“Janelle?” he answered back, making her shoulders sink with relief. Hearing his voice was like having him reach through the phone and wrap an arm around her shoulder.
“Oh, Sam,” she groaned, just wanting to sink into him.
“Are you all right?” he asked, worry tingeing his voice.
She laughed and gazed around her again at the empty cul-de-sac. “Oh, I’m fine! I’m just standing in front of my house on the curb with my luggage. I walked in on Mark with another woman. I’m not torn up about it, but . . . my car is blocked in and now I can’t leave.”
“Well,” he said with a warm chuckle that made her smile despite how bemused she felt, “sounds like you’ve had quite a day.”
She nodded, set her suitcase flat on the ground, and plopped on top of it. She rested her elbows on her knees. “You have no idea!”
“And it’s about to get a lot more interesting,” he said, making her brows furrow.
“Huh?”
“I’ve been calling you! I’ve got somebody here who wants to talk to you.”
She heard a rustling sound and then Sam muttering, “Go ahead,” in the background.
And then a voice came to her, seemingly across the universe, across time, and from the dead. It spoke through her phone and into her ear.
“Hey, baby girl!” Pops answered. “How’ve you been?”
CHAPTER 31
After 8-Day Search, Mammoth Falls Man Found Alive
Police Say Man Was Held by Area Couple, Kidnapping Charges Pending
May 5, 2016
By Laurie Spencer, Mammoth Falls Gazette
Bill Marshall of Mammoth Falls, whose damaged Ford truck was discovered dangling over a ravine off of Cedar Lane on April 22 and who was declared missing by police, was found and rescued from a Spearfish couple. His rescuer was 27-year-old Tyler Macy, another Mammoth Falls resident.
“Tyler is definitely a hero,” said Mammoth Falls Police Chief Sam Adler. “If it wasn’t for him, who knows what would have happened to Bill or if we ever would have found him.”
“It’s not like I was looking for [Bill],” Macy said, who explained that he had visited Donald Holler and Alice Kennedy of Spearfish because they were “acquaintances of his.”
“I just happened to be there that day. I hadn’t planned to be. I’m glad I was, though,” he said.
Holler and Kennedy are now facing kidnapping charges in connection to Marshall’s disappearance. They are currently at large and police have issued a national alert to help place them under arrest.
“We went to their trailer to arrest them a couple of days ago, but it looks like they pulled up stakes,” Chief Adler said. “They probably got wind that we were looking for them.”
Marshall said that the couple did hold him in their trailer in an isolated four-acre lot for more than a week against his will after they discovered him on the side of the road. But he said that they did it to nurse him back to health and he holds no ill will against them.
“It was just a big misunderstanding,” Marshall said. “I know how that goes . . . when your good intentions go to hell. Pardon my French. I just hope when and if the cops finally do find them, the judge will go easy on them. They’re good people. Just stupid and crazy, I guess.”
The kidnapping charge will be the first criminal charge for Kennedy. But Holler has previously faced possession of a controlled substance and marijuana distribution charges. In 2009, he served a two-year stint in a California prison for drug-related charges.
“We can’t go light on them just because they had good intentions,” said Lawrence County State’s Attorney Chance Stanton. “Whether they go to jail or go free is up to a judge or jury to decide.”
Marshall’s rescue brings an end to an eight-day search that included the Mammoth Falls Police Department, the Lawrence County Sheriff’s Office, several other police departments, and four search and rescue teams. Trackers surveyed ten miles’ worth of forest in the Black Hills, even recovering the remains of a hiker who had disappeared three years ago.
Macy will receive a commendation from the mayor of Mammoth Falls and town council for his heroic action during a ceremony at City Hall on May 8.
“It’s crazy,” Macy said. “I heard they’re giving me a key to the city. My picture has been in the paper and on TV. And it’s not even my mug shot.”
Little Bill sat on his front porch, rocking listlessly in his chair, hearing the wood give against metal screws and crack and creak beneath him. He waved away a gnat that circled near his ear as he listened to The Mutt snore at his feet.
Neither he nor the dog had budged from the front porch for almost an hour. They had done a few scratches here or there, but that was about it. Since Bill had left Doc and Snow’s trailer, he couldn’t stand to be confined in any space for long—including his own cabin. He had to get out, to feel the wind on his face and peer at the clouds overhead. He’d take walks on well-worn trails with The Mutt at his side, even though he still hadn’t fully recovered and it somewhat pained him to limp along the parched earth. But the walks and the solitude helped to bring him peace of mind, and some days that was in short supply.
By the time the tepid weather of May had given way to the burning heat of June, Little Bill had gotten sick of television cameras, boom mikes, and those little mike packs and wires that hang from your belt like fanny packs. He had started to loathe all the reporters, producers, and dumb questions.
“So what was the thought going through your mind when your truck went off the edge of that cliff?” one dunce on Good Morning America had asked him.
“Were you afraid of your captors?” the local TV anchor had asked during a one-on-one interview.
“It’s your own fault,” Mabel would say in his head every time he’d wanted to rip off his mike and march out of those TV studios. “You’re the one who created this mess!”
That was true. A little plan he had hatched at a casino bar to keep Janelle from getting married to a man unworthy of her had had ramifications far beyond what he had anticipated—but not all of the outcomes had been bad.
Sure, a few of the shop windows along Main Street still were boarded up from the riot that had taken place three months ago in his absence. (Though he still didn’t understand how his disappearance could lead civilized people to decide to break windows and set part of the town on fire.) And Doc and Snow had closed shop in their dilapidated trailer and disappeared—something that he still felt bad about.
They hadn’t quite kidnapped him, like the news stories claimed. “Kidnapping” was such a harsh word. And they had seemed like decent folk. He fervently hoped that they had gotten away.
Little Bill gazed at the pine trees on the other side of his yard, imagining them as swaying palms, the gray gravel as a white sandy beach.
Maybe they were living in Tahiti, wearing sarongs and smoking reefer. Or maybe they were living in some forest in Costa Rica, practicing their holistic healing. He even hoped that the fat Persian cat, Mikey, was happy.
But again, not all the outcomes had been bad; some good had come out of all of this.
See! I didn’t make a complete fool out of myself, Mabel.
“No, not a complete one,” she conceded.
Bill tore his gaze away from the trees when he heard footsteps coming toward him. At the same time, The Mutt’s ears perked up and his snoring abruptly ceased. Connie stomped onto the porch with hands on hips, letting the screen door slam shut behind her.
“They still aren’t here?” She raised her hand to shield her eyes as she peered down the driveway.
“It’s just five thirty,” he said, waving at the gnat again. “We’ve got time.”
“We should’ve driven there ourselves,” she muttered irritably. “I have my own truck. I could’ve—”
“They wanted to be nice . . . to do a favor. Let them do it.”
“But now we’re going to be late!”
“Well, it ain’t like we’ve got dinner reservations at the
Ritz, honey! It’s just something Janelle’s cooking up.”
Connie balled her fists at her sides. “I knew I never should’ve let you talk me into . . .”
Her words tapered off, and she unclenched her fists when they both heard the loud rumble of a truck engine. Soon, a red F-350 with sparkling chrome that caught the light overhead came into view intermittingly through the line of trees, bobbing along the unpaved road. A few seconds later, it pulled to a stop in front of the porch, kicking up gravel in its wake. One of the doors flew open.
“Hop in!” Tyler called out, waving them forward.
* * *
Connie sat on the leather seat, surrounded by new car smell, with the truck door on one side and her daughter on the other. At that moment, the prospect of hurling herself out of the moving vehicle to the black asphalt now racing past her car window seemed less intimidating than continuing to sit beside Yvette in strained silence.
Bill and Tyler weren’t silent. They were laughing and talking in the front of the cab. Bill was regaling Tyler with some bawdy tale as he gesticulated wildly. She wished he would shut up.
Connie stole a glance at Yvette, gazing at her daughter in profile—the long green hair, the stubborn set jaw, and those big, dark eyes that she had inherited from Connie’s mother. Just when it seemed like Yvette could feel Connie’s eyes on her and was about to look in Connie’s direction, Connie turned back around to gaze out the window.
Mother and daughter hadn’t spoken to each other since that day on Main Street, when all hell had broken loose and Yvette had slugged Connie in the nose. Or, at least, they hadn’t spoken directly. Oddly enough, Little Bill and Tyler had become their intermediaries, their mouthpieces. The two men had become fast friends since Tyler had rescued Bill from his captors. They spoke almost daily.
“He’s a good boy, Connie,” Bill had confided one day. “You might like him if you gave him a chance.”
“I highly doubt that,” she had muttered in reply.
“He wants to get you and Evie back together,” Bill had said, giving her pause. “That says something about him, don’t it? He can’t be that bad! Maybe he could help.”
And so began a series of maneuvers—some subtle, some not—to get Connie and Yvette to make up, to end the Arctic freeze that had formed between them.
Ty says Evie misses you, honey.
Ty and I agree that this nonsense has dragged on long enough.
One of you has to be the bigger woman.
You can’t stay mad at her forever!
Even Janelle seemed to have gotten in on the act, inviting both Connie and Yvette to dinner at her and Sam’s place, not letting them know that the other also was coming until it was well after it would have been possible for either to politely back out.
“But you have to come, Connie! I’m going to have all this extra food. I’m even making your favorite dish.”
Connie wasn’t aware that Janelle even knew what her favorite dish was.
“Please come!” Janelle had pleaded. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
And then came Bill’s whining about how her Silverado didn’t have enough leg room, aggravating his injured back and leg. Tyler had offered to give them a ride in the new pickup truck he had purchased with the generous reward given to him for finding Bill. It had plenty of leg room, according to Bill.
Finally, after so many hints, cajoling, begging, and bullying, Connie capitulated.
This is how she found herself sitting next to Yvette, sliding on brand-new leather car seats, struggling to figure out what to say to her own daughter.
“How . . . how’ve you been?” she ventured, turning again toward Yvette.
“How do you think I’ve been?” Yvette mumbled sullenly in reply, staring at the headrest in front of her.
The two men sitting in the front seat quieted.
“I think you’ve been angry at me.”
“Why whatever made you think that, Mama?”
“But I’m not mad at you,” Connie continued undaunted, ignoring Yvette’s sarcasm.
“And why the hell should you be?” Yvette shouted, whipping around to glare at her mother. Bill and Tyler glanced uneasily at each other. “You were the one who—”
“I hoped hitting me made you feel better. I hope it helped you get whatever you wanted to get off your chest.”
Yvette fell silent. She uncrossed her arms and let her hands fall to her sides. She stared at her mother uneasily, like she was staring at a waiting bear trap. “What do you mean?”
What did she mean? There were so many things she wanted to say. Decades’ worth of emotions and heartbreak and disappointment about her own childhood, about the childhood she had given Yvette that she wanted to offload, but it all seemed futile now. Dead weight that she had been carrying around for way too long.
“That day I could see so much hate in your eyes, all that anger that you kept bottled up, and it finally boiled over. But you got it out, Evie. It’s done. Let it go. We both need to let it go.” She pursed her lips. “We’ve been going like this for years. This back and forth, tit for tat . . . but it’s gotta end. The only people we’re hurting are each other . . . and I don’t want to hurt you. You’re the last person in this world that I want to hurt, honey.” She stared beseechingly at her daughter. “Can we end it?”
Yvette didn’t reply. Instead she stubbornly turned away from her mother and stared out her passenger-side window.
Connie sighed in defeat. Bill and Tyler shifted uncomfortably in the front seat. Connie looked down at Yvette’s right hand. It lay on the leather seat between them. Slowly and with great trepidation, she reached out and touched Yvette’s outstretched fingers. Her daughter didn’t pull away as she had expected. She held Yvette’s hand and squeezed it. She felt Yvette’s fingers shift—unclench then fan out—so that they linked through her mother’s. Finally, Yvette squeezed her hand back.
Tears pricked Connie’s eyes. The two continued to sit handin-hand, not saying anything, listening to the sound of the rumbling engine as it filled the truck’s compartment, as they made their way through downtown Mammoth Falls to their destination.
* * *
Janelle set the last plate on the dining room table. She heard Sam’s heavy footfalls in the living room followed by the click-click of Quincy’s claws on the hardwood floor.
“We’re back!” Sam shouted. The door slammed shut behind him. “I’m gonna take a quick shower before everyone gets here!”
“All right! I’m still setting up,” she called back, placing a wineglass on the table.
“I’ll help when I’m done!”
Janelle had had to rummage through Sam’s pine cabinets and drawers for decent tableware for tonight’s dinner, battling a level of disorder that still left her confounded. Water glasses were on the same shelf as cartons of trail mix and Frosted Flakes. Forks and knives were commingled in the shallow plastic slots meant to sort silverware according to kind. She found the matches and candles under an opened pack of batteries, old DVD player’s instructions, and car wash flyers. But she supposed she should be used to Sam’s brand of household chaos by now since she had been staying with him for more than two months. He had even ceded real estate to her in his house, giving her a section in his closet for her clothes, a side of his bathroom sink for her toothpaste, hair spray, and mouthwash.
She was living with Sam because she hadn’t wanted to push Pops out of his bedroom and didn’t find the cushions of his plaid living room couch very inviting. She could have rented a room instead; the price at the local bed-and-breakfast on Poplar Street for a queen-sized bed with en-suite bathroom wasn’t expensive. But now that she had quit her job at Bryant Consulting (Lydia had almost hyperventilated when she told her by phone) and had no immediate job prospects, she couldn’t imagine spending the bulk of her savings on an indefinite hotel stay.
“Save your money,” Sam had said to her in bed one night soon after she had arrived back in Mammoth.
&nbs
p; They had been staring up at the ceiling, listening to the crickets outside his bedroom window.
“Bunk with me,” he had offered.
Though in the end, saving money meant little to her; her savings would receive an influx of cash soon with the proceeds of the sale of the house she and Mark had purchased together. Now that they had broken up, he said he no longer had interest in keeping their 3,500-square-foot home.
“Shana said she prefers a condo closer to the city anyway,” he had divulged by phone.
“I’m sure she and Brenda will have fun decorating it!” Janelle had replied cheerfully.
Though she had intended no malice behind that comment, maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned his mother in light of what she had last said to him. Regardless, Mark had rushed off the phone soon after.
Mark still didn’t believe her when she said she wasn’t angry that he had cheated on her. He thought she was putting up a brave front when she told him that she was content with how things had ended between them.
I know I hurt you, Janelle. I’m ashamed at how I behaved, he had written in one email. It was the last thing to push you over the edge. You had to be devastated.
She initially wanted reply that he seemed more devastated by their breakup than she did! But instead, she sent him a selfie of her, Sam, and Quincy hiking on Overland Trail, a fine sheen of sweat on their brows, smiles on their faces, and a silhouette of the mountains set against the rising sun in the picture behind them. The caption read: Does this look like a woman who’s devastated?
She hadn’t meant to gloat. She just wanted to prove to Mark that she really was okay.
So it’s because of your mountain man? Mark had written in a terse reply to her. Your cowboy?
She could practically see his condescending sneer in the email’s Helvetica type.
His name is Sam, she had written back, and no, it’s not just because of him.
Though being with Sam certainly helped. It was hard to mourn the loss of one relationship when you were acquainting yourself with another one, discovering a new lover’s idiosyncrasies. Every day she was learning new facts about Sam, like, for instance, he had played football in college and flirted with the idea of playing for the pros until he injured his knee, he liked to eat his toast slathered with chunky peanut butter, was a total slob who also sang loud and off key in the shower, and was a registered Republican.
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