Heart of a Runaway Girl

by Trevor Wiltzen

  “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” she said. “I’m going to make this window and mailbox thing right. We’ll pay for all damages and apologize. Then I’m going to make sure Hector doesn’t spend any time with those Hudgens kids. Good?”

  “And you’ve got to put this Winston thing to rest.”

  “I’m not going to lie to you. You need allies, Dan,” she said. “You’ve been taking this on alone for too long.”

  Dan’s voice broke as he said, “I do my best.”

  Mabel ended the conversation. “You coming Thursday to do your paperwork?”

  “If you’ll have me.”

  She smiled. “Of course. An extra scoop of ice cream on your pie? For your troubles?”

  Dan stood straighter and hitched up his pants with one hand as he adjusted his hat. He seemed like a new man now that he thought Mabel was going to back down, so Mabel didn’t tell him otherwise.

  “You’re the best,” Dan said.

  “I know,” she said and smiled back.

  Dan got back into his car, and she watched him go, waving to him out of respect before he drove up the highway. Then she looked in the direction of Larson’s compound, and her hot mood turned ice cold.

  CHAPTER 32

  Saturday, October 25

  Mabel spent the morning with Hector apologizing to the families, arranging to repair the damages, and handing out pies. She had raided her freezer and almost emptied her stock, but she wanted to make things right. The families had a friendly, “Boys will be boys” attitude to the situation, but that wasn’t the reputation she wanted in Blue River. The one positive of the morning was that on the drive, between apologies, Hector had talked about a lot of things — how he was glad his Dad wasn’t around but still missed him, his loneliness at school with only the Hudgens’ kids being his age, his dislike of schoolwork. It was a series of good mother-and-son moments, which made Mabel regret not having made an effort to spend more one-on-one time with him. Hector knew now without a doubt that his so-called friends had betrayed him, and he was probably going to be a lot lonelier for it. So Mabel knew she needed to step up. She needed to work less and spend more time with Hector, Fred, and Kerry. Once this murder case was done, she told herself, she’d ask Sally to take more shifts so she could spend it at home.

  But not today. Today she asked Kerry to watch the boys at Lisa’s house, and after dropping Hector off, she drove on alone, steeling herself for what she was going to do next.

  Confront Larson.

  To tamp down her growing anxiety, she put an unlit cigarette to her lips and let her mind wander. She thought of Winston’s trial coming up fast, too fast. The day after the shooting, Mabel had handed over the spent beer can, cigarette butts, and prints to Lavi’s assistant, Janice. She worried that the DNA tests might take weeks to process in the lab, it being so new, but Janice assured her Lavi was on it and said, “He’s more energized now.” Maybe he just needed a kick in the pants. Mabel thought.

  Another man who needed a kick in the pants was her husband. While Bill was a softy at heart, respectful and knew how to treat a woman, drinking had made him mean, prematurely grayed his hair, and aged his face older than his fifty-six years — though at least the rigors of the prospecting business kept his body energetic and strong.

  And while he’d stopped his drinking finally, he was just too set in his ways. That’s why relationships are so complicated, she thought — no one is ever so bad or so good; there are always shades of gray. And while most folks around here are good, for whatever reason, they go down the wrong path, or get complacent or fall into harmful patterns, and what makes them decent or good somehow gets forgotten. It’s like Pete and Sarah. When did they buy into Larson’s hate? And why let him get away with selling drugs to their son?

  Maybe this mine will change things, she thought, driving past it. At least working at the mill or joining Larson’s gang won’t be the only option for Blue River’s kids. But maybe I’m just all rosy-eyed about it. Maybe leaving is the only answer for the young — unless someone steps up.

  After twenty minutes, she pulled off the highway and drove down the long straightaway to Larson’s compound. For all his money, his complex was nothing more than a wooded acreage with a series of interconnected trailers and a single industrial-looking building. He was married but had no kids. His wife kept to herself, looking beaten down and unkempt when she showed up in town. Mabel worried about her.

  The gravel parking lot was filled with cars and trucks, but no black ones. A dilapidated bus was parked on one end, piles of dry wood and spent metal rods stacked at the other, with various trails of plastic waste and crumpled beer cans leading into the woods in-between. If Larson were trying to destroy his own land, she thought, he was doing a good job of it.

  She parked opposite two skinhead guards near the front door of the trailer complex. These two had a more professional air, watching every move she made.

  She let out a long, slow breath.

  She tried walking past them to knock on the door, but one of the men halted her by lifting his palm and shaking his head. “You’re in the wrong place,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

  “I’m here to speak to Larson.”

  “He expecting you?”

  Mabel shook her head.

  “Then get along. You’re definitely in the wrong place,” he said, pointing back to her car. “You should have kept driving on the highway.”

  Mabel wanted to turn and leave but then thought of her kids and what she had steeled herself to do. To stop herself from running, she made it final.

  “I’m the one who called the police about the Sigmundson farm.”

  That caught his attention. He examined her with a sense of disbelief and wonder and then nodded at his partner, who got up and walked into the house. While waiting, the guard kept his gaze on her, but she merely turned away to prepare for what was to come.

  The door finally opened, and the second guard gestured for her to follow him inside. The hall had doors leading to stark offices on either side, dirty and well-trodden industrial floors, and walls plastered in posters advertising concerts of punk rock bands with white power ties and slogans. While most of the concert dates were in the past, they were still relatively recent, and represented most of the communities around Blue River — Larson’s influence was spreading.

  The place felt evil.

  The skinhead led her to a door at the end of the dark hall. He walked in first then stepped aside.

  Larson was sitting behind a desk. He had the eyes of a wolf, a heavily pitted face, and a receding, wispy hairline. A girl who reminded Mabel of Karen was sitting on his lap. Another older man was leaning against a bookshelf. He looked like a biker, with his leather vest and long, gray ponytail. There were no windows in here, which, when coupled with the harsh glare of industrial lights above, made it feel like an animal’s cage.

  Larson eased the girl off his knee, and Mabel got a closer look at her as she left. She was about eighteen, if that, with tattoos and face rings — and downcast eyes. Mabel wondered if she were a runaway here against her will.

  Mabel had been keeping her hands together to prevent them from shaking, but seeing the young woman, practically a helpless child, in the man’s lap, awoke a mother’s fury in her.

  “Was that your daughter?” she asked, throwing disgust at him.

  Larson grinned and then swiveled in his chair to face his partner, who chuckled in return. Then Larson returned a mocking gaze to Mabel. “So you are the busybody interfering in my honest business.”

  Mabel snorted at the word ‘honest.’

  “Well?” Larson prodded, his voice both soft and menacing.

  “Some of your gang shot at my house,” Mabel said. “I’ve got kids.”

  Larson glanced over at his partner, and the older man spoke up and asked Mabel, “Are you wearing a wire?”

  “A what?”

  The older man asked the skinhead who’d brought her in. “She been
checked?”

  The man shook his head.

  “Check her.”

  The skinhead moved to pat Mabel down, and she protested, “Hey! Git your hands off me!”

  Larson growled, “I need to know you’re not wearing a wire.”

  Mabel did not want to be touched, feeling horribly vulnerable, but finally relented. The man patting her down was a professional, yet his touch made her feel violated and exposed.

  The man shook his head at Larson.

  Larson nodded and then said her name, relishing every syllable, “Mabel Davison.” He turned to his partner. “This woman has cost me some business.”

  Mabel felt her chest constrict. This was starting badly, but she kept on. “I want my children protected.”

  “In exchange for…?” the older man asked.

  “That’s it.”

  The older man kept speaking. “You going to get into our business again?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You called the cops on one of our farms.”

  “They shot up my home. They deserve to go to prison.”

  “That’s not how we see it. You came to them first. Why did you go?”

  Mabel had no answer — she didn’t want to admit it was to collect evidence on his men. So, she replied with a question. “What do you know about Karen Thompson — the girl that got murdered at the mill?”

  The old man said, “We know that Winston kid got caught. Why do you care? You stopped our boys from having some fun at the Sheriffs and punishing that n—”

  “Don’t you dare say it trash!”

  The old man growled back. “You got some nerve.”

  Larson held up his hand for silence and then turned to Mabel. “That ain’t your business.”

  “It is now. The boy the police have charged is innocent.”

  Larson examined her up and down. “And exactly what do you think happened?”

  Mabel’s mind was racing, wondering what these two knew about the murder. She thought of the girl that had left the room, how she reminded her of Karen. Did these men prey on young girls from the highway, too? Were these the killers?

  “What do you know about Karen?” she asked back, ignoring his question.

  “There are lots of city girls that travel the highways,” Larson said. “They’re runaways looking for a new daddy. They should go back home. I tell them that. But if they persist, I take them in like any good Christian.”

  Mabel scoffed. “What do you know about being a Christian? Wicked things are going on with your drugs, your farms. You pervert God’s word to take in these naïve girls and angry boys and use them for your own gain. How dare you talk about God?”

  “Don’t you talk like that,” the older man growled at Mabel.

  Mabel ignored him and kept her gaze on Larson. “Did you know her?” she asked. “Did she come here?”

  Larson’s humor came back, and he softly chuckled. “This is what I’m going to do,” he said and leaned forward. “You’re not a threat to me, and so I’ll forgive you for what you’ve done until now. But now you’re on watch. I’ve been good to this community, but maybe I’ve been too good. I’ll let you decide. You say you care about this place? You care about those kids? Then stay out of my business. For all of your sakes.” He directed the older man to escort her out.

  “You don’t own me,” Mabel said.

  Larson’s humor left him as his eyes bore into hers. She shifted as she stood there, feeling the power of his gaze. But thinking of her kids kept her standing proud and prevented her from running away or backing down. After a long moment, he seemed to sense that she would not give in.

  “No,” Larson replied finally to her. “But I own everyone else.” He turned to the older man and said, “Get her out of here, Glen.” Then he zeroed in on her. “You’ve been warned.”

  As the older man bullied her out the door with his bulk, Mabel warned, “If you dare harm any child, mine, or others, you’ll regret it. I’m not afraid of you.”

  It was not until she was well into the hall when Larson warned her back, “Be careful now. I know where you live.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Driving home from Larson’s, Mabel didn’t know what she had accomplished. Whether or not Larson or one of his cronies killed Karen, Mabel had made herself more of a target, and that scared her. That man had an army and wasn’t afraid of pulling a trigger, so what was she doing acting like a detective and putting her family at risk?

  Mabel didn’t have an answer. Except that Karen’s parents needed to know the truth, Winston needed to be free, and Mabel couldn’t simply turn a blind eye to the drugs anymore. Evil was right here in Blue River. It wasn’t just a distant concept to talk about in Sunday service. And if she continued to turn a blind eye like her community, the evil would grow stronger and infect her children. Someone had to put a stop to Larson.

  As she parked in front of her house, a large man loomed up on her porch. Oh, Lord, what now? Mabel thought, her fear rising again.

  Then she felt a thrill.

  It was her Bill.

  He was wearing a muscle shirt and khaki pants, hair looking whiter than usual against tan muscles. He looked damn fine. She wondered what he was doing here since Kerry and the boys wouldn’t be home for hours.

  When she got out of the car and walked up the steps, her breathing hitched. She needed to put her hand to her chest. Bill looked so earnest and contrite that her defenses were down before she knew it. Moving quickly, he crossed the porch and took her in his arms. Mabel resisted, but his familiar embrace was comforting, and he smelled so good. From the horror she felt at the Larson farm to being here with someone who was good and kind and treated women right, he overwhelmed her.

  Bill looked in her eyes. “I miss you.”

  Mabel half-heartedly pulled away, but then he kissed her, and she closed her eyes and felt it deeply. She pulled him closer, then leaned to whisper into his ear, “Get in.”

  Bill looked shocked, comically so.

  “Hurry, before I change my mind,” she laughed, then opened the door. “It’s not locked,” she said, leading him upstairs.

  An hour later, lying beside each other in bed, Mabel felt settled, and so did Bill, though he seemed almost too at ease, which bothered her a little. She wanted him back but certainly hadn’t forgiven him yet.

  “When do the boys get home?” Bill asked, lighting a cigarette, which Mabel had always disapproved of.

  She turned the clock towards her. “In two hours.”

  “It’ll be good to see the boys,” he said.

  His confidence bothered her, not wanting Hector and Fred to be put through the hell of seeing their dad if nothing had changed.

  “Did you stop the drinking yet?

  Bill took his time answering, taking a deep drag off his cigarette. “Yep,” he said.

  “That’s good to hear. But why come back now?”

  “Because you, Mabel, are the light of my life. I’ve missed you.”

  Mabel blushed. “And the kids?”

  “I miss my kids. It’s good to be back.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Prospecting. Caught a few good ones that I might be selling at the Minneapolis trade show coming up end of the month.”

  Mabel frowned because travel was hard on him, and he tended to drink more when he was away.

  “Are you going to keep off the booze?”

  Bill’s brow creased. He looked over and said, “I’m off it. I made a pledge.”

  “So, you’re trying to change?”

  “I have.”

  Mabel breathed a sigh of relief. She reached out and touched Bill’s arm. “I’m so glad you came.”

  “How about you? How are things going here? One of your motel guests came up to me after I drove up. Questioned who I was when I sat on your porch. This guy Carlos didn’t believe I was your husband at first.” He sounded a little jealous. “You don’t mention me or what?”

  “Sorry fool like you?�
�� she asked, then smiled to take away any sting, and he chuckled, and his jealousy was gone. He had too much confidence to be jealous for long.

  Putting his arm around her, she rested her head against his chest. After a few puffs of his cigarette, he said, “Heard about what happened. If I’d have been here, I’d have given those skinheads a beating, gun or no gun.”

  “I know you would. How did you hear?”

  “The Sheriff.”

  Mabel’s brow creased, not liking that.

  He took the last drag of his cigarette before he got up and headed to the bathroom.

  She asked after him, “Dan talked to you?”

  After he flushed the toilet, he said, “Told me about Hector too.”

  “So, you came because Dan asked you to?”

  “I came because you need me. I’m here to help.”

  “I don’t need any help. You know I can take care of myself.”

  “I know, but these guys are serious, and you need a man in the house to protect you and the boys. Look at Hector. That boy needs more discipline.”

  “What do you know what he needs? Those Hudgens kids put him up to it.”

  “No son of mine follows other people’s orders. He needs to learn to think for himself. Be a leader.”

  Mabel leaned up on her elbow. “Now, Bill. You know I didn’t like how you were treating those kids. That mine—” Bill started, and Mabel realized the subject was still a tender one “—got you mad. And that mine’s here to stay, and I’ve got a motel full of construction workers building it. Can you handle that?”

  Bill sat down on the edge of the bed and put on his t-shirt. “You asked me to stop drinking, and I stopped. Don’t ask me to not care about that mine. I do, and I can’t help it.”

  “It gets you angry, Bill.”

  “Of course, it does.”