The Complete Bleaker Trilogy Box-set

by Jeremy Peterson

  At the end of the lane, Trent saw Jerry’s car up on the curb. Instinctively, he flipped on his overhead lights and they lit up the stormy sky.

  Jerry stepped out of the car, waving his arms like an inebriated air traffic controller. “Oh, Jesus,” Trent said, parking the cruiser. He stepped out into the weather and surveyed the damage. “What the hell happened, Jerry?”

  “It wasn’t my fault, Deputy. I swear it this time.”

  “Just slow down and tell me what happened. Have you been drinking?”

  “One drink, wait … maybe two …”

  “Goddamn it, Jerry. Today … of all days you do this today?” Trent’s New York accent began to bubble up in his anger.

  “I’m not drunk, Officer. Trent, you know me, there was something in the road.”

  “Unfortunately, I do know you, Jerry. And I can’t cut you anymore slack.” He shook his head disgustedly and looked away, surveying the damage once more. It appeared that someone had exaggerated the extent of the damage. Jerry’s car had slid onto the sidewalk, grazed Mr. Johnson’s wood fence and collided with the telephone pole, but the transformer remained unharmed.

  “Where is Mr. Johnson?” Trent asked.

  Jerry looked at him confused. “Who?”

  “Mr. Johnson. The man’s fence you just scraped the hell out of, and the guy who just reported a drunk driver.”

  “Milo? I’ll tell you a little about Milo Johnson. I beat him out for QB1 back in ‘75 and he’s hated me ever since.”

  “You’re telling me he called the cops because you were a better quarterback forty years ago?”

  “Damn straight. He throws like a girl. And he blames me for it.”

  From behind them, a figure materialized from the whipping wind and stinging ice. “That’s bullshit, Deputy. He’s drunk and—”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  Trent stepped between the two men and almost slipped on the icy sidewalk. He regained his balance and spoke his mind. “That’s enough! We aren’t doing this here! And, sure as hell, not in this weather! Now it looks like the transformer is just fine.” He looked to Milo Johnson, “Do you still have power?”

  “I don’t see how that matters—”

  The deputy motioned to the weather around him, “Do you have heat … and electricity?”

  “Well yes, but—”

  “Good. Go back in your house before you freeze to death. I’ll take care of Jerry.”

  Milo Johnson fumed. “What about my fence? Why doesn’t anybody care about my fence?” His voice raised an octave on the last word.

  “Listen, Mr. Johnson,” Trent said, calmly, “After this is over, you come on down to the station, and we’ll file a report. We’ll take care of this, Mr. Johnson. Don’t you worry.”

  “I’ll tell you something, Deputy, Virgil wouldn’t stand for this. And he is gonna’ hear about how you’re treating me, too. You can bet your ass he will. And I’ll tell you another thing, my fence, and my pole had best be made whole again, or my—”

  Trent stepped forward and put his hand on Milo Johnson’s chest. The old man stepped back and the words died in his mouth, which hung open stupidly. The Deputy said, “Let me tell you something. That pole isn’t yours. It’s a goddamn utility pole, but you are right about one thing, I don’t give two shits about your fence right now. In fact, your scratched fence is about the last goddamned thing on my mind. Now go inside before I decide to haul both of you to jail.”

  Behind him, Jerry stood listening to the Deputy’s threat with his chest out and his chin up. That was, until Trent got to the part about both of them going to jail. At that point, his shoulders slumped, and he moaned audibly. As for Milo Johnson—owner of a scratched fence—he simply turned and scampered home with his tail between his legs. Trent watched him go and then turned back to Jerry. “Come on, Jerry, I’m freezing my bag-ass off out here. Get in.”

  “Aw, come on, Deputy. You don’t have to do this. It wasn’t my fault. I told ya, there was something in the road.”

  “Shut up, Jerry and get in the Goddamn car.” He opened the rear of the police cruiser and helped the old man inside.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  They drove towards the courthouse, Jerry in the back, head down, sobbing quietly. Trent glanced at him repeatedly in the rear-view mirror. There was something eating at him.

  “What was in the road?” the Officer asked.

  “Huh?”

  “You said something was in the road. What was in the road? A dog?” He thought of Daisy, the Barrows’ St. Bernard.

  “Just forget it,” the old man said.

  Trent leered at the man and shook his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

  “Well, you wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

  “You’re probably right, Jerry. You’re probably right.”

  “You know that gets pretty old … being the town fool and the town drunk.”

  “Well then stop being a fool. And stop being a drunk. Are you gonna’ tell me what you saw or not. You know what? Never mind. We’re here. Maybe you’ll talk after sitting in the tank for a while.”

  Jerry didn’t respond. He simply slumped back into the seat as Trent pulled the cruiser into the courthouse parking lot.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Chaplin Hills was too small for a police station. Instead, the small cells and an office were held in a room deep inside the County Courthouse basement. Deputy York would go days without coming here, instead, choosing to do most of his work from his home, the cruiser, or the kitchen table of his Sheriff (and mentor), Virgil Stone.

  Trent led Jerry down the halls of the courthouse, and by the time they arrived, he decided performing any sobriety tests on the old man would be a waste of time. Poor Jerry seemed as spry and collected as he ever was. As the two reached the basement office, Jerry was no more out of breath than Trent himself. Instead of ushering him to the cells, they both sat at a pair of desks, and after firing up the coffee maker, Trent turned on the computer at his desk. While it hummed, and sputtered, he asked Jerry, “All bullshit aside, can you tell me what happened?”

  Jerry, who had been holding his head in his hands, looked up to the lawman. “I … I wish I could.”

  “Just give it a shot.”

  Jerry squirmed in his seat before starting. “I was going home, driving slow on account of the icy roads and whatnot, and then all of a sudden, it was right there.”

  “What was right there?”

  Jerry opened his mouth, but a blast of noise from Trent’s radio cut him off, causing both of them to jump. It was Virgil.

  “Trent, do you read me?”

  Trent’s stare lingered on Jerry for a moment, before responding to his boss. “I’m here, Sheriff.”

  “I just got off the phone with Milo. He’s not a happy man.”

  Trent scoffed. “Milo is only happy when he’s complaining about something.”

  “True, true. So, is Jerry okay?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Is he hurt? Drunk off his ass? Both?”

  “Jerry is sober enough and otherwise as per usual.”

  “Is he there now?”

  “That he is.”

  The Sheriff grunted. “I need to see you. Can you come?”

  “What’s wrong?” the Deputy asked.

  “It’s not a national emergency, but it needs to happen soon. Tell Jerry to just sit tight.”

  Trent glanced at Jerry, who heard the entire conversation. “Yes, Sir, I’ll tell him. I’m heading that direction.”

  “Good. Oh, and before I forget, be careful out there. I heard there is a storm brewing.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Trent sat at Virgil’s kitchen table. Coffees all around.

  “Aside from Milo and Jerry, the radio’s been pretty quiet. Unusually quiet,” Virgil said.

  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Trent offered.

  “As much as I hate that saying, I can’t argue with you this time.” />
  “All the same, I’m guessing you didn’t call me out here just to say nothing’s going on.”

  “No, afraid not. Mrs. Teargarden called. You know her little girl?”

  Trent raised an eyebrow and sighed. “I believe I do. But she’s not so little anymore.”

  “No, I reckon she isn’t.”

  “Her name is Jennifer, right?” Trent asked.

  “Jill,” Virgil corrected. He couldn’t remember what he had for breakfast, but his mind was a steel trap when it came to names.

  “Right. Jill, yes. I see her around. Probably fell asleep at a girlfriend’s house … or boyfriend.”

  “Well, that’s what I said, but the missus wasn’t having it; said she was supposed to be studying with her friend Beth Roberts. I called the Roberts’. They said they haven’t seen Jill in days. Although the daughter, Beth, sounded like she was holding something back on me.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yup.”

  “Well, what else did Jill’s mom say?”

  “About what you’d expect. Although she sounded more pissed off then worried.”

  Trent stared at the senior officer, trying to read between the lines. “What do you make of that?”

  Virgil shrugged. “Probably nothing. But maybe something.”

  Trent grunted. “Okay. Well, should I start with the mom or the friend?”

  Virgil sat his coffee cup down on the table and leaned back in his chair. After a moment’s contemplation, he said, “I think the friend knows something. Plus it’s closer. Start there.”

  Trent nodded and slammed the last of his coffee.

  “The Roberts’ live across from the park, right?”

  “Yup, that’s the one,” Virgil said.

  “I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Do that. I’ll be here.”

  Trent smiled and let himself out.

  Heavy snowfall had replaced freezing rain. The most recent report suggested ten to sixteen inches could fall over the next eight hours. Trent estimated four inches had fallen already and supposed that meant they should expect a final number closer to sixteen than ten. He was right about one thing, though, the snow had provided a little bit of traction on the icy streets. At least for the time being.

  Fifteen minutes later, Trent pulled up in front of the Roberts’ home. He trudged up the walk, head down, shielding himself the best he could from the frigid wind. Mr. Roberts answered the door and let the Deputy inside.

  “Is this about Jill?” he asked.

  “Her mother’s mighty worried, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

  “Like I said, she didn’t come here to study last night. We haven’t had Jill over in quite some time, and the studying thing …” Mr. Roberts shook his head and looked away.

  “Do you mind if I speak with your daughter?”

  Trent could see Mrs. Roberts pacing in the kitchen as he asked.

  “I assure you, Deputy, she wasn’t here last night. Or any night in months.”

  “I believe you, Mr. Roberts. But she’s still missing. And I still have to find her. Beth is her friend. It would be a big help.” Trent motioned to the Roberts’ front door. “The storm is getting real bad out there. It’s gonna’ be a record breaker. Awfully dangerous to be out there right now. Awfully dangerous.”

  Mr. Roberts frowned and looked to his feet. “Liz,” he yelled into the kitchen, “bring Beth down here would ya?”

  Liz darted up the stairs without a response and, seconds later, both mother and daughter joined the two men in the dining room.

  “Honey, the Deputy just wants to ask you a few questions about Jill.” She nodded her head meekly.

  “Hello, Beth,” Trent said.

  She glanced briefly at her father before returning his gesture.

  “When was the last time you saw Jill?”

  “Uh, at school, I guess. We both have calculus last period, but then I’ve got volleyball practice. We talked after class for a few minutes, but Mrs. Reynolds gets real piss—I mean she gets pretty mad if we’re late for practice.”

  “So, Jill doesn’t have volleyball practice with you?”

  “Jill?” Beth laughed nervously, “No, she’s not into sports or stuff like that.”

  Trent nodded. “You’re on the varsity squad, right?”

  “I am. Since sophomore year.”

  “Impressive,” the Deputy said.

  “She works very hard,” her father said from the other end of the couch. Trent looked at him and nodded. He looked back to Beth, “So, after school you have volleyball practice and Jill goes home, or …”

  “Home, I guess.”

  “What about yesterday, Beth? Did she tell you what or where she was going yesterday?”

  “I uh, I mean, I don’t remember. Home probably.”

  “Probably? Beth, is Jill she seeing anybody right now? A steady boy or anything?”

  Beth laughed uncomfortably. “Jill doesn’t—” she looked side-eyed at her dad, “see any boys very steady.”

  Her inflection on the word ‘boys’ made Trent’s ears perk up. “Are you two close, Beth?”

  “We’re best friends,” she said, her eyes darting to the floor.

  But that’s not really true, Beth thought. It hadn’t been true for a long time—if it ever had been. Their friendship started innocently enough. They sat next to each other on Beth’s first day of school after her family moved to Chaplin Hills from Delaware in the third grade. They were forced into friendship through simple proximity. They ate lunch together, they did homework together, and when they got older, they talked about boys together. But recently, they had begun to grow apart. Jill’s home life with her grandmother was not great, and if Beth were honest, she’d admit that dealing with Jill’s mood swings and rebellious nature was growing thin. Beth played sports, and getting good grades was important to her. What was important to Jill? Beth didn’t know. She wondered if Jill knew.

  “Did she tell you where she was going after school yesterday?”

  “I already told you. I don’t know.”

  “I know what you—”

  Beth’s father stood off the couch and approached the Deputy. “I think this is over. She’s told you everything she knows. It’s time for you to leave.”

  Trent remained seated, staring at Beth. “Mr. Roberts, I have a few more questions—”

  “I don’t believe you do!”

  Now Trent did rise from his seat, although he did so calmly and respectfully. “Mr. Roberts, I need you to know that I’m not done speaking to your daughter—”

  “They hell you’re not!”

  “Ryan!” his wife said from the kitchen doorway. Her hand was over her mouth and shaking.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, Mr. Roberts, but if it was Beth out there, missing in the storm, I wouldn’t give up on her either. As I said, I have a few more questions.”

  Mr. Roberts stood strong, chest puffed out, eyes glaring at the deputy, but Trent could see his conviction was fading.

  Voice trembling, Beth’s mother said, “Are you sure you don’t remember anything, sweetheart.”

  With this, Ryan Roberts hung his head and exhaled loudly. He shot the Deputy one last dirty look before he sat down next to his daughter. He put his arm around her. “It’s okay, honey. You can tell us.”

  Beth buried her hands between her knees as she does when she’s nervous. “Mom, Dad, can you leave us alone for a moment.”

  “Now, Beth, I don’t think that’s such a good idea—”

  “Dad, please.”

  “No one is in trouble here, Mr. Roberts. I need you to remember that. But your daughter’s friend might be in trouble, and Beth could help. I need her help. No downside here.”

  “It’s okay, Dad,” Beth promised.

  Eventually, the Roberts’ left the room, and Beth said what she couldn’t say in front of her parents.

  “Mr. Baker,” she said.

  “Who is Mr. Baker?”

  Beth let out a deep bre
ath and wiped a tear from her eye. “She’s gonna’ kill me.”

  “Please, Beth.”

  “All right. Mr. Baker is the new History teacher. They’ve been together … studying, I guess.”

  Trent had been leaning in, as if trying to pry any pertinent information from her through the sheer closeness of their faces. Now, hearing the news, he sat back abruptly.

  Seeing the anger in the Deputy’s eyes, Beth spoke quickly. “They weren’t doing anything gross … I don’t think. She likes him, but … well, he’s a teacher. I mean, he’s … old.”

  “I understand,” Trent said, trying to stay calm. “Mr. Baker lives in one of the apartments across from the football field, right?”

  “Yes. He drives that new Camaro, the black one. It’s always parked right out front. That’s his place.”

  “Did Jill tell you she was going to see Mr. Baker after school yesterday?”

  Beth nodded and then broke eye contact with the Officer. “Thank you, Beth. I know you don’t think you did the right thing, but I promise you, you did.”

  Beth didn’t respond. Trent stood up and tried again. “You’re a good friend. And Jill’s lucky to have you.”

  “We’ll see.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Trent steered the cruiser down Main Street, towards the football field. The snowplows had been out for over an hour, but it was becoming obvious that Chaplin Hills didn’t have the manpower to keep up with a storm like this. Main Street was already becoming impassable for the second time today. Trent turned north at the high school, then proceeded slowly through the snow until he could see the football field. He turned off 4th Street and drove slowly until he spotted the Camaro. The black Chevy set in front of Apartment 3. Trent parked directly behind the teacher’s sports car.

  He climbed out of his vehicle and made his way towards the apartment. Snow buried the Camaro deep, and it was clear that it hadn’t moved since before the storm.

  He hustled under the building’s balcony. Standing outside the apartment door, Trent could hear a stern male voice. It wasn’t shouting, but it was close. He rapped on the door.

  The voices stopped, but he could here rustling from inside. Nobody seemed in a hurry to answer, and in this weather, that was even more annoying than usual. He knocked again. The same male voice yelled, “Coming.”