by Glenn Rolfe
“I’ll be right over here if you should need anything else.”
“Okay, thanks, Mr. Schultz.”
He pulled off the box cover layered with a sheet of inch-thick dust. The Coral County Sentinel wasn’t very big. He pulled out the entire month behind the little green label reading “April”, sitting it on the tabletop.
He found what he was looking for on Sunday, April 23.
MISSING: 14-Year-Old Marsden Resident Katharine Bell
Parents say Katharine left their home on Jefferson Hill Road Friday afternoon after school and never returned. Local police conducted a search for the missing girl Saturday from sunup to sundown. The search turned up empty. A larger search party is scheduled for today, featuring members of the community and members of the four Coral County Sheriff’s Departments.
Two thousand, Li’l Ron thought. His dad must have heard about this. Maybe he and Big Ron even helped look for her.
There was a follow-up in the Monday edition, stating much of the same.
He carried the papers over to the desk.
“Mr. Schultz, can I get you to photocopy these for me?”
“Sure, son. I think there may have been another follow-up in one of the July editions from that year, as well. Would you like that too?”
There was, and he did.
The third article followed up, saying that there was no evidence of foul play, and no body was ever recovered. To the town, she was a runaway.
No wonder she’s still here. Nobody knows she was killed. Ron remembered reading about ghosts who were trapped on earth. Some supposedly thought they were still alive; some were victims of improper burials. The one standing out in his mind at the moment was about ghosts who were trapped until their murder was solved or the culprit was brought to justice.
A truck pulled over across the road; Li’l Ron ceased his ascent of Aikman Street. He’d seen the look before. His father’s sad eyes begged for forgiveness.
Chapter Nine
Greg Sawyer watched his son staring back at him.
“Need a lift?” he said, sitting on the shoulder.
“Hey, Dad, sure.”
The boy looked okay. Greg was happy to see his drunken night hadn’t spoiled him in the eyes of his kid. Li’l Ron was resilient. After all the bullshit he’d been put through in the last couple months, it was a wonder he hadn’t flipped out. The bloodline was spoiled with that possibility.
He watched his son throw the Huffy in the bed of the truck, walk around the back and get in the passenger door.
Greg put the truck in Drive and the old pickup lurched forward.
“Sorry about last night,” he said. “I got no excuses. I hope I wasn’t too much of an asshole.”
Li’l Ron laughed, bringing a smile to Greg’s lips.
“Nah, Dad, you were a bit of a mess, but you weren’t mean to me.”
He saw the smile drop from the boy’s face.
Mom, Greg thought.
The old bat had pestered him about his drinking again. They’d been watching Dr. Phil when she made some comment about how he should go on the show, and that Dr. Phil would set him straight with some hard talk.
It escalated so fast. They were yelling in each other’s faces when she told him Jennifer was better off. That’s when he slugged her. Punched her right in the mouth. His stomach sank at the thought.
Some man.
She came right back with one of those goddamn knitting needles, catching right next to his eye. It had bled like a bitch.
“I hope you don’t…” Greg started, but then faltered.
“Did you hit Nan?” The boy asked. Blunt, straightforward.
“Li’l Ron, I… Yes. It wasn’t…I didn’t…”
“Did you ever hit Mom?”
“No…no, I never…” But he could see the boy didn’t believe him. Li’l Ron saw right through him.
“It’s not going to happen again, okay? I swear,” he said.
Li’l Ron wouldn’t look at him.
Greg pulled the truck in front of Jenner’s Grocery, killing the engine.
“Li’l Ron…”
The boy got out, stomped around the truck, pulling his bike out of the bed.
“Li’l Ron, wait,” he said, stepping out into the lot.
But the boy wouldn’t listen, and he didn’t blame him. What he had done last night was a shit move. One in a long line of shitty moves. But he was trying, dammit.
“Li’l Ron,” he called. The boy was gone, heading back up the hill.
“Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable,” Li’l Ron ranted aloud as he huffed his way back up the hill.
“You think you know somebody…” Tears fell, pouring from his eyes. Had he been wrong? Had he chosen the wrong side to stand on between his parents? He couldn’t recall ever seeing his dad act violently toward his mom, ever. But maybe he had on rose-colored glasses. Maybe he had blocked things out. He tried to reach back, but came up empty.
His head was a jigsaw puzzle of blurred pieces. He needed music, needed something else to block out the confusing voices.
Nan’s house came into sight, and then passed by. Her car was in the drive, his Walkman upstairs, but he needed to talk to Sweet Kate. He needed to see her.
Lucille Sawyer had passed the puffy lip off at brunch with her knitting group as an old woman’s trip over her grandkid’s video-game controller. The look that crossed her friend June’s eyes was one of disbelief and pity. Dammit, she hated that look. She would not become that woman again.
June Betts had been with her through all of it: Through Greg’s teen pregnancy with Jennifer, through Big Ron’s sporadic verbal beatdowns. June had been the one to take her to the hospital three towns away after Big Ron’s use of the butt of his rifle. She thought of the gun, sitting dormant in the basement, and absently reached for the scars, catching herself and cursing at the resonance of her husband’s ugliest moment.
Still, June looked at her this morning with the same look from all those years ago. Lucille promised herself she would not put up with another episode from her boy. If worst came to worst, she would throw his boozing ass to the street and keep Li’l Ron with her.
She stared out the window, watching the breeze playing with the dried-up, dying blades of grass in her front yard. The sun that had burned so brilliantly this morning gave way to the dull fade of autumn cold. Grey was the color of the day; fall was no longer just relative to the season.
Li’l Ron went streaming past the house on his bicycle.
Chapter Ten
Orson Schultz watched Heath Barnes head out the door.
Damn boy left his books piled on the table again. Lucky I don’t give him hell.
Mr. Schultz locked the big red door to the library and gathered up the articles the Sawyer kid had him copy.
Should have burned these long ago, he thought.
He gathered up the April folder of Coral County Sentinels from the year 2000, moving to the wooden door at the back of the building.
The basement, stuffed to capacity with cobwebs, old magazines, books with torn covers and missing pages, and a plethora of retired library furniture, featured one thing in particular—the furnace.
The furnace stood in the edge of the basement and was as tall as his six-two frame. The grey grate, chest high on the old machine, featured a lever with which to open the flaked and brittle-looking door.
Mr. Schultz grabbed the warm handle and opened the door to the hungry flames within. Scrunching the articles featuring the missing girl, Katharine Bell, he tossed them in one by one, feeding the flame. As he watched the black-and-white pages catch fire, and the orange blaze curl and devour the old news, he wondered why the little Sawyer kid was digging around with long-forgotten town gossip. Had his father said something about the missing girl? He couldn’t see why he would. Better se
nd Stefan to find out for sure.
He shoved the rest of the papers in, and then went upstairs to call his son.
Chapter Eleven
“Hey,” Li’l Ron said, walking up to the beautiful girl outlined in blue.
“Hello, Li’l Ron,” she said, her smiling eyes taking him in.
He didn’t know a delicate way to ask what he came to find out, so he just blurted out, “What was the name of the boy who did this to you?”
She turned away from him.
“I’d rather not say,” she said.
Anger swept up within him. Before he could grab it, he barked out, “Why the hell not? Is this asshole still here? Is he still living in town?”
Her bare shoulders hitched. She was weeping—an angel wounded by his dumb mouth. He suddenly felt no better than his father.
“I’m sorry,” he said, hearing his father’s voice in place of his own.
“No, I’m sorry, Li’l Ron. I guess…I guess I’m just afraid,” she said.
“Afraid of what? He can’t hurt you anymore.”
She turned. Her glistening crystal eyes, still tearless, cast a haunting gaze his way. “I’m afraid you’ll do something rash. It was so long ago you should let it go now—I have.”
Li’l Ron shook his head, hands on his hips, angry, frustrated with the whole day. What if he did discover this son of a bitch still lived in Marsden? Confront him? Of course not.
“I don’t want you to get hurt. Not for me.”
“His name,” Li’l Ron said.
“Li’l Ron, don’t make me—”
“Sweet Kate, tell me his name.”
She dropped her head, porcelain shoulders slumping as she squeezed the fabric of her dress—a nervous habit he hadn’t noticed before.
“His name was Greg.”
Chapter Twelve
“Hey, Del,” Stefan Schultz said, taking up a stool at the bar.
“What can I do you for, Stefan?” Del said, sliding a bottle of Bud to Hank Olson.
Stefan, already buzzing from the six-pack he’d finished off prior to his father’s phone call, smiled at the bartender. “You seen Greg Sawyer today?”
Del’s eyebrow arched. “Not yet. Why, you lookin’ for him?”
“Let me have a Pabst,” Stefan said, pulling out a pack of Marlb Reds. He drew a cigarette from the packaging, tapping it against the counter.
Del slid the draft in front of him. “I don’t know why anyone drinks this shit, but more than half this town still does,” the tall bartender said.
“Sawyer ever talk about anything…from our sordid past?”
Del ran a long-fingered hand along his grey-stubble-covered chin. “What exactly is this about, Stefan? You got a problem with Greg Sawyer?”
He chugged the glass of cheap beer, placed it down and slid it to Del. “I’ll take another, and my business with Sawyer is my business. You’d do well to remember that.”
Del shook his head, poured another Pabst, placing the frothing brew in front of Stefan. “Hey, you’re the one askin’ questions. And what the hell does sordid mean anyways? This town ain’t seen trouble since the Kenney kid got caught stealing old man Jenner’s Chevy…twenty years ago.”
Stefan snorted. He raised the beer, looking through narrowed slits toward the smart-ass bartender. He wondered where the guy’s disconnect had occurred. Bartenders were supposed to be in the know, have their ear to the ground and have the dish on all the little nicks and herpes dressing their town. Del seemed oblivious.
“Forget about it, sorry I gave you shit. I just want to talk to my old friend.”
“Well, he usually comes in after work, unless he’s off. Then, he comes in with the breeze.”
Stefan Schultz downed the beer, asked for another and made for the door.
He stepped into the brisk, late-afternoon breeze, his cigarette ready. There was nothing like sucking in a lungful of nicotine and nice, cold air—freshest smoke, every time.
Sawyer was smart (had been, anyway). Stefan didn’t think Sawyer was wise to anything. Sure, the guy had wigged out years ago, but that was over coincidence, and coincidence doesn’t prove shit. Stefan’s father’s nerves were probably itching just from seeing the guy back in town. Of course, it was his kid snooping around. Coincidence or not, Stefan’s own curiosity was in need of proper ointment. If Sawyer knew anything, he’d find out.
He took in another deep, refreshing drag, dropped the butt to the ground and headed back inside to wait.
Chapter Thirteen
“Where’s my dad?” Li’l Ron said, barging through the door.
Lucille Sawyer looked up from her knitting. “He wasn’t here when I got home from Packard’s,” she said, going right back to her work. “Don’t imagine he made it to work today.”
She didn’t have to mention the bar—he could hear it in her tone.
“Did he ever have a girlfriend…when he was with my mom, I mean?”
“Yes, your mother,” she said.
“No, I mean, did he ever cheat on her, that you know of?”
“Your father? Oh my, no. Do you think he could juggle two girls at once? He can’t even keep his p’s from his q’s.” Her hands stopped their busyness as she placed the yarn and needles on her lap, and she looked at him standing in the doorway. “Now, what is this about?”
“I need to talk to him,” Li’l Ron said. Before she could respond, he was out the door, on his bike, and heading back downtown.
Stefan Schultz heard the door open and waited to turn until the man that entered took up the stool next to him.
“Sawyer, hey, man, how have you been?” he said.
“Schultz? Shit, man, good—well, not really, but, holy shit, how are you?” Greg said as Del put a bottle of Budweiser before him.
“Thanks, Del,” Greg said, nodding at the bartender.
“Not much, man. Really, nothing at all. When did you get back in town?” Stefan said.
“About a month back. Jen…Jen left me,” Greg said, averting his eyes, raising the bottle to his lips.
Stefan knew as much, local gossip ran fast and true in a small town. He could not care less, but feigned a moment of sympathy. “Shit, sorry to hear that,” he said. “Say, you have your son, or did she hold him hostage?”
“No, Li’l Ron’s with me. How about your boy? He with you?”
“Nope. He’s with his mother. I haven’t spoken to either of ’em in…oh, I don’t know, five years.”
“You and Missy never got married?” Greg said.
“Nah, she was a fucking bitch, man. She dropped my ass shortly after you and Jenny left town. Married Jase Fucking Barnes. Been his headache since like 2003. Fuck ’em both.”
He hated saying that loser Barnes’s name. Fucking prick adopted his boy, ditching his name and branding him a Barnes.
“Anyways, my dad said your boy was in the library today. Said he was researchin’,” Stefan said.
“Yeah, he was in town. Took off after he got pissed at me.”
“Yeah…” Stefan swigged from his glass, “…Dad said he was askin’ about that missing girl, Katharine Bell. You remember her?”
“She just up and disappeared, right? They said she ran away,” Greg said.
“Yeah,” Stefan said, eyeing Greg closely. “I guess she didn’t have many friends.”
He watched Sawyer look away; he remembered something all right. Stefan watched his old chum slowly twirl the bottle of Bud in his hands.
“You ever…” Greg began.
“What?” Stefan said.
“Nothing, I guess I never really thought much of it then—with Jen being pregnant and all. My head was wrapped up in enough drama of my own. Same as you and Missy.” Sawyer looked back to him, staring.
Stefan pulled a twenty and a five out of his wallet, placing t
hem on the bar. “Well, Sawyer, it was nice seein’ ya, but I gotta get goin’. Take care, huh?” he said, getting to his feet and zipping his black hoodie.
“Yeah, sure, Schultz. Nice seein’ you too, man,” Greg said, tipping his bottle toward his old friend.
Stefan left Greg Sawyer to wallow in his sorrow. The guy probably hadn’t thought about the girl since he left town, but something had crossed his mind at the mention of her; a look like a spider had crawled across the back of his neck had settled on his face. Maybe Dad’s paranoid; maybe he has reason to be. He’d probably forget all about it after a few drinks…but still.…
Stefan was about to head home when he saw the younger Sawyer, the nosey Sawyer, heading down the road on a BMX.
The source. Might as well ask him what he knows and what he’s lookin’ for, face-to-face.
Stefan Schultz lit another cigarette, walking out into the street to confront the little shit.
A man in a knit cap stepped from between two trucks and out into the street. Li’l Ron slammed his heel back and skidded his bike to a stop.
“Holy shit, mister, I’m sorry,” Li’l Ron said. As he looked in the guy’s beady eyes, he felt like he’d been thrust into an old-time western. This guy didn’t look right.
“S’okay, man,” the guy said.
Li’l Ron noticed a slight slur in his words. The man was smiling behind a cigarette hanging from his cracked lips.
“Say, you Sawyer’s boy?” the man said.
“Ah, yeah” was all he could manage before the guy rushed him, grabbing him by the collar and ripping him from his bike. He was dragged around the darkened corner of Del’s Bar and slammed up against the brick wall.
The cigarette hanging from the guy’s gross lips was now pointing at Li’l Ron’s right eye.
“You been looking for something in this town? Huh?”
“No, no,” Li’l Ron whimpered, closing his eyes. “I-I just moved here.”
“Yeah? That ain’t what I heard,” the man said. His breath was rank, somewhere between tuna fish and old cheese.