“A lot of good people have an idea about homeless kids, or the homeless in general, for that matter. That chemical dependency or disability or some inherent weakness in them is responsible for their situation. The truth is, I see mostly kids with great potential struggling against staggering odds. Abuse, broken homes, every kind of family dysfunction imaginable. Sure, some of them are users. And some are chronic liars. And some are schemers. All of these are coping mechanisms to deal with a life they didn’t ask for. Removing themselves from that life is often both the best thing they can do-and the scariest. The system fails them, a system overwhelmed and under-funded, and they end up on the street.
“We have programs for those who find their way to Providence House. One of these programs helps kids finish school and get a job. It takes a lot of guts, believe me. They live here on an extended basis, some for as long as two years. So long as they stay in school and show up for work, we give them a bed and food.
“Sara had been with us nearly a year. She’d had a hell of a life, but there was something in her that refused to be beaten down. There was a fire in the way she talked about her future, a very real dedication to change and growth. She had hope. God, hope just flowed right out of her.”
“And then she suddenly vanished?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t that seem unusual?”
“For many of the kids who come here, this is just a momentary refuge. They stay briefly and are gone-back to their old lives or on to something different. Something better is always my hope. They show up one night, they’re gone the next.”
“That happens a lot?”
“Yes. I’d love to have the wherewithal to find them, bring them back, keep them on track, but we barely make it as it is. Three-quarters of a million children go missing every year.”
“They don’t all stay lost?”
“No, but many thousands do, and in my thinking even one is too many.”
“You said Sara was in a special long-term program.”
“That’s no guarantee of anything. We’ve had kids here I thought would make it, and despite our best efforts, they still end up back on the street.”
“So you did nothing when she disappeared?”
“I called the police, which is something I seldom do, but in this case I was concerned.”
“Does she have family in the area?”
“She was originally from a reservation in Wisconsin, but she’d been living with an aunt in Clovis. That’s a little town south of here. It wasn’t a good situation. Her uncle not only abused her, he pimped her. That’s why she came here.”
“She was Indian?”
“Yes. I don’t know what tribal affiliation.”
“Any idea where she hung out when she wasn’t at Providence House?”
“School and work mostly.”
“Where did she go to school?”
“ALC. The Area Learning Center. It’s a special program the school district runs for at-risk youth. It’s on Baraga.”
“And work?”
“Spike’s Pizza on Washington Avenue, just a few blocks away. She put in four hours there three afternoons a week.”
“How’d she get to school and work?”
“She walked or took a bus.”
“Can you think of any reason she would have been in the Bodine area?”
“I can’t. But the police…” The last words had a bitter edge.
“Go on.”
“The police believe she may have gone back to prostitution.”
“Why? Once a prostitute, always a prostitute?”
“That’s not what they said, but I’m sure that’s what they’re thinking.”
“What do you think?”
“I’ve been wrong sometimes about kids. I believe they’re going to make it and then they just fall apart. But Sara? I was so sure. She was so full of hope. If she was having sex, it wasn’t for money.”
“Did she have a boyfriend?”
“Not that I knew of.”
“Was there anybody Sara was especially close to here at Providence House?”
“All the kids liked her. She was our poster child for self-improvement.”
“The uncle who abused her, did he know she was here?”
“No. Absolutely not. We guard the kids’ privacy fiercely, and there’s no way Sara would have told him. As far as I know, she’d had no contact since she left them. But it’s my understanding the police are checking out that possibility right now.”
“If she wasn’t at school or work, was there anyplace special where she might have hung out?”
“Yes. Muddy Waters. It’s a coffeehouse a few blocks from here. Downtown on Main Street. She liked to study there.”
“So no reason you can think of for her to be in Bodine?”
“None.”
Dina looked at Jewell. “Anything you’d like to ask?”
“How old was she?”
“Just shy of fifteen,” Mary Hilfiker replied. “She hadn’t even started menstruating.”
“Just a kid. My God.”
“You think someone killed her and put her body in the Copper River?” the woman asked.
“That’s what I think,” Dina replied.
“And these same people killed Charlene’s father?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to tell the police?”
“Eventually. Right now it’s all pure speculation. As soon as we have something solid, we’ll go to the authorities.”
“I’m guessing you found Charlie. Or she found you. How is she?”
“Safe,” Jewell said.
“Keep her that way.”
Outside, Delmar Bell was still mowing the lawn. He glanced their way as they descended the steps, and he killed the engine. In the quiet that followed, he sauntered toward them, his shadow sliding before him like a black snake over the cut grass.
“Morning, Jewell.”
“Del.”
“Any luck finding Charlie, eh?”
“No.”
“She’ll turn up. Always does.”
“It’s different this time, Del. Her father’s dead.”
“You work here?” Dina said.
He looked her up and down. Then up again. His eyes hung too long on the curve of her breasts. He wiped his hands on his oil-stained T-shirt. “Who’s asking?”
“My name’s Willner. I’m a private investigator.”
“A PI? For real?”
“For real.”
“You’re a lot better looking than Rockford, eh.”
“Thanks. You’re in charge of maintenance here?”
