She pulled the paper out. It was a receipt from Big Horn Tire. She frowned, staring at it. Why was a receipt stuck in the door? The wind blew it from her fingers. She leaped after it, snatching it out of midair as it tumbled. The back of the receipt was face up this time.
Ben’s familiar handwriting was scribbled across it, tiny, and filling every speck of white space. Ben was here! Greedily, she read:
Trish, I’m not good enough for you or anyone else. I never will be. Bad things follow me around. You have such a great future ahead of you. I won’t be the thing that drags you down. I’m stopping at my old house to get some stuff and make some cash for my trip. I’m going where I can make money, and no one knows about me. I’m sorry. I will always love you, more than anything. Please keep the ring and remember me. Ben
Trish’s jaw clenched and unclenched. Tears flowed. This makes no sense. What is he thinking?! She read it again and could barely see the words through her tears. It didn’t make any more sense to her the second time. She started to read it a third time, then stopped. Standing, motionless, she tried to get her brain and heart under control. Something is wrong with him. This isn’t the Ben I know.
She hesitated only a second more before she wheeled around and ran for her truck.
Chapter Thirty-five: Leap
Buffalo, Wyoming
Saturday, December 31, 1977, 7:30 a.m.
Susanne
Susanne scrubbed at her eyes with a fist. Only a few miles to go until Buffalo. The Suburban veered as the foot of snow in a drift won its battle with the groaning wheels. It shocked her back into a state of high alert. Careless. I can’t be so careless. With both hands on the steering wheel, she fought her way back into the tracks of the eighteen-wheeler in front of her on the interstate.
She was just so tired. Unearthly, unbelievably, unbearably tired. After talking to Trish, she’d been in a panic. What had that call even meant? Ben was missing. Trish had to go. She hadn’t known what to do. Call Patrick at the lodge? She’d tried, but the phones were down. Call Vangie? She didn’t know how to get hold of her in Laramie. Call the police? Trish would never forgive her if Susanne had her pulled off a public bus. At least she’s not hitchhiking. But is the bus that much better? Besides, she wasn’t even sure what police to call if she did. Denver? Buffalo? The state police?
For better or worse, and she really hoped it wasn’t for worse, she’d decided to trust her daughter until morning.
So, she’d managed to hold herself together, and she’d herded an unrepentant Dian and a taciturn Esme into the Suburban and headed north. Trish hadn’t told Susanne where she was going, but she had said, “see you at home,” so that’s where they were heading, as fast as Susanne could get them there. Even if Trish was running away with Ben, Susanne believed she’d go there first. She’d left her suitcase with all her clothes and toiletries at the hotel. She’d need her truck. Her things. And if Trish wasn’t there when they arrived, Susanne would call Ronnie. Ronnie would know who to contact and what to do.
The atmosphere was as chilly in the vehicle as outside it. No one spoke a word for the first four hours. Susanne didn’t care. If they didn’t have anything positive or helpful to say, she’d just as soon they stayed quiet. And there was plenty of noise in her own head, a buzzing that she knew wouldn’t go away until she could pull her daughter into her arms. At least she hadn’t had a migraine. Thank goodness for her medicine. She’d taken two back in Denver. One in the morning, and one—dry—when she got in the Suburban.
But just south of Casper, they’d run into a major storm. A blizzard really, that made her glad Patrick had insisted on snow tires for her vehicle. It was coming down so hard and thick that it was like a stream of powdered sugar pouring from a heavenly cannister, except there was nothing heavenly about it. She turned on her low beams and strained to stay on the right side of the reflective poles on the side of the road. How come she’d never noticed how far apart they were?
It had been a struggle just to get to the outskirts of town. There, she saw neon signs proclaiming NO VACANCY at three consecutive hotels. Then she found the C’MON INN. The name had not been enticing. Beggars can’t be choosers. But she would have paid any price and stayed in any flea bag she had to at that point.
The hotel had been surprisingly okay, what she’d seen of it before she threw herself into bed with Dian. A cavernous log cabin interior. Hot tubs on individual patios. Greenery—fake—hanging off balconies. All Susanne cared about was how it smelled, the odor being the surest indicator of ongoing cleanliness, and the hotel and the room had smelled antiseptically fresh and the whole place slightly of chlorine. She couldn’t fall asleep, though, and spent most of the short night counting the minutes until they could get going toward her daughter again. Fortunately, when she went to the front desk at four a.m. to check the roads and weather, the worst of the storm had passed, and the plows were out. She’d rousted her unhappy companions and had them back in the car by four-thirty with hot coffee the desk clerk had made specially for them.
From Casper to Buffalo, the roads had been slow, but not slick. Susanne would rather drive on snow than ice any time. And now, they were only half a mile from the exit into Buffalo. Only three miles from the Flints’ home. Where Trish might. . . or might not . . . be. Dear God, let Trish be there. Where I can kill her with my bare hands for using the worst judgment ever.
Susanne’s brain started buzzing again, this time with irritation at her daughter. Had it even occurred to Trish that her choices had ended the weekend for Dian and Esme—not that it mattered, since neither of them wanted to be within a hundred miles of each other anymore, but Trish hadn’t known that—and forced the women to drive after her at night, putting everyone at risk? Had she thought of the dangers to a sixteen-year-old girl traveling by bus, from a big city terminal like Denver? Susanne had heard stories about bus terminals. Diseases. Thieves. Drug dealers. Sexual predators. About pimps looking for young runaways to hook into drugs and prostitution. Even serial killers. She shivered.
A crunching sound and blow to the front of her vehicle tore her attention away from her daughter.
She’d hit something.
In the backseat, Esme let out a series of piercing shrieks. Beside Susanne, Dian gasped once.
The hood of the Suburban folded on Susanne’s side like an accordion blind. Yet, whatever they’d collided with hadn’t been big enough to stop the Suburban, because it was still doing thirty miles an hour, albeit swerving in and out of the snow tracks she’d been following. She let off the gas and scanned for the other party to their accident, as she fought to keep the Suburban under control.
She didn’t want to hit it again, whatever it was.
But something about the way the vehicle was pulling to the left and a movement on the front driver’s side drew her eyes back to the front end of the Suburban.
Dian said, “Susanne . . .” and pointed where Susanne was already looking.
A huge buck mule deer’s rack of antlers was caught under the hood. All four of its hooves were scrambling for purchase. It had survived the collision, and it wanted away from the spinning wheel near its head.
“What is it?” Esme said, her voice a squeal.
Dian said, “Deer. Its antlers are stuck in our car.”
Esme started moaning.
Susanne’s first instinct was to stomp on the brakes. But that might send the car into an out-of-control spin. Her next thought was to steer right, away from it. Susanne didn’t want to run the Suburban off the road, but if she steered a little to the right, the deer might be able to break free.
“Buckle your seat belts,” she said.
“Already done!” Dian shouted.
Esme whimpered. “Got it.”
“Now hold on.” Susanne eyed the roadside. The terrain looked flat. The Suburban had slowed to ten miles per hour. It was now or never. If she was going to do this, it was going to require some muscle. She gritted her teeth and jerked the wheel to the right.
The Suburban lumbered off the shoulder.
“He’s loose,” Esme screamed.
Susanne’s heart leapt. She wished she could see the animal running away to safety. She hoped it would survive. But right now, she had to focus on getting the Suburban back on the road.
She steered to the left. Nothing happened. She pressed the brake. The Suburban didn’t respond, just kept heading to the right. It started to buck and bounce over ground that, underneath a foot or more of snow, apparently wasn’t as smooth or flat as it seemed.
And then the front end dipped.
“Oh, no,” Susanne whispered.
With a sickening tilt, the vehicle slid nose down into a ditch, where it landed with a jolt.
“Oomph.” Susanne’s upper body smashed into the steering wheel, diaphragm first. It knocked the wind out of her, and she couldn’t draw a breath. Dazed, she clutched her chest. Please don’t let my ribs be broken. She’d lose the high ground with Patrick if she hurt herself doing something as dumb as him. All she could hear was Esme’s muffled sobs in the back seat. Dian reached over and put her hand on Susanne’s knee.
When Susanne recovered enough to speak, she unbuckled her seat belt and said, “Is everyone all right?” The pain in her chest eased. But a stabbing sensation behind her eye got her attention.
“I’m okay,” Dian said. “It was barely a bump to me.”
“F-f-f-ine,” Esme said.
“Good.” Susanne turned up the heater. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Dian said. “And I think the deer made it.”
“I have to go take a look outside.”
“Do you need me to help you?”
“No. I’ll just be a minute.”
Susanne was already wearing her coat. She’d learned during her first year in Wyoming to always be prepared for the worst, which meant never shucking winter wear in a car. She donned her hat and gloves, then opened the door and hopped out. Her body sunk all the way up to the waist in powdery snow. Spit in a well bucket. She wasn’t walking the perimeter of the car unless she had to. If she fell over, she’d have a heck of a time getting herself up and out.
Once, when she, Patrick, and the kids were up in the Bighorn National Forest cutting down their Christmas tree, she’d separated from the group to find a place to answer the call of nature. Never mind that she’d asked to stop at Clear Creek Resort to borrow a real bathroom. Or that she only had one small scrap of Kleenex. Or that it was only ten degrees outside. She’d been irritated and wasn’t paying enough attention to where she put her feet. Down she’d gone into a snow-covered depression. It had probably been about three feet deep, but from a prone position it felt like a bottomless pit. She’d floundered for the better part of five minutes until Perry found her and sent his dad to pull her out. Her feckless husband and children had laughed at her for days. She was just glad she hadn’t pulled her britches down before she fell. But, honestly—she’d been scared nearly to death down in that hole. If she’d been truly alone, she didn’t know how she would have gotten out of it. With snow, things underneath weren’t always what they seemed, and it didn’t take an extraordinary amount to cause a heap of problems.
She braced herself on the edge of the Suburban’s door and peered around the back end. Amazingly, there was no snow up on the side of the ditch. She had a clear view of the path of their slide. And of the rear end of the vehicle. One of the back wheels was off the ground, by almost a foot. Not good.
She climbed back in, bringing a yard of snow with her. Her head pain intensified. “There’s no way I’ll be able to drive us out of here. We’re close to a gas station, though. A quarter of a mile. I’ll walk there and get help.” She reached for her purse, dug for her migraine pills, and fumbled with the bottle.
“Should we come with you?” Dian asked.
“If you’re up to it—and your footwear is.”
Esme yowled like a drowning cat. “I can’t. But I don’t want to stay here by myself.”
Susanne was sure Esme didn’t want to be stuck in the car with Dian, either. The woman was running out of options. While Susanne hated that she’d put them all in this position, she found she couldn’t squeeze out a drop of sympathy for Esme. Susanne needed to get moving. This predicament was costing her precious time searching for Trish. If she missed her at home, that would be the biggest tragedy of this situation, not whether Esme got her feet wet or had to sit by herself for half an hour.
A sharp rapping sounded on the window by her ear. Susanne startled and jumped halfway across the seat toward Dian, dropping the open bottle of pills. Esme screamed. Only Dian remained calm.
“It’s a woman,” she said. “In a uniform.”
Susanne turned to find herself gazing at a welcome sight. Her friend, Ronnie.
Susanne cranked her window down. “Are you clairvoyant or something? I was about to walk to a gas station and call you.”
Ronnie shook her head. “I was heading in the other direction and saw your car before you hit that buck. Geez, Susanne, you took ten years off my life. You know better than to steer away from an animal. It’s your life or theirs.”
“I don’t know what got into me. Too much Bambi, I guess.”
“I’m just glad you’re all right. How about your passengers?” Ronnie leaned in and looked at Dian and Esme. “Hello, ladies. I’m Johnson County Deputy Ronnie Harcourt. Former next-door neighbor of the Flints.” Gorgeous and nearly six feet tall, Ronnie exuded the confidence and competence of a ranch-raised Wyoming woman, and that was a whole lot of both.
“I’m good.” Dian reached over and shook Ronnie’s hand, introducing herself.
Esme lifted a limp hand in greeting. What does Barry see in her?
Susanne said, “We’re all good. Except that I’m mortified and embarrassed. And there’s one other problem that I need to talk to you about in a minute.”
“My truck is warm, and I can give you a ride home while I call for a tow. The snow’s deep here, though. You might do better crawling out the back end.”
“I can attest to that.”
Susanne picked up all the pills she could find in the floorboard and returned all but one to the bottle. She dry swallowed and put the container back in her purse. Three pills in twenty-four hours. That probably exceeded the recommended dosage. It wasn’t something she was going to confess to her husband, but she’d lay off them now. The women climbed over the seats to the way back and disembarked, bags and all. Five minutes later, Dian and Susanne had loaded their things and climbed into Ronnie’s truck.
Ronnie boosted Esme up. She got in herself and pulled slowly onto the roadway. “You’re headed home, right?”
“Yes. I can’t thank you enough.”
Ronnie lifted her radio mic and clicked the button. She arranged for a tow, then returned the mic to its holster. “I’ve been trying to reach Patrick about the O Bar M case for two days. Is he at home?”
“No. He and Perry are up at Clear Creek Resort. Dr. John put a group together to go play in the snow.”
Ronnie smiled. “I knew that but forgot. Dr. John’s annual guys’ trip. That’s a much sought-after invitation. Well, if you talk to him, tell him I need him.”
You and me both. Patrick had no idea his daughter had left Denver on a bus to find her runaway boyfriend. Susanne had decided to hold off talking to Ronnie about Trish until they got to their house, just in case Trish was there. She already felt like enough of a failure as it was. “Is there progress on the case?”
“A little. We can’t locate the ranch hand we’re looking for, but we did find evidence that there’d been an unidentified vehicle on the ranch. There was a knife near where it was parked, and it had fingerprints on it. We’re analyzing them now. I’m starting to think there was at least one more player, maybe driving a getaway car.” She pulled into the driveway.
Half-tuned out, Susanne said, “Patrick will want to hear that. I hope I can get hold of him.” She scanned the property for Tri
sh’s truck. It wasn’t there. Susanne knew her daughter was well, but it was no solace. Trish had come to Buffalo, all right. Come and gone. She put her face in her hands.
“Susanne, is something the matter?” Ronnie sounded worried.
Susanne drew in a shuddering breath and lifted her head. “We’re having trouble of our own.”
“Oh?”
“Trish. We were in Denver for a girls’ weekend, and she took a bus out of town.”
“What? That’s not like her!”
Esme muttered, “That’s not my experience with her.”
“Any idea why?”
Susanne shot Esme a look, then turned back to Ronnie. “What reason do teenage girls ever have for doing really dumb things?”
“Ben?”
“Yes,” Susanne said.
Dian reached for Susanne’s hand and squeezed it.
Ronnie sighed. “I heard he was arrested. Vangie and Henry dropped off Hank to stay with Jeff, Will, and me on their way to Laramie. Tell me what happened.”
“After Ben was bailed out, he skipped town.”
Ronnie’s jaw dropped. “What? Poor Vangie. And—oh my gosh—where did he go?”
“We don’t know.”
“And Trish?”
“I don’t know where she is, either.” Susanne pointed. “But her truck is gone. She’s been here this morning.”
“How do you know that?”
“She took a bus from Denver last night. Her truck was here when we left and now it’s not. I think she’s going after Ben.”
“That bus usually gets in around five, but with this weather, it was probably later. It’s only eight now.”
“She doesn’t have too much of a head start, then.” Dian patted Susanne’s leg.
Ronnie nodded. “Do you have her license plate number?”
Sometimes being married to Patrick paid off. He had insisted everyone in the family memorize the license plate and vehicle info for each of the cars they owned. Susanne gave Ronnie the make, model, color, and plate number for Trish’s truck.
Stag Party: A Patrick Flint Novel Page 19
