Emma
Marcus and I ride back to the Sheriff’s Station in silence. He has to log the stuff he found and file a missing person’s report. He calls in his other deputies and has them start doing a grid search for May Anne, whatever that means. I sit numbly in his office, wrapped in one of his old flannels. It smells like him, and that is the only comfort I can find right now. I’m so worried about May Anne, and so mad at myself for not listening to my instincts and going to look for her yesterday… I know the back roads just fine, I could have handled it…
Could I though? Driving in deep snow was one thing, but in the white out conditions of a snow squall… God, what if May Anne was caught out in it? What if she was hurt, and freezing to death out in a field? No, May Anne has sense enough to know to stay with her vehicle. Which only solidifies my fears that something awful must have happened to her.
And Deacon… How does he fit into this? He knew May Anne, of course. In the throes of what I can only describe as pure stupid insanity, I had taken him back for a time about three years ago, and he’d hung around the cafe love bombing me for the first few months. May Anne had just started working there… I never told her about the ugly side of Deacon, but maybe I should have.
I couldn’t imagine he would hurt May Anne though.
He put you in the hospital, dumbass. More than once. But Deacon and I had a complicated relationship. May Anne was no one to him.
Some time in the afternoon, Marcus comes into his office with an apologetic look on his face.
“Sorry,” he says. He opens a minifridge under his desk and offers me a bottle of water. I take it and drink it down gratefully.
“Don’t be,” I say after a moment. “I want you to do whatever you need to do to find her.”
“I sent Ellis out to bring Deacon down for questioning. Jimmy’s taking a look at May Anne’s car to see if there’s anything wrong with it.”
“You don’t think Deacon-”
“I don’t think anything, I just want to ask him about the receipt,” Marcus says gently. “I’m sure there’s a reason why it would be in May Anne’s car.”
I sure hope there is because I can’t fathom why it would be. May Anne was the type to pick up litter, but the receipt wasn’t dirty like you’d expect trash to be, and it wouldn’t have gotten shoved down in her set like that, either.
One of the deputies, Eric Johnson, taps on the door.
“Sorry Sheriff, I just got back from Jessica McNally’s house,” Eric says. “Hey Emma,” he nods to me.
“Hey,” I say back. Eric and I went to high school together. Marcus gives my shoulder a squeeze and then steps outside his office, shutting the door behind him. He talks to Eric for a moment, then nods before he returns to my side.
“Jess more or less said May Anne left in the morning early, and said she was headed home,” he tells me. He heaved a big sigh. “I don’t want to have to call the state in for this…”
“Why?”
“Talking to the dispatcher last night and this morning left a bad taste in my mouth. It just feels like the state wouldn’t put much time into it… And if I call them, they’ll take the case over and I worry that it’ll just be a file somewhere.”
I shiver, and almost reflexively, he pulls another sweater from somewhere and drapes it over my shoulders.
“Marcus… I…” My voice catches. “What you’re doing… Thank you.”
“I’m just doing my job, Emma.”
“You’re doing a lot more than that,”
You’re taking care of me…
Marcus gazes at me for a moment before he gently kisses my forehead again. If he can tell what I’m thinking, he doesn’t say, he only wraps an arm around me.
“Aren’t you worried what your deputies will think?”
“Nope, they can think whatever they like, I only care what you, and maybe my mother think,” he says with a wink. I try to smile, but I feel tears stinging my eyes. Marcus pulls me into his arms, cradling me against his chest.
“It’s okay,” he whispers into my hair. “Cry it out,” he says.
And I do.
Until I hear a familiar voice shouting outside his office door.
“I ain’t done shit!”
Deacon.
Fuck.
Through the window on Marcus’s door, I see Deacon is wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and his face is so red it is almost purple.
Marcus’s face darkens as the deputies escort Deacon into the break room – the sheriff’s station has no interrogation room.
“I’ll be right back,” he assures me, and he kisses my forehead once more. I wipe my eyes and watch him go. The size difference between Deacon and Marcus is laughable, and if the two were to have a physical altercation, I worry that Marcus wouldn’t come out of it without serious injury, but all four deputies – the sum total of the police presence in Culver County – are with him.
I can’t hear what’s being said, but I read body language and try to imagine the conversation might go like some police procedural on TV. Marcus speaks for a long time, his arms cross over his chest as Deacon leans back in his chair, sullen and hostile energy radiating from his every pore.
Despite the warmth of the radiator next to Marcus’s old leather couch, I shiver. I don’t want to believe that Deacon would -that he could– do anything to May Anne… And my heart breaks because at this point, I have no choice but to believe that May Anne is in serious trouble or… I can’t bring myself to say it, not even in the deep, dark corners of my mind.
Time ticks by and eventually Marcus backs up, opens the door to the breakroom and gestures for Deacon to leave. He speaks to his deputies for a moment, and they disperse as well. Finally, he returns to me, his eyes full of apology.
“He says she gave him a ride, but that’s all.” He sighs. “It’s circumstantial, and not enough to hold him… Not without shady tactics and I’m not that kind of cop.”
“If she did give him a ride… That would explain why her car was where it was.”
“Roland’s gonna process the car, the rest of us are going to go back to searching. Most of the roads are plowed now.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Are you sure? Your ankle-”
“I have to know what happened to her, Marcus. I’ll be fine,” I say, even though my ankle is throbbing.
“There’s more…” Marcus says glumly. “At this point, I’m going to have to call the state… And I’m so sorry I didn’t take you more seriously when you said May Anne wouldn’t do this. I should have listened to you. We should have started looking yesterd-”
“The storm was too bad, it was too dangerous.”
“And May Anne was out in it. I should have-”
“Don’t,” I say softly. “We can talk through this later. Right now, I need to find May Anne.”
Marcus looks lost in thought for a moment, then he frowns and shakes his head. He extends a hand to help me up, and I feel his arm at the small of my back as he leads me back to his jeep.
“Where are we headed?”
“Back to where we found the car, and we’ll fan out from there. On the way, I’m going to call the state dispatcher and report May Anne missing. I’m hoping since we found her car, they’ll take it seriously.”
“Me, too.”
“Have you seen anything strange? Anyone acting funny the last couple of days? Anything, no matter how small.”
“Not really,” I said. “I didn’t really see anyone at all yesterday, and earlier in the week was business as usual.”
We climb back in the jeep, and as he drives, Marcus calls the state police. His conversation with the dispatcher is tense and terse. I feel my stomach bubbling with anxiety and fear.
“They are sending a unit out; some are going to meet Roland and take over processing the car, the rest are going to meet us where it was found,” he says after he hangs up. He gives my hand a squeeze, his fingers icy cold. “I’m so sorry, Emma.”
I nod numbly.
“Oh,” I say after a moment, digging into my pockets and pulling out a pair of gloves that I grabbed before we left that morning. Like almost everything else in the house, they belonged to my dad at one time, but I hand them to Marcus. “I thought you could use these til you find yours.”
“Thank you.” He says gratefully.
“We should call May Anne’s parents,” I said. “I would do it but I…” My voice trails off. I don’t know how to say what needs to be said.
“I’ll call them,” Marcus assures me. “It’s going to be a rough conversation,” he agrees. I dial the number to the Collins house, but this time Mr. Collins answers.
“It’s Emma,” I said. “Is Miss Opal okay?”
“Doc Amron gave her a sedative, she hasn’t slept,” he says dully. “What can I do for you Emma?”
“Sheriff Pike has some updates about May Anne,” I say. I put the phone on speaker and Marcus talks as he drives.
“Hello Mr. Collins, I’m so sorry, but we’ve found May Anne’s vehicle. She was not with it. There’s no sign of foul play, but I’ve reported her missing with the state, and they’re sending a unit out to start an investigation in earnest.”
“You should have done that last night,” Mr. Collins says angrily.
“It was too dangerous with the storm, Mr. Collins, but I am sorry. We had WVDot on the lookout while they were plowing the roads, and we started looking for her again at first light this morning.”
“If anything has happened to her-” his voice broke, and for a moment, the sounds of his sobs filled the cab of the jeep. “You find her, Sheriff, and if anything happened to her, you find the person who did it before I do.”
“Mr. Collins, I understand how worried and upset you are-”
“Do you have children, sheriff?”
“No,” Marcus says, and there’s a real edge of pain to his voice that cuts me to the quick.
“Then you can’t possibly understand how I feel. This is my daughter. My flesh, my blood, and I’ve never been away from her for more than a day since she was born.”
“We’ll find her,” Marcus promises.
“I have to go,” Mr. Collins says curtly, and the line goes dead. Marcus is quiet for a long moment.
“I’m sorry,” I say to him.
“What are you sorry for?”
“What Mr. Collins said. It sounded like it hurt to hear.” I said.
“It did. But he’s right, I don’t have kids.”
“Did you want kids?”
“I never really made up my mind. I figured when I found the right woman, whatever she wanted.”
“And if she didn’t want kids?”
“Then I’d be a fun uncle.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I mean, I like kids, but the only thing I’ve truly ever wanted in life is a partner. Everything else is negotiable, flexible, all that…”
I want to push harder and ask why he sounded so heartbroken, then, if he really didn’t want kids, but now isn’t the time…As much as I would welcome distraction from worrying about May Anne… At this point, I have very little hope that we’re going to find her.
Marcus sighs.
“I should have listened to you.”
“You’re right, you should have, but you’re also right about the roads being too bad last night.”
“I just…” he says, his voice trailing off. “I’m out of practice for all this. I investigated art crimes for twenty years. This…”
“You’re doing everything you can,” I say.
“You shouldn’t have to reassure me right now, I should be a rock for you.” He reaches across the seat and takes my hand. “I know this is difficult for you, and I want to thank you for your patience with me while I figure out how to be an investigator again. Don’t,” he says, glancing over at me. “Tell me I’m doing fine, I don’t need to be coddled right now.” His tone is light, and I can tell he’s trying to make me smile. I let out a small huff of amusement.
We pull alongside the state police suv that’s parked across the street from where May Anne’s car was. Marcus gets out and then helps me out of the passenger side. When I protest he simply says:
“Your ankle.” I have no rebuttal.
Marcus and the state police talk for a long time. I chime in with information when and where I think it’s helpful, and when the state police officer asks for a recent picture of May Anne, I have several on my phone to send over.
“So this Deacon Crocker,” the state police detective says. “You’re ruling him out as a suspect?”
“Well, not entirely, but there’s not enough evidence to make charges stick.”
“He’s got a record of assault and battery, and you have evidence and his own admission that he was in the girl’s car the morning she disappeared.”
“Yes, but he says May Anne dropped him off at his sister’s trailer, which my deputies say the sister corroborates, and then left the trailer park. We found her car about three miles up the road. Town mechanic is looking at the engine and we’re processing the interior.”
“I’m sure the sister wouldn’t lie,” the state police detective says with an eye roll. “He put his ex wife in the hospital three times, Sheriff. Guys like that… It’s only a matter of time before they kill someone.”
Marcus glances at me, and then the tone of the conversation changes and I find myself wandering over to the spot where the car was. There are more footprints – probably Jimmy’s and grooves in the snow and half frozen ground beneath it where he towed the car. Half buried in the snow and mud, I see something.
“Sheriff,” I call, not wanting to undermine Marcus’s authority in front of the state police.
“Find something?” he asks, coming over to me.
I point, and he squats down. The state police detective joins us.
“This could have been here before the snow fell,” the detective grumbles.
“It would have been frozen in the mud, then.” Marcus says, carefully picking it up. It’s a matchbook, with the name of a strip club in Martinsburg emblazoned on it.
“Could be your mechanic’s,” The detective continues to argue.
“Could also belong to someone who knows something about our girl,” Marcus says. He fishes a small plastic bag from his pocket and tucks it inside.
“Look, I’ll level with you,” the detective says as he stands up. “She’s almost eighteen,and so far there’s no evidence that anything-”
“No evidence?” I say. “Her car was abandoned on the side of the road, and that’s not like her.”
“What’s your relationship to all this Miss…?”
“Vaughn,” I say, giving my maiden name. If Marcus thinks this odd, he keeps it to himself but I don’t want to muddy the waters with association to Deacon. “I’m a good friend of Miss Collins, I think of her like a little sister.”
“Then you’re probably too close to things to be rational.” I size up the state police detective. He’s in his fifties, and seems like a good old boy, a hayseed that got too big for his britches. The kind of guy who liked to play Smear The Queer and thought it was “too woke” that no one called it that anymore. The kind of guy who thought women should be barefoot and pregnant. I narrow my eyes at him.
“So what would be the rational thing to do?”
“Accept that the girl probably ran off with a boyfriend. She’ll come home when it doesn’t work out.”
Rage colors my vision, and I feel Marcus tense up next to me.
“Detective, with all due respect-” Marcus says.
“We’ll investigate it,” the detective interrupts. “Just don’t expect to find much.Girls like her-”
“Like her?” I interject.
“Young women… She’s just sewing her wild oats.”
“May Anne isn’t-”
“You’re not an officer of the law, Miss Vaughn, you shouldn’t even be here.” He turns away from me. “We’ll call if we need anything.”
The dismissal is palpable, and it hangs in the air between the two men for a moment. Finally Marcus turns back to me.
“Come on,” he says to me. “If you do need anything, call the station, they’ll know how to get in touch with me,” he calls over his shoulder to the state police detective.
The man gives a half wave, and we climb back into Marcus’s Jeep.
“I’m sorry Emma,” he says. “We’ll keep looking for her.”
I don’t say anything for a moment. Then, I look up at him.
“Take me home,” I say.
He nods.
WVDot has exceeded my expectations and plowed even the small winding road I live on by the time we head back to my farm. Marcus comes around to the side of the jeep again, helping me out of it and up the steps to my porch. I’m too mentally worn out to protest.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I say to him. “Will you stay?”
“Of course,” he says, surprised. “For as long as you want.”
“Don’t tempt me…” I say softly. “Make yourself at home. I’ll make something to eat after I get out.”
“I can-”
“Please, I need to do something to take my mind off things.” He nods and I carefully make my way up to my bedroom. I look at my bed, and for a moment, contemplate falling face first onto it and sobbing until it doesn’t hurt anymore, but I’m eager to get back to Marcus. His presence is soothing and my feelings for him are a distraction from the anxiety and fear over May Anne.
The hot water soothes my tired, aching body. I’m too old to sleep on the couch, it seems. I wonder how Marcus is holding up, considering everything. As I shampoo my hair, I take stock of what’s in the kitchen, wondering what I can make for lunch… Dinner? I don’t even know what time it is.
My closet is full of mostly work clothes – old t-shirts and comfortable jeans, but I have what my mother would have called Church Clothes – stuff that I don’t wear to the cafe. I put my hands on an old sundress. It’s my favorite dress – Deep green with little swirls of gold thread here and there. I haven’t worn it in a long time, and I hope it still fits, but as I shimmy it over my head, the soft material hugs my body snugly. I sigh, wishing I could lose ten or fifteen pounds instantly. I am about to change into my usual jeans and tshirt when there’s a light tap at the door. I open it and Marcus stands there sheepishly.
“Wow, you look… I mean… You’re gorgeous.”
I blush.
“Thanks. I was going to change, actually.”
“If you want to, but… I like it.” He clears his throat. “Sorry, I wanted to tell you that Eric called. The state police put out an Amber Alert and someone called the tip line saying they may have seen May Anne. He’s going to check it out.”
“Where?”
“About 10 miles east on Route 70, towards Suddlersville, at that truck stop.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” I can’t wrap my head around it.
“She may have tried to hitch a ride.”
“Away from town? Wisteria Acres was only a few miles from where her car was found,” The more I learn, the less it makes sense.
“It could also be a mistake,” he says gently. “Eric said Jimmy took a look at the car and the timing belt broke, so that explains why she left it there.”
“I just don’t understand, if someone picked her up, why didn’t she ask to use their phone instead of going all the way to the truck stop.”
“I can’t say,” Marcus says softly. “I’m sorry Emma.”
I nod numbly.
“Sorry, I’ll give you some space if you-”
“No,” I say, and I look at him. “I don’t want space right now.” My voice is thick with implications.
I see him visibly swallow.
“Then what can I do for you?” he says huskily.
I close the door to the bedroom.