by Mary Logue
She tried to put the glass to her face, but she couldn’t seem to find her mouth and the water dribbled down her front. Bill helped her and she managed to swallow a little. “Not really. I was getting chased by mice or rats or cats or something. Wait, didn’t we go into a house?”
“Yes and you got shot by a trap the dealer guy had set.”
“Why are you here?”
“We finished at the house for the night. Claire shut down the crime scene. They took the body away and so I stopped by.”
“Whoa, what body?” “The dealer.” “He died?” “He got killed.” “Who killed him?” “That’s the question.”
Amy struggled to sit up. Her arm ached and her face hurt. Her left arm was bandaged, as was her left hand. Her right arm and hand looked all right. She put her right hand to her face. “Oh, God, what happened to my face?”
“You took a few pellets there, but they just grazed you. You don’t look too bad.”
“Now I’m really scared. What do you mean pellets? Did I get in a fight? Turn on the light.”
“Are you sure?”
“Bill, what are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
The way he said it she knew that recently she hadn’t been okay. Her head hurt way deep down inside.
Bill reached over and turned on the fluorescent light above the bed. Amy looked down and saw she was in one of those completely unattractive sack-like hospital gowns and tucked into white sheets. The look on Bill’s face told her how bad it had been.
She was starting to remember things, a dream worse than any she had ever had before. “What the hell happened to me?”
CHAPTER 23
8:30 p.m.
Meg sat on the edge of the Maiden Rock, the limestone gritty beneath her jeans. She had unwrapped the tinfoil package and was staring at the meth. The drug looked just like about a teaspoonful of baking powder. Such an insignificant substance and yet it had destroyed her best friend. Blew her off the face of the earth.
The scene at the gingerbread house had stunned her, too. When Meg had walked into the house and seen the way Hitch was living, the way he looked at her, she wanted to be no part of it. If Jared wanted to kill himself with that poison, she was leaving. So she turned to go. Before she could get away, Hitch grabbed her hair.
Without thinking, she braided her fingers together into one huge fist, swung around as hard and fast as she could, and slammed her doubled fist into his head.
He went down hard. Meg ran out of the house. Jared came out behind her, asking her to wait. He tried to talk to her, holding the hit of meth in his hands, saying he just needed this last little taste and then he’d be okay. If she would just wait for him and they could leave together. Maybe he could get back home before his mom even knew he was gone.
She was sick of Jared and his crap. He was nothing but a damaged soul. She felt like walloping him too.
Instead she grabbed the hit of meth out of his hands and ran to the truck.
He chased after her, but he was much too slow. She drove off before he even got to the back of the truck. He could figure out how to get home on his own, or he could go back into that putrid house and suck up all the meth his little brain could handle. She didn’t care anymore.
All she had wanted to know was what had happened to Krista. When she had asked Hitch about that, he had dodged the question. But even if Hitch could remember what had happened—which she doubted—he wouldn’t be able to coherently tell her. And Meg was coming to see that what she really wanted to know was how Krista had felt as she had flown away.
Sitting on the edge of the Maiden Rock, Meg also thought about the Indian maiden Winona.
What had Winona been thinking when she jumped off the bluff?
Krista had always been a little obsessed with the story of Winona and the Maiden Rock. Winona’s father, Wapasha, was forcing her to marry an old warrior named Red Wing instead of the young brave that she loved. Some versions of the legend have her jumping to her death alone, some have her and the Indian brave leaping off the bluff edge together.
The way Meg saw it, either way she died.
Krista had thought the story was so romantic.
Meg thought their deaths had been a waste. Old Red Wing would have died soon enough. Why couldn’t the two of them just have waited it out? Then they could have gotten married and lived happily ever after.
Meg thought about the collision of the Maiden Rock legend and what had happened to Krista and saw some weird parallels. Meg had taken Curt—her young beloved brave—away from Krista, and the old meth dealer who may as well been named Red Wing had stepped in, offering her a drug. She took it and jumped off the cliff.
This meant that Krista’s death was all Meg’s fault.
The half moon shone off the lake. The lake slithered down through the bluffs, right under her feet.
Meg touched the powdered meth in her hands. All she had to do was lower her head and breathe in. Breathe in.
***
8:30 p.m.
Amy stared at the hospital food on her dinner tray. Because of her loss of blood, they were forcing liquids into her: chicken broth, chocolate milk, ruby red jello.
She picked up the chocolate milk and took a sip. Then she looked up at Bill. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”
“I’m always hungry.”
She offered him her jello.
“No, thanks. I don’t eat red food. Especially anything that wiggles.”
Amy knew he had to be starving. It was way past dinner time. “Why don’t you go get us some real food?” “What would you like?”
Normally, Amy tried to watch what she ate and lived on yogurt and salads and fruit, but she was really hungry. “I think I want a hamburger.”
“Can do. What on it?”
“Everything.”
“I’ll be back.”
As soon as Bill left, Amy felt herself give in to the painkillers. She stretched back on the bed and fell asleep.
About a half an hour later she woke up. Someone had come and taken her tray of food away while she slept. She had to pee. She was sure she could manage it herself. She slid her feet off the bed and pushed herself up with her good arm. The room spun but then righted itself.
Slowly Amy shuffled forward, holding onto the bed, then the wall until she came to the bathroom door. She pushed it open, didn’t even bother to turn the light on, and sat on the toilet. After mission accomplished, she stood in front of the sink to wash her hands and turned on the light.
A monstrosity looked back at her from the mirror. A slash and a gouge dug into her cheeks with black stitches holding them together, bruises already discoloring her face. Her neck was bandaged and her lips were bruised and puffed out.
She had never considered herself a beauty, but she had always liked the way she looked—wholesome and cute. There would be no covering the scars that she would have on her cheek from the bullet holes.
She was hideous. Amy slid down to the tile floor. Tears streamed down her face.
“Delivery boy,” Bill called from the next room.
She heard herself sobbing. She didn’t seem to be able to rein herself in. The tears came harder. She didn’t want Bill to see her like this.
“Amy?”
“Go away,” she managed to spit out.
She was crying so hard she couldn’t see to get up. The door pushed against her and Bill’s face poked in. “What’re you doing down there?”
“Get out of here.” She bent her head and sobbed.
“Don’t you feel good?”
“No.” Between gasping, wrenching sobs, she managed to stutter out, “I look like a slasher victim.”
Bill squeezed into the bathroom with her and put his arms around her. “You look like you’ve been hurt. That’s all. You look like a deputy shot in the line of duty. Very honorable. Within a few days, you’ll look better. Let’s get you back in bed.”
“Don’t give me that honora
ble crap. Don’t patronize me.” She couldn’t help jumping on that comment.
Bill didn’t say anything for a moment, then quietly he said, “If that’s what I did, I’m sorry. I’ve never had a fellow officer start crying on me.”
Amy broke down completely at his words. She was a failure on all counts. Officers of the law weren’t supposed to cry.
Half carrying her, he managed to get Amy out of the bathroom and back in bed. He handed her a towel. She carefully wiped her face, avoiding her wounds.
“The doctor said you’re going to be fine.”
“Fine.” She swallowed more tears. They had to stop. “I have train tracks running down my face.”
Bill ducked his head and then cleared his throat. Amy was sure she caught the sound of a chortled laugh. “The doctor didn’t think that any of your wounds would leave much of a scar. They’re not that deep, he said.”
Amy breathed in deeply. “You don’t know what it’s like. You’re a guy. I’m going to be marked for life.”
“That’s right. We guys are proud of our battle scars. Give me a break. Don’t you know that women with interesting scars are intriguing? They will give you character and a mysterious appeal.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know. I thought it sounded good.” She hiccuped a laugh. “My face hurts.” “It’s that salt water.”
He pulled out a hamburger wrapped in paper and set it on the rolling table right in front of her. “I thought of getting you a beer, but decided you would have to settle for a couple sips of mine.”
He pulled a bottle of Leinenkugel beer out of a paper bag and opened it, then offered it to her.
She took a long swig and felt the brew fizz down her throat. “Thank you. How’d you get this beer in here?”
“No law against alcohol in the hospital that I’m aware of. Plus, who’d ever check a cop?”
“Well, thanks. That swallow tasted good.”
“Hey, we’re in this together.”
She looked at him: broad shoulders, brown hair, big blue eyes. Not great looking, but not bad either. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“If you hadn’t opened that door, it might have been me.”
“Oh,” Amy said, disappointed in his answer.
“And you’re the cutest deputy in the department, train tracks and all.”
“Give me that hamburger.”
***
8:45 p.m.
The new morgue was under the new hospital addition that had been built a couple years ago. It was state of the art—walk-in coolers, the whole works—but Claire missed watching Dr. Lord work in the old church basement. He had retired a few years ago. He was playing as much golf as he wanted to these days. Once every few months they got together for pie. He looked better than she had ever seen him, but all he wanted to talk about was what was going on at work.
Dr. Whitaker was just starting the autopsy when Claire got to the morgue after stopping off at the sheriff’s department.
“Let me just finish what I’m doing here,” Dr. Whitaker said and tugged at the skin flap that was hanging loose by the chest to pull it back.
Claire watched her push body parts back into the open cavity and felt sick. Rich had still not called back with any news of Meg. The bracelet was burning a hole in her pocket.
“I’ll stitch him back together after we talk.” Dr. Whitaker pulled off her gloves. “Although he got a nasty bump on his head, what killed him was the knife. Whoever did it knew what they were doing. Right up under the ribs. He bled out.”
“Where’s the knife?”
Dr. Whitaker pointed to a rolling cart. “Over there. On that long white tray.”
Claire turned and walked over to look at the knife. A boning knife about eight inches long. Chicago cutlery. It had been sharpened many times. The blade was actually thinner
in the middle than it was at the end. A well-worn knife. One that looked like it belonged in somebody’s kitchen.
But not her kitchen.
Claire knew where she had to go next.
CHAPTER 24
8:45 p.m.
Tammy wondered where her parents were and when they’d be back. Almost ten years old, she wasn’t used to being left on her own. She tried to read, but she was too anxious
She would never forget her mother telling her about Krista.
Her mom had taken her by the arm, saying, “Honey, I have some bad news. It’s about Krista.” When Tammy had seen the blotchy redness of her mother’s face, she knew. Her mom didn’t even have to say anything. Just the word “Krista” and the look on her mother’s face were enough. She knew that Krista was dead.
Now Tammy worried about everything. She knew that death could come at any moment.
Her mom and dad had told her they’d be gone for awhile, but that was before supper time. They still weren’t back. She couldn’t think of what they could be doing that would take them this long.
Since Krista’s funeral, she knew where they often went together. But not for this long.
She made herself a grilled peanut butter and cheese sandwich. Krista and she had made the sandwich up. They called it a “Cheesenutty.” Her mom thought it was gross. Tammy knew every
time she made a Cheesenutty for the rest of her life she would think of her sister. It made her sad and happy at the same time.
She was sitting in her room when she looked out the window and saw the police car. She clutched her stomach and tried to be calm, but shivers ran through her. Not again. Not something bad.
Tammy tore down the stairs and out the door. A woman deputy was getting out of the car. Tammy recognized her from the morning they found Krista. She was Meg’s mother.
“What happened? Where are Mom and Dad? Are they hurt?” Tammy screamed.
Claire grabbed her and said, “Everything’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sure they’re fine.”
Tammy pulled away. “Why are you here?” “Do you know where your parents are?” “Not for sure. I thought you said they’re fine.” “I’m sure they’re all right. I just needed to ask them a couple questions. Did you talk to them when they left?” Tammy nodded. “What’d they tell you?” “They’d be gone, but not long.” “Do you have any idea where they might have gone?” “Maybe.” Tammy didn’t think it was a secret. “Tammy, I need you to tell me whatever you know.” “Well, sometimes they go someplace together after supper.”
“Yeah?”
“They go visit my sister.”
The woman looked puzzled, then her face cleared. “Oh, they go to the cemetery where Krista was buried?”
“Yeah.” Tammy explained, “I went once, but that was enough for me. It just makes me too sad. Mom takes some flowers. Dad
drives her down there. They stay for an hour or two. They miss her so much.”
***
8:45 p.m.
They stopped at a Taco Bell for dinner. Arlene let Davy order a Jumbo Bean Burrito, she ordered a taco and then ate what he couldn’t finish of his burrito. Once they got back in the car, Davy fell asleep, his head lolling sideways in his car seat. He didn’t look very comfortable.
Arlene was sorry that the little boy wasn’t sleeping in the seat next to her. She was glad that when Jared was that age he hadn’t needed to sit all by himself in the backseat. She would have loved to watch Davy sleep as she drove. She could catch a glimpse of him in the rearview mirror, but she couldn’t touch him.
When they were past Diamond Bluff, only a half an hour from home, Davy woke up. His head popped up and he looked around.
“Where’s this?” he asked.
“We’re almost home.”
“At my house?”
“My home.”
“Not my mom’s?”
Arlene hated to have to remind him again that his mother was gone. A hard thing for a three-year-old to comprehend. “No, remember? We’ve talked about this before. She’s gone far away.”
Arlene could hear Davy humming a song to
himself as he thought about that. She was sure she recognized the tune, but couldn’t remember what it was.
“Mom coming back?”
“Remember? I told you she’s gone for a long time.” “Can she see me?”
“She does see you, but you can’t see her.” “Jared gone, too?”
“Just for a while. Until he gets better.” “He sick?”
“Yes, he’s sick from bad medicine.”
“Oh.”
More humming.
Then Davy’s bright voice suggested, “I know. We could sing.” “What song do you want to sing?” “You know, that one song.”
She didn’t, but she played along with him. “Okay. You start.”
From the back seat came Davy’s small thin voice singing, “Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so.”
Arlene joined in, not believing in Jesus’ love, but believing in the love and power of singing with a three-year-old boy in the night on the way home. Believing that she had taken her son to a place where he might be healed. Believing that she had done all she could do and now all that was left was to love.
“Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so.”
***
8:50 p.m.
Claire hated leaving Tammy Jorgenson home alone, but she didn’t want the girl there when she talked to her parents. Claire drove to the cemetary at the corner of double J with the three big cedar trees. An old cemetery, rarely used anymore.
As she drove up she didn’t see the Jorgensons there, but as she got closer she saw the Buick was tucked in behind the small cement building and the couple were sitting down on the ground on the far side of the grounds.
She parked behind their car and walked over. They both turned and looked at her, but didn’t stand.
Then Emily spoke. “We’re just talking to Krista. Telling her what happened.”
Claire was struck by how slowly Emily was talking. Something seemed wrong. Then Roger Jorgenson tried to stand up and fell down on his knees.
