In a Midnight Wood Page 4

  The twenty-year-old police report didn’t contain all that much information. The investigating officer, Sgt. Mitch Tamborsky, stated in a short, typed paragraph that a call had come into the dispatcher at 11:14 p.m. on Saturday, October 9, 1999, from Diane Romilly. “Dispatcher said Mrs. Romilly’s son Sam had been missing all day. None of the friends she’d contacted had seen or heard from him. She was upset and said she thought something bad had happened. Drove to the Romilly home on Goodson Avenue and spoke with both parents. Wendell Romilly, Sam’s father, dismissed his wife’s concerns, saying that his son was willful and erratic, that he would turn up eventually. Left assurances with the family that I would look into it.”

  A second report was filed three days later by the same person. “Conducted interviews with Sam Romilly’s brother, Scott, and six friends—Taylor Olsen, Jim Hughes, Laura Vogel, Pete Schemmelmeyer, Emma Granholm, Todd Ott. None knew anything about his disappearance, and none could think of a reason why he might want to run away. I also interviewed two of Sam’s teachers—Marion Collier and Burt Riley. They said that Sam was an indifferent student, though extremely well-liked. Neither had any reason to believe that someone meant him any harm. Patrolman Overstad and Patrolman Brand searched fields and woods around Castle Lake. Nothing was found. Mrs. Romilly continues to call every day for updates.”

  A final report was dated one week later. “Diane Romilly hired a local man, Tom Judson, who owns a bloodhound (cadaver dog. We’ve used him a couple of times). After a thorough search of the area, he informed her that the dog had alerted on a spot in a clearing near the Mill ruins and east of the river. I was called in. With the chief accompanying me, we did a careful inspection of the area and found no evidence that the ground had been disturbed. Patrolmen were ordered to dig down six feet where the dog alerted. Again, nothing was found. Mrs. Romilly remains adamant that the dog did, in fact, locate the crime scene where her son had been murdered. I assured her that I was still working the case.”

  Under the police reports, Jane found a short biography of Wendell Romilly.

  “Wendell Clark Romilly was born in Mandan, North Dakota, and attended North Dakota State, earning a BA in business. He moved to the Twin Cities and was offered a job at Twin City Federal in Minneapolis. He worked his way from an entry position to branch manager and eventually took a pay cut so he could accept the job of vice president at Lakeside Community Bank in Castle Lake. He married Diane Ann Harrison the year after he moved to Minneapolis, and later had two sons with Diane, Sam and Scott.”

  Jane sat back, sipped her coffee. She remembered a couple of TV interviews Sam’s mother had given.

  Diane Romilly was an exceptionally photogenic, well-spoken woman, one with a tragic story to tell. By stoking the fires of public awareness through interviews on radio and TV, she kept the story of her son’s disappearance in the news. In the material her producer had sent, Jane found a page stating that Diane’s church had offered her a room in the basement to use as a gathering place and command post. She set up a couple dedicated phone lines, organized a citizen’s group to make a more thorough search of the area. She also flooded the area with flyers offering a $5,000 reward for information leading to her son’s recovery.

  In every interview, Diane stressed that if Sam had decided to run away for some unknown reason, he would never have left his motorcycle behind. She said he loved the thing so much he would have slept with it if she’d let him. She also stressed a second point: Sam would never willingly cause her so much pain. He was a good son. A thoughtful young man. Diane had apparently mastered the art of the interview. She became a fierce advocate for Sam, a grieving mother defying what she considered official police apathy and ineptitude. She made it hard for anyone to look away.

  Jane was about to start jotting down some notes when her food arrived. A moment later, so did Cordelia. With her height and girth, and wearing a NEVERTHELESS SHE PERSISTED T-shirt and red cap that simply said NO in big block letters, she breezed down the aisle and slipped onto the bench across from Jane. Heads turned to watch.

  The waitress came over almost immediately. “Would you like to order?”

  Cordelia nodded to Jane’s plate. “I’ll have what she’s having, except I want a full stack, and I don’t want orange juice. I’ll have a big glass of grapefruit juice with lots of ice. I like crushed ice, not the big cubes. And I want cream for my coffee. And extra syrup.”

  The woman eyed Cordelia’s cap, then dropped her eyes to the T-shirt. “I’ll … ah, put your order in.”

  Cordelia straightened her silverware. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Duh. Your truck’s right outside.”

  “Did you hitchhike?”

  “Emma offered me her car keys. Go ahead and eat. I’ll just sit here and try not to look faint with hunger.”

  “It’s kind of early for you to be up,” said Jane, tucking into her food.

  Cordelia shrugged, removing her hat and fluffing her Medusa-like auburn curls.

  “How was your bed?”

  “Adequate.”

  Cordelia had a thing about any bed other than her own. It often devolved into a Princess and the Pea scenario.

  “How’s Hattie? We never got a chance to talk about your conversation with her.”

  “Oh, it’s the usual adolescent drama. She doesn’t like one of her new teachers. Thinks he’s a moron. She’s not happy with what Bolger’s been cooking for dinner. She wants a new phone.” As Cordelia ticked off more complaints, the waitress arrived with coffee, cream, and the large glass of grapefruit juice. Cordelia glanced at it and said, “Perfect. My compliments to the chef.” While stirring cream into her coffee, she yawned. “Remember, Janey, we have that party tonight.”

  “What party?”

  “The one Emma is throwing at the house to introduce us to the movers and shakers in Castle Lake.”

  Jane had forgotten about it.

  “Did you bring a fancy frock?” asked Cordelia, examining her pale lavender nails for imperfections.

  “I don’t own a fancy frock.”

  “When it comes to your clothing, Janey, all I can say is, I do my best to keep hope alive.”

  When Brenda finally returned with Cordelia’s food order, she also brought the sack of caramel rolls with her, which she set on the table.

  Cordelia peeked inside. “Ah. Dinner.”

  As Jane surveyed the restaurant, she noticed a guy at the lunch counter watching her. He was an older man with fleecy muttonchops and generally grizzled facial hair.

  “What are you looking at?” asked Cordelia, glancing over her shoulder.

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh my stars and garters. Two more MAGA hats just walked in. We’re not in Kansas anymore. Or … maybe we are.” She stabbed a sausage. “Anyhoo, you gonna let me read what Will sent you?”

  Cordelia had been in Jane’s bedroom, lying on the bed, when Jane had called her producer last night. “Have at it,” said Jane, pushing the iPad across the table. When she looked up, she saw Mr. Muttonchops was staring at her again, pushing a pair of wire-rims back up his short, stubby nose. After tossing some cash on the counter, he picked up his newspaper. As he passed the booth, he stopped. Leaning a meaty hand on the table, he looked Jane straight in the eye and said, “You like history?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Cordelia bristled. “Feel free to move on.”

  “Ever wondered why this cafe is called the White Star?”

  “Can’t say that I have,” said Jane.

  “The couple who opened it back in the day, Ole and Bertha Johansen, came over from England on the RMS Oceanic in 1905. They were poor, so they traveled steerage. The Oceanic was the pride of the White Star Line, the largest ocean liner in the world until 1901. Interesting, huh?”

  “Fascinating little tidbit,” said Cordelia, stabbing another sausage.

  Still concentrating on Jane, the man said, “You’re Jane Lawless, right?”r />
  Another person who’d seen her picture in the window of the art center. “That’s right.”

  “The podcaster.”

  She cocked her head. “You know about that?”

  “I listened to one of them last night. It was pretty good.”

  Not a ringing endorsement, but she’d take it.

  “Gonna listen to the rest tonight. If I like what I hear, I’ll see you around.” He glanced back at Cordelia, then lifted his hand off the table, revealing a business card.

  Jane waited until he’d gone outside before picking it up. “Wilburn Lowry. Prospector,” she read out loud. “There’s a phone number but no address.” Turning to the window, she watched him walk across the street to a white van, one that was covered in red stars.

  “Nice wheels,” said Cordelia. “Odd guy. Then again, I like odd. Now, let’s get back to the matter at hand: Sam Romilly. My little gray cells are entirely at your disposal.”

  7

  Ever since Monty Mickler had stopped by the previous afternoon, Kurt had thought of little other than Sam. Sitting at his desk in the small office next to the butcher shop’s workroom, he stared at Sam’s photo in the yearbook.

  Things had always come so easily for Kurt. Part of it was his ability to ignore issues that confused him, and part of it was his nature. Once upon a time he’d been an optimist, a basically happy, live-and-let-live kind of kid, blessed with a close and caring family. His childhood included the usual rough patches, but mostly his memories were good. Only later did he realize that he’d been breezing along, living entirely on the surface of things. Maybe that’s what kids did. He’d had no real need to go deeper. Nobody in his young life had ever died, or even become seriously ill.

  Kurt earned reasonable grades without having to study too hard. He wasn’t a social butterfly, but he did have a few good friends. He loved to go fishing with his father and talk books and movies with his mom. He couldn’t remember exactly, but he must have spun a life scenario something like this: He would graduate from high school, get married, have a couple of kids, and work for his dad at the butcher shop. He’d never really wanted to go to college. He loved to read so figured that was the way he’d continue his education. The problem was, as Socrates pointed out, the unexamined life wasn’t worth living. Even more than that, the unexamined life was full of pitfalls and roadblocks, problems he’d never expected because all he ever looked at was what was right in front of him. All that changed on a hot August evening a month before the start of his senior year. He’d been out on a swimming raft with a few guys from the school swim team. That night the sky had fallen in on his predictable, secure little world, and nothing had been the same since.

  “Hey, Kurt,” came a familiar voice.

  Feeling his mood lift, he got up and walked into the workroom. Ted Hammond stood next to the screen door that led to the alley. “When did you get in?” Kurt asked, walking over to give him a quick hug.

  “Last night. Late. I think I woke my mom up.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t mind,” said Kurt. “Come back to the office.”

  They sat down on metal folding chairs.

  “Judy here?” asked Ted.

  “Yup.”

  “Okay, well, I won’t stay. I thought I’d stop by to see if we could grab a beer later.”

  “I’d like that. Earl’s Tap?” It was his favorite dive bar.

  “Sure. Six? I’ve got plans with my mom tonight. I’m taking her to a movie. But I do want to talk to you.”

  “About something in particular?”

  “Let’s not get into it now.” He nodded to the yearbook. “You all ready for the reunion?”

  “Yeah, sort of.” Ted had been the senior-class president. He’d also been voted “most likely to succeed.” Not that anyone in high school knew what success meant back then.

  “Oh, hey,” said Ted, his expression sobering. “I heard about Sam. How crazy is that? I’m so sorry, man.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I know you two were close. You been thinking about him?”

  “Yeah.” Kurt pulled the yearbook closer. Sam’s handsome face stared back at him. His hair looked ridiculously shaggy. Sam hated getting his hair cut, as if the barber was hell bent on removing some vital piece of him.

  “You okay?” asked Ted.

  It was a simple enough question, and yet the only way Kurt could answer it was to lie. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “Okay. Well, I better shove off.”

  They said their goodbyes at the screened door.

  Kurt spent the next few minutes conferring with a customer about a special order. He took down the information, then returned to his office to enter it into the computer. As he came back out, he found his son, Danny, standing in the workroom, removing his sport coat, tie, and dress shirt. Once he was down to his T-shirt, he seemed relieved.

  “Did you drive to Fergus to see your mom?” asked Kurt.

  “Just got back.” Looking a little worried, he added, “I sent you a text.”

  “I left the house this morning without my phone.”

  Kurt wanted to hear about it, but first things first. Danny had graduated from high school last spring. He was currently working a part-time job, which caused him to be scrupulous about spending money on anything he could get at home. “Are you hungry?”

  “When am I not hungry?”

  Kurt smiled. “What do you want?”

  “A couple pieces of cornbread, some beans, and potato salad. Don’t pull a rotisserie chicken just for me.”

  “I’ve got half a chicken in the cooler. Go get it, and I’ll dish up the rest.”

  For the last year, Danny would often drive his old Mazda over to Fergus Falls on Sundays to take his mother to mass. She lived in a group home for people with psychiatric problems. While Kurt was happy to see them forging a relationship, he had certain misgivings about his ex-wife’s influence.

  Danny had recently begun to talk more seriously about his future. He was a solid kid—hardworking, decent, good-hearted—and he was searching for his place in the world. His employer, Toller Aviation, one of the better places for a kid to land in Castle Lake, trained him for the specific job they needed, but also wouldn’t give him more than thirty hours a week. Because he wasn’t full time, they didn’t have to provide vacation pay or benefits. It was the way of the economic world these days. Kurt was happy that Danny still lived at home. He was still on Kurt’s insurance, too. It wasn’t particularly good insurance, though it was better than nothing. Danny had pretty much dismissed the idea of college, and to be honest, Kurt was relieved. He didn’t have the money to help him with tuition, and he didn’t want his son saddled with a huge debt just when he was starting out in life.

  Pulling up a chair next to his son in the workroom, Kurt had to stifle a laugh as Danny devoured the food; he loved watching the kid eat because he always did it with such gusto. “How’s your mom doing?” asked Kurt. He hadn’t seen her in years. He and Vicki had divorced quietly when Danny was nine.

  “Not as good as last time,” said Danny. “I took her out for a walk after mass. When we got back, we sat around the common room for a while. She kept stealing glances at the TV and kind of zoning out. At one point, she pointed to the guy who was being interviewed on some news program and said, ‘Did you hear him? Did you hear what he said to me?’”

  Vicki had been diagnosed with schizophrenia when Danny was three. Even before that, Kurt could tell something wasn’t right. After the diagnosis, she’d gone on to spend her life in and out of mental health facilities, but had never returned to her home with Kurt and Danny. The group facility in Fergus Falls, which she’d moved into four years ago, was a big step for her. Danny had always had a lot of questions about his mother. The fact that she finally wanted to see him was huge.

  “She still after you to join the Catholic church?” asked Kurt.

  “Oh, yeah. She talks about it all the time.”

  Vicki hadn’t been like that
when Kurt had known her. In fact, she’d never said anything about her religious views.

  “She gave me a bunch of stuff to read.”

  “Did she. Are you going to?”

  “Maybe. I mean, I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but religion isn’t really my thing, you know?”

  Kurt wasn’t surprised.

  “Say,” said Danny, dropping a chicken bone on his plate. “I heard about that guy, Sam—the one who went missing your senior year. I was totally stunned to learn he’d been buried in Holy Trinity cemetery all this time. That is so wrong. Who would do something like that?”

  Kurt shook his head.

  “I mean, you were friends, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you have any idea what happened to him?”

  The question caused the ground beneath Kurt to tilt sideways and then disappear. He was standing at the edge of a dark chasm while his son finished his potato salad.

  “I’ve heard gossip around town that his father did it. Do you know his dad?”

  “Not really,” said Kurt, hearing the bell over the front door ring.

  “Really sad shit.” Danny pushed his plate away.

  Emma appeared in the workroom doorway.

  “Oh hi, Mrs. Anguelo,” said Danny, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

  “Remember, you were going to call me Emma,” she said, smiling.

  He nodded, returning her smile. “Hey, um, I should probably get going. I promised I’d meet up with Tanya when I got back. She’s home for the weekend.”

  Tanya was Danny’s girlfriend, someone Kurt liked a lot. She’d moved to the Cities in July to live with her aunt. He could tell the long-distance romance was proving more difficult than they’d expected.