Heart of a Runaway Girl

by Trevor Wiltzen

  He laughed. “I said a lot, but essentially I meant good work. You’re putting my other detectives to shame.”

  “Oh!” she said, embarrassed. She wanted to deflect the praise as she usually did with any compliment, but her friends had been calling her on it, so she just said, “Thanks, Luv.”

  “Trust me. You’ve earned it,” Lavi said, and hung up.

  Mabel didn’t think so, reflecting upon her conversation with Lee. She then thanked Consuela and left the office, deep in thought. As she drove off, Lee Wallach was at the warehouse door watching her, and she wondered again if Winston had lied to her — about whether he had known about the mill all along.

  CHAPTER 35

  When Mabel returned to the diner, which had been plastered in Halloween-themed decorations of monsters and skeletons, it was chaos. Irate customers were waiting to pay at the counter. Sally, wearing a skeleton outfit, was crying in the kitchen while Kevin, dressed as a pirate, was consoling her.

  “What’s going on?!”

  “Oh, Mabel,” Sally said between sobs. “It’s Sarah.”

  Mabel’s hand flew to her heart. “Is she all right?”

  “No. It’s… her son — Wade. He’s… he’s dead!”

  Mabel froze, shocked, then teared up. Sally, still crying, rushed over for a hug.

  “I’ll take care of the diner,” Kevin said, and then went to the front, grabbing an apron and leaving Sally and Mabel alone crying together.

  “How did it happen?” Mabel asked, finally pulling away.

  Sally blew her nose with a tissue, then handed the box to Mabel. Mabel took one and dabbed at own her eyes, as Sally said, “It was an overdose.”

  “Oh my God, no!”

  “Yes. I heard from Beatrice just before you came. Pete had found Wade unconscious in his trailer yesterday morning. They had just come back from a treatment center the day before. Pete rushed him to the hospital, but it was already too late. I had no idea.”

  Mabel winced, picturing the burned tinfoil, the spoon, the lighter, and Wade’s manic behavior. Finally, she admitted, “I did. I found Wade in his trailer on drugs a few weeks back. I took him to Sarah’s, but she already knew and—”

  “How terrible!”

  Mabel nodded. Tears stopped her from going on; she wished she could have done more.

  Dabbing at her cheeks, Sally asked, “Should I get the girls together?”

  Mabel reached out to touch her arm and nodded. Knowing how hard it was for grieving families to take care of themselves, Mabel had a group who did their best to make it easier for families in need by cooking a week’s worth of dinners and dropping them off.

  “I’ll call Patty and Angelica to come by,” Sally added, leaving Mabel alone in the kitchen.

  Mabel bowed her head and prayed for Sarah and Pete and the strength to help them. Then she slowly put on her apron and started preparing the meals.

  Later that afternoon, with the help of Sally, Angelica, and Patty, a week’s worth of dinners and lunches and trays of muffins were prepared and loaded into Mabel’s station wagon. After changing to regular clothes, she drove her friends to Sarah and Pete’s. It was a solemn drive, each sharing a story about Wade, born in Blue River, schooled there, and now to be buried in its cemetery. Since the town’s preacher had died from cancer last summer, the preacher in Edmonston would have to do the service, so the funeral would not likely be for another week or two, at the earliest.

  Although Mabel knew Sarah the best, she talked the least on the journey over, holding in a terrible secret — that Sarah and Pete knew Larson’s men supplied the drugs Wade had overdosed on. Though she suspected Sarah and Pete must hate Larson now and would have nothing to do with him, it was all too late for Wade, and for the horrible damage done by Larson to the hundreds, if not thousands, of families like Sarah and Pete’s, who had family members using the harder drugs Larson was manufacturing, distributing and selling.

  Sarah and Pete’s farmhouse, a half-mile past the roadside trailer complex Wade had lived in, appeared so isolated and forlorn, only accentuating the loss the parents must be feeling. The gravel parking lot was full of cars and trucks. Mabel was surprised, not realizing how many friends Sarah and Pete had.

  But as she parked at the end of the long line of vehicles, a crowd of young skinheads spilled out the front door, and behind them Larson himself. The women gasped. The skinheads made their way down to the cars, laughing and ribbing each other, then got in, except for one who held a car door open for Larson. But Larson remained on the porch, surveying his domain, then lit a cigarette, taking a long drag.

  Pete came out next, looking stricken and worn, and waited till he had Larson’s attention. Larson put one hand on Pete’s shoulder and said something to Pete like he was bucking the man up. Pete, with his head down, just nodded. Then he shook Larson’s hand.

  “What nerve!” Mabel cried. “Pete should be throwing Larson off his porch rather than showing him any respect!”

  Larson strode down the steps, head held high like he hadn’t a care in the world, infuriating Mabel even more. She moved to get out and tear a strip off him, but Sally held her back.

  “Mabel! Don’t go out there!”

  “Do you see that filth!?”

  “That’s Larson!” Patty said, deeply afraid. “You can’t go out there.”

  “It was his drugs that killed Wade. I saw one of those skinheads give Wade drugs. It was Larson’s men, all right. And I told Sarah—”

  “Really?!” Sally gasped. “Did Sarah know?”

  “And Pete still shook his hand?” Patty added, shocked.

  “It’s not their fault — Larson’s to blame,” Mabel added quickly, but the damage was done, the secret was out, and she immediately regretted it.

  Larson got into the car and was driven away, and Mabel could have sworn Larson had seen her and smiled, disgusting her.

  With the lot now emptied, all three women got out, and as Mabel opened the trunk, she said, “I didn’t mean to tell you that Sarah and Pete knew. I know how tough it must be for them. Please don’t say anything.”

  Sarah nodded, and Patty put her arm around Mabel. “Don’t worry. We understand.”

  Mabel teared up. “I just feel so bad for them.” The other two put their arms around her shoulders, and they stood there for a moment, side by side, solemnly thinking of the couple. Then Mabel opened the trunk, and they each picked up a tray of food.

  Pete came over to help. He appeared even more wan and distraught. “I see you brought food,” he said, his voice breaking.

  Mabel nodded, tearing up with him. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Pete broke down, and the three women consoled him until he could regain some composure.

  “Larson just left,” he said, wiping his face.

  Mabel’s anger at Larson overcame her sympathy. “What did that animal want?”

  “To talk business.”

  “Did he apologize, at least?” Mabel spit out.

  Pete shook his head, staring at Larson’s car merging onto the highway in the distance, then he started to sob again. “Oh my son,” he cried.

  The women tried soothing him, and as they did, Mabel’s anger at Larson finally gave way to grief for Pete. He was inconsolable now, so Sally and Patty led him back to the house. The cold food in her hands seemed an empty gesture now. A week’s worth of meals was not enough for this family to get over the shock, let alone horror of this loss, if they ever could.

  Mabel solemnly walked into the house, and they went back and forth to the car bringing the rest of the trays. Sarah did not appear, and Pete just sat there in a chair, half in shock, but thanked them when they were done. Then all three women made their goodbyes and left.

  Mabel felt terrible. Terrible, they had to deal with Larson and all his evil. Sarah and Pete had suffered under his domain, were still suffering, and would suffer again. It was clear Larson had come here to protect his business interests: he owned them; he owned the rest of
the town.

  While driving away, Mabel looked back and glimpsed Sarah, stone-faced, in the upper story window. Mabel waved, but Sarah did not, a forlorn prisoner to her grief — and to Larson’s reign.

  CHAPTER 36

  Saturday, November 1

  The next morning, Mabel spent the ninety-minute drive to Seattle thinking over what she would say to another set of grieving parents — Isabelle and Jack Thompson. She half-expected they might slam the door in her face. After all, Mabel was advocating for a person charged with killing their daughter. They were probably looking forward to closure with the upcoming trial, and now she was going to upend their world.

  Recalling the parents had dressed as though they were middle-class, their neighborhood was anything but, with its wailing police sirens and boarded-up properties. She had to stop several times to get directions before she finally made it to the Thompson home, which was nicer than most.

  A few kids played on the street. A lone dog barked in the distance.

  Mabel got out, a tin of fresh-baked cookies in her hands, and noticed every detail — the frayed welcome mat, the wreath on the door made of wilted flowers, the lawn overgrown and weedy. While the parents might have kept the grass trim at one time, their everyday world must have come to a full stop after Karen was murdered; any chores thereafter must have seemed meaningless. Already overwhelmed by emotions herself, she couldn’t imagine what Isabelle and Jack felt.

  She knocked on the door and heard movement inside. It took longer than expected, but the door finally opened. Karen’s mother, Isabelle, looked older and frailer than previously, with dark puffy bags under her eyes.

  Mabel said, “I’m sorry to bother you. But my name is Mabel Davison. We met before.”

  The mother’s forehead creased into a frown, yet she was polite. “Yes, I remember. You were the waitress in Blue River.”

  Mabel nodded. “I, um, I wanted to follow up with you. I have… some questions.”

  Isabelle didn’t seem to hear. “They let us bury our daughter. Finally.”

  Mabel instinctively reached out to touch the other woman’s arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Isabelle nodded, near tears, but didn’t say anything.

  Mabel extended the tin of cookies, which felt so inadequate after the shock of Isabelle’s divulgence. “I wanted to bake something nice for you. For you and your husband.”

  “Thank you,” Isabelle said, and her politeness got the better of her grief. “Would you like to come in for some tea?”

  Mabel thanked her and stepped in, noticing right away a heavy, unsettling silence hanging over everything inside, amplifying any noise to an unnatural disturbance. She removed her shoes though Isabelle said there was no need. Mabel wanted to show respect.

  The mother led Mabel into a barren, dusty kitchen, and Mabel wondered if they were eating. Isabelle seemed frail and was moving slowly, filling the kettle and putting it on to boil. She asked what type of tea Mabel liked, and Mabel took the opportunity to cross the room and touch Isabelle’s shoulders in a comforting gesture while she picked a teabag from the selection. Isabelle leaned into Mabel’s touch briefly before they sat down on either side of the table.

  Only a ticking clock and the gurgling kettle broke the kitchen’s stillness.

  Isabelle glanced at the clock, so Mabel got right to it. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  The mother nodded slightly but didn’t say anything.

  “May I ask you questions about your daughter now?”

  Isabelle dropped her gaze to a set of prayer beads in her hands and moved them one by one. “The detectives talked to us a few weeks back,” she said, frowning. “We are a good family, you know.”

  Mabel tried to soothe her. “I can see that.”

  Isabelle started to tear up as she added, “Those detectives. They don’t know what it’s like to be a mother. To bury a child.”

  Mabel felt the twist of Isabelle’s pain. “I have two boys myself. And my niece lives with us. Kerry is around Karen’s age, and I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

  “Make sure you hug them.”

  Mabel nodded and blinked back tears, thinking her own tears weren’t worth a grieving mother’s.

  “I didn’t hug my daughter,” Isabelle went on. “The last time she run out. We… had gotten into a fight. And now she’s gone. She was a good girl.”

  “I know,” Mabel said softly. “That’s why I’m here.”

  The women locked eyes for a moment until the kettle shrilled, startling Mabel but not Isabelle. Isabelle got up slowly to turn off the stove and went about making tea. Her hands were frail and delicate but had a strength to them as she poured the tea into two cups, then she smiled slightly. “I remember you poured my coffee the last time.”

  Mabel was surprised she remembered, and it seemed like a peace offering of sorts. “I’ve been thinking of you,” Mabel said. “Ever since you and your husband came by my diner. And I think of Karen, too. Often.”

  Isabelle’s hand touched Mabel’s. “Thank you,” she said. “Now, tell me. What questions do you have?”

  Mabel breathed out, and everything she had prepared to say went out the door, and she spoke from her heart. “The detectives say they caught the boy that killed your daughter, but I think they’ve arrested the wrong man. I’m here to ask you questions about other suspects.” Mabel paused to gauge Isabelle’s reaction.

  The unnaturally loud sound of the ticking clock filled the silence between them. Isabelle’s expression flickered from sadness to anger to pain. Mabel wondered if she was going to ask her to leave.

  But when Isabelle finally spoke, her voice, starting in the barest of whispers, grew stronger as she carried on. “I… I got Karen’s effects after she passed — the detectives had dropped them off. And there was this poem in her purse from that boy, Winston. A love poem. So I thought maybe it was a crime of passion, that maybe this Winston killed her over a stupid lover’s quarrel. I don’t know. But then I think of what was done to her… it was a real beast that did that to her.” She sighed and glanced down at the beads in her hands. “Now, you think it’s someone else?” Mabel nodded but did not interrupt. “So, who? Who hurt my girl?”

  “I think…” she started to say and then stopped, uncertain. At least she could test the names to see if Isabelle recognized them. “I think it could be one of several men. A Cole Smithson, a Don Sigmundson, a Lee Wallach and—”

  The mother started. “I know that name.”

  Mabel leaned forward. “Yes, Lee works at the mill where… it happened. He has a black truck, too.” Then she realized that there were details of the investigation that Isabelle would not know, so she explained. “After Karen had a fight with Winston, she took a ride with someone in a black truck, but the detectives didn’t really follow up that lead. I did. I found out who owned most of the black trucks in town, and three of them worked in the sawmill. Including Lee Wallach. I spoke to him yesterday.”

  The mother nodded, pointing a frail finger out the window. “He used to live a few blocks down. He knew Karen. They played together when they were kids.”

  “He didn’t tell me that,” Mabel said. “He made it seem like he didn’t really know her.”

  “Oh no, he definitely knew her. He was a delicate boy, thin and a bit of a loner. But my Karen liked to take in the awkward boys.”

  “Yes, well, he’s now hooked up with a group of white racists. The man who leads them preys on weak boys who should know better.”

  The mother frowned. “That doesn’t sound like him. As you can see, our neighborhood has all types. He had friends of color growing up.”

  Mabel hadn’t considered Lee’s racism to be a more recent thing. “He had black friends?”

  The mother nodded. “So did Karen. Karen didn’t care about the color of one’s skin. If I remember correctly, that boy shadowed her like a lovesick puppy until his parents moved him away. He hasn’t been around for several years.”
<
br />   “So, Karen would know him to see him?”

  The mother nodded.

  “Did Karen mention anything about him? Did they keep in touch? Is there anything about this boy Lee that you can recall?”

  Isabelle seemed frozen in her chair as she considered it but suddenly nodded and got up. Beckoning Mabel to follow, she walked down a hall lined with family photos of happier times. Then she opened the door into Karen’s bedroom. Karen was only sixteen when she was killed, but the room seemed frozen in time to that of a twelve-year-old or earlier, reflecting a younger, more innocent age. The well-used Cabbage Patch dolls on the shelves and the faded She Ra Princess of Power bedspread didn’t reflect her teenage troubles. It wasn’t surprising then, Mabel thought, that her mother had been shocked by her use of drugs.

  Isabelle walked to the table and picked up a book. It was like a diary or a calendar, with a lot of writing inside. Mabel sat down beside Isabelle, who flipped through pages until she found the one she was looking for. The calendar page was dated several months ago and read, ‘Call Lee.’ Mabel felt a thrill that this was something important. “When did Karen leave?”

  “A few days later,” Isabelle said. “I didn’t think this was anything important.” She flipped through the other pages, tearing up. “Karen wrote down all her get-togethers with friends in here until she left. I was surprised she left this. But I think she wanted to put her whole life behind her.” Then Isabelle broke down and sobbed.

  Mabel reached out and hugged her until the sobs passed, and she regained some of her composure. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m just an old fool.”

  Mabel squeezed. “No, you are a wonderful woman. I imagine your daughter thought the same.” Isabelle shook her head, so Mabel went on. “The ‘hope’ tattoo proves it. She was going to come back to you.”