Chapter Fourteen
Monday November 2008
After Sara’s predawn visit, Vicky slept for a solid five hours. She often did her best sleeping in the morning. She hopped in her car, full of energy, and drove to the cul-de-sac where Rose Willwood was last seen. Or so said the aunt and friend.
Someone had chopped down an evergreen tree and bushes in the center of the turnaround, leaving the branches, trunk, and brush in low piles spilling onto the pavement. She drove past the footpath to the park before circling back around to the sidewalk in front of the missing girl’s house. The neighborhood of small, modest houses felt barren and unwelcoming as she walked up to Rose’s home.
She knocked, then waited on the porch until the door opened slightly. “Hi, Rita. Vicky Robeson, we met at Sam’s? She called you about me?”
“Yeah, hi.”
“Is this still an okay time?”
“I’m just sitting here.” Rita turned, leaving the door open behind her.
Vicky followed. Rita’s movements were unnaturally slow. She looked pale and shriveled, decades past her forty-some years. Her brown curls were flat and listless, and her baggy sweatshirt and jeans hung on her body. Her eyes were tired and red, though there was fire in there, banked like embers under ash.
It had been eight days since her daughter disappeared.
“I’m so sorry. Your heart must be breaking.” Vicky gently touched Rita’s arm. “Is anything new?”
“No. Want some coffee?”
“Sure, if it’s already made. Black’s fine.”
Rita motioned toward the small living room. A blanket and pillow, laptop, small flip-phone, and water bottle made it obvious the couch was Rita’s nest. Vicky sat in the matching armchair, across from a small television mutely tuned to one of the twenty-four-hour news channels.
She balanced her phone on her leg and glanced around. Framed photos of Rose, and of Rose and Rita, were on every flat surface. Two vases of flowers drooped on the end table, smelling oversweetly of decay. The air was heavy and fatigued. Claustrophobic.
Rita returned carrying two mugs. She handed one to Vicky, then sat on the pillow end of the couch, retrieved a bottle from the floor, and poured a splash into her coffee cup. She tipped the bottle toward Vicky, who declined.
Rita took a light sip. “Sam said you wanted to talk to me.”
“Yes, thanks for letting me come over. By the way, I see someone cut down the tree out front.”
“I did that.”
Vicky nodded. She could imagine doing the same under similar circumstances. A cathartic way to get some anger out.
Rita’s voice sounded muffled by layers of heaviness. “Most of the FBI guys are leaving soon, going back to St. Louis on some terrorist case they think is more important than my little girl.”
Vicky searched for something positive to say about that development. “I’m sure they’ll keep searching from there. And you’ve got the sheriff and all the volunteers. It’s great to see your town all helping out.”
Rita lifted then dropped a shoulder. Vicky added, “By the way, I met your sister Sara at the diner yesterday. Then she showed up at our RV at about three this morning. She told me to leave her alone, said I should be talking to Don.”
“I’m not responsible for her,” Rita bristled. “I’m sure not apologizing for her. Or explaining. Why should I?”
“That’s not what I’m saying, not at all. What do you think she meant about Don, that’s all.”
“Ask her. I don’t want anything to do with her. She was supposed to be watching Rose. Who knows what she was really doing.”
“You don’t think she was watching her?” Vicky’s voice was sympathetic and supportive. If her antennae were visible, they’d be quivering.
“Rose is missing, and no one seems to know a damn thing. Including my sister.”
“It must be so hard on you, not knowing.”
“Especially her. She wasn’t always this clueless.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Sam said you might have some information about Rose. Get to that.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it information actually, more like thoughts.”
“What kind of thoughts?”
“I want to help find your daughter, but I’m also working on an article for a travel magazine, tied to the little girl found walking on the levee about nine years ago.”
Vicky usually described her project as a true crime travel article, but considering the situation and trying to be sensitive, didn’t mention crime.
“We just moved here last year.” Rita sounded impatient.
“There could be a connection there.”
“What, a found girl and a missing girl, nine years apart?” Rita scoffed. “I’m sure the cops would know if there was.”
Yeah, sure, if the right ones had all the right information. “Two miles apart, in a remote area like this. Seems like quite a coincidence.”
There was more of course—Rick’s story about the cargo truck, Don’s talk about a distribution ring, the investigation into the old sheriff—but that was not for this conversation.
“That’s it? What makes you think so?” Rita asked.
“It’s odd there’d be two incidents so close together, even if one was a while ago.”
“Rose is not an incident.”
“Sorry, that’s not what I meant, not at all.” Time to switch gears. Vicky took a sip of coffee and gestured toward a photo of Rita and Rose, beaming, in jeans and jackets, atop horses. “That’s a wonderful photo of you two. Colorado?”
“Yes. It was her first time riding.”
“You both look like naturals. You said you got here about a year ago?”
Rita made a half-shrug, half-nod movement.
Vicky paused in hopes she would say why here. She didn’t.
“Colorado’s beautiful. I live near Denver. Your ex was from here, right? Bill Beck, Junior.”
Rita lifted a shoulder and took a sip from her mug.
“I met his sister. Joan, your ex-sister-in-law. Do you know her well?”
“Never met her. We were only married a couple of years. Biggest mistake of my life.”
“I’ve made a couple mistakes I thought were big until I made others that were worse.” Vicky could give plenty of examples, but it was enough to sound a bit sheepish.
Rita half-smiled, nodding in rueful agreement. Then her face hardened and grew shadows. “No. My worst mistake was trusting my sister to watch my daughter.”
“That seems like a perfectly normal, okay thing to do—leaving your child with someone you know.”
“Apparently not.”
“Who would ever think this would happen?” Vicky paused to let some of her sympathy sink in. “Sounds like you two already didn’t get along.”
“We used to.”
“That happens a lot in families.” Vicky acted as though she had personal knowledge, which she didn’t. “It’s too bad. What happened?”
“Hmph.” Rita sounded disgusted. “Drugs. She can’t keep a job or handle money. Though she was supposedly getting her life together. I never should’ve believed her.” Rita put down her mug. “But what’s it to you?” She was much more talkative than her sister but apparently had her limits.
“She won’t talk to me.”
“And why should I?”
“Maybe I can help.”
“I don’t see how.” Rita shook her head impatiently.
“People have told me some local history. I’m looking for connections.” Vicky’s phone vibrated on her thigh. She stole a glance at the screen. Ah, Rick could meet this afternoon. She had texted him to say she happened to be in town and would love to have coffee, just to catch up.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know yet. That’s why we talk. Maybe we’ll find one.” Vicky had no musical, physical or artistic ability, no performance talent whatsoever, but she could usually get people to talk. And she did have an aptitude for finding links and associations.
Rita took a drink. “What’ve people told you?”
“Let’s start with Don. Why would Sara warn me off him?”
“No idea. The only danger with him is he’ll talk you to death.”
“Ha. He told me some interesting stories. He said people used to move a lot of booze and stolen property around here. Sounded like some kind of distribution ring.”
“Huh. Why’d he tell you that?”
“I wonder, too.” Also wonder whether those crooks had expanded into moving people. “Did your ex, Bill, ever talk about that kind of thing?”
Rita twisted her mouth. “He never talked about this place. He hated everything about it.”
“That’s too bad. It seems like a nice area. How do you like it?”
“It was fine until someone stole my baby.”
“Gosh, sorry, of course. I thought maybe you moved here because of Bill.”
“I lived here when I was in high school. It’s cheaper here.”
“Oh, you went to school with Bill.” Damnit. She should have known that already. “Working at the diner, you must meet everyone. Had you heard about the girl on the levee?”
“Not before. I spend most of my time in the kitchen.”
They spent several more minutes talking about the diner, the town, the people. Rita sighed, leaned back, and closed her eyes.
It was time to leave. “I’ll let you get some rest.” Vicky got to her feet, motioning Rita not to get up. “Can I help with any errands? I have some time. Do you need groceries or anything?”