“You get many trespassers out here?”
“Mostly kids looking for a place to drink and have sex. I got nothing against them doing either one, just not in my house.”
He led them into the front room. The wallpaper was hanging down in tatters, and the only items in the room were a large lime green bean bag chair, a scarred side table holding a chunky old TV with rabbit ears on top, and a square of dirty carpet with prominent urine stains.
“Roscoe’s got him some kidney problems,” noted Tanner in an embarrassed fashion as he gazed at the marks.
“How’s the TV reception around here?” said Blum.
“For shit. But I tinker with it here and there. Get some stuff on sometimes. Mostly sports.” He grinned. “If the news comes on, I just turn off the sound. Too damn depressing.”
Pine took a moment to look around the room. It was hard for her to imagine ever living here. This seemed like foreign soil to her.
“Where did you and your sister sleep?” asked Blum.
Pine pointed to the stairs. “Up there.”
Tanner drew back and let her lead the way up the scarred, uncarpeted plywood stairs.
Now, with every step, Pine was drawing closer to that horrible night in 1989. The landing outside the bedroom door found her mind and soul, if not her body, returning to that time in her life. She stared at the closed door for a moment as though it might plausibly be a portal to another universe that would answer all her questions.
Nothing like setting the bar too low.
Tanner said, “You can go on in, ma’am. Ain’t nothing in there now. I sleep on the bean bag chair downstairs. Don’t have no bed.”
Pine gripped the doorknob like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth, turned it, and pushed the door open. When she stepped through, in her mind’s eye, the room and she had been fully transported back to the late eighties, to the absolute worst moment of her life.
She saw the bed, the nightstand, the cheap light fixture, the chest of drawers on top of which she and Mercy had kept their dolls. And the square of carpet with the My Little Pony graphic on it. The tiny closet where their few clothes hung. The blue ball that Pine loved to kick and throw, and the little ballerina dress that Mercy, the dancer and more girly of the two, loved. She would wear the garment until it grew so dirty the white had turned brown, forcing her mother to whisk it away in the middle of the night and wash it in the sink, for they had no other means to launder their clothes.
And finally, the one window in the room. Through which Tor, or someone like him, had climbed and clamped gloved hands over the mouths of the little girls. Then had come the nursery rhyme, the thumping of their foreheads. The selection of Mercy to take, the fist smashing into Pine’s head, fracturing her skull and leaving her for dead. Her mother tottering in the next morning, nursing a hangover from the comingling of pot and beer. Only to discover one daughter gone and the other near death.
The ambulance ride to the hospital, the anxious faces hovering above her, the stark white ceiling of the ambulance—perhaps an early glimpse of Heaven—the gurney sprint through the hospital. The pinch of a needle, the unconsciousness of anesthesia, the subsequent cut into and repair of her skull, though she was clearly not aware of that, followed by the long, frightening recovery. Frightening because she really had no understanding of what had happened to her.
Then back home, to find Mercy still gone, her parents inconsolable. Unable to talk about their other daughter, unable to let Pine out of their sight, yet reluctant to hold her, or to talk to her about any of it. The thickness of guilt lay heavy over them all, crushing out what little family nucleus was left to them.
“Agent Pine?”
Pine came out of these thoughts like she remembered waking up from her surgery. Instantly alert and curious but still befuddled somehow, as though she had risen too quickly from deep water and there was something potentially deadly floating inside her.
Blum was looking worriedly at her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Just remembering some things.”
“Anything helpful?”
Pine crossed the floor, opened the window, and looked down.
“A ladder. The man had to use a ladder to get up here.”
“Did they find one?” Tanner asked curiously.
“No. At least not that I know of. I was only six. The police didn’t really talk to me. Not after they learned I couldn’t really help them.”
“Were there ever any suspects?” asked Blum.
“My father was the first suspect, perhaps the only one.”
Blum and Tanner exchanged a quick glance.
“You think he did that to his own kids?” asked Tanner, clearly not believing this.
“No. It wasn’t my father. I would have recognized him. And why come in through the window? And they were drinking and smoking pot that night. He couldn’t have made it up the stairs, much less climbed a ladder. And I saw the man come through the window, though I really couldn’t describe him back then.”
“But the police didn’t believe that?” said Blum. “They still pursued your father as a suspect?”
“It’s why we had to move from here. Everyone in town thought he had done it, despite there being no evidence to support that.”
“And your daddy?” asked Tanner.
“He’s dead now.”
“And your ma?”
Pine didn’t answer right away. In some ways, the mystery of her mother had overshadowed even Mercy’s disappearance, at least to Pine. Blum looked at her curiously, but Pine didn’t seem to notice.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” replied Pine. She closed the window after searching her memory, going back to that night and trying to confirm that it was indeed Daniel Tor coming through the window. She arrived at what she had expected: no firm conclusion.
They went back outside, where she sat on the porch and stroked Roscoe’s head.
“He likes you,” said Tanner approvingly. “And Roscoe’s a good judge of character. Got to be where if he don’t like somebody I bring around, they don’t come back around. Yep, old Roscoe keeps me from making dumb decisions. Well, at least fewer than I used to.”
“I needed a Roscoe in my life a long time ago,” opined Blum.
She and Tanner exchanged a knowing look.
Pine rose and said, “Thanks for letting us look around, Cy.”
“You gonna be in town long?”
“As long as it takes.”
“Well, I might see you ’round then. Me and Roscoe eat at the little café on the main street most nights. They call it the Clink, after the prison, I guess. Good food and cheap beer.”
“We might see you there then,” said Blum.
Tanner took off his hat in a gesture of good-bye, fully revealing his thick wavy hair, and tacked on a broad smile.
They got back into the rental and headed out.
Pine said, “I always wondered what happened to the Marlboro Man. Now I know.”
“He’s a hottie,” said Blum, looking in the side mirror and seeing Tanner standing there. “The picture of ruggedly handsome. I bet he has a two-pack, which is like an eight-pack for a twenty-year-old.”
“If he really wants to be healthy, he should stop smoking.”
“That just adds to the bad-boy mystique.”
“Control yourself, Carol.”
“I am always in control, Agent Pine. It comes with being a mother of six. Once you keep your sanity with that, there’s nothing ever again that can overwhelm you.”
“Just checking.”
“So you don’t want to talk about your mother?”
Pine started to say something and then stopped. She seemed to recalibrate her thoughts and said, “I know what happened to my father. I don’t know what happened to my mother.”
“Do you mean you don’t know how she, what, died?”
“For all I know my mother is alive.”
“But you don’t know where she is?”
“Have you tried to find her?”
“Many times. With no luck at all.”
“But you’re an FBI agent. How can that be?”
“Good question, Carol. Good question.”
Chapter 6
THEY HAD A RESERVATION at a bed-and-breakfast located right outside the small downtown area of Andersonville. It was a large, old home renovated to cater to guests and called the Cottage.
Pine was normally a light packer, a one-suitcase sort of girl. But for this trip, she had brought a second small suitcase. She set it on her bed and opened it. She looked down at the oddball assortment of items carefully packed inside.
This represented, along with the photo of her and her sister, the sum total of her possessions from her parents. There was a black bow tie of her father’s. A key chain with the bauxite mining company’s name and logo engraved on it. A dozen drink coasters that she and Mercy had used as makeshift checker pieces. A lavender hair ribbon of her mother’s. A ring and pair of earrings, both costume jewelry, but still precious to her. A small book of poems. A pocketknife of her father’s with his initials. A Wonder Woman comic book. A cracked teacup.
And…She lifted the small doll with the dented face from inside the suitcase and moved a strand of fake hair away from its bulging right eye. This was her doll, Skeeter from the Muppet Babies TV series.
Mercy had had a matching one, only hers was named Sally. Pine had wanted Mercy to name her doll Scooter, because Skeeter was his twin sister. Only Mercy wouldn’t hear of it because Scooter was “a boy.” Pine smiled at the memory.
She had almost thrown all this in the trash a long time ago. But something had stayed her hand, she wasn’t sure what. Pine slowly put them all away and zipped up the suitcase.
She met Blum in the front room, and they headed to dinner at the place Tanner had recommended, the Clink café.
They walked from the Cottage to the main street, which was quaint if somewhat downtrodden. It was a nice crisp evening, and there were numerous people out and about. Many, Pine could tell, were tourists because they would take out their cameras or, more often, their phones and take photos of items in different store windows or interesting pieces of architecture or sculptures or signs in their path.
The Clink had a cheery sign albeit with a silhouette of a man behind bars, and a colorful striped awning out front. The window was engraved with old-fashioned lettering promising: GOOD FARE AT FAIR PRICES, NO IMPRISONMENT REQUIRED.
They went inside and were guided to a table by a young woman with blond hair tied back in a ponytail and wearing a black hip-length blouse, dark jeans, and flat ballerina shoes. They looked over their menus and made their decisions. It was heavy on red meat and root vegetables. Pine also ordered a beer on tap and Blum a gin and tonic.
“Nice place,” said Blum, looking around at the full house. “Seems like pretty much everybody who lives here is at the Clink for dinner.”
“I imagine quite a few of the tourists come here, too.”
They gave their food orders to a gravelly-voiced waitress with stringy gray hair and a tired expression.
As they sipped their drinks, Blum said, “Do you remember much of the town?”
“Not really. This restaurant wasn’t here then. And we didn’t come into Andersonville very often. But it hasn’t changed all that much, at least from what I do remember. I don’t think all this Civil War touristy business was really around then, at least not as prominently.”
“Well, a town has to do what a town has to do. Little places just trying to survive.”
“Little places made up of people trying to survive,” Pine amended.
Later, as they were nearly finished eating, Cy Tanner came in and looked around. He had an older woman with him. His gaze fell on them and he hurried over to their table with the woman moving slowly in his wake.
Blum greeted him with a smile. “Hello, Cy. Where’s Roscoe?”
He grinned at her and doffed his hat. “Hey, Carol. Old Roscoe’s outside chewing on a rubber bone and being the unofficial greeter.” Then he turned to the woman with him. “This here is Agnes Ridley.” He looked at Pine excitedly. “She remembers your family, Agent Pine.”
Pine shot the old woman a curious glance. She was in her late seventies with fine white hair through which her pink scalp could be glimpsed. She was small and round with a kind face and wore a flannel shirt, granny jeans, and white, clunky orthopedic sneakers. Her blue eyes contained flecks of gray, behind thick, horn-rimmed glasses.
“Please, sit down, Mrs. Ridley,” she said.
Ridley said apologetically, “I don’t want to interrupt your meal, dear.”
“You’re not. Please. We’re pretty much done.”
They took their seats while Pine continued to look at her.
Ridley stared back at her with an expression of abject wonder, as though she couldn’t believe her own eyes. She finally said, “I imagine you don’t remember me. And I see you grew into your feet. Both you and your sister were tall.”
“I’m trying to recall you, but—”
“Well, you didn’t call me ‘Mrs. Ridley.’ You called me ‘Missy Aggie.’”
A look of comprehension came over Pine’s features. “I do remember that.”
“Well, that’s so sweet,” responded Ridley, obviously pleased. “We lived a few miles away, but here in Sumter County. I met your mother at church. I had no children of my own and I stayed at home, so I quite often babysat you and your sister.”
Pine’s eyes widened. “Me and Mercy?”
“Yes, dear. Now Atlee is a name I know well. I had an aunt with that name. Course we called you ‘Lee.’ But I’ve never known anyone else named Mercy.”
“Folks called me ‘Lee’ until I went to college.”
Her face crinkled. “You two were quite the pair. Inseparable. Never could tell you apart.”
Blum looked at Pine. “Identical twins then. I never knew that. You never said.” She sounded a little disappointed.
“I…I’ve never been very comfortable talking about it.” She paused and her expression softened. “My sister had a freckle here,” said Pine, pointing to a spot next to her nose. “I didn’t. Mercy said God gave her a kiss because she came out first, and it turned into the freckle.”
“Well, that’s beyond precious,” commented Blum.
Pine turned back to Ridley. “So you remember my parents?”
Ridley’s smile vanished. “I knew and liked your mom very much, Lee.” She caught herself. “I mean, Atlee.”
“‘Lee’ is just fine, Mrs. Ridley.”
“I was older, of course. But we were good friends, me and your mother. Julia worked some to make ends meet and had to go on errands and appointments, and that’s why she needed a babysitter. Your dad, I didn’t know as well. But he sure loved his little girls.”
“How did my mom get to those places? She didn’t have a car that I knew of.”
“Oh, I’d let her take my old Dodge pickup truck. That’s what I would drive over in. She couldn’t pay much, and I rarely asked for any money. My husband had a good paying job. We didn’t need anything extra.” She paused and her face crinkled even more deeply, like a flower reversing to a bud. “My ‘payment’ was to spend time with you girls.”
Blum said, “I wish you’d lived near me. I had six kids, all under the age of twelve at one point. Most days I felt like I’d been hit by a freight train.”
“And you remember what happened then?” asked Pine, her gaze on Ridley.
The old woman nodded slowly. “Yes, I do. It hit the whole town hard. Never had anything like that happen here. And thank God we’ve never had anything like that again.”
“What can you tell me about it?” said Pine. “I was still very young and really have a lot of memory gaps. Plus the adults back then didn’t talk to me about it.”
“Well, I’m sure they were quite worried about how it affected you. Now, I went to the hospital to help y
our mother. She pretty much never left your side while you were in there.”
“I remember waking up and seeing her.”
“She was so broken up. Lost one daughter and nearly lost the other. I don’t know if you realize how close you came to dying, Lee.”
“No, I guess I don’t. What about Mercy’s disappearance?”
“Well, as you probably know the police were as puzzled as everyone else.”
“Sheriff Dalton from Macon County,” said Pine. “I didn’t remember his name, of course. I looked him up later.”
“Yes, well he’s dead now, but one of the deputies who worked on the case is now the sheriff over in Macon.”
“Which deputy?”
“Dave Bartles. He was one of the first deputies at the house after your mother called 911. I know because Julia called me, too, and I rushed over there. Now he’s getting close to retirement.”
Blum said, “But we’re in Sumter County, like you said. Why would the Macon County police be involved? And why not the police here in town?”
Pine glanced at Blum. “Andersonville doesn’t have its own police force. The law enforcement comes from the Sumter County Sheriff’s Office. But we lived right across the line in Macon County, so the Macon County Sheriff’s Department did the investigating.”
Ridley nodded. “And they called in the state police to look at things. And the FBI, too.”
“Because it was a kidnapping,” said Pine.
“Yes, I guess that’s right. Now, Cy told me about you being with the FBI. I…I suppose your becoming an agent maybe had something to do with what happened to your sister.”
“It did, yes,” said Pine. Maybe more than I thought.
Ridley drew a long breath and eyed Pine anxiously. “Well, the long and the short of it was the police believed your daddy had done it.”
“And I told them it wasn’t him,” Pine said firmly.
The old woman said, “I knew your father had nothing to do with it. And the fact was they could never prove anything against Tim, and then y’all moved away.”
“I don’t think we had a choice,” said Pine. “My dad got fired from the mine. We couldn’t survive here.”
A Minute to Midnight Page 4