Maggie's Turn

by Deanna Lynn Sletten

  Night was falling as she rolled into Sioux Falls, so Maggie pulled into a hotel at the edge of town and rented a room. She told herself she’d just take a few pictures of the falls in the morning, then turn around and drive home. She thought for a moment about calling Andrew to let him know where she was and that she’d be home the next day, but she couldn’t bring herself to dial the number. Andrew would be angry, and all her carefree feelings would dissipate into thin air. How could she explain what she’d done? She hadn’t planned this escape—it had just happened. Andrew wouldn’t understand. And the kids? Kyle usually went for pizza with his friends, and surely, Andrew could make dinner for Kaia. Frankly, she felt she wouldn’t even be missed. Andrew was always so busy, and the kids paid so little attention to her anymore. For just a few more hours, she wanted to enjoy the freedom she’d felt all day. So she pushed aside all thoughts of responsibility, family, and work obligations. Reality would be waiting for her when she returned tomorrow. It seemed that easy.

  Andrew called the local sheriff’s office that night to report Maggie missing. He knew Sheriff Derrick Weis well. They had graduated from high school together and volunteered as baseball coaches years ago, when Kyle played Little League. Luckily, Derrick was working the night shift, so Andrew was able to get through to him right away. Kaia and Kyle sat nearby, anxiously listening as their father explained that no one had seen Maggie since eight fifteen that morning.

  The sheriff listened quietly until Andrew finished.

  “I’m sorry to hear this,” Derrick said. Andrew knew that Derrick and Maggie both volunteered in the schools, so he knew Maggie well.

  “Are you sure she didn’t go home for a while after dropping Kaia off?” Derrick asked. “Or maybe was around town shopping? Have you called any of her friends to check if they’ve seen her today?”

  Andrew was at a loss for words. Maggie didn’t really have any friends, or at least none that he knew of. There were the people she worked with at the group home and parents she volunteered with at school events, but he didn’t think she ever saw any of them socially.

  “Maggie doesn’t go out with friends,” he said, suddenly realizing how strange that must sound to Derrick. “She’s either at work or at home.”

  “I see,” Derrick replied, sounding surprised. “Well, if you can think of anyone she might have been in contact with, call them. That will help narrow down the search. Meanwhile, I can start by checking the accident reports and calling the local hospital.”

  Andrew took a breath. “I hadn’t thought of her being in an accident,” he told Derrick.

  “I’m sorry to bring it up, but we have to check all possibilities.”

  “I understand.” Andrew thought that in this small town, he’d have already heard if Maggie had been in an accident. But he appreciated Derrick looking into it.

  “Maggie drives a silver Honda Odyssey, right?” Derrick asked. “Looks like this year’s model.”

  Andrew frowned. “That’s right. How do you know that?”

  “I see her at school in the morning when she drops Kaia off and I’m dropping off our daughter. I’ve often wondered how you get off so lucky not having to drive Kaia in when you work only a block from school,” Derrick said.

  Andrew had never really thought about it that way. Maggie drove the kids to school. That was her job. “I have to be at work early,” he explained, which he knew wasn’t completely true; he chose to go into work an hour early each morning. His coworkers always teased him about being a workaholic, and even in college, he’d been pegged as an overachiever. He hated those labels. The last thing he wanted to do was justify his working habits to Derrick, too.

  “I’ll get this out to my deputies so they’ll be on the lookout for Maggie’s van,” Derrick said. “I’ll also pass around her description, and we’ll do a quick sweep around town to see if anyone has seen her. And I’ll send out an alert about Maggie’s disappearance to neighboring towns. In the meantime, have a look around the house to see if anything’s missing or out of place. You might also want to see if Maggie packed a bag. She may have stopped by the house sometime this morning, and it would be helpful to know if she had planned on leaving.”

  “Planned on leaving?” Andrew asked, his anger flaring. “Do you think she’s left me? Why would she do that?”

  “Now, don’t get upset, Andrew. I’m not suggesting anything. It’s just that sometimes when a spouse is missing, we find out that they left intentionally. It would be good to rule out that possibility before we file a report.”

  Andrew had heard enough. Maggie leaving? How ridiculous. She had no reason to leave him. As far as he was concerned, her life was perfect.

  “Fine,” he said tightly. “I’ll take a look around. But I can assure you she didn’t leave me.”

  “No doubt you’re right,” Derrick said. “But look around the house anyway, just to make sure nothing is out of place or missing. The kids must be upset, so why don’t we wait until tomorrow for you to come by and fill out an official missing person report. I think you need to be with your family tonight.”

  Andrew thanked Derrick and hung up. He turned to face Kyle and Kaia, who were seated on the living-room sofa, looking pale and anxious.

  “Did Mom leave us?” Kaia asked in a small voice, now sounding more like a lost child than an obnoxious teenager.

  “Of course not,” Andrew insisted.

  “Then that means we have to assume something happened to her,” Kyle said reluctantly. “That’s not a great alternative, either.”

  Andrew’s brow furrowed. He didn’t know what to think, but he had to keep the kids calm.

  “Listen, kids. All we can do right now is let the police do their job. There’s still a chance your mom might come home tonight. Until then, let’s not get upset, speculating about what may have happened.”

  Kaia narrowed her eyes at her father. “How can we not be upset? Mom’s gone. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” she said sharply.

  Andrew took a deep breath and stared at both his children before answering. He’d been trying to learn, through Maggie, to control his own reflex to yell back when the kids snapped at him. He wondered exactly when he’d lost control of them, or of their respect. It seemed they’d grown up so fast. At six foot two, Kyle was two inches taller than he was, and his oversized clothes hung loosely on his lean body. The two of them had the same brown eyes and dark, wavy hair, but Kyle’s hair was longer and shaggier. Kyle also had a laid-back air about him, something Andrew had never had. Kaia, on the other hand, was intense and always pushing the envelope. She’d recently grown taller and was almost as tall as her mother. She had thick, auburn hair, completely the opposite of Maggie’s fine, blond hair. Both kids were an interesting combination of their parents’ genes, and Andrew had always been proud of them. But over the years, he seemed to have lost touch with them, and it had been a long time since he’d had to relate to either of them without Maggie as a mediator.

  “Of course I care that your mother is missing,” Andrew finally responded in a controlled voice. “I just don’t want to get worked up about what we don’t know yet.”

  Kaia rolled her eyes and threw herself against the back of the sofa with dramatic flair. Andrew realized that the night ahead would be tough.

  After much arguing and protesting from Kaia, both kids had finally gone to bed. Andrew turned his attention to searching the house. His first problem was the luggage. He had no idea where Maggie stored it. He started in the basement but came up empty-handed. Climbing the stairs, he realized the basement wasn’t the logical place to store luggage, because it would get damp and moldy there. Of course Maggie would have thought of that. Next, he tried the hall closet, which was too small to store anything except their coats and winter boots. Finally, he tried the closet under the staircase and hit pay dirt. There sat a complete three-piece set of black luggage along with several nylon
duffel bags and a couple of large backpacks. But as Andrew stared at them, he realized he had no idea how much luggage they owned; even if a duffel bag was missing, he wouldn’t know it.

  Frustrated, he slammed the door and headed upstairs to see if any of Maggie’s clothing was missing. But he realized, even before he entered their room, that he wouldn’t have any idea if articles of Maggie’s clothing were missing. He paid so little attention to what she wore. Besides, if any of her clothes were missing, they could easily be in the laundry or at the dry cleaner.

  Their older home had only one small closet in the bedroom. Maggie used an antique wardrobe for her clothes. He opened its doors and glanced at the clothes hanging there—jeans, sweaters, T-shirts, khakis, and dress pants—then looked at the shoes and inspected the two drawers below. Everything looked neat and orderly. He saw no gaping holes to suggest she’d packed anything.

  Andrew shut the doors and sat on the bed that he and Maggie had shared for twenty-three years. He gazed around the room. Everything looked exactly as it always did. Her jewelry box sat on the dresser, undisturbed, as did the glass dish beside it filled with earrings and rings. The checkbook they shared for family bills lay there, too. Nothing was awry. Andrew breathed out a frustrated sigh. Not only because he had no idea where Maggie was but also because he didn’t know as much about their daily life together as he should have.

  CHAPTER THREE

  When morning broke, the pull west was so strong that Maggie ignored her resolution to return home and continued on her impromptu trip. Going home meant facing reality, and after the stress of the past two years, Maggie could no longer face the heartbreak and disappointment that lay behind her. Her subconscious took center stage and urged her forward, blocking her visceral need to worry about everyone but herself. Whether she completely understood it or not, Maggie needed this escape, or else she’d lose herself completely.

  Maggie explored downtown Sioux Falls and relished the simple pleasure of taking photos of the many sculptures strategically placed on the downtown sidewalks. After that, she went to Falls Park and immersed herself in the beauty of the falls, taking multiple photos of the water as it splashed over the rocks. The morning sun shone bright overhead, and the Big Sioux River sparkled as the fall leaves rustled in the breeze. Maggie was entranced by it all, the simple feeling of just being there, free to do as she pleased.

  Maggie stopped at a discount store on her way out of town and purchased a few personal necessities and a change of clothes. Then she drove the van west on Interstate 90, with no idea whatsoever of where she was headed, only that she needed to continue on.

  Around one o’clock in the afternoon, Maggie pulled into Deadwood, South Dakota. She had stopped in the small town of Wall, South Dakota, for only a short time to take photos of the famous Wall Drug Store and the long street of old-time buildings that made you feel like you’d just been transported back to the Old West. It was touristy but charming, and Maggie loved the simplicity of the log buildings and overhangs that shaded the sidewalks.

  Maggie had noticed the turnoff for Mount Rushmore and almost taken it, but then thought better of the idea. It would be fun to see the monument again, but it was out-of-the-way and she just wanted to keep heading west.

  Driving slowly down Main Street, Maggie absorbed the atmosphere of this once-famous Western town turned tourist trap. Maggie loved Deadwood. She, Andrew, and the kids had visited a couple of times on their way to Seattle to see her father and sister, but they’d never spent as much time exploring it as she would have liked. She didn’t care that the town lived and breathed tourists. It still pulled you back to its lively, uncensored roots and made you feel as if you’d stepped into another era. She planned on taking her time, camera in hand, discovering every inch of it.

  Wanting to enjoy the mood of the town, she rented a room at the historic Bullock Hotel, right on Main Street—a charming three-story brick building with rooms that were plush and inviting, and even had their own ghost who might haunt you at no extra charge. Maggie found this delightful and exciting, and settled right in.

  The day was warm and sunny, so she set out to explore on foot. After picking up several brochures from the front desk, she wandered through the many casinos, saloons, and shops, taking pictures of whatever caught her eye and luxuriating in not having a schedule to dictate her every move. Just before three o’clock, she headed into Old Saloon #10, the site of the famous shooting of Wild Bill Hickok in 1876. The saloon boasted in its brochure “Wild Bill Shot Daily,” so she found a seat in the dark saloon at one of its high, rough wooden tables, ordered a Diet Coke, and settled in for the show.

  By three o’clock, the place had filled with tourists. A gentleman appeared dressed to the nines as the famous James Butler Hickok, alias Wild Bill, and began telling his life story to the fascinated crowd. Speaking with a soft Southern drawl, he strutted back and forth in front of his audience, describing the events that led to his untimely demise. Then, after choosing three members from the audience to portray his fellow card players, the four sat at a table and played out the final minutes of his life.

  Maggie took several pictures of the man who called himself Wild Bill. His brown hair was long and wavy under his hat, and his mustache hung down on each side of his mouth in true Hickok fashion. His eyes sparkled with mischief. She thought he had an interesting face, so she took several close-ups in the darkened room.

  At the end of the short reenactment, he ended up on the sawdust floor with a “bullet” in the head, holding in his hand the infamous “aces and eights.” After the gun had fired and the audience finished cheering, good ol’ Bill rose from the dead to thank everyone for coming. He reminded them that they replayed the show several times a day, then he disappeared into the back room from where he’d come.

  Maggie was sifting through the brochures to decide where she might want to eat a late lunch when a deep, male voice made her glance up in surprise.

  “Did you enjoy the show, ma’am?”

  Maggie found herself gazing into the eyes of Wild Bill. Still in costume, he smiled at her while brushing off the sawdust that clung to his long black jacket.

  “Can’t say I’ve seen a better shooting recently,” she told him. His face was just as interesting up close. Lightly tanned with the beginnings of crow’s-feet framing brown eyes that sparkled when they caught the light. Mischievous maybe. Downright dangerous for certain. His smile, however, was warm and inviting, not the least bit dangerous.

  “I couldn’t help but notice you were taking pictures earlier. That’s a nice camera you have there,” he said, nodding toward her camera on the table.

  “Thank you,” Maggie said. She wondered what old Bill was up to. Maybe he needed a few copies of the pictures for his wall.

  “Do you take photos for a living?”

  Maggie laughed. “Heavens no. I’d like to, even hoped to one day, but that’s not in the cards anymore, I’m afraid.”

  Wild Bill cocked his head and wrinkled his brow. “Why?”

  This caught Maggie off guard. “Well, um . . .”

  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, interrupting her. “Or do you have a husband and family waiting for you somewhere?”

  Husband and family waiting for me somewhere? Maggie sat there a moment, wondering why he’d ask this question. “No. No one is waiting for me right now,” she said carefully. Drinks with Wild Bill? This should be interesting.

  “Well then,” he said as he slid up onto one of the high stools and waved the waitress over. “What can I get you?”

  Maggie looked at the empty glass in front of her. “Diet Coke.”

  Bill smiled up at the waitress. “Two Diet Cokes, please, Missy,” he said, handing her two wooden tokens. He looked back at Maggie. “I hate to come off looking cheap, but they give me dozens of those drink tokens to pass out to the guests, so I might as well use them.”

  Maggie gr
inned mischievously. “Wild Bill drinks Diet Coke?”

  Bill laughed. “I’m sure I’m a disgrace to the real Bill Hickok, but I have a show later, and I like being sober so I don’t fall down for real.”

  Maggie smiled. It wasn’t like her to sit with a strange man in a bar, but he seemed friendly enough. She relaxed and decided to enjoy his company.

  “How long have you been getting shot here, Bill?” she asked him as the waitress delivered their sodas.

  Bill grinned. “First off, my real name is Robert. Robert Prescott. But you can call me Bob.”

  Maggie nearly choked on the sip of soda she’d taken. First Bob Seger, now another Bob. What a strange coincidence.

  “I prefer Wild Bill, if you don’t mind,” she said after clearing her throat. “You’re certainly dressed for the part.”

  Bill looked at her curiously over his glass, but nodded. “Whatever the lady prefers. And what shall I call you?”

  Maggie grinned. “Calamity Jane seems appropriate. Don’t you think?”

  Bill smiled. “Okay, Calamity Jane it is.” He raised his glass to toast her. She touched hers to his and they both laughed.

  “Well, Calamity, getting back to your question, I’ve been getting shot here since June. As Bob, I’m just a mild-mannered eighth-grade history teacher in Salt Lake City. I’ve always wanted to try my hand at acting, and my favorite time period is the Old West, so I signed on to play Bill for the saloon and for other events in town. I find it much more interesting reenacting history than just talking about it.”