Stranded

  They had been at the truck stop’s bar and grill for almost two hours and yet Maggie and Tully were the only two eating. Also, Maggie and Tully hadn’t bought a single thing. The men took turns buying rounds of drinks. Several truck drivers had joined them, shoving together four tables in the middle of the restaurant. The truck drivers were having fun educating Maggie and Tully on trucker lingo, which helped lighten the mood.

  Although they had warned the deputies and construction crew not to discuss what they had seen at the farm for at least twenty-four hours, Maggie knew after several drinks the men wouldn’t remember their request. As odd as it sounded, she hoped their shock and awe remained on the decapitation and that they would forget about the orange socks. As insignificant as the socks seemed to be, they might play a crucial role in the case.

  Now as they sat back, Maggie noticed that Tully had fallen behind, accumulating bottles of Sam Adams. And it looked like he hadn’t touched his fries. Yes, the burgers were huge and loaded with extras but that didn’t usually stop Tully from stealing her fries by now. They sat side by side, Maggie crammed between Tully and Sheriff Uniss, so close that they had been bumping elbows. Sheriff Uniss was in a discussion with one of the truckers about the price of gas and the politics that came with it.

  Maggie plucked one of the fries from Tully’s plate to get his attention.

  “You doing okay?” she asked and waved a hand at the three bottles of beer in front of him, only one of which had been touched. The others were still full. He had the corner of the table and plenty of room, unlike the rest of them. In fact, Maggie had set her Booty Hunter cap there on the edge, out of the way.

  “I keep telling them not to bring me any more.”

  “And you’re just not hungry?”

  He pulled a ziplock plastic bag from his trouser pocket to show her about a dozen white pills.

  “Sinus infection. I need to be taking these antibiotics, but I keep forgetting.”

  Maggie stopped a smile. It was so like Tully to empty the whole container into his pants pocket and carry them around with him as a reminder. But he did look a little miserable, his eyes watery, his face flushed and damp with sweat. Suddenly she understood that was probably why he had been acting so odd earlier.

  “We should get you out of your wet, muddy clothes and into a bed,” she told him.

  Immediately she realized she had spoken too loudly when she saw Howard Elliott and the young deputy across the table look over at her. Even one of the truck drivers standing at the corner of the table smiled at her.

  Instead of being embarrassed, Maggie leaned in closer to Tully and he reciprocated by leaning down into her.

  “This would be a good time to leave,” she said. “They all think I just made a pass at you.”

  Tully’s eyes flashed up and around and he grinned.

  “I reserved us a couple of rooms at the Super 8 just up the road,” he told her.

  “Sounds romantic. Can I have the rest of your fries? Then we can go.”

  He grinned again and nodded. Then he watched her squeeze a pool of ketchup onto his plate and begin her ritual of dipping and munching. He even joined her.

  “I’ll give you the details later,” he said in a low tone, almost a whisper, as if keeping up their charade. “Triple A made a hit on the hosiery.”

  The orange socks. She refrained from saying it out loud and reminding any of the men. But she asked, “Triple A?”

  “Oh sorry, that’s what I’ve started calling Agent Alonzo. His first name’s Antonio.”

  “Was the hit a recent case?”

  “Within the last month. You were right. Woman victim. Wooded area not far from a rest area.”

  “Did he find any other cases?”

  “Just the one so far.”

  Tully yawned and it reminded her how exhausted she was. It had been a long day for both of them.

  “How about we excuse ourselves?” she asked, and he agreed.

  Maggie nodded at Sheriff Uniss. They had already decided on a strategy for the next day. Tully promised to call first thing in the morning. Then they said their good nights and started to leave. Maggie went to grab her cap from the corner of the table. It wasn’t there. She glanced around, checking the floor and under the table. The cap was gone. Someone had probably picked it up by mistake. It didn’t really matter. She shrugged and followed Tully out.

  They were getting into their rental car when Maggie saw Lily across the plaza. She wandered the lot where the trucks were parked for the night. She had left the farm dressed in tight jeans and a clinging knit blouse that highlighted her ribs and bony shoulders more than anything else. She had the big, awkward handbag around her neck and under her arm and she was knocking on the door of one of the cabs. The trucker inside shook his head, hanging out the window and telling her something. Lily didn’t wait to hear what he was saying and instead headed for the next truck.

  Tully noticed, too, and as they settled into the car, he said, “I offered to take her to a women’s shelter.”

  “This place is her shelter. Didn’t you notice how relieved she was to get back here?”

  “Do you think she saw anything out at the farm?”

  “I don’t know,” Maggie said. “But the meth’s probably fried it out of her brain.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Creed snapped a fresh cylinder of UDAP pepper spray onto his belt. He left his revolver in its case under his seat.

  “Come on, Grace,” he said to the dog as he grabbed her leash and stepped out of the Jeep.

  In seconds they were hurrying up a path, a shortcut that took them around the rest area’s bathrooms and welcome center and gave them a straight shot to the other parking lot, where semi-trailers filled the slots.

  Grace understood they were on a mission. She kept a steady pace beside him, sniffing the air and looking up at him for instruction.

  The man and the little girl had been walking slowly but soon they’d be at their destination, an eighteen-wheeler at the corner of the parking lot. The truck’s amber running lights lit up the length of the trailer. The cab’s engine had been left humming. Creed saw motion inside behind the windshield. There would be two of them he’d have to contend with. His fingers instinctively reached inside his jacket and found the canister of pepper spray attached to his belt. He hoped he wouldn’t regret not bringing his gun.

  From this close, Creed realized the little girl was crying. The man held her right hand but her left was at her face, wiping at her nose. And he was right—she wore only white socks. No shoes.

  Creed’s pulse continued to race. There was no longer panic as much as urgency that pressed him and caused his heart to bang against his ribs.

  Grace scampered alongside him, constantly looking up, then forward and back up for a signal from her master. Never once did she whine or hesitate. Even after she saw that they were headed toward a child Grace didn’t show any additional excitement. Somehow dogs always seemed to react differently to children. Grace remained focused on Creed.

  He still wasn’t sure what he should look for. He didn’t know many children or spend time around them. His experience extended only to the memory of his sister and Hannah’s two boys, who were too young for Creed to compare to this girl. He guessed she was nine or ten. Maybe eleven, at the most. Brodie had been eleven. Yes, this girl looked about Brodie’s age. Was that it? Was that the only reason an alarm seemed to have gone off inside his head, inside his chest? Was it only that she reminded him of Brodie?

  He was counting on Grace’s instincts.

  As he approached, Creed tried to assess the man. He was Creed’s height but outweighed him by about a hundred pounds and none of it looked like fat.

  Creed stood an inch over six feet, and had broad shoulders but a thin waist, long arms and legs—a lean swimmer’s build. Several years ago when Hannah declared their business solvent and making a steady profit, Creed had added an enclosed (heated and air-conditioned) Olympic-size swimming pool to their c
omplex. It allowed him to include water rescue and water tracking on their list, but it also ensured his own physical health and mental sanity. Since he was a kid, swimming had been the one escape, the one retreat that he enjoyed. No, it was stronger than that. There was something about diving into water and feeling it surround his body that rejuvenated all of his senses. But Creed was well aware that swimming wasn’t exactly a sport that prepared him for a brawl.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Creed said before he knew what he was going to say to the trucker.

  The man stopped but glanced over his shoulder as if he thought Creed might be addressing someone else. Creed watched his eyes dart to Grace and there was something there that told Creed the man didn’t like dogs. Maybe was even fearful of them.

  He looked younger than Creed originally thought. Probably no older than Creed, which meant late twenties. Thirty at the most.

  “My dog loves kids,” Creed lied. “She’s been pulling on me to come see your little girl. I think she’s missing my daughter.”

  He squatted down to pet Grace and in doing so he pointed to the little girl. Grace took the signal and started wagging, finally relieved to have some instruction. She focused her attention on the little girl, leaning toward her and sniffing.

  “See, she’s smiling already,” Creed said, only this time he said it to the little girl, who was staring at Grace in awe. And the little girl was smiling, too.

  Creed stayed on his haunches next to Grace and watched the man. From this angle he appeared less threatening but also from this angle if he shot the man in the face with the pepper spray he would be shooting upward and miss getting any on the little girl’s face. As he kept a hand on Grace he kept his other tucked inside his jacket, fingers ready on the canister.

  “Can I pet her, Daddy?”

  Creed didn’t need to know much about kids to hear the little girl’s voice was genuine. Nothing sounded forced, including calling the man Daddy. But the man still seemed wary of Grace. Was it just dogs or was there something else he was hiding?

  Before Creed could figure it out he heard the truck’s cab door open and slam behind him. He stayed in position but his nerves were firing, his fingers itching.

  “Bonnie loves puppy dogs, don’t you, sweetie,” a woman said.

  Creed glanced back to see her.

  The young woman came over. She was in jeans and a denim jacket.

  “Is it okay for her to pet your dog?” she asked Creed.

  “Absolutely.”

  The woman waved the little girl over and she started to rush. “Slow down. Don’t spook her. And be gentle. Like this.”

  The woman gave Grace her hand for Grace to sniff it, waiting for permission. Then she stroked Grace’s back. The little girl mirrored the woman’s gestures, giggling when she finally touched Grace.

  “Bonnie adores dogs,” she said to Creed.

  “No school this week?” Creed asked casually.

  “Spring break. We thought it would be a treat to join Rodney. Show Bonnie what it is he does all week when he’s away.”

  The man was actually smiling now, watching the little girl.

  “See Rodney, just because you’re scared of dogs—”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “He had a dog attack him when he was a little boy, so he doesn’t trust them.” Then to her husband, she said, “I can’t believe you took her to the bathroom without putting her shoes on.”

  “She didn’t want them on, then she was crying that she was getting her socks dirty.”

  The more the couple bickered, the more Creed relaxed.

  They sounded like a normal family.

  CHAPTER 18

  He slipped two receipts into the back-cover pocket of his log book, then turned to a new page and jotted down:

  Tuesday, March 19

  10:47 p.m.

  Pilot Plaza #354, Sioux City, IA

  He had just filled his gas tank and had done a quick maintenance check. He was ready to head out on the road again. He was still flying high on adrenaline. Not only had he been able to hear what everyone thought about his handiwork back at the farm, but he had also been able to finally meet Maggie O’Dell face-to-face.

  Magpie: even more exquisite up close

  He’d even bought her a beer … well, a round of beers for all of them. But it gave him surprising pleasure to watch her drink it. He cataloged the details now on the flip page of his log book:

  Sam Adams lager

  He liked that she waved off a frosted mug, choosing to sip directly from the bottle. He took note of what and how she ordered her food, too, adding to his page:

  Cheeseburger, medium-well

  cheddar cheese, bacon, extra pickles

  side of fries (lots of ketchup)

  She thanked the waitress whenever she brought Maggie something, taking the time to notice that her name was Rita and using it, glancing up and making eye contact. No one else paid attention to the woman as she served them, reaching over and around again and again all evening long.

  He saw that Maggie left her a nice tip, too, even though someone else had picked up the tab. He should have been quicker. He could have bought her meal, too, but someone beat him to it and he didn’t want to make a fuss.

  Until today he had observed Agent Margaret O’Dell only from a distance, but he felt like he’d known her for years. From the first time he saw her he realized they were kindred spirits. And no, he wasn’t easily attracted to pretty women. It took more than a pretty face to grab his attention these days. Besides, he was a professional, just like Maggie.

  Last month he had watched her at a crime scene, a warehouse in D.C. that had been gutted by fire. He had also watched the asshole who set it on fire. Same asshole who later torched Maggie’s house. If he had seen him doing it, the guy would be maggot food right now. He never really understood the fascination with fire.

  The only reason he had been at that warehouse that night was because he was dumping a body in the alley. Sometimes he liked to do that. Then stick around so he could be there when people discovered his handiwork. Once he even called 911 to report a body so he could observe the first responders. It wasn’t just to get off on it like some stupid sons of bitches. He actually learned a lot by watching the investigators, getting close enough to overhear their conversations and see what they collected.

  There had been times like tonight when he frequented cop bars, just to listen to them. Buy them a few drinks and they started talking about all sorts of things. The time he spent hanging around cops and watching and listening had proven invaluable. It helped him change things up, perfect his methods, alternate patterns. He liked new challenges.

  When he first saw Maggie—back at that D.C. crime scene—he could tell she liked challenges, too. Watching a CNN profile on her he’d learned that her mother sometimes called her “magpie” and that’s when he knew they were kindred spirits. His own mother had often spoken of the magpie bird and considered it a good omen. It was the only bird that refused to go aboard Noah’s Ark and instead perched on the roof. So spirited, just like him. Curious and constantly questioning, searching, learning, testing. What would it be like to take on a magpie?

  That’s why he left the map for her. That’s why he included the socks—though he really hated repeating such an obvious pattern. He wanted her to find him so he could share his handiwork with her. Challenge her. See what she was made of. Poke and prod and prepare her for what he had planned. He hoped she wouldn’t disappoint him.

  He saw Lily crossing the parking lot, her hair still a tangled mess, her handbag making her slouch as she walked. What a pathetic creature. She had knocked on almost all of the truckers’ cabs, even daring to knock on one that had a sign posted on the windshield: NO LOT LIZARDS! She was headed back to the main building of the truck plaza.

  He started his engine. He’d offer her a ride. She’d recognize him from the farm and not give it a second thought. If she didn’t want a ride, he’d offer her twenty bucks to get
in, though he didn’t want her touching him. Her sunken cheeks and rat-nest hair disgusted him. Already he was thinking it wouldn’t be much of a challenge to kill her. That’s why he didn’t bother with women like her. He didn’t imagine she was capable of putting up a good fight, let alone the psychological interplay he so enjoyed. She’d probably welcome death. He hated that kind of attitude. But he needed to look at this as a necessity.

  He grabbed the ball cap he had taken from the bar and grill. He sniffed the inside, filling his lungs with the scent of Maggie’s hair. He slipped it on and immediately liked how close it made him feel to her.

  Then he pulled up next to the lot lizard and rolled down his window.

  CHAPTER 19

  Maggie had gotten used to the interstate hotels and motels. Most of them offered the basics, some added free Internet service. Maggie didn’t care as long as the room was clean. Tully’s eyes lit up—despite not being hungry enough to finish his burger—when he saw a sign in the lobby for a free continental breakfast that the Super 8 Hotel called the SuperStart.

  Tully hadn’t been able to reserve two rooms close to each other. And from the looks of the back parking lot it was no wonder. It was already packed with trucks and buses, a variety of sizes from eighteen-wheelers to cargo vans and service panel trucks. Earlier at the bar and grill their friendly lesson from the truckers who had joined them included a list of what truckers hauled. Maggie saw that this hotel parking lot displayed just some of those goods, from timber to automobiles. And obviously many truckers didn’t sleep in their trucks back at the truck plaza.

  Tully gave her the room on the third floor and took the one on the first. He hadn’t been feeling good, so she was surprised to have him knocking on her door less than twenty minutes after she had gotten to her room. She had already peeled off her muddy clothes and was wearing only a nightshirt and panties. She opened the door a crack, hoping he’d just forgotten to tell her something—until she saw his face. He looked worried.