“No, no you’re not. I don’t know what’s wrong, but you’re not well, girlfriend.”
I managed a quick look down the hallway. The window was closed.
“Were you out for a run or something?” I asked.
Loretta sent a glance toward the window. “Something like that.” She looked back at me. “It’s my freedom. I like to get out and walk around without anyone in an authority position knowing about it. Gives me some control over my life.” She looked at me and half-smiled. “Weird, huh?”
“I don’t know.”
“I thought that’s why Viola called the middle-of-the-night gathering last night, shoot me or at least yell at me. Imagine my relief when that wasn’t it.”
I looked at her. “Was the timing right? Could she have heard you and thought someone was rummaging around the dumpster?”
“Yes ma’am. I already thought of that.”
“You should tell her.”
“No ma’am.” She shook her head. “I didn’t steal no stupid snowshoes and I didn’t throw them in the garbage. I don’t know who did, but like I already told you, I think she made it up.”
“It might put you on her good side if you tell her. She might understand.”
Loretta laughed once. “No. You know, Beth from Denver, life sure can suck sometimes. When I roam around at night, I feel free, like I’m not the idiot who keeps getting caught and either locked up or sent to some bumblefuck in the middle of nowhere. I don’t want that taken away.”
“You weren’t meeting anyone? What about the wildlife out there? All of it?”
Loretta shrugged. “I’d rather get eaten by a bear than miss my midnight walks.” She squinted at me. “I want to be a better person, Beth. But it’s not that easy sometimes.”
I nodded.
Another memory swept through my mind, one I hadn’t thought about in a long time. A good one.
We’re gonna try and help some of them, Beth, but some are beyond help. Breaks my old heart right into a million pieces.
Tears sprang to my eyes when I thought about my grandfather. Still, even after all these years, and after the terror I’d been through, memories of Gramps brought me to tears more than any other memories. I blinked them away quickly.
“You just walk around?” I said.
“I do. That’s it. I couldn’t run farther into the woods if I wanted to, but I don’t really want to. If I watch my p’s and q’s, I should be free in a few months. And, again, I’ll try to do better. We’ll see.”
I nodded again. Gramps wouldn’t think Loretta was a hopeless case, but I wasn’t sure what he would do or say to her. I wished I did. I wished I knew some magic words that would help. But I didn’t.
“Hey, I heard George Rafferty was fake sleeping today,” Loretta said. “You know anything about that?”
“I don’t know about it being fake, but I know he woke up. I don’t know what he said to the police. You think there’s any chance he could be responsible for his wife’s death?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t know them like Trinity and Willa seemed to.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “It’s just that … I don’t know, I’m not good at friendships, getting to know people.”
I laughed once but then covered my mouth with my hand. For a few long beats, we listened, but it seemed no one else was awakened. “You seem like you’d make a lot of friends.”
“No, Beth. I’m friendly, but I don’t make friends. There’s a difference.”
“True.” I felt sorry for her, but I didn’t really know why. If Gramps were alive, he’d tell me not to.
Stay on your toes, Beth, criminals work hard at getting sympathy. Most of the time, it’s undeserved, but we’ll still try to help.
“Want to tell me more about the stuff I paid you for earlier?” I said.
“Why, you got more money?”
“No.”
Loretta laughed this time, but it was quieter than mine, more practiced at laughing furtively probably. “Well, I don’t have any more scoop. I’ll let you know if I hear anything else, but none of that stuff is as interesting as me getting out of here as soon as I can. My only vice is my night walks.”
“I understand.” I wasn’t so sure I believed her though.
“Are you going to tell on me?” Loretta asked.
“No,” I said easily, but I wasn’t sure what I would do.
“Thanks. Now, let’s get you back to your room. You need rest. Actually, you probably need to see a doctor, but from what I’ve seen, there are none of those around here,” Loretta said.
I stood. “I can get back on my own.”
“Uh.”
“If you get caught downstairs, you could be in trouble, right?”
Loretta shrugged again.
“You stay up here.” I paused as I looked at her. “Be careful out there.”
Loretta laughed once. “I’ll be fine. Until I’m not, and that’s okay too.”
I nodded slowly, in deference to the slight pain still in my head, and made my way downstairs. I could tell that Loretta waited at the top of the stairs, probably wondering if I’d stop by Viola’s door more than if I’d make it to mine.
I walked right by the boss’s room, hearing the same snore I’d heard earlier. I didn’t smell Levi anymore. I didn’t hear him either—for now at least. I was finally tired. I went to my room, closed the door, put the chair underneath, and wished for snacks for only a few more minutes before I finally fell fast asleep.
Fourteen
Dear Baby Girl,
Boy, oh boy, do I miss you. Call me when you can.
Quick and dirty update. Detective Majors—and isn’t she something else?—too young to be doing what she’s doing, that’s for sure—told me about a van sighting over in Weyford. I went out to explore. Twice now, actually. The first time I met the old woman who’d seen the van outside her farmhouse. Geneva Spooner. We don’t know that name, do we? I don’t think so. Anyway, she’s exactly what you might expect; old, all about the Bible, and living in a house full of doilies.
Anyhoo, there are tire tracks across the old highway in front of her place. I talked to her and it sure sounds like the van you were in—old, brown, Chevy or something like it. It might be a real lead. Majors thinks so too.
I talked to Geneva the first time I stopped by, but I forgot to go over and take pictures of the damn tracks. So, I went back the next day. Turns out it was a good thing I went back. That second time, Geneva came at me from across the road like a woman with a mission. She told me that she thought the van had been there again, the night before. She’d looked out her window and saw what she thought—but it was dark and all—was someone walking on top of that goddamned van. At first she didn’t recognize that’s what it was, but after she thought about it, that’s the conclusion she came to. She was going to call Majors and tell her, but she hadn’t yet. We went to look together, and I’ll be horse-tied but that old woman helped us find something good. Maybe.
Up in the trees was a pink blanket, or something.
You can bet all your money and your love that I called Detective Majors and her merry band of idiots, I mean officers, right then and there. Even I know a good lead when I see one. Do you remember anything about a pink blanket?
I don’t know what will come next, but I used some Bible talk on Geneva—eye-for-an-eye shit—and told her to call me first if she sees the van again. Don’t know if she will, but if so, I’ll hightail it back out there and take care of that motherfucking piece of shit. We’re getting closer, I can feel it.
I’m heading over to Milton to talk to Stellen the stud too. Want to make sure he’s keeping the secret as to who you really are. I’ll let you know.
Call me as soon as you can.
Love, Mom.
I was both pleased about a possible lead—though I didn’t remember a pink blanket—and nervous that my mother was on the loose.
Damn. I was worried, but probably not as mu
ch as I should have been.
I read the email twice more, and then thought again about a pink blanket. I had nothing. Not one pink thing came to mind.
I needed to let Detective Majors know about the email ASAP. But I also wanted someone to take care of Levi Brooks, and I knew my mother didn’t have to follow police procedures. Besides, she’d do whatever she wanted to do anyway. I had complete faith in Detective Majors, in all the police, in fact, but maybe I just needed to let this one play itself out. I wasn’t sure.
“Stellen the Stud” was Chief Stellen Graystone, the police chief of Milton, MO. He was the man who still sat behind the desk my grandfather used to sit behind, at least that was the case about eight years ago when I last went to visit my old stomping grounds. He was a good man, a good police officer, but he couldn’t possibly make sure everyone in the town of Milton, MO, kept my secret. It was an angle I hadn’t considered much—I had thought about it some, but maybe not enough. Most of the residents of the small town knew their Beth Rivers, the beloved granddaughter of Dusty Sherwood, the best lawman in the history of lawmen, was the author Elizabeth Fairchild.
However, keeping my identity a secret had been a sort of unspoken bargain I’d made with the town. They were protective of me—because they’d loved my grandfather—but who knew what they thought of me or my secret all these years later? Mom wanted to make sure that at least the Milton police force was remaining mum. That might not be possible. In fact, I wondered, maybe they needed to become involved in the investigation. Now, there was an angle I hadn’t thought about, but maybe because they knew me, they should be helping, or conducting their own investigation.
I didn’t know. And I didn’t know exactly what to do. I was far away, thankfully. Mom had dealt with so many different police over the years. For now, I’d just let her handle what she needed to handle. She was good at calling in the authorities when she thought it necessary. I hoped.
Considering the lack of sleep the previous two nights, I woke up with an even bigger sensation that I was on the road to healing, in many ways. Physically, the wounds were continuing to fade, little by little. My emotional healing would take longer, but I would work on it.
Last night’s time with Loretta made something else clear too. Busy was good, very, very good. I needed to stay as busy as possible and I was intrigued enough by the local mystery to want some answers, maybe for an article, maybe not. I needed my own form of midnight walks, a good sense of my own freedom.
I was convinced that if Linda Rafferty had been murdered, it had nothing to do with me or Levi Brooks. Her death was no less tragic because of that realization, and I still wanted to know what happened to her—now, more than ever. It wasn’t the writer in me. It wasn’t the budding journalist (whatever form that would take), it was that cabin. I’d seen the inside of it. I’d seen Linda’s blood. Maybe my grandfather’s determination to find the truth, solve crimes, and try to reform some of the criminals, was something he’d instilled in me more deeply than I’d recognized before now, before I’d heard his voice in my head last night.
As I’d finally slept some the night before, I hadn’t dreamed about Linda, Gramps, Loretta, Levi, or even that mysterious phone call Detective Majors was investigating. I’d dreamed about my father. Almost every day of my life, I had fleeting thoughts about him, but it had been a long time since he and my mother’s obsession over where he’d gone had loomed so large in my thoughts that I remembered complete scenes from the days we were an intact family.
Last night, though … It hadn’t been a misshapen dream, but a replay of something that had actually happened.
“Bethie buttons, sit right there and let me practice on you.” He lifted me up to the hood of a car, my dirty legs hanging over the side.
I’d been playing in the mud, like any normal country girl who lived near a Missouri river.
“Practice?” I said.
“Yes. Now, what is it that I sell?”
“Cleaning supplies, Daddy!”
“No.” He held up a serious finger. “I sell so much more than that. I sell extra time, I sell pride in your home, I sell luxury, baby girl. Luxury! I make women’s’ lives better, more beautiful.”
“Cleaner!”
Dad laughed. “That’s right.”
But then his face fell, as if a cloud of sadness came over him suddenly.
“Daddy?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I was just remembering a time when I didn’t make a beautiful woman’s life better.” He forced a smile. “And that’s why I need to practice, I suppose. Here we go.”
* * *
I wasn’t aware if I’d ever before remembered that moment in time. Was it significant in any way, to what happened to him, or what recently happened to me? Were my tragedies overlapping or elbowing each other for space? Was it all just random stuff or would it come together to mean something important?
Over the years my mother had asked continually if I remembered my father behaving strangely or differently in any way. I had called up a few moments, but never that one.
To my knowledge, my father had never before asked me to watch him rehearse, and I still didn’t remember what happened next. Had he actually rehearsed? I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t be sure.
I shook my head and thought maybe I was getting too much Alaska fresh air. I sensed that I was spending too much time away from the current moment in time. Memories, flashbacks—they weren’t overtaking all my hours, but it seemed like they were with me too much.
I double-checked the lock on my room door, grabbed a burner phone, and dialed Dr. Genero.
She answered after three rings, her voice hesitant. “This is Dr. Genero.”
“Hey, it’s Beth.”
The doctor sighed. “I wondered. Are you okay, Beth? Hang on.” I heard noises as if she was moving to another space. “Okay, I’m in my office alone now. Talk to me. Tell me everything.”
I told her I had flown to someplace far away and that I was safe. I didn’t tell her where I’d gone, but I tried to make my destination sound more rural than urban. She interrupted to ask if the flight, the altitude had bothered my head.
“No, and I’m feeling very well right now, but I had a couple of moments of white-hot pain. I’ve never had a migraine before, but I wonder if that’s what they were.”
“Probably. How long did they last?”
“Only a few minutes.”
“Just two times?”
“So far.”
Dr. Genero sighed again. “It’s probably nothing to be concerned about. But, Beth, I really wish you’d come back. I’d like to be able to observe your progress for a few months at least.”
“You said I was going to make a full recovery.”
“And that is true, but, still, I’d like you to be close by just in case. It was brain surgery,” she said.
“I’m not coming back, Dr. Genero, so we’ll just have to make it work. There’s a city close by. I’ll find someone.”
“A city, not a local person close by?”
“I’m not so sure about the local doctor.”
“Did the headaches send you to her or him?”
“No, it’s just a small town, and I ran into him already. He was busy. He didn’t even ask about the scar yet.”
“I’ll get in touch with him if you’ll let me.”
“No, I’ll talk to him soon.”
“You’ll tell him who you are?”
“No. I’m telling everyone I fell off a horse.”
“I suppose that’s plausible. Have you ever ridden a horse before?”
“No.”
“Hopefully, you haven’t escaped to a ranch somewhere.”
I laughed. “I haven’t.”
“Good.” I heard the smile in her voice. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I’m sorry I ran away, but I hope you understand how necessary it was.”
“You did what you had to do. I’m glad you called.”
“Dr. Genero, along with the headaches, I’m also remembering other things, in flashbacks and dreams.”
“About your time with Brooks?”
“Some, but there are other things too. Childhood memories; things I hadn’t remembered before.”
“I see. Any disturbing images? Scary stuff?”
“Any memory I have of my time with Levi is bothersome, but not graphically exaggerated. Not yet at least. You know my father disappeared when I was young?”
“Yes, your mother told me.”
“Right. I’m remembering him, and my long-dead grandfather too. Moments I don’t remember thinking about before. They are surprising, though not all bad.”
“I see. Well, the brain is a mysterious thing. At the risk of over-simplifying, you stirred things up in that noggin of yours. Who knows what’s going to rise to the surface. Are the memories disturbing your sense of well-being, your sleep?”
“No. I wasn’t tired last night until late, but when I was tired, I was able to sleep and the dream I had was good, though vivid and more a memory than anything imagined. I do feel safe here.”
“Write everything down. That’s for two purposes. One, it helps put memories in order, but secondly, I believe that writing these things down gives them less power over you. Give it a try at least. I do think you’re still healing. I think it will get better.”
“I will write things down.”
“All right. How’s your vision?”
“Fine.”
“What? I hear something else in your tone.”
I hesitated as something occurred to me. “I wonder if I’m remembering my father, my grandfather, so my brain can avoid remembering the man who abducted me. I’m a little afraid of what I’ll remember next about him, and, yet, I want to remember something that will help the police find him. Could my brain be reaching for other things, so the horrific things don’t get top billing?”
“It’s possible, but anything is, at this point. I wish you were here, Beth. You need to have someone to talk to about this stuff on a consistent basis. Someone you can be honest with.”
“I’ll work on finding someone.”
Thin Ice Page 12
