Scream a novel, p.9
Scream: A Novel, page 9
Mitch looked back through the curtain. “Take a break, Jules. I’ll be right back.” He then turned to Jess. “Mind if we go outside and talk? I could use a smoke.”
“Sure.”
When they were outside, Mitch reached in his pocket and pulled out a pack of smokes and a lighter. He smacked the pack against his palm, slid out a cigarette, and flipped it into his mouth. Lighting it up, he drew in a long breath and closed his eyes. “I’ve been working on Julie in there for over an hour. I needed a break.”
He exhaled, letting the smoke filter out of his mouth in a slow, curling ribbon. “So any leads on where Amber is?”
“Not yet,” Jess said. “I was hoping you could help us with that.”
“I thought I answered all your questions last night. You really think she was abducted?”
“You don’t?”
Mitch shook his head and sucked on his cigarette. “Nope. Man, I hope not. I only knew her a couple months, but she was an independent one. The type to do what she wanted and no one was going to change her mind. I learned real quick just to accept it. ’Course, well . . . never mind.”
Jess cocked her head to the side. “Go on.”
Mitch tapped his cigarette and a pillar of ash crumbled to the sidewalk. “Well, it’s just that, we weren’t like, ‘boyfriend and girlfriend,’ if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t. Please explain.”
“We weren’t all lovey and stuff; we just liked . . . being with each other.” He looked at her and shrugged. “You know, being with each other. It was a release for both of us. We were good together.”
Jess knew exactly what he meant. It was a relationship of convenience. They both had something the other wanted. At least that was his take on it. She wondered if Amber felt the same way. “And you think she got tired of you and left?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged it off in an obvious attempt to protect his manly ego. “No big deal.”
“And left the area too?”
“I didn’t say that. I don’t know, maybe she just needed some time alone, maybe she’s visiting friends out of state. Who knows? But abducted? Man, I hope not.”
“Did she have out-of-state friends?”
Mitch shrugged and tapped his cigarette again, dispensing another pillar of ash. “How should I know? It was just an idea. I’m just saying that she seemed like the type to pick up and leave without saying anything. Abduction seems like such a stretch.”
“Her co-worker said that’s not like her at all. Said she was a reliable worker, always showed up on time and did her job.”
Mitch snorted. “Who’d you talk to, that old gal she works with, Marge?”
“Yes.”
“Amber said that old woman mothered her like a hen.” He dropped the cigarette and ground it into the sidewalk with his boot. “Then again, she probably knew Amber better than I did. Sorry, Deputy, I guess I can’t be of much help. Seems I only knew one side of Amber.”
Jess looked at the cigarette butt on the sidewalk. “You gonna just leave that there?”
Mitch looked at the butt, then up at her. “What?”
“It’s littering. I could slap you with a three-hundred-dollar fine right here.”
Mitch stooped and picked up the butt. “Thanks for the heads-up. I gotta get back to Julie. You’ll let me know when she shows up?”
“Do you want to know?”
Mitch nodded and lowered his brow. “I’d like to. Just for the peace of mind.”
“I’ll keep you updated. This probably won’t be the last you’ll see of me.”
“Great,” Mitch said, rolling his eyes.
Jess turned to leave, then stopped. “Hey, Mitch, one more thing. Why do you think Amber would leave her car at the diner? Seems kinda odd for someone running away or just going out of state, doesn’t it?”
Mitch held the glass door half open. “Don’t know. Maybe someone picked her up.”
“That out-of-state friend?”
Mitch didn’t say anything.
Jess continued. “I just think it’s odd that you were the last person she was supposed to see before she vanished. Just makes me wonder is all.”
Again, Mitch didn’t say anything. He turned and let the door slowly close behind him.
“Oh, one more thing,” Jess said. “Mitch?”
Mitch stopped the door from shutting completely and poked his head out.
“I’ll need a list of all your clients in the last, say, four weeks. OK?”
“I don’t think you can do that, can you?”
“I could get a warrant, but that would make my life complicated, and if my life gets complicated, so does yours.”
Mitch frowned. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Jess smiled. “Thanks, Mitch. I’ll be back tomorrow to pick it up.”
She walked back to her cruiser, got in, and looked at the address for her next stop. 2037 Charlestown Road. Liz Fiddler.
Lord, You need to give us a lead on this one. That girl is out there somewhere; I know it. Please keep her safe. And keep her alive.
Show me the way.
She lifted a hand and bit a hangnail from her ring finger.
➍
Jess had no problem finding the Fiddler residence. There was only one potholed road that ran through Charlestown, and the Fiddlers lived a mere half mile outside of town. Their home was a faded blue, vinyl-sided double-wide trailer that sat in the middle of a large level lot surrounded by maple saplings. To the right and left of the home were similar double-wides on similar lots. Across the road was a wide-open field that must have just been harvested. Looked like soybeans had grown there. It gradually sloped upward for maybe a quarter mile until it met a heavy tree line dense with evergreens. Where field met forest Jess noticed a thick-shouldered buck standing tall, head erect, no doubt scanning the area for predators before giving the OK for the rest of the family to venture out into the open.
Jess walked up to the house and rapped on the front door three times. Moments later she heard heavy footsteps inside the house, then the door swung open.
A tall woman with a curvy figure and frizzy bottle-blonde hair stood in the doorway. She was dressed in navy blue sweats and looked like she wasn’t accustomed to visitors dropping by. Especially visitors in uniform.
“You Deputy Foreman?” she said in a harsh tone. A blond-haired toddler, no more than two, appeared at her knees, poking his wide-eyed, food-smudged round face between her legs.
“Yes, ma’am, I am. And you must be Liz. We spoke on the phone. I need to talk to you about your sister.” Jess preferred to do interviews in person. Telephones were so impersonal, and she liked the advantage of watching body language. Though some could spin intricate tales with words, the body rarely lied.
“Did you find anything out yet?” Liz sounded half concerned, half accusing.
“No, ma’am. Not yet.”
Liz opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Well, come on in. You’ll have to excuse the mess. Christopher here is a little tyrant. It’s all I can do to keep up with him.”
Jess laughed politely and entered the house. On Sundays, she worked with the toddlers at church and knew all about keeping up with them. Their energy was an endless storehouse of vigor, and it didn’t take much for a handful of two- and three-yearolds to have her running in circles and forgetting which way was up. Christopher here looked like a bottle rocket of mischief.
The inside of the trailer was neatly decorated, everything from the waist up had its place, but the floor was littered with toys and books and puzzle pieces.
Liz weaved through the living room with a deftness that said she’d done it too many times, sidestepping and high-stepping through the maze of toddler-sized debris. “I feel like all I do all day is pick up after Christopher and cook and clean.” She shot Jess a sideways glance. “My husband likes the place neat and clean when he comes home from work. Have a seat on the sofa.”
“Oh, I don’t mind the mess,” Jess said, trying to put Liz at ease. She could tell by the tone of her host’s voice and the posture of her body that Mr. Fiddler was an overbearing person to live with—or live under. She’d seen women like Liz so many times she could spot them with her eyes closed. “I work with the toddlers at our church, so I’m used to kids and messes.” She sat on a dark brown sofa and removed a small steno pad from her shirt pocket.
Little Christopher waddled over to Jess and handed her a toy car covered in saliva. Jess took the car with two fingers. “Thank you very much. How thoughtful of you.”
Christopher squealed and laughed and slapped at his legs, then promptly fell on his bottom.
“So what do you need to know?” Liz said.
Jess studied the woman for a moment. Dark bags hung under her eyes, her colorless lips were drawn thin, and there was an emptiness in her blue eyes that was almost haunting. She’d stopped taking care of herself a long time ago, Jess thought. Her attention was now focused on cleaning up after Christopher and staying out of her husband’s doghouse. There was no time for herself. Jess had the sudden urge to steer the conversation in a different direction: Why don’t you tell me about your husband. Tell me why you’re so afraid of him. But she decided against it. Amber was the more pressing issue, and prying into Liz’s personal life might erect walls Jess would never be able to disassemble. Instead, she sent a silent prayer to heaven on Liz’s behalf: Father, show this woman Your love.
“Officer?”
Liz was talking to her. “Oh, uh . . . ”
Liz turned her attention to Christopher, who was about to topple a lamp. “Chris—no! No, no!” She lifted her eyebrows at Jess. “What do you need?”
“Um, tell me what you know about Amber’s boyfriend, Mitch Young.”
Liz lifted Christopher onto her lap, rolled her eyes, and laughed. “The loser. That’s what I call him.” She shrugged. “That’s what he is. Amber hates me saying that, but hey, it’s the truth. I call ’em like I see ’em.”
“Do you know anything about him as a person, his character?”
Liz gave another quick shrug. “He’s a loser. What more do you need to know?” She bent over and picked up a toy train, handed it to Christopher. “Look, Amber is a good person. Kind. Loving. Softhearted. She’d do anything for anybody. But she’s naive and gullible. Met this Mitch guy at some bar, he sweet-talked her, told her how beautiful she was, you know, the regular stuff most of us would just roll our eyes at. Well, not Amber. She fell head over heels for the guy. He knew it and was using her. I could tell. The way she talked about him . . . ” She turned her head and looked out the window at the field across the road. “I know the type.”
I’m sure you do. Jess’s heart ached for Liz. Women like her had lost all hope. They had been so beaten down—maybe not physically (most of them weren’t), but emotionally and psychologically—that they lived in an empty shell, void of real life. “Did she love him?”
Liz laughed. “I don’t even know if Amber knows what love is. Real love, anyway. She’s been in one bad relationship after another. I think she’s in love with the idea of being in love. She’s so nice it’s easy for men to take advantage of her. And they have.”
“Mitch said their relationship was a mutual understanding. They . . . uh, met each other’s needs and didn’t expect anything more than that.”
Liz rolled her eyes again and shook her head. “And you believed him?”
“Actually, no—”
“He’s a jerk. OK? I met him once. Amber brought him by a couple weeks ago. As soon I saw him I knew what he was after. One of these wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am types. He may not care about Amber, but I can tell you she’s head over heels for the guy. A sister knows these things. He’s using her. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen to better women than Amber.”
Jess was going to question further but decided against it. It was obvious both Liz and Amber grew up in a home where Dad was king and Mom and the kids were his obedient servants. They say women gravitate toward men that are like their fathers. Here were two perfect examples.
“Is it like her to just up and leave?” Jess asked.
Liz’s eyes widened. “You think she ran away or something?” “I don’t know what to think at this point. As you know, she just disappeared. We have no evidence to support an abduction, but none to suggest a runaway either. Is she the type to go off on her own for days on end and not tell anyone where she was going?”
Liz shook her head emphatically. “No way. Amber is naive and gullible and stupid when it comes to men, but she’s responsible. She would never just wander off and get herself lost. Not her. No way.” She laid a hand on Christopher’s head, and Jess noticed moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes. “Something happened to her. And if I were you, I’d be lookin’ real close at that loser Young. I’d bet my last pair of socks he’s involved.”
Jess closed her notepad and pocketed the pen. Standing, she smiled at Christopher and ruffled his hair. “For Amber’s sake”—she looked at Liz and felt the smile disappear—“I hope you’re wrong. But I will be keeping an eye on Mr. Young, and I’ll keep you updated.”
Liz set Christopher on the floor and stood. “Thank you, officer.”
“Let me know if you remember anything else or hear anything we would need to know about. And”—Jess placed a hand on Liz’s arm and gave a gentle squeeze—“pray, OK?”
Liz forced a smile and blinked away the gathering tears. “I will.”
➎
Mark stood outside his dad’s hospital room, leaning against an off-white wall, staring at the black-scuffed beige and brown tiled floor. The hall was busy with activity. Nurses hurried by, flipping through charts and rearranging the contents of their pockets. Food services staff pushed carts with squeaky wheels, and doctors, backs straight, heads held high, cruised by in small herds, whispering intently to one another.
Mark had stock-car’d it down Interstate 81 and in spite of Friday traffic made the trip in just under five hours. He found his dad’s room easily enough and parked himself in the hallway, trying to muster the nerve or courage, he wasn’t sure which, to enter the room and face his dad. Obviously, Dad was still alive. He could hear Mom chattering on and on about what Mrs. Guthrie, their neighbor, said about so-and-so down the street.
Mark rested his head against the wall and blew out a breath. For some reason Cheryl came to his mind. He wished she were here right now. She knew how to get through to Dad. She was the only one who could hold a real conversation with him and not walk away wanting to strangle him. Her easy-going temperament and quick wit were the perfect balance for his overbearing, opinionated, legalistic attitude. He remembered the first time Cheryl met Dad. She and Mark had gone to his parents’ house for dinner, and not five minutes into the meal Dad dropped his fork on his plate with a loud clink and straightened in his seat. He looked Cheryl right in the eyes and
• Are you fornicating with my son?
• Dad, really. I don’t think—
• Hush, boy, I’m asking her the question, not you. Well?
• Dad. C’mon. Cheryl, you don’t have to ans—
• It’s a simple question, really. Are you fornicating with my son?
She’d answered just as cool as if he’d asked her if she’d had the tires on her car rotated.
• Not yet.
And it was the truth.
Dad went back to eating his dinner and didn’t challenge her again. At least not for the rest of the evening.
A slight smile parted Mark’s lips. Cheryl. How he missed her.
Forever and ever. Cross my heart. Hope to—
Suddenly, Mom was standing beside him. “Mark! What are you doing out here?”
Mark shrugged and gave his mother a hug. “I don’t know. Just collecting my thoughts, I guess.”
Mom stepped back, leaving her hands on his shoulders. She leaned in close and lowered her voice. The loose folds around her eyes were puffy, and her nostrils were rimmed in red. “He’s doing real bad. Took a turn for the worse a couple hours ago. I’ve been trying to stay positive around him, but even he knows the time is close. Doctor says he could go anytime now. Honestly, I think he’s been holdin’ on till you got here. He really wants to see you.”
Mark swallowed hard. The sound of the screams resonated in his head. The sound of death nearing. “OK.” He gave his mother another hug, letting it linger just a little longer than usual, then stepped back. “How are you doing?”
She shrugged and dashed a tear from the corner of her eye. “I’m holding on,” she said, but the emptiness in her eyes betrayed her words. She looked old, Mark thought. Older than her sixty years. Sooner or later she’d break down. Probably after Dad was gone. She’d been putting on a front that everything was wonderful for far too long, almost her whole life. At least her whole life with Dad. When he was gone, she’d be able to take the mask off and be herself, and there was no telling what would come out.
Mark released his grip on her and entered the room. The smell of antiseptic, body odor, and urine hit him all at once and reminded him how much he hated hospitals. Dad was lying in his bed, propped up with pillows, a white sheet pulled up to his waist. When he saw Mark, he smiled and waved him over.
If Mark thought his mother looked old, Dad looked even older. He was sixty-four but looked a hundred and four. His face was gaunt, eyes hollow. Transparent skin hung off his frail frame like it was two sizes too big. It was amazing how many years someone aged spending just one day in a hospital.
“Hi, Dad,” Mark said as he made his way around the bed and sat in the chair Mom had pulled up next to it. Mom leaned against the wall next to the door, staying out of the way, letting him spend some final minutes with his dad. “How are you feeling?”
Dad tried to laugh but hacked terribly instead, the long, thin muscles in his neck becoming taut chords. “Like death is waiting out in the hall. He’s got a book with my name in it. I’m next on the list.” He tried to swallow, but his Adam’s apple wouldn’t bob. Instead, he licked his lips with a dry, white tongue. “I’m glad you came, Mark. I need to tell you something.”
