A state police officer telephoned August’s mother to report her son had been detained for questioning in a shooting. He refused to discuss anything more.
“I have a right to know,” Lorna Young grumbled. “He’s a minor.”
“August is at the Ryan residence in Zamora. He hasn’t been charged.”
“Charged?” she exploded.
Lorna slammed down the receiver and sped up the mountain. She arrived as the ambulance with Troy lumbered onto the blacktop road.
“What the hell is going on?” she shouted to the vigilant bystanders.
“Kate Ryan’s boyfriend was shot last night,” Elaine said. “They think it was drug dealers who came and took Ruby.”
“Horseshit!” Lorna stormed into the house, her head thrust forward, her eyes bulging.
Lorna Young was a large, freckled redhead who earned a handsome livelihood as a gallery owner in Santa Fe. Like Kate Ryan, she’d been raised in New England, educated at private schools, and traveled west to California in a caravan. Like Kate, finding New Mexico was a fortuitous accident.
“What the hell is going on?” she demanded.
“And you are?” the inspector asked.
“August’s mother,” the sheriff answered.
“Lorna Young, mother of August Young-Ratcliffe,” she said belligerently.
“Mom!” August whined.
“I was told my son is being detained.”
“That’s incorrect,” the sheriff said.
“I was told my son is being detained,” Lorna said. “I would like to know why. If you cannot tell me, I will take him home.”
“Mom!”
“A man has been shot, Mrs. Young. He tells us two young Anglo men were the perpetrators. Your son may be able to help identify them.”
“And Ruby is missing!” August sniveled. “Maybe kidnapped!”
“Horseshit!” Lorna Young expectorated.
“What makes you say that, Mrs. Young?”
Lorna squirmed. “Where is Kate Ryan?”
“Resting in the other room.”
“Then I’ll be frank.”
“Please,” the inspector prompted.
“I think Ruby got in some kind of trouble and fled.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because I’ve known the girl all her life.”
“No, mom.”
“Born under the sign of trouble. You don’t have to believe in astrology to know it’s true.”
“Not true!” August protested.
“Shut up, August!” she commanded. “For years she has been intent on involving my son in drink, drugs, sex experiments, and ruin. Kate Ryan’s philosophy is free rein. As a result Ruby has had no direction, no guidance, no parenting.” Lorna paused to take a breath, “The girl’s out of control.”
Kate appeared in the doorway to Ruby’s room.
“I can swear my son had nothing to do with this.”
“Lorna, I have no idea why you hate us,” Kate said.
The inspector signaled for his assistant to bring over more coffee. “My child is missing,” Kate trembled. “That’s the only issue of importance here.”
“True,” the inspector agreed.
He looked at each of the mothers, grief-stricken Kate Ryan and combative Lorna Young. His hunch that August and Ruby conspired in a plot against Kate’s boyfriend had become increasingly plausible. The duffle bag they found in the driveway filled with Ruby’s things tended to confirm it. Even her toothbrush was in the bag. Why she didn’t take it, where she went, who shot Troy and tore up the house, these remained mysteries. Nevertheless, he was convinced he would know Ruby’s whereabouts within the hour.
“Mrs. Young, you seem so certain Ruby wasn’t kidnapped. Is there a reason?” the inspector asked.
“Of course, there’s a reason. I don’t go around making things up,” Lorna said.
“Well?” The inspector tapped his foot.
All eyes were on her.
“I saw her,” she confessed.
“Louder, please.”
“I saw her late last night.”
“Why didn’t you say so? Why didn’t you spare me one less minute of agony?”
Lorna blinked back tears of agitation. It seemed Kate Ryan’s moral position was indisputably right.
“Where did you see her?” the inspector asked.
“She came to my house.”
“What time was that?”
“After midnight.”
“And?” the inspector asked impatiently.
“She came to see August. I told her he wasn’t home.”
“Was he?” the sheriff interjected.
“He was at a friend’s house,” Lorna said.
“What friend?”
“I told you,” August said.
“I’m talking to your mother. What friend?”
“I’m not sure,” Lorna said. “Maybe Justin, maybe Wayne. Why don’t you ask August?”
“Was Ruby alone?” For the inspector, this question was of utmost importance.
“I don’t know,” Lorna said.
“How did she arrive at your house?”
“She was driving a car I didn’t recognize. In the moonlight, I could see it was a new model. She was upset August wasn’t home. We only spoke for a minute. I tried to coax her inside but she didn’t want to talk to me. She wrote, Leaving for good, going forever. Now I realize I should have tried to stop her but she was anxious to go.”
The inspector refreshed his coffee. He slowly stirred in a spoon of raw sugar. “You said, ‘Wrote’?”
“Did I?”
“I meant,” Lorna’s brash confidence fell away. “She gave the impression she was in a hurry to get somewhere.”
“You said, ‘Wrote.’”
“She wrote August a note, Leaving for good,” Lorna said. “I found it this morning.”
“Mrs. Young, do you have the note from Miss Ryan in your possession?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Can we take you home to get the note?” the inspector asked although he’d already decided the question was moot, the note bogus. The woman would perjure herself to protect her son.
Lorna hung her head. “I burned it. I’m sorry, August.”
August’s eyes flamed with hate.
“I burned it because she called me a ‘bitch.’ I didn’t want my son to read that. She’s already done so much harm to our family.”
The inspector gave his most plausible theory one more try.
“August, do you know where Ruby Ryan is?”
Lorna Young jumped out of her chair. “Of course, he doesn’t! I told you, I saw her! She drove off! She panicked, I told you!”
The inspector turned to August, “Do you know where Ruby is?”
August dropped his head in his hands and mumbled, “If there was anything I could do, anything I could tell you, I would.” He lifted his face of misery. “I was at Wayne’s house all night. I know nothing, nothing at all.”