by Sandra Brown
“Okay.”
He placed his hands on either side of his hips and levered himself up. Lilly did more than spot him should he fall. She made as great an effort as he, lifting him until he was standing and then supporting him until he said, “Thanks. I think I’m all right.”
He reached beneath his coat, and when he withdrew his hand, he was holding a cell phone, which evidently had been clipped to his belt. He looked down at it and frowned. She read the curse word on his lips. He wasn’t getting service either. He motioned toward the wrecked car. “Is there anything in your car we should take back to your cabin?”
Lilly looked at him with surprise. “You know about my cabin?”
• • •
Scott Hamer clenched his teeth against the strain.
“Almost there, son. Come on. You can do it. One more.”
Scott’s arms trembled with the effort. Veins bulged to a grotesque extent. Sweat rolled off him and dripped from the weight bench onto the gym mat, making small splats against the rubber.
“I can’t do one more,” he groaned.
“Yes you can. Give me a hundred and ten percent.”
Wes Hamer’s voice echoed in the high school gymnasium. Except for them, the building was deserted. Everyone else had been allowed to go home more than an hour ago. Scott was required to stay, long after classes were dismissed, long after all the other athletes had gone through their after-school workouts as set out by their coach, Scott’s father, Wes.
“I want to see maximum effort.”
It felt to Scott like his blood vessels were on the verge of bursting. He blinked sweat from his eyes and expelled several puffs of breath through his mouth, spraying spittle. Tremors of overexertion seized his biceps and triceps. His chest seemed about to explode.
But his dad wasn’t going to let him stop until he had pressed four hundred twenty-five pounds, more than double Scott’s body weight. Five reps had been the goal set for him today. His dad was big on setting goals. He was even bigger on achieving them.
“Stop screwing around, Scott,” Wes said impatiently.
“I’m not.”
“Breathe. Send the oxygen into those muscles. You can do this.”
Scott inhaled deeply, then expelled the air in short pants, demanding the impossible of his arm and chest muscles.
“That’s it!” his dad said. “You raised it another inch. Maybe two.”
God, please let it be two.
“Give me one more effort. One more push, Scott.”
Involuntarily, a low growl issued out of his throat as he channeled all his strength into his quivering arms. But he got the weight bar up another inch, enough to lock his elbows for a millisecond before his dad reached over and guided it into the brackets.
Scott’s arms dropped lifelessly to his sides. His shoulders slumped into the bench. His chest heaved in an attempt to regain his breath. His entire body trembled with fatigue.
“Good job. Tomorrow we’ll try for six.” Wes passed him a towel before he turned away and moved toward his office, where the telephone had begun to ring. “You shower. I’ll get this, then start locking up.”
Scott heard his father answer the phone with a brusque “Hamer,” then ask, “What do you want, Dora?” in the deprecating tone he always used with Scott’s mother.
Scott sat up and ran the towel over his face and head. He was whipped, absolutely spent. He dreaded even the walk to the locker room. Only the promise of a hot shower got him off the bench.
“That was your mother,” Wes called to him through the open door of his office.
It was a messy space that only the brave dared enter. On the desk were stacks of paperwork which Wes considered a waste of time and therefore avoided doing for as long as possible. The walls were covered with season schedules for numerous sport teams. A two-month calendar was filled with his handwritten hieroglyphics, which only he could read.
Also taped to the wall was a topographical map of Cleary and the surrounding area. His favorite hunting and fishing spots had been highlighted with a red marker. In framed photos of the last three years’ football teams, Head Coach Wes Hamer stood proudly in the center of the front row.
“She said it’s beginning to sleet,” he told Scott. “Get a move on.”
The pungent odor of the high school locker room was so familiar to Scott he didn’t even notice it. His own stink mingled with the stench of adolescent sweat, dirty socks, jerseys, and jockstraps. The odor was so pervasive it seemed to have soaked into the grout between the tiles in the shower room.
Scott turned on the faucets in one of the stalls. As he peeled off his shirt, he looked over his shoulder into the mirror and frowned with disgust at the outbreak of acne on his back. He stepped into the shower and put his back to the spray, then vigorously scrubbed as much of it as he could reach with an antibacterial soap.
He was washing his crotch when his dad appeared, carrying a towel. “In case you forgot to pick one up.”
“Thanks.” Self-consciously he removed his hand from his private parts and went to work on his armpits.
Wes draped the towel over a bar outside the stall, then motioned toward Scott’s groin. “You take after your old man,” he said around a chuckle. “Nothing to be shy about in that department.”
Scott hated when his dad tried to get chummy with him by talking about sex. Like that was a topic Scott was just dying to discuss with him. Like he enjoyed the innuendos and suggestive winks.
“You’ve got more than enough there to keep all your girlfriends happy.”
“Dad.”
“Just don’t make one too happy,” Wes said, his smile inverting. “You’d be a real catch for one of these local gals looking to elevate herself. They’re not above tricking a guy. That goes for any female I ever met. Never trust the girl to take care of birth control,” Wes said, shaking his index finger as though this was a new lecture and not one Scott had been routinely subjected to since puberty.
Scott turned off the water faucets and reached for the towel, quickly wrapping it around his hips. He headed toward his locker, but his dad wasn’t finished yet. He clamped a hand on Scott’s wet shoulder and turned him around. “You’ve got years of hard work ahead before you get to where you’re going. I don’t want some gal to turn up pregnant and ruin all our plans.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Make damn sure it doesn’t.” Then Wes gave him an affectionate push in the general direction of his locker. “Get dressed.”
Five minutes later Wes locked the gymnasium door behind them, securing the building for the night. “Bet anything school’s out tomorrow,” he remarked. Intermittent sleet was falling, along with a dreary rain that instantly froze on any surface. “Be careful where you step. It’s already getting slick.”
Cautiously they made their way to the faculty parking lot, where Wes had a premium space, reserved for the athletic director of Cleary High School, home of the Fighting Cougars.
The windshield wipers labored against the freezing rain on the tempered glass. Scott shivered inside his coat and pushed his fists deep into the flannel-lined pockets. His stomach growled. “I hope Mom’s got dinner ready.”
“You can have a snack at the drugstore.”
Scott turned his head quickly and looked at Wes.
Wes kept his eyes on the road. “We’re stopping there before we go home.”
Scott sank lower into his seat, pulled his coat close around him, and moodily stared through the windshield as they moved along Main Street. There were Closed signs in most of the store windows. Shopkeepers had left early, before the worst of the weather moved in. But it seemed no one had gone straight home. Traffic was heavy, especially around the grocery market, which was still open and doing a brisk business.
All of this registered with Scott, but on a subliminal level, until his dad stopped for one of Main Street’s two traffic lights. He was staring vacantly through the rain-spattered window when his eyes happened to
focus on the flyer tacked to the utility pole.
MISSING!
Beneath that bold headline was a black-and-white photo of Millicent Gunn, followed by a basic physical description, the date of her disappearance, and a list of telephone numbers to call with any information as to her whereabouts.
Scott closed his eyes, thinking about what Millicent had looked like the last time he’d seen her.
When he reopened his eyes, the car was once again in motion, the flyer no longer in sight.
CHAPTER
4
ARE YOU CERTAIN WE HAVE EVERYTHING WE may need? Bottled water and nonperishables?”
Marilee Ritt tried to contain her annoyance. “Yes, William. I double-checked the shopping list you gave me before leaving the market. I even stopped at the hardware store for extra flashlight batteries because the market had already sold out.”
Her brother peered past her through the wide windows of the drugstore that bore his name. On Main Street, vehicles were reduced to a crawl, not because of road conditions, which were becoming increasingly dicey, but because there was so much traffic. People were anxious to get wherever they were going to wait out the storm.
“Forecasters are saying this could be a bad one, lasting several days.”
“I listen to the radio and TV, too, William.”
His eyes moved quickly back to his sister. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were inefficient. Just a little absentminded sometimes. How about a cup of cocoa? On the house.”
She glanced outside at the slow-moving stream of cars. “I don’t think I’d get home any faster if I left now, so all right. I’d love some cocoa.”
He ushered her toward the soda fountain at the front of the store and motioned her onto one of the chrome stools at the counter. “Linda, Marilee would like a cup of cocoa.”
“Extra whipped cream, please,” Marilee said, smiling at the woman behind the counter.
“Coming right up, Miss Marilee.”
Linda Wexler had been managing the drugstore soda fountain long before William Ritt bought the business from the previous owner. When he took over, he’d been smart enough to keep Linda in place. She was a local institution, knowing everyone in town, who took cream in their coffee and who drank it black. The tuna salad was made fresh by her every morning, and she wouldn’t even consider using frozen patties for the hamburgers she cooked to order on a griddle.
“Can you believe this mess outside?” she asked as she poured milk into a saucepan to heat for the cocoa. “I remember when we’s kids, how excited we’d get ever’ time snow was in the forecast, wondering was we gonna have school the next day or not. You prob’ly enjoy a free holiday much as your pupils.”
Marilee smiled at her. “If we have a snow day, I’ll probably use it to grade papers.”
Linda sniffed with disapproval. “Waste of a day off.”
The entrance door opened, and the bell above it tinkled. Marilee swiveled around on her stool to see who’d come in. Two teenage girls rushed inside, giggling and shaking moisture from their hair. They were in Marilee’s third-period grammar and American literature class.
“You girls should be wearing caps,” she said to them.
“Hi, Miss Ritt,” they said, virtually in unison.
“What are you doing out in this weather? Shouldn’t you be getting home?”
“We came to rent some videos,” one said. “Just in case, you know, we don’t have school tomorrow.”
“I hope there are some new releases left,” the other girl remarked.
“Thank you for reminding me,” Marilee said. “I may take one or two movies home myself.”
They looked at her strangely, as though it had never occurred to them that Miss Marilee Ritt might actually watch a movie. Or that she would do anything other than give tests, and grade themes, and monitor the hallways during class changes, keeping a keen eye out for unnecessary horseplay. They probably couldn’t imagine any kind of life for her outside the corridors of Cleary High School.
And, until recently, they would have been right.
She felt her cheeks turn warm at the reminder of her new pastime and quickly changed the subject. “Get home before the roads get icy,” she cautioned her students.
“We will,” one said. “I have to be home before dark anyway. Because of Millicent. My folks are freaked out.”
“Mine too,” the other said. “Totally. They’ve got to know where I am twenty-four-seven.” She rolled her eyes. “As if I’d get close enough to some creep that he could grab me and carry me off.”
“I’m sure they’re very concerned,” Marilee said. “They should be.”
“My daddy gave me a pistol to keep in my car,” the other girl said. “Told me not to hesitate to shoot anybody who tried to mess with me.”
Marilee murmured, “It’s become a frightening situation.” Gauging their impatience to get on with their evening, she told them to enjoy the snow day, if indeed they had one, then turned back to the counter just as Linda was serving her cocoa.
“Careful, hon, it’s hot.” Looking after the girls, Linda said, “People have gone plumb nuts.”
“Hmm.” Marilee took a tentative sip of the hot chocolate. “I’m not sure which is more disconcerting. Five missing women or fathers arming their teenage daughters with pistols.”
Everyone in Cleary was nervous about the disappearances. People were locking doors that previously had gone unlatched. Women of all ages were warned to be aware of their surroundings when they were out alone and to avoid dark and isolated places. They were advised to trust no one they didn’t know well. Since Millicent’s disappearance, it had been suggested that husbands and boyfriends meet their partners at their workplaces at the end of the day to escort them home.
“I can’t rightly blame them though,” Linda said, lowering her voice. “You mark my words, Marilee. That Gunn girl is as good as dead if she ain’t already.”
It was pessimistic to think that way, but Marilee was prone to agree. “When are you leaving for home, Linda?”
“Whenever that slave-driving brother of yours says I can go.”
“Maybe I can influence him to let you off early.”
“Ain’t likely. We been doin’ a land-office business all afternoon. People figurin’ it’ll be days before they can get out again.”
A drugstore had occupied the corner of Main and Hemlock streets for as long as Marilee could remember. When she was a little girl and the family had come into town, she’d always looked forward to stopping here.
William must have had fond memories of it too, because as soon as he graduated from pharmaceutical school, he’d returned to Cleary and started working here. When his employer decided to retire, William bought the business from him, then immediately borrowed money from the bank for expansion.
He bought the vacant building next door and incorporated it into the existing store, enlarging Linda’s work space and adding booths to increase the soda fountain’s capacity. He’d also had the foresight to set aside room for video rentals. In addition to the pharmacy, he had the most extensive stock of paperback books and magazines in town. Women shopped here for their cosmetics and greeting cards. Men bought tobacco products. Everyone came to catch up on local gossip. If Cleary had an epicenter, it was Ritt’s Drug Store.
Along with prescriptions, William dispensed advice, compliments, congratulations, or condolences, whatever his customers’ situations called for. Although Marilee thought the white lab coat he wore in the store was a bit pretentious, his customers seemed not to mind.
Of course there were those who speculated on why both he and Marilee had remained single and continued to share a home. People thought that much togetherness between brother and sister was strange. Or worse. She tried not to let people who entertained dirty thoughts like that bother her.
The bell above the entrance jangled again. She didn’t turn this time but looked into the mirrored wall behind Linda’s workstation and saw Wes Hamer come in with
his son, Scott.
Linda called out to them. “Hey, Wes, Scott, how’re y’all?”
Wes returned her greeting, but it was Marilee with whom he was making eye contact in the mirror. He sauntered over, leaned close over her shoulder, and took a whiff of the cocoa. “Damn, that smells good. I’ll take one of those, too, Linda. It’s a hot cocoa kind of day.”
“Hello, Wes. Scott,” Marilee said.
Scott acknowledged her with a mumbled “Miss Ritt.”
Wes sat down on the stool beside her. His knee nudged hers as he slid his legs beneath the counter. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.”
“You ought not to be cussin’, Wes Hamer,” Linda said. “You being a role model for kids and all.”
“What did I say?”
“You said ‘damn.’ ”
“When did you get to be so prissy? I remember a time or two you letting fly with a cussword.”
She snorted, but she was grinning. Wes had that effect on women.
“You want some cocoa too, hon?” Linda asked Scott, who was standing behind his father, hunched inside his coat, hands in his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Sure. Thanks. That’d be great.”
“No whipped cream on his,” Wes said. “He won’t win any points with football scouts if he’s got a gut on him.”
“I don’t think he’s in danger of getting a gut anytime soon,” Linda said. But she left off the whipped cream. Wes had that effect on people, too.
He turned on his stool so that he was facing Marilee. “How’s Scott coming with American lit?”
“Very well. He made eighty-two on the test over Hawthorne.”
“Eighty-two, huh? Not bad. Not great. But not bad,” he said, addressing Scott over his shoulder. “Go on back there and speak to those young ladies. They’ve been all aflutter ever since you walked in. Make sure William knows you’re here.”
Scott ambled off, taking his cocoa with him.
“Girls won’t stay away from that boy,” Wes said as he watched Scott make his way down the aisle toward the video section.