by M K Dymock
She found a stand of junipers against the ridge, and dug around until she hit dry dirt. Her head throbbed with each scoop of dirt she pulled out with her fingers. Her arms were as useless as Barbie’s plastic elbow-less arms—at least she assumed. Her mother never allowed her to play with the doll.
Needing something in the hole to add a degree of warmth, she ripped a few branches off a juniper. Its rough edges left slivers in her hand, but compared to everything else she suffered, they didn’t register. Maybe the rain would wash out her tracks; maybe it wouldn’t.
She rolled out the sleeping bag, then stripped completely and hung her tattered shorts and shirt in the tree, hopefully out of the rain. The tent fabric served as a makeshift towel to wipe some of the muddy water off. She hated the vulnerability this caused, but right now hypothermia threatened more imminent danger. As long as she was wet, she would never get warm. The shivering dissipated some as she curled into the dry inside of the bag, pulling more branches over her.
“I guess I just dug my own grave,” she said, then laughed at a joke no one could hear.
28
When Elizabeth walked through the door of the Junction, Jacob glanced to the other door like he wanted to run. The counter blocked his escape, and he backed into a shelf of cigarettes behind him. When she called Blake last night, demanding an update on what Jacob was said, he told her Jake had already left for school by the time Keen went missing. They’d confirmed it. As much as she despised the boy for being a jackass to her daughter, he had no reason to hurt Keen. She would still come running at his call.
“I need your help, Jake.”
“With what?”
“Keen received phone calls from a prepaid phone someone bought here.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“I know, but I’ve been telling the police how crappy you treated Keen and they were very interested. You help me, that might change my opinion.” Elizabeth had watched Keen jump every time her phone dinged in hopes Jake had come to his senses.
He took a step to the side, still hunting a way out.
“Just tell me who bought that phone.”
After hesitating, he went to the lone computer and put in a couple of keystrokes. “We sold four of them, but I don’t know who to. Three were on cards, but I’ve only got the last four digits, and one was for cash.”
The police could probably track down the cards, but she couldn’t wait, not with Keen out there. “Anything else you can tell me? Do you remember selling them?”
“I haven’t been working much this summer, sorry.” He glanced up to the ceiling behind her and she turned to follow his gaze. Her haggard face stared back from a black and white TV screen. “But maybe they’re on the security camera. That’s how we caught some shoplifters.”
Jacob hooked up his laptop to the cloud, where each night the camera dumped the day’s observances. He sorted by date and fast-forwarded to the time of the purchase. An old cowboy neither of them recognized bought a phone. He skipped to the previous week. One man, whom she didn’t know, stood at the counter with an armful of stuff, but behind him waited a familiar face. Clint Gallagher, carrying what looked like a 12-pack of beer. The date was a few weeks ago. “Take a screenshot of that, would you?” Maybe Clint knew the guy.
At the next video’s image, she clenched the gas station counter. Gauge Ferguson waited in line with a phone package, while in front of him, Keen handed over cash for some donuts. When she walked out the door, Gauge made his own purchase and followed her.
The Lost Gorge County Sheriff’s Office handled more criminals in twenty-four hours than it had in the last month. Blake always prided himself on being ahead of most people, but this … this kept changing faster than he could keep up with.
In the chaos that was getting Colt Fergus in handcuffs and in the back seat of the sheriff’s Tahoe, Gauge slipped out the door and away in his truck. They had searched the house but found no sign of Keen. Colt wasn’t talking, so Blake questioned the wife, who couldn’t draw a straight line, much less walk one. If he had to pick a brother capable of hurting a woman, he had plenty of evidence of Colt’s guilt in front of him. Lines of bruising went up both arms, where she’d been grabbed hard.
After the confusion of the arrest, she’d collapsed in a lazy chair, still pantsless, and drifting in and out of sleep with her feet up. The arrest of her husband didn’t seem enough of a surprise to break her out of her stupor. Going by the disintegration of her teeth, Blake would guess meth.
He pulled a chair across from her. “What’s Colt been up to lately?”
She pried one eye open, but the effort proved too much and she dropped her head. He took her arm to shake her awake, trying to ignore how well his fingers matched her bruises. “Sally.”
She jerked up. “Yeah.”
“Where’s Colt been the last week or so?”
“Around.”
Her mind had fogged over more than Lake Michigan in the winter; he needed some light to pierce through it. “Maybe I’ll ask his girlfriend, since you don’t seem to know a whole lot.”
Her eyes widened; a dim light shone through. “He don’t have no girlfriend.”
“No? Then why has he been hanging out with the blonde from the outfitter store?”
“You lying; he loves me.”
“Come on, Sally. He’s been driving around with her and you’re too dumb to even notice.”
She struggled to escape the lazy chair but the footrest trapped her. “Only blonde in that truck was with Gauge.”
Blake used his foot to push in the footrest, raising Sally to a hitting position. He pulled out a picture of Keen and held it up. “This girl?”
“Don’t know. Probably.”
“When?”
“Don’t know.”
“I think you’re lying, because we both know Gauge isn’t man enough to get this girl in his truck.”
Sally burst out giggling, which wasn’t the emotion he’d been anticipating. “You got that right. But I seen her. Maybe the girl is an idiot like Gauge, or maybe he just got her real drunk first.”
“You see her with him in the last week?”
“Maybe.”
After the woman’s answers slurred into incomprehension, he left her asleep on the lazy chair and headed back to the office. Colt would know better than anybody where his brother could be found. If they offered to ignore the drugs they found in the house, they could probably get him to talk.
29
On his way back to the office from the Fergusons’, Blake’s phone rang. He stopped to take it before he left the highway to head up the canyon, where he would lose service for a while. “What’s up, Clint?”
“Sol finally radioed.”
The SAR commander had been MIA since they’d called off the search in the Pines. Told Mina that he wanted to keep on the bike trails. The rest of the team had been searching the cliffs and river around where the bike had been found, but so far had no clue as to how the bike ended up by the river.
“Where is he?”
“Almost to the bottom of the Pines trails. He wants more supplies to go back in.”
“I’m about to head up the canyon; I’ll stop in and talk to him. Meantime, I need you to tell Colt we’ll ignore anything found in the house today if he can lead us to his brother.” Clint didn’t answer. “You still there?”
“Sure. His P.O. said his girl looked beat up. You want us to give him a pass on that too?”
Blake ignored the sarcasm in the deputy’s voice. In Chicago, he spent a fair amount of time convincing battered women to make a complaint against the abuser. But either they loved the bastards too much or they understood what Blake would soon learn—it didn’t make a whole lot of difference. The men kept coming; the charges only made them angrier. “She’s not going to talk against him yet. Focus on the bigger issue—find Gauge.”
He drove past the Junction and noticed Elizabeth’s Subaru pulling out of the parking lot. She was probably reading Jacob the rio
t act, not that he didn’t deserve it. Something about twenty-year-old boys either makes them obsess about one girl or try to bed twenty. Not a lot of in-between.
Ten minutes later, he pulled into the lower trailhead parking lot where, luckily, Sol rummaged around in the bed of his truck. Blake pulled in beside him. A rush of cold air filled the Tahoe as he pushed open the door, zipping his jacket tighter.
“Sol, we’ve been needing you.”
Sol scowled and jumped off his tailgate. “I’ve been looking for Keen, which is what everybody else ought to be doing.”
“You know we found her bike in the river.”
“So?”
Blake had worked with Sol on many searches over the last ten years, and he’d never seen the man actually look strained and tired. Oddly enough, the more trails he hunted, the more energized he got. That day, though, he looked ten years older than the forty he claimed. Rarely seen without a cowboy hat on his head, he’d pushed it back to study the map. His hair had receded and grayed out a few inches more than Blake remembered. Exhaustion pulled his face down into that of an old man’s.
For the first time, Blake questioned the wisdom of letting Sol head this search. Searching for someone you know and like can make you blind to the hard truths.
“I think there’s a chance she’s still up here. Could be someone stole her bike on the trail, then ditched it when they figured out what they had.”
“You been home at all this week? With Daisy out of town, do you have anyone making you eat or sleep?”
“She doesn’t much worry about things like that.” Sol looked embarrassed to be saying something personal and changed the subject. “Mina told you I found the tracks of a woman on foot. The shoes had clip-ins, and besides, you know people don’t hike up there with all the bikes. The rains wiped out some of the trail and I lost it, but I think I can pick it back up where the trees and bushes are thicker. I’m telling you, the timing of the tracks, the fact it’s probably a woman … I’m getting close.”
“Sol, I’ve got witnesses that saw her out of the mountains on the highway headed home.”
“Are your witnesses reliable?”
Blake flinched, not liking the answer to that question. He decided to ignore it. “At this point, we need to be searching people, not mountains.”
Sol went around to the front of the truck and opened the cab door. “Then I’m no good to you anymore.” He pushed his hat back on and let the truck door slam behind him.
Blake stood still for a minute, stunned into silence. Had this entire town gone crazy this week? He debated what to do. Sol volunteered as commander, which fell under the jurisdiction of the sheriff’s office. Technically he couldn’t make him follow a command. All a sheriff could do is fire him.
And no way could he fire Sol; that would cost Blake his own job. His deputies wanted Sol on the river to see what he could find, but he was sure Sol wouldn’t find anything now. The search didn’t really matter as much as trying to do everything they could. He knocked on the truck door, but Sol sat impassively, staring at the windshield. “Hey!” Blake yelled. “Give it two hours where we found the bike. Then come back.”
The driver side door creaked open, “Two hours; then I’m back here. Send Mina down so I can show her what I’m looking for. I can trust her to look without messing up the trail.” Blake had never heard Sol pay a bigger compliment to anyone.
Blake continued driving up the canyon until he saw the SAR command van parked on the shoulder and pulled behind it. While nobody hung around the van, a few searchers moved through the pines below. Blake yelled but they didn’t respond; he’d have to hike down the steep terrain. This part of the canyon was made of broken rock, and he made it ten feet before falling flat on his rear.
He jumped up before anyone could see him and cussed under his breath. One of his deepest, darkest secrets was that he despised the outdoors—hated how helpless they made him feel, how out of control. And as far as he could tell, they hated him right back. He brushed off the red ants now crawling up his pant leg.
He tolerated them for Grace’s sake, who, like the entire town, felt the need for a daily devotional.
He spotted Mina’s black ponytail and yelled out to her. She stood from where she’d been crouched over studying a rock and waved.
“Find anything new?” Blake asked as he approached.
“Oh, yeah, plenty. We’ve turned up four deer carcasses, three skunk, and more beer bottles than ought to be tossed from a moving car. Other than that, nothing.” She undid her ponytail and ran a hand through her hair, wet from sweat. She pointed up to the road. “He couldn’t have tossed the bike down very far, not with the trees. And he would’ve had to climb down after to bury it, yet we can’t find a track.”
“The rain did a number.”
“Still, though, I’d thought there’d be scuffs on the rock or a print protected under a tree. We need Sol.”
“Speaking of which, he wants you to take his place on the trail. He’s found a track he doesn’t want to abandon while he comes here to look. Said you wouldn’t mess it up.”
Mina didn’t try to hide her grin. She bounded up the hill while Blake half-crawled his way up, grateful this would probably be the last time he’d have to climb down. It wouldn’t be long until the search part of the investigation would end and a criminal investigation would begin.
As he reached his car, he marveled at the skill it took to haul a heavy mountain bike down a cliff without leaving a mark.
30
It took too long to make it to the second makeshift campsite, or what was left of it. Finding the tent wrapped into pile of sticks was the only way to tell this was the right spot. There was yet another tent and another site, acting as an ensign to draw Keen out. That would be checked next, since this site didn’t survive the storm.
Before the decision to move on could be acted on, a marker drew notice. Buried in the mud was a water bottle, half-full and the lid still screwed on. The water bottles were placed in the cooler, full and sealed.
Keenley had been here; she’d gone through the cooler. If she had, then she wouldn’t be able to go far fast. The contents of the cooler would’ve ensured that.
The distance between them shortened as the long week drew to an end.
As far as Elizabeth knew, Keen had never met Gauge other than the one day in the store. The few times he had hauled supplies for Daniel had been for pack trips Keen hadn’t gone on.
That last Monday with Keen played in her brain, trying to find the moment when their world went to hell. What about that day made it so different that it swallowed her daughter? Elizabeth had been checking out a customer that morning who had to verify she rung up every item at the sale price. Keen worked in the background of it all, so quiet. Clint had hugged her after Gauge left, and asked who that was. She’d said, nobody. Why didn’t Elizabeth pay more attention?
If those tears hadn’t been for Jacob, what had Gauge done? She knew the boy well enough to not want to know him any better. Daniel hired him last summer to haul in supplies for a two-week-long pack trip he guided. Gauge hauled in gear on a mule train and stashed it along the trail. Daniel would guide in rich tourists who wanted to backpack without the burden of carrying a heavy pack.
Blake may not know where to find Gauge, but she did, and she wouldn’t wait around anymore.
Elizabeth wanted a gun, but their home had always been free of guns and their dangers. They didn’t even sell ammo in their store. They’d debated it several years ago. It would’ve brought in needed revenue. Elizabeth had even been for it, but Daniel was adamant. No one would use their store to buy a weapon.
Rock River had a gun store, and Elizabeth drove there. She hadn’t spoken to Daniel all day. They’d taken up texting each other since it was easier than talking. Saying the words “nothing new” grew too painful with each reiteration. He’d been a shadow to the SAR crew, determined to be the one who found her.
An old bell rang as she pushed open t
he store door, releasing the smell of oil, powder, and a little manure. Little bits of dirt stuck to the white tile floor, and Elizabeth could appreciate how hard it was to keep a place clean that welcomed people in straight from the wilds.
The owner, Dale, came from the back room at the sound of the door, carrying a box marked 12-ga, Winchester. “Miss Dawson, what are you doing here?” Gray streaked his bushy hair and bled into his long beard.
She knew him a little, as they were both small storeowners in the same region. Last time they met was a year ago at a meeting about a proposed tax hike. Despite their opposition to the hike, it passed, cutting into their miniscule profits even more.
“I need your help.”
Dale came in front of the counter. “Anything. We’ve put your daughter’s flyer up to spread the word. I had closed the store until they said they found …”
“I need a gun.”
He took a step back. “Why?”
“I want one.”
“You ever used a gun before?”
“Yes, actually. My father owned several guns, and I shot with him as a child.” The first statement was true, the second a lie. Her father struggled to remember her name.
“Even so, guns have changed a lot since then. I’d recommend a class.”
“Now Dale.” She tried an ill-attempted smile. “I don’t ask people when they buy a kayak if they can swim and encourage them to take lessons.”
He rubbed his beard almost hard enough to wipe out the gray streaks. “I know you and Daniel have always been opposed to guns, so I’m a little curious why you’d want one now.”
She took a step closer, filling up what should be personal space. “I don’t feel safe; I want a gun.”
