There were no snickers, and the kid in the orange jumpsuit stared but remained silent. It was a test of wills—vanilla shake and Glock 21 versus the orange jumpsuit.
Thirty minutes later, the agent and the teen in the orange jumpsuit were alone in a booth in the back corner of the restaurant. The other teens had long since left.
“I just felt sorry for him,” said orange jumpsuit. “It was raining pretty hard, and we drove past him north of town.”
“He was on the Interstate?” asked the agent.
“No, not the Interstate. We were comin’ down the north road by the river.”
“So you picked him up?”
“Yeah, we turned around and gave him a ride all the way into town. He was soaking wet. I just felt sorry for him.”
“How did you get his jumpsuit?”
The teen paused and rubbed his face with his hands. “We traded. His jumpsuit was soaking wet, and he was about my size, so I offered him my clothes. I gave him my jeans and shirt, and he took off this jumpsuit and put my clothes on—right there in the car.”
“You put his wet jumpsuit on?”
“No, I wasn’t far from home, so I just stayed in my underwear and ran into the house when they dropped me off. I put this jumpsuit in the dryer.”
“What happened to him? Where did he go?”
“My friends told me they dropped him off near a picnic shelter down by the river. That’s all I know, I swear.”
“How long ago did all this occur?”
The teen paused for a moment. He looked tired. “I think about two weeks or so. Maybe a little longer.”
“Why the hell are you wearing that thing now?”
“I just thought it looked different. No one else has ‘em around here.”
“That’s for sure. So what’s your name?” asked the agent, softening his voice.
“Why’s that important?” replied the teen. “You gonna bust me?”
The agent shook his head. “No, I’m not planning on it. Just give me your first name then.”
“Mick,” said the teen.
“Look, Mick,” began the agent, “you screwed up. You’ve helped an escaped convict from the state of Washington…but you’ve helped me, too. You’ve cooperated, and I appreciate that. You need to learn a lesson from this though…maybe a couple of lessons.”
“Don’t pick up hitchhikers?” asked Mick.
“Yeah, maybe that’s one for sure, but something else as well.”
“What’s that?”
“This guy was in prison for manslaughter,” said the agent. “You know what that is?”
“Like murder or something?”
“Yeah, something like that. Someone died because of this guy. From what I can tell, this guy is not all there…a little psycho, you know what I mean?”
Mick nodded his head. “I’m really sorry,” he said.
“So, the lesson is,” said the agent, “hitchhiker or not, you gotta be careful who you help in life. You may feel sorry for them, but they could turn on you the next minute. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, like my stepdad’s last huntin’ dog. One day he was just fine, and the next day he started biting and all sorts of shit. We had to take him out and shoot him. My mom said it was distemper.”
“Exactly. People can be walkin’ around with a sort of human distemper. You think they are normal, but pretty soon they start biting you.”
“I get it,” said Mick. “You’re gonna need this jumpsuit back.”
“I am,” said the agent. “It’s property of the State of Washington, and I hope to soon give it back to the man who needs to be wearing it. He didn’t say where he was going, did he?”
“I don’t remember everything he said,” began Mick, “but I do remember he said he was going to Colorado to get married. That’s pretty funny for an escaped convict, huh?”
“I told you he was psycho. Who escapes from prison to go get married, right?”
“That wasn’t even the craziest part,” said Mick. “He showed us this diamond ring. He pulled it out of the pocket of this jumpsuit when he took it off. It was dark in the car, so I couldn’t see it real good, but a few times, it sparkled in the headlights of other passing cars. It sure looked real pretty.”
Agent Westmore was silent for a moment.
“So, you want me to take this off here?” asked Mick.
The agent smiled and shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’d be a very good idea. I’m staying in the motel right across the street. Go home and change, and bring it back to me. Just drop it at the front desk, and tell them it’s for Agent Westmore in room two-fourteen.”
Agent Westmore tossed the rest of his now melted and close-to-full vanilla shake into the trash can outside the restaurant and walked back to his motel room. He was tired but excited. It had been a long yet very rewarding day—two major leads in one day and a big confirmation that he was heading in exactly the right direction. He set his alarm clock to get up early, cleared off the bed, and climbed under the covers. He thought of the orange jumpsuit. He wondered if it would show up at the motel. He had no idea where Mick lived. It didn’t matter much anyway. Once he had Matthew Duncan back in Washington, he’d get a brand new jumpsuit. As the agent drifted off to sleep, for some reason the image of the diamond ring from Mick’s story came to him. He could visualize the ring clearly and distinctly. He’d never even seen it, and yet the ring—or at least some ring—was clearly in his mind. It was brilliant and sparkling, like the waters of Lake Ontario—in Canada.
Twenty-Six
Missing Baby
After the full crowd had dispersed from town hall, the Cottonwood emergency committee prepared to get down to work to get a handle on the crisis. They had rearranged their tables so that they formed a square. Mayor Gilmore began the discussion:
“Okay, Paul, let’s start with you. What do you know about the state’s arrival here? When exactly are they supposed to arrive?”
“Like I reported, they struggled to secure enough electric vehicles to come down here,” began Chief Redmond. “I told them hybrids wouldn’t work—they had to be all-electric, and honestly, they had some trouble finding those, but I understand they’ve finally got them. Because of the late hour, they’ve decided to wait until tomorrow morning to drive down.”
“Tomorrow morning?” the mayor asked. “Not that we have a choice, but does that seem acceptable to everyone here?”
Wes Stein, the manager of public works in Cottonwood, had been sitting back all evening, gathering information and sizing up the situation. He and Mayor Gilmore were very close friends.
“Cameron,” said Wes, “I don’t have a problem with that. I can’t see any reason for them to hurry down. There aren’t any major issues or problems to report tonight. In fact, as far as I can tell, the town is very quiet with even fewer issues than we’d have on a normal day. I’m not certain exactly what they’d do down here tonight anyway.”
The mayor looked around the group. With no disagreement to what Wes had said, everyone waited for the mayor’s response.
“I do want everyone to think beyond tonight or even tomorrow. This is not about what is happening right now,” Mayor Gilmore said, “but about getting resources in place for what might happen if this thing somehow lingers longer than a day or so. I want the state involved as soon as possible so they can get the ball rolling if we need help with any of our basic necessities.”
The mayor looked at Fire Chief Redmond. “Paul, what happens if, God forbid, we have a fire tonight?” He then turned to Sheriff O’Neil. “And John, what happens if there’s some kind of major crime and you need to respond?” He then looked back to the whole group. “This crisis is something which has the potential to bring this whole town down quickly. If we have something like a major fire, it could be the end of Cottonwood. I know we had a high-spirited meeting tonight, and I meant to keep it upbeat so people wouldn’t panic, but I think we all know how serious it is that we have no operational
vehicles, except one, in Cottonwood right now.”
Sheriff O’Neil spoke up: “Mayor, you are right, of course. We need to be prepared to handle what could happen because of this event. Things may be quiet now, but I’ll tell you what…and you all know me…I think trouble could be right around the next corner. I’m rarely wrong about these things, and I think we might be seeing the calm before the storm.”
Cottonwood’s manager of communications, Brenda Quintana, spoke up: “I agree with that as well. The whole purpose of this committee has always been to plan for emergencies before they crop up. We always hope for the best but plan for the worst. I think we need to get resources in place right now to fight a major fire or other potential emergency event, considering that our fire trucks and police cars aren’t currently working.”
Everyone in the group appeared to grasp the logic in what Brenda said, as heads nodded in agreement around the table.
“So that’s why we need the state to step in right away,” said the mayor. “I can wait until tomorrow morning, but it’d better be no later. We don’t have the resources to handle this alone. I don’t even know where you go about finding an electric fire truck or police car—I’ve never even heard of such a thing.”
“I’ll do some checking around,” Chief Redmond said. “I’ll make some phone calls to see what I can come up with in terms of electric fire trucks.”
“And I’ll do the same for police vehicles,” Sheriff O’Neil added.
“I think we all should do some research, make phone calls, or whatever tonight, to start to plan for the worst,” said the mayor. He then looked at Sheriff O’Neil. “I respect your intuition, John. If you tell me that this could be the calm before the storm—well, I’m telling everyone here to prepare for that storm…and we can thank God, John, that you’ve at least got the one working electric vehicle in town.”
The emergency committee ended their meeting by agreeing to meet again the following morning, after state authorities had arrived. As they all headed outside, out of courtesy, Sheriff O’Neil offered rides to anyone who wanted one. Normally, everyone would get into their own vehicles and drive to their separate homes. Most of the group, except for Wes Stein and Brenda Quintana, were within easy walking distance and declined the sheriff’s offer.
It was a warm and quiet summer evening as Sheriff O’Neil, Brenda, and Wes walked down the long sidewalk leading from the town hall building to the street. With no traffic on Main Street, the air was fresh and clean. As they approached the end of the sidewalk, the sheriff wrinkled his brow and looked up and down the street. He saw several stalled-out vehicles but not the one he was looking for. Wes and Brenda stood close by, watching his head dart back and forth.
“Trouble?” asked Brenda.
“Just a deputy that doesn’t listen very well,” said the sheriff, unclipping his radio microphone from his shirt. He raised it to his mouth and pushed the talk button. “Sparky, this is John, over,” he said.
A few seconds later, Sparky responded, “Sparky here, over.”
“Why did you take Ned’s car?”
There was a moment of silence before Sparky replied, “Take it where?”
“From in front of the town hall! We’ve wrapped up the meeting, and I’d like to give a few people a ride home. Could you please bring the car back here, immediately?!”
Once again, there was silence. Finally, Sparky said, “Uh…I haven’t touched the car since I parked it before the meeting. You can’t miss it. It’s blue and—”
“I know what Ned’s new baby looks like, Sparky, and it ain’t here!” Sheriff O’Neil interrupted impatiently. “Are you saying you didn’t take it?”
“I left on foot as you ordered,” replied Sparky.
Sheriff O’Neil shook his head as he looked at Wes and Brenda and spoke into the microphone: “Well then, it looks like either Ned has come back to reclaim it, or we may just have our first crime of this emergency on our hands. Sparky, I want you to get a hold of Ned to see if he somehow came and got his car. We know how much he loves it—maybe he just couldn’t stand the thought of being away from it tonight. If he’s got it—pick it up again, and tell Ned that he doesn’t want to tangle with me over this. We’re using it, and that’s that. Then meet me back at the office.”
“Roger that,” said Sparky.
“Oh, and have you been successful in tailing our target?”
“Yeah…sort of.”
“What do you mean by sort of?” asked the sheriff.
“I followed him to Ernie’s and watched him eating there for quite a while.”
“Good. And then where did he go?”
“That’s the sort of part,” said Sparky. “He slipped out the back door of Ernie’s…and I lost him.”
Sheriff O’Neil let out a big sigh and paused for a moment before saying, “All right, Deputy, go see if Ned has his car and then get back to the office.”
The sheriff clipped his radio microphone back to his shirt. “Sorry about that,” he said to Wes and Brenda, “but I guess we’re all walkin’ tonight. Fortunately, I only have to go across the street for now. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
As Brenda and Wes headed north on Main Street, the sheriff walked across the street toward his office. He stopped at the top of the stairs and before going inside, turned around and looked up and down the dark and quiet Main Street of Cottonwood. Unnatural, he thought. Just too damn quiet. I don’t like it—not one bit.
Twenty-Seven
McCann Park
After leaving Ernie’s Diner, Matthew and Rebecca strolled leisurely along the silent streets of Cottonwood, enjoying the sweet, warm summer night. Rebecca could never recall a time where she’d heard the town so quiet. Even after a heavy snowfall, there was always the sound of some large truck trying to carve out tracks in the snow or at least an occasional snow blower working to clear a path. But now a canopy of complete and pure silence had enveloped Cottonwood.
They walked hand in hand. His strong and warm hand wrapping around hers felt good. It reminded Rebecca of summers long before. On many nights, they had walked these very same streets, exactly the same way—talking and sharing their dreams. The plan was to go away to college, get their degrees, and then whoever got a job first would be joined by the other. They would live simply and easily; life would be good.
But dreams are gossamer trains that can get easily sidetracked. Rebecca’s father had gotten ill just as she was to graduate from college. She returned to Cottonwood to be near him and to help her mother take care of him. It seemed like the best and only right choice. Her ill and bedridden father held her hand and smiled at her, telling her to never let go of her dreams. Even when he became too weak to speak, his eyes had given her the same encouragement. Her mother was strong, but after her father’s death, Rebecca knew her mother needed her. Through luck or fate, Cottonwood would continue to hold her close.
For Matthew, despite there being lots of forests around Cottonwood, forest service jobs were not as easy to come by in the area as he had hoped, certainly not as easy as nursing jobs. The Home provided plenty of opportunities for health care workers, but forest ranger jobs in southwest Colorado were few and far between. After months of fruitless efforts to get hired as a ranger somewhere near Cottonwood and then at Mesa Verde National Park, over one hundred miles away, Matthew next set his hopes on finding work somewhere in the Rocky Mountain region, and finally, anywhere in the nation. Matthew ultimately landed a job at Mount Rainier National Park in Washington State and told himself it would only be for a year or two at most.
Rebecca remained in Colorado while Matthew worked and lived in Washington. They wrote and emailed often; they spoke frequently on the phone. All their correspondence had assumed that they’d be together someday, but someday—turned into months and years. Rebecca once took a week-long vacation to visit Matthew in Washington State. He gave her a personal tour of the many trails around Mount Rainier. They took a day trip down to Mount St. Helens, and they spen
t a whole day in Seattle together, just being tourists. During her time in Washington, Rebecca hinted that she might even see what types of jobs were available in the area, though she never did. She had grown to love her job at the Home. It fulfilled her professionally, and she had also never stopped loving Cottonwood. Unlike others her age who had moved away right after high school, Rebecca felt that Cottonwood was the kind of place you run to—not from. She had always hoped Matthew would eventually be able to return to Cottonwood and to her—now he had.
Though the fire in her heart was rekindling, Rebecca still faced a problem—there were those three long years—of nothing. Matthew had disappeared from her life. The worry and hurt of those years had taken a toll, not in reducing her love, but in reducing her trust. If those missing years weren’t enough, now that he had returned, it seemed that something akin to a quiet chaos had erupted in the town and in her heart. She certainly couldn’t say that Matthew was to blame for this chaos—but oddly—he didn’t appear too bothered by it either. For now, though, it felt good to walk by his side along the quiet streets of Cottonwood.
“This has been the most amazing day,” said Rebecca as they turned up Birch Street and headed north.
“That’s an improvement,” replied Matthew.
“What do you mean?”
“Back at Ernie’s you were using the words strange and confusing—but now it’s become amazing. I think that’s an improvement. And so, what’s been the most amazing part of it?”
“I don’t know where to start. It’s been a full day of amazing,” she said.
“Well, I guess if the whole day is full of amazing, then start anywhere, since it all leads back to amazing.”
“All right. Well, of course, just you showing up back in Cottonwood.”
“Not so amazing. I walked a lot and hitched rides when someone would pick me up—nothing amazing there.”
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