by Mary Logue
“Hey, Davy, it’s not time to get up,” Jared grabbed him by the shoulders. The kid was so tiny. He didn’t even come up to Jared’s belt buckle.
Davy turned his big blue eyes up to Jared, rubbed his face, then pointed at his belly. “I’m hungry.”
“Come on, buddy. I’ll make you a peanut butter sandwich.”
Jared dug around in the kitchen. But Hitch just yelled at him to get out of the way. He was lining up all the ingredients for the next batch of meth.
Finally, in the bottom of a drawer, Jared found some old saltine crackers. He took a handful of them and gave them to Davy. Then he pushed him back into his room and standing in the doorway, watched him climb up onto his bed. “Now you stay there. We’re busy out here.”
The little boy shoved the whole pile of crackers into his mouth and started sucking on them. He stared at Jared. Jared didn’t have time to take care of Davy. He needed to help Hitch get the next batch ready. He needed a hit bad.
He closed the door to Davy’s bedroom. Behind him he heard a crack and sizzle as Hitch fired up the stove.
“Everything all right?” he yelled.
“Get over here and help me, godammit.”
He reached up and latched the lock on the door so Davy couldn’t get out of his bedroom.
You never knew what might happen when they were making meth and he didn’t want the little boy to get hurt.
CHAPTER 5
6:20 a.m.
“Wich,” the little girl held out her arms. When he reached for her, she flung herself out of Bridget’s grasp, trusting that he would catch her.
Rich had been an only child and had never been around small children much. He couldn’t believe how easy they were to love.
Bridget’s daughter Rachel had wild, curly red hair, big blue eyes, and strawberry pink lips. She wasn’t a beauty, but she was so full of life. Her eyes looked deeply into everything.
He held Rachel up high so her face was level with his. She reached out and gently touched his face.
“Wha’s at?” she asked.
“I cut myself shaving.”
“Oh,” she said seriously. “Be berry careful.” Then she held up a baby finger wrapped in a huge band-aid. “I cut myself on a fall down.”
“Terrible.”
“Mommy fix it.”
“She’s brilliant.”
Bridget followed him into the house. “Any news?”
“Nothing. Not a peep. Thanks for coming over. I need to get out of here.” He walked into the living room. “Where could she be? I keep going over various scenarios in my mind and it’s driving me crazy.”
Bridget touched his arm. “You don’t think anything’s really wrong, do you? Meg’s such a good kid.”
Rich agreed. “I know. But you know what it’s like when the other kids want to do something.”
“Yeah. And even good kids need to be bad.”
“How old were you when you stayed out all night long?”
Bridget shook her head. “I have to confess I was a goody two shoes. I don’t think I did anything wild like that until I went to college and then no one really cared.”
“I don’t care if she drove up to the cities. I just want her to come home safe and sound.”
“She will.”
Rachel listened to their conversation, then asked, “Whew’s my Meg?”
Bridget answered, “She’s not home.”
Rich set Rachel down on the couch. She slid off and ran over to the bookshelf. They kept a pile of books for her there, some of Meg’s old favorites: Winnie the Pooh, Curious George, and Twinkle Toes.
“Wead, Wich, wead!” she ordered Rich, holding out a book.
“Sorry, pumpkin. I have to go out for a while.” He bent down to look her in the face. “You and your mom are going to babysit our house.”
The phone rang. Rich grabbed it before the next ring. “Yeah?” he answered. It was Claire. The sheriff’s department had gotten a call about a car sitting out by Maiden Rock. It sounded like it might be Krista’s car.
“I’m on my way there now,” Claire said and he could hear the worry in her voice.
“I’m right behind you,” he said. “Bridget’s here, manning the fort.”
Grabbing his coat, he waved his arm in the direction of the kitchen. “Thanks for doing this, Bridget. I’ll call as soon as we know anything. Help yourself to anything that’s in the fridge.”
“You mentioned coffee?”
He pointed at the coffeemaker on the counter. “A full pot brewing.”
“Bring her home.”
***
6:26 a.m.
Jared never quite knew what went wrong. It happened so fast. Hitch was in charge of the lab and Jared was only his assistant.
He went to help Hitch make the meth after he put Davy back in his room. Hitch’s speciality was the “Nazi method.” He claimed that this technique gave him the purest meth in the whole state. He was proud of his output.
Jared didn’t know any other way of doing it. Hitch had told him that the Germans created this method during World War II. Jared didn’t know if he believed him, but it was a good story. Hitch was full of stories and never quit talking.
Hitch had a direct pipeline to good ephedrine pills that came up from Mexico. Too hard to get any in the pharmacies in the states anymore. Hitch went someplace about once a week
to pick up his supply of pure ephedrine. He had explained to Jared that you didn’t want to use the time-release, too much crap in them to filter out.
He showed the new delivery to Jared. “Just the way I like it,” he crooned. “Nothing mixed in.”
Jared measured out the pills, which were tiny white dots.
“Don’t get the red-coated pills,” he had told Jared. “Any contaminants can jell during the baseifying. You know I got a good reputation for my product.”
“Right,” Jared said.
“We’ve got to make it fast and keep it coming because those Mexicans are moving in on our territory. You’ve seen. Geez, they’ve even got their own grocery store now in Red Wing. I don’t mind them coming up here to pick our sugar beets but it rankles me to no end when they start moving in on the drug scene.”
“Yeah,” Jared said, watching what Hitch was doing. They had their routine down. Hitch talked and got the batch going. Jared kept track of everything.
“Don’t want to bring my price down. Can hardly afford to do that. But this new crank is coming in at an awfully good price. If you see any Mexicans trying to sell at your school, you tell me. Or better yet, tell your principal. I’d bet she’d get rid of them pronto.”
“Sure.” Jared could feel the strain of waiting for some meth in his muscles. They would start to contract on their own. Like they were twitching for it.
Jared didn’t even mind the smell anymore, stinky and foul as it was. The pungent baby-diaper smell got his juices going. His body was ready to take off again; he needed it.
He had his back to the stove and was getting ready to help Hitch strain the stuff through the filter when he heard a whooshing noise. Then an explosion rocked the trailer.
By the time he turned around, the whole pot of brew was on fire. The cabinets above the sink burst into flames. The trailer was a tinder box. The smoke smell was overpowering. He could hardly breathe. Worse than a barnyard. Urine and sulphur mixed together.
Letty was trying to get to the sink, but Jared pulled her away. Water wasn’t going to stop this fire. Hitch bolted outside.
Jared ran for the door, pulling Letty with him. Both he and Letty stumbled outside, gasping in the cool morning air. Smoke poured out the open door behind them.
His eyes were burning and his stomach was convulsing. He could hardly stand up. Then he saw Letty going back toward the trailer.
What was she thinking? The side of the trailer was burning, flames shooting through the window over the sink. But he saw her disappear inside.
Then he remembered Davy.
***
<
br /> 6:30 a.m.
The glow to the east was strong, a halo of light showing where the sun would rise. Low mist in the fields swirled in eddies. It would burn off quickly once the sunlight hit it.
Claire prayed that the reported car was the Jorgenson’s. Driving about ten miles over the speed limit, she had to slow
for the turn down the long gravel road that led to the Maiden Rock. Edwin’s farm. Normally, she’d stop for a cup of coffee, but she wanted to find those kids.
Her mind seesawed back and forth. For a while, she’d be sure Meg was fine. Then she’d get mad, thinking of her daughter pulling a stunt like this. That felt good. Until she got scared all over again.
As she slalomed down the rutted dirt road, she tried not to think of what she might find: three hungover kids, a sex orgy, all three asphyxiated when they sat in the car and ran the engine, a suicide pact. She knew too much, that was her problem. She had been a cop for too long. When it came to trouble, she could see every shape or form it might take and imagine them all happening to the ones she loved.
The rusting car sat on the edge of the field, facing the bluff, away from the first gleamings of the sun. She pulled up next to it and didn’t see anything move. No heads popped up at the sound of her car stopping. Good or bad, she didn’t know.
Claire looked inside—empty.
She pulled open the door, which let out a loud screech. A clunker, good for nothing except driving close to home. It had been on its last legs for so long it was crawling. Inside, a couple of maps were folded and tucked into the door pockets. Cans of diet coke littered the floor in the back. No beer bottles. No cigarette butts. No condoms. That was good.
But no kids. No Meg or Krista or Curt. No sign of them. No purses, no shoes, no jackets. And that was bad.
She slid into the driver’s seat and checked for the keys. First on top of the window visor. Not there. Then she snaked her hand down under the seat. At first she found nothing, but then she lifted up the mat and found two keys ringed together. She
tried a key and the car started. The other key was probably to the Jorgenson’s house.
Claire thought of honking the horn. It might rouse the kids if they were off in the woods, but she’d rather go in after them. She’d go out and holler, then hike down the bluff if she had to.
Leaning into the squad car, she grabbed the handset and radioed into the sheriff’s department.
Amy answered, her voice sounded tired.
“You’re still awake?” Claire asked, rubbing at her own eyes.
“Wilting. Long night. Another couple minutes and I can head for bed. You find the car?”
“Yeah, thanks. It’s the right car. But the kids aren’t here.” Claire glanced over at the car. Where were they? “I’m going to go look for them. Just wanted you to know where I am.”
“At the Maiden Rock, right?”
“Yeah, you come in through Sandstrom’s driveway.”
“Where are you going to look?”
“There’s a path down the front of the bluff. I’ll hike down that. They might be camping out in the woods. Maybe they’re doing a Blair Witch-type deal. Who knows?”
Amy didn’t say anything for a moment. “Be careful. Call back in when you know something.”
“Will do.”
As Claire walked toward the bluff edge, she came across a trampled-down area with a few beer cans—Budweiser, Leinenkugels. Meant nothing. Kids came up here all the time to party.
She kept walking, crossing the field, in the direction of the bluff. What had always struck her odd was that you couldn’t see the Maiden Rock until you were standing right on top of it. It
was visible from the highway but up on top you had no sense that right past the edge of the field and a narrow treeline was a sheer drop-off. The early morning wind blew gently at her back.
A path brought her down along the tree line. Looking through the trees, she could see the river far below. Suddenly, there it was—a limestone outcropping that looked more like a ledge, the Maiden Rock.
The sun streaked across the fields, and shadows stretched past her. She had never been up here before, but knew that teenagers were regular visitors, climbing up to the rock from the highway. Standing out on the rock, she could see Lake Pepin, a silvered blue that looked like an old cracked mirror.
Sunrise. This new light should comfort her, but it didn’t. She saw the path that circled down past the rock and into the dark forest below.
Claire knew she had to step down into the darkness.
CHAPTER 6
6:35 a.m.
The path down from Maiden Rock was not well marked, only slightly larger than a deer path. Claire could barely make it out, curving down the side of the rock and then dropping into the dark of the forest.
This time of year most of the trees had lost their leaves, but the littered branches of the oaks and the dark boughs of the evergreens made it hard to see through the woods. Even though the sun was up as soon as she walked a few steps down the path, she was still in the shade of the bluff.
She stopped on the path and called out, “Meg, Krista, Curt.” then listened for any rustle or response. Nothing.
A car went by on Highway 35 far below. She could barely see it, but the lake was visible through the tree tops. She continued to walk down under the cliff and saw another path coming from the woods.
Claire decided to stay on what looked like the main path. She could explore the side trail later if she needed to. But why would the kids be down here? What could they be doing all night long? She could understand coming to the Maiden Rock
on Halloween night, but couldn’t think of a good reason for them to still be here unless they had fallen asleep.
Leaves lashed about above her head and she looked up. A black squirrel was running across a broad limb with a pinecone in its mouth. Storing up for winter. She stopped and listened again.
A deer bounded off far down the path. She could see the white flick of its tail. Hunting season was coming the next month and, with the rut season starting, the deer herds were spreading out over the land.
Claire called her daughter’s name again, then the names of her friends. Then she let out a whistle that would carry further through the trees. Absolute silence filled the space left by her noise. Coyote and bear were seen regularly along the bluffs, but she had certainly warned off any critters in the area.
The path switchbacked gently down through the forest and when she rounded a corner she figured she was about halfway down the bluff. She’d go all the way to the road, check the wayside rest, and then make her way back up. Just to be sure. She didn’t like the silence.
Scanning as far as she could into the woods on both sides of the path, she tried to see anything that looked out of place—a flash of color. Then she turned and looked back up toward the bluff. She stared up at the Maiden Rock, then let her eyes drop slowly as if they were a body falling from that great limestone ledge.
And that’s when she saw the fawn-colored mound under a big oak.
At first she thought it was a deer that had been hit by a car and clambered this far up the bluff before it was felled by its injuries.
Then Claire remembered Meg’s Indian costume, that same fawn color. Her heart froze. Her breath pulled deep into her body. She didn’t want to go into the forest to find out what it was.
And then it was the only thing she wanted to do. Claire dove into the bushes, pushed through the low-hanging tree branches. Her pants got snagged by brambles, her feet slipped on the wet leaves. She scrambled frantically forward.
As she got closer, she could see it wasn’t a deer. No matter how hard she tried to make it something else, it was clearly a person.
Claire pulled up for a second when she could make out the fringe on the Indian costume. She heard a cry as she ran foward and realized it came out of her mouth.
***
6:35 a.m.
He had left Davy locked in his room. The thought hit Jared like a lan
dslide. The little boy was trapped in the burning trailer. The front of the trailer was burning, flames licking along the top edge like red frosting on a white cake.
If Letty had gone in after him, she wouldn’t know Jared had locked the door. It wasn’t an easy latch to undo. He waited to see if she’d emerge, but she didn’t come out again.
He ran to the door of the trailer, shouting Letty’s name. He tried to peer inside the doorway, but the smoke filled his eyes and he couldn’t see. He couldn’t even keep his eyes open. Coughing in the burning air, he backed up, gasping.
As Jared turned away from the trailer to catch his breath, he saw Hitch mounting his motorcycle. Jared thought of running after him, but then Hitch gunned the bike, kicking up gravel, and shot down the driveway.
Jared had to do something to help Davy, but he couldn’t make himself go back into that inferno. Davy’s room was on the other side of the trailer. Maybe he could get him out that way.
Jared ran around to the back of the trailer. He could tell which window was Davy’s because it had a picture of an airplane stuck to it. He had given that to Davy for his birthday. The window was too high for him to reach, but there was an old wheelbarrow leaning against the trailer with a flat tire. He pushed that over to the window and stood on it. The wheelbarrow wobbled, then tipped him out.
Wedging the wheelbarrow more firmly against the side of the trailer, he climbed back into it, balancing himself. He could see into Davy’s room, but couldn’t see the little boy. Maybe the kid was hiding under the bed. He had done that sometimes when he was staying at Jared’s house. Davy claimed it made him feel safer. Jared thought it was weird at the time. How scary does your life have to be for the shadows under the bed to be welcoming?
Jared pounded on the frame of the window, pushing inward in the middle of the glass. The pane cracked but didn’t break.
Jared pounded harder. Cheap-ass construction, the window snapped in the middle, then pushed right in, coming off its track. It crashed to the floor and shattered.