She scanned the menu board, where the pies were listed in the neat handwriting she recognized from the road sign. She stepped up to the counter and began an internal debate between cranberry and apple. Rufus dug in the dirt.
“What can I get you?” The woman behind the counter studied her with thoughtful green eyes.
“Which of Pattie’s pies is better—the apple or the cranberry?”
The woman laughed, open-mouthed. “Well, seeing as how I’m Pattie, and I made them both this morning, I’d have to say either one will be the best darn pie you’ve ever eaten.” She pursed her lips and glanced at the truck. “Iowa, huh? You’ve come a long way. I’ve got something special for you.”
“What’s that?” Aroostine addressed her question to the top of the woman’s head as Pattie ducked below the counter.
She reemerged holding a brown pastry box. Through the clear window on the top of the box, a light golden top crust glinted with a dusting of sugar.
“This is an off-menu pie. It’s cranberry-apple with sugared pecans. I don’t take orders for it. I think you’ll love it.” She grabbed a sturdy-looking white bag and maneuvered the pie into the bottom of the bag with a careful, practiced motion.
“That’s so kind of you. I can’t wait to taste it. But I’m traveling alone—except for Rufus here—and I can’t eat an entire pie. Or I shouldn’t, at any rate. I only want to buy a slice.” She gave Pattie a sheepish smile.
Pattie wasn’t having it. The woman drew herself up to her full, if meager, height and puffed out her chest. “I’m not selling you the pie, I’m giving you the pie. And I’m not cutting that beautiful specimen into pieces. No ma’am.”
Aroostine opened her mouth to argue but Pattie shut her down with a steely look. Pie was not the hill she planned to die on. Besides, how could she turn down an entire free pie? She hoped she’d had the foresight to pack sweatpants to accommodate the post-pie bloat.
“Um, wow, thank you. That’s very kind.”
The other woman nodded, satisfied. “You’re very welcome. Now, I have plates and plastic forks if you want to dig in at the picnic table, but I’m about to close up for the day.”
“I have dishes and utensils in the camper.” She pivoted and waved her hand in the direction of the pop-up.
When she turned back to face Pattie, the woman had finished packing up the bag and was extending it.
“Here you go.”
She took the proffered bag. “Are you sure I can’t pay you?”
“Positive. As long as you enjoy it, that’s payment enough, Ms. Jackman.”
It took a few seconds for the words to register. By the time she formed the question, Pattie was leaning over the counter and pulling the wooden window closed. Aroostine took several quick steps back to avoid being smacked in the head. The window shut with a firm bang.
She waited a moment and listened to the sounds of Pattie bustling around inside, getting ready to lock up. She looked down at Rufus.
“We could wait her out. But I get the sense Pattie doesn’t have anything else to say to me. Let’s go set up camp and eat some pie.”
Rufus thumped his tail in agreement.
She led him back to the truck and he hopped up into the cab. As he turned circles on the seat to find a comfortable spot, she unclipped his leash. Once he was settled, she tucked the bag into the footwell.
The dog gave it an interested sniff. She fixed him with a stern look.
“Don’t mess with my pie while I’m driving. It’s for when we stop.”
He yawned and licked his right front paw.
She adjusted the bag to square it up with the front of the footwell and spotted a thick business-sized envelope wedged between the pie box and the side of the bag. She used two fingers to pluck it out and examined it as she circled the truck to the driver’s side.
The cream-colored envelope was unaddressed and sealed. She slit the flap open with her fingernail and removed several pages of letter-sized paper folded in thirds. She opened the driver’s door and mounted the step up into the truck, scanning the sheets. She settled in behind the wheel and read the first page:
R.,
Sorry to stand you up. I thought it might be better if we weren’t seen together yet. Here’s a list of folks you might want to talk to, a map of the area where it happened, and some other background info that might help. I figure this is enough to get you started.
Thank you for what you’re doing.
Enjoy the pie,
E.
She set the note aside and paged through the remaining sheets. A handwritten list of names and addresses of people who might have information. Ellis had helpfully jotted down a sentence or two about how each person knew the Glassers. Then the photocopied page from Joy-Lynn’s yearbook. Ellis had circled the girl’s picture with a marker even though her name was printed under the photograph. She scanned the girl’s activities: Cherokee Language Club, Kindness Club, Art Ambassador.
She stared at the sea of faces like her own in something akin to wonder. She had been the only Native American in her school from kindergarten through senior year of high school and tried to imagine what it would be like to fit in. She’d walked the halls of her schools with the weight of being different pressing down on her shoulders. At some point, she stopped noticing her own outsider status and it became part of who she was, who she still is.
Now isn’t the time. Stick to the case. You’re here to find the girl.
She studied the picture. Joy-Lynn looked happy enough. Her broad smile lit her face. Her eyes met the camera head-on with a sparkle. And she wore mismatched ribbons in her hair. A trend? Or Joy-Lynn displaying her artistic sensibilities?
She examined the photograph for another long moment, only looking up when Rufus whined. She reached over to scratch his ear and spotted Pattie sprinting from the pie shack to her car. She must’ve gotten tired of waiting for Aroostine to leave.
For a heartbeat, she considered chasing after the woman and demanding more details about Ellis and the Glassers. But Pattie was just a courier. Aroostine’s eyes flitted to the bag on the floor. And a baker of deliciousness. There was no point in harassing her. No, she’d take her list of leads and her cranberry-apple goodness and move on.
She lifted a hand in a farewell gesture as Pattie executed a neat three-point turn and headed down a dirt road, aiming for a farmhouse that sat up on a distant hill.
Aroostine refolded the three sheets of paper along their creases and returned them to the envelope, which she decided to stick in the glove compartment for safekeeping.
She reached across, stretched to open the glove box with the very tips of her fingers, and stuffed the envelope inside. She knocked the truck’s maintenance log out of the compartment and it landed on the floor beside the bag with the pie.
Grumbling under her breath, she crawled over the seat and retrieved the log. The sight of Joe’s precise printing on the front of the book hit her in the chest and she struggled to breathe.
She smoothed her hand over the cover and closed her eyes.
Joe, I miss you so much.
She strained her ears to hear his response but the only sounds were her heart beating in her chest and Rufus’ even breathing.
Please talk to me.
Nothing.
Suddenly she felt as lost and adrift as she had all those years ago, trying to find her place in Walnut Bottom High.
Tears welled in her eyes and she pushed them back with the heels of her hands. She took a shaky breath and slid the log book back into the glove box. She snapped it shut with a forceful click.
“That’s not how it works, and you know it,” she told herself aloud. “You can’t conjure the dead on command.”
Rufus pawed at her leg, maybe in response to the painful crack in her voice, and the touch eased her tight heart.
Joe’s spirit was with her. As was her grandfather’s. She knew that. But, like her grandfather, Joe’d reveal himself to her when she needed his guidance
along her path. He wouldn’t come to her just because some middle school yearbook picture had stirred up old feelings of loneliness.
She squared her shoulders and turned the key in the ignition.
“Let’s set up camp and have some pie,” she told Rufus in a voice that sounded more like her own.
He gave a soft woof of agreement. She shifted the truck into gear and set off for the campground.
She pulled into a spot in front of the campground office while the sun began its descent, dipping below the mountains. The entire sky was awash in bands of orange and purple.
She stopped for a moment to soak in the sight and felt her chest loosen with every deep breath of cool mountain air. She turned her head to follow the path of the glowing streaks of light as they ribboned through the clouds to kiss the treetops.
She gave herself a little shake. Majestic as the sunset might be, if she didn’t get cracking, she’d be setting up the pop-up trailer in the dark.
She spared a final glimpse and hustled into the log structure to check in.
She waited while the ranger behind the desk leaned over the counter to examine a glossy map in the hands of a tall, bald guy. The ranger took the map and pointed out a popular whitewater rafting route. The man nodded enthusiastically and circled it with a pink highlighter.
While they finished their conversation about the most reputable outfitters and the level of the rapids, she shifted her weight from side to side and looked around.
The square space seemed to be a standard-issue park office. A display of Plexiglas-covered informational posters and historic photographs hung on the wall to her left. Three racks of t-shirts, sweatshirts, and ponchos were arranged in a neat row on the floor beneath the display. To her right, several shelves of overpriced canned goods, toiletries, and paper products awaited forgetful or unprepared campers. A long rack of pamphlets against the right wall held brochures for whitewater rafting trips, horseback riding excursions, nearby museums, casinos, restaurants, and other points of interest. The town of Cherokee, with its Native American cultural activities, had a strong presence in the materials.
As the rafter asked the ranger about the campfire rules, Aroostine’s eyes drifted to a bulletin board affixed to the wall above the pamphlet rack. A flyer for a campground dog-walking service caught her eye.
She didn’t think she’d be leaving Rufus alone in the camper for long stretches. But he did love to feel the wind in his face. Maybe having a backup in case she got busy wasn’t the worst idea. She walked over to the board and tore off one of the strips of paper with the walker’s contact information.
Her gaze fell on another flyer pinned to the board below and to the left of the A Walk in the Park’s advertisement. Her breath caught in her throat and she froze to stare at a missing poster.
Joy-Lynn’s yearbook picture stared back at her. Beside it, was a much less flattering photo of Marlene Glasser. Her expression was blank except for the tight line around her mouth. Unlike Joy-Lynn’s color picture, her mother’s was in black and white. Something about the woman’s steely gaze and the despairing droop of her shoulders made Aroostine think it had come from a work ID badge.
She glanced over her shoulder. The ranger and the rafter had their heads bent over the map again. She snaked out her hand and yanked the sheet of paper down, leaving only a thumbtack and a minuscule scrap pinned to the cork board. Her heart thrummed in her ears. She folded the page into quarters and stuffed it in her pocket.
She stood there and stared blankly at the flyers and event announcements until her frantic heartbeat slowed and her pulse returned to baseline.
The bald rafter boomed a goodbye to the ranger and clomped out of the office in his heavy hiking boots.
“Miss?” the ranger called to her.
She turned and flashed him a smile. “Just checking out this dog-walking service.” She waved the tear-off strip in the air and hoped her strained voice didn’t set off any alarm bells.
The ranger nodded, beaming. “I’ll tell you, you won’t do better than A Walk in the Park. Rory loves dogs likes nobody’s business, and she’s as responsible as the day is long even if she is only twelve. And I’m not just saying that because she’s my kid.”
She grinned at the proud father. “In that case, I’ll definitely give her a call if I need a hand. My dog Rufus loves kids.”
She walked over to the counter.
“Well, let’s get you checked in, Ms. Jackman, so you and Rufus can make camp before nightfall.”
Her eyes widened. For the second time in an hour, a complete stranger had called her by name. She was beyond grateful Carole had suggested she use the alias. She didn’t necessarily plan to break any laws on this mission, but any tracker worth her salt liked to leave little to no trace. Apparently, that was out of the question here, but at least she could leave a false trail.
“How did you—?”
He chuckled. “You’re my last check-in of the day. Woman traveling with one dog.” He nodded toward the front window. “Iowa plates on your vehicle. Simple process of deduction.”
She managed a laugh. “Whew, for a minute there I thought you were a mind reader.”
“Nah. I just pay attention.”
She nodded. It took every ounce of her self-control not to glance back at the empty spot she’d left behind on the bulletin board. It was only a matter of time before the eagle-eyed ranger noticed the missing poster was, itself, missing.
“Okay, so I have you staying three nights.”
“That’s right. If I need to extend, will that be a problem?”
He shook his head. “Not at this time of year. Now, if you were here in late May or early June, there’d be no chance. We book up like you wouldn’t believe for the synchronized fireflies.”
“Synchronized …”
“Ah, I’m sorry. I’m prone to ramble. Let me get you all squared away in the system before I start babbling and you end up setting up your trailer by flashlight. Will you be putting this on a card?”
“No, cash.”
Three minutes later, she exited the office with a brochure about the fireflies, a complimentary dog treat and poop bag for Rufus, and plans to meet the ranger’s dog-walking daughter before the girl got on the bus for school in the morning.
She wrestled with the camper assembly, swearing and sweating. She should’ve skipped the pop-up, tossed a sleeping bag and a tent in the back of the truck, and saved herself all the effort. But the camper’s pullout bed was surprisingly comfortable.
“I’m getting soft, Rufus,” she informed the dog once she’d finally managed to get the contraption level.
He eyed her over the treat in his mouth with an expression that suggested he agreed.
“You’re one to judge. You didn’t even lift a paw to help me.”
She wondered at what point her one-sided conversations with a dog slid from the ‘slightly charming, if goofy’ category to the ‘this lady has issues’ category. After some thought, she sadly concluded that shift had happened some time ago.
She cut herself a slice of pie and settled in on the couch/bed to dig in. Rufus nestled into her side companionably, jockeying for the crumbs. She smoothed out the folded missing poster and studied it while she ate.
The heading bellowed “MISSING WOMAN AND CHILD” in bold capital letters. In addition to Marlene and Joy-Lynn’s names, dates of birth, and vital statistics (eye color, hair color, height, and weight), the poster read:
Marlene Glasser may be armed. The child is in grave danger. If seen, do not approach. Contact ISB Special Agent Patton Banks at the number below if you have any information regarding their whereabouts.
She set the plate on the floor for Rufus to lick clean and poured herself a glass of water from the jug in the mini-fridge. She held up the poster and studied it while she thought for a minute.
Special Agent Patton Banks, huh? Someone at the ISB was getting a jump on the case while the bureaucratic wrangling continued. No mention of the murd
er itself, which was … a choice. Special Agent Banks must’ve chosen to highlight the fact that a girl was missing to whip up interest and concern in the hopes it would generate leads where information about the murder of a two-bit criminal was unlikely to garner much interest. In fact, the claims that Marlene was armed and volatile and Joy-Lynn was in danger could well be fabricated from whole cloth.
Aroostine didn’t know the first thing about the ISB, but she did know from personal experience that some federal agents played by their own set of loose rules, which included subterfuge, deception, and outright lying as time-honored practices.
Still, though. If the allegations were true, she had to know. If Joy-Lynn was in danger from her mother … it changed things. Carole and Ellis might have hired her to find the pair—well, hired was a stretch seeing as how payment hadn’t been mentioned—but if she needed to extricate the girl and turn the mother over to the authorities, she had no problem doing so. She knew firsthand that maternal instinct sometimes mutated into something that could be less savory and even downright cruel.
In an instant, she was four years old again:
* * *
Her mother, passed out on the floor, a grease fire raging on the dirty stove. Her entire small body trembled as she shook her mom as violently as she could.
“Mommy, wake up. Mommy,” she wailed.
The flames were licking the wall now. Daddy was gone. Out partying, Mommy had said, explaining away her own party and all the empty cans scattered around the kitchen.
Grandfather lived nearby, but Aroostine’s family didn’t have a phone.
Her mind raced. Put out the fire? Or get out of the house?
The wallpaper over the stove ignited with a whoosh. Roo bit down hard on her lower lip and grabbed Mommy’s limp arms. She braced her feet, yanked with all her might, and pulled Mommy a few feet into the narrow hallway that led to the door.
She stopped and rested, panting hard. Then she took a deep breath and heaved her mom by the arms again. And again.
Crossfire Creek Page 4
