Missing In Blue Mesa

Chapter Three

Michelle was still on Ethan’s mind the next morning as he made his way down the quiet residential street on Montrose’s south side. Staying emotionally distant from victims was a necessary part of the job—let yourself get too wound up about the things people did to each other and you’d never sleep at night. But Michelle got to him. She looked so wounded and fragile, yet he sensed real strength in her.

He turned onto his parents’ street and nodded to a jogger on the sidewalk. The neighbor’s sprinkler sent a shimmer of water over the perfectly trimmed yard, and the aroma of wet grass and pavement drifted in through his partially open window. He pulled into the driveway, wondering how long it would be before he stopped expecting to see his father waiting at the front door. Dad had been gone six months now, but every time Ethan came to the house he experienced that jolt of expectation followed by disappointment.

His mother came to the front door and held open the screen, waiting for him. She wore pale blue scrubs and white clogs, ready for her nursing shift at Montrose Hospital. She looked so small to him—smaller than she had been when he was a boy, and smaller than when his dad had been alive. She smiled as he approached and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “This is a nice surprise,” she said. “What brings you out so early?”

“I just stopped by to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine. I went shopping yesterday and they had some nice melon. Would you like some?”

“That’s okay, Mom. I already had breakfast.” He looked back at the neighbor’s sprinkler. “I’ll try to come over this afternoon and mow the lawn,” he said.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I can hire someone. Mrs. Douglas across the street has someone. I can ask her who she uses.”

“You don’t have to do that, Mom. I’ll take care of it.” His dad had kept the place immaculate when he was alive—grass cut every week, hedges trimmed, flowers mulched. Dad paid all the bills and took care of the cars and even drove Mom shopping once a week. Now she was having to do all those things herself. Ethan wondered if it was too much for her.

“First chance I get, I’ll change the oil in your car,” he said as he followed her into the house. “It’s probably past time for that.”

“I can take it to one of those quick oil change places,” she said. “You have enough to do without worrying about me.”

But Ethan did worry. One of the reasons he had jumped at the chance to join the Ranger Brigade was that the new position would allow him to live close to his mom—to look after her.

“Do you have time for coffee?” she asked as she led the way to the kitchen. “I was just going to pour myself a cup.”

“Coffee would be nice.” He sat at the kitchen table—his usual spot, to the left of the chair where his father had always sat. From this position, he had a good view of the backyard, and the patio he and his dad had put in during Ethan’s senior year of high school—a patio currently occupied by a trio of tabby cats, busy devouring a dish of crumpets.

“Still feeding the neighborhood strays, I see,” he said.

“They’re not strays.” His mother slid a blue mug of coffee in front of him, then took her seat in her usual place across from Ethan. “They’re feral cats. They’ve never had a home, but grew up in the wild.”

One cat finished and retreated to a fence post to groom itself in the sun. “You planning on adopting them?” Ethan asked. A pet might be good for her, keep her company.

“That’s not how it works with ferals,” she said. “You can’t really tame them. They’ll never give up their independence. The best I can do is feed them and provide a sheltered spot for them to get out of the weather.” She indicated a pile of blankets in a corner of the covered patio.

“Sounds like a good way to end up with a whole zoo of wild cats,” Ethan said.

“Oh, no. They’ve all been neutered. See how their ears are notched? That tells everyone they were fixed.”

The cat on the post did indeed have a notch cut out of its right ear. “Maybe you should think about adopting a domestic cat, then,” he said. “Wouldn’t you enjoy the company?”

“I enjoy feeding the ferals and having them around, without the commitment to a full-time cat,” she said.

“Just be careful, Mom,” he said. “Don’t let one of them bite you or anything.”

“You sound just like your father.”

Though she was smiling, the remark pained him. The reaction must have shown on his face, because she quickly changed the subject. “How is your new job going?” she asked. “Are you working on anything interesting?”

“We’re trying to track down some car thieves we think might be operating on public land.” He sipped the coffee. “We were out at Daniel Metwater’s camp last night, seeing if they knew anything.”

“He’s that good-looking preacher fellow, isn’t he?” His mom shook a packet of sweetener into her coffee and stirred. “I’ve read things about him in the paper—all those young people camping out with him. Just like the hippies back when I was that age.” She laughed. “One summer your father decided to grow his hair long and your grandmother was worried to death that he was going to become one of those flower children.”

“Dad had long hair?” Ethan couldn’t picture it. For most of his life, his dad hadn’t had much hair at all.

“Oh, it was just one summer,” she said. “Then he got a job in the oil fields and he had to cut it. I quite liked it, though. He had prettier hair than I did.” She laughed again. “What are they like, the followers of that Prophet?”

“Mostly young,” he said. “Some men, but a lot of women and children. Most of them are probably harmless, but he’s attracted his share of people who are running from something—including the law.”

“I can’t think the children have much of a life, camping in the woods like that,” she said.

“We try to monitor them, make sure there’s no abuse or neglect.” He frowned, remembering the bruises on Michelle’s face.

“What is it, dear?” his mother asked. “You look upset.”

“Last night when we were out there, we ran into a woman,” he said. “Or rather, she ran into us. She’d been beaten—pretty badly. But she insisted she had fallen and wouldn’t tell us who had hit her.”

“Oh, no.” His mom made a tsking noise. “We get women like that in the emergency room sometimes. They’re too afraid to tell the truth, I think.”

“This woman was afraid.” He pushed his half-empty cup aside. “I’m going to go out there this morning and talk to her again. Maybe I can persuade her to file charges.”

“I hope you can help her,” his mom said. “No woman should be treated that way. Your father would have died before he raised his hand against me.”

“Yeah, Dad was a great guy.” He pushed his chair back. “I’d better get going. I’ll be over later to take care of the lawn.”

His mom walked with him to the door. “Thanks, sweetie.” She kissed his cheek again. “And don’t worry about me. That’s my job.”

It was his job, too, now that his dad wasn’t around. Trying to ignore the heaviness in his chest, he returned to his cruiser. He couldn’t take away his mom’s or his own grief, but he could do whatever he could to make her life easier. She wasn’t like Michelle—alone with no one to defend her.

* * *

MICHELLE WOKE TO Hunter’s crying—a reassuring sound, since she had been having a dream in which he was lost and she couldn’t find him. She sat up on the side of her cot, groaning as pain radiated through her body, and the memory of last night returned, like a fresh blow. She put a hand to the tender, swollen flesh around her mouth, and carefully stood, then shuffled toward the crib.

The baby was soaking wet, so she changed him, then sat on the side of the cot once more to nurse him. She was weaning him, but right now she needed this closeness, giving him something only she could provide. Asteria was nowhere in sight—not surprising, since she spent most of her nights lately with Daniel Metwater. Michelle held her son closely and replayed the events of last night in her head.

She had been stupid to think Metwater wouldn’t lash out at her. Stupid to believe he would hand over the locket in exchange for her promise of silence. Not that she intended to keep that promise, but she was good at conning people. She had been doing it most of her life.

But Metwater was a con, too. He knew how the game was played. And now that he knew she was on to him, she would have to be careful. She would have to make sure Hunter stayed safe.

She brushed the hair from the baby’s forehead and he smiled up at her. Her heart clenched. Until she had had Hunter, she had had nothing—no one.

She slipped a hand into her pocket and felt the business card the Ranger had given her. Ethan. A high-class-sounding name. Someone named Ethan probably wouldn’t drop out of school or end up in jail for boosting cars or dealing drugs, the way the boys from her neighborhood did. Ethan went to college. He got a job upholding the law instead of breaking it.

Ethan didn’t look twice at Michelle Munson from the wrong side of town. But Ethan Reynolds had looked at her. She had stared into his eyes and felt that he was seeing her—not the cool, smart-talking tough girl role she had assumed before her age reached double digits, but the real her—the woman who had been hurt, who was fearful of a future she couldn’t control. Most of the time she forgot that woman even existed anymore, but somehow this cop had seen it.

The knowledge made her feel vulnerable—a sensation she didn’t like. She was the only person she could rely on to look after herself and her son. That meant she couldn’t let anyone make her feel helpless. Daniel Metwater controlled people by making them believe they weren’t capable of making the right choices for their lives. They needed him to make those choices for them—to control their money and tell them when to eat and what to think. When she had first come here, she was amazed at how many people were willing to give up everything to someone who promised to make them feel good.

The flap of the tent pushed open and Asteria ducked inside. She carried a cup of coffee and handed it to Michelle. “I thought you might need this,” she said.

“Yes. You’re a saint.” Michelle took the cup and drained a third of it in one long swallow. At least the Prophet hadn’t made them give up coffee, the way he had talked them into giving up meat two days a week and cell phones and movies, and she had lost track of how much else. If she hadn’t promised herself she would do whatever she had to in order to prove that Cass was murdered, she would have left this place a long time ago.

“How are you feeling?” Asteria sat on the cot beside her.

“A little sore.” She watched Asteria out of the corner of her eye as she spoke. She had to be careful here. She couldn’t afford to upset Metwater’s biggest fan. “That was some fall.”

“What were you doing at the Prophet’s trailer?” Asteria asked. “And don’t give me that lie about counseling.”

“Why don’t you believe I went to him for counseling?” Michelle asked.

“Because you’re not the counseling type. You don’t confide in people.”

No, she didn’t. And even if she did, she wouldn’t reveal anything personal to a man like Metwater. She didn’t want him to know so much as her shoe size, in case he could find a way to use it against her. “I went there to complain,” she said. “The men in this camp are lazy bums who don’t do their share of the work. He needs to put some of them on kitchen duty, instead of making us look after the children and prepare all the meals while they sit around and wait to be fed.” She had no trouble getting into this rant, since it was one she had voiced before. The other women agreed with her, but none of them were willing to do anything about it.

Most of the tension went out of Asteria’s shoulders. “You shouldn’t bother him with something like that,” she said. “Not late at night.”

“It wasn’t that late.” She shifted Hunter to her other arm and took another drink of coffee. “Anyway, he wasn’t there.”

“If he wasn’t there, why did you go inside?”

“The door was unlocked. I only stepped into the living room and called for him. I mean, it wasn’t like I was going to go into his bedroom or anything.” She held her breath, hoping Asteria would believe her.