by Kate Flora
“I just hate that this happened to her,” Jaden mumbled through the cloth pressed to his face. “It is so ugly.”
He fell silent.
“Take your time, Jaden,” Amad said. “It is hard to share ugly things about people we love. I know that. But what you have to say, it is important for protecting Heidi if danger is still out there, and maybe important for helping her to stay at Simmons, when we know this is a good place for her.”
Thank goodness it was Amad, and not Chief Greenberg or even Miller and Flynn doing this interview.
“Would they really send her away?” Jaden asked.
This time I did speak. “Her mother wants to take her home,” I said. “And if she has violated the school’s rules, or the police decide to charge her with a crime, Dr. Wilson may have to. That’s why it is so important to be able to explain her actions and show she’s not a liar. And we still need to protect her from…”
I hesitated. The truth was that while we suspected her stepfather’s involvement in some way, and that of his two aides, we had nothing to support that except her friends’ stories of how things had been in the household. I thought Jaden was about to give us more substantive information, but we had to keep reminding him why betraying Heidi’s confidence was so important. “From the person responsible for this pregnancy.”
“Persons,” Jaden said.
I wasn’t about to correct him to say only one person had caused the pregnancy. There might have been more than one person involved, if there had been a sexual assault.
My stomach clenched in anticipation of what we might be about to hear. Footsteps crunched on the path, and the three of us fell silent, waiting tensely as a figure holding a flashlight appeared from around the curve. A burly man in a Simmons security uniform. He and Amad exchanged greetings and he crunched away.
“Persons, Jaden?” Amad nudged.
Jaden sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to…Heidi will never forgive me for telling you this. It is so personal.”
Another silence.
Sitting close to the boy on this small bench, I could feel his entire body gathering to tell us the story he didn’t want to tell. At last he said, “It was The General’s two aides. The ones Heidi’s dad calls Dee and Dum. What they called their last chance before she left for Simmons. They put something in her drink, so she doesn’t remember it well. But she knows her mother was out, and believes The General knew it was happening and didn’t do anything to help her.”
Thirty-One
A date rape drug, I thought. No wonder she didn’t know she’d had sex. She hadn’t, in any meaningful sense of the word. She’d been drugged and raped and her vile stepfather, he of the dismissive “she’s not my daughter” and the claim that she had likely gotten pregnant “in the usual way” remarks, had let it happen. I wanted to strangle General Norris with my bare hands. A hiss of indrawn breath suggested Amad shared the sentiment.
Had her mother known?
No wonder Heidi had been so adamant that she didn’t want her stepfather around. How terrified she must have been when, in desperation, she had asked her mother for help and her mother had appeared with The General and at least one of his aides. Her rapist and his enabler.
“Heidi had no memory of ever having had sex,” I said. “Do you know whether she’s remembered something or whether she was told about this incident?”
Even as I asked, I wondered who would have told her. Not even someone as insensitive as Mrs. Norris was unlikely to have done so, since it put her own husband in jeopardy. Not impossible, though, since back in Gareth’s office she’d seemed to implicate her husband in a murder. Maybe her friend Stephanie? Maybe Stephanie had somehow been involved? Her mother’s comments suggested something had happened that Stephanie also wanted to get away from.
“She says she remembered something,” Jaden said. “Just some vague images that came back to her. She says she must have been repressing them because they were too awful to remember. And once they started coming, she remembered more. I don’t understand, though, why she would ask her mother for help, when her mother let this happen.”
“Maybe Heidi couldn’t think of anyone else to ask?” Amad suggested.
“It was her mother that she’d have to go back to if she left Simmons,” I said. “Maybe she hoped her mother would come through for her this time—help her negotiate with the police and how to stay here. Help her make decisions about the baby.”
I wondered why, if she was trying to make a connection with her mother, she’d also asked her father to the meeting? Was he there as insurance? Was it possible that in the midst of her post-delivery trauma, Heidi had still deliberately engineered a confrontation with both of her parents, hoping they’d step up for her? Or to challenge them with their joint negligence and the damage they’d done before departing in the company of her music teacher? If so, she’d likely not anticipated the presence of The General and Lt. Crosby. There was no way to know until we spoke with her.
That confrontation must have been terrifying for her.
Mrs. Norris had been so proud of bringing her husband against her daughter’s wishes because, as a woman, she needed protection. But had she known that Dee, and possibly also Dum, would be there, too? And how had the mysterious William McKenzie gotten involved?
So many questions and the only person who could answer them was still missing.
“Her mother is a monster,” Jaden said. “And poor Heidi just kept hoping and hoping that her mother would change and act like a loving mother.”
He sighed. “If I had to guess, I’d say she asked her father for help, and her father said something to her mother just because he can’t help being provocative. I don’t know why Mr. McKenzie was there. Maybe Ronnie does.”
He checked his phone for the time, and sighed again. “I have to get to dinner, and then I’ve got a study group. Are you guys going to find Heidi? Will you make sure she’s all right? Will you let me know when you find her?”
I was struggling to find an equivocal answer when Amad said, “Yes. We will find her, Jaden, and yes, we will keep her safe.” Saying what he knew Jaden needed to hear. “Miss Thea will call you when we find her.”
I was grateful that he’d answered. I can be a bit too righteous about telling the truth, although under duress, I’ve told some whoppers in my day. Always in the service of defeating bad guys or protecting the innocent, of course.
I put Jaden’s number in my phone.
Before he left, Jaden asked me a question. “If there’s anything else we need you to know, about finding Heidi, how do we reach you?”
I gave him my phone number, and added, “And I’m staying at the Caleb Strong Inn.”
We stood together, watching Jaden walk away, his shoulders bent like he carried the weight of the world. Carrying the weight of a friend’s terrible confidence was burden enough.
“We must be getting on,” Amad said. “I must get home so my wife can go to work.”
I followed him down the dark path to a cluster of unlit, deserted-looking buildings. When he stopped outside the first one, facing what looked like a big barn door, I said, “How do we do this?”
“We look,” he said. “One building at a time. And hope that we will find her here.”
And so we looked. Together. It might have been more efficient to do it separately, but he knew the buildings. And while I am as brave as can be, my personal history with bad guys has made me cautious, and MOC was making me more cautious still. Risks I might have taken by myself, I now would avoid.
As we moved among the clutter of machinery, tools, and supplies, I stayed back and watched Amad work, his eyes and his light constantly searching for signs of recent occupation. Could somewhere in one of these buildings have been the place that Heidi had referred to as the space she could crawl into and disappear?
There were four buildings and they took a long time to search. Careful as Amad was, I was the one who found it. Just a small hatch that I opened without expe
cting anything only to find it was the opening to what must have been a grain storage bin. It was musty, and empty, but the dust on the floor was disturbed by numerous footsteps, and a small, colorful backpack rested against the wall.
“She was here,” I said, picking up the pack.
But though the contents definitely belonged to a woman—or a girl—there was nothing personal and no clues to where she had gone.
“How odd that she’s left it behind,” I said.
“It looks like she—well, they…” Amad used his light to show me footprints made by two different people, “left in a hurry.”
That was all we found, and though Amad searched the area around the buildings, there were no clues about where they had gone.
In the end, we stood discouraged and empty-handed in the dark yard between the buildings. Dusty, dirty, and decked with sticky cobwebs.
“I am so sorry, Miss Thea,” Amad said. “She was here. Now she is gone. She was here with another person. A man, I would guess. But I do not know where else to look, and I must be going home now.”
“I understand.”
I could only speculate about where Heidi and McKenzie might have gone, and no idea how they had left the campus without being seen.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Now I will walk you back. Simmons is a very safe place, but there are bad people coming from outside.”
I was glad to have him walk me back. Before we set out, I remembered something else. “Amad, you said you have William McKenzie’s phone number. Can you give it to me?”
“Of course.”
I put the number in my phone, and then he walked me back to my car. I had to assume that hiding in one of those decrepit buildings was what Heidi had meant by a place she could crawl into and be safe.
The campus was eerily quiet. No one was out, and I was wondering if something had happened while we were doing our search, something that had called the community together, when Amad said, “They are all studying. That is why it is so quiet.”
I watched him get into a weary little Corolla and drive away, wishing he didn’t have to go. He might have had some thoughts about how to persuade McKenzie to trust us.
Then I got into my own car, started the engine, and just sat, holding my phone in my hand, wondering what the best way to approach William McKenzie was.
Maybe a cheeseburger would make things clearer. It might not have fine cuisine, but I bet that the inn we’d visited earlier on our mission to retrieve Ted Basham might have a good one.
I put the car in gear, and like a hungry Neanderthal in search of a woolly mammoth, I crept into town to bag a burger.
Thirty-Two
It was on the late side of the dinner hour, and I was tempted to snag one of the settles by the fire. They were tainted by the memory of Ted Basham and his disturbing confidences, though, so I picked a table in a quiet corner, gave my order, and got out my phone. Don’t get me wrong—I hate being tied to a phone. Many days, I want to toss it off a bridge to sleep with the fishes, but I am a slave of duty, and often, duty contacts me via this buzzy little device.
Even as I sat there staring at it, the darned thing came awake in my hand and requested my attention. “Ms. Kozak? It’s your innkeeper at the Caleb Strong Inn, Austin Palmer? I was just checking that you would be returning to us tonight? I’m afraid we’ve got rather a full house.”
“I am returning to you, Mr. Palmer, just as soon as I finish my dinner. Unless some other catastrophe occurs between now and then.”
“Very good,” he said, “I shall look forward to seeing you.”
Despite his politeness, he sounded frazzled. Maybe it was just the condition of the world these days. Or maybe, if she hadn’t been detained by the police, the addlepated Mrs. Norris had returned, forgetting that she’d checked out. It was unsympathetic of me, since Mr. Palmer had been kind, but as long as I got my bath and some sleep, I didn’t care what else was going on.
My burger arrived and I fell on it with gusto. A few stale sandwiches and some coffee just didn’t do it for me. I try to do the salads and fish and chicken thing, but sometimes a person just needs to eat a good burger. Or steak. Or chocolate cake. I was tempted to ask for the menu back, to see if they had chocolate cake, but I was tired, and a bath and a chat with Andre beckoned.
Austin Palmer hasn’t been kidding. There was only one parking spot left in the lot, and due to some very bad parking by a suspiciously familiar red BMW, I could barely squeeze the Jeep in. I was just coming in, happily anticipating my chat with Andre, when Ted Basham, thumping along on one crutch, lurched out of the breakfast room—now the room the inn advertised as its sherry and dessert room—and planted himself in my path. “You bitch!” he said, in what was definitely not an indoor voice. “You turned me in to the cops!”
It is something I discovered investigating my sister Carrie’s murder, and have rediscovered during my illustrious career protecting independent schools—when men don’t get their own way, they almost instantly revert to the “B” word. It helps to remember that the word is an acronym: Babe in Total Charge of Herself. I smiled at the glaring, crutch-wielding fellow, and said in my sweetest indoor voice, “Excuse me, but you are blocking the way to my room.”
“I’ll block you right in the head,” the charming fellow responded, and by then, a very distraught-looking Austin Palmer had appeared from the bowels of the house, clutching a tea towel.
Now I knew what Palmer’s phone call had really been about.
“Mr. Basham,” he said, in tones that were both firm and polite, “I must ask you to be considerate of your fellow guests.”
Under the circumstances, I had to work hard not to burst out laughing.
“Thank you, Mr. Palmer, and excuse me, Mr. Basham, but I am going upstairs now. As for turning you in to the police, threatening to strike a pregnant woman with a crutch might merit another visit from them. I should think you’d prefer to avoid that?” Clearly, Gareth’s speech patterns were rubbing off on me.
Basham grudgingly moved enough to let me squeeze past, and I headed for the stairs. I resisted the temptation to whack Basham with my briefcase—a briefcase which has done yeoman service against bad guys in the past—and the even greater temptation to stop and inspect the dessert selections. Might there be chocolate cake? I have a sweet tooth as big as a tusk. But discretion is the better part of valor. Basham was gunning—or crutching—for me, so escape was in order.
As I passed the parlor, I noticed a familiar figure occupying the sofa facing the door. Mrs. Norris, cleaned up nicely and in jeans and a clingy white top was bent intently over her phone. I didn’t know whether the new outfit meant she’d been shopping or that The General had reappeared with their luggage. I’d been right, her draperies did mask a dynamite body. It was her character that wasn’t attractive. I was confused though. Hadn’t Flynn said he was arresting her? Maybe this town had a rather porous jail.
I wondered if Basham knew she was there? Or was Basham here because he couldn’t resist getting in his ex-wife’s face?
The only thing that would have completed the picture was if Mr. Palmer had Heidi and William McKenzie also stashed somewhere around the premises.
I didn’t pause to chat but hurried upstairs, eager to close my door on this nuthouse as soon as possible. Neither of Heidi’s parents had anything to recommend them and if The General sneaked in to join them, we’d maybe have a murderer in the house as well.
I dropped my briefcase and got out my phone, settling back against the vast array of pillows on my king-sized bed. King-sized beds seem silly to me. Andre and I sleep so entwined we could make do with a twin. I wished Andre were here to share this bed. It was very soft and wonderful.
I made a couple quick calls about clients, a longer call to Suzanne to update her about Simmons and discuss some simmering projects and our urgent need to hire new staff. Then I was ready for Andre. He didn’t answer. I figured he was in the shower, so I left a voicemail saying I was in Room 12
and had a comfy king-sized bed and I wished he was here.
I wanted my delicious bath, but I didn’t want to miss his call, so I waited, poking ineffectually at some paperwork and then staring into space as I tried to figure out some strategy that would let us find Heidi and restore order at Simmons. I wanted to call William McKenzie, but I didn’t want to spook him. Even when I’d worked out a strategy and made the call, I went straight to voicemail. There was no way I could leave what I needed to say in a message, so I hit “end” and called Andre again.
Still no answer.
I decided I’d waited long enough. It was bath time. I was just getting clean underwear and the inn’s plush spa robe when someone knocked on my door. I wasn’t sure if I should answer. What if Ted Basham was there, and forced his way into my room? This was an inn, so there wasn’t a peephole in the sturdy wooden door.
Exercising discretion again, I called, “Who is it?”
“Austin Palmer.”
I opened the door and my innkeeper was standing there, holding a tray. He smiled a little shyly. “I thought you might be reluctant to come downstairs again, so I brought you some dessert.”
My hero.
I smiled as he set the tray on a small table by the fireplace. Yes. There was chocolate cake.
“I thought General and Mrs. Norris checked out this morning,” I said.
“They did. You saw them go. Evidently, she forgot. She was delivered here not long ago by a police car. She tried to go to her room, realized she didn’t have a key, then pitched a royal fit when I reminded her that she’d checked out. An even bigger fit when I said I couldn’t give her a room unless she paid in advance. I wasn’t going through a repeat of their arguments early this morning.”