Chapter Fourteen

When Jillie arrived at the park, she found a spot behind a large bush hidden from view of anyone on the street. She laid her backpack on the grass, unzipped it and retrieved the napkin-encased sausage she’d saved from the fast food joint.

A light breeze blew the smells of dry grass against her face, and noonday sun warmed the back of her neck. Through gaps in the bush she watched yelping kids play on the slide and swings as an old man looked on from the park’s edge.

Did the children have any idea how lucky they were to have the freedom to play in the sun? Did even one of them know what life would be like if their moms were suddenly no longer there to see to them?

She looked like she hadn’t washed or changed clothes in a month. The café manager’s words had stung.

Other than her hair color, Jillie hadn’t given much thought to her appearance. She’d been too busy trying to avoid getting caught by the Elliotts or the police.

She heaved a sigh. She hadn’t planned to return to the trailer for her suitcase until after she had Beth’s ashes. But, although the thought of back-tracking made her insides sink, it would be a bitter pill to get caught just because she hadn’t taken the time to clean herself up.

Beth was counting on her.

As Jillie hefted her backpack and slipped her arms into the straps, her eyes were drawn to movement just beyond the bush behind which she’d eaten. The old man who’d been standing around suddenly hurried toward a car at the side of the park, glancing over his shoulder in her direction every couple of steps.

The words from one of Pop’s survival speeches rang in her head: If something doesn’t feel right, never ignore it. Pay attention to your gut.

Jillie picked up her pace.

Once back at the trailer, she hauled the suitcase up onto the ragged sofa and removed two outfits from it. She stuffed a clean T-shirt and pair of jeans into her backpack then removed her dirty clothes and slipped into the second clean outfit.

Her eyes rested on the huge yellow suitcase. The stupid thing might as well have been a neon sign that said Here’s Jillie Ross, runaway. She needed to ditch it.

A sudden loud knock on the door interrupted her thoughts and made her jump. She gulped, and her heartbeat sped up.

Maybe the owner of the trailer had come back. Or maybe the police had spotted her in the park and tracked her down.

“Hello in there.” It was a man’s voice, kind of gargly sounding. The man coughed, hawked, and spat. “I know you’re in there girlie,” he said a little louder. “I been watching you. I followed you from the park.”

Her only thought to get as far away from the front door as possible, Jillie grabbed her backpack, jumped over the hole in the hallway, and climbed onto the platform. Pulling her knees up tight against her chest, she pressed her back against the wall of the trailer and held her breath.

“I just wanna help. A little girl all alone can get into trouble, especially a cute little thing like you.” When Jillie remained silent, the man added, “I brought you a burger. You must be hungry, not having a home and all.”

Jillie bit her lip to keep from whimpering.

“I said open up.” Something heavy beat against the door. Bam, bam, bam.

Sounds of splintering wood echoed through the trailer. The door flew open and ricocheted off the wall behind it.

The bright rectangle of late afternoon sunlight darkened as a figure entered the trailer.

“Now you’ve gone and made me mad.” The man stood just inside the door, facing the toy-sized stove and built-in kitchen cabinet against the opposite side. He turned to the left and looked straight at Jillie. “There you are.”

The man stood still for a few seconds, allowing his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness, then he took a couple of steps forward.

“See? I brought you something to eat.” Returning to what he obviously intended to be a calming voice, the man held a grease-soaked paper bag. “The biggest burger they make, and a ton of French fries. It’s cooled down, but it’ll still taste mighty good.” He sounded like he was having trouble breathing. “Now lookit you, all balled up like a scared little mouse. You won’t get hurt if you do as you’re told.”

The man took another step into the hallway, and his right foot landed in the middle of the rug-covered hole. Bewilderment followed by understanding flashed in his eyes as he flailed his arms to regain his balance. The bag of food flew out of his hand and his right leg disappeared down the hole. His left leg bent at an impossible angle at the same instant a loud crack echoed through the trailer.

“What the…” The man struggled to free himself, but the splintered plywood flooring jammed into his leg, holding him like a vise. “Help me. I’m hurt bad, you got to help me.”

When Jillie made no move, the man’s pleading voice changed to a bellow.

Her insides quaking like they were made of Jell-O, Jillie grabbed Mickey, her coat, and backpack. After several seconds of pushing and wrangling, she managed to shove all of it out through the window above the platform.

She grasped the window ledge and started to pull herself through but stopped when the greasy smell coming from the bag wafted toward her. Her mouth watering, she stepped from the platform and snatched up the bag of food from the floor where it had landed. Holding the bag in her teeth, she pulled herself through the window.

“Hey,” the man shouted. “You can’t just leave me here. You gotta help.” His voice now so loud it seemed the whole village of Los Lunas could hear. “Hey, I’m talking to you.” The man began to curse.

Jillie stuffed the bag of food into her backpack then slipped the straps over her shoulders. For several heartbeats, she debated whether or not to leave the suitcase behind. But if she left it, the police would know she’d been there. On the other hand, the thought of schlepping the thing one more minute made her want to cry.

The man inside the trailer had stopped yelling and was making grunting sounds like he was trying to pull himself out of the hole. The thought of his finding her suitcase and touching her stuff made Jillie’s mind up. She hurried around the trailer to the front door, leaped up the steps, and ran to the sofa.

“Hey,” the man yelled. “You got to help me, there’s something stuck in my leg.”

Jillie slammed her suitcase closed and hauled it outside. Keeping to the rear of the trailer, she started down the hill. Her heart pumping a million miles an hour and breath coming in gasps, she’d only gone a few feet, when a vehicle door slammed from somewhere nearby.

After dropping her luggage behind a sage bush, Jillie crept back toward the trailer far enough to see what was going on.

A young man stood beside an old, rust-splotched, yellow pickup. He stared at the front of the trailer for a few seconds then walked toward the door.

At the top of the steps, he paused and looked around as if to make sure no one was watching. Tall and slender, he wore blue jeans, a denim jacket and down-at-the-heel boots. His arms were unusually long, his hands unusually small. Although some people might think the man attractive, there was something about the expression on his face that made the skin on Jillie’s arms crawl. It was a face she’d not forget.

When the new-comer entered the trailer, the old man’s shouts for help were replaced by words of gratitude. After a few seconds, the old man cried out—most likely from the pain of being pulled back up through the splintered wooden floor—then grew silent.

Jillie would need to let the police know about him staking out the park and looking for kids. Once inside the train, she’d make a sketch of the old guy so the police could recognize him. Then she’d draw the young man who’d helped, just in case they wanted to talk to him. She could write a note explaining everything and leave it with the pictures somewhere the police would be sure to find them.

Feeling like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, she hurried back to her luggage, loaded up, and headed in the direction of the train station.