Chapter Nineteen

Early Wednesday November 2008

Vicky deliberately arrived in town well before her ten o’clock meeting with Mike The Bag Guy so she’d have time for a brisk walk. She needed to loosen up her banged-up hip and shoulder. Then she’d go to the diner to ‘bump into’ the sheriff. And maybe have one of Sam’s cinnamon rolls, with the secret ingredient Sam declined to disclose. She hadn’t tried one yet. It was time.

The library wasn’t supposed to open for more than an hour, but the lights were on. Vicky peered in. Liz Ann was talking with someone.

What the heck? Was that Mike? Laughing?

Liz Ann spotted her, waved her forward, and opened the door. “Vicky! Hi! I’d like you to meet someone.”

Mike had the remnants of a grin on his face. He held a small plant half-wrapped in brown paper.

“Vicky, this is Mike, Mike Miller.”

“Hello, again. Yes, we’ve met. I ordered one of his bags.”

Liz Ann and Mike were already moving toward the back of the library. Liz Ann glanced back. “Oh, you did? They’re beautiful, aren’t they? Are you here for the garden club meeting? We’re about to start.”

Vicky followed them. “Yes, I am, if it’s okay with everyone…” She could catch up with the sheriff later.

Everyone consisted of five people in an alcove, sitting at a large library table covered with newspaper. Several small plants were placed in the middle, roots wrapped. Mike put his plant with the others and sat down.

Liz Ann made quick introductions. Vicky was so pleased to meet sisters Barb and Susan, both retired schoolteachers, and yes, she remembered George, the assistant librarian. “We almost met at the library. You were on the phone. Nice to actually meet you.”

“Sure. How ya doing?”

Ah. The Minnesota accent was unmistakable. George was the Younger Suspicious Guy from her first time at Sam’s Café. She’d pictured someone more like a movie Viking—big and muscular, with flowing blond hair. George was in his thirties, tall and skinny. He wore glasses, a short, neat beard, and long dark hair in a ponytail. Well, she’d had his age about right, anyway.

“My husband, Don, told me all about you,” said Susan. “Guess you could tell he loves to talk.”

“Don, yes, he was very helpful.”

The group quickly got down to gardening business. George ran a tight meeting.

They talked in great detail about the library garden, what needed to be done when, and who could do it. Vicky asked a couple of questions to show she was interested.

Mike added as much to the discussion as anybody. No more Silent Swamp Guy. Maybe he didn’t like strangers.

Toward the end of their hour, the members traded plants and small talk before the meeting broke up. Time to open the library.

Vicky dawdled until Liz Ann said, “Well, I need to get to work. So glad you came.” She headed to the front desk, leaving Vicky standing with Mike.

“I’ll see you at ten.” Mike turned toward the row of public computers.

“Want to talk now?”

“Ten’s better.”

“Sure. Perfect.” She’d have time for a cup of coffee. She needed the caffeine. The sheriff might still be at the diner, and maybe a cinnamon roll with her name on it.

Barb and Susan from the garden club were at the corner table when Vicky arrived. They waved. “Vicky, come sit with us.”

“Thanks. I can only stay a few minutes.”

Barb asked, “What’s the big rush?” just as Susan asked, “So what’d you think of our meeting? You almost fell asleep when we were talking about the vines.”

“Sorry, I hadn’t had any coffee. And I’m not great with plants.”

Once they were in dirt and getting water, Vicky expected them to take care of themselves. These people were serious about vegetation. Something called bindweed had invaded the garden. Battling it sounded more like slow-motion warfare than gardening. Vicky’s mind had wandered away, until something caught her ear. What was that? Something about a cabin? She’d wanted to ask, but the club was already back on topic.

After she got her coffee, Vicky asked, “So how long have you all been with the club?” She didn’t quite say ‘y’all’ but came close. The soft pronunciation was contagious.

The sisters talked over each other. They’d been helping out for ten years, or was it twelve? But George started at the library, must be six years now, he’s the one who really got them organized. Liz Ann didn’t even garden before he came. Mike had been there the longest. He did a lot of work but hardly ever attended meetings.

Vicky was tempted to talk about the fundraiser but decided it’d be better to wait until a few things were nailed down. She drank most of the refill. “Well, I have to get going.”

On her way out, Vicky checked in with Sam, who said she couldn’t talk now, but was okay going ahead with the fundraiser. And the sheriff had agreed to speak.

When Vicky got back to the library, Mike was coming out the front door. She pulled out her phone and checked the time. “You’re leaving? It’s only five ‘til.”

“Let’s talk out here.” Mike gestured toward a bench.

Vicky followed. “I saw Barb and Susan at the diner. It’s great y’all take care of the garden.”

Mike stopped at a green metal bench. “Uh-huh.” He remained standing at one end.

She sat down, half-turned toward the center. “It seems like a good group.”

“Yeah. What did you mean about making something right? Make what right?”

“Maybe it’s more about finishing something.” Should she stand? Nah, maybe he’d sit if she didn’t. “I was a reporter here, a few years ago—”

“I looked you up.”

“Is that what you were doing on the computer?”

“That and some business. The library has good Internet access.”

“It’s the nicest library I’ve ever been in.” Vicky patted the bench. “C’mon. Sit down. Let’s just talk.”

Mike hesitated, then sat, facing straight ahead. Vicky stayed where she was so she could watch him. She waited to see if he would say anything and was not surprised when he didn’t.

“It’s pretty quiet around here.”

That was obvious, and Mike didn’t reply. He was clearly not big on small talk.

“What was it like, growing up here?” she asked, using one of her fallback conversation starters.

“Quiet.” Mike turned from staring at the side garden. “You’re the one showed up looking for me. Why?”

“Like I said, I’m working on a travel article.” And she was, but she had to know what the story was before she could write it. “It may be focused on Rose right now, but I’ll definitely tie it to the little mystery girl found on the levee. Lisa. A true crime travel article. If there was a crime. It’s always haunted me, that child wandering around in the middle of nowhere. How’d that happen? Whose daughter was she?”

Mike looked back at the garden without speaking.

It was clearly time for a different approach. Vicky waved her hand. “Bear with me a minute. I’ll explain. You know Rick Carr, right? He has one of your bags.”

His shoulder made a minor movement. Mike, Mysterious Outdoors Guy, was more talkative with her than when they first met, but only if compared to absolute silence.

“I knew Rick when I worked in St. Louis, it’s been almost ten years now. One night we bumped into each other and had a few drinks. He’d just put his dog Maggie down. This was a day or two before Lisa showed up on the levee.”

Vicky watched Mike directly, not pretending otherwise. “Long story short, he was flat-drunk and told me a couple stories. One was about his father kicking Maggie into a tree when she was a pup. That same day his father gave him a leather bag he got at a caretaker’s cabin. You make bags.”

Now, fingers crossed that Mike was the guy Rick had followed in the woods. “The other involved you, when you were both kids and spied on the sheriff and your father.”

Mike didn’t show any more expression in profile than he did face-to-face.

Good. It must be him. “Rick said you saw people carry boxes from a truck into a big house. There were armed guards. It sounded suspicious. That’s why I looked for you.”

Something changed in Mike’s face, like he alerted to a sound or a scent. “You’re investigating the Carrs?” He sounded almost eager. “I was there when that son of a bitch kicked the dog, too.”

Obviously, he had no love lost for the now-deceased sheriff. Great, she thought, now talk.

“I was in high school. He was at our place looking for someone. Yelled at my pa, treated him like dirt. Yeah. He threatened to kick my ass and stole a bag I made special for someone.” Mike kept his eyes on the garden. “And before he left, he kicked his kid’s pup into a tree.”

Vicky didn’t move, silently urging him to keep talking.

Mike obliged. “He had it in for me. He busted me a few times, mostly for nothing. It ruined my life, having a record. Set me on a bad path.”

“Seems like you have friends here, and a pretty good business.”

“Making bags, living in a swamp, is not what I planned to do with my life.”

“What’d you plan to do?”

“Doesn’t matter. But the old sheriff was dirty. His boy Rick might have told you what we saw at the lodge, but he didn’t tell you all of it. They weren’t moving boxes. They were moving women. And it wasn’t only that one time.”

Vicky caught her breath. “They were prisoners?”

“Appeared to be. They were in a cargo truck.”

“Rick didn’t mention women.”

“He was a kid. Maybe he didn’t pick up on it.”

Unlikely, she thought. Rick was smart. “So the lodge was used for sex trafficking or something?”

“I don’t know. I just know what I saw.”

“Maybe the woman was one who escaped.”

“What woman?”

“The one who had your bag. The girl must have been with her.”

“We saw that truck when I was in high school, a long time ago. The girl on the levee was what, ten years ago?”

“Nine. In 1999. She and the mystery woman were here at the same time. Maybe there were traffickers who’d been at it all these years. It’s possible, especially if the sheriff was in on it. You said he was dirty. And now maybe they got Rose.”

Saying it out loud stabbed Vicky. Please don’t let it be so. She couldn’t forgive herself for not doing more back then. Vicky added friendly urgency to her voice. “Tell me about the woman, Mike. Maybe she escaped from there. Did you help her get away?”

Mike looked back toward the garden.

“You don’t have to give me any details. Tell me what happened. Bare bones.”

Silence.

“What are you worried about? A crime? Are you worried what people’ll think?”

“I’m not interested in what people think,” he growled.

“Was there something illegal? Just because something’s illegal doesn’t necessarily mean it’s wrong.”

Mike stared straight ahead. She could feel it. He was going to tell her. Just wait it out. Let him talk.