by J. R. Adler
“You think this is tied to the Roberts case? Were they both pregnant?” Kimberley wiped the sweat beads that had formed at her hairline.
“I fucking hope not.” Detective Hunter shook her head.
“Sounds breezy,” Kimberley finally landed on, pulling herself from her thoughts, sweat trickling down her spine.
He nodded. “On the whole, Dead Woman Crossing and the surrounding areas are pretty safe and quiet, so I hope you’ll feel at home.”
He stood up from his seat. “I can show you the holding cells, if you’d like. We don’t have anyone in them.”
“If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all,” Kimberley said, rising from her chair.
Sam gave a rueful smile and left her office.
Kimberley smirked. There was something about Sheriff Walker that she liked. He seemed bigger than this town; not too good for it, but not made from it either. He carried himself like someone with more experience and confidence than this job would lead on. Maybe that’s just the type of guy he was, or maybe he had something more to him. Kimberley added that to her list of “things to dig into more”. A list that was growing larger in Dead Woman Crossing than she would have thought it would.
7
Kimberley pulled up to the front of The Trophy Room in her mom’s Chevy Impala. She couldn’t wait to have her very own police car. The tires crunched the loose gravel as she lined it into an unmarked spot and put the car in park. As Sam had said, it was the town trouble spot, which stood to reason since it was also the only spot in town. She figured she’d get acquainted with the place, seeing as the sooner the townsfolk saw her as a neighbor, or at least someone familiar, the sooner they’d respect her—or so she hoped.
Before getting out of the vehicle, she sent a quick text to her mom.
You’re picking up Jessica from daycare. Right?
Nicole had already agreed to do so, but it didn’t hurt to double-check.
Her phone buzzed with a reply from Nicole.
Yes, of course.
Satisfied, Kimberley slid her phone into her pocket and killed the engine. Several tacky neon beer signs lit up the windows of the bar and patrons shuffled around inside. Like the night before, some of the same men stood outside puffing on cigarettes. They hadn’t noticed her yet, but she was sure they would as soon as she stepped foot out of the vehicle.
Kimberley took a deep breath, opened the door, and crossed the threshold into the mild evening air. Without even looking, she knew their eyes were on her. She could feel it. She stood up tall, pushed her shoulders back, and walked toward the entrance. Before entering, she eyeballed each of the men with purpose and nodded. Kimberley had learned back during her time in New York to not show weakness, to not cave to others’ intimidation. The moment you do, they own you, and you never have a shot at being the true authority figure. Their eyes quickly averted. Kimberley smiled and strolled inside.
Immediately, she could see where the name The Trophy Room had derived from. It was the hundreds of glassy black eyes that seemed to be looking at her and only her. The heads of antelopes, boars, hogs, deer, and bobcats hung on all the walls, haphazardly placed wherever there was room. Taxidermy hawks, pheasants, ducks, and quail forever perched on branches that had been turned into shelves. In the far corner, a black bear stood still, her eyes the blackest of them all. Despite the onslaught of dead animals, The Trophy Room was the epitome of a dive bar. Even the New York City dive bars that were dive-y for the sake of placating to a bunch of hipsters who wanted to drink PBR because it was “ironic” couldn’t even come close. A couple of pool tables were off to the side with men tossing money on their next game. Gambling machines ran partially along the side of one wall. Each of them had an older man perched up to them with backs that appeared to be permanently curved. Ashtrays with small plumes of smoke emanating from them rested nearby the men. Kimberley coughed when she breathed in the thick cigarette smoke that created a haze over the entire bar.
The bar was full of local regulars that were proud to have a place they belonged. It didn’t take long, only mere seconds, for all eyes to be on Kimberley as if she were the main act of a performance who had just walked out on stage.
As Kimberley surveyed the bar, she knew Sam was right about one thing. This was the hot spot of Dead Woman Crossing, and like any hot spot, it attracted trouble. She could see it in some of the patrons, but most of all, she could see it in the bartender that stood behind the wraparound bar top. He was tall and lean save for the start of a beer belly that protruded from his ratty T-shirt. His hair was greasy and unkempt, just like the rest of his appearance. But what Kimberley noticed most about him were his eyes. They were like two large pieces of coal burning a hole into her.
Kimberley walked toward the bar unafraid of the barkeeper nor anyone else in the establishment. She had stared murderers and rapists in the eye back in the city. Some townie sleazeballs were nothing by comparison.
“You’re new here,” the bartender said, tossing a dirty stained rag over his shoulder as Kimberley bellied up to the bar.
It wasn’t a question, so Kimberley didn’t answer it. “What do you have on tap?”
“Miller Lite or Bud Light. But I’d recommend Bud if you want to fit in round here,” he said.
Kimberley couldn’t tell if he was trying to be friendly or combative, but she heeded his advice anyway. There was no sense in ruffling feathers right off the bat. There would be time for that should it come to it. “Bud it is.”
“ID?” The bartender raised his brows and held out his hand.
Kimberley rolled her eyes as she knew now he was giving her a hard time. “Really?”
She grabbed her ID from her back pocket, which was sandwiched between two credit cards, wrapped in a small wad of cash, and handed it over.
“Just making sure to uphold the law,” he jibed back. “Kimberley King,” he said, looking at the ID and then at her. His mouth curved deeper into a full sleazy grin.
“Chief Deputy King,” she corrected. “And your name?”
“Oh, we got ourselves a new badge in here, folks!” he yelled to the room. “Interesting.” He looked her up and down and licked his lips. “The name’s Ryan, and the pleasure is definitely all mine.” Ryan handed back her ID with a leer.
“Ryan, knock that off,” an older man sitting on a stool behind the bar said. He was potbellied with a bald head and broken capillaries on his face and nose.
“Sorry, Dad,” Ryan said in a hushed voice as he pulled a pint glass from beneath the bar, filling it to the brim with Bud Light. He set it down in front of her.
The old man got off his stool and walked the few steps over to Kimberley, standing beside Ryan. “Sorry about my son. I’m Jerry and I own this ’ere establishment. First rounds on me.”
“Thanks, Jerry. Appreciate it,” Kimberley said with a nod.
He gave a nod back, grabbing a few empty bottles of beer from the bar top and shuffled through a door into the back.
Kimberley took a seat at the far corner of the bar, as far from Ryan as possible. She wanted to leave right then and there but didn’t want to give any of them the satisfaction of making her feel uncomfortable, so she forced herself to stay, at least to finish her beer.
She wanted to drain the whole thing but instead sipped it carefully, watching her surroundings, observing how the patrons interacted with one another. Kimberley noticed that everyone in the bar essentially knew one another.
She caught nuggets of conversations as she surveyed the room.
“Where’s your old woman?”
“I left her home with the kids. This is me time. I’ve been working out on that damn farm all day.”
All of it sounded the same to Kimberley, complaining about their wives, their farm, or their sports team.
How could they live this way with everyone knowing nearly everything about you? Where you went to school. Who you’ve dated. Where you worked. All of their transgressions and flaws might as well be tattooed acro
ss their faces.
She took another sip of beer, her eyes peering over the pint glass at the pieces of coal staring back at her from across the bar. Ryan winked at her, causing Kimberley to visibly shiver. She looked away, but she still sensed him and all his smarminess. She turned the swivel part of her stool, focusing on the other side of the bar where the pool tables, dartboards, and gambling machines were set up. Nearly everything was in use aside from one lone slot machine that had a sign on it that read “Out of Order” in black marker.
At one pool table, two men and a woman played, although it appeared the woman was merely there for show, not to actually participate. She held the pool stick, but Kimberley never saw her shoot once, just a fixture for the men. At another table, two burly men that looked like bikers thanks to their leather vests, long hair, and tattoo-covered arms taunted one another as each of them took their shots. A small stack of money sat on the edge of the pool table, and as the game progressed, they became more and more tense and volatile, hurling insults at one another. Two men in their late twenties with dirty jeans and shirts took turns throwing broken darts at a dartboard. For this place being the best Dead Woman Crossing had to offer, they sure didn’t take care of it, Kimberley noticed. Nearly everything was damaged in one way or another, which most likely was caused by the brawls the place was known for.
One of the men at the dartboard smirked when he made eye contact with Kimberley. He sported a full beard and his hair was ash-brown and messy, like he used only his fingers to style it. He was muscular and his jeans were torn not for style, but from hard work on a farm Kimberley assumed. She made sure not to acknowledge him and immediately looked away. She wasn’t in the mood for company. She was just here to observe and get familiar with her new surroundings.
“Haven’t seen you around,” the man said. He had approached her despite Kimberley’s efforts to ignore him.
“Haven’t been around.” She took a sip of her beer. She tried to appear as uninterested as possible, only glancing at him for a second before scanning the room as if everything else was more remarkable than him.
“You’re a feisty one, ain’t ya?” he said with the same smirk he had delivered from across the room.
Kimberley knew what “feisty” meant. It was what a man called a woman when she was unwilling to do what she was told and used her voice for something other than, “Yes, of course.” Kimberley nodded and took another drink of her beer.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Chief Deputy King,” she said.
“Very formal. Well then. I’m Mr. Colton. But my friends call me Henry.”
“Mr. Colton it is,” Kimberley retorted.
“Ouch.” Henry placed his hand against his chest dramatically as if she had actually hurt him. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked.
“I already have one thanks to Scooter over there,” she said, lifting her pint glass and nodding toward the bartender.
He looked over at Ryan and then exchanged nods. “I’ll leave you to it then, Chief Deputy King. But I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around,” he said with a wink as he walked away, rejoining his friend at the dartboard.
Kimberley watched the two men chat, look over at her, waggle their eyebrows, high five, and return to playing their game. She was glad she was out of earshot because she was sure whatever they were saying wasn’t something she wanted to hear.
That’s enough of The Trophy Room for me, Kimberley thought to herself as she turned her seat back around toward the bar and drained the rest of her beer. She came, she saw, she cringed. But she was ready to get back home to Jessica in time for her bedtime. Kimberley stood from her bar stool and pulled the cash from her back pocket. She tossed a dollar on the bar top and when she looked up to see if Ryan was watching, she noticed David’s son, Wyatt, having a furtive conversation with him at the other end of the bar. How had she not noticed him come in? Why hadn’t he come over and said hi?
“Hey, Wyatt,” Kimberley called out as she walked around the bar toward him.
Wyatt glanced over at her without any acknowledgment of her presence. For a second, Kimberley felt like she was back in New York City. Wyatt turned toward Ryan, lowering his voice to finish his conversation.
“Hey, I was heading back home. Do you want a ride?” Kimberley asked as she stood beside him, glancing at him then at Ryan and back at him.
“No,” Wyatt said abruptly, tightening his jaw.
“Okay then.”
Wyatt hadn’t been welcoming in the slightest, but she didn’t know him well enough to know why he was so cold. His whispered conversation with sleazy Ryan didn’t sit well with her, but she pushed the thought aside before she went down a rabbit hole of what it was they could be talking about.
“See ya at home then,” Kimberley added as she took a step back and turned toward the door.
Just before she exited, she looked back at Wyatt and Ryan. They had resumed their conversation, ignoring the rest of the world around them, drowning out the chimes of the slot machines, crashing of pool balls, and the honky-tonk from the jukebox. They were speaking with purpose.
8
Kimberley pulled Jessica’s highchair a little closer to her after sitting down at the dining-room table. David took the seat beside her like the night before, cracking open a bottle of Bud Light against the table and taking a swig of it. He was dressed in dirty overalls, but his face and hair were clean, like he had made an effort to freshen up before dinner. Jessica wiggled and giggled in her chair, slapping her hands against the tray—her way of demanding food.
“Just a second, sweetheart. The food’s coming,” Kimberley said as she pushed some of her daughter’s locks out of her face.
“Hungee,” Jessica squealed.
“How was your day?” David asked.
“It was good, actually. Emily and the boys came with us over to Happy Trails Daycare and then I went to meet Sam at the station.”
“Glad you and Emily are getting along. How were the boys?”
“Great. Exactly as you described… a handful.”
David smiled. “They’re good kids though. And my granddaughter? How’d she like Happy Trails?”
Kimberley hesitated for a moment, surprised that he had called Jessica his granddaughter again. She thought when he said it at the airport, he was just being nice. But maybe he really did care about her and Jessica. Maybe he did see himself as her grandfather. A small smile crept on her face, considering Jessica having a grandma and a grandpa. Even if her father hadn’t died, she would have never allowed him to be a part of Jessica’s life.
“She was happy as a clam. I’m sure she’ll love it there, being around kids her age. In the city, I had an elderly neighbor lady in my apartment building watch her. It was what I could afford and she was good with Jessica, but I think she’ll get more out of a daycare center.”
“That’s a shame.” He slightly shook his head. “Well, she’ll have cousins living next door and there’s the kids at daycare. Dead Woman Crossing is a close-knit community. She’s going to grow up nicely here.”
In front of her was a glass of red wine and an open bottle on the table. Her mother had taken her glass into the kitchen to sip at while she finished up with dinner. Kimberley had offered to help, but Nicole had insisted on taking care of it herself.
Kimberley took a long sip from her glass of red wine. It was medium bodied, lighter than she liked, and had notes of berries and pepper. She wasn’t a big wine drinker, but she had a strong palate that could pick apart the flavors in any drink or food. Just as she placed the glass back down, Nicole entered the dining room carrying two plates of food. She was wearing a floral apron and her hair was pushed back behind her ears.
She placed a plate of meatloaf and peas in front of David and Kimberley.
“I have rolls too,” she said, dashing out of the room.
A moment later, she reemerged with a basket of freshly baked rolls and a small bowl of peas. She placed the basket in the cente
r of the table and the bowl of peas on Jessica’s tray.
“Here you are my little hungry, hungry hippo, even though you ate all your snacks earlier,” Nicole said, smiling at her granddaughter.
Jessica immediately dove a hand into the peas and before Kimberley could help her, she had smashed a handful into her mouth.
“Yu… mmy,” she said. Her eyes lit up.
“That’s right. Yummy,” Kimberley repeated.
“Looks good,” David said. “Hurry, so we can say grace. I’m famished,” he said to Nicole.
She nodded, disappeared and reappeared faster than Kimberley could bow her head. Nicole placed her empty glass of wine on the table and her plate that had less than half the food that Kimberley had. She quickly sat down and placed her palm in David’s and then reached for her daughter’s.
After David finished his prayer, Nicole poured herself another glass of wine, while Kimberley and David began eating. Kimberley made sure to keep a close eye on her mother to see if she would eat anything this time.
“She likes the peas.” Kimberley smiled at Jessica and then at her mom.
Nicole nodded with a smile, looking over at her granddaughter. “I couldn’t get your mom to eat a single vegetable when she was a child.”
“Yum… my,” Jessica said again, smashing more peas into her gummy mouth.
“That’s not true. I loved mashed potatoes.”
“That’s hardly a vegetable,” Nicole said with a laugh. “Especially when they were smothered with gravy and butter.”
“Touché.” Kimberley smirked. She brought her wine glass to her lips and took a long drink, slightly closing her eyes for a moment.
Her father sat at the end of the table, his greasy blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, his sharp blue eyes staring back at her, and a beer perched between his lips. Her mother set a plate of food in front of him like a zookeeper would with a wild animal, cautiously. She then set a plate in front of eight-year-old Kimberley.