Stutter Creek (7 page)

All at once, standing in the driveway of her beloved cabin, Beth felt uncomfortable and exposed. She recalled the very thing that she had been trying to avoid thinking about—the boy. Or rather—the vision of the boy. She pushed away a maddening strand of hair. The night air was getting colder by the second. Her sweater was suddenly not enough. She rubbed her upper arms, trying to rub away the chill. Was someone watching her?

Turning a slow circle, Beth scanned the close tree line. She let her mind see, the way her father had taught her, vision widening, almost blurred, able to see the whole picture at once. Gestalt, her dad called it. See gestalt. And so she did. But there was nothing there that shouldn’t have been. She was just getting herself worked up.

Once again, she turned toward the cabin. It was a small log structure, two rooms and a bath. The back room was just large enough for two double beds and a tiny, built on bathroom that beat the heck out of the outhouse they used the first few years. The square of light from the picture window at the front of the house fell upon the scant snow like thin buttermilk.

She stepped onto the porch just as a shadow crossed the window. For a split second, the snow reflected a dark shape moving across the light.

Beth hesitated, hand on the old-fashioned knob. It’s just an insect, she thought, a large moth flying against the light fixture. It has nothing to do with the shadow-dream. Nothing! She exhaled, turned the knob and stepped inside. The cabin felt cozy. She could almost smell her father’s after-shave, the scent of wood smoke that always reminded her of him.

If only he were here . . .

She quickly unpacked her jeans and shirts. She’d added a couple of sweatshirts and flannel shirts due to the season, and of course the required T-shirts, and she folded them all into the deep drawers of the chest between the beds. Socks and underwear went into the upper drawer, and her jacket she hung on a peg driven into the wall.

All done, she collapsed into the recliner in the living room/kitchen combination. The smell of her father was beginning to overwhelm her. His aftershave, the spicy aroma he’d worn year round, and the real smoky scent from the fireplace were surrounding her. She began to blubber, and this time the tears would not be stopped; they flowed freely, almost silently. She wiped them away on the sleeve of her shirt as she stared into the lovely, crackling fire. When she was finally done, she felt lighter, cleansed, almost hollow again.

Leaning back, Beth put her feet up and told herself she should fix something to eat. And so thinking, she drifted off to sleep, the rough corduroy fabric of the old recliner pressing trenches into the side of her face.

Outside the small cabin, a gentle breeze licked at the fresh snow, the moonlight illuminating the footprints of the fox in the driveway, and the footprints of a man near the creek.

Chapter Nine

“I can’t just sit here, waiting,” Kami told her mother. “I’m going to pick up Corey and we are going to drive every inch of Mandy’s route from her dorm to her work.”

Barb nodded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Do you have your cell phone?” she asked hesitantly.

Kami smiled and held it up. “Don’t worry. I’ll call as soon as we find her.” Her voice cracked and she leaned over and hugged her mother tightly. “I’m calling Aunt Jean to come over and be with you while I’m gone.”

Her mother started to interrupt, but Kami held up her index finger. “No, don’t argue. It’s a done deal. If Dad were still alive, I wouldn’t bother. But he’s not.” She hurried out the door, already pressing numbers on her keypad. Over her shoulder she called, “And don’t forget to lock your door!”

Sixty-five miles away, in Yellow Bend, a tiny suburb of Pine River, Officer Frank Lujan was about to make a discovery that would have him questioning his decision to become a police officer instead of a firefighter like he had once intended.

He’d only been a solo patrol officer for a couple of months, so when he saw an animal run across the street dragging something that looked like a human arm, he pulled the cruiser to the side of the road, slammed the gearshift into Park, and jumped out to give chase. It was only after the coyote dropped the arm that Officer Lujan realized it really
was
human.

“I thought it was part of a store dummy,” he kept repeating when his backup arrived. “You know, one of those mannequin things. I didn’t seriously think it was . . . real.”

He couldn’t say anymore. He was too busy attempting to regain his composure and figure out what to write on his report. Meanwhile, his backup had arrived and was on the radio calling for the Medical Examiner. After he signed off, he asked, “Which way did the coyote come from?”

Officer Lujan pointed to the east. “I guess I should start searching in that field.”

The experienced officer shook his head. “First we’ll cordon off the area. Then we’ll wait for further instructions.” He adjusted his utility belt. “Sarge might even want us to wait until daylight. Be less likely to trample evidence if we can see it.”

The rookie understood the logic of waiting. But it really tested his patience to stand by, knowing that animals might be chewing on the remains of a human out there somewhere. He was very relieved when the Chief herself came down and told them a cadaver dog and its handler were being brought in as soon as possible.

Lujan and another officer stood watch the rest of the night, and when day broke, the dog was brought out. Within four hours it had pinpointed the rest of the young woman’s remains. Dental records would be required to identify her. All they could tell for certain was that she had been a blonde female. There were traces of blonde hair still attached to her skull, and the Medical Examiner said the pelvis was definitely that of a woman.

***

Beth was groggy and disoriented when she awoke around three a.m.. For a moment, she had the idea she had run off the road and was stuck in a ditch. She expected the strange little boy to show up at any moment, but then the moonlight through the picture window reminded her where she was. The light was still blazing from the overhead fixture as well, because she had never gotten any further than the recliner. The fire was also still going, but now it was smoldering, glowing instead of crackling brightly.

After everything she’d been through, plus her experience beside the road, Beth was completely wiped out. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d eaten. As if on cue, her stomach rumbled loudly. Nothing like a little mental and emotional turmoil to work up an appetite.

She pressed a hand to her middle and wandered to the fridge while mentally cataloging the interior, which she had so recently filled. She rubbed her eyes again. Tiny lights flickered at the edge of her vision. Tired, she thought, rubbing gently. Too much driving and crying. Ought to write a country song. She laughed morosely. The lights flickered again, briefly. She switched on the single bulb over the sink, turned off the higher watt fixture over the table. Too much glare, maybe? Colored sparks jumped away into the air just outside her normal field of vision. If she tried to actually see them, they were gone. If she went gestalt, they were there: bright darts of light like a rainbow of electrical sparks.

“Damn,” she turned on the tap to splash water on her face. “Hope I’m not getting a migraine.” She’d had migraines when she was younger, none for years though. But with the stress she’d been under, anything was possible.

The water was cold. It woke her even more, but the flashes of light were still there. She shook her head. Maybe some food will help. She spread butter on bread for pan-fried toast.

“Couple slices of toast with peanut butter, maybe a dab of grape jelly, nothing like a little comfort food.” Her voice in the empty cabin was quite loud.

Beth sighed. She still wasn’t used to being alone.

The tiny kitchen was just big enough for one person. She moved from fridge to stove with ease. Her dad had always let her help in the kitchen, even when she had been too small to reach things, he would sit her on the counter and hand her whatever needed to be stirred or peeled or opened or poured. She remembered very clearly the first time he let her chop vegetables . . . she’d felt so grown up. Abby had been the same way. She loved to help in the kitchen and sit on the counter. She especially loved helping her Grampa. They were so close.

Why are we always in such a hurry to grow up and leave, Beth wondered? She sat at the small pine table and pondered that question. It had been on her mind a lot lately. But of course it would; she was missing both her dad and her daughter. And her once-best-friend, Sam. But I won’t think of him. I just won’t!

The toast turned to sawdust in her mouth and the memories crowded around like crows on a highline wire. Just the thought of how Sam had been when they were first married was enough to bring on the tears.

Oh what fun they’d once had, hiking, camping, exploring, and traveling. Loving. It had been an endless summer vacation. Try as she might, Beth couldn’t really see where they’d gone wrong.

Heart heavy, she pushed away the once-good memories and poured herself a glass of milk. The toast she scraped into the garbage can. Now that she had let the memories in, they were rushing about her head just like the darting lights had done a few minutes earlier. “Sam, Sam, Sam,” she whispered, angrily swiping at the tears that kept leaking. “Why? I thought we had such a good thing. Twenty years . . . how can anyone just throw it all away? It would be easier if you’d died, like Dad. At least then my good memories would still be good—not tainted.”

She sat back down in the recliner and let the memories flow: playing catch with an old baseball in the backyard when they were in their twenties, her wedding ring flying through the air because she’d gotten so thin from, according to her dad, living on love.

How amazed she had been when her new husband had taken an old costume ring and tossed it from the same place she had tossed the baseball, and how the cheap ring had landed deep in the thick grass within a few inches of her own precious wedding ring. The one she couldn’t even look at now. The one that was locked up in her new safety deposit box back home, along with the twenty thousand in cash that her dad had left just for her in a thick envelope inside his old sleeping bag. Just in case you need some mad money, the note had read in his strong block print. That was what he always said when she was a teen and had first started going out with groups or on dates.

“Love you,” he would say. Then he would press a ten or twenty into her palm and whisper, “Just in case you need some mad money.”

She’d found out the hard way what he meant when she was barely sixteen and a school party had almost turned into her undoing. Rather than ride home with Cindy, her old friend and the girl who’d brought her, Beth had stupidly accepted a ride from a senior boy who just naturally assumed that since she was smitten with him, she was going to put out a little for his effort.

Fortunately, they hadn’t gone far when she figured it out by the way his hand kept straying to her thigh. She had jumped out at the first red light, headed for the nearest convenience store, called a cab, and used the mad money to pay for it. And she never told her dad. She was so ashamed that she had done exactly what he’d always told her not to do. She’d gotten into a car with a boy she didn’t really know.

But she had learned her lesson, and she never had to use the mad money again. When she was seventeen, she took all the unused money she’d been saving and bought her dad a new car stereo since his old one only played tapes, not CDs.

That was all so long ago. Now we’ve got satellite radio and iPods. And he is gone, too. Obsolete.

Beth shivered, either from the cold, or from the cold loneliness that had crept in again. When Sam left, she’d been in a total state of shock, then her dad died and all her friends and relatives came in an took over. They made all the arrangements, and they stayed with her and kept her from going insane. They also took care of Abby. Of course, her new son-in-law, Terry, had helped tremendously. But eventually they had all gone on with their lives. Just as they should have.

Now, she was truly alone. It was time, because if someone else had continued making all the decisions, then Beth might never get back on track. Cindy had been prepared to move in and stick around for “as long as it takes.” But Beth had finally grown a backbone and sent her home, too. In the long run, it was for the best. Both Cindy and Abby were just a phone call away if she needed them.

She wondered aloud if her life would have turned out differently with someone else—John, for instance. She shook her head, scolding herself for such silly thoughts. We were little more than children. But the memory of his clear green eyes and strong, tanned arms warmed her. At least for the moment.

Chapter Ten

Kurt was getting antsy. He’d bought the Styrofoam ice chest and pup tent at Wal-Mart in Pine River a week after he’d snatched Danny from Albuquerque. Kurt loved Wal-Mart—so big and anonymous. The very place to find everything he needed. He’d known he would need a hiding place once he started implementing his plan. Cops start getting very suspicious when young women go missing.

He’d stashed the tent and supplies in the forest so he and Danny could go to ground when needed. He thought he knew where the cave was from the map he’d printed off Dave’s computer. Actually finding it was another matter. Amanda Myer’s cell phone probably had GPS. But cell phones were traceable. Anyone who watched cop shows on TV knew that was a sure fire way to get caught. He and Danny would just have to search using the new compass he’d bought. The cave was going to be his safe haven.

He was sitting on top of a boulder near a little creek as he surveyed the scene. The gurgling of the water calmed him. He wanted to make it the soundtrack for the demise of his next victim. Too bad he was going to lure her to his car using Danny as bait, just like he’d done with the other two.