Chapter Thirty-Five

The Fundraiser

Rick Carr opened the fundraiser with a touching video montage about the community joining together to find Little Rose Willwood. On stage, her mother trembled as she made a heartbreaking plea for help finding her daughter. The junior FBI agent followed and gave an update with no real new information. Sheriff Linden got up to thank the volunteers and ask anyone with information that might help find Rose to please speak up.

Rick was a talented emcee. The crowd absolutely loved it when he announced they were going to be broadcasting live in thirty seconds. He held up his hand and announced, “Standby” in a loud and authoritative voice, before switching to his ever-so-slightly over-the-top TV anchor/reporter persona.

People whispered about him growing up here. “Yes, right here in Walkers Corner,” one said. “He used to be a cop. And now he’s on TV news in St. Louis.”

The band was a big hit with their lively blend of blues and almost poetic country rock. Copies of their new album were up for sale next to the donation booth with all proceeds going to the Rolls for Rose fund. They sold out long before the end of the show.

An hour later, Rick signed off. The show was over. Don and Deputy Merrill both rose to help Vicky up from her seat next to the library wall.

Sheriff Linden appeared at Vicky’s side and gave her elbow a light touch. “All right now, it’s time we talk.”

“Yes, thanks, I’ll be back in a sec, okay? Really, just a minute. I need to thank people.” And give Pete enough time to get the group together.

Sheriff Linden drew a deep breath, the very soul of patience. Vicky started unsteadily toward the stage. Kerry met her halfway.

“Omigod, Kerry. Thank you, thank you, thank you for all you’ve done.”

Kerry returned Vicky’s modified high-five. “It was good, wasn’t it?”

“It was amazing. You’re amazing.” Vicky gestured, encompassing the lively groups of people milling around, neighbors and once-strangers mingling with the bakers, the band, TV people, cops, and politicians. “Look at all this.”

“Crazy, huh? Did you love Rick’s intro?” Kerry did an imitation of his adlib about the band, rock ’n roll, and the smell of cinnamon rolls in the morning.

“And check this out.” Kerry held out her phone. “The response is fantastic. Donations are coming in faster and bigger than anyone hoped.”

Rick broke away from his fans to join Kerry and Vicky. “Hi, Vick. Are you okay? How’s the leg?”

“Not too bad. I got lucky.”

She summarized the event casually, like it was no big deal that someone wanted her dead. The three of them—being news people—spent several minutes analyzing the RV explosion and possible scenarios before switching to fundraiser highlights. The benefit was, by any measure, a success. For now, anyway. In Vicky’s unvoiced opinion it would succeed only when Rose was found safe and healthy, undamaged, or at least able to recover.

That was the only metric that mattered. Though it’d be good to find out about a few other things, too.

“I better get going. The sheriff wants to talk with me.” Vicky gestured toward Linden, who watched her while talking on his phone. She half-turned to Rick. “Oh. Rick?” For a moment she channeled Columbo, the rumbled TV detective who always happened to remember he had just one last question before he left. “I wanted to ask you something. I meant to when we had coffee, but you had to leave.”

Rick froze, probably bracing himself for whatever she was about to say in front of his boss.

“The other day, we were talking about Lisa on the Levee, when you were a deputy—you were at Joan Beck’s that day, right?”

“What?” he acted perplexed. “The kid on the levee? What about her?”

“Joan mentioned you were at her house that day.”

“Maybe. Long time ago.” Rick did his charmingly sheepish grin thing. “How ‘bout we get you on camera for a quick interview about the explosion? Won’t take a minute.”

“Not now. Just use the statement, okay?”

Pete had sent it out to the news media on her behalf before they left the hospital. It said she was shocked but fine, had confidence in the investigation, was grateful for all the help and good wishes, and that she looked forward to seeing everyone at the Rolls for Rose fundraiser today.

“All right, I guess. I gotta run.” Rick shook her hand. “Glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks. Good to see you.” For the last time, probably. Just as well. Some things were better called done and gone.

As Rick strode away, Kerry called after him, “You still need to turn a fresh story for the Ten.” She put a hand on Vicky’s shoulder. “I’ll ask one more time, then I’ll leave you alone. Let’s get you to tell us what happened. You can also talk about the fundraiser.”

Vicky had interviewed plenty of people who spoke too soon. She wasn’t going to say anything on the record until she was ready. “You know I want to, but not yet. I will, but later. Not today.” Vicky crossed her fingers for good luck and used them to blow Kerry a kiss. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“You better.” Kerry pointed a finger in mock-warning, then left without another word.

Vicky watched Linden walk toward her. She didn’t see Don and hoped he was with Pete. “Okay, Sheriff, I’m ready. Thanks for being so patient.”

So far, she’d managed to avoid saying much of any substance to him. And despite her actions to the contrary, the gun scare had unnerved her, especially when it followed so soon after the RV explosion. She followed him to the library door, pausing along the way to thank the volunteers breaking down the booths, or loading furniture onto trucks, or doing general cleanup. It was early afternoon but had already been a long day after a very long night. People were ready to go home.

Linden held the door open for Vicky, then followed her inside where Don sat with Pete, Sam, and Mike at the table closest to the check-out desk. Perfect.

“Sheriff, do you mind if we just catch up on a few things first?” Vicky sounded nice as pie. “Y’all did such a great job with everything,” she said to the group.

Linden’s expression fell somewhere near the intersection of irritated, interested, and entertained. After a long, questioning look at Don, he sat. “Make it quick.”

Mike locked the front door. Vicky settled into the seat Pete indicated. He helped her lift her injured leg onto another chair.

Don immediately began embellishing the story of how he’d tripped and how bad he felt if he’d scared anyone with his old pistol. “Thank the Good Lord no one was hurt. Shouldn’t have brought it along, shouldn’t have had it out, but things’ve been a little odd around here lately. I just wanted to be ready to help.” He wiped his forehead with a blue bandana handkerchief. Vicky briefly recalled reading that the classic bandana’s paisley design originated in India. Or was it Persia?

Don appeared jumpy and close to crying, but Vicky admired his talent for framing a story with his version of events, getting it out there first so it could hardly be repeated without his side in it.

Don finally caved to the sheriff’s glare and unspoken order to be quiet. In the silence that followed, Vicky renewed her vow—made only to herself, fortunately—to mostly listen. She had asked Pete to feel free to speak up about anything, whatever seemed right, depending on the mood of the table, whatever it took to help get people talking.

That proved unnecessary.

Sam put both hands on the table. “I’ve been remembering things.” She paused and took a breath as if to compose herself. She’d taken off her apron but still wore the clothes she’d worn while baking and selling cinnamon rolls. “Things I’ve tried not to think about since I was a kid. Vicky’s been helping me remember.”

She spoke softly. “I am, or I was, the girl they called Lisa. But Samantha is my real name.”

Sheriff Linden opened his mouth, then clamped it shut just as fast. Don over-acted surprise with raised eyebrows and an open mouth. Pete and Mike just waited.

“Lisa on the Levee,” Vicky confirmed.

“You knew.” Sam pressed her lips into a tight semi-smile. “I wondered, with the questions you kept asking.”

“You’re the right age. You said you’d been in institutions. And you moved here.” Vicky looked around the table. “Earlier, when we were in Liz Ann’s office, Sam started to talk about what happened before she was found on the levee.” She motioned to Sam to go on.

“When it happened, when the farmer found me,” Sam said, “people kept asking who I was, how I got there. I couldn’t answer ‘cause I didn’t know. Everything was blank. But now things are coming back; things that I’ve always tried to keep out of my mind.”

Her voice grew stronger as she talked, succinctly summing up some of what she’d told Vicky: being with her mama on the bus, then in a cave, a tunnel, a strange house, the woman, escaping.

She sounded almost matter of fact, but it didn’t take any imagination to know she’d been through something hellish. “I was put in a psych hospital for kids, then foster homes ’til I was eighteen. Then I was on my own.”

Vicky was impressed by how effectively Sam communicated, especially for someone who’d spent eight years not saying a word. “Is that when you started talking again?”

“Yeah.” Sam half-grinned. “Sometimes I miss not talking.”

Vicky smiled. “You came back to Walkers Corner.”

Sam and the sheriff exchanged a serious look. “I thought if anyone ever wanted to find me, I’d be here. I’ve never told anyone about this.”

After a pause, Vicky said, “I need to say something.”

Sheriff Linden made a go-ahead gesture that transitioned to a hold-on-now motion to Don. Don closed his mouth and scowled.

“I feel responsible, since I invited everyone here.” Vicky aimed a shrug at the sheriff. “Thanks for coming. We’re just talking, but everyone should remember Linden is a cop, and I’m planning to write a story.” She grinned at Don. “And it’s even possible Don might mention something about whatever he hears.”

Don didn’t seem amused. “I knew you weren’t writing a travel article.”

“Everyone knew that,” Mike added.

“I am writing a travel article, about a place where a crime happened. Or crimes.” It was true, though only part of Vicky’s motivation. “I’m just saying, no one’s obligated to say or answer anything.”

Sheriff Linden frowned. Mike glanced around the table. “We’re all grownups here.”

“I want to keep going,” said Sam. “Ask away.”

“All right. So you pretended you couldn’t talk?”

“I didn’t want to talk about anything.”

“Sounds like you had good reason.”

Don jumped in. “I remember that, that little girl who showed up out of the blue. That was you? We searched everywhere, couldn’t find any sign of where—”

Sheriff Linden didn’t let him get going full speed. “Let her talk. What else?”

Sam shrugged. “That’s it.”

“Where’d all this happen?” Linden sounded impatient.

“I don’t know.”

The honed edge in the looks Sam and Linden exchanged suggested some history between the two. A pre-existing adversarial condition. And yet they had a diner backdoor knock.

Interesting. What was that all about. Maybe later.

“Does anyone know—was anything else going on around the same time? Anything unusual?” Vicky asked. “Sheriff, you were with the department back then, weren’t you?”

Linden’s face remained expressionless.

“Do you remember something else going on, about the time Lisa—I mean, Sam—was found?” she asked.

Linden shook his head. “I’m not here to answer questions.”

“We’re all just talking,” said Pete.

“Look, we’re all trying to help find Rose.” Vicky spoke in a conciliatory voice. “Maybe there’s a connection between Rose and Lisa. I mean Sam. Maybe if we all share information, we can find her.”

The sheriff did not appear to be in a sharing mood. After a few moments of silent challenges crisscrossing the table, Mike spoke. “Okay, I’ll tell you something unusual that happened the day Sam was found.”

Finally. Vicky worried Mike wasn’t going to tell his story.

“I found a woman out near the edge of the swamp. She was unconscious, been beat up bad. I took care of her some, but she ran off. Never saw her again.”

Sheriff Linden leaned forward. “Who was she?”

“She never told me.”

“And you didn’t think to report that?”

“I thought about it and decided not to.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because she didn’t want to be found. She was real skittish. Scared. And it looked like she had good reason to be, like Sam.” Mike’s growly voice was now more downtown Chicago than rural Missouri. “That’s the night it rained so hard, remember, Linden? And I got sent to search halfway across the county.” He sounded like he was still sore about something.

“Now you just hold on,” Don snapped, the befuddled old man persona on pause. “We was searching for her family for hours before you finally showed up, Mike. We was organized. We had them close-in grids covered already. Where was you that whole time, anyway?”

“I just told you. I got nothing to hide.”

The sheriff was about to jump in, so Vicky spoke up. “Sheriff, you were a deputy back then. You and Rick Carr, when his father was sheriff. We talked once, out on the levee, right?”

Linden acted as though he had no idea what she was talking about. Vicky knew that act. “What’d you think of him?”

“Who?”

“The sheriff. I knew Rick from my time covering news stories, but his father wouldn’t talk to reporters, other than canned comments at news conferences.” Vicky was now certain the old sheriff had been a crook—or worse—but had no way of proving it.

Linden was good at waiting silently.

Don launched into a spirited defense of former Sheriff Carr. “He was a fine sheriff, a good man. He kept things under control. Place was thriving. Business was good.”

He wiped his forehead again. He choked up a little as he described how Carr kept working even after he got lung cancer. “He took care of things right up ‘til he died, must have been ’bout a year or so after that little girl was found, guess she’s here all grown up now.” Don took a long look at Sam. “Things were never the same after he died.” He glanced at Sheriff Linden. “No offense.”

Vicky kept her smile encouraging. “The other day, you mentioned you sometimes worked with the old sheriff, right, Don? He did other work, too, back then, didn’t he?”

Don froze, no doubt scrambling to remember what-all he’d told her while they sat across from the sassafras tree. Vicky figured it must be difficult for a person to remember everything they said when they talked as much as Don Winters.

He mumbled, “Well, every now and then, I suppose. Don’t remember what. Small stuff.”

She spoke to Linden. “The state had an investigation going on here in the county, remember? That was right about the same time.”

Linden frowned. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Vicky raised both eyebrows. “Hmm.”

Sheriff Linden was in full intel-gathering mode. “What are you talking about?”

So was Vicky. Give a little, get a little. “Back in ’99, when I worked TV news in St. Louis, a state grand jury was empaneled to investigate illegal distribution here in the county.” Vicky gave Linden a challenging stare, as though she knew much more than a long-ago glimpse of a secret subpoena. “It involved the old sheriff.”

Linden barely shook his head, no. Don stared at the table.

The silence stretched on so long Vicky almost jumped when Sam started talking again. “I was so scared. She made me promise never to talk about what happened.”

“It’s been almost ten years,” said Vicky. “You can tell us.”

After another long pause Sam spoke. “Alisa. Her name was Alisa. I promised I would never tell anyone.”

Sam looked at everyone, one by one, ending with the sheriff. She seemed calm and sure. “Alisa said if I told anyone we would both go to jail for the rest of our lives. I hope that doesn’t happen, but I need to get this out.”

Sam glanced at Vicky, who said, “Take your time. Think about what you say.”

Sheriff Linden made a go-ahead motion with his chin.

Sam seemed focused far beyond the library table. “There was a fight in the cave. Right by the door…a man was sitting on Alisa, hitting her. She was screaming for help…I had the knife. I jabbed it in his back as hard as I could. I felt it go in.”

Her entire body was taut, even her spiked blonde tips seemed to stand taller. “His blood got all over me.” A shadow crossed her face.

After a while, Vicky added, “And you were just a kid…”

“Alisa took me through the metal door into the house. The TV was on…” Sam’s voice trailed off again.

“Later she took us back to the cave. I wouldn’t go in, but she did. I was watching. The man attacked her again.” Sam scoffed wryly. “Apparently he wasn’t all the way dead. I ran away. I left my mama and ran away.”

There was a quiver in Sam’s voice, but it was more like the movement of a flexible metal rod than something that might break. “I think Alisa was searching my mother when the man attacked her again. She took something from Mama and put it in her pocket.”

Vicky wanted to touch Sam’s arm, but the chair she had her leg on was in the way. She murmured something encouraging instead. Sam stared ahead.

After a long silence, Pete said, “Can I show you something?” He’d been discreetly tapping on his laptop. Now he spun the screen to show the others a map. Pete spent a lot of time bouncing around Google Maps, searching for ponds and lakes that might be home to nice healthy bass. “I couldn’t find anything on the Missouri cave websites. Probably too small.”

He used his cursor to highlight locations. “Here’s Walkers Corner. . . this is the highway to St. Louis. . . here’s the river levee.” He traversed the countryside, pointing virtually, then paused. “I’m not sure where Sam was found…?”

Sheriff Linden got up and moved closer to the screen, pointing at it with the tip of his pen. “The little girl was right about here, south of the farm-to-market road.”

Pete marked the spot, then switched to satellite view. “Okay, you can see the area’s still mostly fields and woods. It must have been wilder back then.”

“Sam was found the same day Mike found Alisa,” Vicky said. “I doubt a kid could’ve walked very far.”

“Mike, where’d you find Alisa?” Pete asked.

Mike pointed at the screen. “Somewhere over here. See where this road splits? You can’t see much through the trees.” Using the tip of his pinkie finger, he traced a path along the wooded area. “My place is about where this ends.”

Pete followed with his cursor, then zoomed out and pointed. “This line of trees must be the creek. Somewhere along here is probably where Sam crawled out of the cave.”

As everyone contemplated the screen. Pete asked, “What’s this at the other end of the split?”

“That’s the old lodge,” Mike said. “Near the bluff.”

Pete traced the distance with his cursor. “About how far is it from your place?”

“It’s almost two miles driving, less than half that if you cut through the woods. It’s all part of the same big property.”

Pete drew a line from the lodge to the spot the sheriff had previously indicated. “It looks like a couple of miles or so from the levee.”

“Mike, do you take care of the lodge?” Vicky asked, as though she didn’t know.

“The bank pays me a few bucks a month to keep an eye on things. I just watch it rot away. Can’t stand the place. And before you ask, Sheriff, yes, I checked it when I heard about Rose. With one of your search teams.”

Mike lifted his chin. “That reminds me of another odd thing. The same day the little girl—the same day Sam was found, Rick Carr came by my place to ask if I knew anything about her, which I didn’t. Then we drove over to check the lodge.”

Mike paused. “Rick’s pa—old Sheriff Carr—was already there. He’d been inside, turned out he had a key. Claimed everything looked normal, which it did when I checked real quick, ‘cept his footprints were all over the place, coming and going. They would’ve covered up tracks of anybody else who’d been there. Him being there felt real fishy.”

Vicky glanced at Mike. “Is there a cave near the lodge?”

“Nothing big enough to be what Sam described.” Mike frowned. “But in his last days, my grandpa started talking about a cave. I didn’t think there was anything left that old man hadn’t talked about, but he held onto that one thing until just before he died.”

“What’d he say about it?” Vicky tried not to sound like she was accusing anybody of anything, but why was this just now coming up?

Mike’s eyes locked Vicky’s with a clear back-off warning. “Grandpa liked to talk. Even more than Don. Toward the end, Grandpa was rambling on. He wasn’t making much sense.”

Don scoffed. “You wouldn’t’ve never found it anyways.”

Attention swiveled to Don, who appeared almost anguished, but at the same time, somehow satisfied. His voice was shaky. He squeezed and twisted his bandana. “That ol’ cave hain’t been used in years. Mike’s granddaddy wouldn’t’ve told him nothin’ about it.” He paused. Don had a firm grasp of the dramatic. “That was the deal. We all agreed.”

Vicky wanted to thrust a fist down Don’s throat and rip out the truth. If her theory was right, a human trafficking ring had been operating this whole time. “Rose could be in there!”

“Nah. Old man Miller, Beck, and Sheriff Carr was ‘bout the only ones knew about it. And me.” He appeared to enjoy knowing something they didn’t, having something they wanted.

“We agreed to never talk about it.” Don leaned back, showing all the signs of settling into a long and convoluted story now that he had everyone’s attention. “Sheriff shut it all down ‘fore he passed. With him gone, we was done with that business.”

“What business?” Vicky asked.

Sheriff Linden stepped next to Don. “Where is it? The cave.”

Looking irritated, Don shook his head. “It’s hidden. I’d have to show you.”

Linden put a hand on his shoulder. “Don. Tell me.”

“It’s all ancient history.” Don winced as the sheriff’s hand tightened. “Hey. I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Vicky piped up. “It’d be good to just tell us. What business? You told me before about bootlegging—”

“Oh, that was long ago.” Don pulled away from Linden. “Old-timey days. We used it to store what-not ‘fore we took it places.” He glared defiantly at the sheriff. “Nothin’ you can do anything about now.”

The sheriff replaced his hand on Don’s shoulder. He towered over the old man. “Where’s the cave, Don?”

Vicky could barely contain her impatience. Rose might be in there. Plus, she was hungry to know about the ‘what-not’ Don was hanging on to. Given enough time and Don’s sheer love of gab, she could surely get him to reveal plenty about what—or who—he and his cohorts used to store, then move.

But she had no authority, bargaining chips, or time, so she settled for, “Come on, Don. Just tell us. Please. Where is it?”

Don stared at her for several seconds, then shrugged. “Oh, all right. It’s at the lodge, but you’ll never get in. It hain’t been used for years. Like I told y’all, Sheriff Carr shut it all down ‘fore he died.”

“Where at the lodge?” Mike scowled. “There’s no cave there.”

Don seemed pleased with himself. “You’d have to know about it.”

Sam leaned forward, both hands on the library table. “My mother’s body is in there.” She stood up.

Vicky lifted her injured leg off the chair. “And Rose might be, too.”

Don frowned. “Nah. The entrance is hidden and locked up tight. No one’s left knows how to open it. I don’t.”

The sheriff spoke into his radio. “Bet Merrill can.”

Vicky pictured the wide-eyed young lawman. “Merrill? The deputy?”

“There wasn’t no kind of lock his daddy couldn’t break.” Don sounded proud. “He was good at it. And he taught Merrill everything he knew.”

“Good at it, right up ‘til it got him killed.” The sheriff’s eyes said something to Don that interested Vicky. Maybe later.

She got to her feet. “Let’s go.”

Linden made a hold-on gesture. “Whoa, you’re not coming. Just Mike.”

Sam strode toward the door. “I’m coming with you.”

“No.” The sheriff pointed at Mike. “Just you, to let us in.” He pulled Don to his feet. “You. Let’s go. You’re going to tell me everything about the cave, then I’m taking you home. We’ll have plenty to talk about later.” The sheriff rushed him out.

Sam caught Mike’s arm. “Hang on, Mike. What’s the lodge address?” She and Pete had their thumbs poised over their phones. Vicky wished she still had hers.

“There’s no mail address. I have a PO Box. I’ll give you directions.” Pete followed along on his phone’s map as Mike told them how to get there.

“Mike. Hang on a sec.” Vicky whispered fiercely. “You’re in charge of the property. You can give us permission to be there. It’s okay if we’re on it, right?”

“Makes no difference to me,” said Mike.

Vicky caught his arm. “And if Linden won’t tell us what’s in the cave, you can. You need to. Please. You have to.”

Mike followed the sheriff. “I’ll think about it.”