Authors: Wodke Hawkinson
“Take off the rest of your clothes
now, bunny,” he called pleasantly over the sound of running water.
The running water stopped and Zeke
walked back into the room, drying his hands on a towel. Watching her the whole
time, he tossed the towel aside and removed his jacket. A small piece of paper
fluttered out and landed unnoticed beneath the edge of the bed. “Come get in the
shower with me. We’ll both be more comfortable afterwards.” When Sue didn’t
move, Zeke snapped, “What are you waiting for?”
Sue hurriedly removed the rest of
her clothes and followed Zeke into the bathroom.
After their shower, Zeke paced the
small room. “We need to leave, Sue.”
She looked at him strangely. “But
we already paid for the second night.”
Zeke moved to the window and peered
out the curtains. “I don’t know why you care about money all of a sudden, the
way you blow through the bucks.”
Sue swallowed hard, wanting to
remind him that he had control of all the money. But she thought better of
arguing with him. “I don’t understand.”
He turned to face her, eyes
burning. “I’ve got a weird feeling in my gut, Sue. I always listen to my gut.
And right now, it’s telling me this place isn’t safe. We have to get out of
here. Now gather up your shit.”
Sue felt prickles crawl up the back
of her neck.
Safe from what?
They loaded the van in a hurry.
“Aren’t we going to check out?” Sue
asked as Zeke drove on past the office.
“There’s no time. Just trust me on
this.” He pulled out of the motel parking lot and sped down the street.
“This day has pretty much been a
waste so far,” Will told Roxie. He had stopped at a gas station to fill up the
tank, grabbed some coffee and beef jerky. He shifted the phone to his other
hand and paid for his purchase.
“Where are you now?”
Cold wind slammed into Will as he
walked outside and unlocked his car. “Just a sec. Let me get out of the
weather.” He set his cup in the holder, tossed the package of jerky into the
passenger seat, and pulled the door shut. “I’m about fifteen miles south of
LaBelle. I’ve stopped at every convenience store and gas station along the
interstate and have turned up zilch. I don’t think they’re on this road. I
think they got off the interstate somewhere along the way. I’m going to have to
backtrack.”
“Damn. That’s frustrating.” Roxie
empathized. “By the way, Sue’s parents have called several times.”
“What’d you tell them?”
“That there really wasn’t anything
new to report. I assured them you’re closing in and doing your best.”
“Anything else?”
“Not really. We haven’t had any
news either, nothing about the vehicle, and no police reports of interest. Oh,
except for the tag on the Honda. Turns out it didn’t have one at all, so that
wasn’t any help. I don’t know why the owner never got a ticket; maybe the back
end was covered in snow, who knows. By the way, Melvin has another list of
abandoned buildings you might want to check out, if you’re still working that
angle. He’s still checking motels, also.”
Will took a sip of coffee and
burned his tongue. It was that kind of day. “Email them to me and I’ll check
them when I stop for the night. Tell Melvin to keep at it. Right now, I’m going
to retrace my steps and go further a-field at each exit that looks promising.
There were a few small towns I didn’t check because they were several miles off
the interstate. I’ll give you a call later.”
“Sounds good.” Roxie hung up.
Will opened his jerky and bit off a
hunk before pulling back onto the interstate, this time heading north. Sighing,
he glanced at his watch; he was running out of daylight. Three small towns
later, the sky was almost dark and he had discovered nothing helpful. Fog
rolled in, obscuring visibility and slowing him down. Feeling defeated, he
continued down the interstate and exited at the first motel he saw, vowing to
get an early start in the morning.
After a quick shower, he opened his
atlas on the small table and sat in a shabby chair to plan his route for the
next day, squinting in the dim lighting of the room. He noted he’d have to
drive about forty-five minutes just to get to the first exit. There were still
three towns to check out: Bixley, a small farming village; Major, a touristy
hamlet that featured scenic river walks and historic B&B’s; and Merlington,
a moderate-sized factory town twenty miles off I-85. As he planned his route,
he felt his eyes growing heavy.
Leaving the map open, he pulled
back the bedding and turned off the lights. He unplugged his cell phone from
the charger and made his promised call to Roxie, dropped it back on the table,
and drifted into sleep.
Despite his best intentions and the
heroic efforts of his alarm, Will overslept. He wasn’t able to pry his eyes
open until nearly eleven o’clock. He didn’t realize he had forgotten to have
supper the night before until his stomach rumbled, a rude reminder that he
needed to eat. He shaved, and dressed quickly.
Checking his cell, he realized not
only had he slept through his alarm, he’d also missed a call from Roxie.
Waiting in line at a fast-food joint near the motel, he dialed the office.
“I tried to call you.” She sounded
chipper.
Will chuckled. “I know. I saw that.
I
way
overslept.”
“Well, don’t drive like a maniac to
make up for lost time.” Her voice held the bossy tone he secretly loved.
“I won’t.” He updated her on his
itinerary before hanging up, got his food order, and ate while he drove. The
fries were hot and salty, fresh from the oil; even the burgers tasted heavenly.
He wolfed the food down.
Most of the fog had burned off,
though the skies were heavy with gray clouds. It was a good day for driving;
the interstate was clear and traffic was light. After the food hit his belly,
Will’s mood turned optimistic and he hummed softly while he drove. The feeling
didn’t last, however, once he’d visited the first two towns on his list. Not
only did it take a while to get to each one, but stopping at every business
that seemed even a remote possibility ate up the hours. As he took the exit for
the third town late that afternoon, he noticed a burgundy van on the other
ramp, just merging onto the interstate. He only got a quick look and it
appeared the driver was alone in the vehicle. It gave him a start, nonetheless,
and he had to resist the urge to whip around and follow.
It’s not them, he told himself, and
continued down the off-ramp. Less than a mile later, he sighed, exasperated
with himself. He hit the brakes, and cranked the wheel of his car into a tight
U-turn. Stomping the gas pedal, he raced back the way he had come, fishtailing
wildly. Once on the interstate, he flew in pursuit of the burgundy van,
berating himself for wasting time on a fool’s errand. It soon became obvious he
wasn’t going to catch up with the vehicle. Whether he had just blown a prime
opportunity or merely lost a little time, he didn’t know. He slowed to a crawl,
checking the mirror for traffic behind him. It was clear for the moment.
Driving illegally across the median, Will turned back toward the Merlington
exit, gripped with uncertainty.
When he finally reached the town,
he was dispirited. Then Melvin called, and he congratulated himself for
sticking with his original plan rather than continuing after the van.
“I’ve got them, Will,” Melvin spoke
rapidly, excitement filling his voice. “They’re at a motel in Merlington. How
far are you from there?”
Will smiled. “I’m just entering the
town as we speak.”
Melvin gave Will his information
and they disconnected. Will drove directly to the motel. According to the
clerk, the couple he was looking for were checked into room 15 and they hadn’t
checked out. Falstaff hurried down the walk, eyeing the numbers as he went. He
hoped they were still here, although he didn’t see Zeke’s van in the lot. When
he reached the room, he was surprised to find the door slightly open. He pulled
his gun and held it close to his side, then knocked as he pushed his way in.
He took everything in with a
glance. The bed was tousled, but the room was empty. The telephone was missing
its receiver, a sight that chilled him. Will figured this was a precaution on
Zeke’s part, insurance against Sue making any calls for help. Something white
peeked out from under the edge of the bed. Will holstered his weapon and bent
to retrieve the small scrap of paper. It was a receipt from a local florist,
dated earlier that day. Will’s pulse rate accelerated. Torn, he vacillated for
a moment. What if they came back? He thought perhaps he should stay right here
and wait. But, on the other hand, if he didn’t hurry, the florist shop would
likely close and he wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone there until the next
day. He checked the time, made a decision, and hurried to his car.
The gray-haired florist was indeed
getting ready to close as Will entered the shop. “You barely made it in time,”
she said, as she rang up the day’s receipts. “I was just finishing up. Need
some flowers?”
“No, ma’am. I need information.”
Will showed her his ID and explained his search.
“Well, a couple was in here
earlier, bought a dozen daisies. It’s got to be the same people you’re looking
for.” She wiped her glasses and put them back on to look at Sue’s photo. “Yes,
I do believe that’s her, just her hair was different. Now it’s bright red and
kind of sticking out all over.”
Will grilled her on the
conversation they’d had.
“Oh, that young man, he was a real
sweetheart. Handsome as the day is long. And such a gentleman!” She snapped her
fingers, remembering a detail. “His name was Zack, if that helps. She called
him Zack.”
“Could it have been Zeke?” Will
prompted.
The woman chuckled. “My hearing, I
swear! I’m going to need one of those Miracle Ears before long. Yes, it’s
possible she said Zeke.”
“I don’t suppose you know where
they went?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” She
beamed proudly. “They were heading out to the old cemetery.” For a second time
that day, she gave directions to the county graveyard.
Will thanked her and left, anxious
to find the place before dark. He called Roxie as he drove past the factories
on the edge of town and updated her on his progress.
“Can I tell her folks?” Roxie
pressed. “They’re on pins and needles.”
“Let’s hold off for a bit. I’m
going back to the motel if I don’t find them at the cemetery. They didn’t check
out; maybe they’ll come back to the room.”
“Okay, call me.”
“I will.”
He disconnected and concentrated on
the route. Past the industrial district were a few sparsely populated newer
neighborhoods. Well-kept houses thinned out as the suburbs gave way to countryside,
and pavement turned to hard-packed dirt covered in a shallow layer of white.
Tires had left a few muddy imprints in the snow, but even though the road
didn’t appear to be well traveled, there were still too many tracks to be able
to determine what kind of vehicle had left them.
Will passed an old gray barn,
stubbled fields on either side, and finally spotted the sign to the graveyard.
His heart sank. There were no tracks in the snow that covered the driveway. It
seemed obvious no one had been in the cemetery that day. Still, he turned in
the drive and did a quick reconnaissance of the area. The lanes inside were
undisturbed, and not a single grave had flowers, let alone fresh daisies. Will
slumped over the wheel for a moment and clenched his fist. Another dead end!
He pulled back onto the road to
Merlington. As he neared the barn he had passed earlier, he noted a pickup now
idling in the driveway. On impulse, he pulled in behind it and got out of his
car. A man in brown coveralls stood by the truck and eyed Will suspiciously, a
piece of fabric dangling from one hand, a shotgun in the other.
“Hello.” Will stuck out his hand,
but pulled it back when the man ignored it. “I’m Will Falstaff, a private
investigator.”
“What do you want?” The man rose up
to his full height. He was angular, tall, and without an ounce of body fat.
Gray hair poked out from under a worn Allis Chalmers cap, matching whiskers
covered the bottom half of his wrinkled face.
“I’m looking for a burgundy Dodge
Caravan that I think might have been in this area earlier today. You didn’t
happen to see it, did you?”
“No,” the man snapped. “But
somebody’s been out here. Look at this.” He tossed the fabric to Will. “I get
so damned tired of people trespassing on my property, coming out here to neck
in their cars, and snoop around. This ain’t no damn lover’s lane.”
Will held the fabric up and
recognized it as a torn skirt. “Where’d this come from?” he asked, alarmed by
the strong scent of urine on the garment.
I hope this isn’t Sue’s.
“Now, how the hell should I know?
Found it beside the drive there. Wasn’t there this morning when I drove to
town. Looks like some young buck was in such a hurry to get into some panties,
he couldn’t even wait for the little Jezebel to take off her clothes, just ripped
‘em right off. And look up there.” He pointed toward the old barn. “Tire
tracks. Damn horny-toad trespassing sons-a-bitches!”
Will considered complimenting the
farmer on his colorful choice of words, but changed his mind. Somehow, he
thought the sentiment would go unappreciated. “So you own this barn?”
“Damn right. I farm all this round
here.” He swept the air with his arm, indicating the fields on either side of
the structure.
“Did you check inside the
building?” Will grew excited at the prospect of uncovering evidence.
The farmer looked at Will as if
he’d just suggested they have naked playtime together in the snow. “Check the
building? What do you take me for? A total idiot? Of course, I checked in the
barn. Nobody’s in there. Whoever it was is long gone.”