Dark Roads

by Chevy Stevens

  Beth glanced at her wrist now, turned the bracelet so the turtle slid to the front, the small green stones picking up the light. She’d read that killers liked to show up at the scene of the crime. Maybe the memorial walk was similar. If he was here, would he recognize the bracelet?

  She lifted her purse higher on her shoulder, the weight comforting as it settled against her side. The handgun had been expensive—same with the instructor at the gun range—and it was highly illegal for her to carry it concealed. She considered both facts inconsequential.

  She studied the men around her. They looked normal, but that didn’t mean anything. Killers passed underneath the radar all the time. Take Ted Bundy, for example. Still, she made note of their faces.

  A woman in a red dress gathered the crowd. She explained that they were to walk through town toward the highway and stop at the billboard, where they would place flowers and candles. Beth was relieved that the walk didn’t go farther. She didn’t want to see the ditch where her sister’s body had been found. She’d seen the cross online. Someone had taken a photo, and that image, the shock of pure white against the dark woods, had sent her spiraling for days.

  The woman was now reciting a poem, or maybe it was a prayer. Beth couldn’t focus on the words. She bowed her head. She felt someone watching and turned to look. Police uniform. Older man, big, with pale hair and eyes. The pretty black-haired woman next to him kept pressing a handkerchief to her eyes.

  Amber’s voice whispered to her. His name’s Vaughn and he’s such a jerk. Everyone is scared of him. He looks like the villain in a spy movie. Swear to God!

  Beth let her gaze skip past him, then bowed her head again. She was sure he recognized her. Their family photos had been everywhere online.

  The woman at the front was talking about community spirit, how they had to watch out for each other, then she said, “Sergeant Vaughn has a few things to add.”

  The big cop moved up to the front and began to speak in an authoritative voice. “I know you’re scared, and you’re frustrated. We’re going to increase our patrols on the highway and around the lake, but we need your help. We need you to stay vigilant. Don’t travel alone if you can avoid it. Make sure your vehicles are roadworthy. Do not hitchhike. Do not pick up hitchhikers.” He paused and looked around. “If you see anything strange, report it. You all know Hailey, my niece, is still missing, and I don’t want any other family to go through this pain.”

  Beth startled. The anger that she’d been choking back for nearly a year surged forward. If he didn’t want anyone else to feel that pain, then he should have found the killer before Amber became the next victim. He should have been patrolling then. He should have stopped it then.

  She spun around and moved back through the gathering, not caring as she banged into people, who shifted away with murmurs of complaint. Her car was blocked by the crowd. She cursed, then looked around. She’d get a cup of coffee and wait. The closest thing she could see was a diner. MASON’S DINER, the sign said. It had to be where Amber had worked. She hesitated.

  Behind her the crowd began to sing “Amazing Grace.”

  Fine. The diner couldn’t be more painful than that, could it? The door gave a friendly jingle as she pushed it open. The diner was cleaner than she had expected and smelled like fresh-baked biscuits. Comfort food. Her stomach growled. She couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten.

  There were a few tables available, but she decided to sit on one of the red-vinyl-covered stools at the counter. The waitress, a middle-aged woman with graying brown hair and a no-nonsense voice, said, “You need a menu, hon?” and placed a glass of water in front of her.

  “Yes, please.”

  Beth drank down the cold water, then struggled to focus on the menu. Amber had worked in this diner. She’d stood behind this counter and pressed keys on that cash register. The day she died, she’d walked out, had driven to the lake, and never came back.

  When the waitress arrived to take her order, Beth impulsively ordered a burger, fries, and a milkshake. Amber’s favorite meal—she was a hippie, but definitely not vegan. It arrived fast, looked good, and tasted even better. Beth shoved fries into her mouth, in between gulps of her milkshake and bites of her burger, trying to remember the last time she’d enjoyed food.

  “You look like you’re on a mission.” She lifted her head. A bearded man was behind the counter, a cloth slung over his shoulder, his arms crossed. He was burly but not in an intimidating way. Solid. He had to be Mason.

  Beth stared at him silently. His eyebrows lifted.

  “Are you okay?”

  “My sister.” She swallowed. “Amber worked here.”

  “Ah.” He leaned against the counter, gave her a level look. “You came for the memorial.”

  “Yeah.” She liked that he hadn’t said he was sorry, or any of the normal expressions of sympathy. She hadn’t realized how much she’d come to hate them.

  “So why aren’t you out there?”

  She shrugged. “Didn’t feel like I belonged.” It was probably an odd thing to say. Who would belong more than a sister of one of the victims? But he nodded as though it made sense.

  “How long you in town?”

  “Just the day, I guess.”

  “Playing things by ear?”

  “I’m in transition at the moment. I’m broke, homeless.” She tried for a wry smile, but she was surprised that she had told him so much without feeling embarrassed. Then again, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would have been impressed by a future lawyer anyway.

  “You looking for a job?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I could use another waitress for the summer. Job’s yours if you want it.”

  “Serious?”

  “Your sister was a good kid.”

  Beth had planned on driving to her parents’ and breaking the news that she’d failed out of school (which had led to the previously mentioned job failure). They didn’t even know she was in Cold Creek. When she told them about the memorial walk, they said it was too far. Beth had noticed her mother’s increasing reluctance to go anywhere. Even groceries were ordered online.

  It wasn’t discussed. Nothing was discussed.

  She thought about the sergeant, talking about safety. What were a few extra patrols going to do? They’d given up on finding her sister’s killer. They probably weren’t even trying anymore. They were just waiting for the next victim. Was she going to go home and do the same? Wait for the next victim? She’d bought that gun for a reason. One that she hadn’t been ready to face, but now she was here. In the town where her sister had died, being given a chance to step into the last days of her life. Beth had found no peace at the memorial. No answers. How could she go back to Vancouver without those? She stared at the bracelet on her wrist.

  “Do you want me to fill out an application?”

  * * *

  One week later, Beth crossed the street to the motel, bone-weary after a long shift at the diner. The evening air was so thick and humid her tank top clung to her flat stomach, the long dip of her spine. She wiped at the loose hairs from her bun that curled damply against her neck and walked faster, trying to escape the hot pavement that radiated through the thin soles of her sandals all the way up to her thighs where her shorts ended. The take-out bag bounced against her bare legs with a soft rustle. She needed a cold shower and an even colder drink.

  She neared the motel office window, where the manager watched from behind the desk, but Beth didn’t make eye contact, something she’d avoided since the first morning when the tall, heavyset woman dressed in jeans and a man’s white button-down had shown up at her door.

  “Name’s Rhonda. Sorry I wasn’t here to check you in yesterday, Beth. I was helping at the memorial.” She’d handed her two packets of coffee. “Just in case you like your caffeine.”

  “Thanks.”

  Beth had thought she’d made it clear she was ready for the conversation to end, but Rhonda had seemed in no
hurry to leave. She’d leaned against the doorframe, her silver hair in a long braid that hung over her shoulder. Her skin was smooth, eyebrows dark, and Beth guessed that she’d gone gray young.

  “I’m the administrator for the local crime watchers Facebook group. I also run one for the victims. I moderate the forum, stuff like that. You’d be surprised how much activity we get. From all over.” Her eyes roved the room behind Beth. It was her motel—what did she think she’d see? Her gaze returned to Beth. “So, if you want anything posted, let me know.”

  Beth got it. Rhonda was one of those armchair detectives Thompson had warned her about. She’d probably watched every murder documentary on Netflix and downloaded Dateline and Cold Case podcasts the moment a new one was released.

  She forced a smile. “I appreciate that. I have to make some calls, so if you’ll excuse me…” She’d stepped back and closed the door, but not before catching the flash of irritation on Rhonda’s face.

  Beth passed the office without seeing Rhonda and having to endure any more odd interactions and continued through the outdoor hallway and around to the back. The slap of her shoes was loud. She didn’t look at any of the dark windows. The motel was nearly empty. Most travelers cleared out on Sundays.

  Her metal key stuck in the lock on her door and it took a few hard turns and a shove with her shoulder to get it open. The Crows Pass was meant to look like some sort of woods lodge, with bright red doors and spindly pines planted outside each suite, but it mostly resembled a run-down summer camp for derelict loggers. Still, it had the best rates. The best location.

  Amber had stayed at the same motel when she was looking for places to rent and had told Beth about the nosy manager who was always flagging her down to chat, but Beth hadn’t expected the woman to be so obvious about her morbid curiosity.

  As she entered her room, she glanced out the dirty window at the truck stop across the road. Semis and tractor trailers pulled out in wide swoops, their steel exhaust pipes like devil’s horns. The tall neon MASON’S DINER sign blinked against the hazy evening sky. The mountains were a dark silhouette. Stars would come out soon. They were brighter outside of the city, the roads quieter. Everything shut down at ten except the pub and the one pizza joint.

  It was even hotter inside the room and she dragged open the window, removing the piece of wood that had been braced inside the frame for security. Across the road, a few men were leaving the diner and walking toward the parking lot. Their laughing voices carried. When two women passed, the men turned and stared at their backsides. One of the men whistled.

  They’d been watching Beth all night, asking for extra ketchup and drinks, spurring each other on while they leered. She’d wanted to dump a plate of hot food on their laps, but if she started responding like that, she would be dropping food every shift. She’d come to learn that Cold Creek had more than its share of pigs, and she wasn’t talking about the kind that lived on farms. Just yesterday she’d caught an old man peeking down her shirt. How had Amber handled it? Had she laughed and brushed them off? Did she talk to her killer, serve him food?

  Beth mimed pulling her gun out of her purse and aimed it at their heads. “Bang, bang.”

  * * *

  One Xanax. It was all she’d allow herself for now. Later she’d take another to sleep. Sitting on the bed, she closed her eyes and let the little blue pill melt under her tongue. Come on, baby. Work your magic.

  While she waited for the drug to kick in, she chewed the ham-and-cheese sandwich she’d gotten from the diner. The bread stuck in her throat. She took the sandwich apart and pulled out the meat, the lettuce. Her Coca-Cola was already room temperature and watery with melted ice, but she didn’t want to walk outside to get more. The vending machine was near the office.

  Her hair, wet from the shower, trickled beads of water down her back underneath the threadbare towel—so small she’d barely been able to wrap it around her body. Her legs were stretched out in front of her, the log rails pressing into her shoulder blades. Her pale face shimmered in the mirror above the desk. When she squinted, she saw Amber.

  She slipped off the side of the bed to get her cell phone and scrolled through all the missed calls until she got to her parents’. Her thumb hovered over their number.

  Her mom had left a voice mail an hour ago, but Beth couldn’t call from the diner—couldn’t risk the background noises. She took a deep breath, reminded herself to speak clearly so that her mom wouldn’t hear the slipperiness in her voice, the softening.

  Her mom answered her cell on the first ring. “Did you just get home?”

  “They needed me to draft some documents.” The lies came so easily now. Sometimes she felt like maybe it was true. Maybe in another universe she was really doing those things.

  “Well, that’s good.” Her mom paused. Beth could feel her thinking about what to ask next, like she had to remind herself what a normal conversation was like. Last time, Beth made up stories about the lawyers at the firm, the fascinating cases, told her that the offices were floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the city. A far cry from her current reality. She fingered the floral bedspread, looked around at the chipped desk, the worn carpet. The streaked windows.

  “Tomorrow I’m sitting in on some client meetings.”

  “That’s a big step. You deserve it.” Her mom sounded so pleased Beth had to grit her teeth at the twist of shame in her belly. She just needed more time. Then she’d come up with a good explanation. They never had to know about this trip.

  Beth reached over to the night table for the prescription bottle resting conveniently next to her graduation photo with Amber. She’d tucked the photo into her visor when she drove from Vancouver. Sisters on a road trip. She covered the speaker of the phone and shook out a pill.

  “I should go. I have to order takeout.”

  Whispers in the background, something about her working late. Her mother was relaying their conversation. “Your father wants to talk to you.” Silence as the phone was passed over.

  “Is there anything you need? The car running okay?”

  “It’s fine.” She tucked the pill under her tongue. The car. The stupid fucking car. Well, Dad, it’s actually stuffed with everything I own, but I’m guessing you don’t want to hear that.

  “Good. Good.” More whispering in the background.

  “Get some rest, honey.” Her mom this time, her voice distant and echoing. They’d put her on speakerphone. “Will we see you in church Sunday?”

  “I have to work.”

  “We’ll pray for you.”

  “Thanks.” Beth hoped she sounded sincere. Or at the very least, sober. “I’ll call you in a few days, okay?” She made a kissing sound and ended the call without saying goodbye.

  CHAPTER 18

  Beth’s phone alarm pierced her skull, joined in on the party with her thudding headache, the dancing pulse behind her eyes. She rolled into a sitting position on the side of the bed. The coffee maker in the room made coffee that tasted like burned plastic, but she added double packs of sugar and creamers, and downed three cups in a row.

  She stumbled to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and scraped her hair into a high ponytail. Makeup—but not too much. Lip gloss, a bit of bronzer, and a sweep of mascara. She wiggled into jeans shorts and a white T-shirt. Breakfast was a protein bar, two Advils, and a final mouthful of cold coffee. Then she grabbed her purse and hurried across the road to the diner.

  The cook was prepping for the morning rush and the air smelled of bacon, maple syrup, and sausage. Her stomach growled and she remembered her dismal dinner the night before. On her break she’d order something cheap. She tied her apron around her waist, tucked the order pad into the pocket. Mason came out of the storage room with a package of napkins.

  “Morning, Beth.”

  She returned the greeting and set up her station. Her hands shook as she reached for the coffeepot. She hoped Mason didn’t notice. He’d given her a chance. She didn’t want to blow it.


  They’d been open for about a half hour when two cops walked in, bulky with their bulletproof vests and uniforms. Beth recognized them instantly. Thompson, the clean-cut one who’d come to the funeral, and the other. Hailey’s uncle. His head swiveled to scan the room, one hand on the radio at the top of his vest. Their gazes met and he gave her a nod.

  Thompson stopped to talk to a First Nations family sitting at one of the tables, smiled at the baby, tickled his foot. Vaughn kept walking and slid into a booth. Thompson joined him a moment later. The diner was getting busy, loud male voices filling the air, the clomp of heavy work boots. She grabbed menus and made her way over to the cops.

  “Morning, Officers.”

  “Beth. Nice to see you again.” Thompson. He didn’t seem surprised that she was at the diner. Word had spread fast. She’d been getting curious stares all week.

  He gestured across the table. “This is Sergeant Vaughn.”

  The older man gave her an assessing look. “You’re Amber Chevalier’s sister?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Most people around here call me Vaughn.” He held out his hand, she gave it a quick shake, feeling awkward about the formality. “I was sorry to see you left the memorial early.”

  All those people, but he’d still noticed her. Why? “It was overwhelming.”

  “I’m sure it was. If you have questions, come into the station anytime.”

  “Thanks.” But she didn’t see the point. The sympathy in his face didn’t matter. He didn’t have any more answers than they had a year before.

  “Is your family here?”

  She hesitated. “No.”

  He glanced at Thompson, who was watching the conversation with a neutral half smile. She wondered if cops practiced them in the mirror. Or maybe he was just waiting for his coffee.

  “You’re not returning to Vancouver?”

  How was he making these simple questions sound like an interrogation? She was beginning to feel guilty for just being here. No wonder Amber had called him controlling.