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

by J. J. Henderson

  Then she said, "Holy shit!"

  "Exactly. So what do I do?"

  "Get a good night's sleep, then get in the truck and get your butt up here. You can't...Lucy, you've got too much on your own plate already. Please. You've got to bail on this one. Do me—do yourself!—a favor."

  "But she's just a kid, Rob, and there's...she's in a mess with no one to help and I...I can't just leave her..."

  "She already left you, Lucy. You don't even know where she is. Fuck it, what are you going to do, go to the police? It’s too late for that, honey. They’ll haul you in for aiding and abetting."

  "I know, but...look, do me a favor, will you? Could you call around and see if you can find a lawyer who knows about this stuff? Child abuse, incest, there must be somebody who would be willing to help figure out what she can do. Anyway, I don't know if I'm gonna find the girl but talking to you has made it clear to me that I have to try. Look, hon, I'm stuck. I spent a day with her and now she's mine."

  "Motherhood unbound, eh?"

  "I don't know. I guess. She's just...not a bad kid, and she's in a terrible place and doesn't even know how bad it is. I've gotta help her."

  "So what's your plan?"

  "Well, I'm going to Portland tomorrow, and I plan to take her with me. This is a small town. If she hasn't hitched a ride out of here I'll find her. Gonna see my mom for a day and then head up your way. I only have about three days left on the truck before I start paying overtime, so I should be there by the end of the week. That OK?"

  "Be great to see you. And Luce?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Don't get too overwrought if you can't find her. You did what you could."

  "Just find that lawyer, Robster."

  "Consider it done, Luce. And good luck."

  "Bye." Lucy hung up and went back to the bar. No, though Robin was right and what she ought to do was drive her weary butt right out of town that very moment, she couldn't do it. She couldn't bail on Ellen Longford. She sat down and ordered another beer from the waitress, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed 22 year-old babe, probably sailed in from Maui for the summer, chasing the wind like 22-year old boardheads are wont to do. Oh for that time in life when nothing mattered as much as being where the wind blew strongest, and the parties lasted longest. Lucy gave her a smile when she returned with the brew. "I've been wandering around town for the last hour, and there's like nothing going on. Where does a girl go to party in this town?" Lucy asked.

  "Party? No one parties too hard here. Everybody gets way tired from sailing. When the wind dies sometimes it gets rad, but the wind's been pretty consistent so far this year." She grinned. "That's why we're here, you know?"

  "Yeah, right," Lucy said. "But, suppose a girl—not me, I'm talking about someone younger than you—just arrived in town, and—I mean, where would she end up?"

  "You looking for someone?"

  "No. I mean, yeah, I am. A girl, about sixteen."

  "Well, cheapest rooms in town are up at Bo Scroggs' place. Up on Third Street. Pretty skanky house, but a lot of people hang there. Lot of Californians. It's like, gnarly, but they party pretty hard sometimes."

  "On Third Street? Where's that?"

  "Right up there." She pointed. "Make a right at the top of those stairs go down a couple blocks. It's a big three story house painted all different colors. Probably hear like, Led Zeppelin coming out the windows."

  "Cool," Lucy said, handing her five bucks. "This is for you. Name's Lucy Ripken. Just put the beers on my tab, I'm staying here tonight."

  "Thanks. Good luck finding your daughter."

  Lucy did a slight double take, then smiled ruefully. "Yeah, OK. See ya later."

  "I'll be here."

  Lucy and Claud headed up the hill in the cool darkness. If she'd had a kid the first time she got pregnant, that kid would now be 14 years old—one year younger than Ellen Longford. God how time flew by. Where was the daughter, the son, the next generation of Ripkens? Her mother was probably wondering the same thing. No husband, no kids, no future—that was Lucy Ripken in a nutshell. Only it wasn't the nutshell she'd chosen to crawl in. Actually Lucy was an incurable optimist in spite of all the trouble in the world, in her head, in the life of the girl she was seeking. As she climbed the hill to Third Street her arms and legs ached from sailing. A good ache for sitting around drinking beer and thinking back on those jibes she'd nailed. Maybe not such a good ache for chasing a wild child around Hood River all night, but you did what you had to. She had to find the girl, and take her somewhere safe.

  A quiet street of hillside homes illuminated by softly glowing old-fashioned streetlamps. Lucy let Claud off the leash and he ran ahead. She spotted the Scroggs place from a hundred yards off: A ragged old three story Victorian, it stood alone on a little rise and would have looked like a haunted house except for the myriad colors; and no ghost that she knew of would be listening to the grinding din of hard rock and roll. A couple of windsurf vehicles were parked outside, and old boards and sails lay about the yard. She whistled Claud back, leashed him, picked her way through the sailboard detritus, and climbed five stairs to the porch.

  She dodged around a couple of old armchairs and looked in a window. A living room furnished with third-hand sofas and wirespool tables. A bunch of twenty-something boys in shorts and t-shirts, clutching beers; tv on, stereo on, smoky air in bare bulb light. She tied Claud to a porch rail and went to the door and knocked. No one answered, so she pushed the door open. Faces turned her way, looking vaguely quizzical. She was not a babe, not anybody's mom, not a cop, and so they turned back. The music rattled the windows slightly. She got further into the room, got a whiff of sensimilla and a look at the tv. They watched a windsurf DVD, guys doing loops and riding monster waves at Hookipa'a Beach, Maui. Saying Wow. Saying Awesome. Saying check this gnarly move dude. Lucy went through a door into a kitchen, closing the door behind her to cut off the noise. A young woman sat at the table feeding a tiny baby from a bottle. Food cooked in pots and pans on the stove, the room was neat, clean, and relatively quiet, and the woman, in her twenties, looked present and accounted for. "Hi," said Lucy.

  "Hello," said the girl.

  "Do you...I was wondering...cute kid," Lucy said, coming closer for a look. "How old is he?"

  "She. Just seven weeks. Her name's Lahani."

  "That's a pretty word," Lucy said. "Sounds Hawaiian. Does it mean anything?"

  "I don't know. I just like the sound is all," the girl said.

  "Yeah, it's nice," Lucy agreed.

  "You want to hold her?" the girl said, suddenly offering the baby to Lucy.

  "Hold her? No, I...well, sure, OK," Lucy said, taking the outthrust baby and sitting down. The baby started crying. Loudly.

  "Here, give her this," the girl said, handing over the bottle. Lucy took it and aimed the nipple into the little squalling mouth. The baby shut up and started sucking. Lucy settled into it. This wasn't so hard. She'd never before held and fed a baby. That was her life in New York. 35 years old and not once had she performed this elemental act. She could feel the warm little body through the blanket and her clothes.

  "She's a sweetheart," Lucy said.

  "Yeah," said the mom. "'Cept when she starts screamin' like a banshee at three a.m. and her dad don't wanna move cuz he's been sailin' all day and he's too tired." She got up and went to the stove, lifted a lid and stirred. Lucy smelled brown rice.

  "Smells good."

  "Brown rice in one pot, black beans in the other. Sean may be a brain-dead beer hound boardhead, but he loves his rice and beans."

  "Sean?"

  "My husband. Lahani's dad. He's in there," she jerked her head at the door. "With his gang of bozos, watching tv, smoking dope, and drinking beer." She grinned. "Ah, he ain't so bad. At least he has a job."

  "What's that?"

  "Well, it's not exactly a real job, but he teaches windsurfing, and this company gives him a little money and a lot of free equipment."

  "Sounds cool."

&n
bsp; "Sure, but it barely pays the rent, know what I mean?"

  "I hear its cheap here."

  "Yeah, but babies aren't cheap. Hey, by the way, my name's Annie. Annie Rankin. I just moved here last month from Maui, and man, do I miss the islands."

  "I'm Lucy Ripken, from New York. Headed to a new life in Seattle. Or so I thought." she shifted the baby. "Then I met a girl on the road who needed a ride. I brought her here today—to Hood River I mean. Then while I went windsurfing she disappeared. Just a couple of hours ago."

  The kitchen door flew open in a blast of reggae. "Annie, when's the food gonna happen? We're like, starvin' in there," this big blond lunker said. "Hey," he added, looking at Lucy. "Like my kid?"

  "She's real cute," Lucy said. "But then, so's your wife, so I'm not surprised."

  "Yeah, right," he said, and grinned awkwardly. "Cool."

  "Five minutes, bud, and your food'll be ready," Annie said. "So back off. And see if you can thin out the freeloaders tonight. We're running out of beans."

  "Right on, honey," he said, and went back into the other room.

  "Thanks for the compliment," Annie said to Lucy.

  "Guys forget sometimes what their wives or girlfriends do for them. Stinkin' ingrates, I say," Lucy said. "So I've learned to let 'em know."

  "Cool. Hey, what did you say your name was?"

  "Lucy. Lucy Ripken. Looking for a girl, not quite 16, blond with dark roots, dark eyes. Cute kid. But way too young to be on her own."

  "Carryin' a green pack? Kinda lost look to her face?"

  "Yeah, sounds like Ellen. Have you..."

  "She was here just an hour ago. Sometimes it seems like everybody passes through this dump. She came in with this guy George, kind of a friend of Sean's. I hate to say it, but she looked pretty loaded to me."

  "Loaded?"

  "Stoned. Wrecked on something. Sens, some kinda down, I don't know. Kind of stumbling around. I knew she was under age but what could I do, I got Lahani to take care of."

  "Of course. But this George. Where does he live? Are they gonna come back here?"

  "I don't know. He stays here sometimes. Lives in his van. He's got one of those old vws with a bed in the back. Just a boardhead bum. But everybody knows he sniffs out the underage girls like a dog." She turned the burners off. "Well, another day, another dinner. God, here I am barely 25 and I feel like a fuckin' old lady." She sat down heavily. "The glamorous life of a windsurfing widow. Here, lemme take Lahani. You've probably had enough."

  "No, it's not that," Lucy said, handing the kid over. "It's just that I've got to try and find that girl. I'm worried about her."

  "Well, George won't hurt her. I mean, he might get her wrecked and get in her pants, but he won't, you know..."

  "Yeah, I know."

  "Why are you so concerned? Didn't you say you picked her up hitchhiking? What's the big deal?"

  "She's a fifteen year old runaway, she says she's pregnant, she's got nowhere to go, and I spent all day with her. I'm worried. I feel responsible." Lucy stood. "You think any of those guys out there might know where George is?"

  "Yeah, maybe. Can't hurt to ask. Well, nice talkin' to you."

  "Likewise. Listen, if she shows up here and I missed her—her name's Ellen—see if you can keep her here, and call me at the Riverview Hotel, OK?"

  "OK. I'll do what I can."

  "Thanks." Lucy went back to the living room. "Soup's on, boys," she said. "Hey listen," she went on, having gotten their attention. "This guy George and his—date—anybody know where they went?"

  "Yo, lady," said one slow-looking fellow. "George usually parks his vehicle in this alley off Fifth Street. It's like down the street."

  "Yeah but when he's got a babe he usually goes to the woods, dude," said Sean. "Had that chick from the marina parkin' lot with him tonight, 'member, dude?"

  "Right on. Yeah, lady, he's like headed for the forest," the kid smirked. "Righteously dark and private there."

  "I can dig it," Lucy said flatly. "But where in the forest? Any particular road?"

  "There's a million fire roads and logging roads and shit around here, lady. No way of knowing where George is at," said Sean, and disappeared into the kitchen.

  There were three of them left in the room. "So did Sean say we could eat, or what, dude?" said one to the other two.

  "Don't know, bro. I think Annie's gettin' sick of feedin' us."

  "She can be a righteous bitch."

  "Right on, dude."

  "Listen, you morons," said Lucy. "Don't talk that bullshit. The woman's got a kid to feed and not much money. She isn't your mother, you freeloading geeks."

  The front door opened. A thirtyish, bearded guy in short, sandals, and a t-shirt came in. "Yo George," said one of the boys. "Cool you came back, cuz this lady's lookin' for you."

  George looked at Lucy, and she looked back. He grinned, fishing for a signal that her intent was not hostile. She decided to dispense with the formalities. "So where is she, George?"

  "Where is who?" he said.

  "The girl. Ellen."

  "Oh, that girl," he said, knowing there was no point in lying. "She's out in the car. Right out front." He shrugged. "We just went for a ride is all. She's—Hey," he added as Lucy pushed past. "I didn't give her whatever it is she took. She's loaded but it ain't my fault."

  "Fuck you," said Lucy from the porch. She grabbed Claud and ran for the van, threw open the front passenger door. No Ellen. A faint groan from the back. She opened the side door. A stale odor, strewn clothes, a sort of platform bed. Ellen lay on it, half-covered with a sleeping bag, barely conscious. Lucy pulled the sleeping bag off. Ellen wore only her underwear. "Hey, Ellen," she said sharply. "Wake up, kid." She shook her. "Time to get going. Let's go, huh!" She half-opened her eyes.

  "Hi, Lu...Lucy. Hey, I'm sorry I..." she stopped, fell away, came back, her voice slurred and sloppy. "Sorry I split but I didn't wanna bother you, and then I...I thought George was nice. But his friend gave me...you know..."

  "Forget it, Ellen. Here's your stuff. Get dressed and let's go. I'm starving and tired and we have to face my mom tomorrow."

  "Mom? Where's my mom?"

  "Not yours," she said, helping the girl into her jeans and shirt. "Mine." Lucy dug Ellen's green backpack out from under a pile of stuff, and checked it out. The money and the DVD were still there among the clothes. Lucy slung it over her shoulder and hauled Ellen onto her feet. The girl was staggering, but conscious. "Let's go, hon," Lucy said. She spotted George on the porch, watching. "Hey creep," she said. "Hope you're proud of yourself." He didn't say a word, just stood there with his arms crossed. Lucy cut Claud loose of his leash, threw an arm around Ellen for support, and headed back to the hotel, walking off whatever had stoned her, talking at her all the while. "It's OK, kid. I don't know what happened down there but I'm sorry I made you feel you had to go. I didn't want you to feel that way, I promise. I want to...you need help and I'm...C'mon, baby, you're gonna be all right. Get some food into you you'll be fine. I promise." She blabbed on, mouthing reassurances, whatever came to mind. Ellen was not entirely there, but Lucy figured she needed to hear this stuff. Couldn't hurt, and besides, what else was there to say? Tell her she was a bad girl, going off getting stoned and getting fucked by some creep twice her age?

  They came to the hotel. Lucy kept her arm around Ellen, Claud on a short leash, and walked her through the lobby. "You guys do room service?" she asked at the desk.

  "We can bring something up if that's what you want," the man said, looking at Ellen, then at Lucy. "She all right?" he said softly.

  "Fine. Just tired," Lucy said. "She's been a little sick."

  "I'm OK," Ellen mumbled. "Just wanna sleep."

  "Could you have them bring up a couple burgers, a salad, some fries, a beer and a coke?"

  "No problem. Twenty minutes OK?"

  "Perfect."

  Lucy got them into the room, then helped Ellen undress and took her into the bathroom. Lucy got her in the
shower and turned it on, warm, then hot, then cold. The cold jolted Ellen into consciousness, and she shrieked. Lucy made her stay in the cold water for half a minute, then turned if off, helped her dry off, and gave her a flannel shirt and a pair of sweats to wear. Lucy took a quick hot shower herself. When the food arrived they ate, then shared the king size four poster bed, with Claud warming their feet. Ellen passed out quickly, and Lucy, all aches and pains, relief and anxiety, stayed awake for a long while wondering what to do. Wondering if she'd done the right thing, helping this child steal away from Tremonton, Utah.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WHO DONE IT?

  Dotty Longford hated to call Arthur at work, because it made him angry, and Arthur angry was a tense, fearful presence—but this was different. Ellen had been bad and he would want to know. He always wanted to know when Ellen was bad, and she had been very bad. She had cut school, and now at four o'clock in the afternoon she was nowhere to be found. When she hadn't arrived home on time for her restriction Dotty called school. They told her Ellen hadn't come today, not for classes and not for detention either. Did Mrs. Longford not know where she was? Should they call the police? She remembered the last time Ellen ran away, and how Arthur had not wanted the police involved. He'd said it was a family matter. And so she lied. "Oh, no, don't bother, I forgot...I believe Mr. Longford's taken her down to see her aunt in Brigham City." Then she'd put the phone down on the kitchen table and headed upstairs. Without knocking she had opened the door and peeked into Ellen's room. The shades drawn made it dark and it smelled a little off but that was Ellen. A secretive girl, she had odd ideas, filthy habits. She would leave cottage cheese to turn on the windowsill, or dirty underwear on the bathroom sink. Dotty refused to clean up after her. You never knew what you might find. And so she closed the door on the dark smell and went down to call him.