Chapter 24
Clem
“Grab that box, will ya?”
I point Remi to the large box I left at the bottom of the stairs. It’s big, and a bit cumbersome, but not too heavy for the kid.
Tessa dropped him off ten minutes ago. She’d stuck around here for a bit yesterday afternoon, and shared about the arrest the FBI had made on the investigation, and Remi’s role in it.
Turns out the poor kid was towing a pretty heavy load.
At some point I’d gone down to give the boy a hand trying to take apart the truck’s engine, while Tessa had a short nap on the couch upstairs.
But when the snow let up late in the afternoon, she took Remi home. Sensing she might want a quiet night with her boys, I told her I had a few things I needed to take care of. All of which are now packed in that big box.
“Where does it go?” he asks as he lifts it up.
“Back of my truck.” I toss my keys over the railing. “Why don’t you warm it up; I’ll be right out.”
I brew a fresh coffee in my travel mug and take a water bottle from the fridge for the kid. Then I make sure Mouse has fresh water.
“Watch the place, okay, girl?”
I give her a few pets before heading downstairs, make sure all doors are locked, and join Remi who’s already sitting in the passenger seat of my running truck.
“Jesus, even my ass is cold,” I observe grumbling, cranking up the heat in the cab even higher. “I should’ve invested in a seat heater.”
“Mom has those in the Jeep. It’s nice,” the boy contributes.
“I bet. Listen, I’ve gotta make one stop,” I announce. “Gotta drop off that box at The General Store downtown. Have you been in there before?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“You would’ve remembered. The place has everything.
It’s been here forever, and at some point was the only store in Silence.
Food, books, household items, clothes, hardware, you name it, they have it.
In the old days they even used to sell boots and saddles.
They don’t have those anymore, but still carry a boatload of other stuff.
If you’re looking for something and strike out everywhere else, chances are you can find it there or Mabel will be able to order it for you. ”
“Mabel?”
“She runs it. That’s who is waiting for that box.”
Mabel had called yesterday morning, asking if I had some new stuff for her, because she’d be heading into Spokane on Monday to drop off more supplies for the charity. That’s what I needed to do last night, go over every piece to make sure no ends were loose or sticking out, before I packed them.
“What’s in the box?” Remi inquires nosily.
“I’ll show you when we get there.”
His mother already knows about my hobby, and I figure, if anything, it might help me build up trust with the kid. It’s nothing to be ashamed off, although, I’d rather my poker buddies don’t get hold of that information. It would supply them with endless material to roast me with.
“There you are,” Mabel booms from the rear of the store when we walk in. “And I see you brought reinforcements.”
She must’ve seen Remi behind me, toting the box.
Mabel is already rounding the ancient counter by the time we get to the back.
“Put it up here,” she orders, tapping a hand on top of the counter, as she narrows her eyes on the boy. “You’re new in town.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m Remi Androtti. We moved here earlier this year.”
Tessa did a good job raising the kid. I didn’t expect him to be this polite and had been ready to make the introductions, but I see there’s no need.
“Ah, yes, I heard about the new detective. I thought the name sounded like that race car driver. You related by chance?”
“No, ma’am. You’re probably thinking of Mario Andretti.”
Mabel shrugs. “Only off by one letter.”
Then she turns her attention to the box and swiftly cuts the tape with a sharp nail, opening it. She pulls out each blanket in turn, unfolds them, inspects them, only to fold them back up and stack them on the counter.
“Nice,” she comments. “Got time to pick out your next yarn? Just got a new shipment in.”
“Not today, Mabel. Remi and I have an errand to run. I’ll see if I have time this week to pop by.”
“I’m around.”
We say our goodbyes, and when the boy and I are back in the truck, he turns to me.
“You made those?”
“Yep.”
“I didn’t know guys could knit.”
“Why not?” I counter. “Although, I don’t knit, I crochet. Not that it matters.”
Remi shrugs as his eyes slide to the road. “I dunno. I just never heard of that.”
“Fair enough. I guess I never had either, that is, until earlier this year. I’m sure some folks look at it funny, but I found myself with too much time on my hands and don’t do well sitting still. This keeps my hands busy and I’m doing something useful.”
“How is that useful?”
I burst out laughing at the unfiltered question.
“Those blankets we just dropped off are for new babies of families in need. Sometimes it’s blankets or it can be hats or scarves for homeless people. It’s useful to them.”
“Cool,” he mumbles before silence settles in the truck.
We don’t talk much the whole ride, and the odd time we do, it tends to be Remi asking something car-related. I don’t broach the subject of his teacher, and he doesn’t volunteer anything. Which is fine, I’m happy just driving.
It’s a nice day; the sun is out and has melted some of the snow from the road.
Just past Crystal Falls on Hwy 20, about twenty miles out from our destination, I point out a small herd of elk up on a hillside.
Remi seems to get a kick out of that, and for the rest of the drive, he asks about all the different kinds of wildlife out here.
The gates are open when we pull into the junkyard, so I drive right up to the small shack Wally uses as his office. Normally, he’d either be sitting on the small porch or come out at the first sound of a vehicle approaching. Today the porch is empty and the door stays closed.
The moment I get out of the truck, I notice the absolute, cold silence. Even without looking, I already know no one is here. Still, I walk up to the small building to check the door. Tucked under the corner of the doormat I notice a piece of paper sticking out.
It’s a scribbled note.
Had to run out. Go ahead and look for yourself. Check northwest corner.
Back soon. W
“Okay, kid. Looks like we’re on our own.” I point in the direction Wally indicated. “Let’s head that way.”
As far as junkyards go, this one is pretty organized. The Shirks have been able to maintain paths running north and south, as well as east and west, cutting the entire junkyard into smaller, easier to navigate parcels.
The breeze blows in over the open fields around the yard, freezing the little hairs in my nostrils. Damn, it’s even colder out here than it is in Silence.
I glance over at the kid, who is pulling the hood of his coat over his head.
I only have the ball cap I’m wearing, but I pull up my collar and hunch up my shoulders.
You can tell how cold it is by the way the snow crunches under our feet.
The only other sound is the occasional creak of metal as some of the junk shifts and settles.
“I’ll take the first path, you get the next one,” I suggest when we reach the farthest northwest corner. “It’ll be faster if we work the grid lines. You know what we’re looking for, so keep your eyes peeled.”
If we keep pace, we can keep visual contact with each other, while covering twice the amount of real estate. I really don’t want to waste more time out here in these freezing temperatures than we need to.
In some of these older sections, vehicles are piled on top of vehicles at some points, creating a mountain of mangled, rusting metal. It isn’t always easy to identify what you’re looking at, and easy to lose track of your surroundings.
We’re onto rows three and four—as I pass through such an area where the metal is piled so high, I can’t see beyond—when I lose sight of Remi.
By the time I get to the crossroad, he’s not there to meet me.
I look down the row the boy was checking to see if he’s just lagging behind, but I don’t see any sign of him.
“No! Clem!”
I freeze at the strangled quality of Remi’s voice. It appears to be coming from the other side of the rows; the far north side where the property ends.
Then I start running, only to get hit by a massive jolt to my back, knocking me flat on my face.
The last thing I hear is the soft buzz of a battery-operated vehicle before the lights go out.