by Laurèn Lee
Meg used the last of her emergency money stash to have the utilities turned back on, but that meant they were now entirely penniless. The cupboards were bare, and the fridge stood as a barren wasteland.
She witnessed her children moan with hunger, but she couldn’t do anything about it. Until, that is, she found a job. Meg applied everywhere she could think of around town. She tried all the diners and bars, a few supermarkets and even the movie theatre. No place was hiring, though, and Meg felt her world closing in on her. She wanted to give up, to end it all, until she saw one place with a “Now Hiring Cocktail Waitresses” sign illuminated out front. The problem? It was a strip club.
Her stomach rumbled, and she knew she should apply. Her family needed her to find something— and fast—if they wanted to eat again. So, Meg drew cherry-red lipstick across her mouth, pulled her top down just a little and strode into the Frisky Feline for a job application.
The owner hired her on the spot, but encouraged her to invest in a little more makeup if she wanted to make better tips. Meg gazed around at the other cocktail waitresses and realized they could be her children. She looked back now and felt relieved she took care of her skin and used sunscreen. She didn’t seem nearly as old as her driver’s license revealed, but she also didn’t look as young as the other women, either.
Meg started work the next night and wore a long coat over her risqué outfit as she said goodbye to her children. She promised them they’d be able to have a regular meal tomorrow, and things would go back to normal very soon. Unfortunately, "normal" would have a new definition in the coming months.
Kit cringed when he saw his mother all dolled up. She’d curled her hair and wore mascara, eyeliner and lipstick. She looked like one of those models in the magazines, not like the woman who taught him Math and English at the table. He wondered what kind of job required his mom to look like this, and a shiver ran down his spine. He’d seen his father’s Playboys as a kid. He knew women who wore makeup and tight clothes liked to be naked, too. Was his mom going to be in Playboy?
Over the next few weeks, Meg, Kit, and Gabby barely saw each other as a family, but at least the bills were paid, and the fridge was stocked. Meg never imagined she’d be able to make this much money, but her risky career choice paid off. She earned enough money to splurge on fancy perfume and makeup, which in turn ended up bringing in more tips. The downside, though, was that she came home from work as the sun rose. So, when it was time to get the kids ready for the day, she found it hard to get out of bed. She knew the other girls wouldn’t have a problem working all night and waking up in the morning, but she was no spring chicken.
Kit noticed his mother’s fatigue and stopped waking her up to help with Gabby. Kit took it upon himself to help his sister get ready for school. He’d walk her to her classroom and return home to start his school work for the day. He read from his textbooks and took the quizzes at the end of each chapter. He grew more independent every day. Soon, Meg trusted Kit to keep up the routine, and she’d sleep until it was time to get ready for work again. She’d leave money for the kids to order takeout while she worked. She lost all desire to cook and clean up after a meal.
It was the first time in many, many years that Meg felt a sense of freedom. She grew financially independent and enjoyed her job. She spent nights flirting with men, tossing back shots and made a shit-ton of money. She felt as though a new breath of life had been given to her; she felt resuscitated. If her newfound freedom wasn’t enough, she’d also been exposed to drugs, particularly cocaine. She started doing a few lines before every shift. It escalated to more lines during her shift, and after when she wanted to stay up and party. She felt weightless, brave and invincible when she was high. Every song was her favorite song, and every man was her favorite customer. Between the job, the drinking, the drugs, and the men, Meg’s personality morphed and evolved. Like a snake, she’d shed her skin to make room for the new person slithering around town.
While Kit didn’t mind taking care of his little sister, he grew resentful of his mother’s absence from their lives. If she wasn’t sleeping or working, she was drinking the rest of Jim’s liquor stash, smoking cigarettes, going to the bathroom, and looking through magazines like Cosmopolitan and Vogue. He wondered if an alien kidnapped his mother and used her body as a meat suit. Undoubtedly, this wasn’t the mother who’d raised him. Now Meg only checked in once a week to see how Kit had fared with his school work. She didn’t even know what he’d been teaching himself.
One day, Kit approached his mom while she readied herself for work. She had a dash of white powder on her nose, and Kit figured it was makeup.
“Mama?”
“What, Kit? I’m busy. You know this is my time to myself to get ready for work.” She scoffed.
“You always have time to yourself,” Kit mumbled.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, Mama. I was just hoping maybe you could help me make dinner tonight. I miss your cooking.”
“I don’t have time. Sorry, Kit.”
Anger surged through Kit like a flash of lightning. “Mom!” he shouted.
Meg dropped her eyeliner onto the floor in shock. “Jesus, Kit! What is your problem?”
“You are not the same anymore, Mama. I don’t like this job.”
Meg chuckled. “Well, get used to it, sweetheart. Do you want to go back to eating ketchup sandwiches? I need this money. It’s not like your piece of shit father is ever coming back.”
“Why won’t he come back?” Kit asked carefully. “Doesn’t he love us?”
“No, Kit. Your father doesn’t love us anymore,” Meg sighed in annoyance. “He got sick of dealing with all the bullshit in this house.”
Kit narrowed his eyes toward Meg; he didn't understand.
“You put a lot of stress on your father, Kit. He grew tired of dealing with your antics.”
Before, Meg told Kit it wasn’t his fault his father had been so cruel and unloving. Now, was she saying it was his fault?
Kit stormed out of his mother’s room and slammed the door behind him. He heard her cry out after but ignored her. He’d lost his father, and now, he’d lost his mother, too.
Thirty-Four
Earl woke the next day with the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. He’d have to admit he had no idea who murdered three innocent people in Stone City. He tried to put himself in the community's shoes and knew how frightened people must be. Today, they hoped for answers. Today, they expected a clear path to justice. Today, Earl would disappoint them all. It’d been a week since Rhiannon and Daniel were found, and they were no closer to finding the culprit than they were that day.
“Hey, Boss,” Ricky said as Earl stepped into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.
“Hey, Ricky,” Earl replied sullenly.
“Nervous?”
“A bit, yeah.”
“Everyone knows you're working hard to solve the case,” Ricky said.
“I don’t think effort matters if there are no results to show,” Earl said and shrugged.
“I have faith in ya, Boss. We’ll catch ‘em.”
“I hope so,” Earl said. He waited until Ricky left the kitchen before he spiked his coffee with a couple of shots of Bailey’s.
Once he felt the familiar warmth spread throughout his body, Earl headed toward the meeting room where the press conference would take place. He retrieved his notes from his office and noticed the media vans had pulled into the lot. It wouldn’t be long now before he’d face the public with the embarrassing progress of the investigation.
“Sheriff Davis, do you have any suspects or people of interest for the murders of Rhiannon Boon and Daniel Wheeler? Have you any idea who the Stone City Slasher is?” the same angsty blonde from Channel 4 asked.
“The investigation is ongoing, and we are actively looking at potential suspects and continuing our efforts to interview those who knew or had contact with the victims before their untimely deaths.”
; “Have you made any arrests, though?”
“Not at this time,” Earl said.
“Are you interviewing any potential suspects?”
“We do not currently have anyone in for questioning,” he replied. “Next question!”
“What about the man who found most recent bodies?"
"He had an alibi," Earl responded gruffly.
"So, you’re saying the trail has gone cold?”
“Lucy, you need to give others a chance to ask their questions, too,” Earl reprimanded the aggressive reporter.
“Sheriff,” an older male reporter from Channel 7 said, “why haven’t you brought anyone else in for questioning?”
Lucy smirked and crossed her arms.
Earl sighed heavily. “We are doing the absolute best we can here. Stone City has never had murders of this nature before.”
“Is your department unfit to be handling this situation?” the same man asked.
“I can assure you, we are quite capable of handling the investigation, but without much evidence or clear suspects, it’s not as easy as you think!” Earl shouted unintentionally.
The group of reporters gasped in unison and looked at each other in surprise.
“We are doing the best we can,” Earl reiterated.
Earl concluded the press conference after more repetitive questions. It had gone just as he’d expected: miserably.
Once the media cleared out of the station, Earl jogged back to his office and slammed the door behind him. He paced the length of his office, unable to keep his breathing steady. Fury overwhelmed him, and he needed a release. He walked past one of his awards for service, and without another thought, he raised his fist and connected with the frame. The award shattered and crashed down to the floor. Earl’s fist oozed red, sticky blood which only angered him more.
“Fuck!” he shouted.
Earl slumped against the wall and sat in the shattered glass. He didn’t care if more glass gashed his body. In fact, he wanted to feel the pain. He needed to feel something besides the deafening defeat which reminded him of his failures.
A knock rapped at the door, and Earl closed his eyes as he threw his head back against the wall. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, but he also knew better than to ignore someone while at work.
“Yeah?” Earl called out.
“Can I come in?” Ricky’s voice sounded through the door.
“I’d rather you not,” Earl said, defeated.
“It’s important, Boss,” Ricky replied.
“Fine.” Earl lifted himself off the floor.
Ricky opened the door, and his eyes bulged out of his head once he saw Earl struggling to stand, covered in blood as shattered glass blanketed the floor.
“Oh, shit! What happened? Are you okay?” Ricky rushed over to help Earl stand completely.
“Just lost my temper a bit is all,” Earl mumbled.
Ricky nodded knowingly.
“What is it, Ricky?”
“We just had a call on the tip line,” Ricky said.
“Yeah? What did they say?”
“A woman called and said she heard a woman sobbing, and she saw two cars driving by the night Daniel and Rhiannon were killed. One tailed the other, apparently.”
“Bring her in then,” Earl said, cautiously optimistic.
“She’s already on her way.” Ricky smiled.
Sage Wilson, an older woman, arrived the station and met with Earl and Ricky in the all-too-familiar interviewing room. She pushed a stray strand of gray hair out of her eyes and set her large, black purse on the floor.
“Ms. Wilson, thank you for coming in to talk to us,” Earl said.
“No problem, Sheriff. I want to help,” she replied.
“Can you tell us what you saw and heard that night?” Ricky asked warmly.
“Well, I was taking my cats outside for a walk,” Sage began. Earl and Ricky quickly looked at each other and stifled a grunt of laughter. “I only live a mile or so from the ravine, and I saw two cars drive by. There was a woman inside one of them, and she was crying.”
“How did you hear a woman crying if they were driving by, presumably going the speed limit which is, uh, about forty-five.”
“I honestly don’t know, officer, but I heard it loud and clear. She sounded like a wounded animal.”
“Do you know what kind of car it was, ma’am?” Earl asked excitedly.
“It was very dark, so it was hard to see and know for sure,” she admitted.
“With all due respect, Ms. Wilson, why didn’t you come forward with this report sooner?”
“I do apologize, Sheriff, but I don’t have cable and don’t get the newspaper. I had no idea there had been a string of murders at all until I went to my hair appointment this morning. I assumed, at the time, it was a couple of kids playing a prank or acting silly. But, once I heard about the kids being found, I knew there had to be a connection.”
“I see, I see,” Earl said. “And it was last Friday you heard the woman calling for help when the car drove by your house?”
“Absolutely.”
“And, you don’t remember anything else? Didn’t notice anything about the vehicles? Were they trucks, SUVs, cars?”
“Now that I think about it, I did notice something about the one car, but it could be my memory fooling me—”
Earl and Ricky sat at the edge of their seats and waited for Sage to continue.
“I think the car might have been a police car,” she said quietly.
“A cop car?” Earl asked incredulously.
“I can’t be sure, but it had the same shape as the law enforcement vehicles I’ve seen.”
Earl looked at Ricky out of the corner of his eyes and felt now, more than ever, that his partner could have had something to do with Stone City’s murders. After all, the murders began not too long after Ricky moved to town.
Thirty-Five
“Do you believe her?” Ricky asked after they’d taken Sage's official statement.
“I’m not sure. She's old and admitted it was hard to see in the dark. That area doesn’t have any street lamps,” Earl reminded his lieutenant. Earl wondered how Sage could have seen a cop car that night. Ricky had access to the squad cars, even though he hadn’t been assigned one himself. He could have easily come to the station that night, grabbed a set of keys and took a cruiser. No one would think twice.
Did Sage see Ricky driving Rhiannon and Daniel to the place where he’d murder them in cold blood? Or, did she just think she saw a patrol car that night? Sage’s interview failed to produce a solid lead, and instead, inserted, even more, questions into Earl’s tortured mind.
“Hey, Earl,” Shepherd called out, interrupting the sheriff’s inner monologue.
“Yeah?”
“You going to Warren’s retirement party tonight?”
“Oh, that’s tonight? Yeah, I’ll be there.”
“Great!” he said.
Earl had forgotten entirely that the station offered to throw Warren, a thirty-year veteran officer, his retirement party tonight at The Stolen Leaf. He wanted to skip it. Earl wanted to stay at work as long as possible until he cracked a clue or lead, but as sheriff, his presence was virtually mandatory.
At five o’clock on the dot, all the officers punched out, and electricity filled the air. Warren was the oldest and most experienced officer in Stone City. In fact, Earl trained under him and couldn’t imagine why Warren hadn’t run for sheriff. Apparently, he liked his post and didn’t want the extra responsibility. He said he had enough paperwork to do as a deputy; he didn’t want to be in charge of more as sheriff.
Everyone at the station looked up to Warren, and he’d been the crew’s guru and acting grandfather. As much as everyone promised to miss the old geezer, they knew it was his time to retire. Warren could barely walk these days, let alone chase down a criminal. His time had come, and there was nothing but celebrations to come.
Earl pulled into The Stolen Leaf and subcon
sciously parked in the same spot he had the night he found Daniel and Rhiannon in the car. He thought parking close to that area might inspire some hidden idea to flutter into his mind. Ricky had ridden with another deputy and promised to meet Earl inside.
Earl took out a cigarette and lit it as he leaned up against his patrol car. He closed his eyes and summoned the forces of the universe to reveal a clue, any hint, to him. Nothing happened.
A few cars pulled into the lot, and Earl knew it was his men coming to the party. He didn’t want to be caught outside looking depressed and anxious, so he stubbed out the cigarette on the bottom of his boot and proceeded to walk toward the bar. Shelly had taken it upon herself to decorate the local establishment with balloons, streamers and a banner hanging across the rafters reading “Congrats, Warren!”
Warren took his place at the bar and grasped a double shot. “Hey, can I buy you another?” Earl asked.
“Hey, Sheriff! You’re here!” Warren slurred.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, chief. Two shots of Jack," he asked Shelly.
“Coming right up." She smiled and poured two double shots.
After several rounds of shots, Earl coughed loudly and attempted to capture the attention of everyone at the bar. “Ahem!” he called out. “Everyone, I’d like to propose a toast to our friend, colleague, and mentor. Congratulations on retirement, Warren. You will be deeply missed! Cheers!”
All the officers clanked drinks and shot them back with veracity. “Cheers!” they all called out.
The rest of the night consisted of swapping stories about Warren. Some shared the unforgettable lessons he taught them. Earl sloppily volunteered to share his story, too.
“When I’d been voted sheriff I was thrilled, at first, that is. But, once the shock wore off and reality set in, I wanted to shit my pants,” he began as laughter erupted from the bar. “I couldn’t believe Warren hadn’t run. Ya know? What made me so special? I looked up to you, Warren, man, and I felt like I would never live up to your name.”