Rude Awakening

by Susan Rogers Cooper

  Jean raised an eyebrow but escorted Holly out of the room.

  ‘Now what?’ Milt asked.

  ‘I just got to wondering about the case you had that was similar to this one,’ Charlie said.

  ‘What one?’ Milt said, the exasperation obvious in his voice.

  ‘The ammonia/bleach one!’ Charlie said, a little irritated himself after having spent the night sleeping on a file drawer.

  ‘Oh, that. What about it?’ Milt asked.

  ‘Just want to see the file on it, that’s all.’

  ‘Humph,’ Milt said. He shut the file drawer for 1995 and opened the one for 1997. ‘Think it was here,’ he said. He rifled through until he found it. ‘Albert Canfield. One domestic disturbance in eighty-five, then OD’d on ammonia and bleach in ninety-seven. Left a widow and a teenaged daughter.’

  ‘Can I see that?’ Charlie asked, taking the file from Milt’s hand as he asked. The widow’s name was Roberta Canfield, and the teenaged daughter, fourteen at the time, was named Carolina. Hell of a coincidence, Charlie thought.

  DALTON

  Dalton had never been alone in Milt’s office before. The door was closed and nobody could see him, so he looked around a little. Right on the desk was the wedding picture of him and Dr Jean, in a double frame with a picture of him and Dr Jean bringing Johnny Mac home from the hospital. Dalton felt sad looking at that picture. He’d thought for a little while that that was gonna be his life, too. Him and Sarah. Except there was no Sarah. Only some guy named Geoffrey who thought it was fun to dress up in women’s clothes.

  Memories were coming back. Bits and pieces that Dalton was trying to put in some chronological order. He remembered, even in his earlier drunkenness, the truth he’d learned. That Sarah wasn’t Sarah, but Geoffrey. Some guy dressed in women’s clothes. He remembered that big, oversized purse Sarah – no, Geoffrey – carried. When Sarah was with Dalton, Geoffrey had been in that bag, and when Geoffrey showed up, Sarah had been put back in that bag, never to come out for Dalton again.

  Tears welled in his eyes as he remembered the pain he felt, realizing Sarah had never been. He wanted to hit the man, that Geoffrey, but it seemed that Geoffrey hadn’t really meant to hurt him; he had thought Dalton knew. And anyway, if you looked at it in a certain light, hitting Geoffrey would be the same as hitting Sarah.

  He’d run out of the bar where they’d been drinking mojitos, run into the night, slobbering drunk, crying, no better than the people he put in jail on a Saturday night to sober up for church on Sunday.

  He remembered quieting down some and trying to find his car. But he had no idea where he was or where his car was, either. And then he met those boys. One had his hat on backwards and one had on a lot of jewelry. The third one’s pants were too big and almost falling off him. Or had it all been one guy? Dalton wasn’t sure. All he knew was that one minute he was standing there telling those guys that the watch on his arm was all that he had left of his daddy, and the next minute he woke up pantsless in an alley.

  Dalton shook his head at the folly of his entire weekend.

  He wondered if he was gonna spend the rest of his life in the same bedroom of his mama’s house where he’d always slept. Eat the same food his mama prepared for him every night – meatloaf on Monday, fried chicken on Tuesday, sausage on Wednesday, Salisbury steak on Thursday and Hamburger Helper on Friday. Saturday was sandwiches and Sunday was dinner at the cafeteria after church. Then going to work every morning with a brown bag loaded with a chopped ham sandwich, a bag of chips, an apple, orange or banana, depending on the day. Coming home every night to watch ‘Jeopardy’ with his mama, eat his dinner and go to bed. Was that gonna be his life forever?

  He thought about the girl now being interviewed by Milt. She was pretty, yeah, but she was an actress. Way too sophisticated for him. A city girl, like Sarah, but real, where Sarah hadn’t been. He liked the way her reddish-brown hair glowed warm under the lights, and the way her brown eyes sparkled when she talked to Eli. She was real good with Eli, which meant she’d probably be a real good mother . . .

  Stop it! Dalton told himself sternly. Just stop it! Hadn’t he made a big enough fool of himself already this weekend? Thinking like that about a girl like Holly Humphries, a real-live actress who’d probably be off to Hollywood in a New York minute she was that good.

  Dalton sighed and opened the sheriff’s lap drawer to see what was in there.

  MILT

  I got rid of Charlie Smith, letting him borrow the file he was so hot about, and brought my wife and Holly Humphries back into the interrogation room.

  The girl was scared, I could see that right off the bat, so I tried to put her at ease. ‘Miz Humphries,’ I said, ‘if you could give me an address and phone number for you in Tulsa, please.’

  ‘Well, all I have is my cell phone, but that man, Smith, he took that. I don’t exactly have an address . . . I’ve been sorta staying with friends, here and there . . .’ Her voice faded out.

  Jean caught my eye and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out she was telling me to go nice.

  ‘How did you and “Smith” find each other?’ I asked her.

  ‘He put an ad on “Craig’s List”,’ Holly said. ‘That was before I hocked my laptop and I answered it.’ Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘I was gonna get my laptop back just as soon as Mr Smith paid me, but now I guess I won’t.’ Her face crunched up and she began to cry. Which is something I just don’t deal with if I can help it. ‘I had everything on my laptop!’ she wailed. ‘My journal and my Facebook and my MySpace and all my music and the addies of all my friends all over the world!’ She crumbled at this point and Jean, who was sitting next to her, put an arm around her. Holly wrapped herself around Jean and bawled outright.

  I left the room.

  Only to be immediately accosted by Hawke Pettigrew, the titular man of the house for the Pettigrew clan, Miz Clovis’s oldest child, Mary Ellen’s and Dalton’s older brother.

  He stood just outside the interrogation room door, and I wasn’t sure if he’d been listening or not. I didn’t know Hawke very well, and wasn’t sure if he was the kind to eavesdrop or not. If he was like his mama, yeah. If he was like his little brother, not so much.

  ‘Sheriff,’ he said, sticking out his hand for me to shake.

  I shook it. ‘Hawke, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Just wanted to thank you for taking care of my family,’ he said, a shy smile on his face. ‘I was at a loss for what to do.’

  ‘Well, it’s my job, Hawke.’

  ‘You know, Dalton worships you,’ he said out of nowhere.

  I felt my face turning hot. ‘He’s a good man,’ I managed to say.

  ‘He found his niche with you, all right,’ Hawke said smiling. ‘We – Mama and me – were worried he’d never find his place in this world.’

  ‘He’s an integral part of our system now,’ I told Hawke, not even sure what I meant by that, but feeling like it sounded good.

  ‘Can I take Mama home now?’ Hawke asked.

  I shook my head. ‘Not up to me, Hawke,’ I said. ‘I told her she could leave, but it doesn’t seem like she’s in a mood to do that.’

  Hawke sighed. ‘Yeah, well, Mama can get like that.’

  I just nodded, thinking that to say anything at this point would probably just sound rude.

  MARY ELLEN

  Mary Ellen sat in Emmett Hopkins’s office and stared at the wall. If she was thinking of anything, it was at too low a note to be recorded here.

  HOLLY

  After the sheriff left the room, Holly was able to gather her wits about her to some extent. She stopped crying and took the tissue offered by the sheriff’s wife, using it to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. She felt like an idiot. But if she thought about her laptop, she got all weepy again so she had to just push it out of her mind.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to the sheriff’s wife. ‘I know it all seems silly, what with the boy being kidnapped and all, for me to
be carrying on about my laptop, but . . .’ She snuffled and blew her nose one more time.

  ‘Not at all,’ the sheriff’s wife said. She smiled at Holly and Holly tried a tentative smile back. ‘I’m Jean, by the way. My husband didn’t introduce us.’

  ‘Hi, Jean,’ the girl said, sticking out her hand, ‘I’m Holly.’

  ‘Is it OK if I ask you a couple of questions? I’ll leave all the stuff about “Mr Smith” to the sheriff. Right now we’ll just focus on girl talk. Is that OK?’

  Holly nodded her head. ‘Sure,’ she said.

  ‘How old are you, Holly?’ Jean asked.

  ‘I’ll be twenty-three next month. But I can play older – or younger.’

  ‘So, you’re an actress! What parts have you had?’ Jean asked.

  ‘Well, I was Rita’s stand-in in Educating Rita in our high-school production,’ Holly said, her chest swelling with pride.

  ‘Wow,’ Jean said. ‘That’s a tough role! “Rita” is on stage almost the entire time.’

  ‘Yes, I know! That’s a role you can really sink your teeth into.’ Holly said, smiling brightly.

  ‘How often did you get to do it?’ the sheriff’s wife asked.

  Holly’s face fell. ‘Well, I didn’t, not exactly. The play ran for two weekends, two Fridays and two Saturdays, and the second Saturday, Nanette Michelson, the one who was playing Rita, was like twenty minutes late and I thought, “Tonight’s the night!” But then she showed up.’

  ‘Oh,’ Jean said. ‘That’s tough.’

  Holly brightened. ‘But I did get to play Juliet in a class production. It was mostly just reading from our seats in drama class, but Mr Clyde, the teacher, said I was very good.’

  Then the door opened and the sheriff came back in. Holly straightened in her seat, hands clasped on the chipped and graffiti-marred table in front of her, and kept her mouth shut.

  MILT

  After listening in to Jean’s gentle questioning of Holly Humphries, I came to the following conclusion: Holly Humphries calling herself an actress is like me calling myself a writer ’cause I write a mean grocery list.

  I sat down across from the two women. ‘OK, Miz Holly, I’m glad you’re feeling better.’ The girl nodded her head at me. ‘Now, you called a number “Mr Smith” left on “Craig’s List”, is that right?’

  ‘No, an email address,’ she corrected.

  ‘OK, you replied to his ad by sending an email,’ I said. She nodded. ‘Then what?’

  ‘I gave him my cell phone number when I emailed him, and then he called my cell phone.’

  ‘OK, great,’ I said. ‘Then what?’

  ‘He asked me to meet him at a diner and I did,’ Holly said.

  ‘You remember the name of the diner?’

  ‘Yes, it was Karla’s Kitchen on Third Street down by the Goodwill.’

  ‘Was that your pick or his?’ I asked her.

  ‘You mean Karla’s Kitchen?’ she asked. I nodded my head. ‘You mean as a meeting place?’ Again, I nodded my head. She thought about it for what seemed a fairly long time. ‘I think it was his idea,’ she said, staring off into space. ‘But I can’t really be sure. I mean, it’s not like I’d never been there before. They have real cheap lunch specials. The food’s not good, but you get a lot for like $3.99. Sometimes me and a friend would go in there and split it.’

  ‘But you think it was his choice? To meet at Karla’s Kitchen?’ I said.

  ‘Coulda been,’ she said.

  ‘What happened when you met there?’ I asked.

  ‘He looked at my résumé and then told me about the gig . . .’

  ‘What did he say the, ah, gig was?’ I asked.

  ‘He said it was a documentary on safety to be shown to schoolchildren,’ she said.

  ‘Stranger danger,’ I said.

  ‘Huh?’ Holly said.

  ‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘Please, go on.’

  ‘He told me it was going to be filmed on location, that all my expenses would be paid, and that I’d get an additional $500.’ She looked up at me between long lashes. ‘I don’t guess I’m gonna get that $500 now, huh?’

  I swear to God at that moment all I wanted to do was reach in my back pocket and give her all the cash there was in my wallet. But then, my wife was sorta sitting there. That’ll curb those impulses.

  ELEVEN

  MILT

  Holly Humphries told me her story, backtracking here and there, getting some things wrong and needing to correct them, remembering halfway through the story something she shoulda said at the very beginning, and me having to ask a hell of a lot of questions to get any kind of cohesive statement out of her. My main point of interest was where Emil Hawthorne had kept her and Eli the whole time.

  ‘It was just a barn,’ she said for the fourth time.

  ‘What color was it?’ I asked. Again.

  She shrugged. ‘Barn-colored?’

  ‘Red? Natural wood? Pink with purple polka dots?’

  ‘Milt . . .’ Jean said.

  I sighed. ‘Can you do better than “barn-colored”?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, mostly wood-colored but I think there was some red in there. Like it had peeled and faded off mostly?’ she suggested.

  ‘Can you remember how long you drove and from where?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, we drove from Tulsa,’ she said, looking at me like I was a total idiot, ‘and it took a real long time.’

  ‘Did you go through a town on your way to the barn?’

  Holly thought about it. ‘Nooooo, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Like with buildings, and red lights and stop signs?’ I asked, getting a little testy.

  She shook her head. ‘No. No red lights. We passed some stop signs, though. At least, I remember stopping. He had me in the back most of the time doing stuff for him,’ she said.

  ‘Doing what stuff?’ I demanded.

  ‘Rolling up ropes neatly, and making sure stuff was secured on the walls of the van.’

  ‘What stuff?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, I dunno. You know, like duct tape, and screwdrivers, and a hammer, and a little hatchet thingy, and stuff like that,’ Holly said.

  ‘OK, so tell me about the barn,’ I said.

  She shrugged. ‘It was a barn. I don’t know much about barns. It seemed kinda big to me. There were hay bales in it, and he expected me to actually sit on one of them!’ She shuddered at the thought. ‘They were really itchy!’

  ‘When you left the barn – when you and Eli ran off – what did you see?’ I asked.

  ‘Trees. Lots of trees. I mean, it was night-time, you know? Who could see? There was a driveway to the barn, and we tried to get to it, but Mr Smith caught us with his flashlight, and we ran back into the trees.’

  ‘Tell me about Mr Smith,’ Jean said, and I shot her a look.

  The girl looked at Jean and widened her eyes. ‘What about him?’

  ‘His demeanor . . . how he acted. Angry, purposeful . . .’ Jean tried.

  ‘Oh, he was angry all right. All the time. Mad about everything! He yelled at me constantly, and then when he brought poor little Eli in . . . well, he didn’t bring him in, I did,’ Holly said.

  I put up my hand to stop any further questions from my wife. This one I needed to field myself. ‘You brought Eli in? How do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, Mr Smith had him in his van, and he told me to go get him out and like pull him into the barn, like I was his captor. And he filmed it.’

  ‘He filmed it?’ I repeated.

  ‘Yes!’ Holly said, drawing the word out to four or five syllables. ‘I told you he told me he was a film director and I thought we were making a movie!’

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said and left the room. The girl was getting on my last nerve, and I had something I needed to do anyway. I found Emmett.

  ‘Get the county map and check out the area for barns. Old ones. Think we can borrow that helicopter from Tulsa again?’

  ‘No harm in asking,’ Emmett said.

 
; Then I walked down the hall to my office. I had me a deputy to interview. And I wasn’t looking forward to it.

  DALTON

  Dalton blushed blood-red when the sheriff walked in, even though he hadn’t been exploring the sheriff’s office in over fifteen minutes. There just hadn’t been that much to see, although it had all been fascinating to Dalton. All the paperwork the sheriff had to fill out, all the forms, and then there’d been the personnel files, where he found out Anthony Dobbins, who’d been hired a good ten years after Dalton, was getting paid a lot more than him. Dalton was thinking that wasn’t fair, but he figured he needed to think on it some more.

  ‘Hey, Dalton,’ the sheriff said, and went and sat down in his chair behind his desk, which Dalton had luckily vacated when he finished going through the drawers.

  ‘Hey, Milt,’ he replied. ‘Everybody OK out there?’

  ‘Everybody’s fine,’ the sheriff answered.

  ‘That girl Holly OK? You know, she didn’t do nothing, Milt. She was just a . . . a pawn in that man Smith’s scheme.’

  The sheriff nodded his head. ‘Dalton, I’m not gonna ask you where you were this weekend, or why you lied to your mama about it. That’s your business. I just wanna know what happened when you met up with Holly Humphries and Eli, how that came about.’

  Dalton blushed even harder, as impossible as that would seem, at the mention of his weekend and lying to his mama. ‘Ah, well, I was in Tulsa and Mary Ellen had to come get me, and while she was driving us home, I fell asleep and she sorta got off track, I guess, lost, I guess, and when I woke up, she was gone and the car was dead, and I didn’t know where I was. Didn’t know we were right there at the falls. And I started wandering around, and then I met up with that girl Holly and she had Eli with her,’ he said, all in a rush with hardly a breath in between.

  ‘Did you see this Smith character?’ the sheriff asked him.

  Dalton shook his head vehemently. ‘No, Sir! I did not.’

  ‘Anything you can tell me about your nephew’s kidnapping?’