Cold Woods

by Karen Katchur

  He wanted to see what her reaction would be today. He’d need to speak with her daughter as well. The daughter had been in the original file as someone they’d questioned along with three other teenagers, two girls and a boy, presumably the daughter’s friends. There was also a list of neighbors who had been interviewed. He wondered if any of them would still be around.

  He parked on Second Street in front of Sharon’s house. Geena was already there. She joined him in front of his car, smearing ChapStick on her lips. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

  “Do you want to take the lead this time?” he asked.

  “I think you should take it. She seemed comfortable with you. Let’s not switch it up just yet.”

  “All right,” he said.

  Sharon greeted them at the door as though she’d been expecting them. She motioned for them to take a seat. She sat on the torn plaid couch. Her daughter, Trisha, sat next to her. Geena sat on the edge of a recliner. Parker pulled a folding chair from the corner of the room, sat next to Geena. He’d taken a small notepad from his jacket pocket, ready to write down whatever information Sharon and Trisha were willing to give them.

  “Well, is it him?” Sharon asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Parker said. “It was confirmed this morning. We came over as soon as we got the news.”

  Sharon slouched against the back of the couch, her shoulders collapsing. Her daughter, Trisha, hadn’t moved. Her hands were folded in her lap, her face expressionless.

  Parker waited. The next question the family usually asked was how their loved one had died. Another minute passed. They continued to wait. Geena leaned back in the chair, crossed her legs, a signal she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

  “How?” Sharon asked finally.

  “He died from blunt-force trauma to the head.” Parker watched them closely. Sharon covered her face. Distressed? Hard to say. As for her daughter? Her face remained blank. She was well into her forties, but there was something about her. She was petite, sharp. Her features had a rough edge to them, and yet the way she held herself, her posture, showed a level of sophistication she hadn’t acquired from living around here. Her clothes fit her small frame to the point of exactness—not that Parker knew or cared about fashion, but he could tell she wasn’t shopping at the local department store. He stole a glance at her left hand. No wedding ring.

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Sharon said. “What does that mean exactly?”

  “It means somebody hit him in the head hard enough to kill him,” Geena said.

  Sharon made a small noise from the back of her throat.

  Parker gave her a minute to collect herself and then said, “We’d like to ask both of you a few questions about the time he went missing.”

  “Why?” Trisha asked.

  It was the first time she’d spoken since the detectives had entered the house. Her voice was deep, raspy, probably from smoking.

  “Your stepfather was murdered,” he said bluntly, wanting to get some kind of reaction from her.

  She showed no emotion one way or the other.

  He continued. “It’s our job to find out who’s responsible.”

  Sharon made a hiccuping, sobbing sound.

  Geena stirred next to him.

  “Your mother said you flew in from Vegas?” he asked Trisha.

  “That’s right,” she said.

  “How long have you lived there?”

  “Thirty years.”

  “Long time.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re staying here?” He motioned to Sharon. “With your mother?”

  “I am.”

  “How long are you planning to be in town?”

  Sharon wiped her eyes, nose, looked at her daughter.

  “I’m staying for as long as she needs me to.” Trisha didn’t break eye contact with him.

  He was the first to look away, immediately wondering if she was testing him in some small way and whether he’d just failed by turning his attention to Sharon.

  “What do you remember about that day?” he asked, checked his notes for the exact date Lester had last been seen. “December fourth, 1986.”

  Sharon rubbed the wrinkled skin on her neck. “I don’t know. It was so long ago. He was drinking a lot around that time,” she said.

  “How much is a lot? Every day? Weekends?” Geena asked.

  “Every day.”

  “Did he have a certain kind of drink he preferred? Beer? Whiskey?” Parker asked. They’d found a broken whiskey bottle near the bones.

  “He drank both. But he preferred his whiskey. I guess if I had to pick one, I’d say Wild Turkey was his favorite.”

  Parker wrote it down.

  “What else can you remember about that time?” he asked.

  “He wasn’t showing up for work. His boss called and told me he’d missed too many days, and he shouldn’t bother coming in anymore.”

  “Where was he working at the time?”

  “Cal’s Carpet and Flooring. They sold wall-to-wall carpet, area rugs, some laminate wood-type stuff.” She continued, “I didn’t think anything of it when he wasn’t showing up for work. He’d pulled that kind of thing before. But after a few days when he wasn’t coming home either . . .” She wiped her eyes. “I began to think something might be wrong.” Her shoulders shook. “I mean, something was wrong, obviously, if what you’re telling us is true.”

  Parked noticed how Trisha made no attempt to console her mother. She didn’t put an arm around her, rub her back, pat her knee. Nothing. “And this boss’s name?” he asked.

  “Cal.”

  “Right. Of course. And his last name?”

  “Rawlins.”

  “How long was Lester missing before you notified the police?” Geena asked.

  “A week? Maybe two? I don’t remember exactly, but like I said, it wasn’t unusual for him to be gone for a while. He’d usually turn up sooner or later.”

  Parker checked his notes: a timeline he’d jotted down from the day Lester went missing to when Sharon filed the report. It wasn’t much, pretty thin actually. He hadn’t shown up for work. No one had seen him around. No witnesses had come forward. There wasn’t any video to review, since cameras hadn’t been installed at traffic lights or gas stations or other storefronts back in 1986, at least not in their small towns. People had come and gone, went about their daily business without anyone knowing, no cameras or cell phones or GPS tracking devices in their pockets.

  “From what I understand,” he said, “you waited two weeks before you decided to look for him. Does that sound about right?”

  “Yeah, that could be right. It was a long time ago. I guess I just kept hoping he’d walk through the door, you know? I just kept hoping.”

  “Where did your husband like to hang out?” Geena asked. “Did he have a favorite bar? Restaurant?”

  “He liked to drink at a place called Red’s. He’d sleep it off there in one of the back rooms. Other times he’d drink at the hotel bar on the corner here in town. I’d find receipts that he’d rented a room.”

  “Where is this Red’s? I’m not familiar with it,” Parker said.

  “That’s because it closed several years ago. I think it’s a Chinese restaurant now.”

  That made their job harder. But Parker knew Cal’s Carpets and Flooring was still in business, and so was the hotel. It was a long shot, but it was a place to start. “Okay, so when Lester didn’t come home after a few nights, did you go looking for him?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t call anyone or talk to anyone about where he might’ve gone? Friends? Family?”

  “Lester didn’t have friends. Most of his family was dead by then. Besides, people around here were saying he skipped out on me. I ignored it for a while. I didn’t want to believe it. But eventually, I went to the police.”

  “What made you finally go to the police?” Geena asked.

  “I wanted the gossip to stop. I was emba
rrassed, okay? I wanted him home so I could prove to everybody that he didn’t run out on me.” Sharon glanced at Trisha. “I know how that sounds, but it’s the truth.”

  “But why wait a full two weeks to report him missing?” Parker asked. “Seems like an awful long time to wait when someone you love is missing.”

  “Like I said, it wasn’t that unusual for him to be gone on a bender.”

  He turned to Trisha. “What about you? When was the last time you saw your stepfather?”

  “I gave my statement back then. Don’t you have a copy?”

  “We do,” he said. “But now that some time has passed, maybe you remember something you hadn’t thought of before.”

  “If I think of anything, I’ll let you know,” she said.

  “Okay,” he said and addressed his next question to Sharon. “We know there were a couple incidents where the local police were called, but you refused to press charges. Would you tell us about what happened?”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Sharon said.

  “Why did you refuse to press charges?” Geena asked in a kind way.

  “Because I didn’t see what good it would’ve done,” Sharon said.

  Trisha turned away from them then, the most movement she’d made since they’d gotten here.

  “Did he ever have an altercation with one of the neighbors?” Parker asked. “Perhaps with the ones who had called the police?”

  “Not that I knew of,” Sharon said.

  “Can you think of anyone who would’ve wanted to hurt him?” Geena asked.

  Parker noticed Geena made a point to look at Trisha.

  “I can’t think of anyone,” Trisha said. “What about you, Mom?”

  “No,” Sharon said. “No one.” She blew her nose.

  “Okay,” Parker said and stood. Geena stood with him.

  “If you think of anything else, no matter how insignificant you think it might be, call me. Let me be the one to decide if it’s important or not.” He handed Sharon another business card in case she’d lost the last one. He passed a card to Trisha. “We’ll be in touch.”

  When they were at the door, Geena slightly ahead of him, Parker turned back, smiled. “I’m curious,” he said. “Are either one of you baseball fans?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  OCTOBER 1986

  Carlyn stomped up the Appalachian Trail. Autumn leaves crackled underneath her feet. Now and again a breeze blew, sending more of the brightly colored leaves raining down on her. Dannie and Trisha were somewhere behind her. Neither one would tell her what had happened with Lester on the side of Dannie’s house.

  The incline was getting steeper. She pumped her arms to keep her pace. It was late in the day, and the sun was waning. Soon it would be dark. They shouldn’t be on the mountain at night.

  She stopped walking when she reached what had become their rock ever since that day three years ago when Trisha had pushed them off the porch, running from her stepfather. She turned, crossed her arms, waited for her friends to catch up.

  It took a couple of minutes, but they finally made it. Dannie was out of breath. She sat on the rock, wiped her eyes. Trisha wouldn’t look at Carlyn.

  “Someone tell me what happened,” Carlyn said.

  Dannie pulled her knees to her chest, buried her head in her arms.

  Carlyn looked to Trisha to answer, but she turned away as Scott walked up the trail carrying a six-pack of beer.

  “What’s he doing here?” Carlyn asked. Why was it whenever the three of them got together, Scott always turned up? She was never alone with her friends anymore, not without him. She hadn’t been alone with Trisha in weeks.

  “Trisha told me to meet you guys here,” Scott said. “Remember, you were there when we talked about it.”

  Yeah, she remembered all right. But something had changed, something neither of her friends was willing to share with her.

  He put the beer on the ground at the base of the oak tree with the Kilroy was here carving, then moved to stand next to Trisha. Carlyn knew he’d wanted Trisha ever since that first day he’d seen her at the quarry when they were ten years old. And now he’d finally convinced her to go out with him.

  Carlyn reached for a beer, circled the rock where Dannie was sitting. She couldn’t be still, not while Scott was pulling Trisha closer to him. A kind of possessiveness tightened Carlyn’s chest. She couldn’t say why exactly. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Scott. He was okay for a boy. But Trisha didn’t belong to him. She belonged to her. Maybe she belonged to Dannie too. But it was Carlyn who had to fight the urge to drag Trisha away from his wandering hands, his strong forearms that seemed Popeye-like from years of playing on the school’s baseball team.

  She sipped the beer. No one said anything for what seemed like a long time. Finally, Dannie said, “I don’t feel like partying.”

  “Me either,” Carlyn said and tossed the can into the woods, spraying beer onto her arm.

  “What did you do that for?” Scott asked.

  But Carlyn wasn’t paying attention to him. All she knew was that she couldn’t stand here and watch the two of them touching each other. It hurt too much. The next thing she knew she was off and running as though a starting gun had gone off inside her head.

  “Wait,” Dannie called after her.

  But her urge to run couldn’t wait. Ever since she’d joined the cross-country team at the start of school, she hadn’t been able to stop running. She’d first joined thinking it would be a way to fill her time, since Trisha had become preoccupied with Scott, and Dannie had been busy taking care of her mother. Carlyn had thought her own mother would be proud to watch her compete, feel joy in seeing her daughter good at something. But her mother never came to a meet, her shift at the hospital beginning at the same time Carlyn would walk up to the starting line. After a while cross-country was no longer about her friends or her mother.

  Carlyn found she’d needed an escape, and running was the one thing that truly freed her from her life at the bottom of the hill. It was while she was running that her thoughts took her to places outside herself, places where doors opened, where dreams flourished, where anything was possible. Running was a place where she could think and sort through problems or simply leave them behind.

  Tonight, she wanted nothing more than to run away from her confusing feelings about Trisha, her friends’ recent silence.

  Her eyes filled with tears. She pushed harder, running faster, stretching her long legs as far as they would go. The crisp air pierced her lungs. She raced down the mountain, the last of the sun’s rays shining through the branches of trees, giving off just enough light to see the narrow trail. Somewhere far behind her, she could hear Dannie chasing after her.

  She reached her house and dropped onto her porch steps. The muscles in her thighs trembled from the exertion. In another few minutes, Dannie collapsed next to her.

  “Why’d you run?” Dannie asked, breathless.

  Carlyn wiped her eyes.

  Dannie sat up. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It doesn’t matter,” she said. Crying was for babies. Crying was a sign of weakness, but the tears kept coming. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I’m not sure,” Dannie said. “It happened so fast.”

  “Did Lester do something to you?”

  Dannie nodded. “He touched me,” she whispered.

  Carlyn clutched Dannie’s arm. “You have to tell someone.”

  “No,” Dannie said. “No way. Promise you won’t say anything,” she pleaded. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I just think he did.”

  “Dannie.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” Dannie said. “Please don’t say anything.”

  Whatever was going on inside of Carlyn—her confusion about who she was, how she was feeling—was nothing compared to what was happening to her friends.

  “We have to do something,” she said.

  “No. No, we don’t. Promise me,” Dannie said. “I’m scared.�
�

  She was scared too. She put her arm around Dannie. If Carlyn had learned anything from Trisha, it was that fear was a powerful silencer and that some things were so terrible a person couldn’t say them out loud.

  Carlyn looked down the street at Trisha’s house. The evil was no longer contained inside its walls. It was spreading, its legs crossing over Second Street.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Trisha found Dannie on her knees at the side of the bed, her hands in prayer. Boxes were scattered across the floor. Most were empty. The dresser drawers were open, stuffed full of clothes. Dannie had barely made a dent in packing up her things in her old room in her mother’s house.

  Trisha slipped a mint into her mouth to cover the smell of beer on her breath. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Praying,” Dannie said, keeping her head bowed.

  “Right.” Like she didn’t know that. “Where do you want me to start?”

  The clanking of pots and pans traveled up the stairs. Trisha’s and Carlyn’s mothers were busy emptying the cabinets in the kitchen. Carlyn was out searching for more boxes. She hadn’t said more than two words to Trisha since the other day when they’d cleaned the dirty dishes and tidied up before the real packing began. Trisha had no way of knowing if Dannie had told Carlyn about having seen Trisha’s bruised ribs.

  Dannie hoisted herself up from the floor. She’d gotten rounder over the years, her full cheeks smoothing out the wrinkles by her eyes: the one positive of being middle aged and overweight.

  “Did you hit the lottery or something?” Dannie motioned to Trisha’s cashmere sweater, this one powder blue.

  “No,” she said.

  If Dannie were waiting for some kind of explanation, she wasn’t going to get one. What could Trisha have said? Sure, at first she’d loved the glamorous clothes Sid had bought her, some custom made, the slinky silk dresses, fur for around her neck on chilly desert nights, $400 red-bottomed shoes. But it didn’t take long until she loathed it, loathed him, his hands like snakes slithering up and down her body, the silk burning like fire on her skin, her toes broken and bloody, crushed in the points of three-inch heels.