Period 8 - By Chris Crutcher Page 0,48
Baum grimaces. “And you,” he says. “Listen, you let the so-called adults handle this. Your mother promised she’d quit running her grief past you and I’ll make sure none of it lands on you from my end, okay? You just get your ass out of school and on to the next thing. Mary will turn up.”
Paulie nods.
“And one more thing. Whatever happened with Hannah, happened. It doesn’t mean you’re like me, okay? I love your mom, and she loves me, but we never should have gotten married. If I’d had any foresight, I’d have known my weaknesses would take us down. You don’t have those weaknesses. I sometimes wonder if you’re really my kid.”
Paulie nods again. “Thanks, Dad. Love you.”
“Back atcha. And by the way, you’re the reason whatever our marriage has turned into was worth it.”
“Jesus Christ.” Logs stands in his doorway in his sweats at 10 PM staring at the text on Paulie’s iPhone.
“Yeah.”
“Have you showed this to anyone else?”
“My dad. His thinks it’s family related, that the cops wouldn’t do anything without the parents reporting it.”
“Mary has never had a flair for the dramatic, that I know of,” Logs says, reading the text again. “No offense to your dad, but I’d rather err on the side of caution. We need someone else’s eyes on this. First thing in the morning I’ll get Wells’s cell number from the front office and see if I can locate him. If Mary’s with him, that’s cool, but this doesn’t feel right.”
“I know. What scares me is, remember how Hannah said Mary was on something that night on the road? Mary told me it was oxys.”
Logs grimaces. “That’s a pretty addictive drug.”
“She said she only used it once.”
“There are drugs that would make a liar out of you and oxycodone is one of them,” Logs says, “but let’s not jump to conclusions. What we have is a text from Mary Wells and the word ‘danger.’”
“You think she’s mixed up with drug guys?” Paulie says.
“Let me get dressed and we’ll run down and do an FYI with the city cops, just to get it on the record.”
“Cops just going to think we’re, like, alarmists?”
“Probably, but what’s to lose? More than likely the Wellses will come home and what we don’t know now, we’ll know then. I just hope Mary is with them.”
.14
“Officer Rankin.”
John Rankin stares at an unfamiliar face. “Do I know you?”
“Bruce Logsdon. I teach at the high school. We met at ‘Dragnet in the Park.’”
“Ah, yes sir. What can I do for you?”
“The guy at the desk said you were the person to talk to about things ‘Wells related.’”
“True,” Rankin says. “Why, did something come up? I’m technically off duty. Strictly day shift. I was logging some overtime; catching up on paperwork.”
“I know the feeling,” Logs says. “This won’t take long, and it’ll probably seem frivolous, but my friend Mr. Baum here got a disturbing text message from the Wells girl, on the heels of her being absent again.”
Rankin perks up. “Really?”
Logs nods at Paulie. “Show him.”
Rankin takes his time reading the message. Paulie translates.
“I understand this doesn’t rise to the level that would bring action by you guys,” Logs says, “but it seemed like a good idea to get it on the record in case it turns into something.”
“Good idea,” Rankin says. “Do me a favor and forward it to my cell and I’ll write it down when I get a chance.” He gives Paulie his number. “You were smart to bring it.”
They’re walking back toward the car when Officer Rankin hollers, “Wait.”
They turn in unison.
“It’s probably a good idea to keep the text to yourself,” Rankin says. “I mean, don’t even tell your friends for now, Paulie. I doubt there’s been foul play—there seems to be a lot of parent-child conflict in that house—but on the off chance that this turns into evidence, the fewer people know about it the better.” He smiles. “One of those ‘pieces of information not generally known.’ You good with that?”
“It makes sense,” Logs says. He turns to Paulie. “You keep this between us?”
“Sure,” Paulie says. “No sweat.”
“We’ve done what we can do,” Logs says to Paulie as they get back into his car in front of the police station.
“Man,” Paulie says, “Mary’s dad has his own private police officer. Everything ‘Wells related’?”
“Small town, big money I guess,” Logs says.
Frank’s Diner is a block ahead. “You wanna grab something real quick?” Logs asks.
They pull into the nearly empty parking lot and sit a moment.
“My