The Way of Women (6 page)

R
ockin’ and arollin’, eh?” Frank clamped the phone between ear and shoulder.

Harry Truman’s string of cuss words blasted his ear.

“Okay, old man. I hear you. So things are falling off the shelves up there on the mountainside, and your cats are ricocheting off the wall in fear.” Frank nodded to the young officer who beckoned from the doorway. “I gotta go, Harry. I’ll try to get up there tomorrow.”

“There’s a woman outside who says her son ran off, hasn’t been home for three days.”

“Why’d she take so long to get on in here?” Frank paused as his desk shuddered. Another one. The quakes were coming closer together.
Swarms
, the government guys called them.

“She says she tried to call us but could never get through. I’m kind of wondering if—you know—she’s all there.”

“Now, that’s a police term if I ever heard one.”
Dumb young punks were supposed to get some kind of training at the academy, just not sure what kind. Two o’clock and it feels more like five
.

They’d had a meeting just this morning with some of the government hotshots, some saying the mountain could blow any second, others saying it could be years. No one knew what was going on, and he was gettin’ on to not caring. Just let him run his office and get out of his way.

“Maybelle, honey, could you check your records? See if we got any calls from …” He glanced to the deputy.

“A Mrs. Betty Jones.”

“How old you say her boy was?”

“Fourteen?”

“And did she check with his friends?”

“Said so.”

“And he’s not been to school?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Bring her …”

“No calls listed to that name, Frank.” Maybelle glanced to check on the waiting room. “Is that her?” Her whisper made the deputy draw closer.

“Yes ma’am.”

“I see.” She turned back to Frank. “Let’s go back to your office.”

Frank reviewed his study of the woman wearing baggy gray sweats, her mousy hair pulled back in a club. Her swollen face showed the ravages of tears, or something.

He followed Maybelle down the hall. “What is it?”

“Poor woman.” Maybelle sighed before looking at the sheriff. “Her only son died three years ago. She’s been hospitalized at Steilacoom off and on.”

Frank felt himself shut down, like a door slamming in his head. He kept from uttering the words he was thinking, only because he knew Maybelle would be offended.

“How about if I take her home with me?”

“Right. Maybelle Hartman, keeper of lost waifs.”

“You have any other suggestions?”

The floor trembled beneath their feet.

“Guess we’ll have to get used to them, right?” Frank motioned toward the floor.

“Makes my heart near to stop, but guess so. What do you say?”

“Sure, take her home for the night until we can get ahold of her doctor.”

“They might just put her back there.”

“Would that be so bad? At least she’d be safe.”

“She’s not a danger to anyone. Just lookin’ for her boy.”

Frank watched his dispatcher leave the room.
All heart, that woman, but don’t cross her once she gets her mind made up
. He turned back to his paper-shrouded desk.
If only a big wind would blow through and take all the forms and reports away
.

I could be just like that woman
. The thought made his stomach clench.
I need a drink
. He glanced at the clock. With no emergencies he could leave at five. Leastways that’s when he was supposed to leave. He should stay and clean up this mess.

When five rolled round he was out the door and on his way home. He passed the bar without a qualm. No one was going to drive him home tonight. He had plenty on hand, and besides, he didn’t feel like talking with anyone.

Sometimes laughing and BS-ing fit his mood, but tonight—tonight he wanted to be alone. Tomorrow was the day.

Some anniversaries were better forgotten. If only he could.

Three years since the worst day of his life.

I
n spite of her expectant tremors, the first blast caught her by surprise. She had hoped to seep the pressure off bit by bit, but the heat within crescendoed until she could feel her snowy mantle begin to melt and slip away, a lady’s shawl discarded in haste. Ash dirtied her spring gown of white. Tears formed a gray brown-stream pouring from a wound in her crater. While the initial discharge relieved some of her turmoil, she realized that the pressure remained. The worst was yet to come.

S
orry, miss. You can’t go any farther.”

Jenn frowned at the young trooper. She knew he was only doing his job, but that fact did nothing for her spirits. She donned her “charming” smile. “Look, I grew up here. I know this area like the proverbial back of my hand.” She peered at his nametag. “I also know, Officer Tanner, that you can make exceptions to any rule. Can’t I sign a release that says I’m going up at my own risk?”

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “Governor Ray said no exceptions. I’m just obeying orders.”

Jenn thrummed her fingers on the steering wheel of her rented four-wheel-drive pickup. Getting up to Spirit Lake gnawed like a rabid badger at her insides. “Look …”

“What’s the problem, Tanner?”

Jenn turned her head at the commanding voice. It sounded vaguely familiar.

“This lady insists on going up to Spirit Lake, Sheriff.” Officer Tanner stepped back from the truck window at Frank’s gesture.

“Now, ma’am, I’m sure Officer Tanner here has explained the situation.” McKenzie tipped his hat brim back with one finger.

“Hello, Frank.” Jenn removed her oversize dark glasses and turned in the seat to face him. Would her childhood idol even recognize her?

“Well, I’ll be blowed over.” Frank’s smile made it all the way to his hazel eyes for the first time in months. “Jennie’s come home.” He turned and grinned at the young officer as if he should be excited too.

Jenn flinched at the diminutive. Jenn was okay, J. E. better, but Frank wouldn’t know that.

“Yes sir.” Officer Tanner glanced back at the cars lining up behind the pickup. “Uh, maybe since you know this person, you could, um …”

“You’re right. You go deal with those others, and I’ll take over here.” Frank waved in dismissal. “Thanks, Tanner.”

Jenn studied Frank briefly during his exchange with Tanner. The man had aged! He looked like he could barely crawl out of bed. Had his family’s tragedy made him physically ill? When he turned back and leaned closer, she caught a whiff of whiskey. Did it take a drink to get him out of bed every morning? Her musings failed to alter her smile. What were they? Two of a kind?

“Sorry for all that.” He extended his hand. “Welcome home.”

“I won’t be home until I get up to the lake. Can’t you do something about that?” Her eyes darkened with intensity. “I
have
to get up there.”

“I know you do, squirt. You and The Lady always had a special affinity.” The ancient nickname slipped out without his awareness. “Park your truck over there and come with me. I have to go up and try to talk old
Harry Truman out again. Won’t do any good, but it’s a great way to spend the morning.”

“Thanks.” She felt like bouncing in the seat, just like she used to. Strange, so many memories she hadn’t thought of for years.
What is happening to J.E. Stockton?
Man calls her squirt, and she immediately regresses to that tomboy who tagged along behind Frank even after he joined the county force, even after he brought home his bride.

She parked her truck at the back of the parking lot and swung her camera and daypack out in one fluid motion when she stepped from the cab. The camera was an extension of her soul, her graceful body a product of years of grueling dance and ramp work. She started to lock the door but brought herself up short with a small grin. She was home. No one locked houses here, let alone cars. Cowlitz County was a far cry from the crime-ridden city where she made her living.

She opened the door of the forest-green Blazer and froze. The massive German shepherd facing her from the seat lifted one lip slightly. The growl remained in his throat, audible only to Jenn. An expletive escaped before she clamped her mouth shut.

Sig watched her, waiting for her next move.

“Frank. Call off your dog!” Jenn matched the monster, stare for stare. He was magnificent. Frank laughed, a carefree sound that Jenn failed to appreciate.

“Backseat, Sig.” He rumpled the dog’s alert ears and thumped him on the shoulder. With a thrust of his powerful hindquarters, the animal pushed himself over the seat. He assumed his sitting position on the rear seat, tongue lolling, eyes still on the woman.

“She’s a friend, Sig. A friend.” Like a soldier ordered “at ease,” the dog immediately relaxed and, with a quick swipe of his tongue, cleaned the sheriff’s
right ear. Frank wiped his ear dry and extended a hand to pull Jenn’s backpack into the center of the seat. “You’re not afraid of him, are you?”

“No. Just respectful.” She followed her gear in. “Eye to eye, no one with any brains would argue with him.” Jenn looked over her shoulder to accentuate her point, then slammed the door. “I’m ready when you are.”

When Frank failed to move, Jenn glanced up. At the intensity of his gaze, she locked herself into an assumed nonchalance, one of the poses for which the camera made her famous. Her head tilted slightly as if resisting his gaze.

Frank studied her, his piercing stare wandering from the top of her head, lifeless hair easily tamed with a bone clasp, to her eyes, the purple shadows under them huge in her face. He noted the hollows under the cheekbones, the once strong chin, now all bone, her neck no longer graceful but gaunt. “You look like something out of a death camp. What has that city done to you? Or what’ve you done to yourself?” He grabbed her chin in brutal fingers and turned her face to the light. “You fall or someone work you over?” The bruise on her temple tried to tell its own story.

“None of your business, Frank McKenzie.” The ice in her voice belied the fire in her eyes. “Besides, look who’s talking.” She jerked her chin free, conscious but uncaring that there’d be another bruise. “You’re only forty-four. Yet you look sixty—and a sick sixty at that.”

“Yeah. Well, I guess I earned my scars the hard way.” The cynical bite in his tone contradicted the desolation in his eyes.

“And you think I didn’t?” Blue eyes locked with hazel, as if the two were sworn enemies rather than friends who’d been separated for years. Jenn gave up the contest, hating the emptiness she saw in his soul. “Frank.” She laid her hand on his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d have gotten over that by now.”

“I know. What’s a wife and kid in the grand scheme of things?”

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“Yeah. I know.” Frank worked his hands loose from the steering wheel. He shifted the Blazer into first, checked his side mirror, and pulled out onto the road. “Let’s go rout out old Harry, squirt.” He reached over and patted her knee. “Maybe he’ll pour us some of his special stock as a welcome home for ‘the face of the seventies.’ He has one of your magazine covers up on his wall, you know. Along with all the other celebrities who’ve visited the lodge. Says he knew you before when …”

It was obvious that they were to return to banalities, so Jenn buried her ravaged feelings and dug her camera out to mask any pain in her eyes. Why could this man crack her armor with a few choice words when no one else had even nicked it in the last years? And heaven knows, they’d tried.

The gray clouds scudding overhead matched the turbulent, gray river. Both mirrored Jenn’s feelings. The brief flareup with McKenzie only served to deepen the depths of her grayness. She was counting on the mountain to bring her back to life, but each milepost they passed intensified her fear rather than heightening her anticipation. What if the mountain were dying too?
Don’t be stupid!
She cut her thoughts off. Mountains don’t die. Only people and living things die. And dreams. And hopes. She glanced at the hard profile of the concentrating driver. And those you love. Dying is hard, but murder? She tried to comprehend how he must have felt. The horror eluded her, but empathy and its cousin sympathy found a home. She shifted, staring out the window, to hide the drops seeping from her eyes. When that failed, she rolled her eyes upward, clenched her jaw, and commanded her emotions back into their burrow. Who was she crying for anyway? Frank? Herself? The Lady?