by Lynn Bohart
Although none of us had seen Chloe, Amelia seemed to see her all the time. She even had conversations with her–or so she said.
“Tell her, Mommy!” Amelia insisted, watching the small whirlwind. “It’s important.”
Caroline reached into her pocket. “Amelia wants you to take this,” she said, handing me the small object.
I took a small folding knife from her hand. It had a tiny compass embedded in the handle. As I turned it over, I asked, “Why this?”
Caroline shrugged, as if embarrassed by the gift. “I’m not really sure.”
The whirlwind grew larger, swirling dust and leaves. Everyone looked around with surprise now, and stepped back.
Amelia was the only one who ignored Chloe’s presence. She simply said, “Chloe wants you to take it. She told me.”
And with that, the whirlwind evaporated. The leaves floated to the ground.
There was a pause, as I’m sure each of us wondered what might happen next.
Nothing did.
I turned to Amelia. “Did Chloe say why she wanted me to take this?”
She shook her head, making her curls flop around. “No. She just said that you had to take it and keep it with you. You have to promise.”
There was a sense of urgency in her voice, giving me a slight chill. Rudy and Doe had joined us, and I looked at my companions and the resignation on their faces. Did this portend of some impending danger?
“Okay,” I said, slipping the small knife into the pocket of my jacket. “I’ll keep it with me at all times.”
Amelia’s face brightened. “Okay. I wish I could come with you.”
“Sweetie, we’ll be going to the beach soon,” Caroline said, grabbing her hand.
Amelia kicked her foot into the gravel. “I know. But Chloe’s going. I want to go, too.”
“Oh, dear,” Caroline said, giving me an apologetic look. “Uh…sorry. Look, we better get going. Drive carefully and be sure to do some sightseeing.”
I thanked her and watched as she and Amelia disappeared around the end of the big motorhome.
When they were out of earshot, Blair spoke up. “What the heck did that mean?”
My fingers fiddled with the knife in my pocket. “I don’t know. Chloe’s probably just being cautious. Having a compass isn’t a bad idea when you’re traveling across country.”
“Do you think Chloe’s coming with us?” Rudy asked.
I chuckled. “Not without Elizabeth.”
“Great,” Blair said with a huff. “Well, they’re not getting my bed.” She turned and stomped into the motorhome.
CHAPTER FIVE
Doe drove the first leg of the trip, taking us up into the Cascades on I-90, through Snoqualmie Pass and eventually into Leavenworth. We stayed in the picturesque town long enough to stroll down the Bavarian main street and browse through a few shops. We stopped for lunch, and then by two o’clock, we hit the road again and followed the Wenatchee River down the valley, past the small town of Cashmere and over the bridge that spans the mighty Columbia River.
Since most of the rain clouds blow in off the coast of Washington State and dump their load before crossing the Cascades, the other side of the mountains is high-desert dotted with apple orchards, wineries, small towns and signs for Grand Coulee Dam.
As the afternoon wore on, I felt the stress from the last few weeks begin to drain away. Thoughts of murderers, crazy people and serial killers faded into the background. This trip was a good idea, I thought.
It was almost four o’clock that afternoon when David called. I was checking my Facebook page and put my iPad down to answer the phone.
“How’s everything going?” he asked.
“Great,” I replied. I was sitting in one of the leather swivel chairs and turned to look out the window at the flat, dry landscape. “This is pretty sweet. We can grab a drink or something to eat any time we want. No need to stop even to go to the bathroom. And all in first-class style. How’s your case going?”
“Not so good. There’s been no trace of the girl. Her mother is distraught. Her stepfather seems almost relieved she’s gone. And her birth father is a prick.”
I erupted with a short laugh. “David! That doesn’t sound like you.”
“Sorry. But he is. He’s in D. C. and even though we’d like to talk to him, he won’t make the trip back to this Washington. Too busy, he said. He just wants us to do our job and find his daughter. Like I said…”
“I got it,” I said. “Any suspects? Don’t you always look at the family first? What about the stepfather?” I realized I sounded like something out of one of the many mysteries I read.
“He could be good for it. His company is in trouble, so he might need cash. We’re checking him out now. But the girl’s boyfriend is also missing. A kid named Dylan Masterson. According to her mother, Amy broke up with him Friday night.”
“Does he have a troubled past?”
“Some involvement with drugs,” he said. “He’s a bit of a bad boy. That doesn’t mean he’s good for it, though. We have a task force set up between us, Seattle PD and the FBI. So it’s all hands on deck. But, hey, no more talk about crime stuff. I miss you, Babe.”
“Babe? I like that,” I said, blushing.
The cupboard above my head popped open and a bag of potato chips fell onto the table in front of me.
“Oh!” I said in surprise.
“What is it?”
I began to chuckle. “I think Chloe came on the trip and wants us to hang up.”
“Well, I have to go, anyway. I just wanted to check in.”
“Listen, good luck with the case,” I said. “But get some rest, too. I plan to keep you plenty busy in Chicago.”
“Whoa, I like the sound of that. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
We hung up and I went back to relaxing.
The afternoon waned to early evening as we passed through Spokane on I-90, the interstate that would serve as our yellow brick road to Wisconsin. Spokane sits only twenty miles from the Idaho border. Most of us had been there multiple times, so even though it was the site of the 1974 World’s Fair, there was no reason to stop.
We kept going, heading for Coeur d’Alene, a posh community just beyond the border in Idaho. Rudy had made reservations at an RV park on the lake there.
It was just after 5:30 p.m. when we checked in at the Wolf Creek Campground. It sat in a gulley with a small stream running along the backside and trees surrounding everything. A single-lane paved road ran through the campground, with RV slots on both sides. The lake glistened to our left as we drove in.
We were assigned slot number 28 on the far side, away from the lake. A bank of trimmed bushes separated each RV slot, giving privacy to the campers, and most sites were shaded by trees. Each campsite offered a picnic table, fire pit and a well-used barbeque.
Since Rudy was driving now, Doe climbed out to act as guide. Rudy expertly backed the enormous vehicle into the slot, stopping with a jerk when Doe gave her a wave. While cool in the RV, the temperature outside hovered around 85 degrees. The difference hit me as we got out of the RV to prepare it for the night. We hooked up the electricity and water and brought out the lawn chairs and lantern.
Once we were settled, Rudy walked up to the store, which sat at the front entrance. She wanted firewood. We had each put $500 onto a debit card that would be used to pay for gas, food, campsites and anything else we needed. If there was money left over when we got back, we’d split it.
I had volunteered to make dinner our first night out and got a pot of Italian spaghetti sauce simmering. I used one of the fancier bottled brands and then added cut-up veggies and my own combination of spices and a little red wine. To top it off, Doe had brought homemade meatballs.
Blair came up behind me as I worked at the small counter. “You need help?”
“No. I’ve got this.”
“Okay. I’m going to change.”
She disappeared into the bedroom as I began to make
garlic bread. I was wrapping aluminum foil around a loaf of French bread I’d already lathered with butter and garlic salt when Doe came into the RV. She pulled out a blue and white checked table cloth and a small basket of silk flowers from one of the cupboards.
“I thought we were eating outside.”
“We are. But no reason we can’t be civilized.” She smiled, grabbed a sponge and the bottle of Lysol and climbed back out to dress the picnic table.
A moment later, Blair came out of the bedroom wearing denim crop pants and a V-necked t-shirt that showed enough cleavage to make a strong man whimper. She sniffed the spaghetti sauce.
“Smells wonderful. God, what is Doe doing?” she said, leaning over the sink to peer out the window.
“What does it look like? I’ve always thought her home could substitute for a clean room at a research facility.”
She chuckled. “You know she has two cleaning ladies that come each week. Then she spends most of her free time cleaning up after the cleaning ladies.”
I spied Doe’s crisp white slacks and sleeveless print blouse and smiled. “I know. She’s clean and perfect right down to her toenails. Even when she’s camping, she looks perfect.”
Besides being a clean-freak, Doe was a workaholic. I suspected she had brought work with her; we just hadn’t seen it yet.
“I wonder if she brought an iron,” Blair murmured.
As Doe shook out the tablecloth outside, Rudy appeared from around the end of the motorhome with an armful of firewood. She dumped the wood next to the fire pit and shook off her dirty hands.
I watched her, thinking once again how different we all were. Doe never had a hair out-of-place, while Rudy was usually dressed for the sport of the day and often smelled of suntan oil. Blair dressed from head-to-toe for men, while I liked my loafers, denim shirts and jeans.
I left the sauce to simmer and followed Blair outside. I noticed she had on her three-inch heels. Once again, I smiled.
“I guess we are who we are,” I said from behind her. I was looking at her shoes.
She glanced at me and then down to her heels. “Hey, why shouldn’t I look good for the resident wildlife?”
“And by resident wildlife I assume you mean the local squirrels and other rodents?” Rudy quipped.
“You’re just jealous,” Blair responded. “With your bad knees you can’t wear high heels anymore.”
“Just one bad knee,” she said. “The one I had replaced is as good as new.” She shook out her left leg to demonstrate.
“Let’s face it. You were never much into heels, anyway,” I said. “You’ve always been more of an Adidas kind of gal.”
“Adidas schmidas,” Blair said with a shrug. “My feet don’t feel the same in anything but heels.”
“It never even dawned on me to bring heels or anything fancy,” I said.
“Did you happen to bring a lighter?” Rudy asked me.
“Yeah. It’s in that box.”
“Okay, I want a fire later.” She went to the side compartment.
“I’ll bet Rudy will be the first one to snap on this trip,” Blair said, watching her.
“Snap? In what way?”
“Get mad.” Blair turned to me. “What’s the longest period of time any of us has been together?”
I hunched my shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe five or six hours.”
“Bingo. We’re going to be together for six plus days. I might have to restate my prediction.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think Rudy will be the first one to try and kill one of us.” Blair smiled sweetly and said, “I’ll get the plates and silverware.”
As she returned to the motorhome to get the dinnerware, I watched Rudy carefully stack the wood in the fire pit, wondering if Blair was right. Would we all be at each other’s throats by the end of the trip? I couldn’t imagine that. We’d been friends for years and despite the difference in our personalities, we got along great.
Twenty minutes later, we were positioned around the checked tablecloth, serving spaghetti and garlic bread onto blue Melamine plates. Doe had made a small salad, and I’d opened a bottle of wine.
“Here’s to an uneventful trip,” I said, my glass raised high.
“Here, here,” Doe said, joining in the toast.
Rudy held her glass up and then paused. “And by uneventful you mean…”
“No one trying to kill us,” I said.
She grinned. “Okay, I’ll toast to that.”
We dug into dinner with the sounds of a crowded campground as our backdrop. I glanced around, relishing in the comfort of my friends and just being outside.
“This is delightful,” I said, swallowing a mouthful of spaghetti. “Everything smells so fresh. I wonder what those trees are over there.” I pointed to a thicket of trees just beyond the rim of the park where a breeze had kicked up the rattle of leaves.
Doe looked up. “Quaking Aspen, I think,” she said. Doe loved to garden, despite her anathema towards dirt. “I brought my plant encyclopedia with me. I’ll look them up later. So far, I’ve seen a Bitter Cherry tree next to the store, and that’s a Garry Oak,” she said, pointing across the road.
I smiled to myself. It appeared we might also get a running commentary on the surrounding plant life as we moved from state to state.
The sound of raised voices made us look up with a start.
Across the road was an old, dirty white Jayco RV parked under the branches of that Garry Oak. The RV was shorter than ours with faded red and blue stripes, accented by rust and dirty water streaks at the upper corners. A stocky man with thick dark hair and a short beard slammed open the door and stepped out. He was wearing a stained undershirt and turned back and yelled inside, “Just keep…quiet.”
The middle part of his sentence was lost, but a female voice responded with something that sounded like asshole, making him snarl and storm off toward the store.
“What were you saying about the resident wildlife?” Rudy asked Blair.
She smiled. “Not my type.”
Rudy scoffed. “I didn’t know you had a type.”
“Quality versus quantity,” Blair said.
We all chuckled, and then Doe said, “Have you heard anything else about Senator Owens’ daughter, Julia?”
“No, except her boyfriend is now missing.”
“Was he abducted, too?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. They just want to talk to him, but can’t find him. He and Amy broke up the night before she disappeared.”
“What’s his name?” Doe asked.
“Dylan Masterson,” I replied.
Rudy’s eyes lit up. “I wonder if he’s related to Joe Masterson. Elliott plays handball with him.”
Elliott was Rudy’s ex-husband and a man we all suspected might be worming his way back into her good graces after leaving her for a mid-life crisis.
“Do they think the kid had anything to do with it?” she asked.
As someone who spent most of her time outdoors, Rudy’s skin looked like soft, tanned leather. When she smiled, deep lines accented the corners of her mouth. Right now, she furrowed her brow.
“I don’t know. They just want to talk to him.”
She seemed lost in thought for a moment. “I might call Elliott later and see what he knows.”
The burly guy with the beard from across the way returned a few minutes later with a paper bag in his hand. He climbed noisily into the motorhome and once again, slammed the door. We were treated to more raised voices. Fortunately, it didn’t last long.
“I won’t be sorry to say good-bye to them when we leave in the morning,” Doe murmured. “I want only quiet, contemplative days on this trip.”
“Then you’d better take a nap when Blair drives,” Rudy said. “I have a feeling she’s going to get frustrated the Hulk isn’t a sports car.”
Blair merely smiled to herself as she swirled spaghetti onto her fork. “The Hulk is like any other man. You just have to kn
ow what to stroke and when to stroke it.”
“Blair!” Doe said, nearly spitting out a mouthful of wine.
“Maybe we should rename the RV,” Rudy said, laughing. “Instead of the Hulk we could name it Tom Cruise.”
“I’d prefer Sean Connery,” I said with a chuckle.
“How about Kevin Costner?” Doe added.
“No. No,” Blair demurred. “It has to be the Hulk. After all, the Hulk would have the biggest…”
“Blair!” we all yelled in unison.
She smiled and wrapped her lips around the forkful of spaghetti.
After dinner, we chatted about potential side trips. Rudy brought out her Atlas and pointed to the Big Horn National Recreation Area as a possibility. We decided to stop there if we had time, but ruled out Yellowstone since once again, most of us had been there.
Dessert was the bag of brownies April sent, something Blair had to ignore because of her diabetes. The rest of us were savoring the chocolate decadence when Rudy said, “Now there’s a sight you don’t see often.”
I glanced up. A young girl on a pink bike with training wheels came rolling by. Her mother was jogging slowly next to her, her triple D+ bosom bouncing up and down like giant water balloons.
“Gee, do I smell a whiff of sarcasm in that remark?” Doe said, waving her hand in front of her nose as if someone had farted.
“Well, that’s gotta hurt,” Rudy said, watching the woman disappear up the road.
“You’re just jealous,” Blair sniped.
She was referring to Rudy’s less than robust chest.
Rudy turned to Blair with a steely-eyed glare. “At least I don’t trigger a seismic event when I exercise.”
“No, it would hardly register on the Richter scale,” Blair sniped back.
Rudy waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Don’t waste words on people who deserve your silence,” she said, before pretending to zip her lips closed with two fingers.
“Who said that?” I asked her.
“Mandy Hale,” she replied. “I’m sure Blair has never heard of her. She wrote The Single Woman. A book Blair would never read.”
