Utah: A Lucy Ripken Mystery (The Lucy Ripken Mysteries Book 7)

by J. J. Henderson

  "Yeah. Thanks. Ummm, before we go, could I get a coke?"

  "Coke? At eight o'clock in the morning?"

  "What wrong with that? I bet you drank a bunch of coffee today, right?"

  "What does that have to do with..."

  "Sugar and caffeine. Same thing."

  "Aren't you a smart one," Lucy said. "The difference is I'm a grown up and you're not, Ellen, so I get to eat and drink what I want." Ellen just looked at her. "Sure, sure, go get a coke, I don't care."

  OK. Thing is..." She hesitated. "I don't have any money."

  "You what?! You ran away with no money? You're broke?"

  "Sorry. I couldn't exactly ask for my allowance, you know."

  "There's a bunch of quarters in the ashtray there. Help yourself." Lucy watched her go back into the gas station, then grabbed the pack again and opened the smaller compartment in front. She pulled out a wad of bills. A couple hundred dollars in twenties. Damn! The girl had lied.

  "Here," Ellen said. "I got you one too." Lucy took the can.

  "Thanks." She took a gulp. "Hey, that's not bad. First coke I've had in about five years. Except for yesterday, when I had one for lunch. I usually prefer to get my buzz from...coffee," Lucy said, starting up the truck. "Ready to roll, pup?" she said to Claud. He looked at her. Ellen stared out, her face turned away.

  They headed out. Better to open up now, try to keep clear the air. "Hey listen Ellen," she said. "Don't take this wrong, but...I went through your bag while you were getting that soda. See, if I'm gonna take you anywhere I have to know what's..."

  "You want me to get out? You want me to leave?" Lucy could see tears starting in her eyes. "So I lied about the money. I'm sorry. It's just that...I don't know where...what I'm going to do, and..."

  "I don't care about the money, Ellen. I can understand that...but what about that stuff in the bottom of the bag? What's with the knife and the DVD? We have to level with each other. What's the story?"

  "I stole the knife from my dad. It's for protection, you know. There's weirdos on the road, right? And the DVD’s...well, I can't...I don't want to talk about it right now."

  "Honey, it can't be that bad," Lucy said.

  After a fidgety minute Ellen looked at her. "Last night, I...I borrowed this camcorder from school, and I set it up in my closet, and...and I recorded him...my dad...coming into the room."

  "Into your room? You filmed him when he was..." Lucy dropped the end of the sentence.

  Ellen gathered herself. "Yes. When he tried to, you know, have sex with me."

  "You taped it?" Lucy asked stupidly, her voice strained.

  "I guess. I mean, it was running the whole time, and I...that's the DVD I made in the bag. I haven't looked but I guess it's on there. I don't know why I did it except it seemed like...people when they find out oughta know why I did it, right? Ran away I mean. They gotta know what he did to me. He won't be able to deny it."

  "I guess so, Ellen," Lucy said. "Damn," she added softly, driving on.

  "I didn't know what else to do," Ellen said. "Even my mom knew what he was doing, and she wouldn't...she was afraid to, you know, stop him..."

  "Ellen, what do you want me to...Oh, shit," Lucy said, lights flashing in the rearview. "We're getting pulled over. They must be on to...Christ, what are we...what am I gonna...Shit!"

  Lucy worked her way onto the shoulder and stopped the truck. The state patrol car stopped behind her, and a man in uniform climbed out. "Don't say anything. You're my daughter if they ask. We're moving from New York to Seattle. Here," Lucy thrust a handkerchief at her. "Wipe your face, you're a mess." She did. The cop approached. "Morning, officer. What's the..."

  "Can I see your license please," he said, pleasantly enough. He was young, and didn't look too predatory. Lucy fished it out of her purse and handed it to him. He glanced at it, handed it back, then swung up on the running board for a look into the cab. "Hey pup," he said, "How ya doin?" Claud grinned at him.

  "He's good, thanks," said Ellen, completely cool. "How are you, officer?"

  "I'm fine. Actually," he said, stepping back down to the ground. "I pulled you over because you were going too slow, Mrs. Ripken. 35 in a 55 zone is a little dangerous."

  "Gosh, I'm sorry, officer, I didn't know," Lucy babbled. "It's this rental truck, you know, I don't know how to drive it that well, and I guess I was just playing it safe. Got a long way to go."

  "I appreciate that, Ma'am, but...sometimes slower isn't safer," he said. Then he tipped his hat. "Just keep an eye on the speedometer and you'll be OK. Try to keep it over 45 at least, and drive in the right lane."

  "Yes sir," Lucy said. "No problem." She watched him in the mirror till he got in his car. Then she put on her blinker, waited for an opening, and pulled out onto the road. "Whew!" she said. "I thought we were dead meat."

  "I'm...I'm sorry," Ellen said. "I just don't know what to...I just want a ride, Lucy. I just have to get away from here."

  Lucy looked at her. "If only it were that simple. Drive you to Seattle and drop you off, get on with my life. Is that the idea?"

  "Somethin' like that," Ellen said.

  "Honey, the cops are gonna be after your butt."

  "They'll never find me, I swear to God."

  "But...I just...I'm sorry, Ellen, I just...didn't plan on all this right now. I'm in the middle of the biggest move of my life and...I'm not even sure what I'm gonna do when I get there."

  "Don't worry, Lucy," Ellen said. "Just...look, we're almost in Idaho already. I...if anything happens I'll say you picked me up hitchhiking. But nothing's gonna happen so...”

  "So tell me, Ellen, what...do you really have a friend in Seattle or did you just make that up after you went into the glove compartment and looked at my stuff?"

  She paused. "I made it up. I'm sorry. I was...I didn't know what you would do when you saw me, so..."

  "Look, let me tell you how I see this right now, OK?" Lucy said. Ellen nodded. "We drive to Portland, where my mom lives, and...and I'm gonna talk to a couple people, see if we can find you a lawyer and..."

  "No lawyers. I don't want to..."

  "I can't just let you run away, Ellen. You might need some legal advice on like, how to deal with what...what your dad did to you. You can't just disappear. Life doesn't work that way. Don't you understand that?"

  She was quiet. "I guess. I don't know. But...there's one other thing..."

  "What?"

  "I'm... that is I think...well, I'm three weeks late, so I'm almost positive that I'm pregnant."

  Lucy took that one in for a few seconds, and had to ask, though she knew the answer. "Who's the father?"

  "My Dad," Ellen said quietly. "There hasn't been anyone else."

  Lucy kept driving, eyes on the road. At some unnoticed point they had crossed the border into Idaho. The road was safe, forgiving. "What are you going to...what do you want to do about it?" she said quietly.

  "I...they told me I'd go to hell if I got an abortion, Lucy. I'm scared of that."

  That was the gist of the argument these days. Go to hell, except maybe in the case of "rape or incest." What about cases of rape and incest? Did that qualify for exclusion from damnation? "You want to get an abortion, I'm sure your immortal soul will be all right," Lucy said. "There are...mitigating circumstances."

  "But I don't want to do it, Lucy. It's wrong. It's...murder."

  "Goddammit Ellen, don't tell me that, you little...Jesus Christ, don't you know what's been done to you?!"

  "Yes, but...what he...he was doing wrong. My baby isn't...hasn't done anything..."

  "It's not a baby, Ellen, it's a bunch of cells. It wouldn't be a baby for nine months and it won't even be a...fetus... for three or four, so don't talk to me about your baby. You don't have a baby!"

  "But I will," she said.

  "Damn," Lucy said. "I can not believe this." She was gripping the wheel, hunched over, glowering ahead. The empty countryside's rocky, angular ridges were softened with interspersed meadow
s glowing with a late spring bounty of wild purple and white heathers. Basque herdsmen had settled this harsh, lovely land with their flocks of sheep in the 19th century. Lucy unclenched her fists, took a few deep breaths, and leaned back into her seat. "Jesus, Ellen, I'm sorry...it's just that you're not...you can't have a baby. Who's going to take care of it? Who's going to take care of you? You have such a huge problem already with leaving home, and not knowing where you'll be living, or what's going to happen if and when they find you, and..."

  "I could go to Canada. I heard they have good health insurance up there. I could..."

  "You're an American. You don't qualify."

  She burst into tears. "I don't know what to do, Lucy, but I can't let them take my baby away from me. I want to...to be a mother."

  Lucy reached over and rubbed her back. "I know, but there's time, honey, there's plenty of time. You're just a kid yourself. And you have a hard road ahead. You're going to need all your energy to take care of yourself."

  Ellen sat back, arms folded. She didn’t say another word until they crossed the border into Oregon.

  In Baker they found a diner, parked by the other trucks, and went in. Single men at the counter, families in the booths and at the tables. They found a booth and sat. Lucy ordered a salad and Ellen ordered a burger, fries, and a coke. They waited for the food. "So." Lucy said. "Here we are."

  "Uh-huh," Ellen said. "I'm starving."

  "Yeah, me too," said Lucy. "But you get to my age and salad's the only safe thing to eat, you don't want to turn into a porker."

  "Your age? You're not old, Lucy."

  "I'm older than you think. Probably older than your mom."

  "No way. My mom's 33 years old. No way you're older than that, Lucy."

  "Yes way, and enough said. Now listen, Ellen, we have to talk about this other thing. I don't know what you want to do about the pregnancy—you know what I think you should do—but if you don't want to go back you have to figure out where you...what you want to do. You're probably gonna need a lawyer. I can't...I don't know what...I will do what I can, but I was...I'm going to be staying with my mother in Portland for a few days, and then going up to Seattle. I don't know exactly what I'm going to tell her—about you, I mean. But I don't want to...I don't want you to think I'm going to...let this slide, honey." She reached over and took Ellen's hand. "I'm going to do whatever I can to help you, Ellen. I promise."

  The waitress showed with the food. Ellen drenched everything with ketchup and started in. Whatever her problems were, anorexia was not one of them. Lucy ate her boring iceberg lettuce salad, jazzing it up with a few fries stolen off Ellen's plate. Lucy couldn’t think of anything else to say, and Ellen kept her mouth shut. She inhaled her burger and they left, headed northwest through La Grande and Pendleton and then west along the Columbia, Gorge-bound. Beyond the Gorge waited Portland, Lucy’s Mom, and some kind of reckoning.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE GORGE

  They followed I-84 west along the Oregon bank of the Columbia River. Beneath an enormous sky arcing over the river the desert rose into foothills, rippling brown layers of sculpted dry cliffs and black, barren buttes that gave way to high meadows and forested mountains as they moved westwards. Down on the river clusters of windsurfers and kiteboarders appeared, their brightly-tinted sails racing back and forth across the whitecapped water. Lucy was elated. Damn the present and the future and the problems that beset her, that sat beside her; more than anything at the moment she wanted to get on the river. She needed a break, a chance to blow the clutter out of her head. Windsurfing had been one of the great releases in her life since she'd first learned it one love-struck summer on Cape Cod. She'd given her heart to a windsurfing carpenter, then took it back to Manhattan when the wind turned cold and northerly. But he'd taught her to ride a sailboard in the harbor at Provincetown, and in the years since she'd sailed the Caribbean in winter, New England in summer. When you windsurf you hear stories about the Gorge, and she had heard them. Sucked west to east, from ocean to desert, through the Columbia River Gorge relentlessly the wind blew. The best freshwater sailing in the world happened right here.

  Though it was after five they were just two weeks shy of the summer solstice, and the sun blazed high in the northwestern sky. Driven by the wind, whitecaps and waves did a contrapuntal waltz across the water. Just west of the bridge connecting Hood River, Oregon with Bingen, Washington, Lucy left the freeway and followed a road that led to a parking lot facing the river. Dozens of beginner sailors stood in the waist-deep water near shore. Farther out the chop got heavier in the unblocked west wind, and sailors raced back and forth, launching off swells into the air and swooping through jibe turns. A couple of modular buildings on the edge of the lot advertised sailboard rentals. Lucy stopped alongside a curb. "OK, kid, here's the deal," she said to Ellen, who'd sunk into a guarded silence. "I'm gonna rent a rig and sail till dark. You do what you want, but you gotta walk the dog and then feed him a cup of that dried food in about an hour. I'll be out there," she pointed, "but I'll be sailing back this way so don't worry. OK?"

  "Sure, Lucy," said Ellen listlessly. "Walk the dog, feed the dog. I'll just hang out, no problem."

  "Here's the keys. You can let Claud off the leash but don't let him stray too far, OK?"

  "Yeah, sure. Have fun, Lucy."

  "I'm psyched," Lucy said. "It's howling out there." She went to one of the rental places to get set up. Fifteen minutes later, wetsuited and hip-harnessed, she entered the water. She positioned the sail and let the wind lift her onto the board. Threading her way through the beginners, she pointed downwind and took off, cross-river bound. She hooked into the harness, stepped back and slid her feet into the footstraps, then zoomed away, bounding over the swells, free, for the moment, of all but wind and water. As she neared the Washington bank, she carved downwind, and tried a jibe. She crashed and came up sputtering. She positioned herself for a waterstart, and flew to her feet as the wind filled her sail. Slicing back towards Oregon, she swooped through a jibe, then dropped the sail and sat for a breather. She looked towards shore, where the yellow truck loomed above the parked cars, and shook her head. Her getaway vehicle, now the carrier of trouble. She stood, uphauled her sail, and raced back out into the river.

  She sailed until near-dark, then dragged the gear up on the grass by the rental building, peeled off her wetsuit, and headed over to the truck. Claud sat in the passenger seat. The window was rolled down a couple of inches. She let the dog out, then had a look. The keys lay on the floor. Ellen had gone. "Damn," she said, rifling through the glove compartment. Nothing of hers missing. She went through the stuff behind the seats. Hers there, Ellen's gone. The girl had booked. "Hell, Claud," she said. "Where'd she go?" Lucy wondered if this was what she'd secretly hoped for, in taking this break: to rid herself of the girl. Isn't this where she'd wanted to be, on her own in the west, a new life ahead?

  No, that was not it. She had stopped to sail and nothing more. As for Ellen: Lucy had to find her. As darkness fell the wind eased off. Her truck and one other car remained in the lot. She went to the other car, an old van with a pile of boards on top. A pile of boys inside smoked a joint and talked about the wind, and they hadn't seen a cute sixteen year old blond and would have remembered if they had. Lucy turned down a toke then ran onto the beach with Claud. She roamed the beach, and the rocky edge of the marina, calling out for her, but Ellen was nowhere to be found. Seemingly she had followed her original plan: gotten out of Utah and disappeared.

  Lucy and Claud went back to the truck. She dried off and changed into jeans, a sweatshirt, and her black tennies, then took the truck back to the freeway. She spent ten minutes navigating the on and off ramps in both directions on I-84, looking for a hitchhiking girl. Didn't find one. Lucy got off the freeway and drove up into the town of Hood River. She had been in this town a couple times when she was a kid up from Portland for a day, but had zero memory of the place. She parked, put Claud on a leash, and set out t
o search the town. Exhausted and in need of dinner and a bed, first she had to find Ellen. In spite of her doubts, and no matter that the girl had split on her, Lucy now felt responsible for Ellen Longford.

  Whatever kind of forgettable place it had been before, Hood River had been transformed by windsurfing into an odd hybrid, a pretty little country town with many of the old farm supply stores and fruit warehouses converted into sailboard factories and windsurfing outlets. The former Rexall pharmacy was now The Flying Fish, its windows decked with neon-colored duds right out of beachfront LA; down the block, next to a tractor supply outlet a restaurant offered tofu popsicles and vegeburgers. Muscular boardhead slackers and skateboard punks in giant shorts and gangsta hats roamed the streets along with fat-butt farm wives, ponytailed organic apple growers and polyester-clad trailer park troglodytes. Definitely a mixed vibe, a post-modern cultural hodge-podge, a post-Millennial all-American town. Lucy walked the streets for an hour, asking questions, but no one had seen anyone fitting Ellen’s description. She went to the Riverview Hotel, a nicely renovated old Victorian style place with a dining room/bar open to the street. She tied Claud to a bench and went in to check on the dog regulations. He passed muster. She checked in, ordered a beer, and took a seat at a table outside, facing the sidewalk, with Claud sleeping at her feet in the balmy evening air. She felt wonderfully exhausted from sailing, and would have been perfectly happy—except where was Ellen?

  She went to the pay phone in the lobby and called her friend Robin Markham in Seattle. She and Robin went way back, and Lucy planned to stay with her on arrival. Robin was an architect with a practical streak about a mile wide. "Hey it's me, Lucy."

  "Luce! Where are you? What's..."

  "I'm down in the Gorge. Decided to stop for a sailing session. But listen, things have gotten a little complicated. Don't interrupt me till I'm done, OK? Because this is a crazy story." She gave her the short version of Ellen Longford, beginning with dinner at Denny's, ending with Ellen disappearing from a riverfront parking lot. When she finished, Robin was silent for a moment.