You Can't Escape (12 page)

She stepped inside the coffee shop and was hit by the mouthwatering scents of maple, honey, and buttery pastries, and the rich, deep aroma of coffee. She ordered herself a steaming cup with room for cream, then purchased two maple-crusted scones. “Gonna eat both of those?” a male voice asked her, pointing to the small, white sack in her hands that held the scones.

She turned around to see a familiar face . . . though her brain took a few seconds to make the connection. “Ahh . . . Rusty Long,” she greeted him as he straightened from the table, where he’d been hunched over a cup of coffee and a couple of doughnuts. Another man sat across from him and he eyed Jordanna with interest, but just sipped on his coffee.

“Jordanna Winters. You look just the same,” Rusty said.

“So do you,” she lied.

Rusty Long had been a classmate at Rock Springs High, a freckled, strawberry-blond kid who now possessed a paunch and a stringy mustache to go with a receding hairline. But he still grinned like a jack-o’-lantern, his face an open book.

Slapping his growing belly, he fought back a belch. “Hell, no, I don’t, but you know . . . what’re we doin’ around here if we’re not drinkin’ somethin’?”

“Rusty closed down the Longhorn last night,” the other man at the table revealed.

Jordanna automatically looked across the street, where the town’s most notable and disreputable bar had stood, and saw it was now a discount furniture store. She tried to place the man who’d spoken. She was pretty sure she didn’t know him.

“Longhorn’s outta town a ways now,” Rusty said, following her gaze across the street. “Gives us all a chance to get home before Markum or Shitface come after us. Sorry. Mr. Shitface,” he added, then guffawed and ended up coughing wildly.

“Introduce us, Rusty,” the other man said. He was dark-haired and brown-eyed, about five to ten years older than Rusty, and he didn’t look nearly as dissolute.

“This here’s Todd Douglas,” Rusty said.

“Hi.” He leaned forward and shook her hand.

“Hi,” Jordanna responded.

“Rusty’s talkin’ about Peter Drummond. You know him?” Douglas asked.

Jordanna shook her head. She didn’t know Rusty’s companion, either.

“I’m Rusty’s better-looking cousin from over in Malone,” he said with a quick smile.

Since this was absolutely true, Jordanna didn’t know quite how to respond, but Rusty guffawed.

“How does Rusty know such a pretty gal?” Douglas asked.

Jordanna snorted. In jeans and a shirt that needed ironing, with no makeup and her hair scraped back into a ponytail, she knew just what she looked like . . . and “pretty” was a stretch. “We were classmates at Rock Springs High,” she said.

“That’s right,” Rusty agreed. He grinned at Todd and said, “We Bobcats beat your Malone Prairie Dogs every damn year.”

Todd shrugged and merely waved Rusty off, as if he were a bothersome gnat. Malone High were the Huskies, not the Prairie Dogs, and they all knew it. Having ribbed his cousin long enough apparently, Rusty turned to Jordanna and asked, “You know Drummond. A couple classes ahead of us. Maybe your sister’s? That . . . um . . . Emma . . . ?”

“Emily,” Jordanna corrected.

“Yep. That’s right. Emily . . . Well, Pete Drummond was an asshole in high school and he’s a bigger asshole now. Works for the chief.”

“Chief Markum?” Jordanna kept her voice as neutral as she could.

“He was chief of police then, too, wasn’t he?” Rusty realized, sounding half astonished. “Jesus. Nothing changes around this town, does it? So, how come you’re back?”

It was Jordanna’s turn to shrug. “Oh, I don’t know. . . .”

“You workin’ on a story?” He turned to Todd, said, “She’s a reporter.” Then his attention swiveled back to Jordanna. “I’ve read a thing or two of yours. Nice stuff.”

“Uh, thank you.”

“A reporter, huh?” Douglas sounded interested, but maybe a bit disbelieving.

“I’ve done a few local stories,” Jordanna said, moving toward the area of the counter that held the lids, napkins, and cream.

“You do investigations?” Douglas asked.

“I’d like to do investigative pieces, but I’m kind of working my way to that. Have to prove myself.” Because they were looking at her expectantly, she added the lie she’d worked on while she was driving into town, one that would explain what she was doing in Rock Springs. “I’m kind of looking for a place to bring my hiking group, and I thought of the foothills around here.”

Douglas straightened up as if she’d goosed him, but it was Rusty who said, “Cuz, here, is a hiker himself. Maybe he can show you some of the trails.”

“I’ve been all over this section of the Cascades,” Douglas admitted. “Damn near know it like the back of my hand. There’s purity in the mountains.”

Rusty groaned. “Don’t go there, Todd.”

Jordanna immediately backtracked, seeing she’d made a huge mistake. “But work comes first. I’ve got to get back to the story I’m researching, so I may have to put the hiking on the back burner.”

“If you change your mind . . .” Douglas said, looking faintly disappointed. “What story is that?” he asked, then, as a thought struck him: “You here to write about the missing Fread girl?”

“The missing freed girl?” Jordanna queried. “What was she freed from?”

“Fread’s their last name,” Rusty said, then spelled it aloud. He cocked his head and closed one eye. “I bet you’re researching the dead guy who was practically found in your backyard.”

“He was found on government land,” Douglas argued a bit testily.

“Yeah, but by dead reckoning, the body was found almost straight east of the Winters property, just on the other side of Summit Ridge Road,” Rusty insisted.

“What dead guy is this?” Jordanna asked curiously, pausing after she poured cream into her cup. Absently, she reached for a plastic to-go top.

“The homeless guy,” Rusty said. “Hey, come on down to the Longhorn tonight and we’ll fill you in, right, Todd?”

“Sure,” his cousin replied.

“And the missing Fread girl,” she said. A lot of news for Rock Springs.

Rusty waved that off. “Todd’s just thinking about her ’cause she’s pretty, too, but we all know she just ran away from her weird family. One of those super religious ones that are against everything, y’know?”

“You should shut up about stuff you know nothin’ about,” Douglas suggested congenially.

Rusty snorted. “Me and Todd have differing views on how to save our sorry souls. He finds God and church in the mountains. I find it in a good lager, y’know?”

“You’re goin’ straight to hell, cuz,” Douglas said.

Rusty started laughing and shot back, “You sound just like Reverend Miles. Good God in heaven, there’s someone to stay away from.” He retook his seat. “Jordanna, I’m not kiddin’. Come on down to the Longhorn later.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

A dead homeless man near her family’s homestead? And a missing girl? She’d been looking for a story to present to her editor with that kind of edge, but she’d never expected to find it in Rock Springs. Maybe it was just Rusty and his friend blowing smoke, but she thought she might actually show up at the Longhorn later and see what they had to say.

And it would give her a reason to put some space between herself and Dance, who clearly wanted to be left alone.

As Jordanna walked down the street, sipping her coffee, she wondered where the
Rock Springs Pioneer
had relocated, or if it even existed any longer. It was a biweekly that mostly covered the social happenings around town with a smattering of information about the local businesses, farms, and ranches. She also wondered, if it did still exist, if it printed a police report of any kind. Unless he’d drastically changed, which she highly doubted, she just didn’t think Chief Markum would be the kind to work in tandem with the press.

Braxton’s Pharmacy was cheek to jowl with the local Thriftway and it sported a long, maroon awning over its front door. As she pushed through one of the double glass doors, she was greeted by country/western music and the scents of vanilla and something fresh and spring-smelling. Dropping her empty cup into a trash receptacle, she made a mental note to pick up candles for the dusty and dry house, then looked above the rows of shelves ahead of her to view the signs that directed her to bandages. While she walked along the ends of the rows, looking down the aisles, she caught glimpses of the dinerlike counter at the back of the store that served breakfast and lunch off a grill. Jordanna had spent many hours there as a kid, living off grilled cheese and hamburgers, especially as her mother grew more ill.

She found the correct aisle and perused the stock of bandages and antibiotics and various and sundry supplies for cuts and sores. She had no desire to change Dance’s bandages, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. If, and when, he wanted to make that choice, she would do her best, as she wasn’t great with the sight of blood.

She had a vision of her mother staring vacantly out the kitchen window across the empty field while blood ran down her palm and off the tips of her fingers from an accident with a knife, though many had questioned whether it was really accidental. Jordanna had grabbed the roll of paper towels and yanked wads of paper free, wrapping them around her mother’s hand, more because she wanted to stop seeing the blood than because she’d been old enough to understand the concept of direct pressure. Didn’t matter. Blood had soaked through as quickly as it was sopped up. Jordanna’s shrieking had brought her sister, Emily, who’d called 9-1-1 and told Jordanna that she was an imbecile for not immediately making the call herself. Their mother had been sped to Dayton’s clinic as the nearest hospital was an hour away in good traffic, and Dayton himself had stitched her back together. The scar on her palm had been thick and jagged, and every time Jordanna had seen it, she’d gotten a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Now, grabbing up the largest cotton bandage pads she could find, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, some Neosporin, and several rolls of elastic bandages as well, she then searched around for a basket, finally finding one by the front doors. She dumped the armful of items inside, then picked up the black plastic basket and headed toward the prescription counter, where two pharmacists were on duty. She thought she recognized the older woman but couldn’t place her. The young man with the big smile who came to see what she wanted was a stranger. “You rent crutches here?” she asked.

“We do. Among other things. What size?”

“Jordanna?” a voice behind her asked in wonder.

She held her breath. She hadn’t really counted on running into so many people who knew her. Turning around, she faced a young woman with sleek, straight, brown hair. She had green eyes with too much black eyeliner and wore a white blouse with a prim Peter Pan collar, coupled with a pair of dark denim skinny jeans. The woman was looking back at her expectantly.

“Uh . . . hi . . .” Jordanna mumbled.

“Oh my gosh. You can’t say you don’t know me!”

The truth hit Jordanna in the gut. It was the straight hair that had thrown her. “Jennie,” she said, picturing her father’s wife with her normally wildly curly hair.

“What are you doing here?” Hearing herself, she added quickly, “I mean, it’s so great to see you, but goodness, I didn’t think you’d come home for anything.”

It was a dig about missing the wedding, but Jordanna chose to ignore it. “I’m just cruising through.”

“Rock Springs? No, you’re not. Tell me why you’re here. And you’ve just got to come by and see Dayton. Are you here for a while?” Her gaze dropped to the bandages in Jordanna’s basket. “What’s this?”

“Oh . . . first aid supplies. . . .” Going back to her earlier lie, she said, “I’m actually with a hiking group and last time we went out, we weren’t prepared.” She wasn’t good at lying unless given a script. Then, she could generally sell it.

She glanced over at the guy at the counter, who’d been listening in to her meeting. She hoped to hell he didn’t bring up the crutches, and she hadn’t even gotten to Dance’s prescriptions yet.

“I’ll come back,” she told the pharmacist as she turned away, hoping to shut him down. She could feel his eyes on her, but didn’t look back, and he stayed mum as she walked toward the diner grill. Jennie, however, was right on her heels.

“Is your group hiking around here, then?” she asked.

“No, this is for the future. I’m just doing reconnaissance.”

The only employee at the diner was an older woman who’d spread
The Pioneer
on the counter and was reading it as she stood. Looking up, she folded the paper closed and asked, “You want something, dearie?”

“Um . . . maybe . . .”

At that moment, a door behind the prescription counter opened, and a middle-aged woman in a smock marched through. She looked vaguely familiar, and as Jordanna catalogued that, the woman glanced her way and stopped short.

Jennie was saying, “You have to stop by the clinic, if nothing else. Dayton will be there till six today.”

“I’m sorry. I just don’t think that’s going to happen,” Jordanna said.

The newcomer’s steel-gray hair was curled to an inch of its life. She looked from Jordanna to Jennie with sharp, assessing eyes, while the employee who’d been reading the paper at the diner casually gathered it up and strolled further behind the counter, moving out of sight.

“How long’s it been since you’ve seen your father?” Jennie appealed to her. “Really, Jordanna. Just a pop-in will do.”

The woman behind the prescription counter edged closer and said, “You’re one of the Treadwell girls.”

Jordanna responded, “It’s Winters, actually. I’m Jordanna Winters.”

“Your mother was Gayle Treadwell. May God have mercy on her soul.” The woman nodded her head gravely.

“Well . . . yes.” Jordanna could see down the aisle toward the front of the store and straight through the glass doors to the street beyond. The longing to bolt was nearly overpowering.

“Such a shame,” Jennie said, then, “Jordanna, I know you haven’t forgotten Margaret Bicknell. She’s practically an institution at Braxton’s.”

“I’ve been filling Dr. Winters’s prescriptions since before either of you were born,” the older woman added with a forced smile. Her lips looked like they might crack with the effort. “You have two sisters,” she said directly to Jordanna. “What are their names again?”