Cinnamon Girl

by S. J. MacIver

  Nodding as she jotted her notes, Lacy asked, "You said that Candee had a hard life before you met. Where did you two meet?"

  He frowned, not with pain, but in anger. "I own a construction company and hire a lot of full-time employees who turn out to be temporary."

  At Lacy's quizzical expression, he added, "Some of them become temporary because they only want to work long enough to get a few meals in them and a new supply of drugs. It seems to be a common ailment in this business."

  Given Candee's flashy good looks, Lacy had a hard time believing the girl worked construction, but had to ask, "You hired Candee?"

  "No, oh heaven's, no." He cracked a smile that quickly turned to a frown. "I hired Candee's boyfriend, yet another of my temporary workers. He had so many driving convictions he'd lost his license, and Candee had to drive him to work. One day as she was dropping him off he made the mistake of punching her right in front of me."

  Hankins drove his fist into the palm of his other hand. "That was the day the fool lost his job, his truck, and his girlfriend. I put her up in a motel, saw that she got fed regularly, and helped her look for a better line of work."

  "And what line of work was she in?"

  Hankins looked up at Lacy, indecision in his eyes. At last he said, "I'd appreciate if you didn't print it in your story, but she was a dancer. An exotic dancer, if you get my drift."

  Lacy gave off a non-judgmental shrug. "There's no reason to mention her former occupation."

  "It's not that I'm ashamed of her—I'm not—but I don't want Jeremy teased at school."

  "No problem." Lacy glanced at her notes. "So you kind of watched over Candee, one thing led to another, and you found yourselves in love?"

  With a sheepish grin, he nodded. "When that girl first looked at me as something other than an old man, I swear, the bottoms of my feet just about melted into the boot leather. I can't tell you how good it felt, and how much I enjoyed just waking up every morning and finding her next to me."

  Tears began to roll down his cheeks.

  Lacy gave him a minute, and then said, "Maybe I ought to go now and come back some other time."

  Hankins gave himself a moment to collect himself. Then he said, "That's probably a good idea. I've got to try and get some sleep, though I don't know if I'll ever be able to sleep again. I feel like it's my fault somehow, that if I'd only stayed home, she'd be alive today."

  "Stayed home?" These facts would probably come out in the press conference, but since the man seemed to want to talk more, Lacy continued to take notes. "So you weren't here when your wife went missing?"

  "It's pheasant season."

  That was really all the explanation Lacy needed. A person couldn't live in North Dakota and not know when pheasant season was upon them or that a major portion of the population would be out hunting the wily birds at every opportunity.

  "I left for Hettinger on Friday afternoon," Hankins went on to explain. "My brother lives there in the self-proclaimed pheasant capital of the world. We get together to hunt the weekend after the opener every year. I called Candee Friday and left a message that I'd arrived, then tried again on Saturday, but with the cell service being so iffy, I never did reach her."

  "So you didn't get home until Sunday night?"

  He nodded. "It's been like a nightmare ever since."

  Hankins looked completely exhausted, so much so, Lacy stuck her pen and notebook into her handbag and got to her feet. "Thank you so much for your time and candid answers," she said. "If you don't mind, may I call or visit you again if I have more questions?"

  "Sure." He pushed off the sofa. "Maybe if we keep stories about her in the newspapers someone who knows or guesses what might have happened will come forward."

  "There's always that chance."

  As Lacy turned to leave the room, she realized that Hankins was following along behind her. "You don't have to walk me out," she said. "I can find my way. You get some rest."

  "Not yet," he muttered tiredly. "I've got to drive Jeremy back to his mother's place."

  Lacy paused and looked back at the weary, heart-broken man. "You shouldn't be driving. Wouldn't it be better to ask his mother to pick him up?"

  He shook his head and curled his upper lip. "That would be too much like asking for a favor. Not possible with that woman."

  No explanation needed there. Lacy considered a moment, and then asked, "Where in town does Jeremy live?"

  "North First Street."

  "I'm going in that direction on my way back to the courthouse. I'd be happy to drop him off, if you'd like."

  At first Hankins shook his head, preparing an objection. Then, as if the true depth of his exhaustion finally occurred to him, he let out a heavy sigh and said, "That would be very kind of you. I appreciate the offer."

  By now they had reached the front door. Hankins opened it, allowed Lacy to pass through and onto the porch, and then joined her there. Sitting below them on the lower steps, Mike and Jeremy were engaged in a game of scissors, paper, rock.

  "Jeremy," Hankins said. "I'm beat and going to bed. This nice lady has offered to take you home. Is that all right with you?"

  The boy shrugged. "I guess so."

  Mike, on the other hand, leapt to his feet. His eyes were wide and kind of crazed. "Are you sure about that, Jeremy?"

  Shrugging again as he stood up alongside Mike, he said, "Yeah. My dad's pretty bummed. I want to go home."

  Rolling his eyes Lacy's way, Mike put his arm around Jeremy's shoulders and began walking him toward the Jeep. One step behind them, Lacy clearly heard him speaking to the boy.

  "So do you have a helmet you can wear in the car?"

  Jeremy cocked his head. "Uh, no."

  "How about a face mask or a flak jacket? Do you have any kind of protective gear?"

  Chapter 6

  Much to Lacy's irritation, Mike insisted on sitting in the back seat with Jeremy right beside him. He'd claimed that he didn't want the boy to feel like a third wheel sitting alone in the back, and also suggested that it might be against the law to have a child ride up front so close to an air bag. A child who was at least as tall as Lacy.

  It wasn't as if she didn't know her driving lacked a certain finesse. She'd simply never felt comfortable behind the wheel or in total control. Still, it wasn't as if she didn't try extra hard. Lacy did not think of herself as an unsafe driver though. At the worst, she could be considered slightly awkward while navigating a vehicle, any vehicle. Why just last week....

  "That was a stop sign!" Mike shouted from behind her. "You just blew through a stop sign."

  "Really?" Her heart in her throat, Lacy glanced at her side view mirror. The octagon shape she'd hoped not to see practically filled the small section of glass, as if mocking and pointing the finger of blame her way.

  Lacy's cheeks grew hot as she said, "Oh, geeze, I didn't even see it. Sorry guys."

  All she got from behind was a low groan. Nothing from Jeremy. She took a peek into the rearview mirror, but couldn't even catch a glimpse of Mike's head. For all she knew he was lying on the seat curled into a fetal position.

  "Mike?" she said, careful to keep her eyes on the road ahead. "It wasn't my fault. I honestly didn't see the sign. They ought to be bigger anyway, don't you think?"

  "How much farther to your house, Jeremy?"

  Mike's voice. He wasn't talking to her, but at least he was able to form words.

  The boy leaned against his window and said, "Take a right at the next street and park as soon as you find a place. I live in that blue and white house on the corner."

  It took all of Lacy's driving skills to navigate the corner while trying to tear her eyes away from the beautiful refurbished Victorian home. A two-story 'dollhouse' with all manner of roof angles, turrets, and bay windows, the house was painted a soft grayish-blue with lots of white gingerbread trim. It also featured a large wrap-around porch painted white to match the trim and window casings.

  Still drinking in the sight
of the place, a home she'd admired every time she drove by, Lacy fought her way into a parking spot and nearly tore the bumper off of a small compact car that was hogging more curb space than courtesy would allow. At least that's the way Lacy saw things.

  "All right then," she said as she cut the engine and pulled the keys. "Here we are, safe and sound."

  As the three climbed out of the Jeep, Lacy was careful to avoid eye contact with Mike. Instead, she zeroed in on Jeremy and said, "I think we ought to walk you to the door and explain who we are so your mom doesn't worry."

  He pointed across the street. "That's her out front yelling at the gardener." Then he started across the street.

  Close on Jeremy's heels and with the sound of Mike following along behind, Lacy made her way to the sidewalk and ran headlong into a string of cursing and profanities the likes of which she'd never heard.

  "Mom," Jeremy shouted over his mother's frenzied voice. "I'm home."

  She spun around, clearly surprised by the sight of her son standing there with two strangers. Lacy couldn't help but notice that not a single hair on her perfectly coiffed blond head moved. She was a heavy woman, not exactly obese, but around forty pounds overweight. She wore jeans and a starched white blouse, neither of which had come off the sales rack. Her lips were still curled into a snarl, but softened as she set eyes on her son.

  "Jeremy. Why did you sneak up on me like that?"

  "Didn't, Mom. We parked across the street and just walked over."

  Her attention drawn to Lacy and Mike, she drew her brows together.

  Lacy quickly extended her hand. "Lacy Erickson with the Bismarck Herald."

  As she took Lacy's hand and shook it, the woman said, "Carole Hankins. You're a reporter?"

  "Yes, I am. And this," she said, jerking her thumb in Mike's direction, "is my photographer, Mike."

  "He's not going to take my picture, is he?" She patted the side of her head. "My hair is a mess and I'm in my gardening clothes."

  "No, we won't be taking pictures. We were just at your ex-husband's home doing a short interview with him about the unfortunate loss of his wife."

  "You mean Candee Cane the pole dancer?" She made a noise that sounded a lot like a snort. "We know all about it. That's why I took Jeremy to see his dad. We figured Jerry could probably use some comfort."

  Temporarily ignoring Lacy and Mike, she turned to Jeremy. "How's your dad doing, anyway?"

  He shrugged. "You know, not so good. He's pretty bummed."

  Carole nodded sagely. "And you? How are you doing?"

  "I'm okay, Mom. Everything's okay." He kissed her on the cheek, the pair hugged, and Jeremy started for the house. As he slumped up the walkway, he said over his shoulder, "Thanks for the ride."

  "You're welcome," Lacy said.

  "And how come you brought him home and not his father?" Carole asked.

  "Mister Hankins is exhausted both emotionally and physically. Since I was already coming back to this general area, I offered to bring Jeremy home so his father could get some rest."

  She gave off a nod, bright blue eyes glittering with something other than gratitude. "Then I guess you got a good look at the Fox Island mansion."

  "Mister Hankins' home? Sure. It's very nice."

  "It sure is. I was married to him for fifteen years, yet he dumps me for a newer model, builds her that fancy house, and sticks me with this old thing."

  Lacy glanced behind the woman, once again drank in the sight of the beautiful home, and marveled that anyone could even consider referring to it as anything less than stately. She figured that divorce on a good day was no picnic, but never had she seen up close how badly an acrimonious separation could harden a heart. Oddly enough, she felt very little sympathy for this apparently wronged woman.

  "I guess we'd better be going," Lacy said, backing away. "You have a fine son there in Jeremy."

  "Thanks," she said briskly. "And thanks again for bringing him home."

  Lacy and Mike walked back to the Jeep in silence. In fact, it occurred to Lacy that he hadn't said a word about anything except her driving. Nothing about the Hankins family. She glanced back at the Victorian home, noted that Carole Hankins had gone inside the house, and then turned back to Mike.

  "So?" she ventured. "You said you wanted to observe the victim's family. Do you mind sharing your thoughts?"

  He leaned his hip against the front fender of the Jeep and regarded her, his right eye squinting in contemplation. "For starters, I think that Brian is right about Jerry Hankins. He's probably not in any way involved in his wife's death."

  Lacy concurred. "His grief seemed awfully real and spontaneous to me. Did you get much chance to talk with his son?"

  "Not about his step-mother's death, but I did get the idea that the kid is troubled, probably no more than any other thirteen-year old boy, but troubled in any case."

  Jeremy struck her as much younger. "Are you sure he's thirteen?"

  "He will be next month. He's small and slight for his age, but he's got lots of time for growing."

  "Then he probably gets bullied at school."

  "Possibly, but I got the impression that he's fairly popular, at least with a certain class of kids. I suggested that judging from his father's house, the construction business must be awfully good, and he said that it was, but not as lucrative as leasing the family farm."

  "Jerry Hankins is a farmer?"

  "His family owned a farm south of Bismarck, and then he inherited all twenty-thousand acres. He never liked farming, so he kept the land and leases it to big farming contractors."

  "Wow. So that's how he has two great homes. It's a wonder Jeremy has anything to pout about."

  Mike shrugged. "I think his parent's obviously nasty parting has quite a lot to do with his teenage angst. Rich kid and all, I feel sorry for him."

  Since Lacy's only brother was several years older than her, and the only teenage boys she knew were the pranksters of her youth, she couldn't add anything to Mike's evaluation of Jeremy. She fought a smirk as she said, "And what did you think of the first Misses Hankins?"

  Mike uttered a laugh. "She's a real piece of work, something along the lines of a woman scorned, and all that implies."

  "She's definitely not in mourning over the loss of her husband's new wife." Which reminded Lacy of the pictures in her bag. Drawing them out, she handed them to Mike and said, "These are the photos of Hankins' late wife. I think she bears an uncanny resemblance to what Carole probably looked like twenty years ago."

  Mike glanced at the pictures and let out a low whistle. "They could pass for mother and daughter, which probably irritates the first Misses Hankins to no end. Then again, this isn't so unusual, at least, not from what I've heard about men who go for the same type over and over."

  Mike handed Lacy the photos. She put them back in her bag and said, "I guess we'd better be going. I don't want to be late for the press conference."

  He didn't move away from the fender. In fact, he settled more firmly against it, folded his arms across his chest, and said, "Do you have a sister?"

  The question, so completely out of the blue, caught Lacy off guard. "Why, yes, I do. She lives in Montana."

  He nodded as if expecting this answer. "Is she by any chance your twin?"

  Lacy frowned in confusion. "No. She's three years older than me. Why would you ask such a question?"

  "Because there's no way the State of North Dakota could have issued you a driver's license. I figure somebody had to have taken the test in your place. A twin was the only thing that made sense."

  She bit her tongue. "Look, I'm sorry about the stop sign, but I probably wouldn't have missed it if you hadn't made me so nervous."

  "How did I make you nervous? I didn't say a word until you blew though that stop sign, and only then because you scared me half to death. You really ought to take some professional driving lessons."

  Lacy narrowed her eyes. "And you are perilously close to losing your ride back to the courthou
se."

  Mike glanced up at the sunny sky, pushed away from the Jeep's fender, and stuck his hands in his pockets. "You know, it's such a nice day, I think I'll walk back to my truck. Thanks for the offer, but no thanks."

  Then he winked, turned on his heel, and headed east.

  * * *

  The press conference took place inside the sheriff's department downstairs in a classroom that was usually used for officer training. Other than Lacy and Herald photographer, Paula Barrett, there were two television reporters with their photographers, a reporter from The Associated Press, and a couple of reporters from local radio stations.

  Paula snapped photos of Sheriff Seifert as she spoke, and Lacy jotted down the few details she didn't already know. The main thing she learned was the fact that preliminary autopsy reports indicated that due to her extremely bloodshot eyes, the victim had most likely died of suffocation and that the baby had probably been removed post-mortem. Sheriff's deputies were running down a couple of leads, but there were no suspects or persons of interest as yet. Reporters were encouraged to note the missing baby and enlist the aid of citizens who might know of someone caring for an infant that might not be theirs.

  After the meeting broke up, deputies and reporters mingled a while, laughing and joking, anything to distract them from the gruesome details they'd just heard. Most groused about the 'twinkies', an affectionate term for the Minnesota Twins baseball team and yet another lost season that had them just inches from the World Series. Brian on the other hand cornered Lacy just out of earshot of the others.

  "You're going to be pretty busy reporting on that big murder trial this week, aren't you?"

  In yet another heinous crime, a meth cook/addict allegedly went nuts during the robbery of a ninety-year old woman, raped her and then beat her to death. Lacy was not looking forward to the graphic testimony at the trial or the fact that she'd be sitting near members of both the defendant's and victim's families.