by K. P. Hilton
The woman pointed at Martin, and the manager headed his way.
He waved. “I’m Karl Valdez, shift manager. Justine says you’re looking to rent a cabin. Got a couple that just left and – ”
Martin smiled, shaking his head. “I'm looking for someone who might be staying here.” Martin showed him his ID and explained why he was there. The manager spread his hands, not interested in saying much more.
“You’re going to have to be more specific. I’ve got people coming and going all the time.”
“Molly Sanders,” Martin said. “Think she may have checked in here Monday night.”
“The cabins are that way,” Karl said, glancing over his shoulder. “Up half a mile on that strip of land, going deeper into the woods. I’m sorry, if I had a date or something I could be more specific. Are you trying to chase down one of the guests staying here?”
“Maybe,” Martin said. “And she might still be here.” From the way he talked, it sounded as if the police hadn't visited the area yet.
Karl gestured for Martin to follow him, and they both walked toward the rental office. Everything about Karl gave Martin the impression that he liked keeping his head down – being distant. He had a slim build and a tight-faced expression. Made that much tighter with a stranger sniffing around asking questions and following a lingering scent. Edging behind his desk, he read through the reservations stored on his computer.
“Sanders, Molly,” he read at a plod. “She checked in late Monday night. Got lucky with a cancellation. Arrived alone.”
“What cabin is she in?”
“Was in 120A. Gone now.” A noise came from up front. A family of three wanting to check in. “Excuse me,” Karl said, getting up. “Customers.” The word 'paying' was implied, though not stated.
Martin looked over at Justine. She busied herself by tying her hair in an unkempt topknot. As he watched her, it struck him that Karl had no clue what went on in this place. But the workers – they knew. He edged over to Justine, curious to know her story.
“I’m sorry about earlier. What can I say? I need to work on my layup.”
“Uh huh,” she said, tilting her head in the opposite direction. Her shirt snagged on a potted flower, tipping it and spilling soil onto the floor. She cursed under her breath as she cleaned up the mess.
“Look, I have to get back to work. I’ve got bathrooms after this.”
Martin nodded and decided on a new strategy.
Chapter 11
As the morning radio personalities buzzed the airwaves reminding listeners the world was still there, Betty drove, trying to organize her thoughts. She'd meant to go by the shop, but instead found herself driving up near the north end of town along the I-35 access road. She took a left and drove into the parking lot of a convenience store and parked in one of the few available spaces.
She later attributed what she did next to stress. Her nerves had been on edge for the past several days with no let up in sight. She didn’t like revisiting old habits, yet she also didn’t like constantly feeling like her head was about to crack open.
“Marlboro Lights. Box,” she told the woman behind the register.
The woman pulled a pack down from a nearby shelf. “Anything else? Lighter?”
“No. That’ll do.”
Betty gave her the money and stuffed the change into a side pocket. Outside, she threw the box’s plastic wrapper into the trash, a Don’t Mess With Texas sticker clinging to the side. She tamped the box, flipped open the top, and pulled out a cigarette.
She was standing a few feet to the right of the entrance to the store, underneath a covered area that resembled an old-fashioned porch. To her left was a bench where three men in their late sixties to early seventies sat. They’d been in deep, unhurried conversation when she’d gone in.
“Need a light?” one of them asked.
“No,” she said. “I’m fine.”
The man eyed her like he had something else he wanted to ask. A green sign with large yellow lettering hung above his head. Spit-free Hard Snuff. A thin line of brown spittle lined the left side of his chin. Guess some people do need a good spit every once in awhile, she thought. He returned his attention to his companions and rejoined the conversation. For a few minutes they discussed the weather and how the heat from the past summer had adversely affected various crops across the state. Talk of politics surfaced. Several local citizens were considering running for the city council next year. Their merits and backgrounds were discussed.
The conversation continued with shifting topics and varying points of view. Illegal aliens. Alien kidnappings. Kidnapped neighbors. Neighbors arguing. “The world hasn’t made sense since Dan Rather stopped doing the news,” one of them said. Betty decided a jolt of something highly caffeinated would help her headache. Plus something upbeat on the radio.
As she was leaving, she threw her cigarette into the trash. Since she was tempted to keep the remaining nineteen, she thought it best to toss them as well.
The trio on the bench watched her. “Expensive habit,” said the one who’d originally offered her a light.
“So are long-term medical bills. One of the reasons why I stopped years ago,” she said, heading inside the store for a diet soda. Soon she was back in her car and on the road.
Betty hadn’t dropped by The Shop, owned and operated by Ojudh, in some time. A thinking woman cannot wind down if she never takes a break and remains semi-isolated from her friends.
Ojudh was a Belizean who'd set up a tattoo/coffee shop in town years ago. Nobody knew much about him except that he was strong, quiet, and great with tattoos. He also let some of the younger crowd hang out in the coffee end of the shop, sometimes dispensing advice, sometimes simply allowing a safe place for them to hang out. Betty liked the custom coffee blends and recommended them to her customers and friends alike. He stopped briefly in the midst of outlining a fresh new tattoo.
“Hold on, Betty. I'll be over there in a second.”
Some scrawny kid was resting back into Ojudh’s chair getting a Celtic cross etched onto his shoulder.
“Smells like you’ve been getting into some hard kicks,” Ojudh told the kid while pushing up his glasses and continuing to darken the outer illustration with the buzzing beetle. A part of Betty felt like she’d gotten trapped in a bee hive.
Listening to the motorized needle pop and prick away at the kid made Betty feel queasy. Not much scared her, but she hated needles almost as much as she did spiders.
The kid in the chair laughed.
“I’ve got all the time in the world to do whatever I want, O,” the kid replied.
Ojudh looked at Betty. She was sure he was laughing in his head.
“All of the time in the world? Are you serious?” Ojudh never lifted his head from his work, talking as he drew. “No one’s got all the time in the world kid. You’ve got a set number of years, to grow, make mistakes and that’s it. If there’s anything that you want to do, better do it now.”
Ojudh offered up the kind of life advice kids need to hear. Of course, it would mean absolutely nothing until they were down the road in ten or twenty years and regretting the opportunities they had let slip away.
“Meh, I’ve got no regrets. I’m only trying to stay out of the fight with those McClatchy jerks.”
Betty had no idea who the McClatchys were. Just as the kid didn’t give Ojudh’s advice much thought. At his age, she'd been throwing paper air planes in the class room and passing notes with classmates. Betty tried her best not to put a nostalgic rosy spin on things, but she thought the kid missed out on one of the greatest generations to be a child.
Ojudh placed the tattoo gun on a silver tray and looked up at Betty.
“You’ve finally come to get a tattoo or are you planning on chickening out on me again?”
Betty grinned. “Need to let off a little steam. What can I say? Loud vibrating noises are what I find soothing.” For the most part, she was telling the truth.
As she spoke, out of the corner of her eye she saw Ethan Holt walk in and stand behind a patron at the coffee counter. She barely moved, keeping her back to Brianna's boyfriend.
As he waited, Ethan looked in her general direction, then down at the floor. He patted his pockets like maybe he'd forgotten his wallet and quietly eased outside and walked toward his vehicle parked nearby.
“Well, you know I like to catch up with old friends,” Betty said, “but – ”
“The best times to talk are when we haven’t seen each other for awhile,” Ojudh said as Betty stood to leave.
“And involve snacks,” Betty finished.
Ojudh's turn to grin. “Don’t make me wait too long!” he called out as she hit the door.
Chapter 12
A glittering pear shaped rock, by no means an ordinary one, caught Martin's eye. “Nice ring,” he said, trying a different route.
Justine stared at him uncomfortably, tugging at her straw-matted hair. Expecting him to stop talking and walk away. She jostled the hefty trash bag from one hand and then to the other. He followed as she lugged the bag out.
After unlatching the dumpster, she leaned forward and heaved the bag on top of the pile. The gut-busting smell of spoiled reek was so bad Martin could taste it in his mouth.
“Gift from a friend?” he asked, not really knowing where this was headed. Sometimes you follow your instincts.
Her stance only got shiftier until she slammed the top of the dumpster and faced him.
“You have to promise not to tell anyone.”
Martin nodded. “You’re safe.”
She stared at him, still reluctant to confess. “There was this guy I caught lighting up behind the cabin. I asked him if I could have a hit, and that’s how it all started. I had no idea who he was. We just talked and got high.”
“What was his name?”
Justine shrugged. “If he gave me one, I don’t remember it. He said that he and his buddy, asleep inside, were visiting the area. Said they had some business to attend to.”
“What'd he look like?”
She gave the question some thought. “A few inches shorter than you. Dark hair. Jeans. Nothing special.”
“Did he say where he was from? Where he was heading to?”
Justine shook her head.
“And that’s for what?” Martin said, eyeing the ring.
“For giving him a good time. I know it's not real, but it looks nice and I don't have a lot of jewelry. Mama gave everything to Becky, my older sister, before she passed on. Not that she deserved any of it.” She parted her lips as if she had something else to say. “Look, he was just some guy. But he said he knows people. I'm not looking for trouble, okay?”
Dark purple splotches mottled her arm. “You’re bruised,” he said.
Justine snatched her arm from Martin, unrolling her sleeves and covering the marks. He could tell she was counting down the seconds, wishing he’d go away. Her face flushed blood-red.
“Do you have to do that?” she insisted. “It was all so fast I hardly knew what was happening. Everything runs together.”
“Did he say how you could contact him? Did he give you a cell number?”
Justine shook her head. “You're kidding, right? Look, it was a one-off. And even if he comes back, I don't want anything else to do with him. He and his buddy spent yesterday morning waiting around the front desk until the woman you mentioned checked out.”
Understanding sank in. He wasn't the only one searching for Molly Sanders.
Justine took a short stride, pointing. “There. I remember seeing her driving off. Those men who waited for her that morning followed right after.” She appeared both terrified and angry.
Martin nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate the help.”
He had gotten enough out of her. No need to rattle her nerves any longer. She paused long enough to fold her arms across her chest before continuing on. Back inside, there was a tip jar along the edge of the counter. He dropped a twenty into an envelope, scribbled Justine's name across the top and hoped that she made better decisions in the future. It wasn't much, but you do what you can.
* * *
Martin parked near cabin 120A, passing a couple of other cabins along the way. He got out and walked up on the porch. When he looked down closer at the knob, he noticed something red. A flick of blood splatter. An oversight, maybe, by the site's cleaning crew. It didn’t immediately set off any alarm bells. Molly could have easily pricked a finger on a thorn, or scraped an arm while out enjoying nature. He twisted the knob. It was unlocked. A breeze pushed the door closed after he had edged himself through.
He grunted, narrowly avoiding puncturing himself on the antlers of a head bust removed from the wall. Notably, the air smelled bitter. Like someone had recently stripped the paint from the walls. The cabin didn’t have much. A single bedroom and a kitchen with no functioning appliances. Someone who was no stranger to living in the elements hid out here. Could it be not only Molly had stayed in the cabin? The place looked charred, like it had seen one too many long scorching summers. Martin glanced over at the fireplace, where much of the offensive smell seemed to come from.
A noise rattled the frail iron gate used to contain the flames. Something was in there. Martin grabbed a chrome plated fire iron, taking a deep breath. Sweat dampened his back, drying fast under the heat of the day. He stabbed the gate and saw something scramble in his view. A rat wriggled free from the bottom. Its stomach dragged along the floor as it fled near the wall. Looking closer, he saw that it had chewed much of the fireplace screen. No telling how long that took. Or how many others were burrowed under there.
Looking away from the darkened recess, Martin moved over to the window. The overgrown weeds allowed only a paltry trace of sunlight into the cabin. Giving it one final slow and deliberate look through, Martin Lane shut the door and headed off.
Chapter 13
Betty followed Ethan to the part of town where an industrial park had thrived many years ago. After the economy had softened a decade earlier, most of the of the businesses that had been there either closed or moved to states with better tax incentives.
She saw Ethan go into one of the buildings. She waited a bit, and when he didn't reemerge she drove around the block to the other side and parked. Curious as to what was inside, she got out of her Explorer and decided to peek inside through one of the windows.
As she approached the building, she heard footsteps rapidly approaching from behind. She didn’t turn to look since there were a handful of people coming and going from each end of the sidewalk.
She was startled when she was poked by someone in the back with an object covered by some sort of wrapper.
“Keep walking,” a voice said when she turned to look at what was happening.
“Keep walking?” she asked rhetorically, as a feeling of fear engulfed her.
“If you want to live,” a second voice added. “Try anything foolish, and it will be your last mistake. Trust me.”
Betty weighed her options and realized after seeing their faces that all her efforts would be in vain. Both of them were huge, somewhere beyond two-fifty in weight and covered in scars. For some reason, her mind dubbed them as Thing 1 and Thing 2.
As they walked, she glanced backwards every few seconds to see if they would lose focus. Unfortunately, they were two ugly men with only one mission from their boss, whoever that was.
“Walk faster,” Thing 1 said. “We don’t have all day.” He pushed her again with the shotgun partially hidden in the ugly plastic bag.
As they rounded the corner of the street, Betty could see a white van. Then it hit her – could someone be upset she was looking into the death of Toby Sanders? Her thoughts were unclear. She was only trying to aid the local police in their investigation. The situation had passed from bizarre to creepy. Betty remained silent since she didn't want to take a blast to her back.
“Get in,” Thing 2 said, sliding the van door open. Betty didn't move.
“What are you waiting for, a written invitation? Get in the van before I lose my temper and break that pretty nose of yours.” Thing 2 shoved Betty inside the van, causing her to hit her head. They tied her hands together and let her lie on her side.
Thing 1 climbed into the driver's seat as Thing 2 sat with Betty in the back to keep an eye on her. From what Betty could tell, the driver made a lot of turns and drove a long distance, which made her wonder where they were taking her and what their plans were. Driving such a long distance meant one of two things – they were either taking her to their boss or else taking her to a distant location where they could ‘take care of her’ silently.