CUTTER'S GROVE Read online

  “Looks like it,” I say. But that thing about being lucky at cards, unlucky at love occurs to me. All things considered, how else could I have done?

  ****

  At nine-thirty the following morning I get a call at the shop from Deborah. She’s short of breath, hardly able to choke out the words she’s trying to convey. “Lucas,” she says, “have you heard yet?”

  “Heard what?” I ask. Before she answers I’ve already got that sickly feeling in my stomach again - the one I'm getting altogether too familiar with.

  “Rhonda Getty, Shirley’s little girl … ”

  “What about her, Deborah?”

  “It’s all over town. Everybody’s talking about it.”

  “Talking about what?”

  “She’s missing, Lucas! Rhonda is missing!”

  Oh, shit.

  25

  As I’m hanging up the phone Sonny comes into the office, back from his morning coffee at the diner. “I take it you just heard,” he says, noting the stricken look on my face.

  “Yeah, that was Deborah. What’s happening?”

  “Sergeant Yates just got here. He’s over at the Getty place now. Nobody knows too much yet but it sounds like little Rhonda was on her way to the school bus - it picks the town kids up over by the pharmacy - and never made it. Somebody grabbed her before she got there. Nobody thought too much about her not being at the bus stop, just figured she was probably sick. Her teacher took the class roll call and reported she was absent to the principal, but by the time he phoned the mother to check on her she’d been missin’ for almost two hours.”

  “What time does the bus pick the kids up?”

  “About a quarter to eight, I think.”

  “Where do the Gettys live?” I ask.

  Sonny points in the general direction of a group of houses off Main Street, not far from where Beth lives. “Just over there,” he says. “It’s a little bungalow with gray siding. Why? You know somethin’ about this?”

  “No. I wish I did.”

  I head for the Jeep. “Where ya goin’?” Sonny calls out.

  “I’ll see you later.”

  First stop is Herb’s. When I walk into the diner Beth looks highly distraught. Even her anger at me is taking a back seat because she comes up to me right away. “God, Lucas,” she says in a hushed voice. “That poor little girl. You don’t think it could be another ---?”

  “I don’t know, Beth. But she went missing around seven forty-five. What time did you get to the diner?”

  “Just before seven.”

  “Was Herb here?”

  “No, Robbie Fuller is in today.”

  “Do you know where Herb is? Have you heard from him?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll see you later.”

  “Lucas,” she calls, “where are you going?” But I’m already out the door.

  I drive west out of town, heading for Herb’s. When I get to his place there’s no sign of anyone around. His Lincoln is gone. Just to make sure, I knock on his door. There’s no answer. I try the knob but the door is locked.

  The way back to town goes right by Paco’s. As I pull into his driveway I see the highway rig is gone from it’s usual spot. I knock on the front door and Bonnie answers. “Hello, Lucas,” she says. “What brings you out here?”

  “I’m looking for Paco. Is he around?”

  “No,” she says, “he left on a run to Phoenix early this morning. What did you need to see him about?”

  “Bonnie, there’s another girl missing. Rhonda Getty. Do you know her?”

  “Oh my God.” Bonnie’s hand goes to her mouth. Tears are already forming in her eyes. “When? When did she go missing?”

  “She never showed up at the bus stop for the seven forty-five pickup this morning. Bonnie, I’m sorry but I need to get out to the Hocking ranch. How far is it from here?”

  “About a twenty minute drive straight west of here,” she says vaguely. “You can’t miss it, it’s on the left, there’s a big sign.”

  “I’ve gotta run. I’ll see you later.”

  “But, Lucas---”

  Once again, I’m gone before she can finish her thought.

  So far I’m striking out completely with the poker group suspects but I figure I might just as well do what I can to determine the whereabouts of all six. If I can eliminate even one of them, we’re better off than we were before.

  I’m about ten minutes west of Paco’s place when I see a pickup coming in my direction. When it flies by me I see Arliss Beckman at the wheel but he’s not driving the same pickup I spotted at Herb’s that night. I’m not sure whether he recognized me or not but he gave no indication that he did. I continue on to the ranch and arrive there to find a sprawling, stone and cedar mansion set back about a quarter of a mile from the road and surrounded by white rail fencing. There’s a mix of dusty sport utes and pickups parked in front of the place and at least a dozen thoroughbred horses in a cross-fenced area off to the side of the house. Tracy greets me at the door. “Lucas, what a surprise,” she says.

  “Hi, Tracy. I was just wondering if I could speak to Mel.”

  “I’m sorry, he’s not here right now. Could I give him a message when he comes back?”

  “That’s okay. Is he going to be long?”

  “He went in to town early this morning. I expect he’ll be back around noon.”

  “Do you know where he went in town, Tracy?”

  All the questions are starting to get to her. “Is something wrong, Lucas?”

  “Well, I don’t know whether you’ve heard, but Rhonda Getty was reported missing this morning. She disappeared on her way to school. I---”

  “Oh, no,” Tracy says, shocked. “Not again. I hope to God it’s not another---”

  “Yeah, that’s what everyone’s hoping. I was wondering if there was a chance Mel might have seen something if he was in town around that time.”

  “Well, he left here around seven, so he certainly might have, I suppose. But I haven’t heard from him.”

  “Okay, Tracy, it was a long shot anyway, of course, but I thought, who knows. I’d best be going. I’ll see you.”

  Tracy has a confused expression on her face as I leave. I’m hoping my questions sounded a lot more innocent to her than they did to me, but judging by her look, they probably didn’t.

  The drive back to town gives me time to go over things in my mind. So far I’ve struck out trying to eliminate anybody. Herb, Paco, and Mel’s whereabouts are all still unknown. Any one of them could have snatched Rhonda Getty from town. I should have asked Tracy if she knew where Arliss was this morning but I couldn’t think of a way to do it without arousing her suspicions. I think she was already a little leery about my ruse concerning Mel.

  When I pass Herb’s place I see the pickup Arliss was driving earlier parked beside Herb’s house. There’s still no sign of the Lincoln. I crank a u-turn on the highway, turn into Herb’s driveway, and pull in behind the pickup. As I get out of the Jeep, Arliss comes out the back door of the house. “Lucas,” he says, surprised, "what’re you doing here?”

  “I was just out at the ranch looking for Mel. When I went by here I noticed there was nobody around. Coming back I saw your pickup. I thought maybe somebody was robbing the place. This isn’t the pickup you usually drive, is it?”

  “No, this is one of Mel’s.”

  “So, is Herb around?”

  “No. Nobody here. He’s out of town for a day or two. Asked me to keep an eye on the place for him.”

  “He left the door unlocked did he?

  “Yeah, wide open,” Arliss says. “Typical of Herb, he forgot to lock up when he left.” This, of course, I know to be a lie.

  “You heard about the Getty girl?” I ask.

  “Getty girl?”

  “Yeah, Rhonda Getty. She’s missing.”

  “No shit. No, I hadn’t heard. What do they---”

  “You happen to be in town earlier this morning, by any chance?” />
  “Why do you ask?” he says, a defensive look appearing on his face.

  “Just thought you might have seen something if you were. She apparently went missing around seven-thirty, quarter to eight.”

  “No,” he says, “I wasn’t. I had to take Alicia to school. It’s in the opposite direction.”

  “Ah, that’s too bad.”

  “Yeah. Well, I better be going.”

  “Sure,” I say, turning to the Jeep and climbing in. “Take care.”

  “Hope they find that little girl,” Arliss calls to me as I pull out.

  “Me too,” I say. “Me too.”

  26

  There’s a Sheriff’s Department Deputy waiting for me when I get back. He’s a twenty-something weight lifter by the look of him. Muscular, clean cut, neatly cropped hair. “Mr. Tunney?” he says as I’m getting out of the Jeep.

  “That’s right.”

  “Deputy Randy Chapin. Sergeant Yates would like to speak to you right away, sir. If you’d come with me please.” He’s polite, but firm.

  “What’s this all about?” I ask.

  “It’s in connection with a missing person investigation, sir. A young girl disappeared on her way to school this morning---”

  “I’m aware that Rhonda Getty is missing, Deputy. But why does Sergeant Yates want to talk to me about it?”

  “I’ll have to let him answer that, sir.” He holds the door to his cruiser open for me.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as I get in the car.

  “Sergeant Yates is at the Getty home,” he answers.

  A minute later we pull up at Shirley’s place. As we enter the front room I’m surprised to see Deborah there, seated on the couch, looking decidedly nervous. My arrival does little to put her at ease.

  Deputy Chapin motions me to the couch beside Deborah. “If you’ll wait here, sir.”

  We can hear Yates speaking with Shirley in the kitchen. She’s sobbing hysterically, barely intelligible. Deborah and I exchange looks. “What the hell’s going on?” I ask her softly.

  “I don’t know,” she says in a whisper. “The Deputy picked me up at work thirty minutes ago but they’ve apparently been waiting for you to get here before they question us.”

  “Please don’t tell me we’re suspects,” I say, incredulous.

  Sergeant Yates comes into the room at this point. “Mr. Tunney, Miss Miller. Could I speak with you both outside please.” He leads the way out the front door and waits for us to follow him. When we’re all together on the porch Yates tips his hat back on his head and stands before us with his hands on his hips. “You folks got anything you’d like to tell me about this?”

  “Why would you---”

  “No more bullshit,” he says, cutting me off. “If you know something … anything, spit it out now.”

  “Look, Sergeant,” Deborah says, “what is it you think we know?”

  “I have no idea, Miss Miller, but I’m convinced you have some knowledge, or at least some ideas, about what’s going on here. If you do, and you withhold it, you’re every bit as guilty as if you’d abducted this girl yourselves.” He’s trying hard not to lose his temper but it’s easy to see he’s nearing his boiling point. “Why don’t you start by telling me what you spoke to Thelma Paige about?”

  For a fraction of a second I’m tempted to come clean about my ghostly visions in the desert and how Thelma’s revelations point at one of my poker pals as being Anne Marie’s killer. But it doesn’t take long for me to imagine what Yates’ reaction will be if I start expounding on the supernatural. Hell, I barely believe it myself. How am I going to convince a hard-assed lawman that there are such things as ghosts? And Deborah’s aura sightings? Shit, he’ll lock us both up based on irrefutable evidence of insanity if nothing else.

  “Our discussions with Thelma Paige had nothing to do with what’s happened here,” I tell him. “You’re just going to have to take our word for that.”

  Yates shakes his head, frustrated. “Alright, I can see I’m getting nowhere with this,” he snarls. “You can go. But I’ll tell you something: if I find out you’ve withheld crucial information from me, you’re both going to be sorrier than you can imagine.” He stomps back into the house, leaving us to ponder his threat.

  “Well, another nice chat with the sergeant,” I say.

  Deborah looks extremely agitated. “Lucas,” she says in a whispery, tremulous voice, “I have to get back to work right now but we need to talk about this. It has to be Herb. What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ve been trying to locate all the poker guys to find out where they were when Rhonda disappeared but I’ve drawn a blank so far.”

  Deborah looks near tears. “I knew something like this was going to happen, I just knew it.”

  “This is not your fault, Deborah.” She looks at me with a forlorn expression. “It’s not,” I repeat.

  “Will you call me later?”

  “Sure,” I say. She gives me a pitiful smile.

  Something occurs to me all of a sudden. “Where is Shirley’s husband, by the way?” I ask as Deborah is about to turn away.

  “Dan died seven or eight years ago,” she tells me. “He was working at the Circle H Ranch. A horse reared up and fell back on him. He was crushed to death. Why?”

  “I was just thinking maybe this was a simple case of the ex-husband snatching his own child. You know, a custody thing.”

  “No, nothing like that. I wish to God it was.”

  “Yeah.”

  Deborah looks at her watch. “I have to run. See you later?”

  “Okay.” I’m watching her walk away from me, thinking she’s right in a way. Maybe we should have acted on our suspicions about Herb immediately. If we had it’s just possible we might have saved that poor girl’s life. But, of course we have no way of knowing whether or not she is, in fact, dead or if Herb really had anything to do with her disappearance. We have no proof that the man is guilty of anything, much less child abduction and murder. So what could we really have done?

  There seems to be no clear cut way to proceed. All I can think of is more of the same. Try to get something concrete, meaningful, on one of these guys that we can take to the law. That’s all we can do.

  There’ s nothing at the shop to rush back to so I’m wondering if I should stop and see Beth. When I spoke to her this morning she actually seemed like she had cooled off a bit - a least enough that I hope I can, once again, try to convince her that nothing inappropriate is happening between Deborah and me.

  After some thought I decide to give Beth a miss for now. I don’t think I could tolerate another one of those cold shoulders she gave me the other day at the diner. Even if she’s more receptive now there’s not much I can do to further my cause with her while she’s working. I’ll call her later and, hopefully, we can get together.

  I decide to make lunch a cold beer and a sandwich at the hotel. While walking there I spot Harold, half a block away. He’s moping along with his head downcast, looking agitated, heading in the general direction of the pharmacy. “Hi, Harold,” I call out.

  He’s so absorbed by whatever is bothering him, he doesn’t even acknowledge me. I notice the knees of his pants are badly soiled. Now just what the devil has he been up to? I wonder idly.

  Big Joe greets me with a somber hello and has a cold draft sliding down the bar to me before I’m on my stool. “Terrible thing about the Getty girl,” he says.

  “Sure is,” I reply.

  “Can I get you something to eat, Lucas?”

  “A sandwich will be fine.”

  “What’ll it be?” he says. Big Joe’s culinary selection never leaves much room for imagination. Today there’s a choice between grilled cheese or melted cheese on toast. Only Big Joe could possibly explain the difference.

  “Surprise me,” I say.

  27

  Deborah calls me at the shop as soon as she gets off work. “Is there anything new?” she asks.

>   “Nothing,” I reply. “I’ve been trying to think what we can do but I’m out of ideas.”

  “The police were questioning everybody in town all day. I don’t think they came up with anything either.”

  “It looks hopeless unless---”

  “I have one idea though,” Deborah says.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Why don’t we go out in the desert again? To where you had the encounter with Anne Marie’s ghost. It’s possible she might appear to you again and, this time, give you some clues about where her body is or who killed her.”

  This suggestion is on a par with open heart surgery without anesthetic in the appeal department. “I don’t know, Deborah, I’m not real keen on the idea.”

  “Can you think of something better?”

  “To be honest just about anything at all would sound better.”

  “Listen, Lucas, you were in shock when you first encountered Anne Marie’s ghost. Maybe if you’re ready for it, you’ll be able to interpret the meaning of her appearance.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for something like that. You don’t know what it’s like. Believe me, it’s not something to look forward to.”

  “I know it’s not,” she says, sounding sympathetic, “but what else have we got?”

  Here I go again, getting talked into doing something I don’t want to do by the women in my life. “I guess … if you think it’ll help.”

  “I really think it might, Lucas.”

  “When should we do it?”

  “Whenever you’re up for it,” she says.

  “Tonight then,” I decide. “Let’s get it over with.”

  “You sure?”

  Small pause. “Yeah.”

  “All right. Pick me up at seven and plan on spending the night. I’ll bring some food and blankets.”

  I imagine how thrilled Beth would be to learn of this latest little endeavor of ours. And if history is any judge, she will find out. But maybe we’re past the point of worrying about it. After all, she didn’t exactly give me any signals that all was forgiven last time I saw her. It could be she’s given up on me for good this time. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll see you at seven.”