Between Lost and Found

by Shelly Stratton

  “—but his friend said he hasn’t seen him in a while. I’m starting to worry that something really is wrong!”

  Janelle had anxiously twisted one of her long braids around her finger as she spoke on the phone, finding some perverse comfort in the way the hair tightened around her skin, making the tip of her index finger turn red.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it, honey,” her mother had said on the other end of the phone line, sounding tired. She’d yawned. “You know your father. He’s a little boy trapped in a grown man’s body. He doesn’t know how to be a responsible adult. I’m sure he got your messages. He’ll call you back whenever he feels like it.”

  “I know, but I’m wondering if we should call the police and—”

  “Honey,” her mother had said, “I spent almost a decade worrying about your father, chasing after him. I remember spending nights awake wondering why he hadn’t come home. Did he get so drunk that he drove off the road and hit a streetlight? Did he get high with one of his old buddies and OD? I’d leave you alone in the house asleep, throw on a coat, and go hunting for him in the middle of the night, driving to any place I knew to track him down, only to find him passed out in some bar or in some other woman’s bed. I can’t do it anymore. I won’t do it anymore! You understand? I suggest you don’t do it, either. Your father hasn’t spoken to you in months. He doesn’t want to be part of our lives, baby. He isn’t worth the time and effort.”

  Janelle had closed her eyes and released the braid around her finger. Grudgingly, she’d nodded. “You’re right, Mom. You’re right. I should get back to studying. I have a chemistry exam tomorrow. Those isotopes are kicking my butt.”

  Her mother had laughed. “You’ll do fine, honey. And don’t worry. Dad will show up somewhere eventually. He always does.”

  Her mother had been right—Janelle’s father did show up. The police found his body three days later in an abandoned row house in their old neighborhood. He had been slumped against the wall in one of the upstairs bedrooms with a needle still in his arm and a half-empty bottle of whiskey at his side.

  Despite her mother’s insistence that there was nothing they could have done to save him, Janelle would always wonder if she should have done more than just leave phone messages. Could she have tried harder to find him—to save him?

  Janelle’s gaze now returned to her laptop screen.

  “Come and find your grandfather,” the woman had said. “If you’re really worried about him, you’ll come here.”

  “One seat left,” she whispered.

  Finally, she lowered her finger and pressed the on-screen button to purchase a ticket on the 10:35 flight to South Dakota.

  CHAPTER 4

  Welcome to Mammoth Falls . . . the Gold Nugget of the Black Hills!

  Hunters, fishermen, and lovers of natural beauty, feast your eyes on Mammoth Falls, South Dakota! Set in the heart of the Black Hills and named after the mammalian creatures that once roamed North America, the town was founded in 1889, soon after gold was discovered in the Homestake mine in neighboring Lead. But while the gold rush brought both outlaws and lawmen to nearby towns like the infamous Deadwood, Mammoth Falls was populated by simple, gentle folk from the South and West. And simple, gentle folk still live there to this day.

  Visit this fair hamlet to witness nature’s majesty and the history of the Old Wild West all in one. Fish on beautiful Pasque Lake and tour the magnificent mountains the Lakota Indians once called home. Learn more about the gold rush at the Black Hills Mining Museum in Lead. Enjoy a game of poker and watch a real Wild West shootout in nearby Deadwood. Bring the family. Heck, bring the dog, too! Come to Mammoth Falls today!

  —from www.cityofmammothfalls.com, last updated August 2012

  Did it really require a whole six hours to fly from D.C. to Minneapolis then Rapid City? With all the developments in modern aviation, this was the fastest she could go on a commercial jet?

  These were the questions Janelle kept asking herself during her flight across country as she glanced at her watch, watching the minutes tick by. It had taken all her restraint not to climb out of her seat, storm the cockpit, and commandeer the airplane so that she could move the Boeing 717 along a lot faster. Instead, she buried her growing anxiety and impatience under bad in-flight movies and a stack of glossy magazines with mind-numbing articles about silicon-enhanced, Botoxed celebrities that she had picked up at one of the airport magazine kiosks.

  “Does Beyoncé Really Rule the World?” one intrepid headline read.

  “KHLOE KARDASHIAN’S SECRET HEARTBREAK IS REVEALED!” said another in superfluous all caps.

  When Janelle wasn’t doing her deep breathing exercises, reading, or staring vacantly at the drop-down television screen above her head, she was surreptitiously making phone calls in the airplane bathroom, hoping that her phone signal wouldn’t make their plane crash into a farm field or Lake Michigan.

  First, she called her mother.

  “No, Mom, Pops isn’t dead,” Janelle assured her mother, who became hysterical when Janelle told her about last night’s cryptic phone call. “He’s just missing . . . That’s the most I can tell you right now. Yes, I know . . . I know! Don’t worry . . . No, you don’t have to take the first flight back home. I’m taking care of it. I’m flying out there, and I’ll find out what’s going on. I’ll tell you as soon as I get this straightened out.”

  Next, she checked in with her assistant human resources director, Lydia.

  “Uh-huh . . . Uh-huh . . . I know we were supposed to review that presentation today, but it’s a family emergency . . . I had no choice, Lydia.” She rolled her eyes as she listened to Lydia rant on the other end of the line. “Yes, I am aware that it’s important, but again, I had no control over this.... Look, there is no need to freak out. I completely trust you. You’re totally capable of taking care of everything in my absence and, if you need anything, you can always reach me by email or on my cell. I’m a phone call away . . . I told you, I should be back in a couple of days . . . Yes . . . Yes! . . . Look, I have to get off the phone,” Janelle whispered, wincing at the pounding at the bathroom door. “There’s a line three deep to get in here, and they’re probably going to try to batter the door down.”

  The only person she hesitated in calling was Mark, mainly because he had taken the news about her decision to fly to South Dakota to find her grandfather as well as she thought he would.

  “You cannot be serious, Janelle!” he had said that morning as she prepared for her flight. His mouth had hung agape as he watched her rush around their bedroom.

  “Yes, I’m very serious. I’m going to find him.” She had hurriedly shoved clothes, toiletries, and a few other choice items into the carry-on suitcase she had dragged out of her walk-in closet.

  Wanting to be prepared, Janelle had checked the weather forecast. Though it was late April and light sweater weather in the Washington, D.C. suburbs, it still seemed to be wool coat and parka central in the Black Hills. Normal temps in April usually ranged between the thirties and fifties, but western South Dakota seemed to be going through a long winter this year. Yesterday was a high of twenty-six degrees.

  Just my luck, she had thought before adding another turtleneck to the growing pile in her suitcase. She hated the cold.

  “Baby, this is ridiculous! Seriously, what is going on with you?”

  She had ignored him and tossed in another sweater and a pair of wool gloves.

  “I mean, just . . . just stop and think about this for a sec! You’re going to pack up and fly across country because of one phone call? Just like that? If you’re so concerned, why not call the cops and have them find your grandfather?”

  “I did that already,” she had muttered, grabbing her suitcase zipper and yanking it closed.

  She was fretful but not completely irrational. Thank you very much.

  “They told me to call the police in Mammoth Falls. Their office opens at eight a.m., but they’re Mountain Time . . . two hours behin
d us. I planned to call them when I—”

  “Then why still fly out there? At least let the cops investigate it first. You’re not a detective!” He had stared at her as she started to lug her suitcase off the bed. “None of this makes any sense, Jay! I can’t believe you would—”

  “Believe it because I’m going!” she had snapped as she let her suitcase fall to the floor with a thud. She had winced reflexively at her tone. She hadn’t meant for it to come out like that. “I’m sorry, Mark, but I . . . I can’t wait around here and keep making phone calls. I have to do something. For my own peace of mind, I have to go. I have to see that he’s okay. Please try to understand.”

  “You’re usually so supportive . . . so understanding. Why not now?” she wanted to add but didn’t.

  Mark hadn’t responded. She had watched instead as his jaw tightened and his Adam’s apple bobbed over the collar of his crisp white shirt. He had grabbed his briefcase and tossed his suit jacket over his forearm.

  “I have to get to work,” he had said quietly, walking across their bedroom. He had paused in the doorway and opened his mouth as if to say something else but had clamped it shut and shook his head in frustration before walking out.

  As Janelle hid in the airplane bathroom, she stared down at Mark’s cell number on her phone screen. She stared at it for a long time. Finally, she tucked her phone back into her purse, telling herself that she would call him when her flight touched down in Rapid City.

  But it was two hours later, and Janelle still hadn’t called him. Instead, she was listening to her grandfather’s phone ring while she drove a lonely stretch of two-lane highway as the sun continued its descent over the Black Hills. The mountains, which were haloed by the dying light, loomed so high around her that they seemed to lean toward each other drunkenly. It was as if they were on the verge of toppling over and crushing her Volkswagen.

  When she got his voice mail, she pressed a button on the glass screen to hang up and hurled her phone onto the leather passenger seat in frustration.

  For the past hour, Janelle had alternated between calling his cell phone and his home phone. She still had no luck in reaching him.

  Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong. She was sure of it now.

  The miles were clicking by, at least, but still not fast enough for her liking. Janelle was on the last leg of her trek to Mammoth Falls. She was all alone in a rental car—a green Jetta—and she had no distractions. It was a recipe for disaster. It was a recipe for a full freak-out.

  Pops could be stranded in the middle of the forest somewhere, she thought as she frowned at yet another slope of pine trees covered with a blanket of week-old snow and bordered by craggy rock. Beyond that was an old mining quarry. Her gaze was magnetically drawn to the quarry’s dark depths.

  Pops could have fallen into some pit. Oh, God! What if he’s dead?

  “He’s not dead,” she whispered firmly as she drove. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s fine. He’s just . . . just lost, and I’ll find him—somehow.”

  But even saying those thoughts aloud didn’t help temper her burgeoning panic. Her hands still tightened around the steering wheel, and she fought the urge to floor the accelerator for fear of falling off the winding road and plunging down the side of the mountain. Besides, there was no need to rush.

  “I’m almost there anyway,” she told herself.

  She had passed the borders of Deadwood and Lead miles back and should be nearing Mammoth Falls soon, according to the dashboard navigational system. She squinted as the car passed a green highway sign that stood on the shoulder.

  “Mammoth Falls, five miles,” she read aloud. She sat upright in the driver’s seat. After driving for more than sixty miles, she was finally getting close to her destination, and her first stop would be the police department.

  She had tried calling the Mammoth Falls cops while at the airport waiting to board her flight, but the hicks in that mountain town had been of absolutely no help.

  “Mammoth Falls Police Department,” a woman had chirped into the phone. “How may I help you?”

  “I’d like to report a missing person.”

  “Oh, gosh! A missing person?”

  Janelle had heard the rustling paper, a dropped phone, and then a thunk that sounded like a coffee cup being knocked over.

  “Hon,” the voice had said after the shuffling stopped, “the chief and his officers have stepped out. I’m going to have to take down your information. Now . . . now speak slowly. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Now go right on ahead! Who’s missing?”

  “My grandfather, William Marshall.”

  “William Marshall? You mean Little Bill? Is this . . . Is this some kind of a joke?”

  “No, it’s not a joke! I got a phone call yesterday saying that he was missing. I asked them her they she called the police and—”

  “Well, then that person must’ve been playing a joke on you,” the voice said with a laugh. “Little Bill isn’t missing!”

  “He isn’t? Oh, thank God!”

  Janelle had been filled with relief. She wouldn’t have to fly to South Dakota after all. Mentally, she calculated if she had enough time to grab a quick breakfast at one of the eateries in the airport before she caught the next metro train back home.

  “I’ve been so worried,” she had gushed to the woman on the phone, feeling her heart rate slow. “You would not believe! So you’ve seen him? You’ve seen him around town?”

  “Well . . . no.”

  “No? So how do you know for sure he isn’t missing?”

  “I think I would’ve heard about something like that, hon.” A giggle had filled the phone. “He’s called Little Bill but he’s got a big enough personality that you’d notice if he was gone! And on account of . . . well, you know . . . him sticking out a little.”

  “Sticking out” as in being one of the few if not only black men in town.

  “Well, he’s not answering any of my phone calls or texts. I’ve called him at least a dozen times and—”

  “Maybe he just doesn’t wanna talk.”

  Janelle had loudly sighed on the other end, trying to hold on to her patience. “Can someone just . . . I don’t know . . . stop by his cabin and do a welfare check? That’s what you do in these situations, correct? Make sure that everything is all right?”

  “I’m afraid the chief and officers here got plenty to do besides check on a man who isn’t missing.”

  Like what? What the hell do the boys in blue in Mammoth Falls have to do that’s more important than look for a missing elderly man?

  “Yes, I understand that, but if he really is missing, then wouldn’t it be—”

  “If I run into Little Bill, I’ll tell him his granddaughter is looking for him. Okay?”

  “Wait, I—”

  “Thanks for calling!”

  The person had hung up soon after, leaving Janelle with the strong desire to chuck her phone at the wall like she was throwing the opening pitch at a Nationals game.

  Breathe in. Breathe out, she had told herself.

  Instead of throwing her phone, she had dropped it back into her purse.

  The cops couldn’t ignore her when she was standing right in front of them.

  I won’t let them, she now silently resolved as she drove to Mammoth Falls.

  She’d be damned if she’d let some old blue-hair from a podunk town dismiss her again. She’d get someone to take her grandfather’s disappearance seriously.

  After a short while the trees lining the shoulder gradually reduced in number and buildings began to appear in their place. Janelle gazed through the windshield at Mammoth Falls.

  Built in the mountains, the town more resembled a tiered wedding cake than a straight boulevard of municipal and industrial buildings and houses; everything was covered in last week’s snowfall and set on an incline. She passed a few stores with simple log-and-brick fronts and signs in their windows or hanging under their awnings.
None of the names looked familiar. Painted on the side of one building was a faded 1940s Coca-Cola advertisement that showed a dark-haired woman with a yellow bonnet holding a coke bottle and gazing into the eyes of a man who looked like an old matinee idol.

  “Try Coke! It’s delish!” the advertisement proclaimed.

  She slowed down at an intersection where two men were hanging a banner from old-fashioned, cast-iron street lamps on opposite sides of the roadway. One man stood at the top of a steel ladder while the other was at the bottom, motioning for him to raise the banner up higher, to shift it slightly to the left. Finally, he gave the thumbs up and the other man knotted a rope, securing the banner into place.

  Janelle squinted as she peered overhead.

  Twisting in the high winds were the words, “The First Annual BLACK HILLS WILD WEST FESTIVAL,” spelled in big copperplate script with spurs and a lasso in the background. “Two Weeks of Fun! April 21–May 4,” was printed in smaller script beneath it.

  As Janelle read the words, she sucked her teeth.

  No wonder the police are too busy to worry about Pops, she thought as she lowered her eyes and continued to drive down Main Street. Why be concerned with a lost old man when “two weeks of fun!” is headed to town?

  Several people were on Main Street, walking along the sidewalk and even spilling into the roadway. Some were unloading trucks and trailers for the festival, she presumed. Their vehicles took up both sides of the street for a stretch of three to four blocks, making a path so narrow that she worried her mirror might sideswipe someone’s car. A bearded, white-haired man pushed two beer kegs down a ramp before trudging back up the ramp again. A woman stood underneath a white tent, setting up a table and unloading two plastic crates filled with t-shirts.

  Those who weren’t preparing for the impending festival seemed to be going about their everyday business. One woman talked avidly on her cell phone as she shoved along a blond little girl who seemed to be trying to get the woman’s attention by yanking her coat sleeve. A guy wearing a red “Make America Great Again” cap stepped out of a glass door onto the sidewalk with two paper grocery bags in his arms and paused to spit a black stream of chewing tobacco from the side of his mouth onto the sidewalk, making Janelle cringe. A group of teenagers laughed before hopping into the cab of a navy blue pickup truck with a “NOT A LIBERAL” bumper sticker in the blacked-out rear window.