The Last Girl

“Ernie used to be a Blue Diamond,” Aron said. “He moved up here from Florida, and got into a bad motorcycle accident, almost crippled him.”

  “Ernie’s okay,” Bill said. “He never did anything but grow and sell weed.”

  Aron turned right on to a muddy driveway, the brights revealing a decaying farmhouse.

  “Is he home?” Aron asked.

  “He doesn’t leave much,” Bill said. “He lives in the trailer now.”

  “The house is just rotting?”

  “Ernie moved out years ago.”

  Aron cruised the truck past the house, a trailer close by, white with yellow trim, the front light on. Several old vehicles and a few motorcycles took up the area.

  They heard a dog barking, then the trailer door swung open. A small, skinny man, dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants, came outside, walking with a metal cane, a red bandana wrapped around his bald head. A Boxer, with the same colors as Helga, ran ahead of him.

  They got out of the truck. Bill rubbed the dog’s head. “This is Jed, Sonya. One of Helga’s puppies.”

  “Best dog I ever had,” Ernie said, in a voice hoarse from decades of smoking. “I’d breed him, but he’s scared to death of other dogs. He only likes people.”

  Bill laughed, and Ernie’s rough face split in a grin. “He’s just out here, Ern, with you and the weed.”

  “I grow tomatoes, too. I like to grow things.” Ernie gave a friendly nod to Aron and Sonya. “I hear Garcia’s coming around your neighborhood.”

  “These girls are being attacked in town,” Aron said.

  “I read about that in the paper,” Ernie said. “What a psycho. Garcia came to the club-house, looking for T. Well, T.’s been in Florida, trying to come back from a stroke. Donut was in charge, but he’s sick, too. Leukemia. His son Waylon asked why Garcia wanted to see T., but he wouldn’t say.”

  Ernie followed them to the back of the truck, the camper cover hiding Bill’s potted marijuana plants. Sonya stood aside while Bill and Aron carried out all eight plants, in full bloom, the tips of the long, narrow leaves, with their zig-zag shape, brushing against the ground.

  Sonya could not believe how a harmless looking plant was such a big deal. If Bill or Ernie were ever arrested, they would have to pay thousands of dollars in fines and months in jail.

  “I don’t go to the club-house much anymore,” Ernie said. “Most of my friends are dead, and I can’t ride anymore, not with my legs.”

  Jed sniffed at the plants, then approached Sonya, who petted him. “He looks just like her.”

  “Jed’s father was mostly white,” Bill said. “I mated Helga with him twice. Can’t remember his name, though...”

  “I can put your plants in my barn. Up in the loft,” Ernie said.

  “I’m surprised DeKooning hasn’t busted you yet.”

  “DeKooning? She doesn’t even live in Michigan anymore.”

  “Oh. Right...”

  “Good thing, if you ask me. I once heard that T. wanted her dead. Toon said T. offered him twenty-thousand for the hit, but T. changed his mind.”

  “Who’s Toon?” Sonya asked.

  Ernie turned around, noticing Sonya as if for the first time. “Toon is an evil dude. Death follows him.”

  Part Three-Skin Or Bone

  Chapter Twenty

  The boy was at the club-house when his father found Jimmy. The boy’s father had been tending bar and stayed late. The boy had fallen asleep in a basement room, the same room where Waylon’s girls would be with different guys, usually the young Diamonds who still had to pay.

  The boy could have stayed home, but the noise was driving him crazy. The house smelled like baby pee, and his mother could not seem to keep up with the toilet training. His father was not much help, but he was staying home more.

  He never took the boy back to the lake and the floating women were just a bad memory, like so many others.

  The boy had spent part of the night at the bar, helping his father. The place became busy, the brothers coming in with their old ladies, playing pool or watching TV, maybe a few more kids would be around. The women would leave by ten, and the brothers would get more wild. Waylon would show up with his girls, and the boy was told to go downstairs. There was a bed and a TV in the room.

  The girls could take the men to the bathrooms.

  The boy had dozed off to the sound of loud talk and music. He was getting older, he knew what they did, with the drugs and girls. One girl, Nikki, was from Florida. She was part Seminole Indian, and showed the boy how she could tie a cherry stem into a bow with her tongue. He had sat there and watched her mouth while the brothers chuckled. He was not sure why they kept staring, but they seemed impressed.

  The boy had been awakened by his father that night. He put on his coat, following his father out of the one-story building that had once been a tavern in the 1950s. His father opened the heavy back door, taking a few steps towards his bike, when he found Jimmy laying on the cracked pavement, his face a bloody pulp.

  The boy stared at the unconscious Jimmy as his father ran back inside to call an ambulance.

  The boy knew Jimmy, as he did all the brothers. The man’s T-shirt and leather vest were soaked with blood, his long hair matted with it. The boy could make out the shut eyes, the slack lips, the mouth almost hanging open, but the center of Jimmy’s face was missing.

  His nose was gone.

  The boy bent down, looking closer. His gaze came to a series of tiny pebbles by Jimmy’s head. Later, he would be told that Jimmy lost several teeth when he was beaten by the metal baseball bat held by Philip Kent. Jimmy would later have to identify Kent in a line-up at the Marine Heights Police Department headquarters, because the club-house never used security cameras. The boy’s father would not have to testify at the trial, because he made sure he and his son were gone before the police arrived.

  The boy picked up one of Jimmy’s teeth, holding the hard incisor gently between his fingers. When he heard his father open the door, he shoved the tooth in his coat pocket.

  His father took him by the arm. “Come on. The operators record the calls nowadays. I need you to do it...”

  *****

  “Hi, Sonya.”

  She looked up to see Kyle approaching her. He was smiling, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his down coat. The day was chilly, Sonya wearing her hoodie in the front yard, Helga next to her on a leash.

  “Hi,” she said.

  His smile faded. “Trey was taken in by Garcia.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  He shrugged. “I once caught him looking in that lady’s bedroom window. I was kidding around, and I sneaked up on him. He was startled, and he gasped. You know, high-pitched, like,’Huh-ah!’ The lady heard him and she stepped towards the window. We ran out of there, and she didn’t see us. Tony Beck blabbed about it to Garcia, but none of that makes Trey the Ravisher. He can’t be.”

  “Trey seems like a quiet guy.”

  “He is. He was an only child, but his mom took off when he was a baby.”

  “Did Garcia ask you any questions?”

  “Just about the day I caught Trey peeping.”

  A cold breeze blew through Kyle’s hair and Sonya could not help but wonder why he had come around.

  Even if he likes me, Sonya thought, he wouldn’t want the trouble.

  “Mom sent me over,” he said. “She wants to know if you could babysit this Friday night. Donut might be going into the hospital for the last time. Mom wanted to visit with him and Carrie.”

  “Has your mom ever told you about a guy named Toon?”

  A wide grin spread across Kyle’s face. “Toon’s a real bad ass. Been in and out of prison. Who told you about him?”

  “Ernie.”

  “The weed-man?”

  Sonya giggled. “He grows crops out there.”

  “He’s lucky he hasn’t got busted yet, the old fool. But the Diamonds s
till buy from him.”

  “Does Toon...kill people?”

  “That’s what I’ve heard. Funny thing, he’s just a skinny guy. They call him Toon because he’s covered in cartoon character tattoos. He has Bugs Bunny on one arm, Daffy Duck on the other. Tweety Bird on his neck. He’d be a joke if he had a conscience, but no one makes fun of Toon.”

  “How old were you when your dad died?”

  “Ten, almost eleven.”

  “Did you go to the club-house a lot?”

  “Not after my brothers were born. I stayed home to help Mom. But Dad would still ride. One night, the roads became icy and he wiped out in the wrong lane.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “Did your—”

  “You ask a lot of questions, Sonya.”

  “Kristen Beck told me that I’m a snoop.”

  “Do you think you’re a snoop?” Kyle asked.

  “I just like to know the truth.”

  “The truth can be complicated.”

  “People are complicated. Why do they make things so hard?”

  “Fear. Everyone is afraid of something.” He looked down at Helga, who did not leave Sonya’s side, although her tail brushed against the ground as it wagged. “Can I tell Mom you’ll babysit?”

  *****

  Sonya was upstairs, finishing a grammar assignment, when she heard Helga barking.

  Someone had come to the house.

  She was not expecting to see Mike Winstead standing in the living room, looking through Bill’s hunting equipment on the couch.

  “I thought I could use a tree stand,” Mike said.

  Sonya recognized the confused look in Bill’s eyes, but he continued to smile. “I only had a few. We sold that last one on e-Bay. Right, Aron?”

  Aron nodded. “There’s just the bow and the knives now. A few suits.”

  Sonya looked to the knives in their cases, neatly laid on the end table next to the couch. She felt her father’s gaze on her, as if he was waiting for her to say something about the knife.

  She met his eyes, and realized he wanted her to stay silent.

  Helga sniffed Mike’s hand as he reached for the bow in its zipped-up case. “I remember when you took this out, Bill. Turkey hunting in Lamont.”

  “Never killed one. I don’t like the taste of wild turkey.”

  “Then why did you go?”

  “I liked being outdoors.”

  The clipped-point knife was towards the edge of the table, enclosed in its black case. Helga, who wanted to keep Mike’s attention, backed up, and her rump brushed against the case, knocking the knife to the carpet.

  Bill chuckled as he retrieved the knife. “Boxers. They’re comical. Come here, Helga, before you knock over the lamp.”

  Mike held out his hand and Bill placed the case in his palm. Mike took a long look at the case before opening it. He cocked his head to one side. “This looks just like mine. The clipped-point. I bought it from you. Remember, Bill?”

  “Do I! Took me days to find that receipt. It’s got your name on it.”

  “The serial numbers match up, Mike,” Aron said. “We don’t know why its here. The knife should be with you.”

  “I loaned that knife to Trey. He still has it. There must be a mix-up with the serial numbers.”

  “Maybe.”

  Mike put the knife back on the table. He did not make eye contact as he pet Helga on the head and neck. “He was taken by the police for questioning last night. He’s still there. They think he’s attacking those girls, cutting up their faces. Ridiculous.”

  Sonya remained silent. Aron stepped closer to Mike. “Is that what the police told you?”

  “I just know it. Trey told me last week not to be surprised if he was questioned. When I asked him why, he told me about what happened at his old job, working for Lister, and that Garcia would find out he had spent some time at Haven Rest. But that’s no proof...”

  “I’m sure the police are questioning other suspects.”

  “I don’t think there’s very many. But my boy would never attack those girls. He has a good heart.”

  Bill came up behind Mike, and patted him on the shoulder. “Trey found me in the woods, when I got lost...”

  Mike shook his head. “Trey wasn‘t with us that day, Bill.”

  “Maybe we did mix up the serial numbers on the receipt,“ Aron said. “It’s possible.”

  “Well, Bill,” Mike said. “I was hoping you still had a stand.”

  “You can buy ‘em cheap at Wal-Mart,” Bill said.

  Bill followed Mike outside, and Aron retrieved the knife from the table.

  “Do you think there was a mix-up?” Sonya asked.

  “No. Maybe I should call Garcia.”

  “If that knife belongs to Mike, how did it end up here?”

  “I think someone brought it back.”

  *****

  Bobby and Sonya got off the scooter, parking in front of Ashley’s apartment unit at the Meadows.

  “Did I already thank you for coming with me?” Bobby asked.

  “Yes, you did,” Sonya said.

  The weather was gray and wet, the scooter making it to the Meadows before the downpour.

  Bobby and Sonya, their helmets still on, ran to the unit, Bobby knocking at Ashley’s door.

  A young woman with blonde hair, loose around her shoulders, wearing black eyeliner and a tube top, opened the door. She smiled, and Sonya noticed the gap in her upper front teeth. “Come in before you’re soaked!”

  She laughed as they passed her into the apartment, taking off their helmets.

  The first thing Sonya noticed was the Blue Diamond tapestry on the wall, similar to Barb’s. The second thing was the two men sitting at opposite ends of a couch below. Both looked to be middle aged. Sonya blinked, trying not to stare at the man closest to her. His face was disfigured; a flat space with two holes where his nose used to be, a deep vertical scar in one cheek. He was bloated and balding, wearing a gray sweatshirt and jeans.

  The other man had long auburn hair streaked with gray. Freckles were splashed on his face and arms. He was thin, wearing a sleeveless white T-shirt, and Sonya did not miss the Bugs Bunny tattoo on his lower arm.

  She realized she was looking at Toon.

  “Rick said he paid you back on the rent,” Bobby said.

  Ashley nodded. “I got the money.”

  Bobby placed the charm bracelet in her hand.

  “Thanks,” she said. “My dad bought me this years ago.”

  “Why did Rick take it?” Bobby asked.

  She shrugged. “He probably took it as an excuse to come by, but that was before I filed the restraining order. I heard he’s staying with Shawn and Bree.” She looked down at Bobby’s broken fingers. “I’m sorry he did that...”

  “Has he tried to come around?”

  “No. He knows Jimmy and Toon are staying with me for now.”

  “Is there anything you want me to tell him?”

  Sonya had moved behind Bobby, as close to the door as possible, Ernie and Kyle’s words in her head. Ernie had said that Toon was evil, and she did not forget that Philip Kent had cut off Jimmy Hepler’s nose.

  Sonya could not believe Ashley would live with these men.

  Ashley sighed. “Just tell him to stay away. As soon as my lease is up, I’m moving.”

  *****

  “You’re telling me that Ashley has a hit man living with her?” Bobby asked.

  He and Sonya had stopped off at a McDonald‘s for lunch, sitting in a booth.

  “Not to mention the man who could have raped Justine’s mother,” Sonya said.

  While they ate, Sonya explained about her visit to Ernie’s farm and Philip Kent’s attack on Jimmy Hepler nine years ago.

  “Do you believe Philip Kent hired that Hepler guy to attack his own wife?” Bobby asked.

  “But why?”


  “I think it was about money.”

  “Kent made a good living.”

  “Angela Kent was wealthy. Her father owned the Marine Cinema. Now its the Marine Movieplex. Twenty-five screens.”

  “No wonder Justine can stay at Haven Rest all this time. Trey Winstead was a patient for awhile. The police haven’t released him yet.”

  “Maybe they’re trying to get a confession out of him.”

  “But what proof do they have?”

  “They could search his place.”

  “For the ring or the watch?”

  “I’ll bet they’re all over it. Even his truck.”

  “Mike said that he loaned the knife to Trey, but my dad thinks someone brought the knife back to Uncle Bill’s house. But someone would have to get inside and put it in his closet. And Helga’s usually there.”

  Bobby’s squirted catsup from a packet on his French fries. “When is Helga not in the house? Does Bill take her for walks?”

  “No. She just runs in the yard. She goes to the vet sometime—” Sonya put her cup, full of Dr. Pepper, back down. “There was one day, when the doors were unlocked. Uncle Bill’s closet light was on. They had taken Helga for a booster shot.”

  “But why would Trey bring the knife back? Why not throw it in the lake?”

  “And how would he know that Helga wouldn’t be in the house?”

  “Maybe he was watching?”

  “He picks Kyle up for work almost every night. Otherwise, I don’t see his truck around much.”

  “Is the truck his only vehicle?” Bobby asked.

  “I think so. I could be wrong.”

  They finished their burgers and fries while watching the rain pour down against the windows.

  “Winter before you know it,” Bobby said. “The scooter will go into hibernation.”

  “I don’t mean to be nosy—”

  “Of course not.”

  “But gas isn’t cheap, and you bought me lunch—”

  “To thank you for coming with me. There are a few old ladies at my apartments and they need someone to help with housekeeping or pick up some groceries. I make a few dollars that way.”

  “I need a job.”

  “I can’t believe Kristen Beck went back to the Chester Chicken.”

  “She needs money, too. And she thought the Ravisher would come back.”

  “He’s too smart.”

  “There’s only one way to know for sure that Trey Winstead is the Ravisher...”

  “What could that be?” Bobby asked.

  “The last attack happened more than a week ago. If Trey is still in custody, and another attack happens, they have the wrong guy.”