Then a new voice entered the conversation. It was deep and low, a rumble of thunder on the horizon. It took Karen a second to recognize the voice as it spoke out. "This guy ain't givin' you any trouble, is he, Karen?"
Dutch Armbruster was an ugly man. His nose was wide and crooked from too many fights. His skin was pockmarked by old acne scars and highlighted by a few scars that could well have been made by knives slicing into his skin. His straggly hair was dark brown shot with gray, and ran down half the length of his back. Thick eyebrows overshadowed his small brown eyes. The mutton-chop sideburns and mustache on his face partially hid the excessively thick, wormy lips of his mouth, which often hid his chipped teeth. Right now those teeth were bared in a feral smile. His hairy chest and oversized gut were only partially obscured by the greasy, sleeveless denim jacket on his back. The jacket left fully exposed his massive arms, which were covered with crudely carved tattoos. From his hips to his ankles, his body hid beneath Levi's blue jeans that had long ago lost their shape. Heavy, scuffed boots covered his size-fourteen feet.
Karen had never seen a man look so handsome.
Dutch took a step forward, and the odor of tobacco and stale beer wafted over Karen. Pete took three steps back, eyes scanning over Dutch as if they'd just seen something that should not exist.
Karen opened her mouth to speak, but Pete beat her to it. "What goes on between me and her ain't none of your business. Why don't you just leave it be, son, before you end up gettin' hurt."
Dutch's grin grew wider. "I'm making it my business, college boy. Karen here's been nice enough to take me in until the assholes in uniform decide I can go my own way. That means she's my business. Get the idea?"
Pete looked from Dutch to Karen, and then he repeated the process several times. His face grew redder and redder as he made his examination. "You think you're tough, huh, asshole?"
"Don't think it, I know it."
"Well, this ain't the time or place for this little talk. There's people trying to buy food, and they don't need to see any violence." Pete backed away, never taking his eyes off Dutch. "We can discuss this later." He turned to look at Karen, his eyes promising retribution. "And when that's all taken care of, you and me can have a talk, Karen. For old times' sake."
Pete faded around the corner of the aisle, and Karen was quite content to let him. Adrenaline was making her feel weak as a kitten, and her knees were shaking. "Thanks, Dutch. Thanks very much."
"No problem, Karen." The man seemed to deflate somehow, without actually shrinking in size. The combat grin he'd had on his face was replaced by a friendly smile. "That's what friends are for."
A moment later, Becka came around the corner pushing a grocery cart filled to overflowing with every imaginable sort of food. She was a lanky girl who had only just started blossoming into a woman, and her body was lean enough that Karen almost felt a twinge of envy every time she saw her. Her red hair was pulled back in a pony tail and her small breasts were covered by a shirt that was two sizes too small. But her pretty face was smiling brightly when she saw Karen. "Oh," the girl said. "I thought it was our turn to buy the groceries."
Karen smiled affectionately at the girl. "I think maybe we can finish the shopping together, if that's okay with the two of you."
"Sure. Cool," was Becka's response.
"No problem," responded Dutch.
When the group got home half an hour later, they brought enough food to feed a small army. They also found that the Danskys had apparently felt the need to go shopping as well.
Karen took the time to report Pete to Frank, despite having to argue with the operator on the phone before she could get patched through to his office. He promised he'd get on it immediately.
Between the cooking, the cleaning and the unexpected bonus of having Dutch volunteer to act as her personal bodyguard, Karen decided the new living arrangements weren't so bad after all.
4
Dinner that night was spaghetti and canned sauce. While Maurice had done all that he could to doctor the sauce, it still tasted slightly tinny. The best staples at the store were long gone and beggars couldn't be choosers. Dutch certainly had no difficulty with the aftertaste. Three helpings after he had begun his meal, he was finally slowing down.
The group had spent the last few hours talking about any number of subjects, but one of the most prominent topics was Peter Donovan. Despite Karen's desire to forget that the man had ever existed, some things simply weren't meant to be. By the time everyone had finished eating, the small group knew everything about Karen's ex-husband. More than she was honestly comfortable with them knowing. Still, Dutch had pretty much saved her from whatever twisted thoughts went through Pete's mind, and she felt she owed him at least that much.
Becka was helping Joan with the dishes-and listening to Joan's makeover tips-when the doorbell rang. Roughie came silently from Karen's bedroom, his tail wagging and his tongue trying to match the pace. Dutch started to get up from his place at the recliner he'd claimed as his own territory, but Karen waved him down with a smile.
Karen faced the door, half-expecting to see Pete once she'd finished opening the heavy oak obstacle. Her mind flashed past a dozen different slasher movies where the killer waits politely at the door. She thought of calling Dutch over after all, but forced herself to remain calm. With a slightly shaky hand, she turned the knob and pulled the door open, cursing herself for never getting a spy-hole put in.
Frank Osborn stood outside, sweat making his dour face glisten in the light pouring from the open door. "Hi there, Karen. Can I come in?"
"Hi, Frank." Karen felt her face crease into a smile, and let out the breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. "Yeah, come on in." The man slipped past her with an unconscious grace that always surprised her. The effect was ruined by Roughie when the dog promptly rose from the ground and put his paws on Frank's shoulders. Frank took the over-enthusiastic face-licking better than most people, even going so far as to scratch Roughie behind the ears. "Would you like something to drink? We've still got a few Cokes left, and there's plenty of iced tea."
"I'd love an iced tea, unsweetened. Thanks."
Karen rushed off and poured him one in a large plastic Jurassic Park cup she'd picked up a few years back. By the time she'd returned, Frank was sitting on the loveseat, across from Dutch. Dutch seemed worried, and Frank was giving him a look that made it very clear he'd be watching the man from now on.
"Here you are, Frank. I see you've met Dutch. He's staying here since that thing fell into the lake. He's also my hero of the day." Frank took the tea and nodded his thanks. "Dutch was there at the store when Pete decided to let me know he was in town."
"That so?" Frank gave the man the eyeball again, and Dutch nodded emphatically to agree with Karen's statement. "Well, that's very good of you." He turned back to Karen. "Well, speaking of Pete, I've got a APB out on him. He gets spotted, he goes to jail. I won't let him out again until this whole thing has blown over." Frank looked at her, his eyes showing the anger he felt inside. He'd never liked Pete, and she knew that. It was one of the reasons she liked him so much. He was a good cop and he knew a snake when he saw one. "Problem is, he could be almost anywhere. Like as not he's holed up at one of his buddies' houses. We're looking into it as best we can." He grimaced apologetically. "I've only got four officers left including me. I have to be honest, it could take a while to find him."
She nodded, hating to hear those words. "I understand. I just hope you nab him soon."
"I'll do my best, Karen. Now, the main reason I'm here. I've been trying to find out if anyone in town has seen Mike Summers or Marty Wander. Them two boys snuck off in the middle of the night and no one's seen or heard from them since." Frank gulped down half the glass of tea and continued on. "Jolene is worried sick about them, and Andrew wants to tan both of their butts. I'm just praying they didn't get themselves into too much trouble." Frank's face had shadows of exhaustion where she'd never seen any before. He, like s
o many of the people in Collier, looked older than he should. Even when he was supposed to be sitting comfortably, his entire body was ramrod straight.
Karen thought about the two boys. Both had been in her class this last year, and she remembered them all too well. While they both managed good grades, they were the class cut-ups and almost always in trouble. They were two of the only children she knew whose parents had granted Principal McCullough permission to use a paddle at his discretion. Frankly, it seemed the best way to keep them both from getting suspended. Still, they were decent kids, if a little too enthusiastic for their own good. She could not recall seeing them.
"Are they maybe ten or eleven years old?* Dutch's voice came as a surprise. Both Karen and the police chief looked his way.
"Yes. Actually, they're twelve." Karen felt a sinking sense of dread go through her as she spoke.
"Were they on bikes, maybe?"
This time it was Frank who answered the question. "They were both on bikes. If they came by here, they'd have probably come from the north."
"I think I saw 'em last night."
"What were you doing out after curfew?"
Dutch blushed. "I was talking with Becka. She's my girlfriend."
Frank nodded, leaving the subject alone. "Did you see which way they went, Dutch?"
"Yeah. They were headed for the lake." Dutch shrugged. "I didn't say nothin' about it 'cause I didn't want to get them in any trouble. I mean, I know about the curfew and all, but a kid's got to be a kid, if you know what I mean." The more Dutch spoke, the stronger his Yankee accent became. She was thinking somewhere in Pennsylvania was his home, but it was only a guess.
Frank scowled at the man and reached for his cigarettes. He then realized where he was and began to put them away. Karen fairly ran across the room and grabbed an ashtray. A happy Chief Osborn was less likely to nail her hero of the day to the wall. "Here you are, Frank. You can smoke if you want."
Frank smiled his gratitude and lit up. After the first exhale, he pinned Dutch to the wall with his eyes. "Can you tell me when they went past?"
"Musta been after midnight. One in the morning, maybe."
"Did they have anything with them that you could see? Sleeping bags or knapsacks?"
"Nope. Nothin' like that. They was just riding along towards the lake. Oh. One of 'em had a sweatshirt on his shoulders, like a cape. I thought that was a little strange."
Frank scratched his head about that one, apparently uncertain as to whether or not it was significant. After a moment more, he shrugged his shoulders and turned to look at Karen with a dark stare. "Okay. Next subject. Details on what happened with Pete, just so I've got it clear in my head."
Karen stared at the police chief for a long time before answering. "I ran across him at the store. He was starting to make noises about old times and me needing an attitude adjustment, when Dutch came along and suggested that he leave me be."
"Dammit! I'll slap his butt in cuffs the next time I see him. He won't be a bother after that."
Karen smiled her relief. Other people in town might not think Frank Osborn was very effective, but she knew better. He was the sort of cop other cops should strive to be like. He was effective and he didn't play games. "I really appreciate this, Frank. I don't need to be looking over my shoulder for him. Not right now. I've got enough to worry about."
Frank smiled tightly and nodded his head. "Just have to find him first, Karen. Proves he isn't very smart, if you ask me. I told him if I even thought he'd been close to you I'd put him in a cell." Frank stood up, straightening the sharp creases on his uniform pants. "I hoped you'd side with me on that one, Karen. I don't think he's all there anymore. Hasn't been since he joined the Marines."
"Do you know where he's staying?"
"No. But I don't figure there's too many places he could be holed up. Maybe with Judd Fitzwater, but I don't think so. Him and Judd's wife, Carmen, ain't never got along too well. Heck, maybe I'll just ask Carmen and she can tell me."
"She probably will if she knows. All I know is he's been going by the diner every morning."
"Then maybe that's where I'll wait for him." Frank scratched Roughie's backside, and the dog made ecstatic faces while stretching his entire body. "One more thing. If you folks have the time tomorrow, Jolene and Stan are trying to get together a search party for the two boys. They're all meeting near the lake, right across the street from Colonel Anderson's tents. Buck Landers will be there too, making sure no one gets stupid." With the last comment, Frank stared at Karen and winked. She started to blush a bit and wished she were somewhere else. She and Buck had gone on several dates. He was a nice guy, and completely smitten with her by what she could figure. Unfortunately, she tended to think of him only as a friend. She disliked herself for that attitude, but there was no spark of romance. She felt nothing special when he came around.
"We'll see if we can make it, Frank. Thanks again."
"Thanks for the tea. Y'all have a good night."
Frank left, and Roughie spent the next half-hour pouting about the disappearance of his new back-scratcher. For a while everyone watched TV, sticking mostly to the sitcoms. Then Maurice and Joan went to bed and Dutch and Becka went outside, despite the curfew.
A little after ten, Karen retired to her room. Despite her best efforts to break him of the habit, Roughie soon followed suit. She idly scratched behind Roughie's ears as she thought about her failed marriage. As so often happened, Karen found herself playing the game "What If" before sleep came to her. What if Jack Calloway had never moved away? Would she have kept the child she had aborted? The Lord knew how often she found herself wondering if the child would have been a boy or a girl. Would she and Jack have married? She liked to think so. Imagining that they would have married helped her imagine a life in which she and Pete had never tied the knot. She even imagined what life would have been like if Pete had stayed away from the Marines and lived in town before they married. A life where he was not the foul-tempered monster that came back to her after four years of military service. A life where he was still the man she wrote letters to while he was overseas, still the dreamer who had left and not the harsh realist who came back from his time in the military.
Karen forced her mind away from such silly notions and embraced the idea of sleeping. After only a short while of tossing and turning in the dark, she managed to drift away. By morning Roughie had managed to fall asleep across her feet. She didn't have the heart to yell at him.
CHAPTER 6
1
Karen and her entire crew of houseguests were up bright and early the next morning. They, like a good number of Collier's people, were at the edge of the lake at the appointed time. Over five hundred members of Collier's community showed up for the search of the woods. Being a bit more cynical of late than perhaps was healthy, she couldn't help wondering if most had simply shown up for something to do. With the soldiers having closed down the business district, very few people were actually working at the present time.
Karen was one of those close enough to hear the shouting match between Colonel Mark Anderson and Chief Frank Osborn. Anderson's face could not be seen past the helmet and mask he wore over his face. In contrast, Frank's face was very visible and very red. He looked ready to take a large bite out of Anderson's neck.
"For the last time, Captain Osborn, I cannot allow this many people to move through the woods. For all I know there are camera crews waiting on the other side of the razorwire to take pictures of everyone and ask all the wrong questions."
"And for the last damn time, Colonel, I don't much give a. damn. We've got two kids missing out here, and I don't see you or your men doing anything about the situation. Now what the hell do you expect me to do? Go on about my business and pretend that two litde boys are not important enough to look for?"
"You've got two choices here. One, you can cull this search party of yours down to fifty people. Two, you can leave the search to me and my men."
"Fifty peop
le ain't enough. There's hundreds of acres of woods out there, and those trees are pretty well packed together. As for you and your men handling the matter, I don't see that you've done much so far."
Both men stood in rigid positions, their muscles obviously drawn tight from tension. The Colonel pointed with one finger, aiming at the silvery disc in the lakebed. "I can't very well release all of my men from their duties just to look for two kids too damned stupid to obey the curfew. It doesn't work that way."
It was obvious the man intended to continue talking, but Andrew Wander decided he'd had about enough, and interrupted the argument. The Colonel's assistant, the one who always carried a clipboard, tried to stop him, but Andrew bulldozed past him with an angry shrug.
Andrew Wander was hardly a giant of a man. He was only of average height, but his long hours of handling his landscaping business ensured that his lean frame was nothing but muscle. He always looked wrong to Karen. Andrew's sun-bleached, almost white halo of hair-he was balding on top, and the halo had a big brown spot in its center-in opposition to his skin made him look like a sepia-toned negative of a person. Darkly tanned, the man looked almost bronzed as he reached for the Colonel. Anderson tried to avoid the hands, but was not fast enough. One second the soldier was standing on his own two feet, the next he was flying through the air.
Frank stepped forward, reaching for Andrew, but the landscaper turned and stared with murderous eyes into Frank's face. "You keep the hell out of this, Frank. You've already done enough harm." Andrew was, apparently, one of the many people in Collier who felt that Frank had not handled the situation properly when the soldiers had taken control.
Andrew moved towards the Colonel as the man was rising to his feet. The one with the clipboard moved forward, but his commander held out a hand to stop him. Looking at the faces in the crowd, Karen felt that was a wise move.
Andrew Wander's face was contorted by emotions. Anger, fear for his son and frustration over the situation changed his face completely. What little hair Andrew had on his head was wild. Combined with the feral set of his lips, he did not look like the person who normally came once a week to mow Karen's lawn. He looked like a sociopath on a rampage.
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