Chapter Text
He wasn’t actually making a merry-go-round of his fingers, but the expression fit well enough; grinding his knuckles into his palm, gently brushing fingertips over various tools and tables, reading the label of every possible container in the shop over and over again despite already knowing it all—all of it achieved the same nothing.
The last pickup truck to roll by just needed a tire change from driving over leftover screws from a barn repair. That was easy enough—plenty of experience with that on the farm—and Mrs. Morrison gave him a grandmotherly kiss on the cheek in addition to the fee.
He’d long since picked the mud from his boot soles and was now left wishing he’d grabbed a book as the clock slowly ticked round and round. It made no sense; there were always more accidents on wet days, there should be more dented fenders cluttering up his day with all the rain yesterday. Maybe there just weren’t enough people for it to be noticeable.
Finally the hour turned over. Sam grabbed up the plastic-wrapped dress from the hook, stretching out his shoulder blades and readying to free himself from boredom when Brinkley poked his head through the interior door.
“Hey, one more’s coming up, can you grab her? I promised myself to Casey tonight, I gotta get going.” The apology already written all over the man’s face was enough to get Sam nodding. “Thanks, Jo—I owe you.”
“Sure.”
Brinkley left his sight, and after a beat, a boat of a car coloured seafoam green saddled up to the back of the shop. It was a strange sight in a place like this—he could’ve sworn he’d seen one of these as a kid, on a rare trip to the big city: Kokomo.
The bright white interiors of the tires were slicked in mud, the chrome clouded and dull, but the car itself was almost spotless, not a speck of mess or damage to be seen. The headlights made black dots in Sam’s vision, leaving him blindly blinking as the owner of the vehicle picked their way around occasional puddles and assorted grime.
“Miss O’Flanagan.” Her daintily gloved hands were wrapped around a nice-looking cardboard box, maybe the size of a Bible. A large hat hid her head, protecting her freckle-face from the fading sun.
“Lynette,” he nodded, stifling a grimace. “What’s the problem?”
“Oh, nothing much—one of my tires feels a little low, but I’m not sure which one.” She fixed him with this expectant look, like she’d already asked a question.
“Well I’ll—I can give ‘em a poke, if you want.”
She extended a hand, unprompted, reaching for the ever-important garment he hadn’t been willing to risk in yesterday’s rain. He allowed her to take it, watching her drape it over her shoulder.
Of all the people he could be stuck out late tending to, the last person he wanted was Lynette. Any more blowups and he was sure he’d end up the subject of the church gossip circle—if Jolene wasn’t already being made victim of the rumor mill. Worse than that, she might look the ‘extra parent’ gift horse in the mouth and permanently stop Nicole from coming over.
Sam did his best to pay her no mind as she followed him to the car, nor as she watched him give the first tire a hard press. One down.
“I figured, I had to come here anyway, I ought to bring you something. Everyone else already has, forgive me for getting this to you so late—” He’d almost forgotten the language of communities like these, watching briefly as she opened the box to reveal a poke-cake, good for maybe four servings.
Sam held back a chuff. Someone’s born, people bring food. Someone gets married, people bring food. Someone dies, people bring food. The more severe the occasion, the more food they bring. “That’s very kind of you, Lynette, but I don’t want to ruin my dinner.”
“Nonsense. You’ll just have to save it—you did drive here, right? I don’t want you having to carry that all the way home.”
“No, I—I walked.” Sam poked the next two tires, hurrying along, trying to get it done before Ms. Holier-Than-Thou said something veiled again.
“With this? I’ll drop you off, then. Not right to make you lug it back, after what you’ve been through.”
As Sam smeared a little more mud on his hands with the very last tire, he allowed a short snort. So that’s what this is about. “I accept the apology, Lynette. You don’t need to drive me home.”
“I will.” The hat tilted up, showing stern baby-blue eyes boring into him.
Without the mama-bear instincts coursing through him, he suddenly felt very small. “I’m dropping off the dress and seeing Teddy before I head home.”
Her expression remained unchanged, and Sam braced himself for some comment on living in sin or any other number of righteous, indignant statements. “At home?”
“At the bar. Few things I need to chat about, and I’d rather it be in person.”
Her painted lips moved back and forth a bit as she chewed her cheeks, looking at Sam’s muddy pants and grime-covered hands, grease-smeared nose and mussed hair. “I’ll bring you by Mrs. Redding’s and then you can walk to the Sunspot from there. That’s at least a little closer, won’t have to walk home so far.”
“You—”
“And you can share the cake with Teddy. It’ll get eaten faster that way.” Lynette drew a hanky from her small, mostly-decorative purse, handing it to Sam with a smile. “The tires?”
“Uh—they feel fine, but I can get the pressure gauge if you really think—”
“Oh, you’ve been at this long enough, I trust your opinion.” Ah, so a complete ruse. “What do I owe?”
Sam looked down at the ruined cloth, once embroidered and now covered in mud. “All I did was poke ‘em, so I think the handkerchief about covers it.”
Whichever parent Nicole got her laugh from, that was Lynette’s sibling. She politely covered her mouth with one hand, rounding the car and waving him off when he tried returning the little lace rag. Sam took the dress back and joined her in the front seat, eyes rapidly adjusting to the violently robin-egg blue interior.
“You must… really like blue, huh?” He reached out and was pleased but not surprised to feel a lap belt—uncommon for the era, but someone neurotic as her? Of course she’d have one installed. He buckled.
“It matches my eyes.” The hat she wore eclipsed his view out the driver’s window, and she said not another word as they drove off. Sam drummed his fingers on the poke-cake box.
It was a simple beauty parlor. Granted, Sam hadn't spent enough time in beauty parlors to be able to give a learned opinion, much less in the old-fashioned, small-town types that serviced the entire feminine population of the area—not necessarily because they were always the best beauty parlor, but because they were the only beauty parlor—but still, it seemed nice enough from his sample pool. Come to think of it, it reminded him a bit of Dottie’s—but that also could’ve just been because the longest he’d been inside a parlor was working at hers.
The yarn-smelling entry room had a note on the counter, catching his eye before Sam had chance to ring the bell: out for dinner.
It was better that way.
Sam gently rested the dress, carefully ironed, on the counter alongside the small, stapled-on bag holding her shoes and other adornments. He went against his nature to reach over to the desk space, rifling through office supplies and grabbing up a pen and notepad.
‘For Maggie.’
“I’ll see you Friday, dearest.” Sam was already unfolding long legs onto the pavement in front of the bar, ready to be away from this woman. She had the good sense to feel guilt, or at least shame, but that didn’t make her likeable.
“Right.”
“I’ll make sure I bring something sweet, you’re doing enough without worrying about food. And that poke-cake goes best with a nice cup of hot tea, you hear?”
“I gotcha, thank you.” The sound of the door closing was music, the sudden silence around him a symphony.
It was punctuated by an off-key and muffled ‘bless you!’ through the window as the land-yacht drove away, but at least it was over.
‘Miss O’Flanagan’. From anyone else, it was just her name, from someone like that, it felt like three different insults. They’re both adults, but she wouldn’t deign herself to call her by her first name, no, that would make them equals. Lynette was older, she’d never be an equal with little ‘Miss O’Flanagan’. Outside that, it meant they could be something closer than acquaintances, and Lynette could never have that—not to mention the obviously pointed use of ‘miss’, as in not ‘missus’, because how dare she be unmarried at her big age, and with a child—
The bar. The bar. She was gone, she wasn’t a problem right now. Sam ruffled up his hair.
Every small town in the country had a bar like this. Half the time, there were several: dim lights, lots of dark wood, old tobacco smoke, a floor that stuck to your shoes, and the same twenty or so customers rotating around every other evening. If he looked, Sam was sure he’d find dead flies on the windowsill, too.
The personal touches came from everything else, like the taxidermy grizzly bear stood guard by the more-decorative-than-functional coat rack, the stained glass lampshades on the hanging lights over each booth, and the thousand metal sculpture pieces hung on the walls ranging from flowers cut out of license plates to a large mural of spent pull-tabs and bottle-caps arranged in a portrait of Marilyn Monroe.
Oh, that’s right, that’s coming out this month—maybe Jolene’ll take Nicole to go see it. A little smile curled on his face. Lynette’d have a fit.
At the counter was an argument with the friendly face of Teddy Cross and the familiar back-of-head belonging to Mr. Patrick Krupp. Having weathered the loving tongue-lashing of the older gentleman, Sam found the harsh voice comforting rather than mean, coming up behind to give him a pat on the shoulder.
“Miss O—I don’t know what you see in this louse, he doesn’t even know how to tie on a slip.”
What conversation did I just drop into? “Well—”
“If you want me to know so bad, you show me, otherwise I got no reason to know how.” Teddy finished polishing a glass, giving Sam a wink. God knew what for.
“How the hell are you ever gonna catch a walleye if you can’t tie a slip?”
Oh. Oh, a bobber, a slip bobber, not—
“Catch it in my bare teeth.” Teddy flashed his gap-toothed grin, getting waved off by the grumpy old man. “What’s the box, Jo?”
“It’s— poke-cake. Courtesy of Miss Deronch.” Why’s it matter that I’m not married when she’s not even married?
“How sweet.” A slight eyebrow raise and a flat tone at least assured that it wasn’t just Sam drawing her ire.
“Half’s earmarked for you—I actually wanted to talk to you, you got a minute?”
A little cloud of worry stormed Ted’s face. “Paddy, make sure no one reaches behind the bar, eh?”
The dusty corner with an old signpost was the most privacy they could manage without Teddy losing sight of his post entirely. Sam stifled a sneeze, wondering idly if Jolene had allergies.
“So? Did I leave something after dinner?” Teddy's eyes sparkled with fondness, conveniently hiding the deep ache settled firm on his face.
“No, ah…” Al said get close to him. Don't think I could stand any closer even if I wanted to. “How’s it goin’?”
“It’s uh— it’s goin’. Best it can, anyway. Goin’ a little better right now, couldn’t imagine why.”
It made a lot of sense that Teddy made his living as a bartender, especially in a small town; he was dripping with cheesy charisma. The grin on top sold it. Even though Sam wasn’t technically the actual target of such affection, it was hard not to feel a little warmth in his cheeks.
“How ‘bout yourself?”
“Just fine. Slow day at the shop, you know how it is.”
“Lyn didn’t give you too much trouble, did she?”
“No, no. Just the usual.”
“Tell me if she ever gets to be too self-righteous, I’ll sort her out for you.”
“I’m a big girl, Teddy, I—” Why did I say that, why would that sentence ever leave my mouth— “I mean I just—I…don’t need you to protect me from one bitter woman. What would you do, anyway?”
“Refuse to serve her.”
“Like she comes in here anyway. Someone like her probably thinks its a sin to drink coffee, let alone any booze.”
Such a nice-sounding laugh, such a happy sound.
Alright, pleasantries done. Onto business. “But I—I came here to ask you about a boy. Nicole mentioned him, apparently Maggie was hanging out with a boy named Russell?”
“Russell.” The name rolled around the man's head, making him shed the flat cap and rub his hair. “Russ, yeah, she mentioned him… a few times. Didn't she ever talk with you?”
Wish I knew. “I don't think so, at least not that I internalized. What'd she talk about?”
“What's the interest for, Jo?”
“She's my daughter. No matter what, it's—” the words were still hard, “—it's my job as a mother to know things about her life. At least until she's old enough to live it. And I'm trying to put together some of the pieces I didn't get to know.”
“I don't know if digging this up would be good for you, Jo.”
“Please?” I’m not made of glass.
“Well there’s— there’s nothing to tell. She ‘n Russ were friendly, you know how kids are.”
“Friendly?”
“The kinda friends that you go sitting out under the stars with because you’re too young to go parking yet.”
“A boyfriend?”
“Don’t go getting yourself worked up, I’m sure she had her reasons for not telling you—“
“No, I’m—I’m not mad.” Jolene seemed to have one of those faces. “I just wanna get to the bottom of this.”
Teddy fixed him with a strong look, squinting slightly under the aerosolized dust and murky lighting that barely reached this far back.
Sam really ought to get better at playing the part. Teddy, at the very least, seemed to be catching on that Jolene was suddenly acting like a stranger—ruining the life that he was there to save wasn’t the best way to leave this tiny town. At least whatever spell had grabbed him when he first got there had let go a little, letting him feel a little more like a person.
“Fine. Fine, you’re lucky I like you.”
~~~
“He coulda been lying, y’know. Placate you.”
“What is with you and him? He’s a perfectly nice guy.” Sam stood still in the lifeless bedroom; one hand on his hip, the other palming a slice of poke cake. If I were a letter, where would I hide?
“You just seem real gung ho about him, is all.” Al peered over the empty desk, glancing over bits of paper and sticky notes strewn around. At least he was pretending to be helpful.
“Not any more ‘gung ho’ than I usually am about nice people. And wait a minute, aren’t you the one that suggested I get them extra friendly?” Sam took a bite. The woman baked like she was going to heaven, at least.
“You’re just going to upset yourself—would it kill you to use a plate?”
“Yes, it would. It would kill me to use a plate. Would you get off my back? I can’t get close unless I know more about our child—and besides, I still can’t be here just to make friends.” Jolene and Maggie were close; they had a good relationship, according to everyone’s testimony.
“You’ve leapt in to help a grandma win bingo before.”
“Shh.” Good relationship means she respected Maggie’s privacy. No need to hide them.
“All I’m saying is you shouldn’t get so close to this. I know you Sam, you’ve been a wreck the last few days already, you don’t need to go making stuff worse for yourself—”
“Would you can it? I’m thinking.”
“Fine, fine, let the genius work in peace, fine.” Al muttered his way through the wall into the hallway.
No need to hide them, so where would a pre-teen put a letter from her boyfriend?
He raked the room again, pausing on each place for careful consideration. Under the mattress? Too precious, they’d get wrinkled. In a school binder? Too personal, can’t take those to class. Dresser drawer?
Dresser drawer…
She’s left-handed. Sam pulled open the top left drawer of the vanity, met with some pallets of makeup he didn’t care to learn about and digging underneath. Sitting below a pencil case was several folded-up sheets of college ruled paper.
“Al?” He plucked the first up, carefully unfolding it against the vanity and taking another bite.
“Mm?” The hologram’s faux-pout dissolved immediately as he re-entered the bedroom.
“Teddy’s right. Our little girl has a poet after her.”
“Really?”
Sam straightened the sheet more, feeling slight guilt at reading something so personal. The writing was hard to read at times, but he still managed a line or two; “’Emerald green eyes gleam like river rocks, shimmering laughter like rolling grass—”
“That kid’s a Whitman fan.”
“There’s a bunch in here, all signed ‘all for you, Russ’.”
“Well, it’s more creative than ‘love’, I guess.” Al puffed out more smoke as Sam dug around, putting each new folded poem on the dresser and managing to avoid tainting them with any strawberry-flavoured crumbs. Most were actual poetry, some were just basic words about his day and how often he thought of her—were it any other situation, Sam would think it was purely just… cute. Puppy love, budding romance of two barely-teenagers. It was sweet.
Unfortunately, just like everything else surrounding Maggie, it earned a shade of something dour.
“That one’s different.”
Sam glanced up from the drawer, pulled from thought. “What?”
“That one.” Al was already pointing. “That one’s got darker blue ink on the lines, see?”
“So what?”
Shrug.
“What, you wanted to look for clues, I’m showing you somethin’ weird.”
Sam grabbed the supposedly-interesting paper, noting that it did indeed have darker lines, and started unfolding before a knock at the door interrupted him.
“Tell me that’s not Ted for dinner again.”
“Am I supposed to get near him or not, Al?” He started walking, glancing down at the paper. ‘Dear Maggie,’
“Then who is it?”
“Probably Vance with the coroner’s report.” ‘I have something important to tell you,’
“And why is he bringing you the coroner’s report?” Al hurried to catch up with him. “Sam, you’re digging too much, this is a fool’s errand.”
“Then let me be a fool! I’m still doing what you wanted, aren’t I?” ‘But it needs to be in person.’
“I just don’t want you to upset yourself more.”
“Would you stop saying that? I’m not made of—” He put the last bite in his mouth and turned the doorknob, ‘meet me by the creek tonight.’
“...glass.”
“Clash?” The detective tilted his head a bit, big round hat half hiding his eyebrows.
“Gl—ah—hi, Vance, hi.”
Sure enough, a manila folder currently occupied his hands. “Hi. I’m here with the report that you wanted to see, for some reason, that I still think is a bad idea for you to see.”
Sam reached for it, taking hold of one end. “Thank you, Vance—”
“Missy J.”
“What?” How many names does one woman have? “Ah—what is it?”
“You look a little shook up, what’s that you got?”
Possible evidence, no big deal. And you’re a cop that apparently didn’t think there was anything fishy. “Just a letter from a friend of Maggie’s. I’ve… been sorting things, now, thought it would be good to start. Lots to get through.”
“You need a hand?”
“No, just—just privacy.”
Vance relinquished custody of the folder. He clearly wasn’t happy to, but he knew better than to argue with a grieving mother.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime. Now—call me, okay? If you need something? Find anything you wanna talk about? Public servant, it’s part of my job.”
“Sure—sure. Have a good night, Vance.”
For a few unbearable moments, it seemed like he might try to stay. That’s just what he needed; another man sticking around the house, having dinner, a perfect setup for Lynette to drop by under the guise of more comfort food and use it to spread her opinions all over Jolene’s life, even when Sam hadn’t so much as winked at Teddy, let alone anyone else—
The woman was starting to get to him.
“You too, Jo.”
With a tip of the hat, the man strolled back down the porch steps, getting in his truck.
Sam didn’t even wait to watch the driver’s side close before he shut the front door, hurrying to lay out the report and note.
“What’s with the rush, slow down!”
“Al, Al this letter is different.”
“Well, yeah, I established that—”
“No! No—more different, Al—” A girl with lavender cheeks and frozen eyelashes, ice crystals thawing in her hair, dirt in the sad curls, lips cracked and split, eyes lifeless and cold.
A girl thawing.
“It’s asking Maggie to meet him by the creek.”