Maiden Rock (12 page)

“He’s a good deputy.”

“Maybe it’s just that I was taught how to do everything by the book. Out in the field I suppose you have to be more relaxed.”

When they opened the thick door to her cell, Margie was sitting on the edge of her bed, rocking and humming. Her long dark blond hair hung over her face, but patches of her scalp showed, scabbed over. On her hands were a pair of mittens. She didn’t look up when the two women entered her cell.

Amy wondered if the girl needed some psychiatric help. She looked so withdrawn. “Margie, can we ask you a few questions?”

The thin girl shrugged, her shoulders lifting the orange prison outfit, but she still didn’t look at them.

“This is Claire. She’s another deputy sheriff. We had a girl jump off a cliff under the influence of meth, her first time taking it, and we want to ask you some questions about where she might have gotten the stuff.”

“She die?” Margie asked, little inflection in her voice.

“She did.”

“Lucky her.”

“Why do you say that?” Claire asked.

“Then she’ll never end up here.” Margie added with more enthusiasm, “Plus the first time is the best. Imagine going out on that.”

“When was your first time?” Amy asked, wanting to keep her talking.

“I was seventeen. Seems like a million years ago. I was in love with this guy and he had some glass. He said it was primo. I tried it. The guy and I broke up a few months later, but I kept doing the meth.”

“How often?”

“Started out about twice a week. Then more. Then all the time.”

“Where’d you get it?” “Around. Wherever I could.” “You didn’t have one dealer.”

“Not exactly. I could get it from guys pretty easy. You know, trade ‘em for it. A little sex for a little crank.”

“Can you give us any names of any guys who are dealing?”

“A guy named Hitch is selling around here. Although a lot of crap is coming in from Mexico.” “Is that his first name or his last?”

Margie gave a hoarse laugh. “You’ve gotta be kidding. This isn’t like a social event when you’re buying crank. All I know is that’s what everyone calls him. Hitch.”

“Do you know where he is—this Hitch guy?”

“Last I heard he was shacked up with Letty in her trailer out on double D.”

Amy and Claire looked at each other. Funny how it was all circling around that trailer fire.

“That trailer burned down. Can you think of any other place he might be?”

Margie didn’t even pause long enough to think. She started shaking her head and her hair covered her face. “Don’t know.”

“Thanks, Margie. If you think of anything else, please let us know.”

As they were turning to leave, Margie finally lifted up her head. Claire stared at her. She had the face of an angel. Soft blue eyes, full pink lips, a kind of innocence not often seen in a teenager.

“Hey,” Margie said. “I think I should see a doctor.”

“What’s going on?” Amy asked. “You still having a hard time coming off the meth?”

“Yes, but that’s not it.” She paused, wet her lips with her tongue, then said, “My period’s late.”

***

Meg stared down at her cousin Rachel, sleeping in her lap. The little girl had fallen asleep while Meg was reading to her from a favorite book. Rachel had only just turned three but,

because she was small for her age, she still fit in Meg’s lap. That wouldn’t be the case for much longer.

Earlier that day, Bridget had called to see if Meg could babysit for an hour or two. Rich, acting “en loco parentis,” said she could.

Meg knew that she could have gently moved Rachel to the couch and watched TV or something, but she just sat there with the child sprawled across her lap. Penance. Everything seemed like penance.

If I’m just good enough for the rest of my life, maybe I’ll make up for what I did to Krista, was the way she thought about it.

Just when she didn’t think she could sit still anymore, Bridget’s car pulled into the driveway. Meg stood up carefully and tried to settle Rachel into the couch, but the little girl stirred and woke.

“Is at my mommy?”

“Yes, indeed, it is.”

“You going home?”

“Pretty soon.”

Bridget came in hauling two bags of groceries. After depositing the bags on the coffee table, she hugged both of them at the same time. “My two favorite girls,” she said.

Rachel snuggled back into the couch, popped her thumb in her mouth and closed her eyes again.

“How’d it go?” Bridget asked.

“She’s an angel.”

“Hardly.”

“She was today.”

“I told her to be good, that cousin Meg was having a hard time.” Bridget carted her bag of groceries into the kitchen and Meg followed. “You have time for a drink?”

“Sure. Nothing too exciting waiting for me back home.”

Bridget grabbed two ginger ales out of the refrigerator and they both sat up on stools at the counter. “I haven’t talked to you since the funeral. How’re you doing?”

“I can see why people do drugs,” Meg said, partly to shock her aunt and partly because it was true. “I don’t want to be here and I don’t want to feel this way. I’d take almost anything to stop feeling so bad.”

“Yup, there are times when drugs do help. I wouldn’t have a job otherwise.”

“Have you ever done drugs, Aunt Bridget?”

“What do you mean by that? Have I ever taken an illegal substance?”

“Yes.” Meg realized she wasn’t sure how her aunt would answer.

Bridget took a long swallow of ginger ale, then tapped the top of the can with her fingernail. “I guess you’re old enough to know this. I did some speed many long years ago to help me study when I was in college. Wouldn’t recommend it. But that was a long time ago and I haven’t done anything since I got my Pharm Degree.”

“You did speed? But you’re nearly a doctor.”

“I am a doctor. But doctors can be bad substance abusers. Don’t tell your mom about this conversation. In fact, forget I even told you.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes and no. It made me anxious and jittery, but I did get my work done.”

“What was it like?”

“Like chugging a huge pot of coffee. Made me feel like my skin was stretched too tight over my body.” “Thanks for telling me.”

“Why do you ask?”

“You heard about Krista, that she did meth before she died?”

“Yes, your mom told me. I’m really sorry.”

“I’ve just been wondering about it. What she felt and all.”

“Well, meth is a whole nother story. Baddest stuff out there. Worse than heroin in many ways. More addictive. Don’t even think about it.”

“I wasn’t,” Meg lied.

***

Stretched out on the bed, Rich watched Claire folding her laundry. She folded clothes the way she did most everything—slow and steady. After he had dyed some of her underwear blue by putting it in with his jeans, they had decided that each of them should do their own laundry. Now that Meg was old enough, she did her own too.

Claire continued to talk about her day, how Margie had asked to see a doctor. “I pray she’s not pregnant. She’s not old enough to take care of herself. She’s totally fucked up from the meth. She doesn’t need a kid now.”

“Who knows. Might pull her together.”

Claire stopped and looked over at him. Rich wouldn’t call the glare on her face one of complete disgust, but it was full of disdain. “That kind of risk is not worth a child’s life.”

Rich shrugged.

Claire continued, snapping t-shirts as she talked. “This kid has picked half her head raw. She weighs about twenty pounds. She has no home, didn’t finish school, no job, no support, probably

facing a jail sentence. I wouldn’t doubt she has brain damage from her drug use. One of the many times I think an abortion is in order. This is not the time to have a baby.”

“I agree.” Rich knew not to argue with her when she was in this mood.

Claire finished folding the last shirt and took a deep breath. “So how was Meg today?”

Rich had already decided he wasn’t going to tell her about Meg driving off the road and into a field. “I think she did okay. She didn’t want to stay at the funeral, but I wasn’t surprised. When she got home, she asked if she could go for a walk in the woods. I let her. Bridget called later and wanted her to watch Rachel. That okay?”

“Of course. Might be good for her to be around Bridget. She might open up more with her than me.”

Claire put the last of her clothes away in the drawer, then slid in bed next to him. “How is she ever going to get over this?”

“Slowly.” Rich put an arm around her. His book was resting on his chest. “I think it has helped her to learn about the meth. Given her something else to focus on. She said she’s going to ask around school.”

“Good.”

Claire leaned in to kiss him goodnight. She smelled like lemons. Must be her shampoo. He sniffed her neck. “You’re my drink of lemonade. Sweet and sour at the same time.”

She kissed him hard, then pulled back, “Hey, do you know anybody named Hitch?”

Rich thought for a moment. That name did sound familiar. “There was a guy that played football over in Monona. He was a lot younger than me. Think his name was Ben Hitchcock. He came from a big family other side of Durand. Could be one of his siblings. Or him.”

A
my shivered in the early morning cool as she slipped into the squad car parked in her driveway. The car thermometer said the outside temperature was only 35 degrees. She snuggled further into her jacket. Another hard frost last night. About right for early November. As she drove to town, she noticed most of the leaves were down, except for the oaks.

She decided to stop off at Arlene’s before she went to the sheriff’s department. Might be a good idea to catch her in the morning before she’d had too much coffee. Maybe Jared wouldn’t have left for school yet and she could talk to him too.

As she pulled up in front of the bungalow on the outskirts of Durand, Amy could tell that Arlene was having a hard time keeping up her home since her husband died. It showed in the little things: a window screen hanging loose, tiny trees growing out of the gutter, paint peeling under the windows.

The door swung open before Amy had a chance to knock. Arlene backed out of the house wearing a pink chenille bathrobe and carrying a recycling container full of cans and bottles. When she saw Amy she jumped.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Amy said, stepping forward and taking the container out of Arlene’s arms. “How’d

the funeral go? I had to leave early and couldn’t stay for the luncheon.”

“Amy, thanks. I hardly remember what happened yesterday. It’s all been such a blur.”

They walked to the curb and Amy put the container down where Arlene pointed.

“I’m so sorry about Letty. It’s just a shame. She wasn’t that old, was she?”

Arlene pulled her bathrobe tight around herself. “She was in her thirties. Twelve years younger than me. My mom’s menopausal surprise.”

They walked back to the door and stood there, talking about the funeral: who had been there, who hadn’t shown up. Amy could tell that Arlene was getting cold, standing outside in her bathrobe, but she didn’t seem to want to invite Amy in.

She’d have to do it herself. “Listen, Arlene, I need to talk to you about what happened to Letty. Can I come in and sit down?”

“Where are my manners? Of course, come on in.” Arlene led the way as they entered the house through the kitchen. She walked right to the coffeepot and poured them both a cup of coffee, didn’t even bother to ask Amy if she wanted one, just handed it to her black.

“Just what I needed.” After taking a sip, Amy said, “Good coffee.”

“I figure if you’re going to make it every day, it might as well be good. I put an egg in it like my mom did.” Amy sniffed. “An egg?”

“That’s the Swedish way. Mellows it out, I guess.” “Where are the boys?” Amy asked. “Both sleeping.”

“Isn’t Jared going to school today?”

Arlene looked down at her coffee. “He just hasn’t been up to it. He was real close to his aunt. And then that friend of his from school died, Krista. He seemed to take that real hard.”

Amy knew that was true. But wondered if that was the real reason he wasn’t going to school. “How’s he doing?”

“Not great.”

Amy wondered what they were talking about. She decided to push Arlene a little, see what she would reveal. “He looked a little rough yesterday.”

“He’s a good kid. He’ll come through it.”

Amy wondered if Arlene had guessed at Jared’s meth use. She must have. She was no dummy. She knew what her sister had been doing.

Amy pulled out her notebook. “I need to ask you some questions.”

“You’re going to write them down?”

“Yes, that way I have a record.”

“What about?”

Amy figured she’d start with Letty. “I need to know what your sister was up to, who her friends were.”

“Why?”

“Arlene, you know what she was doing. We’re pretty sure the trailer caught on fire when she was making methamphetamine.”

Horror flashed across Arlene’s face, and hatred. “I knew that stuff would kill her. It is the devil’s work that drug.”

“Yes, I think you’re right about that. Who did she hang out with?”

Arlene shook her head. “I wish I could tell you, but I don’t know. There was one guy I saw a few times. Some creepy biker guy.”

“You don’t know his name.”

“I know it sounds strange, but I don’t. I never was introduced to him, just saw him once or twice when I’d stop by.” “Letty never mentioned him?”

“Other than taking Davy whenever she wanted me to, I haven’t had much contact with her the last three-four years. She wouldn’t quit using that crap and I didn’t want to watch her die.”

Arlene stroked her hands as if she was pulling on gloves. “I tried to help her. I did everything to get her to treatment, but she wouldn’t go.” Arlene sobbed as if something was caught in her throat. “She was my sister. I really tried to help her.”

“I know you did. Everyone knows you did. There was nothing more you could do. Thank god you had Davy with you.”

“Yes, poor little tyke. What am I going to tell him about his mom?”