Bringing Maggie Home

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Hazel

  Meghan flashed a questioning look at her mother and then sighed. “All right, Grandma.” Impishness danced on her face. “For now.”

  Hazel forced a laugh, willing away the rush of sadness that threatened to overwhelm her. “For good, young lady. I mean it. No party.” Her words emerged more harshly than she intended, and she pasted on a smile she hoped would soften the command as she reached for the door handle. “Let’s go enjoy our brunch, hmm?”

  Meghan crawled into the back seat and Margaret Diane sat in the front passenger seat for the drive to the River’s Edge Casino. Hazel chose the longer route so she could avoid merging onto and exiting the multilane highway. Even after all her years of living and driving in Las Vegas, being on the busy highway still raised her blood pressure. People drove as if they didn’t have good sense, and more times than she cared to admit, she’d been the recipient of horn blasts or improper gestures, all because she honored the speed limit.

  Margaret Diane and Meghan pointed out the window and discussed the changes to the city since their last visit. Housing areas and businesses had sprung up like mushrooms in the past several years, proof that the city had overcome the horrendous recession of the previous decade. The city was again sprawling onto the desert and growing more and more crowded. The signs of prosperity and progress contrasted starkly with the number of homeless folks camped at nearly every intersection. A bearded fellow in filthy dungarees held a different kind of sign, one that begged for a handout.

  At a red light, Hazel lowered her window. Two scruffy-looking men trotted over, and she gave each of them one of the kits she’d constructed with her prayer group. They thanked her, and she said, “God bless you.” One of them repeated the words to her. The light turned green, and she raised the window and pulled forward.

  Meghan tapped Hazel on the shoulder. “What did you give them, Grandma?”

  “Nothing extravagant. Necessities like soap, toothpaste, and deodorant, gift cards to fast-food restaurants, packets of nuts, crackers, and raisins, a pair of socks, a comb…” Hazel switched lanes—the turn to the casino always sneaked up on her. “Things that fit in the gallon Ziploc bag and can be used by someone who doesn’t have a home. There’s a Bible tract in there, too, and a booklet with the names of different organizations that could help get them back on their feet.”

  “That’s really nice.”

  “Nice?” Margaret Diane glowered first at Meghan and then at Hazel. “Do you do that often?”

  “Only when I’m stopped.” Hazel sighed. “There are more needs than any one person can meet, but I hope the packets let them know somebody cares, bless their sad hearts.”

  Margaret Diane slapped her hand to her forehead. “Mother, for heaven’s sake! Someday one of them is going to poke a gun in your face and demand your car. What will you do then?”

  “I suppose I’ll let them have it.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  Hazel frowned. “Of course I’m not. A car isn’t worth giving up my life for.”

  “But—”

  “Mom, leave Grandma alone. She’s doing good deeds.”

  Margaret Diane folded her arms over her chest and glared out the windshield.

  Hazel hit her blinker and then eased right onto the access road that led to the casino. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been handing out those packs for more than four years now—”

  Her daughter’s mouth dropped open. “Four years?”

  “—and no one’s ever done anything worse than give one back because it didn’t have money in it. I’ve never once felt threatened.”

  Margaret Diane barked a laugh. “You’ve got be kidding me. You open your window and hand a bag of toiletries and snacks to a complete stranger, but you never let me go trick-or-treating, not even in our own neighborhood, because somebody might try to hurt me. Does that make sense to you?”

  Hazel pulled into the parking garage. The change from bright sunlight to shadowed interior made it hard for her to see, so she slowed to a crawl. She searched for an open parking stall on the lowest level so Meghan wouldn’t have to traverse so far with her crutches.

  “Mother, I asked you a question.”

  Hazel sighed. Goodness, her daughter could be snippy. “I heard you, but I’m trying to concentrate on driving. It’s always a little hard for me to see in these parking garages. They’re so dark.”

  Margaret Diane huffed and crossed her arms again. She searched both sides of the garage, her scowl fierce. Then she pointed. “There. On the left.”

  Hazel pulled into the spot and turned off the ignition. She squinted at the number and letter painted on the concrete wall. “Level A, slot 124. Can we remember that, or should I write it on something?”

  Meghan chuckled. “Remembering A is easy. As for the 124, Grandma is the one who lives near Vegas, Mom and I are the two visiting, and the four dogs are the extra guests Grandma wasn’t expecting—one, two, four. I got it.”

  Hazel laughed at Meghan’s ingenuity, but Margaret Diane’s sour expression didn’t change. Hazel placed her hand on her daughter’s arm. “If it upsets you that much, I won’t hand out the bags anymore unless someone else is in the car with me.”

  “How often does that happen?”

  “I frequently give friends a ride to Bible study, Lit and Latte, or the grocery store. I would say perhaps half of my excursions include a passenger or two.” She squeezed Margaret Diane’s arm. “I appreciate your concern, honey. Thank you for worrying.”

  An odd look crossed her daughter’s face, and then she huffed again. “Honestly, if your passengers are senior citizens like you, an extra one or two won’t matter to a thief. Three little old ladies aren’t any more of a threat than one.”

  “Then consider this.” Hazel opened her purse and pointed to her Glock 9mm handgun.

  Margaret Diane reared back as if Hazel had pointed the gun at her. “What— You—”

  Meghan burst out laughing. “Whoa, Grandma, you’re actually packing?”

  Hazel frowned at both of them. “Margaret Diane, you’re being needlessly fearful. It won’t fire unless I pull the trigger. And, Meghan, owning a gun is serious business, so stifle your amusement.” She waited until Meghan wiped the silly grin from her face and Margaret Diane closed her mouth. “Several of my single friends and I took the course to be approved to carry a concealed weapon. I keep it with me in case I need it.”

  Meghan held out her hand. “May I see it?”

  “I suppose you’re familiar enough with weapons that I don’t need to fear you’ll handle it carelessly.” Hazel cautiously removed the gun and placed it, butt first, in Meghan’s waiting hand. She turned her attention to her daughter. “I’m not unfamiliar with weapons. My daddy taught me to fire a rifle when I was eight, and your father and I frequently visited a shooting range before you were born. He was stringently opposed to having a gun in the house when you were little, and I honored his preference, but after his death I purchased a handgun—legally, I assure you—for our protection. So you can stop worrying that I’m a doddering old fool running scared.”

  Meghan dangled the gun barrel down and returned it to Hazel. “I’d never consider you a doddering old fool, Grandma. Living in a big city like this, I understand why you want to be armed, just in case.”

  Margaret Diane shook her head. “Well, I don’t understand. You are one giant contradiction.”

  Hazel frowned. “What do you mean?”

  She blasted a cynical laugh. “On one hand you loudly preached ‘God is our protector,’ but on the other hand you never let me out of your sight. And now…this.” She held both hands toward the pistol lying on the console. “How does that thing figure into it?”

  Hazel wasn’t sure how to answer. Did she trust God…or didn’t she? Her sister had slipped away. Her father lost himself in a bottle. Her husband died in an accident. Had God turned His head those days, or had He allowed the events to take place? The same confusion that had tormented he
r as a little girl and then as a heartbroken widow left to care for her daughter alone rose again.

  She shook her head slowly. “I…don’t know. I only know I feel a little more secure with it close at hand. In case I need it.”

  Meghan’s warm hand curled over her shoulder. “You aren’t doing anything illegal, Grandma, and if it makes you feel safer to have a gun, you should keep it. You obviously know how to be responsible with it. So don’t let Mom’s apprehension affect you, okay?”

  Margaret Diane sent a glower in her daughter’s direction. “It isn’t apprehension as much as aggravation, Meghan. This woman can’t seem to make up her mind what she believes. And then she wonders why I’m so messed up.”

  Hazel’s vision clouded. Dear Lord, she’s right, isn’t she? I have led her astray…

  February 1983

  Little Rock, Arkansas

  “Why can’t I go by myself? None of my friends’ moms are going. It’s embarrassing!”

  Hazel fluffed the ruffle circling the scooped neckline of Margaret Diane’s electric-blue dress, then stepped back and swept a glance from the puffed sleeves to the twelve-inch flounce at the hem of the full skirt. The dress’s snug-fitting bodice enhanced her daughter’s slender form, and the bold blue color made her dark hair seem even more lustrous. She’d grown so tall and willowy in the past year, standing eye to eye now with her mother. She was such a beautiful girl.

  Hazel swallowed a knot of part pride, part fear. “The school only asked for four adult chaperones. Maybe they already had all of them in place before your friends’ mothers had a chance to volunteer.”

  Margaret Diane pranced to the opposite side of the room, out of Hazel’s reach. “My friends’ moms don’t volunteer because they understand kids need to be away from their parents’ prying eyes now and then. It’s bad enough I can’t go with my date. Nobody else is meeting up at the dance—the girls always get picked up by the guys. But not me. I have to show up with my mother. I might as well not even go.”

  Hazel’s ire stirred. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you’re going.” After Hazel had purchased her a dress, taken her to a salon to have her hair done up pretty in a braided crown decorated with sprigs of baby’s breath, and even allowed her to get her very first manicure, Margaret Diane would go to that dance if Hazel had to hog-tie and drag her there.

  Margaret Diane rolled her eyes. “If I don’t go, Bobby will think I stood him up. I can’t do that. But I wish you’d stay home. Just once, Mother, could you stay home and let me go someplace by myself? I’m not a baby. I’m sixteen already! I don’t need you by my side.”

  The words stabbed like a knife. Margaret Diane did need her mother close by. If Hazel were there, she could protect her daughter from untoward advances by the young man who was serving as her escort. She could ascertain no one else bothered her—a teacher, another student, even another parent. Not all of them were trustworthy. There were stories in the newspaper every week about children being hurt, abducted, killed—some by people they knew and trusted. She couldn’t risk such a thing happening to her beloved Margaret Diane.

  “If I’m there, you’ll—”

  “—be safe. Mother, I know. You’ve told me over and over again that you’re there to keep me safe. But if I need you to keep me safe, why do you keep dragging me to church?”

  Hazel drew back, confused.

  Margaret Diane nodded, her face set in a smug grin as if she’d won an important argument. “You make me sit in the pew every Sunday and listen to sermons about how God is love, and God is my Father, and God cares for His children. You claim you believe all that, but if you did you’d let me go to the dance with my date. You’d trust God to keep me safe instead of thinking you’ve got to be the one to do it. So what you’re telling me is that you don’t trust Him. Not at all.”

  Hazel closed her eyes for a moment and gathered her scattered thoughts. “I trust God. I do. But I don’t trust people.”

  “Including me?”

  Hazel hurried across the floor and took hold of her daughter’s upper arms. “Yes, of course I trust you.”

  “Then let me go by myself. Prove that you trust me.”

  Hazel’s hands tightened automatically.

  Margaret Diane wrenched loose and scooted several feet away. But her scowl skewered Hazel even from that distance. “You’re such a liar, Mother. You don’t trust me. And I don’t care what you say—you don’t trust God, either.”

  Present Day

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  “You’re right.” Hazel hung her head. “Trust…doesn’t come easily to me. I suppose I lost it the same day I lost my little sister.” Awareness bloomed through her even as a weight descended on her chest. She pulled in a shaky breath and heaved it out. “All these years, where has she been? Was she washed away in the stream, the way our preacher said? Did she fall into an abandoned well? Is she in heaven? Or did the Gypsies take her after all? If so, is she alive? Is she safe and well? If only I knew, then maybe…”

  She jerked her head up and found both Meghan and Margaret Diane staring at her. She released a self-conscious half laugh, half sob. “And here I sit blabbering like the doddering fool I said I wasn’t.” She forced her lips into a wobbly smile and reached for the door handle. “Let’s go get our brunch-lunch, hmm?”

  Meghan shifted forward and placed both hands on Hazel’s shoulders, holding her in place. “Grandma, wait. Let me ask you something.”

  Hazel tensed, wariness tiptoeing across her scalp. “What?”

  “You said you didn’t want a party, that the scrapbook was enough of a present for your eightieth birthday. But I’m wondering if something else— Maybe I could—” She scrunched her face. “The only thing is, I can’t promise it would happen.”

  Margaret Diane huffed. “Stop talking in circles and spit it out.”

  Meghan blew out a breath that whooshed past Hazel’s ear, carrying the scent of her spearmint gum. “What if I tried to find out what happened to Maggie?”

  Seventeen

  Meghan

  Grandma turned so abruptly the bones in her neck, or maybe her back, popped. She stared at Meghan open mouthed and wide eyed. “You could do that?”

  Now she’d gotten Grandma’s hopes up. Meghan cringed. “I could try. I’m a cold-case detective, after all. And I’ve got these weeks off the clock when I could work on the mystery. But you’d have to understand it’s a long shot.” She kneaded Grandma’s shoulders while she spoke, hoping to comfort while being brutally honest. “She’s been gone seventy years. A lot of the people who were alive back then probably aren’t anymore, and those who are might not remember anything useful. But I’m willing to try if you want me to.”

  Had she spoken too impulsively? Clearly Grandma’s heart still ached over the loss of her sister. Would she survive the disappointment if Meghan failed?

  Mom turned sideways in the seat and pinned a stern frown on Meghan. “How many seventy-year-old cold cases have you solved?”

  Meghan wished Mom hadn’t asked in front of Grandma. She hated answering, but Grandma deserved the truth. “Me personally? None. But forensic science is advancing every day. The guys in my unit have solved cases from thirty, forty, even fifty years ago.”

  “The ones where forensic science was used, I assume.”

  Meghan wanted to clamp her hand over her mother’s mouth. Couldn’t Mom let Grandma hold on to hope for just one day? She forced a reply through gritted teeth. “Yes.”

  Mom turned forward again.

  Meghan focused on Grandma’s lined face and watery eyes. “Like I said, I can’t promise anything. It’s been a long time. But if you want me to try, I’ll investigate.” She could get Sean involved. He loved a good challenge, and if the case was important to her, it would be important to him. Her heart swelled with the realization. She licked her lips. “What do you think, Grandma? Should I put out some feelers and try to figure out what happened to Maggie back in 1943?”

  Grandma stared int
o Meghan’s face for long, silent seconds. Meghan held her breath, waiting for her grandmother to make up her mind. Whatever she wanted, Meghan would do—even if it was to forget the whole thing. But curiosity writhed through her. She wanted to know what happened to Maggie all those years ago. She wanted it for Grandma, but also for Mom and for herself. Maybe, if Maggie was still alive, she’d have children and grandchildren—nieces and nephews for Grandma, cousins for Mom and her. They’d be more like a whole family. The thought made her insides churn with hopefulness.

  Meghan’s chest began to ache from the captured air in her lungs. She let it all out in a rush and held her hands outward. “Well? What do you think?”

  Grandma’s frame sagged slightly as though her spine had turned to rope. “I think we should go eat our brunch. And when we’re done, we’ll go home and write down everything I can remember about the day Maggie disappeared.”

  Kendrickson, Nevada

  Meghan tapped the eraser end of the pencil down the list of names Grandma had recorded on a yellow notepad. Eight names. So few. She sent a disappointed look across the round breakfast table. “Is that it?”

  Grandma chuckled. “Honey, I grew up in a very small town. Little Rock is a metropolis compared to Cumpton.”

  And now she lived in a suburb of Las Vegas, where more people attended her church than probably resided in the entire town of Cumpton. “Grandma, I forget—why’d you move to Nevada?”

  “Because”—Mom called from the living room—“she panicked when the doctor said she had arthritis.”

  Grandma shook her head and then winked at Meghan. “She’s half-right. The doctor diagnosed me with rheumatoid arthritis in 1990. He told me I could slow the progression of the disease if I moved to a dry, warm climate where the sun shone year-round. He listed a few options, and I chose Nevada because I wouldn’t have to worry about hurricanes and because there are so many things for people to do when they visit.”

  “Have you had a lot of visitors here?”

  Grandma smiled. A sad smile. “Not many. But his recommendation proved accurate. I have pain and stiffness in my joints, and my knuckles aren’t as feminine as they used to be, but I’ve done very well. I can’t complain.” She reached across the table and pointed to the first name on the list. “You might as well cross her off. I wrote her down because I remember her so well, but Minnie Achard is likely long gone. She was old already when I was a child.”