Magic hour: a novel (10 page)

What in the world was this guy doing
here
?

Running away. That had to be it. Rain Valley newcomers pretty much fell into two groups: people running away from something, and people running away from everything. She couldn’t help wondering which category he fell into.

She looked up suddenly and found him studying her closely. “Come with me,” he said, taking her by the arm.

Julia let him lead her down the wide, white hallway. Ellie was on his other side. After a few more turns they came to a big picture window that showcased some kind of child care center. There, they stopped. Max stood so close to Julia they were nearly touching. She took a step sideways to put space between them.

The room beyond the glass was an ordinary looking playroom with a small table and chairs, a wall of cubbies filled with toys and games and books, a sink and counter area, a row of empty cribs and a hospital bed. “Where is she?”

Max nodded. “Watch.”

In silence, they waited for something. Finally, a nurse walked past them and entered the playroom. She set a tray of food down on the table, then left.

Julia was about to ask a question when she saw a flash of movement under the bed.

She leaned forward. Her breath clouded the glass. She wiped it away impatiently and eased back.

Fingers appeared beneath the bed, then a hand. After a few more long moments, a child crawled out from under the bed. She wore a faded hospital gown that was too big for her.

The child—girl—had long, tangled black hair and deeply tanned skin. Even from this distance the silvery network of scars along her arms and legs were visible. Her body was hunched over, as if she’d be more comfortable on all fours. After every step she paused, going utterly still except for a quick, furtive cocking of her head. She sniffed the air, seeming to follow the scent to the food. Once there, at the table, she descended on the food like a wild animal; while she ate, she never relaxed, never stopped scanning the room and sniffing the air.

Julia felt a chill move down her spine. She reached down and quietly opened her briefcase, pulling out a notepad and pen. As she observed the girl, she began making notes. “What do we know about her?”

“Nothing,” Ellie answered. “She just walked into town one day. Daisy Grimm thinks she came looking for food.”

“From which direction?”

It was Max who answered. “From the woods.”

The woods.
Julia remembered the Olympic National Forest. Hundreds of thousands of acres of mossy darkness; much of it was still unexplored. It was the realm of myth and legend, where signs and wonders existed. Land of the Sasquatch.

“We think she was lost there for a few days,” Ellie said.

Julia didn’t respond. This was more than a lost day or two in the national park. “Has she spoken?”

Max shook his head. “No. We don’t think she understands us, either. She spends all her time under the bed. We bathed and diapered her when she was unconscious, but we haven’t been able to get close enough to change the diapers. She’s made no attempt to use the toilet.”

“Well,” Julia said, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with, shall we?” She turned to her sister. “Go to the cafeteria. Get me a sampling of chocolates and fudges. Also, a slice of apple pie and a piece of chocolate cake.”

“Anything else?”

“Dolls. Lots of them. Preferably with clothes that come on and off, but not Barbies. Cuddly dolls. And a stuffed animal. You said she was with a wolf pup, right? Get me a stuffed wolf.”

“Gotcha. Back in a bit.” Ellie turned and hurried off.

To Max, she said, “Tell me about those ligature marks on her ankle.”

“I think—” He was interrupted by the hospital intercom system paging him to the E.R., stat.

He handed her the file. “It’s all in here, Julia, and it isn’t pretty. If you want to get together later to discuss—”

“The chart is fine for now. Thank you.” She flipped open the folder and began reading. She barely noticed when Max left her.

The entire first page was a catalogue of the child’s extensive scarring, including what appeared to be a poorly healed knife wound on her left shoulder.

Max was right. Whatever had happened to this child, it wasn’t pretty.

FIVE

O
N LEAVING THE HOSPITAL,
E
LLIE WASN’T SURPRISED TO FIND
a crowd outside. They were standing in formation, like a landing party from a distant era, with the Grimm sisters positioned at the front in a loosely formed triangle. As always, Daisy was in the lead. Today she wore a floral housedress beneath a heavy sweater. Green rubber boots ended an inch below her knees and two inches below the eyelet hem of the dress. Her dove gray hair was pulled back into a bun so tight it caused her eyes to tilt slightly up. The ever-present daisy necklace and earrings dwarfed her pale, wrinkled face.

“Chief Barton,” Daisy said, moving regally forward—or, at least as regally as one could move in rubber boots, carrying her dead husband’s ashes in an urn. The cowichan sweater she wore—a bulky gray and white Native American design—was at least two sizes too big. “We heard you were headed this way.”

“Ned saw you turn off the highway. He called Sandi, who saw you turn onto Bay Road,” Violet said, nodding with each word, as if the motion were necessary punctuation.

“What’s the story, Chief?” someone yelled from the back of the crowd.

Ellie was pretty sure it was Mort Elzik, the local reporter who’d broken the story in this morning’s paper.

“Hush, Mort,” Daisy said sternly, using her former principal’s voice to full effect. “We’ve rallied the town, Chief, just like you ordered. Folks really came through. We have toys and books and games and clothes. Even a scooter. That child will want for nothing. Shall I take them to her hospital room? Where is she, poor thing?”

Marigold stepped forward, lowering her voice as she said, “Psych ward?” She glanced at the crowd around her, got them all nodding. “On E.R., they
always
get a consult from psych.”

“What happened to the wolf?” It was Mort again, trying now to push through the crowd.

Suddenly everyone was talking. Daisy couldn’t stop them and Ellie didn’t try. They’d lose steam soon enough on their own. It was, after all, almost Happy Hour.

One by one they’d check their watches, mumble something, and head back to their cars. Daisy Grimm would lead the pack. No one could remember a day when she hadn’t been at the Bigfoot Bar at the start of Happy Hour, with the black urn on the stool beside her. Half-price boilermakers were her favorite poison. She proudly said that she never had more than two. Or less.

“Who is she?” Mort asked in a loud, exasperated voice.

That shut everyone up.

“That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, Mort. Peanut is back at the station, doing everything she can to find out.”

“You see my article today? It was the front page.”

“I haven’t seen the paper yet, Mort. Sorry. What’s your headline?”

“Mowgli lives.” He swelled up with pride. “I love referencing the classics. Anyhoo, it got me a call from the
National Enquirer.
”

Ellie winced. She hadn’t thought about the sensational angle to this story.
Flying Wolf Girl Lands in Rain-Forest Town.
This wasn’t just local news.

And now Julia was involved.

Oops.

“Did you ask people to contact us with information on her possible identity?”

Mort looked stung. “Of course. I’m a professional, you know. I’d like to interview her.”

“Wouldn’t we all? I’ve got a psychiatrist in with her now. I’ll let you know if we get any information. As to the items you’ve all gathered—”

“It’s Julia!” Violet yelled, clapping her hands together.

“Of course!” Marigold chimed in. “Ned wondered who the blond woman was.”

“I can’t believe I missed the obvious. You went to the airport to fetch her,” Daisy said.

“Dogs fetch,” Marigold said with a sniff. Once a high school English teacher, always a high school English teacher.

Mort started to bounce up and down like a kid at the front of the
Pirates of the Caribbean
line. “I want to interview your sister.”

“I have not confirmed that Julia Cates has been contacted in this case,
nor
that she is here.” Ellie looked directly at Mort. “Is that clear? I don’t want to see her name in print.”

“Maybe if you promised me an exclusive—”

“Stop talking.”

“But—”

Daisy whopped him in the back of the head. “Mort Elzik, don’t you even
think
of disobeying Ellie. Your mother would turn in her grave at the very thought
.
And Lord knows I’ll call your daddy.”

“Don’t break that story, Mort.” Ellie added, “Please,” because they both knew he could do what he wanted. But they had decades of history between them. At times like this they were more high school newspaper geek and Homecoming Queen than reporter and police chief. In small towns, the social dynamic was like concrete; it set early and hard.

“Okay,” he said, drawing the word out into a whine.

Ellie smiled. “Good.”

Daisy said, “What do we do with the supplies, Chief?”

“Thank you, Daisy. Why don’t you put everything in my carport? Be sure and get every donor’s name. I’ll want to tell them thanks.”

Marigold patted her vinyl notebook. “Already done.”

Ellie nodded. “Good. I knew I could count on you all. Now, I’d best get to work. We’ve got an identity to track down. Thanks for all your help. That kid was lucky to stumble into our town.”

“We’ll take care of her,” someone said.

Ellie headed across the parking lot. She could hear the buzz of gossip behind her; it grew softer with each step. Tonight, at both the Bigfoot and The Pour House, speculation would be served more often than pitchers of Olympia beer. The subjects would be Julia and the wolf girl in equal proportions. She should have seen it coming.

Julia had always been different in a town that prized sameness. A quiet, gawky girl who’d somehow been born into the wrong family, and then—unimaginably—proven that she was practically a genius. The townspeople hadn’t known what to make of her when she belonged here; God knew they wouldn’t know what to say to her now.

Ellie climbed up into her mom’s old Suburban—“Madge” to those in the know—and drove back to the station house. All the way there she added things to her mental to-do list. Today was the day she’d find the girl’s identity. It
had
to be. Either someone would read a newspaper and come forward or (and this was the best answer) she would find the answer in the cold case files and become a hero.

Ellie parked in her spot and went into the station.

Viggo Mortensen stood in her office. Not in the flesh, of course. A cardboard cutout of him in full Lord of the Rings regalia. A white construction-paper dialogue bubble had been taped next to his lips. It read:
Forget Arwen. It’s you I want.

Ellie burst out laughing.

Peanut came around the corner and walked into the office, holding two cups of coffee.

“How did you know I’d need this today?” Ellie said.

Peanut handed her a cup of coffee. “A good guess.”

“And Aragorn? Where was he hiding?”

“In the projection booth at the Rose Theater. Ned loaned him to me.”

“So I have to return him?”

Peanut grinned. “Tomorrow. Maybe the next day. I told Ned it’d be a while, seeing how badly you need a man in your bedroom. Ned said cardboard was better than nothing.”

Ellie couldn’t help smiling. “Thanks, Peanut.” Then she thought of her to-do list and it was easy to let go of that smile. “Well, I guess we’d best get to work.”

Peanut reached down to her cluttered desk and pulled up a single sheet of paper from the mess. “Here’s where we are so far.” She put on her rhinestone-encrusted Costco reading glasses. “The Center for Lost and Missing Children is running a database search. Their first pass brought up over ten thousand potential matches. They’re trying to narrow it down. Her exact age would help.”

Ellie slowly sat down. Her dream of heroism fizzled like an old balloon. “Ten thousand missing girls. God help us, Peanut. It would take us decades to go through all the information.”

“Get this, El. There are eight hundred thousand missing children cases a year in this country. That’s almost two thousand a day. Statistically, fifty percent of them will be white girls, kidnapped by someone they know. Is she white for sure?”

“Yes.” Ellie felt overwhelmed suddenly. “Did the FBI get back to us?”

“They’re waiting for proof of kidnapping or a solid identification. It could just be a lost girl from Mystic or Forks. Technically we have no proof of a crime yet. They recommend we canvass the town . . . again. And the DSHS is putting pressure on us to identify a temporary foster parent. We’ll need to get on that. She can’t stay in the hospital forever.”

“Did you call the Laura Recovery Center?”