Turning left, Karina headed toward the library. She cringed while passing an old cemetery. The ancient wrought iron archway read Jewish Rest Cemetery. A large mausoleum with the word BERG carved into the marble made her shudder.
“You have arrived at your destination.”
Gaping at the small, one-story structure, Karina stifled a laugh. The tan brick building looked more like someone’s residence rather than a library. It couldn’t have been more than five thousand square feet. After seeing all the old structures in the historic downtown area, she was surprised the library didn’t sport the same look.
Stepping out of the car, Karina scanned the parking lot, noting only one vehicle. When she crossed over into Ouachita County, the sign proudly displayed the population at 25,358, and the next one when she crossed the line into Camden noted nearly fifty-percent lived in the county seat.
“This town is so small it makes Hot Springs look like Pasadena,” Karina mumbled under her breath while staring at the flat, boring landscape. “Then again, it is bigger than Sheridan.”
Surprised at the temperature difference from Hot Springs, she took off her jacket and tossed it over the console, discretely covering the Glock nestled inside the special holster she had made. Except when serving meals, Karina kept it on her at all times—a bit of leftover paranoia from what happened less than six months ago.
It felt weird not having it on her hip, yet she opted to leave it in the vehicle. She didn’t need to draw more attention to herself, because she sensed the second she walked inside and mentioned the name Maud Crawford or Carolyn Singleton, eyebrows would raise. Had she gone to the local paper, The Camden News, and dropped the names, there was no doubt a nosy reporter would start asking questions Karina didn’t want to answer, which is why she decided the local library was the best place to start.
Opening the glass door, Karina stepped inside, practiced gaze sweeping the area. A lone employee behind the counter looked studious yet bored, her reading glasses perched on the tip of a pert nose as she stared at a computer screen. Her nametag read “Ethel Scruggs – 40 Year Staff Member.”
Walking up to the counter, Karina decided to heed her rumbling gut and lied. “Excuse me, ma’am. I’m conducting some family tree research and wanted to know if you have microfilm of the local newspaper?”
“Of course we do. It’s a library ain’t it? We only go back so far—what years do you need?”
“Great!” Karina kept her voice light even though Ethel Scruggs’s tone was rude. Apparently, the busy woman didn’t like being pulled away from the important game of solitaire on the screen. Other than the heavy southern drawl, the woman was a dead ringer for Karina’s fifth grade teacher, Ms. Jolly, beady, probing eyes and all. “I’m looking for 1955 through 1960. That’s when I understand my cousin still lived here and worked at the Grapette plant.”
Ethel’s gaze hardened. “Fifty-five to sixty, huh? Cousin? Pft. That’s an interestin’ time period in our town, and you decided to pick today, out of all the other three-hundred sixty-four, to come visit the old roots of your family’s tree. Right. What news agency do you work for?”
Karina graced Ethel with a coy smirk, enjoying the banter and the woman’s sharp senses. “I assure you, Ms. Scruggs, I’m not a reporter. I’m just interested in finding out more about my roots.”
“Uh-huh. Your accent sure don’t sound like you’ve got family ties to this state. West coast?”
“Good ear. I grew up in California but the paternal side of my family was born and raised in Grant County…Sheridan to be exact. Now if you don’t mind, the microfilm?”
Snorting once and then looking back down at the screen, Ethel pointed to the back corner. “Use the projector on the right. The other’s temperamental. Oh, and if you want copies, they’s twenty-five cents each for black and white, fifty for color. I’m sure you’ve got an expense account you’ll need a receipt for too. Lord, you ain’t a very good reporter honey. Today’s the sixtieth anniversary. You’re a day late and dollar shy of gettin’ that Pulitzer you crave from bein’ published about a case that ain’t never gonna be solved.”
As she headed for the back of the building, Karina called out over her shoulder, “Again, not a reporter but good to know. Thanks.”
An hour later, Karina leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, rubbing her tired eyes. Looking through numerous articles from the local and national papers about the case made the sense of unease from before roar back full force, surpassing unease and zooming into heavy dread. It didn’t help that the microfilm machine was so old it made her feel like she was in fifth grade all over again with Ms. Jolly hovering close to monitor her progress. It was as though she’d stepped back in time.
After glancing at some of the other headlines, Karina was mortified at the blatant racism. She was glad she’d been born on the west coast and in a different era, brought up to respect people no matter the color of their skin or anything else. It was one thing to watch a movie or read a fictional book about the “old South,” but perusing real, unaltered history was quite another.
With all the twists and turns surrounding the disappearances, she was rather surprised it hadn’t been made into a Lifetime movie or at least a bestselling book. Talk about small town deceit and lies! Times one-thousand! Astounded by several aspects botched from the beginning, Karina had to remind herself it happened in 1957, at a time when investigative techniques were primitive at best, non-existent at worst. Justice had still been controlled by the “good ol’ boy system.”
The green tea smoothie she gulped down on the drive from Little Rock sat in her stomach like a pile of hot rocks. Each article read added another heavy stone.
The one sure thing she gleaned from the pages was exactly what her mother said—cover up. She couldn’t wait to show the articles to her mother and watch her reaction to the pathetic attempts by local law enforcement to solve the case. The shoddy investigation would make her mother turn three shades of red.
Gathering up the forty pages she’d printed into a neat pile, Karina leaned over to turn the switch off. As her fingers grazed the cool plastic, her breasts mashed the reverse button. Images melded together into an unrecognizable cluster of rusty gray, finally stopping when she sat back. Moving her body to the right, she stretched at an awkward angle, silently cursing her cup size, when a small headline at the bottom right of the screen caught her attention.
On instinct, her hand flew to her mouth to cover the gasp as she read the article from 1956. In the process of doing so, she knocked over the pile of printed pages. They landed with a soft thump on the floor.
“Need some help?”
Spinning around at the sound of Ethel’s voice, Karina shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Just clumsy.”
Stepping closer, Ethel scrunched her face while looking at the screen. She let out a snort. “Like I said, you ain’t a very good reporter sugar. That woman had nothin’ to do with the other two disappearances. Dead people can’t cause no trouble.”
Wits finally back about, Karina bent over, gathering up the pages. “I already told you I’m not a reporter. She’s my cousin, and I just wanted to—”
“If she was your cousin, surely you were aware she died in 1956, so what would be the point of searching up to 1960? Ain’t all those pages you printed about her. That’s for sure. You ain’t a very good liar, either. You know, I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before. You look sorta familiar.”
Annoyed and completely freaked out by what she’d just read and concerned nosy Ethel might have all brain cells fire at once and realize she’d seen Karina on television like so many others had, she stood. Yanking a twenty-dollar bill from her jeans, she handed it to Ethel. “Guess I’ve just got one of those faces. Keep the change. I don’t need a receipt.”
“I have to count the pages. Can’t just take the word of a stranger now can I?”
Stepping past the annoying woman, Karina snapped, “I’m not a reporter or a liar. You’ll just have to trust me.�
��
Ethel continued to jabber but Karina ignored the old woman. Using a bit too much force, she pushed the door open and stepped out into the bright sun. In five quick strides, she was inside her car. After tossing the pages in the backseat along with her jacket, she started the engine.
The original plan to do another loop through town to get a feel for it disappeared the second she read the 1956 news blurb. Mind racing at the revelation, all she could think about was heading back to Hot Springs to go over all she’d uncovered with her mother.
On autopilot, she wound her way through the tangle of one-way streets until back on the main highway, ignoring the creepy ambiance of the little town. The second she turned onto the empty main road, she floored it. The Charger’s engine hummed, deep and throaty, as she sped down the two-lane blacktop, zooming past acres upon acres of timberland.
Her frantic thoughts about how to address the latest bombshell with her mother were interrupted by the shrill wail of a siren. Assuming it was an ambulance, she glanced in the rear view mirror, surprised to see a white and black Charger with flashing blue lights. She looked at the speedometer—only at sixty. Furrowing her brows, she wondered why a cop was barreling down on her because the speed limit sign she’d passed only seconds before read seventy.
“Maybe he’s after someone else and not me. Better get out of the way before our bumpers meet!”
Easing over to the shoulder, assuming the unit would fly by in a whoosh of white, black, and blue, her stomach did a little flip when the cruiser slowed and stopped inches from her vehicle. Sighing, Karina threw the car into park then reached for her purse, giving a cursory scan of the area. Nothing as far as she could see except acres of woods. There wasn’t a soul around, and the vast nothingness was creepy. Had there been rows and rows of corn—a scene straight out of a Stephen King book—the eerie factor would have kept her foot on the pedal until reaching real civilization again.
The memory of her mother getting pulled over by a state trooper on the outskirts of Little Rock during their move to Arkansas made a smirk appear. At least this was a local cop and dealing with him would be a piece of cake. Then again, considering the way things had gone during the past six hours, anything was possible.
While retrieving her driver’s license, insurance card, and concealed carry permit, she envisioned a rotund version of Barney Fife standing outside the driver’s window looking like he’d just swallowed an entire lemon or box of Krispy Kreme donuts. The kind of backwoods cop seen only in movies with a passion for fast driving and even faster ticket writing. Instead, she was greeted by a dark haired, blue-eyed hunk close to Cal’s height and age with a chiseled jaw and brooding gaze. His badge read Officer Barton, which she found rather creepy.
Well, at least he’s easy on the eyes like Gram would say! Again, what do these southern boys eat to grow up so yummy looking? Oh, I bet Ethel Scruggs called him and complained about me! Yikes, she really is just like Ms. Jolly—Grade A bitch.
Pressing the control to lower the window, Karina forced a dazzling smile, hoping a bit of good-natured flirting would bring the encounter to a fast end. “Good afternoon, Officer Barton.”
“Ain’t it though? Seems you was enjoyin’ it by goin’ over the speed limit after leavin’ in such a rush from the library. That’d be the reason I pulled you over.”
Yep—good old Ethel is probably burning up the phone lines to her friends, telling them about the rude woman from California!
Ignoring the bald-faced lie and the sarcastic tone, Karina extended her hand holding the cards out the window. Normally, she would have protested, but she didn’t have the mindset to argue with the man. Since Camden was such a small town, she figured speed traps abounded—an easy way to keep the city coffers full. “Oh, sorry about that. My stomach was bothering me so I thought it best to leave before, well, you know. Guess that’s why my foot was a tad heavy on the gas. You know these Chargers we drive like to fly if you aren’t paying attention.”
Snatching the cards from her hand, Officer Barton took a step back from the window. “Cut the jabber. Exit your vehicle and place your hands on the hood. Slow and easy.”
The tension level soared. Karina noticed the cop’s hand move to his service weapon as he dropped the cards.
What the hell is he doing?
His gaze was fixated on the butt of the Glock in the console. “Oh, it’s okay, I’ve got a permit for—”
“I said get out now!” Officer Barton ordered. He followed the instruction by flicking the latch on his holster then yanked open the door. “Show me your hands or eat pavement. Your choice.”
Anger raced through her body, urging her mouth to release the vulgar words on the tip of her tongue. The ridiculous treatment, the bastard’s ugly sneer and lack of proper procedure didn’t matter. The ominous vibe from the man was enough to give Karina pause. Cutting her gaze to his uniform, she noticed he wasn’t wearing a body camera and didn’t see a microphone, which spelled nothing but trouble.
There would be no sweet-talking her way out of the situation. The best of course action was calm compliance.
Tamping down her anger, Karina made sure her movements and response were slow and calculated. “Whatever you say, sir. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you ahead of time about the gun. Again, I’ve got a permit for it.”
“Permits don’t mean shit to me, Karina Summers.”
The comment made her mouth drop open as she made her way to the hood. He hadn’t given the documents a second glance, which meant he’d either run the license plate before pulling her over or something a bit more sinister. Taking a deep breath as the sound of his boots neared, she cleared her throat. “Sir, I’m not sure what’s going on here, so would you mind enlightening me? I know we live in dangerous times, but surely this isn’t standard procedure for a speeding ticket?”
“It ain’t time to talk; it’s time to listen. We know who you are and why you’re here. Let me make it clear and simple. You ain’t welcome in our town or county. If you and your nosy snout come back, it will be the last thing you do. We don’t tolerate outsiders, especially when their only reason for comin’ is to stir up trouble. Anythin’ about that you don’t understand?”
Biting the inside of her cheek with such force the taste of copper filled her mouth, Karina nodded. Blood dribbled down the back of her throat, making her stomach churn.
Reaching out, Officer Barton grabbed a handful of hair and yanked. “I didn’t hear a yes sir.”
That did it.
Karina didn’t think about the repercussions. Fight or flight kicked in, overriding her ability to remain still. Bracing her hands, she pushed away from the hood, throwing all her body weight into the bastard, the back of her head smashing into his nose. A chunk of her hair ripped away but she ignored the pain. Both toppled to the ground, Officer Barton’s body functioning as a buffer from the blacktop but not from the hard holster on his hip. It jabbed into her lower back with such force she nearly screamed.
Just as the loud oomph left the cop’s mouth, Karina tried to scramble away but thick, hot bile rushed up her throat. Unable to control it, she threw up all over the bastard’s polished boots.
“Damnit! What the Hell’s wrong with you? That’s just plain nasty!” Officer Barton yelled while holding his crushed nose.
The look on his face was hysterical. If the situation wasn’t so tenuous, Karina would have laughed as she wiped away the sticky mess from her chin, sensing the man wasn’t coming after her again. Watching his face pucker in disgust as his hand cupped his bleeding nose, she finally understood the green around the gills phrase. Karina hoped the bastard would spew chunks of his own. “Guess you missed the yes sir during that. Sorry. I told you my stomach was bothering me.”
Rolling away, he spit and then jumped to his feet, shaking the vomit from his boots. “If you dare come back here, I’ll enjoy silencin’ that mouth for good. Oh, and if you’ve got aspirations of reportin’ to my superiors about our little meetin’, don’
t bother. They already know, yet we’ll all pretend it never happened if you make a stink. My word against yours, and around these parts, yours carry no weight.”
Rising to her feet after snatching up the license and cards, Karina kept her gaze on the bastard, still on guard in case he lunged or responded with a reciprocating puke. “If you truly know who I am, you’re either overconfident or just plain stupid.” Karina smirked.
Officer Barton’s jaw tightened, so Karina covered her mouth, faking a few dry heaves. The action was enough to deter the man. Without another word spoken, Karina watched the disgusted police officer get back inside his unit. The tires squalled as he made a U-turn and sped away.
Wasting no time, Karina jumped back into her car, flipped the bastard the bird and tromped on the gas. Mind spinning at the strange encounter and all the jaw-dropping news, she wondered if she should have heeded Gram’s words of warning.
“Too late to put the worms back in the can. Sorry, Gram.”
Chapter 9
Hot Springs, Arkansas – Thursday, March 2, 2017
“Good night, precious ones.”
“Night, Grampa. See you in the morning.” Karina followed the comment by brushing a light kiss on his warm cheek. “Give Gram a hug and kiss for us.”
“I surely will.” Junior nodded his head toward the apartment door. “She ain’t said two peeps since we came back from the hospital and barely touched her supper. All this worryin’ about Betty is tearin’ her up and Cecil too since he didn’t come down for dinner either.”
“I’m sure they both just needed some private time to grapple with their feelings, Pop.”
“You’re right, sugar. Looks like it has you too, Karina. Best get some good rest because your ma can’t run this place without you. She was busier than an ice cream vendor outside a fat farm while you was gone earlier.”
Blood Loss - A Magnolia Novel Page 12