Jewell took a stool. Cork and Dina stood behind her. “Yeah.”
“How’s she doing, poor kid?”
“Hanging in there.”
“I hope they get to the bottom of things pretty quick.” Marlys leaned on the counter, the flesh of her arms pooling there. “Lot of nasty rumors floating around.”
“About Charlie?”
“Folks look at her shaved head, those piercings, and that’s enough for them. Hell, anybody really knows Charlie knows those rumors are a load of crap.”
“What are they saying?”
“Heard she took a ball bat to her old man’s head,” Gordon said. He talked around a big bite of tenderloin and his words were mushy. “Splattered his brains like watermelon, eh.”
“Jesus, Gordon.” Marlys slapped his arm with her towel.
“What I heard,” he said innocently.
Jewell tapped her hand on the counter. “I need to order a few things to go.”
“Sure, hon.” Marlys drew herself up, pulled the pen from behind her ear and an order pad from her apron. “What’ll you have?”
A little rumble of metallic thunder came from the kitchen, followed by a few choice, unprintable epithets.
“Al,” Marlys said, rolling her eyes. “The fan on the grill vent’s gone out again. Super-mechanic insists he can fix it without calling in an expensive repairman.”
“Can you still cook?” Jewell asked.
“Oh, sure.”
“In that case, I need five cheeseburgers, a couple orders of fries, two chocolate shakes, an order of onion rings, and a small coffee.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You want anything to drink?”
“Diet Coke,” Dina said.
Cork said, “Pass.”
Marlys finished jotting. “I’ll put this right in for you. Ready in fifteen minutes.”
“We’ll come back,” Jewell said.
“I’ll have everything sacked and waiting, sweetie. Night, folks,” she said to Cork and Dina.
Jewell gave Gordie’s back a friendly pat. “Stay out of trouble, hear?”
The old man simply raised his fork in farewell.
They stepped once more into the night. A truck drove by slowly, the street lamps reflecting off the mirror of the dark windows. Jewell couldn’t make out the driver, didn’t even try, though later she’d think a lot about this moment.
“Okay, food,” Dina said. “That’s one problem solved. I still think we ought to consider doing something about Charlie.”
“If you’ve got an idea that doesn’t involve kidnapping or interfering with a lawful investigation, I’d love to hear it,” Cork said.
As they stood on the sidewalk in front of Kitty’s, the door to the constable’s office banged open and Charlie burst out. She sprinted across the street and dashed into an alley. A moment later the deputy rushed out. She looked at Jewell and the others.
“Did you see her?”
Jewell didn’t answer.
“The alley,” Cork said, pointing. “But you’ll never catch her.”
“Gotta try,” the deputy said, and gave chase.
In the quiet after, Ren appeared. “Did she make it?”
“At the rate she was going, she’s halfway to Chicago by now,” Cork replied. He glanced at Dina. “You could have caught her.”
“No way was I going to stop that girl,” Dina said.
“What happened?” Jewell asked Ren.
He stared toward the dark alley where Charlie had vanished. “The lady was like reading something she found in Constable Hodder’s desk. She wasn’t paying any attention and Charlie just ran. It was easy.”
Cork said, “I’d hate to be in her shoes when Olaffson gets back.”
“Should we be worried about Charlie?” Ren asked.
“She did a pretty good job of taking care of herself before,” Dina said.
Ren considered that and finally nodded.
“No use standing out here,” Jewell said. “Let’s get inside.”
In Ned’s office, she crossed to his desk and found the top drawer pulled out. Lying open inside was the wire- bound notebook. She understood that the deputy had been reading Ned’s poetry. Maybe bored or maybe looking for something else, the deputy had opened the drawer and there it was. The handwriting was small, precise. The poem was untitled. Jewell was tempted to read it but hated the thought of trespassing on Ned’s privacy. Although the deputy was ignorant of the importance of the notebook, Jewell understood only too well. She started to close it, but as the pages flipped, her eye caught a title she couldn’t let pass:
For Jewell
That beauty which to itself is hid – the sun not risen, the moon behind a lid of cloud -
She shut the notebook without reading further, thinking with a flutter in her stomach, Beauty? Me?
She eased the drawer closed.
Less than an hour later, Olafsson returned. Deputy Baylor-Flo-had come back from her pursuit empty-handed and had made the call that clearly she dreaded. She had explained over the phone what happened and it was clear from her silence and her grim face the tone of Olafsson’s response. When he strode into the office, he gave her a withering look, but said nothing.
“What happened at the Copper River Club?” Jewell asked.
“Didn’t get past the gate,” he answered. “No legal reason to compel them. That Stokely, he’s one tough son of a bitch.”
“I imagine they pay him pretty well for it,” Ned said. He sat down and sniffed the white bag on his desk. “Smells good.”
“Dinner,” Jewell said. “From Kitty’s. There’s a cheeseburger left in there, and some fries. You’re welcome to it.”
“Great. I’m hungry. Split it with you, Terry?”
Olafsson dismissed the offer with a surly wave.
“What are you going to do now?” Cork asked.
“Except for his friendship with Delmar Bell,” Olafsson said, “nothing I’ve been told so far connects Calvin Stokely to anything. And except for possibly the Rohypnol, nothing at the moment connects Bell with the girl’s death. It’s all speculation. Until I have something concrete, there’s not much I can do. With those people up at the Copper River Club, I’m going to need to be on real firm legal ground every step of the way.” He rubbed the back of his neck and eyed Ren. “You have any idea where Charlene might have gone?”
Ren looked down and shook his head.
Olafsson turned to Jewell. “She was at your place today, right?”
“Yes, but I doubt she’ll head back there.”
“Hodder, you mind checking that?”
“Sure.”
“Flo and I’ll have a look at her father’s trailer on our way back to Marquette.”
Before he left, Olafsson had one last try at Ren. “Son,” he said in what sounded like his most officious voice, “if you know where your friend is and you don’t tell me, it could be very bad for you.”
“Leaning on him awfully hard, aren’t you, Detective?” Cork said. “He already told you he didn’t know.”
He gave them all a parting squint. “I’ll see what I can do about talking to this Calvin Stokely tomorrow. In the meantime, you hear from Charlene Miller, I expect to be told. Am I clear?”
