by Dan Padavona
A bell rang when he stepped inside the Broken Yolk. The sweet warmth of freshly baked donuts made his mouth water. He ran his eyes over the chalkboard menu affixed to the wall behind the register. Ruth had added healthy options since he moved away—egg white sandwiches, smoothies, and Acai bowls. But it was too late to change his mind. He could taste the glaze melting in his mouth as he glared at the donuts behind the glass.
A portly woman in her early sixties stepped out of the back room and wiped her hands on an apron. Tied in a ponytail, her ash brown hair held more salt than pepper these days. He recognized Ruth as she waddled to the counter. Her eyes widened.
“Thomas Shepherd, I heard you were back in town.” she said, circling the counter. Ruth pulled him into a hug. Then she straightened his shirt and brushed confectionery sugar off his arm. “The uniform looks snazzy on you. Your folks must be so proud.”
“It’s good to see you, Ruth.”
He was glad Ruth didn’t press him about his parents.
“Come in and sit,” she said, gesturing him toward three open tables along the window.
“I can’t. I’m on shift and need to get back to the station. But not before I grab a coffee and—”
“Glazed donut to go.” She gave his shoulder a playful tap. “I remember your favorites.”
Ruth made small talk as she poured coffee and bagged the donut. She wanted to give him lunch on the house. He insisted on paying. Still, he caught her sneaking a second glazed donut into the bag. He kept his mouth shut, not wanting to offend her. When he returned to the office, he’d give the donut to Gray. No chance Aguilar would go for the unhealthy treat. He’d only known his fellow deputy for a few hours, and he already pictured her blending a protein shake in the break room.
After he convinced Ruth to take his money, her eyes moved to the storefront window.
“Wolf Lake isn’t the same, Thomas.”
“It’s still has its heart,” he said, lifting the bag.
She gave the complement a wan smile.
“It’s not safe here anymore. We thought Harmon’s problems wouldn’t bleed into our village, but we were fools.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
His featureless face left a hole in your memory. As Jeremy stood at the corner, watching the whores wear a groove in the sidewalk in front of the adult video store, he pulled the ski hat down to his brow and buttoned the jean jacket. He was a chameleon, able to blend in with any crowd, or avoid attention when he wished to be alone.
A grin curled his lips. He’d taken one of their own, and they didn’t know his name. For weeks he’d stood at this corner, eyes locked on Erika. Now and then, the girl would stop and stare in his direction after he ducked around the corner or merged into the crowd, as if she sensed a dark presence. Many times he considered propositioning the woman, taking her to his apartment, and spilling her lifeblood over the shag carpet. But eyes followed any man who approached the street walkers. He worried Troy Dean, the leader of the Royals, would recognize him. It had been two years since the man met Troy. But Jeremy wasn’t the type to stick in someone’s memory. So he’d played it cool. Waited until Erika slid into the backseat of an Uber and followed the girl into Wolf Lake. He grinned when she disappeared inside the hotel. All Jeremy needed to do was wait for the girl to emerge from the room. She’d order a ride back to Harmon or call Troy to pick her up, and he’d be there waiting. It wouldn’t take long to swipe the blade across her throat. But she made it easy on him when she strolled down the night-shrouded sidewalk, desperate for a ride. Had the John ripped her off?
Now the orange-haired woman on the corner, legs that stretched into the heavens, strong ankles sturdy on spiked heels, bent forward and whispered into a John’s ear. The guy wore a gray sweatshirt with the hood pulled tight around his face. It was difficult to gauge the John’s age, except for the gray beard bristling out of the hood.
Stepping off the curb for a better look, Jeremy stood in silence after a taxi honked an angry horn. He felt the breeze of the passing vehicle against his face, smelled the greasy exhaust as the endless winter curled around him. He could take the whore any time he wished. But the woman didn’t appeal to him. He needed a girl like Erika.
* * *
Every kid on the bus stared.
The wheelchair lift jammed and caused the bus driver to grumble to himself as he unstrapped Scout’s wheelchair. Air too cold for mid-April blew inside the bus and searched for exposed skin. The boy in the next seat chattered his teeth, while the girl beside him rubbed her arms and squirmed. This was taking too long. Scout sensed the resentment building. Impatient eyes watched and whispered comments flew around the bus.
At the curb, her mother drove her hands into her pockets and marched in place to stay warm. She did her best to appear casual. The chairlift made a metallic clunk as it came to life. To Scout’s ears, it sounded like something broke. She eyed the lift warily as the driver wheeled her forward. If the lift snapped and she crashed against the road, would her classmates laugh or feel bad for complaining?
A beeping sound pierced her ears as the lift descended. She white-knuckled the chair arms, certain the lift was about to fail. When she touched down, she breathed a sigh of relief. Mom wheeled her along the curb to the driveway. On the bus, someone shouted, “Finally!” Laughter followed.
“Don’t listen to them,” Mom said, pushing her up the driveway and past the wheelchair accessible front porch. “They don’t understand.”
“Where are we going?”
“I painted over the chips on the front door and need to let it dry. We’ll use the patio door.”
The patio had a small ramp, but it was the yard that worried Scout. Last night she awoke to rain pattering the window after midnight. The old saying claimed April showers brought May flowers. But in her experience, April showers brought another week of slop.
The wheels jounced over a rock as the driveway ended and the grass began. Five steps from the patio, the wheels sank into the muck. Scout tried to warn her, but Mom shoved the wheelchair and drove the wheels another two inches into the ground. Now she couldn’t budge the chair. Mom lowered her shoulder and grunted after the chair dropped lower. Was this grass and dirt, or quicksand?
“We’re making it worse,” Scout said, glancing around the yard for a way out of this mess.
“I have an idea. Hang on for a minute.”
“Uh, I’m not going anywhere.”
Scout shivered in the backyard as the wind crept inside her jacket. Her hair blew into her eyes. She stuck her hands inside her pockets and searched for the neighbor. They needed Deputy Shepherd’s muscle now. Past the deputy’s guest house, the lake crashed against the shore, driven by northerly winds. A broken boat ore and a plastic cup had washed ashore, and the water extended ten feet up the hill separating his backyard from the lake.
The garage door opened in front of the house, and ten seconds later Mom returned with a plank under her arm. After Mom wedged the board under the left wheel, the wheelchair inched forward.
“You almost got it,” Scout said, glancing down at the wheels.
Mom knelt and adjusted the board before circling behind the chair again.
“When I push, try to wheel yourself forward.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Mom panted and drove with her legs. Her sneakers slipped on the wet lawn, and she splattered knee first against the ground. Scout strained to look behind. She wanted to tell her mother they should have gone through the front door and risked smearing the paint. But Mom had her hands full, and playing Devil’s Advocate wouldn’t help.
Another shove, and the wheelchair lurched forward. Scout almost toppled out of the chair before she clutched the wheels and kept the momentum going. At last, the wheelchair dislodged from the wet ground. As Mom directed Scout up the ramp and onto the patio, she wheezed and coughed. Exhausted, she leaned against the house and set her hands on her knees. Scout could take it from here. Sliding the glass door open, she pushed the w
heelchair over a smaller ramp and coasted into the kitchen.
Ah, it was wonderful to escape the wind. The kitchen held heat from the oven, and she smelled the cherry pie before she spotted it cooling on the stove top. Mom closed the door and prevented the cold from entering.
“The weatherman says it’s supposed to hit sixty next weekend,” said Mom as she tore a sheet of aluminum foil and fitted it over the pie. “I’ve had enough winter.”
The warmth thawed Scout’s hands, but the chair left muddy streaks on the floor. She wished she could clean up after herself. More work for her mother to do. It wasn’t fair. She was sick of making everybody’s lives difficult.
“We should take Deputy Shepherd up on his offer to pave a path in the backyard.”
Mom opened her mouth to offer a contrary opinion and stopped. Instead, she sorted through the mail on the granite counter and feigned interest in bills and coupons.
“Well, that was fun,” Scout sighed. “I better start on my homework before dinner.”
As she swiveled the chair toward the hallway, Mom leaned her arms on the granite.
“Scout, did you hear anyone on the lake last night?”
Scout recalled the rain hitting the windows. A distant splash had woken her up at ten o’clock.
“I think so.”
Mom glanced out the kitchen window toward the trees. The lake churned beyond the property, hidden behind a row of hemlocks.
“Nobody’s supposed to be on the lake after dark.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was after six when Thomas drove into his driveway. Light faded from the turbulent gray sky, and he didn’t relish cooking after a long day. The paperwork from the fiasco outside the Wolf Lake Inn took him all afternoon. He never realized he’d worked ninety minutes past his shift until Tristan Lambert, the tall deputy with the military haircut, told him to go home.
Lowering his head against the breeze, he climbed onto the front deck and pulled on the storm door. Naomi had taped a note inside. He kicked a glass container set at his feet as he scanned the note. Naomi left him butternut squash and a slice of cherry pie. They’d wanted him over for dinner, but he’d worked late. That was nice of them, he thought while he fit the key into the lock. Thomas glanced toward their house and didn’t see anyone at the window. He waved in case Naomi or Scout was looking, then brought dinner inside and set it on the counter.
His mouth watered at the savory scents. Even with lids on the containers, the dinner made his downstairs smell like Thanksgiving. He called Naomi to thank her for her generosity. But the call went to voice mail, so he left a message instead and promised to wash and return the containers after he ate.
He dug into dinner, sitting on his back deck with a view of the lake. Breakers frothed and slammed the shore, and a cold mist wet the guest house. A broken oar and miscellaneous pieces of trash littered his shore. Anything lost to the lake over the last decade would wash up on the southern shore if this wind continued. He braved the cold for five minutes before the wind chased him indoors.
His phone rang when he opened the sliding glass door. With his dinner plate balanced on one hand, he hustled to the granite and snatched his phone before the caller gave up. It was probably Naomi returning his call. He answered without looking at the screen.
“So, Thomas. When were you planning to tell us you returned?”
He stumbled and almost dropped the plate.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Really, when the rumor you came back to Wolf Lake reached me, I figured it was a brief visit. But you’re working for the county sheriff, and you bought my brother’s house without consulting either of us.”
The whip to his mother’s voice made him flinch. Thomas slid into a chair and shoved the food away, his appetite disappearing. He’d meant to call his parents and head off an argument.
“Sorry. I got caught up with a repair project and forgot to contact you. That was immature of me.”
“It’s like you’re avoiding us.” She laughed without humor. “You can’t move to Wolf Lake without the Shepherd family knowing. You’re lucky I found out first. Had it been your father—”
“I apologized. Let’s not argue over this. I meant to call once I settled in.”
She sniffed.
“I have no intention of fighting with my only child. I’m just hurt you didn’t inform us of your plans before you left California.”
He rose from the chair and crossed the kitchen as she talked. A pull on the refrigerator door informed him he’d put off too many chores and focused on minor repairs. He appreciated the free dinner even more as he sifted through a mostly empty refrigerator for something to drink.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but I should run to the store for groceries before it gets late. My shift starts at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“Cutting me off so soon?”
“It’s not like that at all. I’m happy to hear your voice.”
She grunted, unconvinced.
“Save your grocery money, Thomas. You’ll need it with the pittance the county pays its employees. Your father and I will see you tomorrow after your shift ends.”
She choked on shift.
“Are you inviting me to the estate?”
“Don’t refer to it as an estate, Thomas. I won’t be rich-shamed by my blood, and frankly, it’s beneath you. You will join us for dinner.”
Thomas switched the phone from one ear to the other and closed the refrigerator. Nobody told Lindsey Shepherd no.
“I’m working a missing persons case, so I’ll let you know if I’m running late.”
“Not a minute after five. That should give you enough time to clean up after work and drive across the village. And, Thomas?”
“Yes, Mother?”
“Wear appropriate clothing and don’t fight with your father.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Five o’clock,” she repeated, as if he was in grade school.
“I’ll see you then.”
The call ended. No I love you, or it’s wonderful to have you back in town. Tomorrow, maybe he’d make amends with his parents and they’d forge a relationship together. A lifetime of disappointment taught him otherwise.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“All I’m saying is you need to be careful.”
Chelsey Byrd clamped the phone between her shoulder and cheek. On tiptoe, she reached for a box of brown rice and tossed it into the shopping cart. An instrumental jazz version of a Foo Fighters song played over the supermarket speakers.
“He’s my brother,” Raven said. Chelsey pictured Raven pinching the bridge of her nose as she did when stressed. “I can’t turn my back on him.”
Chelsey pressed her lips together and wheeled the cart around a woman who’d stopped in the pasta and rice aisle. Raven was the best investigator Chelsey had hired at Wolf Lake Consulting. Strong and brave, Raven possessed a sixth sense for danger and an uncanny ability to see through a lie. These qualities abandoned Raven when judging LeVar. Raven’s brother wasn’t just a member of the Harmon Kings gang. He was their enforcer, the last guy you wanted to run into if you had a beef with the Kings.
Since the weekend, Chelsey had hidden the LeVar investigation from Raven. She didn’t know how her partner would react if she found out. Saturday night, Tessa Windrow called Chelsey at home and pleaded with her to take the case. Her daughter, Erika, a prostitute working for the 315 Royals, had vanished without a trace, and Tessa suspected the rival Kings played a part. Though Chelsey withheld her theories from Tessa, she didn’t believe Erika Windrow was alive. When an eighteen-year-old prostitute vanished in Harmon, you didn’t expect a happy ending. If the Kings abducted Erika and murdered the teenager, LeVar was involved. He might be the killer.
“If the sheriff’s department finds out you’re hiding LeVar—”
“I’m not hiding anyone,” Raven snapped, causing Chelsey to flinch. “Look, I can’t prove he’s been to my house.”
; “But you suspect he has. You said your dinner leftovers disappeared from the refrigerator. Food doesn’t walk away on its own.”
Chelsey winced. That sounded like something her mother said when she was a kid. Remembering her teenage years creased her eyes, and she shoved the cart past a middle-age man stocking shelves. Major depression. That’s what her psychiatrist called it. To Chelsey, it was hell. She once had a bright future with a full scholarship to SUNY Cortland. Besides constant thoughts of suicide, she developed severe social anxiety. She needed to force herself to vomit before she left the house. Otherwise, she risked becoming sick in front of others.
And she’d thrown away the only relationship worth remembering. Chelsey wondered what became of Thomas Shepherd. The newspaper said he made detective in Los Angeles and took a bullet during a raid. He’d overcome so much to become a police officer. She wanted to track down his number and call. Ensure he was okay. Mostly she’d wanted to hear his voice again. But that was ridiculous. She couldn’t live in the past, and she’d made the right decision to cut ties and put Wolf Lake behind her.
After bouncing around the central plains and northeast for a decade, working dead-end jobs and suffering through one failed relationship after another, she answered a help wanted ad for a private investigation firm in Philadelphia. The job’s daily independence drew her. She could do this. Driven for the first time since high school, she enrolled at a small university outside Philadelphia and attained a criminal justice bachelor’s degree in three years. Armed with a P.I. license, she returned to New York and established Wolf Lake Consulting.
Hiding the LeVar investigation from Raven sickened Chelsey. A gang banger with suspected ties to multiple murders didn’t belong on the streets, but she understood Raven’s point of view. LeVar was her only family. There was a mother in Harmon that Raven never mentioned—Thalia Hopkins was an unemployed junkie living on Harmon’s south side.