by Elaine Viets
“What’s that? I thought I knew my cars.”
“A Japanese domestic market car,” he said. “Mostly Honda Civics and Nissan 240 SXes. You can get them cheap – under four thousand. In California, they like them super low and sleek. The other thing they look for is old Beemers. The older and smaller the better.”
“I’ve seen a few Subaru WRXs out and about,” I said. “Some have been worked on, but most of it’s under the hood. The Forest kids go for Jeeps or Mustangs, and those tend to get ordered from the factory with the performance kits.”
“Mustangs?” Nate rolled his eyes. “That’s a dad car.”
I cut off the car talk. “Nate, I need your opinion. Dex was the last person seen with Juliet. Do you think he’d hurt her?”
Nate seemed flattered he’d been asked a serious question. He chewed thoughtfully, then said, “No. I haven’t known him long, just a few days. But Dex is a cool guy who really likes Juliet. Now it’s all turned to shit, and he doesn’t know how to fix it.”
“How did it go wrong?” I asked.
“He got drunk at the party at Bella’s house. She’s part of Juliet’s crowd. Dex isn’t.”
“They look down on him because his dad’s a mechanic,” I said.
Nate gulped another hunk of pizza, then nodded. “I think it’s cool Dex can fix cars, but in Juliet’s crowd it’s who you know and who your parents are. Dex knew he didn’t belong at that party. He was only there because Juliet wanted him to come. She left him alone to talk to her girlfriends and he heard some dudes laughing at him and calling him a greaser.”
“How do you know this?” I asked.
“Dex texted me about the party this morning.” Nate’s next bite was a third of a slice, and we waited for him to finish chewing.
“Dex told me he didn’t care what those dick– uh, dudes – said about him, but I think he did. That’s probably why he said some stuff he shouldn’t have, and Juliet got in his face about it. Dex told her she shouldn’t take it seriously.”
Typical male response, I thought, but stuffed my mouth with pizza so I wouldn’t interrupt this sudden flow of information.
“Juliet started crying and said she wanted to go home because he’d humiliated her. Dex didn’t know what to do. When girls cry, it’s like weird.”
“She had good reasons to cry,” I said. “Her friends told me Dex had laughed at Juliet’s –” I stopped, suddenly embarrassed. Dex turned flame red. “Her small breasts,” I said. “She’s a very romantic young woman and he made fun of her.”
Now I wondered if Dex’s carelessly cruel words had mortally wounded the girl. Nate was probably the only person who knew what happened to Juliet after the party. I glanced at Monty. He nodded slightly, then casually snagged another piece of pizza.
“What happened on the ride home from Bella’s?” I hoped my question sounded natural.
“Dex was driving super slow because he was hammered and he didn’t want to get stopped by the cops. They don’t bother the rich kids, but Dex is from – what’s the name they use for his part of town?”
“Toonerville,” I said.
“Right. Stupid name. Why’s it called that?”
“It’s from an old-time comic strip about a rickety trolley,” Monty said. “It means some place rundown. You were telling us Dex was drunk when he left the party.”
“Dex was like totally tanked, and he tried to explain to Juliet, but he made it worse instead.”
I thought about what Bella had told me, about Dex laughing with the boys saying: Juliet thought this was true love, when all he wanted was a fuck. He said rich girls didn’t screw as well as poor ones. He laughed about her small tits. How did a sixteen-year-old boy excuse those words?
“What did he say?” Monty asked.
“She was crying and then she said she’d given him her… uh… virginity.” Nate turned stoplight red at that word.
Uh-oh, I thought.
“Dex tried to make her feel better. He said popping your cherry shouldn’t be a big deal – it wasn’t for him – and then she really got upset.”
I kept quiet. So did Monty. Nate filled the silence. “Dex was almost at her house by then and Juliet screamed that he had to let her out of the car right now. He said Juliet would freeze – she wasn’t wearing a decent coat or anything. ‘If you don’t stop the car, I’ll jump and maybe break a leg or die,’ she told him, ‘and it will be all your fault.’”
“Dex texted you all that?” I asked.
Nate looked uneasy and turned red again. This time, I thought guilt, not teenage awkwardness, had tied his tongue.
“What did you do, Nate?” Monty asked.
“Uh.”
“I won’t send you home early, but I have to know,” he said.
Now the words rushed out. “He texted me about two-fifteen or so this morning. Dex was really scared and wanted to meet up, but I said I didn’t have a car. He said he’d pick me up on the street by your house. I had to help him. He’s my friend.”
“So you got in the car with a drunken driver,” Monty said.
Nate hung his head.
“Then what?” Monty asked.
“On the way to his house, Dex told me what happened. He’d wanted to drive Juliet all the way to her house, but she was afraid Mrs. Ellis – the housekeeper – would hear his car.
“She jumped out when Dex slowed down at the stop sign. Dex never saw her again.”
“That’s a killing cold,” Monty said. “What happened next? That girl’s life is at stake.”
“Nothing. He was afraid to go back for her. She was too pissed. He drove home and texted me, and then he picked me up.
“When we got to Dex’s house, his parents were asleep, so we sneaked into his room. I could hear them snoring when we were in the hallway. Dex said they were probably drunk. He stuffed a rug under his bedroom door and then we talked.”
“Did he try to reach that girl?” Monty asked.
“Yes! Lots of times. He kept texting Juliet. He even called her, but she wouldn’t answer. Juliet does that sometimes when she’s mad, he said. Then he got a call from Mrs. Ellis. She was scary mad, demanding to know where Juliet was. She’d called Bella – that’s the girl who gave the party – and woke her up and Bella told the old lady that Juliet and Dex had left about twenty till midnight. Juliet should have been home by midnight, and it was one-thirty in the morning.
“Mrs. Ellis had flipped out and demanded Dex’s cell phone number, and Bella gave it up. She doesn’t like him.”
“Wait,” Monty said. “How does Bella know Dex’s cell number if she doesn’t like him?”
“Juliet’s crowd used Dex to help bypass the camera system at some rich kid’s house. They hang out there when the family’s out of town.”
“The Minterns,” I said. “I went there today with Daisy, looking for Juliet. She wasn’t there.”
“After the housekeeper got Dex’s number, she called him,” Monty prompted.
“Yes,” Nate said. “Dex was still too jagged up to answer his phone. The housekeeper went apeshit and called Juliet’s parents in Colorado.”
“And the LaRouches flew home on their private plane,” I said.
Nate nodded. “They were home by five that morning. Soon as the plane touched down, Juliet’s dad called Dex’s cell. Dex was afraid to answer. Old Man LaRouche left a message reaming him. He said if Dex didn’t pick up he’d call Bella again to get Dex’s address.
“I don’t know why he had to call Bella for the address. He could have just looked it up online. But Dex knew he was in deep shit. Old Man LaRouche is so rich he can crush Dex’s family.
“I said he’d have to bite the bullet and tell his parents. He said his dad would beat the crap out of him, but we didn’t see any other way out of it. Dex told me to go hide in the basement, and if things got bad, I should sneak out the basement door.
“So I did. The stairs were creaky and the basement was a mess – old broken junk, dusty boxes, piles o
f dirty laundry. It stank, too. I used my cell phone flashlight to see and still hit my shin on something. It hurt really bad.”
Nate stopped, possibly hoping for sympathy. Monty glared at the kid. “Go on.” Nate gulped and continued.
“I could hear Dex’s dad screaming at him and throwing stuff. Lots of thuds and a crash, like a broken glass or bottle. His mom was trying to calm his father down.”
“He was assaulting his son and you didn’t call me or the police?” Monty’s face was dark with anger.
“I couldn’t,” Nate said. “There wasn’t time. I heard a car or an SUV – something big – screech into the driveway. I looked out the basement window and saw Old Man LaRouche. He was insane. Pounding on the door, yelling, shouting threats. I bet he woke up the whole the street.
“Dex’s father wouldn’t let LaRouche inside. He was still yelling at Dex. I could hear Dex’s mother crying.”
“She did nothing to help her son?” I asked.
“She never does,” Nate said. “Dex says she’s afraid of her husband. The basement door opened, and he practically threw Dex down the stairs. Dex landed at the bottom in some dirty laundry. I think it broke his fall. Dex was shaking, he was so upset, but LaRouche got there before Dex’s father could really hurt him.
“We heard Juliet’s dad barge in and stomp around, screaming he was going to throw them all in jail. Then he took off. It was quiet for a little while, except for Dex’s mom crying. His parents talked too softly for us to hear anything, and then we heard drawers being opened and doors slammed. Next the basement door opened, and a duffle bag came flying down the stairs.
“‘Those are your clothes, dipshit,’ his father said. ‘The keys to the shop’s loaner car are in the side pocket. You’re going to drive to your grandparents’ house in St. Louis and stay there until this blows over. Now get out! You sicken me.’
“Dex took the duffle bag and motioned me to follow him. We went out the basement door and got into this silver Toyota. It’s like the invisible car. Dex apologized for all the trouble and dropped me off at your place. You were still asleep.”
“And you didn’t wake me to tell me your friend had been beaten by his father and was on the run?” Monty said.
Nate said nothing.
“Is Dex in St. Louis now?” Monty asked.
“No. He didn’t want to stay with the wrinklies. His grandparents don’t have Wi-Fi, and they’re almost as mean as his dad. He said he’d get in touch with me later. I haven’t heard from him since nine this morning.”
Nate crammed another pizza slice in his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten for a week.
I broke the tense silence. “Juliet’s parents didn’t tell me any of this when I talked with them. Detective Budewitz, who’s in charge of the investigation, doesn’t know it. Bella’s parents wouldn’t let her talk to him. I don’t get it. What are the LaRouches hiding, Monty? Why didn’t they mention Dex?”
Monty looked disgusted. “I’m guessing Midge doesn’t want the Forest to know her precious daughter’s dating a low-rent mechanic’s son from Toonerville.”
“She was doing more than dating him,” Nate said, and Monty glared him into silence.
“And they’ll risk their daughter’s life to keep that from the police?” I asked.
“Midge is concerned about Juliet’s future. Even I know they have big plans for that girl. Juliet’s on track to be a Daughter of Versailles Queen.”
I couldn’t control my rage. “She’ll be queen of the dead instead. Her parents are holding back vital information but crying about her to the media. Jace Budewitz needs to know this. Right now. I’ll tell him.” I pulled out my cell phone.
“Angela, calm down. Nate will talk to the detective. He’s my nephew and we’ll do this together.” The boy looked wide-eyed and scared.
Monty stood up and hugged me. That was my cue to leave. “Thanks for bringing us dinner, Angela,” he said. “You look beat. Please go home. You’ve had a long day. I’ll text you any new developments.”
I was shivering with rage as I drove home. Damn the LaRouches. And Bella Du Pres’s family. Snobs! Cowards!
I saw more searchers, their flashlights like fireflies in the dark, their cries of “Juliet!” echoing with sad futility in the frigid air.
CHAPTER 8
Tuesday, December 27, 8:12 p.m.
My home was freezing. The former guest house was impossible to insulate. The white stone walls held in the cold and the winter wind whistled through the windows. I upped the thermostat to nearly eighty, put on my shaggy brown robe that made me look like a hibernating bear, and fixed myself hot chocolate.
I tried to settle in on the living room couch and watch TV. The show was interrupted twice with local Juliet updates. The hair-sprayed blonde looked coolly at the camera. “The search continues for missing Juliet LaRouche, but there are no new leads in the disappearance of the sixteen-year-old Chouteau Forest Academy student.”
This time, when I saw a teary-eyed Midge weeping and begging, “Please give me any information about my daughter, anything at all,” I wanted to throw my chocolate mug at the TV. I shouted at the screen, “Then why didn’t you tell the police she left the party with Dexter?”
A news feature on hypothermia interrupted my pointless commentary, ending with handy information on what happens when a person’s core temperature drops below 95 degrees. The reporter declared: “The signs of hypothermia include uncontrollable shivering, mumbling, stumbling, gray or blue-tinged skin, drowsiness and shallow breathing.”
I was back talking to the TV. “Are you watching, Midge and Prentice? Your beautiful daughter could be a snow queen instead of a DV Queen. Because you won’t tell the police what happened.”
My useless rant was interrupted by a cell phone chime. Monty texted me, Dex’s parents confirm the boy never reached his grandparents’ house. Police are searching for him.
For the first time, I felt a slight bloom of hope. Now the search would make progress. I tried watching Forensic Files and wondered why so many of the TV show’s homicide cops had mustaches. A story about a lawyer murdered by his son was interrupted by a second text from Monty, Dex’s car was found at the West Forest Mall with a cell phone inside. Police say it’s Juliet’s. Search is on for both kids.
I flicked through the stations. The missing teens’ photos were shown on everyone, but the tone had changed. Now the stories were hard-edged, tense and excited. The announcers implied that Juliet had been murdered in a lover’s quarrel, and Dexter was on the run. The TV news stories now showed Dex’s photo and information. “The missing girl was last seen in the company of this sixteen-year-old boy, and their whereabouts are unknown,” the blonde announcer said. In less than an hour, the search story had changed to a manhunt for a teen killer.
Juliet’s parents seemed to be the only Forest dwellers clinging to the hope that Juliet would be found alive. On yet another TV interview, Midge looked thirty years older than the woman I’d talked to this morning. Her shoulders slumped, and her face sagged. Prentice stood at her side, stripped of his confidence, his eyes bleak. Midge could hardly force out the familiar plea. “Please. If you know anything…” Then Midge dissolved into tears and Prentice held her.
I couldn’t stand their pain – or their lies. I flicked off the TV. On the internet, I was bombarded with photos of Dex and Juliet. On Facebook, I saw the “Have you seen this teenager?” photos had more than 789 shares.
The comments in an online news story reflected the Forest’s fears. “That innocent child was killed by Toonerville scum,” 4estLadie said. “Remember this, liberals, next time you want to end the death penalty,” wrote Gr8US. GodluvsMartha wrote, “If Juliet has faith, the Lord is her protection.” I wondered about the armies of innocents whose deaths I’d investigated: old people, children, even babies. Did God take the day off for them?
I didn’t want to wrestle with theological thoughts. I called Katie and told her, “Monty’s house guest has stirred up a real horn
et’s nest.”
“Monty’s been keeping me updated,” Katie said. “It’s the most we’ve talked since the kid got here. Actually, we still haven’t talked. He’s texted. He can’t believe the kid sneaked out of the house last night to be with Dexter.”
“Do you think she’s still alive?”
“No way.”
“So Dex killed her?”
“Can’t tell. I don’t know the boy, but Toonerville kids are easy to blame. Wanna come over? I’ve been living like a nun since Monty’s nephew got here. Let’s work on a bottle of Shiraz.”
“Can’t drink,” I said. “Doesn’t mix with my meds. But Shiraz goes well with chocolate. I’ll stop for some.”
“The Chocolate Shoppe at the West Forest Mall is having a clearance sale. I like dark chocolate with anything – except ants and crickets.”
“You ate chocolate-covered bugs?”
“Hell, no. Some idiot thought because I encounter gruesome things in my job, I’d enjoy ‘alternative’ protein. I don’t eat anything that can be killed with a can of Raid. See you soon.”
My fatigue and depression had vanished. I shrugged out of my bear robe, threw on my warmest clothes, booted up, and ten minutes later was on my way to the mall. The night was clear, and the cold needle-sharp. I could see searchers were still combing the Forest fields by flashlight, their mournful cries of “Juliet!” rippling over the frozen ground.
At the mall, the shoppers were a sullen, dispirited bunch, drained of courtesy and Christmas cheer. A bald man nearly knocked me down as he pushed his way onto the escalator. I was tempted to whack him with my purse. I threaded though the food court, past counters selling Chinese food, pretzels, pizza, and the inevitable smoothies. Diners seemed to think that standing next to the smoothies’ fresh fruit display while they waited for their greasy grub was a healthy choice. I was amazed how much food was tossed in the trash. Juliet’s haunting photo was plastered on every pillar.