn’t prove he lived there. But it did mean Rachel had lied to Jane when she said she didn’t know anyone named Lou Peters.

  Jane took the long way back to the cabin, skirting the command post at Charlotte’s grammar school. There were significantly fewer people sitting at the tables and milling around. From Jane’s perspective, it seemed as if the glimmer of hope had faded from the handful of stalwart folks who still gathered. Now, a heavy sadness and acceptance of how things had turned out set into their faces. She could almost hear their words.... “Common sense tells you it’s over....” Jane curved around the block and came upon four teenagers seated on a picnic bench. Shane happened to turn his head and catch sight of Jane as she rolled by his group. She could see a sudden look of apprehension cross his face. If he thought for a moment that Jane was going to renege on her deal and attack him in front of his friends, the boy didn’t really know her. Instead, Jane coolly continued down the road and drove back toward the cabin.

  But a few blocks before her turnoff, she spied Rachel’s car pulling into the supermarket parking lot. Jane’s curiosity got the better of her. She parked in the farthest corner of the lot and followed Rachel into the store. Jane trailed the broad-shouldered woman down the center aisle on what appeared to be a very deliberate mission. Rachel strode to the pharmacy counter’s pick-up window. Jane viewed the scene from one aisle over, hiding behind a tall display of humidifiers. Rachel collected her prescription, turned, and headed back down the center aisle. Jane furtively paralleled her movement from the next aisle over. The surreptitious plan was going well until Rachel made an unexpected left-hand turn at the end of the center aisle and ran straight into Jane. The contents of her prescription bag rolled against the endcap of the aisle. Jane leaned down and retrieved the two orange, plastic containers. One was high blood pressure medication, the other a prescription for Ambien, an insomnia medication. Jane’s immediate thought was that Rachel’s religion was doing nothing to relieve her stress if she had to rely on these drugs.

  Rachel’s face hardened; her square jaw turned rigid. She grabbed the drugs from Jane’s hand and stared down with rage and conviction. “He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my house; he that telleth lies shall not tarry in my sight,” Rachel recited. “Psalms 101:7,” she quickly added before turning and heading back down the aisle.

  “You know,” Jane said, her voice at full volume, “anybody can find a Bible verse to validate their actions.” Rachel stopped. “The real trick is thinking for yourself. But you stopped doing that a long time ago. Didn’t you...Linda?” Rachel’s broad shoulders tightened. “Why else would you pick a name that means ‘one who cho
oses to follow?’”

  After a moment of hesitation, Rachel turned. Her countenance was a mix of vehemence edged with uneasiness. “God hates the lie as well as the liar.”

  Jane took a step toward Rachel, lowering her voice, “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” It was the only Bible saying she could remember at that moment, but it fit. “The question is, Linda, which one of us is the bigger liar?” Jane let that jewel sink in as she brazenly crossed in front of Rachel and exited the store.

  “I thought you’d never get back!” Kit exclaimed the second Jane entered the cabin.

  An animated account of Kit’s morning adventures continued for thirty minutes, with the telling announcement that Rachel Hartly had met Charlotte during the child’s brief stay at the summer youth camp. “There’s got to be a connection!”

  “You think Rachel kidnapped Charlotte?” Jane asked, feeling a sense of utter confusion.

  “I don’t know. She expressed irritation against Charlotte because the child demanded to leave the youth camp and made Rachel drive her all the way home!”