Copper River (29 page)

“They’ve got money,” Dina said. “My experience is that money usually trumps everything but a court order.”

“We’ll try it friendly first.”

Dina shrugged. “Your call.”

F
or a little while after that, the constable’s office felt like a tomb, with Charlie buried in it.

The look on Charlie’s face—a twisting of fear, anger, and betrayal—hurt Jewell deeply. She felt responsible, as if she’d guided the girl unwisely. How could she make Charlie understand that Detective Olafsson was right? Safety was the most important concern, and Charlie was far better off in the custody of the Marquette authorities than open to the threats posed by the dark woods that isolated the old resort. In those woods, anything could hide.

Poor Ren looked pathetic, studying Charlie with such concern. Maybe he felt guilty, too, because he’d been the one who told her story. Maybe he saw that as betraying her to the enemy. But he’d had no choice.

“I’m not going,” Charlie said, talking to the floor.

“It would only be for a short time, isn’t that right, Officer?” Jewell said.

“I don’t know, ma’am.”

Charlie lifted her head and pointed her chin at Jewell. “Why can’t I stay with you?”

“You wouldn’t be safe.”

Charlie turned to Dina. “Would you be there?”

“I’d be there,” Dina assured her.

“Then I’d be safe.”

A warm smile touched Dina’s lips. “I’d make sure of it.”

Charlie looked at Jewell again, accusing. “See?”

“That may be good enough for us,” Cork put in gently. “But I don’t think Detective Sergeant Olafsson will see it the same way.”

“I didn’t want to come here,” Charlie said. “I didn’t want to tell him anything. I didn’t want to tell anybody.”

Jewell got up from her chair and knelt beside Charlie. She laid her hand on the girl’s shoulder and looked into her stubborn, frightened eyes. Oh, how many times had she seen this look over the years? How many times had she spoken to Charlie like a mother?

“Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to, and we do them because we know they’re the right things to do. If you kept quiet and the men who killed Sara walked away free, how would you feel, Charlie? Especially if they’re the same men who killed your father?”

Charlie didn’t answer, but her eyes glossed with tears, and Jewell held her.

“Are you hungry?” Jewell said quietly. “Sometimes a full stomach can brighten a pretty dour prospect.”

The girl nodded.

“I’m hungry, too,” Ren said.

Jewell stood up. “Who else?”

“I’d eat,” Cork said.

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Dina threw in.

“How about a slew of cheeseburgers from Kitty’s?” Jewell suggested.

“And fries?” Ren said.

“All right, fries.”

“And a milkshake?”

“A milkshake it is. Chocolate?”

“Awesome.”

“How about you, Charlie?”

The girl gave her slender shoulders a shrug, then nodded.

“Officer?” Jewell said to the deputy.

The woman Olafsson had referred to as Flo was stocky, with a plain, square face and deep-set suspicious eyes. She’d moved to Hodder’s desk and had seated herself in his chair.

“This Kitty’s, where is it?”

“Right next door.”

“They have onion rings?”

“The best.”

“Well, then, all right. As long as you’re offering. I’ll take some rings and a small coffee, black. Here,” she said, reaching toward the back pocket of her khaki uniform pants, “let me give you some money.”

Jewell waved her off. “Think of it as small-town hospitality.”

Cork stood up. “I’ll give you a hand.”

“Me, too,” Dina said.

“Ren?” Jewell looked at her son.

He shook his head, eyeing Charlie. “I’ll stay.”

“Be right back,” Jewell said.

Outside, Harbor Avenue was lit by street lamps. Halloween was approaching, and witches, ghosts, and goblins cavorted among giant orange pumpkins in the windows of the shops along the street. Many of the establishments were already closed for the night. The sidewalks were nearly empty. Once summer ended, there was nothing you would call a nightlife in Bodine except for weekends, when leaf peepers or snowmobilers took over the town. A cool breeze came off the lake, and leaves crawled the street with a scraping sound like crabs across rock.

“The food was a good idea, Jewell,” Dina said. “But are we really going to let them take Charlie?”

“You have a better idea?” Cork asked.

“Piece of cake to spring her.”

“Don’t forget, Dina, I’m trying to keep a low profile here. And the truth is, Charlie’s much safer in their hands.”

“Did you take a good look at her?” Dina persisted. “Kid looks like she’s about to be tortured.”

“It won’t be a picnic, I’m sure,” Jewell said, “but Charlie’s a very strong young woman.”

“Strong women get scared, too.”

“Let it go, Dina,” Cork said. “We’re not interfering.”

She eyed him with obvious disappointment. “This from you? A few days ago in Minnesota, I watched you walk into the wilderness knowing that a crazy man was out there waiting to kill you, and you did it to protect a young woman you didn’t even particularly like. But for Charlie you won’t cross a crumby hick cop?”

“I’m a crumby hick cop, too, Dina. And I understand where he’s coming from.”

“Let’s stop arguing and get some food,” Jewell broke in. “We’ll all think better once we’ve eaten.”

Kitty’s Café was the place locals gathered for a cozy meal and community. In the morning, it usually bustled with activity, the half dozen tables, the three booths, and the small counter full for two or three hours after the door opened at six
A.M.
The daily special was chalked on a blackboard beside the malt machine. Tonight the special was Swedish meatballs, mashed potatoes and gravy, peas, and peach pie. It was a quiet night. A couple Jewell didn’t recognize sat at a booth, both eating the meatballs. Gordon Ackerson was hunched at the counter, a ball cap on his old head, his arthritic hands working at cutting a fried pork tenderloin while he talked to Marlys Johnson, the waitress.

“Damn, girl, long time,” Marlys said when she saw Jewell walk in.

Marlys was a gentle tank of a woman with hennaed hair and folds of fat that hung so pendulously from her arms they seemed like loose white wings.

“Hey, Marlys,” Jewell responded. She ambled to the counter and put her hand on the shoulder of the old man there. “Evening, Gordie.”

His mouth was full at the moment, and he simply lifted his fork in greeting.

Marlys wiped her plump hands on a dish towel. “Saw you troop into Ned’s office a while ago. Thought maybe it was a lynch mob or something. Was that Charlie Miller with you?”

Jewell took a stool. Cork and Dina stood behind her. “Yeah.”

“How’s she doing, poor kid?”

“Hanging in there.”

“I hope they get to the bottom of things pretty quick.” Marlys leaned on the counter, the flesh of her arms pooling there. “Lot of nasty rumors floating around.”

“About Charlie?”

“Folks look at her shaved head, those piercings, and that’s enough for them. Hell, anybody really knows Charlie knows those rumors are a load of crap.”

“What are they saying?”

“Heard she took a ball bat to her old man’s head,” Gordon said. He talked around a big bite of tenderloin and his words were mushy. “Splattered his brains like watermelon, eh.”

“Jesus, Gordon.” Marlys slapped his arm with her towel.

“What I heard,” he said innocently.

Jewell tapped her hand on the counter. “I need to order a few things to go.”

“Sure, hon.” Marlys drew herself up, pulled the pen from behind her ear and an order pad from her apron. “What’ll you have?”

A little rumble of metallic thunder came from the kitchen, followed by a few choice, unprintable epithets.

“Al,” Marlys said, rolling her eyes. “The fan on the grill vent’s gone out again. Super-mechanic insists he can fix it without calling in an expensive repairman.”

“Can you still cook?” Jewell asked.

“Oh, sure.”

“In that case, I need five cheeseburgers, a couple orders of fries, two chocolate shakes, an order of onion rings, and a small coffee.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You want anything to drink?”

“Diet Coke,” Dina said.

Cork said, “Pass.”

Marlys finished jotting. “I’ll put this right in for you. Ready in fifteen minutes.”

“We’ll come back,” Jewell said.

“I’ll have everything sacked and waiting, sweetie. Night, folks,” she said to Cork and Dina.

Jewell gave Gordie’s back a friendly pat. “Stay out of trouble, hear?”

The old man simply raised his fork in farewell.

They stepped once more into the night. A truck drove by slowly, the street lamps reflecting off the mirror of the dark windows. Jewell couldn’t make out the driver, didn’t even try, though later she’d think a lot about this moment.

“Okay, food,” Dina said. “That’s one problem solved. I still think we ought to consider doing something about Charlie.”

“If you’ve got an idea that doesn’t involve kidnapping or interfering with a lawful investigation, I’d love to hear it,” Cork said.

As they stood on the sidewalk in front of Kitty’s, the door to the constable’s office banged open and Charlie burst out. She sprinted across the street and dashed into an alley. A moment later the deputy rushed out. She looked at Jewell and the others.

“Did you see her?”

Jewell didn’t answer.

“The alley,” Cork said, pointing. “But you’ll never catch her.”

“Gotta try,” the deputy said, and gave chase.

In the quiet after, Ren appeared. “Did she make it?”

“At the rate she was going, she’s halfway to Chicago by now,” Cork replied. He glanced at Dina. “You could have caught her.”

“No way was I going to stop that girl,” Dina said.

“What happened?” Jewell asked Ren.

He stared toward the dark alley where Charlie had vanished. “The lady was like reading something she found in Constable Hodder’s desk. She wasn’t paying any attention and Charlie just ran. It was easy.”

Cork said, “I’d hate to be in her shoes when Olaffson gets back.”

“Should we be worried about Charlie?” Ren asked.

“She did a pretty good job of taking care of herself before,” Dina said.

Ren considered that and finally nodded.

“No use standing out here,” Jewell said. “Let’s get inside.”

In Ned’s office, she crossed to his desk and found the top drawer pulled out. Lying open inside was the wire-bound notebook. She understood that the deputy had been reading Ned’s poetry. Maybe bored or maybe looking for something else, the deputy had opened the drawer and there it was. The handwriting was small, precise. The poem was untitled. Jewell was tempted to read it but hated the thought of trespassing on Ned’s privacy. Although the deputy was ignorant of the importance of the notebook, Jewell understood only too well. She started to close it, but as the pages flipped, her eye caught a title she couldn’t let pass:

She shut the notebook without reading further, thinking with a flutter in her stomach,
Beauty? Me?