The door at the end of the room near the sinks was ajar. He hadn’t heard it open, but the odor he smelled was cigarette smoke.
As he watched, the door pushed open and a woman stepped through it. She was young, pale, and thin, with straight, shoulder-length blond hair parted in the middle. She wore all black—black jeans, Doc Martens boots, long- sleeved turtleneck. Her lips were painted black and her dark blue eyes were bordered by heavy mascara. She is not beautiful, Joe thought. Without the statement in black, she would be unremarkable.
Garrett turned as well, angry. “Deena, what have I told you about letting smoke in here with my expensive equipment?”
Deena fixed her eyes on Joe, and when she answered she didn’t shift them. “I’m sorry, Cleve. I heard loud voices, so I . . .”
“Please shut the door,” Garrett said sternly. As if talking to a child, Joe thought.
Joe looked back. Her eyes and expression were remarkable in their lack of content. But it seemed as if she were trying to connect with him in some way, for some reason.
“Deena . . .” Garrett cautioned.
“Bye,” Deena said in a little-girl voice, and stepped back through the door, closing it.
Joe looked to Garrett for an explanation. Garrett, again, looked agitated. His dramatic monologue had been interrupted.
“Deena’s been with me since Montana,” Garrett said, his eyes icy. But Joe noticed a flush in his cheeks, as if he were embarrassed to have to explain anything. “She’s a hanger-on, I guess you’d call her. My line of work attracts people who are a bit on the edge of the rest of society. I’m doing what I can to help her out with her journey.”
“Is she even seventeen?” Joe said coldly.
“She’s nineteen!” Garrett hissed. “More than legal age. She knows what she’s doing.”
Joe simply nodded, then pushed his stool back. “What, you’re leaving?”
“I’ve heard enough from you for today, I think.”
Joe stood, picked up his hat, and turned for the door. Garrett followed. “I think I know what’s happening out there, Mr. Pickett. I’m so close to it I can almost shout it out! But you’ve got to give me access to the task force and your findings. I need to see the case files, and the investigative notes. And you must make sure I’m notified immediately in the instance of another discovery.”
“I gave you Robey’s name, right? You’ll have to call him for all of that,” Joe said over his shoulder as he stepped out of the trailer.
“I need you to vouch for me,” Garrett pleaded. “I beg of you, sir!”
Joe opened the door of his pickup, hesitating for a moment. Garrett stood near the front of his Airstream, palms out, pleading.
“I’ll talk to them,” Joe said. “I need to settle on exactly what I’m going to say.”
“That’s all I ask,” Garrett said, his face lighting up. “That’s all I ask.”
e saw her in the heavy trees before he made the turn to leave the Riverside Resort and RV Park. It was a glimpse through the passenger window; amidst the tree trunks were her eyes, framed by dark makeup.
Joe checked his rearview mirror. Cleve Garrett had returned to his trailer, and the front window of the Airstream was obscured by overgrown branches that reached down from the side of the lane. Garrett would not be able to see him.
He stopped and got out. “Deena?” “Yes.”
He walked across the gravel lane into the soft mulch on the floor of the tree stand. She leaned against a massive old-growth river cottonwood trunk. She had no coat, and her face was even paler than he recalled from a few moments before. She hugged herself, her long, white fingers with black painted nails gripping opposite shoulders.
He asked, “Were you trying to tell me something back there?” She searched his face with her eyes, trying to read him.
“I guess so.” Her voice trembled. “Maybe . . .” Was she cold or scared? She wondered.
Joe stripped his jacket off and fitted it over her shoulders.
“What year were you born, Deena?” he asked. As he suspected, he saw a twitch of confusion as she tried to do the math. Did she know that Garrett had said she was nineteen?
Deena gave up, not even trying to lie. “Please don’t send me back to Montana. There’s nothing I want to go back to. There’s nobody up there who wants me back.”
“What did you want to tell me, Deena?”
Joe searched her face, looked her over. Beneath the cover of foundation was a road map of acne scars on both cheeks. A smear of shiny, black lip gloss dropped from the corner of her mouth like a comma.
“I didn’t hear very much of what you two were talking about,” she said in a voice so weak he strained to hear it, “but I know there’s more to Cleve than meets the eye. And there’s less, too, I guess.” She looked up and smiled hauntingly, as if sharing a secret.
Unfortunately, Joe didn’t know what she meant. “You don’t understand, do you?”
“Nope.”
She looked furtively over her shoulder in the direction of the Airstream, as if calculating how much time she had.
