All the words that went through my mind were words I heard at school.
Dumb bitch. Stupid cunt. But I couldn’t say them.
My face was hot with blood. I left the book and shuffled toward the door because I could not run. I could not run. There are no animals that run on my chart because I can’t run. Now I can’t go back to school because the State won’t make them teach me anymore. Everyone is glad but me.
Moved to tears, I stopped reading. The poor lonely child. My mind raced as I imagined his life. He existed on a survival level.
I’ve decided to write my own books. Starting with this one. No one can keep me from writing my own book. I’ll hide it in my trash bag so no one can steal it or tear it up. Sometimes I find books that people have thrown away. And other things. I found this binder down where people swim. It was full of blank pages. I waited two days, but no one came back for it.
I’m going to start a commonplace book. Benjamin Franklin had a commonplace book. So did a lot of other important people.
The phone rang and I set the book aside. I was expecting a call from Keith or Josie, but it was Dorothy.
“Okay if I stop by?”
“Sure.”
She was bundled up like she was getting ready for another blizzard when she came through the door. Surprisingly, she wasn’t short of breath although her nose was bright red and her cheeks were burning from the cold air.
“Been at the coffee shop?”
“Yes, and that’s what brings me here. More gossip.”
“Not more babies, I hope.”
“No. And nothing strange happening in Carlton County. But about three counties due east, there was a big to-do over some young girls who had disappeared.”
“How many?”
“Three. Over a period of seven years.”
“That’s within a somewhat expected range. Not that anything like that is ever expected.”
“That’s what I think too, especially since they located one of them later. But after all this time, folks are sure aware of the two they didn’t find. Especially the one last year, Joyce Latimer. They didn’t say much about the first one, but they sure had an opinion about the Latimer girl because she was from around Hays.
“She was a senior in high school and had missed the bus. She lived out in the country and started walking home. It was May and a really nice day and her folks’ farm was only a couple of miles west of the school. She had walked before. But she never made it home.”
“They never found her?”
“Never. Not a trace. None of her books or clothes or anything. She simply disappeared.” Dorothy’s face was heavy, solemn. “That kind of thing is always tragic. She was an honor student. Everyone thought very highly of her. You can imagine what everyone thought happened.”
“She sure doesn’t sound like a runaway.”
“But that’s not what I came to tell you. Here’s what everyone started talking about—the young boys that went missing in Northwest Kansas. And I’ll guarantee you, that’s a whole different situation.”
“How young? How many?”
“Two. Both were around ten.”
“No idea what had happened?”
“No. Not a clue. There were four years between the disappearances. They took place quite a while before something happened to this girl.”
“In a small community two missing boys would be devastating. Everyone probably knew them.”
“Yes, and nearly everyone was involved in the search. When the first boy just vanished it scared the hell out of everyone. Parents even started picking up their kids at school. After several months passed, everyone sort of settled down. Then four years later it happened again and the children might as well have been living in a city. No more days roaming pastures or creekbanks by themselves. Things changed for good with the second boy. None of the young boys are just turned loose for a day at a time. Families out here are so much more safety-conscious.”
“That’s true in general. And a good idea everywhere.”
I have never been comfortable roaming pastures because of my aversion to snakes. I don’t like them. Keith has tried to tell me that not all snakes are dangerous, but they scare me to death anyway.
“Well, I’m going home now.” Dorothy slapped her hands on her knees then stood and walked to the door. She turned. “I haven’t gotten a bit of real work done today and my books don’t write themselves.”
“Bye. And thanks.”
After she left, I mulled over this bit of back history. Statistically, the disappearances were not significant but crime statistics didn’t mean a thing to me. Someone’s son, someone’s daughter had gone missing. It wasn’t a statistic; it was a tragedy. Families fractured forever.
For some reason, all kinds of people felt comfortable talking to Dorothy about everything under the sun. Perhaps it was because they assumed because she was a writer she was a very “sensitive” person who would understand them. Or that she wouldn’t be shocked when they told her things about their family because she killed people on a regular basis. In a manner of speaking.
***
Keith came into the office early in the afternoon.
“Anything?”
“I was right about the under currents. There’s a lot going on in the Suter family. Nothing I would call sinister. Just stuff they would rather not talk about.”
“That’s normal anywhere and even more so out here where people don’t approve of putting down their relations. Were you able to get the daughter isolated?’
“Yes, and I was expecting more resistance to that.”
“They would have had time to coordinate any stories that they thought would look bad.”
“Didn’t have that kind of secrecy feel to it. In fact, I think they’ve decided to do everything they can to help us find out who murdered Brent. This is something else. Like they are holding back information they don’t think would help us, simply because it’s private.”
“So you were able to talk to everyone separately?”
“Yes, and the daughter told me more about passing down the farm. The college majors the dad mentioned were farm-related. Ag Economics, Farm Mechanics, etcetera, but according to his sister, that’s not what Brent had in mind at all. He wanted to major in sociology or psychology.”
“No kidding?”
“I’m not.”
I couldn’t read the expression in Keith’s eyes. He has this way of going opaque. He had inherited his father’s homestead land. Had he regretted following in his footsteps? Did he wish he had made other choices? In a way he had by going to vet school. But the type of big animal practice that he specialized in was tied to agriculture. Not that far from the family’s expectation. He did them both. Farmed and became a veterinarian. But were there secret dreams his family had never known about? He was an extraordinary musician. Did he regret not going in that direction?
I studied his handsome face as he moved to the chair that was nearest my desk. There was no one around. Nothing to stop me from sitting on his lap. He would pull me to his broad chest and his kisses would make everything better. For a while at least. I could kiss the cleft in his chin, but that would lead to too much more. I blushed and he looked at me and his eyes widened as an amused smile stole across his face as though he could read my thoughts. No “as though” to it. He actually could.
I reached for a legal pad. “So did Merilee say anything else we should follow up on?”
His grin widened. He knew why I had changed the subject.
“Yes. She told me a little about the girlfriend that was upsetting his folks. And why they won’t talk about her. She’s not a problem anymore. Or not a current problem. It’s a hell of a story.”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.
Keith’s expression darkened and he bent one knee and propped his foot acros
s his thigh. “She was from Ellis County. And one hell of a basketball player. Intermural athletics are big out here. Straight A student. There is a lot of socializing after the games and she and Brent got acquainted. They started dating.”
“Don’t tell me she got pregnant.”
“Nope. Worse than that.”
My stomach flipped. I sensed what the next words would be.
“She disappeared.”
“What was her name?”
“Joyce Latimer.”
I nodded. I had been certain of it before I asked. “Dorothy just brought me some details about that. The county still hasn’t gotten over it. There was an all-out manhunt. No stone left unturned.”
“What do folks think happened?”
“They think she was abducted. Sold into white slavery. Or raped and murdered. Or whisked off to a life of prostitution. Or something just as dreadful.”
“And what do the cops think?”
“I’ll check all this out with Dimon, but from what Dorothy said the police seem to think she was a runaway, which is code for ‘we’re tired of looking. We aren’t getting anywhere and this is going right to a cold case file.’”
“You know, in a way…”
“Yes, I know. It kind of makes sense and it wouldn’t be the first time, but Keith, this girl was idolized. Just an ideal kid. Just like Brent. A fresh-faced All-American girl. A model 4-H’er.”
“You’re right. Just like Brent.”
“I want to talk to Merilee myself. She might reveal even more to a woman. Sometimes that happens during interviews. People think women are more likely to understanding feelings.”
“Even if they are meaner than snakes. I know that. Even if there isn’t a word of truth to it.”
“I’ll set up an appointment. I have an idea about this.”
“Bet it’s the same one I have.”
“I’m going to find out from Merilee if Brent ever really wanted the farm. If so, when did he change? What happened? His dad seemed confident about his major. And he was sure Brent would come back to the farm after he finished college. In fact, both of parents were pleased that his majors would complement his farm work. That’s getting to be the norm out here. The son getting a college education and then coming back to run things. Lots of Ag Economics majors in charge of family corporations.”
“Well, his sister sure didn’t have the guts to tell them otherwise. She’s keeping a lot back. But I couldn’t tell if she was actually hiding something or simply didn’t want to air her family laundry in public. No need to embarrass kin. Don’t know when folks decided baring their souls on Oprah was the right thing to do.”
I checked my watch. “Pushing dinner time. All the Suters will be at the house. I’ll call right now.”
Merilee Suter answered right away and I asked if I could come out around two o’clock. She agreed and then her mother took over the phone. “I’ll be home too. If you want to talk to me. Ernie and I have put our heads together. We have a few ideas. I don’t think they will help, but he says to let you decide.”
“He’s right. Sometimes the slightest thing can make a difference.”
Keith was processing every word. I hung up. Sam’s old Regulator clock began a long series of chimes. Annoyed, I waited it out. Usually I remembered to switch off the sound when I was going to be here by myself. I glanced at my husband. “I was going to tickle you into buying lunch, but looks like I’ve got other plans.”
“That’s okay. I’ll ask my next best girl.” He rose, smiled at my surprise, brushed the end of my nose with his palm and slapped his hat back on his head.
“Aunt Dorothy.” He threw back his head and laughed as I waved him away.
Chapter Eight
If anything, Patricia Suter looked worse than she had earlier. She was polite enough. Even offered me coffee. She stayed in the same room with me and Merilee until I finally looked at her so pointedly that she said, “Well, I guess you want some time alone with my daughter.”
“If you don’t mind. And then I would like to talk to you.”
“I’ve watched enough TV shows to know that splitting us up is customary,” she said. “I don’t know. This all just feels awkward. Like you are trying to trip us up.” She reached for a tissue and dabbed at her cheeks. She rose to her feet, giving Merilee a worried glance, like she hated to trust her with me.
“We’re not trying to trip you up. That’s not what we are trying to do at all. The way this works is that people remember different things around different people. It’s no mystery. If I’m around Keith’s Aunt Dorothy I remember different things.”
“Like I automatically start thinking of cooking when I’m around Ernie’s mother. And how my house looks. I start worrying about my housekeeping. Seeing my place through her eyes. She keeps such a spotless house.”
“Exactly. We react differently to different people. It will be your turn to be questioned next. I’ll bet you have your own share of secrets.”
“A few.” She smiled and left the room.
Finally, I had the daughter to myself. “How are you doing, Merilee? I don’t want to make this rougher on you than it has to be.”
“This is as good a time as any, I guess. It’s another snow day at school. The roads are still too slick for the bus. Too much drift.” She looked out the window and her voice trailed off.
She looked cold. She had looked cold the first day we were out here and didn’t look a bit warmer now even in a heavy turtleneck under a huge red plaid shirt-jacket that I suspected had belonged to Brent. Her dark brown hair was cut in a long shag. There was fresh blood on her cuticles. Her voice was tense and her mouth didn’t open much. Like she had to force out the words.
I’m not much for shoving medicine down kids, but before I left, I intended to suggest to Patricia that this girl needed something to help her sleep.
“Merilee, I want to ask you some questions. I think something was bothering you when Keith and I were out here the other day. Something that you might have wanted to talk about if your folks weren’t around.”
Tears began to flow. I spied a box of tissues on the end table and got up and handed her the whole box.
Her voice was low. I had to strain to hear. “You saw how proud of Brent the folks are. Were. He’s as good as people think he is. Was as good.” She swallowed hard. “Never a better big brother. I swear.”
“But there was something wrong, wasn’t there?” Relentless prodding is part of police work. I was ashamed even if it is my duty.
“Yes. Wouldn’t seem that wrong in anyone else’s family. But it was the worst thing that could happen to my dad.”
“Go on.”
“Brent talked about taking over the farm ever since he was a little boy. There was nothing he liked better than riding the tractor with Dad or helping feed cattle. He was a Key Award winner, you know.” She smiled at my blank look. “It’s the highest honor given to a 4-H’er. Less than one percent ever get this honor. You should see his permanent record book. He started when he was seven years old.”
At least I was familiar with the all-mighty permanent record book. Every seed planted, every cost incurred in a project, every moment spent mastering a skill. It was written there and the efforts evaluated at the end of a year. The range of projects offered were amazing. Everything from computer programming to clothing to astronomy to livestock. I knew a lot about the clubs from accompanying Keith when he judged model meetings at 4-H days.
There was no mistaking the pride on Merilee’s face when she talked about her brother. I made a quick note. “And you? Were you into club work too? What were your projects? “
“Clothing and photography. One year I went to state with the suit I made.”
“Did you continue with your club work?”
She smiled and shook her head. “I was done with all that by the time I reac
hed high school.”
“Did Brent go on to be a junior leader?”
“Oh, sure. He really believed in the program. And it is great, you know. I just quit because I didn’t want to do it anymore.”
“And your folks were okay with that?”
“Oh, sure. No pressure there. They knew Brent and I were two different persons. It’s funny, though. In high school I could tell who had been in 4-H by the way they could stand criticism. We were sure as hell tougher. By then I had gotten enough white ribbons to face a firing squad.”
My face must have shown what I thought. The first time I watched little kids’ faces when they gave a speech that was not just perfect—and judges earnestly scribbling reasons for marking them down—I thought the whole process was barbaric.
She laughed, sensing that I was trying not to look judgmental. “It doesn’t hurt, Mrs. Fiene. Honest! After a while we start thinking about how we can improve. Brent got his share of whites. No one is spared. And we also learn that some judges don’t know jack shit. And that’s part of life too.”
I was losing control of this conversation. I wasn’t here to talk about the merits of 4-H. “So what was the ‘something wrong’ we started talking about? What happened that would have ‘just killed’ your dad, Merilee?”
“You should have heard Brent and Dad at the supper table.” Her voice softened. “They argued about seed varieties just like two grown men. Dad listened to Brent because my brother was smart and could hold his own. Dad respected him for it. He’d shake his head and tell Mom later, ‘little shit sure can argue.’”
“What happened, Merilee?”
It was like pulling hen’s teeth. She wanted to talk about anything else. She looked out the window at the swirls of snow. She gave me a wild, furtive look and her eyes wandered. She pulled the quilt around her and burrowed deeper.
I waited her out.
“Brent’s girlfriend, Joyce Latimer, she disappeared. Just disappeared. They never found her. Never. Not even a trace.”
Fractured Families Page 7
