Between Lost and Found

by Shelly Stratton

  “If you’re going to act this way, then I don’t want to be in your fashion show!”

  “Fine with me,” Connie answered drily.

  “Oh, is it now?” Peg snapped as she yanked off the purple dress, hurled it to the floor, and reached for her clothes. She shimmied back into her skirt and tugged her sweater over her head. “You can’t abuse people just because your man wandered off somewhere. Maybe you should have told that old black bastard to stay put!”

  Connie’s back went rigid.

  “After you get dressed, make sure you don’t leave anything behind,” she said in a low, menacing voice, “because you are no longer welcome in this store. You hear me?”

  “That’s fine with me!” Peg grabbed her coat and her purse. She shoved her arms into one of the coat sleeves, even though some of the buttons on her sweater were still open and her skirt zipper was undone. She marched toward the shop’s entrance with her wool scarf trailing behind her like a wedding train. “I guess you won’t mind if I tell everyone in town this is how you treat your customers now. And I mean everybody! You’ll regret talking to me like this, Connie Black Bear!”

  Not really, Connie thought, crossing her arms over her chest. On the long list of regrets Connie had, pissing off Peg Whitcomb wouldn’t be one of them. She laughed softly as she watched Peg storm off.

  “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out!” Connie shouted just as Peg yanked open the shop door, making the bell overhead jingle.

  Peg shoved her way past Janelle, who was already standing in the doorway. She did not bother to excuse herself.

  Janelle stared after Peg as the angry woman made her way down the sidewalk. When Peg disappeared past the shop window, still muttering to herself, Janelle turned around to face Connie with her brows raised. “What was that about?”

  “Nothing. Just some . . .” Connie made a shooing motion, feeling more tired now than she had been twenty minutes earlier. “It was nothing.”

  She watched as Janelle stepped inside the shop, closed the door behind her, and wiped her booted feet on the doormat. The bell jingled again as the door softly shut.

  “So what are you doing here?” Connie paused. “Heard any news about—”

  “Pops?” Janelle lowered the zipper of her coat and shook her head. “No, I haven’t. You?”

  Connie also shook her head. She leaned against the cashier’s counter. “I can’t believe they haven’t found him yet. It’s been three days since they found his truck . . . five days since anyone’s last seen him! How does a person disappear into thin air like that?”

  “I’ve asked myself the same question every day since I found out Pops went missing.”

  “Dammit, I hate this!” Connie pushed herself away from the counter. “I hate it! I feel like my hands are tied behind my back, like a chain is around my leg. I wish they’d let us help with the search.”

  “I do, too, but Sam said that it can mess up the trail the trackers are using if too many people are out there.”

  “Bullshit!” Connie snapped. She started to pace in front of the clothing racks. She stuck one of her painted nails into her mouth and began to gnaw at it even though the polish tasted horrible. “You know I tried looking for Bill myself anyway?”

  “Me too,” Janelle whispered, lowering her eyes.

  “Went driving up and down Highway 85,” she continued, barely listening, “then I stopped and walked about two miles into the woods. Scared the hell out of a family of deer, but that’s about it.”

  Janelle pursed her lips and shoved her hands into her pockets. “I appreciate you doing that—even if the deer didn’t.”

  “Yeah, well, it still didn’t do a damn bit of good. I didn’t find him.” Connie stopped pacing. “You never told me why you stopped by.”

  Janelle shrugged. “I just wanted to get out of the house. I needed to get out of the house. I tried reviewing résumés, writing emails. It was pointless. I can’t form one comprehensible sentence anymore. I was going stir crazy in there. I even went to the festival and walked around for a while to try to distract myself.” She gazed out the store window. “It wasn’t really my thing.”

  “Yeah, well,” Connie said again, turning back to the counter, “you’ll have plenty to occupy your time soon enough. You’re picking up your man today, right?” She glanced at the wall clock. “Shouldn’t you be heading out to the airport? That stagecoach dust-up isn’t blocking your way out of town, is it?”

  “No, they cleared it—finally.” Janelle tore her eyes away from the window and looked at Connie. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to get to the airport anyway. There’s been a change of plans,” she said softly.

  “Huh?”

  “He’s . . . he’s not coming. Not today. There’s a lot going on back home, and Mark can’t . . . he can’t get away right now.”

  Connie gazed at Janelle more closely. The young woman’s eyes were pink and the lids were puffy, like she had been crying. Connie’s brows knitted together with fury. “That son of a bitch,” she mumbled.

  Janelle held up her hand. “Connie, please—”

  “What the hell is so goddamn important that man can’t be with you at a moment like this?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she answered firmly. “Please just . . . just drop it, okay?”

  Why can’t you let things go, Mama? she could hear Yvette say at that moment. Why don’t you just know when to leave well enough alone?

  “Okay, we don’t have to talk about it. I just hate to see you sad like this. You aren’t my granddaughter, but you’re Bill’s, so I kind of feel like . . . like I should be looking out for you. He would have wanted me to.”

  Janelle gave a small smile. “I appreciate that.”

  The two women fell into an awkward silence. Connie glanced at the dressing room that was still in disarray.

  “Look at this mess,” Connie muttered, sucking her teeth as she walked across the shop. She dropped to her knees and angrily snatched the purple lace dress from the hardwood floor. “Damn you, Peggy.”

  “Look, Connie, I . . . I owe you an apology,” Janelle said as Connie rose back to her feet and reached for one of the hangers in the dressing room.

  “An apology for what?” Connie asked distractedly from over her shoulder.

  Now thanks to Peggy, she had not only several dresses to place back on the rack, but she also was short one model for her fashion show with less than four days to replace her.

  Like I need another worry, she thought. It was yet another concern to add to her growing list, but at least it was low in the rankings.

  “I know we didn’t start things off in the best way,” Janelle continued. “I could’ve been nicer to you. I apologize for being so short . . . maybe even a little rude.”

  “I lied to you to get you here. I understand why you were pissy with me.” Connie paused to hang the purple dress on a nearby hook, wiping away the wrinkles with a few quick swipes. “Anybody would be—”

  “But I judged you unfairly—very unfairly. More than you realize. I shouldn’t have done that. You didn’t deserve it.”

  Connie shook her head. “It’s no problem, honey. I’m not holding any grudges.”

  “You don’t seem like you would.” Janelle lowered her eyes. “All the same, if I could make it up to you for how I behaved, I would. Believe me.”

  At those words, Connie paused midmotion. She slowly turned. “What size are you?”

  Janelle’s brow crinkled in confusion. “Huh?”

  “A size eight, right?” Connie grabbed one of the fashion show dresses from the hook in front of her and glanced at the label. She paused to scan Janelle openly as if seeing her for the first time—her long legs, her full breasts, and round hips.

  “Most of the time I’m an eight,” Janelle said distantly. “Sometimes a ten, if I’ve had one raspberry cheesecake too many. Why?”

  “You really want to make it up to me? Be in my fashion show next week!�
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  Janelle’s mouth fell open. She pointed at her chest. “You want me to be in your fashion show? Me?”

  “Sure! Why not? I’m short one model now thanks to Peggy. I need a quick replacement. You’d be perfect. And I’ve got the perfect dress for you!” Connie brandished a short suede dress with a sweetheart neckline and silver stud embellishment along the hem.

  Janelle stared at the dress. She shrank back and cringed, like the garment was covered in feces.

  Connie’s shoulders slumped. “Well, if you don’t like this one, we can always pick another one. Whatever you want to wear . . . it doesn’t matter to me!”

  Janelle shook her head again. “Connie, I really, really don’t think I’m the best candidate for this. I’ve never modeled before. I don’t even know if I’d be good at it!”

  “That’s okay. It’s pretty easy. You just walk up and down the stage. Smile at the crowd. Try not to trip. It’s not that complicated.”

  “But wouldn’t you rather I help instead? Maybe with getting the models dressed and ready and . . . and stuff.”

  “You can do that, too! You can just walk at the end of the show if you’re really nervous about modeling in front of a crowd and spend most of the time backstage helping me.”

  Janelle stared at the dress again.

  “What do you say?”

  She watched as Janelle took a deep, long breath. “Okay, I’ll . . . I’ll do it.”

  “Great! Why don’t you try this dress on and see how it—”

  “I’ll do it . . . on a few conditions,” Janelle clarified, making Connie squint and lower the dress.

  “What conditions?”

  “Well, more like an exchange or a . . . a trade.”

  Connie frowned. “My people don’t have many good experiences with trading, honey. I don’t know if I like the sound of this.”

  “I’m not asking for much . . . just clean underwear.”

  “Huh?”

  “Clean underwear. I haven’t been able to find a Laundromat around here, and Pops doesn’t have a washer and dryer. I wasn’t sure if I was going to have to revert to scrubbing my bra and panties in the bathroom sink. I need a place to wash and dry my clothes.”

  Connie laughed. “All right. You can use mine.”

  “I also need the use of a printer for a few hours and a scanner to send some stuff back home. Could I—”

  “All you had to do was ask. Of course, you can use it. The printer and scanner are in my office.” Connie raised her brows expectantly. “Is that it?”

  Janelle nodded. “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “Good. You’ve got a deal. Now try this on.” She held the dress toward her again. “Even if you don’t like it, it’ll give me an idea of what looks good on you.”

  Janelle took off her parka and hung it on a nearby hook. She then took the hanger that Connie offered her and walked toward the dressing room.

  Too bad you aren’t here to see this, Bill, Connie thought. Janelle and Connie working side by side . . . It’s something Bill would have wanted, something he would have loved.

  “Evie, won’t mind, will she?” Janelle asked, pulling shut the dressing room’s polka-dot curtain.

  “Huh? Won’t mind what?”

  “I mean will Evie mind me helping you with the fashion show?” Janelle shouted over the top of the curtain as she began to remove her clothes. Connie could hear the clanging of hangers again. “I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”

  Connie rolled her eyes. “She’d have to actually show up for you to step on her toes. She barely even comes here to help me at the shop. You don’t see her standing around here, do you? She’s probably off with that damn Tyler Macy again.”

  Janelle paused. Her jeans were pooled at her ankles, and Connie could see her brown calves beneath the bottom of the curtain.

  Nice, strong calves, Connie thought. Her legs are going to look nice in one of the short dresses or maybe one with a high split.

  “Tyler’s the guy you don’t like, right?”

  “No,” Connie said icily, “he’s the guy that I hate.”

  Whenever she saw Tyler Macy and that hog of his, she was reminded of her ex—Yvette’s father. The two men had the same wide-legged strut, like they had cocks too big to fit in their pants. They had the same dewy green eyes that made them look dreamy at first but then like complete simpletons after you had to gaze into those eyes while they made the umpteenth excuse for why they were late, drunk, or in the county jail. And both men had the same penchant for trouble. Tyler had a rap sheet as long as his arm. For now, he seemed happy with petty crimes and misdemeanors—shoplifting, disorderly conduct, and possession of drug paraphernalia—but Connie wouldn’t put it past him to eventually move up to the bigger offenses. He was one stolen car away from a high-speed chase and police shoot-out, in her humble opinion. He was one bar fight away from an attempted murder charge. Even Little Bill had thought Tyler was nothing but bad news.

  “Evie better watch out,” Bill had said a month ago as he drank a cup of coffee and peered out Connie’s kitchen window, watching as Yvette bounded down the porch steps to hop on the back of Tyler’s Harley Davidson. “Mark my words . . . you’re gonna find that boy on the front page of the Mammoth Falls Gazette one day, and it ain’t gonna be because he’s running for town mayor.”

  And Tyler had sensed how Bill had felt about him. The two men used to glower at each other whenever they were in the same room, like two cowboys holding a shoot-out at high noon.

  Connie paused. Bill . . . Tyler.

  Bill’s truck had gone off the road on Cedar Lane. Cedar Lane was not too far from the Macy family’s piece-of-shit trailer where a rusted-out Ford truck sat in front on cinderblocks and a Rottweiler barked day and night.

  The cops hadn’t found Bill, just boot prints in the snow that abruptly stopped not too far from the crash site.

  Like someone picked him up, Connie thought, feeling light-headed, like he hopped in someone’s car or . . . on the back of a motorcycle. That’s why we haven’t found him! Someone took him away.

  “All right. What you think?” Janelle said, pulling back the curtain. She gazed down at herself before tugging up the top of the sweetheart neckline. “I don’t know. It seems a bit revealing to me.” She pointed at her breasts that were almost spilling over the top of the dress.

  Connie stared at Janelle, startled out of her daze. For a minute, she had forgotten the younger woman was in the shop with her. Connie slowly nodded and forced a smile. “It is a bit more sassy than classy. We can try another dress.”

  Janelle dropped her hands to her sides and squinted at Connie. “Are you okay?”

  She didn’t want to alarm Bill’s granddaughter with her secret worries, because if they were valid then Bill was a lot worse off than she had feared.

  “Oh, yeah! Right as rain, honey! Just . . . uh . . . let me look for that other dress. I’ll be right back.”

  Connie then turned away, feeling her arms and her legs tremble as she walked.

  CHAPTER 16

  Sam climbed out of the sedan and paused in front of the Mammoth Falls Police Department emblem on the driver’s side door before slamming the door shut. He stifled a yawn.

  It had been a long day in an ongoing march of long days, and he was tired and verging on exhausted, but this would be his last stop. Then he would return home to his quiet house, his golden Labrador retriever, Quincy, and the beer that awaited him in the fridge. He’d sleep for a few hours and wake up before dawn to start the cycle all over again.

  He glanced up at the dark sky with its canopy of twinkling stars and half moon, and felt the light breeze on his face. He strolled toward the cabin stairs, listening to the gravel crunch underfoot.

  There were days Sam liked being a small town police chief; the people were nice, crime was minimal, and every person he encountered he had either met or knew by reputation. Unfortunately, today wasn’t one of those days. Being responsible for maintaining the law,
order, and welfare of the 2,687 citizens of Mammoth Falls was one thing. Being responsible for maintaining the law, order, and welfare of those 2,687 citizens who knew you back when you were in diapers, who had been in the same bowling league as your father or in the same scrapbooking club as your mother—that could be challenging. Almost everyone approached him with a familiarity that could be annoying in the best of times and downright galling when they caught him at a bad moment.

  “See here, Sammy,” one old-timer had said to him as he walked into Cuppa Cup of Joe that morning to grab a quick cup of coffee.

  The old man had clapped Sam on the back so hard that he almost had made him spill his French roast over the rim of his paper cup. He had leaned toward Sam’s shoulder, sending flecks of spittle into Sam’s ear.

  “Make sure that the fellas you’ve got out there are working with the right tracking dogs. Some of them will let just any ol’ mutts on a trail. I prefer purebred hounds myself.”

  “Now I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, Sam,” Agnes at Mason’s Grocery had told him during his lunch break as she pushed the sleeves of her sweatshirt up her spindly forearms and rested them on the counter, “but are you lookin’ into the criminal element in town? You know . . . in regard to Little Bill’s disappearance?”

  Sam had squinted at her as he set a pack of granola and antiperspirant near the cash register. “What criminal element?”

  “Like did you think that maybe the Hell’s Angels did it or a Mexican drug cartel?” she had asked in a whisper with an expression so grim and grave that he almost burst into laughter.

  Then that afternoon, Connie Black Bear had cornered him in his office.

  “Tyler Macy is behind this, Sam!” she had shouted as she shoved open his office door and stood in front of his desk. “I’d swear on the Bible that he is!”

  “I’m sorry,” Rita had said, standing behind Connie in the doorway, looking perturbed. “I told her you were busy. She barged in here anyway.”

  “And I told you, Rita, that I don’t care that he’s busy! This is important!”

  Sam had been in a middle of a meeting with Mayor Pruitt, and under normal circumstances would have dropped to his knees in thanks for the interruption. Pruitt had been boring him into a coma with a story about his recent fishing trip in the Caribbean when Connie had stomped into the room. Sam could use a distraction. He just didn’t think this type of distraction was the best one.