Forever Man

by Brian Matthews

  But that was years ago. Too many years and too many hard emotions. Now the sight of the pale fleshy limb struck her as irritating.

  Slipping out of bed, she pulled the comforter down until it covered his foot.

  Quietly, Izzy stepped into the bathroom, did what she needed to do, then changed into a pair of shorts and an old Michigan State sweatshirt. Pausing at the sink, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Hazel eyes stared back. Beneath a slender nose dusted with freckles, her pale lips could use a touch more color, but that was a vanity she could do without. Her auburn hair was a mess, though, and using a hair tie, she worked her unruly curls into a kind of controlled chaos.

  Before she stepped out to begin her day, she hesitated, her gaze lingering on her reflection. When she couldn’t bear the scrutiny any further, she turned away and moved back into the bedroom.

  Stanley had woken while she was in the bathroom. He lay on his back, scrawny arms crossed behind his head, his gray eyes following her across the room. He waited until she’d almost reached the hallway door to speak.

  “Kind of early to be up, isn’t it?”

  Reluctantly, Izzy halted. She caught a hint of cinnamon from the air freshener plugged into the wall. It was one of her favorite fragrances.

  Turning to face him, she smiled. “I wanted to get my run in before Natalie comes home.”

  “She’ll be at Katie’s for hours. And besides, it’s your day off. Why not take it easy?”

  Izzy almost laughed. “Tell that to the three loads of laundry sitting in the hamper. In between which, I still have to clean the house and get dinner together. So, either I get started now, or come Monday, you’ll be wearing dirty shirts to work.”

  “Oh God, please,” he said, a bit too harshly for her liking. “I’ll do what I can to help before I leave for work. And Nat always does her part. That’ll free up a few hours of your time.” He brought his arms from behind his head and crossed them over his chest. “You worked hard this week. You’ve earned some relaxation.”

  “For me, running is relaxing.” She stepped up to the bed and bumped it playfully with her knee. “You could join me, you know. Work on losing that muffin top of yours.”

  Stanley patted his belly. “Sometimes less isn’t more, Iz.” He reached out to embrace her. “Besides, I have a better idea.”

  She stepped back before he could wrap his arms around her. “I’m serious. The doctor—”

  “Roger Linden’s a nagging ass,” he said. “And he likes the Yankees. Never trust an A-Rod fan.”

  “Your weight’s up,” Izzy went on patiently. “So is your blood pressure. And don’t forget what happened last spring.” Back in April, she’d called EMS after Stanley started complaining of chest pain. It had only been angina, but Stanley had received the standard speech about exercising more and eating better.

  Of course, he hadn't changed his lifestyle at all—like doctors and nurses, pharmacists made terrible patients.

  “I’m fine,” he said irritably. “And I hate running.”

  “All right, then. We can walk. It’s still exercise.”

  He patted the empty side of the bed. “I can think of another kind of exercise.”

  Izzy closed her eyes…and saw that foot again, pallid and fleshy and disgusting, sticking out from under the covers. She had been trying to get along with him, trying hard. And she might have even joined him in bed. But any amorous feelings she had, or could have faked, fled from the image of that foot.

  She had been silent for too long. It was as much a rejection as if she had spoken her refusal out loud.

  “What?” he said, his tone prickly. “Is there a problem?”

  Sighing, she opened her eyes. “No, there’s no problem. It’s just—”

  “Just what, Iz?” He leaned forward. “Just what exactly is going on? Explain it to me, will you, because I sure as shit don’t understand.”

  Izzy opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. How did you tell someone you’d been with for almost twenty-five years that you weren’t sure if you loved him anymore?

  She couldn’t do it. ‘Sticks and stones’ be damned: sometimes words did hurt.

  “Look,” she said. “I’m going for my run. We can talk about it after I get back.”

  “It?” he asked incredulously. “What the hell is it?”

  “Please, I don’t want to fight.”

  Stanley continued as if he hadn't heard her. His hands were balled into fists. “How about I tell you what ‘it’ is? ‘It’ is the fact that I want to have sex and you don’t want to have anything to do with ‘it.’”

  “That’s an oversimplification—”

  “That’s a goddamn fact,” he snapped, his face was hot with anger.

  “It’s not about the sex,” Izzy said, her eyes meeting his. “It’s about love. It’s about sharing. Not just getting your rocks off.” She turned toward the door. “I tried, Stanley. I tried to get us to go running. To do something together, something other than…that. And not to make too fine a point, you’re the one who turned me down first.”

  “God, when did you become such a bitch?”

  “When you started caring more about yourself than us,” she said, slamming the bedroom door shut on her way out.

  At the front door, Izzy laced up her running shoes, shoved her cell into her pocket, and inserted the earbuds of her iPod. Then she was outside and running.

  While Green Day waited for September to end, she headed west on Windmere, each long, leisurely stride carrying her further from her fight with Stanley.

  The early morning air was chilly. On either side of Windmere, large maples shaded the lane, blocking what meager warmth the sun might have provided. Identical two-story bungalows lounged indolently behind the trees. The houses had been young once, vibrant, brought to life by families living and loving in them. Now, most showed their age. Where the paint had peeled away, bare wood dotted their skin like liver spots. Boards sagged here and there. And every so often, there was the occasional angry cataract of a boarded-up window.

  On her iPod, Aerosmith replaced Green Day. Steven Tyler launched into a tale about child abuse and a young girl who couldn’t take it anymore. Izzy skipped it. Loved the song, but she had to be in the right mood for the subject.

  The shuffler brought up an old Moody Blues tune. She breathed deeply, wanted to clear her head of negative thoughts. Warmth flowed into her legs as her muscles loosened up. She pushed herself, lengthened her strides. Four more miles.

  Izzy veered right onto Overbrook. Her route carried her past Wooliver Park, a small rectangular patch of grass that sported a three-person swing set, a slide, and a merry-go-round with the base painted brick red. A halo of wood chips ringed each play set: modern-day guardian angels for the overly daring or the eagerly litigious. Modest steel benches flanked either end of the park, giving parents a place to sit and watch their children play.

  Before she’d discovered dresses and dating, Nat had loved to visit Wooliver Park. As a family, they would walk the short distance to the playground. Izzy and Stanley would sit together on a bench, sometimes holding hands, sometimes simply talking about their respective days, while Nat scurried from swing to slide and back again. Then it would be time for the merry-go-round. Stanley would grab the steel handles and spin Nat around and around until she was laughing so hard he had to stop so she could breathe. And, like any kid, she’d want to do it all over again.

  The memory brought a fleeting smile to Izzy’s lips. At one time, their lives had been good. They had been happy.

  What had gone so wrong?

  And why had they allowed it to happen?

  Izzy ran harder, picking up the pace as she neared Asher Boulevard, the main road through town. Her heart beat a steady, predictable thub-dub in her chest. Sweat caused her shirt to stick to her skin.

  She angled left on Asher, cutting through Sclater’s Gas and Go. It was early October, but the station’s Labor Day pennants were still on
display and snapping smartly in the breeze.

  A block down Asher, Izzy had just decided to skip making dinner and take everyone out to eat at the Lula when she saw blue and red lights flashing in the distance. Soon they resolved into a Kinsey police cruiser heading her way. She slowed down. When the unit pulled up in front of her, she stopped, removed the earbuds and flipped them over her shoulder.

  Sgt. Bob Talbert got out of the car. He was the Saturday morning shift supervisor. “Good, I found you. We’ve got a problem.”

  Izzy smiled. “So I gathered. What is it this time? Someone found Chet Boardman passed out under another bush?”

  Talbert looked shaken. “A call came in. Two people were hiking the trail up at Black Pine Lake. You know, the one off the campgrounds.” He paused. “They found a body.”

  Izzy smile faded. “A body? A dead body?”

  Talbert nodded. “Guess it’s pretty bad. Looks like an animal attack.”

  “Is Carlton up there?” Carlton Manick was the patrolman on duty this morning. That is, if he’d managed to show up for his shift. Officer Manick was a work in progress.

  “Yeah,” Bob said. “He’s there.”

  “Okay, call Sten Billick. Have him head over and take charge of the scene. Then pull in Al Hamilton to cover Carlton’s patrol. I want you up there helping Carlton. He’s going to need it.”

  “Izzy.” Bob’s tone stopped her—it was flat, bleak. “There was a car there.” He wiped a hand across his mouth. “It was Jimmy Cain’s Mustang. Carlton found a purse in it. There was a driver’s license.” He paused. “It was Natalie’s.”

  Her stomach fluttered, and she suddenly felt cold. “But…that’s not right. She’s at a friend’s house. She spent the night there.”

  With a slight shrug, Bob said, “It was definitely her license.”

  “But I don’t….” Then it hit her. “Oh God, the body, is it—?”

  Bob quickly raised his hands. “No, it’s not her. The DB’s male.”

  Izzy’s mind churned. The Homecoming dance. Nat went there last night with Jimmy Cain. But she was supposed to go to Katie Bethel’s house afterward. She shouldn’t have been anywhere near the campgrounds. Yet, Jimmy’s car was there. And now Izzy had a dead body. Was it Jimmy? Or someone else? And if the body was Jimmy, then where’s…?

  “Chief?” Bob was staring at her. “Should I call Stanley? Have him come pick you up.”

  Izzy shook her head. “No. Take me to the station. I’ll grab a cruiser and head up to the campgrounds. But first I’ll call Stanley. Then the Bethels.”

  “And if Natalie’s not there?”

  Chief of Police Elizabeth Morris hurried over to the cruiser.

  “Then nobody rests until we find her.”

  Chapter 2

  The road leading to Black Pine Lake Campground was a relatively straight, hard-packed dirt lane barely wide enough for two-way traffic.

  Izzy Morris eased off the accelerator and braked into the last of the road’s few curves; the tall trees crowding either side of the road fell away to reveal a small parking area with a large lake in the background. Two Kinsey PD units were there, both with their bar lights flashing. One had parked near the south end, where the campground’s trail began. The other unit idled near the entrance to the lot, partially blocking the road. Not surprisingly, she saw Stanley’s Audi. After she’d called him about Natalie, he’d said he would meet her here.

  Parked next to the Audi was Detective Billick’s pickup. Four other vehicles occupied various spots in the lot. Three were SUVs with trailer hitches and probably belonged to campers.

  The fourth was Jimmy Cain’s Mustang.

  It sat at the far end of the lot, near the path that led down to the beach and Black Pine Lake. At night, with its unfettered view of the water and the sprinkling of cabin lights that decorated the shoreline, the parking lot was a popular gathering place for teenagers. That’s why she had a unit run through here nightly to break up any parties.

  Which made her wonder what had happened last night. Why wasn’t Jimmy’s car spotted then? The situation investigated then?

  Izzy rolled to a stop next to the unit blocking the exit. Patrolman Carlton Manick heaved his bulk out from behind the steering wheel. His uniform was wrinkled, the flesh under his eyes puffy, giving him a wounded, sullen look. One hand held a large take-out coffee container.

  “Chief,” he said, nodding slightly. “Hope you don’t mind I let your husband in. Said he was with you last night.” He smirked. “Figured that’s as tight an alibi as anyone’s gonna get.”

  Izzy ignored his innuendo. “Has anyone found my daughter?”

  “Nope. Just the DB. James Elijah Cain. Age seventeen. Chewed up real good, too. Probably a bear.”

  Izzy frowned. “How’d we get the positive ID?”

  Carlton opened his mouth to speak, but then hesitated, his expression growing uncertain. After a few moments, he said, “Well, I…uh…turned the body over. So I could get to his wallet.”

  “You did wait for Sten, right?”

  “Um…no.”

  “Damn it, Carlton. What were you thinking?”

  “Come on, Chief. It’s not like we’re dealing with a homicide. Wait’ll you see that kid. Seriously, only an animal could’ve done that to him.”

  Izzy clamped down on her frustration. Now wasn’t the time. Later, when things settled down, she’d deal with his incompetence. She waved a hand as if she were shooing away an annoying fly. “Just stay here and don’t let anyone in or out until I say so.”

  “Sure,” Carlton replied, sounding relieved. When he took another pull at his coffee, his hand was trembling.

  She nodded at the coffee. “And what’d I tell you about coming in to work hung over?”

  His smirk returned. “It’s lack of sleep. Al Hamilton needed last night off. Stacy had her ten-year reunion, so I took his shift.” She must have looked confused, because he quickly added, “You approved the overtime.”

  Yes, she did, though she’d only just now remembered. And her look wasn’t confusion about the overtime. It was the realization that—

  “You were the one on patrol last night.”

  It was Carlton’s turn to frown. “You sure you’re all right, Chief?”

  “What time did you swing through here last night? Through this parking lot?”

  There was a flicker of hesitation as Carlton put the pieces together. “Oh, I dunno. Nine-twenty. Maybe nine-thirty, tops.”

  “And you never saw that bright yellow Mustang? The one over there, with the driver’s door open? The one sticking out like a sore thumb?”

  He shrugged, his eyes drifting over to Jimmy’s car. “Must’ve arrived after my drive through.”

  “And when was that again?”

  “Nine-thirty.”

  “Little early for a drive through, given there was a school dance last night. You sure about that time?”

  “Positive,” he said, then added with a note of asperity, “Something you want to say to me, Chief?”

  Izzy nodded. “Only the obvious: my daughter was last seen with the guy driving the Mustang you claim you didn’t see when you claim you swung through here last night—the same guy I’m told is lying dead up in those woods. And now my daughter is missing.” She gestured to the trail. “I don’t know if she’s back in the forest somewhere. I don’t know if she managed to escape what happened to Jimmy. I don’t know where she is—but I do intend to find her. So when you tell me you were up here around nine-thirty and that car wasn’t parked there, I’ll have to take your word for it. Conduct my investigation accordingly.” She leaned her head out the window. “And if I find out you’re lying—that you’re putting my daughter’s life in danger—I will make sure you never work in law enforcement again.

  “Now, you still want to stick to your story?”

  Carlton Manick stood motionless, his coffee seemingly forgotten. He was glaring at her, his jaw clenched, the muscles beneath his thin skin bunching like
fists.

  Long moments passed, the silence thickening the air between them.

  Izzy said, “Something you want to say to me, Officer Manick?”

  Carlton pulled in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. He held the air for a moment. Izzy thought he was going to start shouting, and in her current mood, she would have welcomed it.

  Then his muscles relaxed. He seemed to deflate as his breath seeped out from between lips that had spread into a solicitous grin.

  “Sorry, Chief. I understand your daughter’s missing, and that’s got you on edge. I really do. But yes, I was up here last night. At nine-thirty. And no, the Mustang wasn’t here.”

  He took a casual sip from his coffee cup.

  Izzy cocked an eyebrow at her patrolman. She kept silent and simply stared at him.

  Carlton Manick held her gaze for several seconds. Then his eyes drifted downward. A slight frown eroded the edges of his grin. Swirling the coffee in his cup, he tried to nonchalantly bring it up to his lips for another sip, but his hand was trembling again.

  When he looked up, Izzy made sure her eyes were locked onto his.

  His smile was gone—he looked completely subdued. Like the small child he was inside, Carlton couldn’t stand the silent reproach of an authority figure.

  “Radio Sten,” she said tersely. “Ask him to meet me at the Mustang. I want him to walk me through what he has so far.”

  Carlton hesitated, only a moment, and then nodded.

  “Sure, Chief,” he said. “And…good luck finding your daughter.”

  “You and I are not done with this,” she told him. “Not even close.”

  Chapter 3

  Izzy had just completed her first circuit around the Mustang when Sten Billick emerged from the trail.

  Even this early on a Saturday morning, he wore dark slacks, a sport coat, and an unassuming blue tie. His face was all sharp planes and angles, giving him a gritty, tenacious look. White hair fell casually across his brow. Beneath eyes like flakes of granite, he had a sharp nose, ideal for cutting through bullshit and getting right to the point.