Maiden Rock (21 page)

“I can talk if I want.”

“No, I’ll tell her.” He turned to Claire. “It was me. I did it. I was at the police station and one of the deputies told me where he was. So we went there, to that house. We walked in and he took a swing at me and then I stuck the knife in him. Is he dead?”

Claire was surprised how matter-of-fact Roger was acting. “Yes, he’s quite dead.”

“Good.”

Claire stepped in closer to him and said, “Roger, this is serious. This is first degree murder. You might want to talk to your lawyer before you say anything else to me. Do you want me to remind you of your rights?”

“I killed the bastard. What more is there to say?”

Emily held onto her daugher’s new gravestone and managed to haul herself up. “Roger, let me tell it.” Roger shushed her again.

“It’s like with chickens …” Emily began, then seemed to get lost.

Claire prompted her, “You raise chickens?”

“Yeah, every year we get a couple dozen newly hatched chicks mailed to us. The girls love it. We keep them warm in the bathroom in a big box.”

“And who slaughters the chickens?”

Emily said, “I do. I can do it so fast, they never know what happened to them. I’ve done it all my life.” “Then you cut them up.” “Yeah, I cut them up.”

“Emily, do you have a favorite knife that you use for that?” Emily’s face fell. “I do.”

“Do you know where that knife is right now?” Emily’s eyes dropped and she nodded her head.

“Where?”

“He was going to kill Roger. Even though he was skinny, he was strong. He was strangling him. I couldn’t let him kill my husband.”

“What did you do?”

“I brought the knife with just in case. Roger didn’t know I had it. I put it in my purse. Roger tried to leave without me, but I wanted to come along. I needed to know what he was going to do. I was worried about him. Roger’s been crazy since Krista died.”

“The knife?” Claire reminded her gently.

“Yeah, I had it in my purse. He had his hands around Roger’s neck and was choking him. I took out the knife and I slid it in under his ribs.”

“You knew where to put it?”

“I did. I’ve had a lot of practice.” Emily looked down at her hands. “He was just another animal.”

A
t the end of Jared’s intake interview, Libby told him that since he had been off meth for over five days, he could go straight onto the floor. She made it sound like this was some great honor.

Jared didn’t want to be on the floor, whatever that was. He didn’t want to be in this rehab place at all. But his mom had left him there and paid the money so he figured he might as well go through with it.

Libby explained to him that he could leave whenever he wanted to. But the treatment center still felt like prison.

When Jared walked into his assigned room, a bearded hulk of a man sat on the edge of a twin bed, cutting his toenails. The guy had to weigh a good two hundred and fifty pounds. Obviously not into meth.

Jared knew this was the young adult section so the guy couldn’t be older than twenty-five, but he looked a lot older. He even had streaks of gray in his hair.

Two twin beds were pushed to each side of the room, two dressers, and two bedside tables with alarm clocks on them. A bathroom could be seen through a door at the far end of the room.

Jared sat down on the unoccupied twin bed.

The hulk looked up and nodded. “How’s it going?” Jared didn’t know what to say. “First time?” “What?” Jared said. “First time in treatment?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Food’s not bad.” The hulk flipped the toenail clippers up in the air and caught it. “What’s your drug?”

“Meth.”

“Tough, man. But it’s possible to get out from under it.” “What’s yours?” Jared asked.

“Whatever I can get my hands on, man. Whatever I can get my hands on. I’ve done it all. Mix it up and pour it down. That’s what I say. Just pour it down.”

“What do we do?”

“Whatever they tell us to. Whatever they tell us.” The hulk looked him up and down. “Looks like you could use a little food. Like I said already, chow’s okay here. What do I call you, dude?”

“Jared.”

“Hey, Jared. Name’s Duke. You can just call me Duke.”

“Hi, Duke.”

“Do you snore?” “Not that I know of.”

“We’re going to get along fine. Long as you don’t snore. Can’t stand that snoring. I need my sleep. My beauty sleep.” As Duke said the last line, he started to chuckle. The sound came from deep inside of him, sounding like an echo in a well. He went back to cutting his toenails.

Jared looked around the bare room. Not even a chair. Maybe that was so they would leave their rooms and socialize in the communal areas. All he wanted to do was climb under the covers and never come out.

He couldn’t believe two hours ago he had a good hit of meth in his hands and that Meg had grabbed it away.

Jared thought of what happened the last time he did meth, up on the Maiden Rock with Krista and Hitch. Hitch had pulled out a few hits and offered it around. Jared had snorted up and Krista had turned it down.

But for some reason Jared had wanted Krista to try it.

He wanted her to feel the rush of the first time, the lift off, the never wanting to land again on the earth.

He told her she would love it. He told her it would make her feel like she’d never felt before: more beautiful, smarter, more powerful.

She smiled at him and said, “You sure?”

He nodded. He laid out a hit on his palm. She snorted it out of his hand. Half an hour later, she was gone.

Jared said out loud, “I think I killed someone.”

Duke looked up from clipping his toenails. “I hear you, man. I hear ya.”

***

Night had settled and Meg stared at the lake stretched out below her like the darkest carpet of water. It looked possible to walk on it. Even without a drug. She felt the tinfoil package still in her hands.

She was sitting as close to the edge as she could get. There wasn’t exactly an edge to the Maiden Rock. It was more like a limestone knoll that rounded over until it disappeared. Grasses and flower stalks covered the top of it. She was sitting at the edge of the grasses, her feet on the limestone. If she pushed off, she would fly out into space and then down a few hundred feet into the tops of trees, the woods at the bottom of the bluffs.

All she could see out in front of her was air and then far below the lake.

Suddenly a bird flew up the face of the bluff underneath where she was sitting and came within a few feet of her.

She knew what the bird was—a peregrine falcon. She had heard that they had started a colony here on the bluffs. The falcon soared in the updraft, the fastest bird in North America. After a few minutes, another peregrine joined the first.

Her heart lifted with them. She watched the birds roll and sway in the invisible wind that carried them along.

Suddenly, Meg was with Krista. She saw Krista thinking she was a bird, thinking she could do anything she wanted to and jumping off the rock into the sky. Meg hoped that at that moment Krista had felt complete joy, exquisite freedom. She hoped that Krista never knew fear as she plummeted to the ground, that she enjoyed her last moments of life as much as she had enjoyed all the others.

Meg watched the falcons and felt that same wind holding her up. The earth was a wonderful place to be. She was not ready to leave it.

She turned over the piece of tinfoil and watched the powder blow away. She understood as much as she could.

She didn’t need to be Krista. Nor Winona, for that matter.

Laying back on the ground, Meg stared up at the sky. She had her whole life ahead of her. Why waste any of it.

“Hey,” a voice said, close behind her.

She recognized the timbre of the voice. This voice had whispered in her ear and sent shivers through her bones.

She pushed herself up, turned, and saw Curt. He was standing about ten feet away, still in the trees. A bolt of happiness shot through her at the sight of him. She patted the ground next to her.

“Rich is looking for you,” he said as he stepped toward her. He slipped on the grass, then caught himself. His usual awkward self. “He came to the farm and asked me where you might be.”

“I’m sorry. I hope he wasn’t too worried. What did you tell him?” Meg looked up at him. “How’d you find me?”

“Just a good guess. I didn’t tell him you would be here because I wasn’t positive. Plus, I wanted to find you myself.”

“Cuz you’re my soul mate,” she said, falling back into their patter.

“No, I’m the soul man. Are you okay?” he asked, sinking down next to her.

Meg just pointed at the two falcons, soaring so close below them that she felt like she could almost touch their feathers, hear their wings flap, and watch their heads turn to take in their winding snake of a world.

“Why can’t we be like them? Getting along like that.”

“They have problems too.” Curt touched her arm. “I thought you weren’t talking to me?”

“Don’t remind me.”

Then Meg tried to explain. “I’ve just been so mad. I mean I’ve been sad, too, but I was expecting that, but the anger. I

didn’t know what to do with it. I felt like if I talked to you I would blow up.”

“So it wasn’t because of us telling Krista.”

“No, it was about that too. All mixed up.”

“I know how you feel.” Curt paused, then continued, “I’ve been chopping wood for the last few days. You should try it. Swinging the axe down into a piece of wood, watching it fly apart, it gets rid of some of the guilt and anger.”

“So what you’re saying is who needs therapy when you can just chop wood?” Meg teased him.

“Maybe that’s what’s wrong with people these days—they don’t do anything physical.”

“Okay. I’ll try it. But now we can just sit and watch the birds.”

They were both quiet for a while until the falcons dropped out of sight.

“I found the guy who gave Krista the stuff,” Meg said.

“You did?” Curt asked. “How? Why?”

“I got Jared to take me. He was there that night with Krista. His mom had him trapped at his house so I took Rich’s truck and got him. Then we went to see that guy. I can’t explain it. I had to see him.”

Meg stopped for a second, remembering. But she wanted to tell Curt everything. “His name is Hitch. I felt like I needed to know what really happened. I mean, my mom’s a cop. I guess I just absorbed her obsessions. You have to get to the truth. Justice and all that. I convinced Jared to take me to him. I was so mad at the crudball dealer or whatever he was. I just wanted to tell him what I thought of him. Then I saw him.”

Curt waited. “And …”

“He was awful.”

“A real meth freak?”

“Yeah, gruesome. Hardly human.”

“That’d be a good name for a band. Hardly Human.”

“Curt, this is serious,” Meg said, knowing that he was being funny because he was nervous. “It was weird. When I saw him in person I realized that there was nothing I could do to make his life worse. He had managed to find hell all by himself. I knew then that he didn’t kill Krista, not really.”

“He told you that?”

“No, I just knew.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s so simple. He didn’t kill her. No one killed Krista. Unless they actually pushed her off the bluff. Which I don’t think they did. No reason to.”

“Suicide?” Curt asked.

“No. I just think she felt so full of life that she thought she couldn’t die. She just wanted to fly.”

Curt shook his head, but didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he asked, “Are you okay?”

When she had not even known where she was going herself, Curt had known where to find her. It had to mean something.

Meg took his hand and squeezed it. “I’m good.”

I would like to give special thanks to the West Wisconsin Land Trust for buying the 248-acre farmland which contains the Maiden Rock. It is now designated a State Natural Area and is open to the public with a hiking trail through restored prairie out to the limestone outcropping and its nesting peregrine falcons. The cover photo is courtesy of the West Wisconsin Land Trust.

Many thanks always to my crew of first readers: Deborah Woodworth, Pat Boenhardt, Bill Smith, Kathy Erickson, Mary Anne Collins-Svoboda, and my trusty partner, Pete Hautman. For twenty years Pete and I have owned a small house not far from the Maiden Rock and I am still amazed at the beauty of the river, the coulees, the limestone bluffs, and the support and love of my neighbors.

If you liked Maiden Rock check out:

Point No Point

F
ishing for bodies was not Deputy Sheriff Claire Watkins’ idea of a good time, especially during the hottest spell Wisconsin had endured this summer. In the mid-afternoon sun, Lake Pepin shimmered with the oily sheen of late August, the water a thick brew more apt to stew than refresh.

Claire sat at the bow of the Pepin County rescue launch as Deputy Bill Peterson steered the craft out of the Pepin harbor and northward, past Fort St. Antoine.

The sun came blasting down the corridor of bluffs. It felt like one hundred degrees, though she knew it couldn’t be much over ninety. Even the wind blowing in her face was hot. She could hardly stand wearing her standard navy-blue polyester uniform. The dark fabric absorbed all the heat and let nothing evaporate. Sweat gathered on her chest and forehead, then ran downward.

“Hang on, going to get bumpy,” Bill yelled as he cut across another boat’s wake.

Claire grabbed tight to the gunnel. “I didn’t know this old crate could move this fast.”

Bill nodded. “Full throttle.”

Up ahead she saw Point No Point, an optical illusion that had always fascinated her, a place in the river where the far bank appeared to be a wooded point jutting into the water at a sharp bend, but as you came closer the illusion faded away. There was no point, just a curve in the river. Point No Point was not a point but only a slight bulge on the shores of Lake Pepin, part of this twenty-mile section of the Mississippi River. It was a point that wasn’t a point in a lake that wasn’t a lake but a river. Claire loved the incongruity.