by Destiny Ford
I looked up from digging through my purse for some gum. “First of all, they know I’m not religious anymore. Second, why am I getting picked on about this? They don’t harass you and dad about not going to church?”
She lifted her shoulders. “Because our names are still on the church records and we still meet with people from church about once a month.”
I narrowed my eyes. The lack of respect for my religious beliefs was getting frustrating. “Whatever,” I said, shaking it off. “As for the other rumor, I assure you that I am not dating Dylan Drake. We just keep running into each other because of a story I’m working on. It has nothing to do with my dating life, or lack thereof.”
“If that’s what you say,” she said, refolding the towel and throwing it back over her shoulder. Then she did a shifty-eyed gaze around the room—just in case Lady spies had infiltrated the house—and bent down to whisper in my ear. “But you know his reputation. Get some protection—but not from here, you’ll have to go out of town where people won’t recognize you.”
I gasped as my eyes went wide with shock. It’s not like I have a problem discussing sex with my parents, but we’d never discussed my sex life, or theirs. I think we all like to pretend that none of us has one.
My mom gave a knowing smile. “Don’t look so surprised. You’re young, there’s nothing wrong with finding out what you like.” My eyes bulged even more when she giggled—yes, giggled.
I shook my head as I picked up my plate of cookies, glad to be leaving so I wouldn’t have to continue this conversation. I said good-bye to my mom, and wished her good luck explaining the cow to my dad. I suggested ‘scared out of her mind’ as the emotion she should use when she gave her version of the story to him, and I drove home.
One of the things I like most about being a reporter is the ability to work from home. After the conversation I’d just had with my mom, I needed some time to recover. When I got to my house, I noticed a familiar car sitting on the street. By the time I pulled into the driveway and walked around to the front yard, Hawke was leaning against the house by my front door, one thumb looped inside the pocket on the front of his jeans. “You have a minute?” he asked.
I nodded and he followed me inside.
“How long have you been waiting for me?” I asked, wondering how he knew I’d be at my house instead of the office.
He looked around the living room at my soft beige suede couches, striped blue rug, and black coffee table. When he’d finished his mental catalog of my room, he turned back to me. “I stopped by the office. Spence said you’d been on a story all morning, and would probably work from home for a while.”
I pulled my brows together. It surprised me Spence had given “untrustworthy” Hawke any information. Maybe Spence just didn’t want Hawke hanging around the office all day waiting for me though.
“You did a good job getting the information about Shawn Wallace.” He put a photo down on my coffee table as he sat on the couch. “That’s an updated picture of Shawn. I thought you might want a copy.”
“Thanks,” I said, picking up the photo. Shawn had auburn hair that was cut short and he wore it spiky in the front. He was young with fair skin, a soft face, and bright red cheeks, but his body was so lean you could see the veins sticking up in his arms.
“We know Shawn was the father of Chelsea’s baby, so it’s not a stretch to think he’s somehow involved in her disappearance and maybe even her death.”
“Yeah, but how can we verify our information?” I asked. “We only know that he was dating Chelsea. We don’t actually even have proof Shawn was the father.” I looked at the hardwood floor, thinking. “I need to talk to Shawn Wallace.”
Hawke shook his head. “You can’t get an interview with Shawn.”
“Why not?”
“Because since Chelsea’s death, his mom’s had him locked down like he’s in Fort Knox.”
“How do you know that?”
Hawke just stared at me like I should know by now that he could find Jimmy Hoffa if he wanted to. Unlike everyone else in the world, it seemed Hawke had unlimited access to almost any information. Unless the information required boobs—then he needed me.
“That’s just great,” I said, plopping down next to Hawke on the couch. “The most important person I need to talk to is unavailable for comment.”
“We’ll work around it.”
“How?”
“I want to talk to some of the people Chelsea went to school with,” Hawke said. “Do you have time to go out tonight?”
I shrugged. “Sure. Where are we going?”
“The bowling alley and arcade,” Hawke said, standing up. “It’s the only place in town where kids can get away from their parents.” I couldn’t argue with that; I’d spent a lot of time hanging out there myself as a teenager. “I’ll pick you up here at seven-thirty,” he said as he walked out the door.
As we pulled into the parking lot of the bowling alley, I saw a group of teenagers loitering outside. The girls were blushing and trying to get the guys to pay attention to them. The boys were trying to act like they didn’t care and weren’t about to trip over their own low-hanging pants. Hawke parked the Mustang several spots away from all the other cars, turned the engine off, locked the doors, and we walked up to the group of teenagers.
“Heeeyyy!” A kid with messy hair dyed a combination of blue and black pointed at me. “It’s the reporter lady!” How he knew this about me, I’ll never know. It didn’t seem like his synapses were firing fast enough to remember his own name. He switched his gaze to Hawke—who at the moment was dressed all in black—and backed away, a nervous expression on his face. “And the scary dude.”
Hawke looked at the kid, and then me. “Is he drunk, or high?”
I shrugged. “Maybe both?”
“Duuuude!” he said, inching a bit closer to Hawke, his mouth hanging open in awe. “Why are you so big? You’re like the Green Giant!” I wondered if the kid knew how much he sounded like he’d stepped straight out of Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.
Hawke watched the kid with a combination of amusement and annoyance. There was no doubt in my mind Hawke knew he could have the kid peeing his pants in sheer terror in about three seconds flat. I gave Hawke a look that said don’t try it. “We want information,” I said to Hawke. “Doing that won’t help us get it.”
Hawke cocked his head. “It might.”
“We’re not playing good cop, bad cop.”
“Fine,” said Hawke. “We’ll try your way first.”
“Dudes,” the kid said, beginning to laugh. “You’re not cops!” The laugh had started slow and didn’t stop for at least thirty seconds or more. Finally he looked from Hawke to me. “Information about what, my buddies?” Now all the kids around him had directed their attention toward us.
“I was wondering if any of you knew Chelsea Bradford?” I asked.
“Sure!” he said, swaying a little. “Everybody knew that chick.” Great. Keanu had been chosen as the group spokesperson.
“Were any of you friends with her? Or did you hang out together much?”
Keanu looked around the group. No one said anything so he answered, “She liked to come to the bowling alley.”
“Was she ever with anyone?”
“Umm . . .” his thinking process took at least a minute. I met Hawke’s stare. I could tell he wanted to slap Keanu until he came back to his senses and could talk to us. “Yes!” Keanu yelled so loud and out of the blue that I startled a little. “Sometimes she brought a dude with her.”
“A dude meaning a boy?” I asked. I felt like I should clarify since ‘dude’ didn’t seem to be gender specific in Keanu’s world.
“Yeah, dude! The dude was a boy!”
“Do any of you remember his name?” I asked, looking toward the other kids in the group, hoping we’d be able to deal with one who wasn’t as impaired as Keanu. None of them came forward. I was counting on one of them to have some information. I wanted co
nfirmation that Chelsea had been seen with Shawn Wallace. I also wanted to know more about Chelsea and Shawn’s relationship. The adults who knew Chelsea weren’t talking, and neither were her friends. But Keanu and his buddies weren’t shy, so if they had information, I’d be happy to take it.
“Dudes! I know it!” he said. “I just have to think.” Great, we could be here for a week.
Keanu surprised me when he came up with a letter. “ “S!” It started with an “S.” ”
“Shawn?” I hinted.
He pointed at me. “Yessss!” He did a quick little dance and looked at me with glassy eyes. “You’re like a reporter lady psychic or somethin’.”
I ignored him and asked another question. “Do any of you remember Chelsea and Shawn being together? Like if they were happy or not?”
Keanu turned to Hawke. “Giant dude,” he pointed at Hawke and slowly moved his hand to gesture in the general direction of the parking lot. “You have a righteous car.”
Amusement was clearly winning out over annoyance, and Hawke was doing his best not to laugh.
“Hey, dude,” I said. “Focus. Do any of you know if Chelsea and Shawn seemed happy?”
A girl with brown stringy hair, who was decidedly more lucid than the others, spoke up, “Sometimes they were happy and would just goof off playing pool and eating pizza. But it seemed like they fought a lot too.”
I turned my attention to the girl who could actually answer questions without the word ‘dude’ or sixty second conversation pauses. “Do you know what they fought about?”
“Not really. But I know they broke up and got back together a lot.” The girl twirled her hair around her finger. “He wasn’t from around here. Chelsea was already dating him when she moved to Branson Falls, but they broke up and Chelsea went out with a bunch of guys. She wasn’t serious with any of them though. One day Chelsea showed up here with her friends and he was with them all again.”
“Did they break up any time after that?” I asked.
“Yeah, a few times. Like I said, they were always breaking up and getting back together.”
So their relationship was volatile, but that wasn’t a surprise. What teenage relationship wasn’t? What adult relationship wasn’t for that matter?
“When was the last time you saw the two of them together?”
The girl lifted her eyes like she was doing calculations in her head. “In March, during spring break. Right before Chelsea dropped out of school. They were here with a big group of people.”
“People from Branson?”
“Yeah. Popular kids.”
I sighed. Probably the same kids that had been at Chelsea’s funeral. Ones like Piper, who weren’t comfortable talking about Chelsea, or what happened to her. The last thing I needed was angry Branson parents upset with me for interrogating their kids. I was surprised I hadn’t gotten a phone call from Piper’s parents. She must not have told them she’d talked to me. I didn’t think we’d get any other information out of the kids. “Thanks for your help,” I said and looked at Hawke. “Do you have any questions?”
“Nope, I think you covered it,” Hawke said.
“Thanks for chattin’ with us, dudes!” Keanu said, holding up his hand in a peace sign. He had his decades seriously confused.
I nodded to the kids as Hawke and I walked back to his car.
“Apparently the police don’t take pot and alcohol too seriously in Branson,” Hawke said.
I shrugged. “It seems the cops are pretty easy to bribe.”
He started the engine. “You have experience?”
“A little.”
“What did you bribe them with?” he asked, turning onto the street.
“I got pulled over, but Officer Bob was called away before any bribe suggestions were exchanged. Ella bribes them with key lime pies to get out of tickets though.”
Hawke looked over at me to see if I was serious, and laughed. When he was done, he asked, “What do you think about Chelsea and Shawn’s relationship?”
I paused for a few seconds to consider his question. “That they were like every other teenager and had a hard time making a relationship last.”
“Do you think their relationship had something to do with her death?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t put the pieces together yet. If Shawn was the father of Chelsea’s baby, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“He was.”
“How do you know?”
Again, Hawke looked at me like I was crazy and he knew everything. “You’re not the only one investigating, Kate.”
“Who’s your source?”
He shook his head, smiling slightly. “I can’t tell you that. And you can’t talk to them either.”
I thinned my eyes. “That’s really annoying. I can’t guarantee the information without talking to the source myself.”
“You’re just going to have to trust me,” he answered. “So where do you want to go from here?” he asked, pulling up in front of my house.
Something had been bothering me ever since Piper told me Chelsea had been pregnant. “If Chelsea had the baby, where is it? I mean, her baby wasn’t found at the lake. Did she leave it with someone else? Did she decide to go through with the adoption plan? Did she take the baby with her, and if so, does that mean her murderer now has the kid?” I shuddered at the thought. If someone was crazy enough to kill Chelsea, what would they do to her child?
He shifted in his seat, leaning his shoulder against the door. “I was wondering about that too. I’m looking into it.”
“Should I be looking into it too?”
He shook his head. “Not right now. We’ll figure this out faster if we both follow different angles and keep each other informed.”
I nodded and looked out the window, thinking about what the next move should be. “I want to ask around about the governor.” Hawke stared at me and I continued, “He wouldn’t have wanted the pregnancy to become public. He might be involved in what happened to Chelsea. In any case, it doesn’t hurt to check.”
Hawke gave me an emotionless cop-face. I wondered if the expression was something that could be taught. If so, I desperately needed to learn how to do it. “Okay, you work on that,” he said. “I’ll see what I can find out from my end and call you tomorrow.”
“There’s a farmer claiming the Bradford’s dog bit him,” Spence said, hanging up his phone. “The police and an ambulance are on the scene. Can you go over there?”
I took a sip of my mocha coffee—it had been a two cup kind of morning. I’d planned on going to the Bradford’s later today to try and get some more information about Chelsea, so this was a perfect excuse. “Yeah, I need to talk to Julia anyway.”
“How’s the story going?” Spence asked. “Any new leads?”
“Chelsea used to hang out with Shawn and some of her other friends at the bowling alley. People saw her there and knew the guy she was dating was named Shawn, but no one seemed to know he was the governor’s son.”
“So Shawn and Chelsea were keeping his identity a secret?”
“It seems like it,” I said. “I don’t know how many people in Branson knew who he really was. Maybe no one. The governor keeps his family out of the press as much as possible, so it wouldn’t be surprising if no one around here recognized him. Plus, other than the bowling alley, he and Chelsea didn’t seem to go out in public together much.”
“Anything else?”
“Aside from the insane number of drunk and doped kids who hang out at the bowling alley, no.”
Spence laughed. “Wasn’t it like that when you lived here?”
“Not to this extent,” I said, grabbing my keys, purse, and camera.
“Well, maybe you can tackle that story when you finish the Bradford investigation.”
“Yeah, I’ll put it at the top of my list, right up there with police bribery and “hot chocolate” thermoses.”
“Only the devil drinks coffee, you know.”
“I’ve heard. I
guess that makes me one of his minions.” I flashed Spence a smile as I walked out the door.
Spence hadn’t been kidding; there really was an ambulance and police car for a simple dog bite. Julia Bradford was standing about fifteen feet away from the ambulance, her hand pressed against her forehead like she was trying to fend off a headache. She was talking to a police officer and barely acknowledged my presence.
As I looked inside the open emergency vehicle doors, I saw EMT Annie, and David Jones, a retired farmer with stark white hair, sitting on the stretcher inside. He was wearing his daily uniform of overalls—and despite the heat—had on a plaid long sleeve shirt more suitable for a rodeo than an afternoon walk. As I watched Annie tend his wounds, I couldn’t stop thinking it was a relief to see someone other than my mom sitting there. “Hi, Annie,” I said.
She smiled. “Nice to see you at a scene that doesn’t involve your mom, Kate.”
“I’m surprised she hasn’t come over here yet.” I looked in the direction of my parents’ house. “She’s probably listening on the scanner.”
“The police scanner is more entertaining than TV in Branson . . . especially with your mom around.”
I laughed. “I can’t argue with that.” I shifted my attention from Annie to the dog bite victim. “Hi, Mr. Jones.” I leaned into the ambulance, putting my hand out for him to shake. “I’m Kate Saxee, with The Branson Tribune.”
Mr. Jones practically jumped off the stretcher. Annie ducked to avoid being hit by his flailing arms. “Gawl dang! I got the press here!” he yelled. “That’s what happens when you get attacked by an angry beast!” He was talking loud enough that Julia Bradford and the police officer stopped speaking until he was done.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I asked Mr. Jones.