One Breath Away (18 page)

Chapter 51:
Augie

I
tiptoe through the gymnasium, wondering what could have happened to Beth. I wonder if she is hiding in a corner somewhere, like I am, trying to get up the courage to go back to the classroom. Only she wants to find out if her dad could possibly be the one upstairs in her sister and P.J.’s classroom with a gun. I imagine for a minute what it would be like to have a dad who would do
anything
to be able to see his kids, spend time with them. My dad would rather pass up spending time with me so he can avoid spending time with a super-nice kid like P.J. And the saddest thing of all is P.J. is like some little stray puppy just begging for attention from my dad. More than anything in the world P.J. wants a dad. No, my dad isn’t a psychopath with a gun, but he sure is a jerk.

I reach the gym doorway that leads back to the hallway and realize for the first time how thirsty I am. I bend over the drinking fountain and take a long drink. The water is lukewarm and tastes a little rusty, but it feels good in my throat. I step into the hallway and tiptoe toward the staircase. If I go upward I will be in P.J.’s hallway. If I take a right and then a left I will be in the primary wing of the building, where the kindergarteners, first and second graders have their classrooms. I think of Faith Garrity and how scared she was and I imagine that all the other little kids are, too. Faith, though, would be with her mom and dad now, while the rest of the kids are stuck in their classrooms not knowing what is going on out here.

I can’t be sure that the man is still up in P.J.’s classroom. If it was Beth’s dad, he may have grabbed Natalie and was off in search of Beth. He could be roaming the hallways right now. I duck into the space beneath the steps, sit down and try to decide what to do next.

My stomach makes a sloshing sound; it’s empty except for the gallon of water I just drank. I’ve lost about fifteen pounds since we’ve moved here and when I look at myself in the mirror I barely recognize myself. My eyes look too big for my face and the spot at my throat looks like it’s been hollowed out with an ice cream scooper. I can’t say I look very good, though some of the girls at my old school who talked only about how fat their faces or thighs or butts looked would be impressed with my transformation. It’s not exactly a diet I would recommend to others: the Watch Your Mother Get Her Skin Burned Off Diet.

Ever since the fire, the smell of any kind of meat cooking makes me sick. All I can think about when my grandpa is frying bacon or making sloppy joes is the sizzle of my mother’s skin. I threw up for twenty-four hours after the fire trying to get the ashy taste out of my throat and the horrible, sweet smell of her hair and skin burning out of my nose.

When Grandpa was driving P.J. and me to the airport to catch our flight to Iowa he wanted to stop at a fast-food place. He said that he and Grandma Thwaite rarely ate out—maybe once every few weeks at the only restaurant in Broken Branch. Plus, Grandma didn’t approve of the nutritional value of such establishments.
While the cat’s away…
he said. As he pulled up to the drive-through of a Buster Burger the thought of the car filling up with the smell of grease and burgers made my stomach lurch. Out of the blue I told him that I was a vegetarian and that I didn’t eat meat products of any kind. P.J. looked at me as if I’d sprouted antennas or something. Grandpa laughed at me and I think that’s when I decided to hate him. I already didn’t like him because of all the things my mother had told me about growing up with him as a father, like how strict and sarcastic he was, but right then and there I decided I would loathe him. His laugh was my mother’s. Sweet and slow like taffy being pulled. But it didn’t sound right coming from his mouth and didn’t earn him any popularity points with me. “Well, a vegetarian on a beef cattle farm.” He laughed. “This is going to be entertaining.”

I sat in the car while he and P.J. went into the restaurant to eat. I fell asleep wondering what in the world I would be eating for the next how many weeks until my mom got better and we could go home.

Right now I think about curling up in a little ball like Grandpa’s dog, Roxie, does. It would be so wonderful to close my eyes and then wake up a few hours from now with this whole thing over. But P.J.’s upstairs and all those kindergarteners are down the hallway. I stand and decide to go up to P.J.’s room and see what’s happening. If the man is in the classroom, I’ll sneak back downstairs and tell all the little kids and their teachers that it’s safe for them to get out. Unless, of course, there is more than one man in the school, but that thought is just too awful to imagine.

Chapter 52:
Meg

I
spare about ten more seconds watching Faith and her parents before making my way into Lonnie’s to talk to Eric Braun, the officer stationed there. Faith’s father holds on to her like he will never let go again. Her mother strokes Faith’s hair and smiles while tears roll down her cheeks.

Two statements that Faith had made were nagging at me. The first being that the gunman had at least five cell phones. Why in the world would anyone have five phones with them? The second thing that struck me was that Faith said she had seen the gunman before but didn’t know him. Broken Branch is a small town. Two churches, one school, one grocery store. Everyone pretty much knows everyone else by name in town. The gunman has to be someone on the periphery. Someone who has a connection to Broken Branch but most likely doesn’t live here.

I need to get back to the school and check in with the chief. I still haven’t had the opportunity to talk more with Gail Lowell and haven’t even spoken with the school principal. I feel at loose ends; the little information I have is fragmented and disjointed, doesn’t make sense. An unknown gunman with five cell phones and an unknown motive, and one teenage girl who had the opportunity to escape but runs back into the school.

I step inside Lonnie’s and the warm air feels good against my face. Instantly I am surrounded by parents and family members of the children still inside the school, begging for any information. I’ve got none to offer, so I simply keep my face emotionless and keep repeating, “I’ve got nothing new to tell you” and “No injuries have been reported.” My friends and neighbors are not impressed and turn away from me, their mouths pinched tight with frustration. They slump down in their booths and resume watching the TV affixed to the wall, hoping to gather information from news reporters and speculators who know less than we do.

I see Braun in a corner booth talking with Dennis and Alise Strickland. They have three children at the school. A sixteen-year-old boy—a sophomore—and two daughters, twins who are seventh graders. Eric looks relieved when I approach while Dennis and Alise get up from their seats wearing the same dejected look as everyone else in the room.

“Can’t you tell us anything?” Alise asks me. “Please?”

“Everyone is working very hard to get every single person out of the school safely.” I can tell by the looks on their faces that these aren’t the words they want to hear.

“I don’t understand why no one is going into the school. Why is everyone just standing outside waiting?” Dennis Strickland asks. Dennis manages the local feed store. He normally has an easy smile and laid-back personality that serves him well in working with the local farmers, but now he is understandably tense and has no pleasantries to offer me.

“I know it’s hard to be patient,” I say, reaching for Alise’s hand. “But there are protocols and procedures for these situations.” Dennis shakes his head and stalks away and Alise gives me an apologetic look.

“Will you
please
let us know if you learn anything?” she asks.

“Of course,” I assure her, and she walks away. I settle into the booth with Eric and from the way he is rubbing his forehead I can tell that as the parent liaison he probably has gotten the most difficult of duties.

I need to get back to the school so I dive right into my questions. We’ll have time after this is all resolved to commiserate. “Do you have any information on two students by the names of Augie Baker and Beth Cragg?”

“I can answer the Beth Cragg question right now. Her grandmother is right over there.” He nods toward a booth where a woman of around sixty-five is sitting with three other men. “When Beth didn’t step off the school bus with the other kids from her class, Beth’s mom, Darlene, lost it. Started crying and yelling. Fortunately, Darlene’s dad was with her and took her home. She’s got two girls in the school right now. Beth is an eighth grader and Natalie is in third.”

“What about Beth’s father? Where’s he at in all this?” I know from calls I’ve made to the Cragg farm that there is a history of domestic violence.

“No one is quite sure where Ray Cragg is right now. No one has seen much of him since Darlene left him and moved into town.” Realization spreads across Eric’s face. “Are you thinking that Ray might have something to do with this?”

I shrug. “Could be. Beth never came out of the school with her classmates. There’s a history of domestic abuse, the dad isn’t present.” I look around the café. “I mean, everyone who has a child unaccounted for is right in this room, right? So where is Ray Cragg?”

“Are you going to follow up on it?” Eric asks.

I lean back in the booth and shake my head. “I don’t know. How can we not check on it? But who are we going to send over to the Cragg farm? Everyone has their hands full as it is.”

“I don’t know, Meg,” Eric says in a low whisper. “He could be the guy. Have you ever seen Darlene after one of his rages? I got called one night and he had beaten the shit out of her. Maybe the fact that she finally said enough and left and took her daughters away from him made him go nuts.”

“You’re right,” I say. “This is the best lead we have so far. I’ll head over there next.”

“By yourself? No way, Meg,” Eric says, shaking his head from side to side.

I brush aside his worry with a wave of my hand. “If it’s Cragg he’ll be in the school, right? I’m just going over to his farm and do some looking around. If he’s there, great. If not, then maybe we know what we’re looking at here and that’s a hell of a lot more than we have right now.”

“Okay, be careful and make sure you tell the chief where you’re going.”

“Yeah, yeah. Real quick, what about this Augie Baker? What do you have on her? She had two opportunities to get out of the school and she didn’t take advantage of them.”

Eric checks his list, flipping pages attached to his clipboard. “Yeah, got it here. Augustine Baker. Will Thwaite’s granddaughter. Thirteen. Recently moved here from Arizona along with her brother—” he riffles through some more papers “—P. J. Thwaite.”

“Parents?” I ask.

“Mother and father are in Arizona. The mother was badly burned in a fire and the kids came here to stay with the Thwaites while she recovers.”

“Okay. I’ll see if I can contact Will Thwaite.”

“You don’t have far to look, he’s sitting in the back with Verna.”

I clap Eric on the shoulder. “Thanks, I’ll just go on over and have a quick chat with the two of them and then head over to the Cragg farm. Hang in there. Hopefully this will all be over soon.”

“Yeah.” Eric rubs his eyes. “Give me a trespassing or a cow tipping any day over this.”

As I make my way over to the table where Verna and Will are sitting, Lonnie, the café’s namesake and owner, a squat, heavy man with stringy gray hair pulled back in a ponytail, approaches with a steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee and presses it into my hand. “Here you go, Meg. You look like you could use something to warm you up.”

“Thanks, Lonnie,” I say, taking a sip of the blessed liquid. “And thanks for letting us use your café as a place for the families to gather. We couldn’t do it without you.”

“Bah, of course. We’re glad to help.”

“At least business is good,” I joke lamely, reaching into my pocket for some money in order to pay Lonnie for the coffee.

“No charge,” he says, shaking his head. “I can’t charge these folks for coffee and pie when this could very well be the worst day of their lives.”

“Thanks, Lonnie,” I say. “That’s very kind.” He shrugs the compliment off, limps away, his heaviness causing a hitch in his step, and returns to filling coffee cups and making people smile. Once again I am reminded why I love Broken Branch and why I chose to remain here to work and raise Maria. I only hope we can get each and every one of those students and staff sitting at the school out safely. Otherwise, potentially, ninety percent of Broken Branch’s youth could be erased in one fell swoop. Despite the warmth of the café and the hot coffee in my hand, I shiver at the thought. If that happened, Broken Branch will become a ghost town, would die and wither away. We can’t let that happen.
I
can’t let that happen. Maria needs to come home, to her town, her school, her friends. To me.

Chapter 53:
Holly

“M
aybe I’ll be able to go outside for a little while when Augie and P.J. get here,” I tell my mother hopefully when she returns to the room. I haven’t been outside for nearly eight weeks, can only see the Arizona sky through my hospital window.

“Maybe,” my mother says doubtfully. I know she’s worried about the heat and the fierce Arizona sunshine. For the rest of my life I’m going to have to carefully cover my damaged skin to avoid sunburn. “Oh,” my mother says, reaching into her purse and pulling out her cell phone. “I wonder who this is?” She presses the phone to her ear. “Hello,” she says in the overloud way I’ve learned she uses while on her cell phone. Before the accident, the last time I saw my mother, I didn’t even own a cell phone and my mother certainly didn’t. She covers the mouthpiece. “It’s Gloria Warren,” she whispers, and gets up to leave the room. “I’ll be right back.”

Chapter 54:
Meg

A
s I approach the table where Verna Fraise sits, the men rise from their seats and remove their hats in greeting.

“Gentlemen, Mrs. Fraise,” I say.

“You have news on my grandchildren?” Verna asks hopefully.

“No, no,” I say apologetically. “But I do have a few questions for you.”

“We’ll let you be, then,” Will Thwaite says, stepping away from the table, and the other men start to follow him.

“Actually, Mr. Thwaite, if you could stay…” I say.

He hesitates for a moment, but settles himself back into his chair.

Will Thwaite must be at least seventy years old, but looks younger. He looks healthy in that vibrant, ruddy way of those who work in the outdoors. He is barrel chested and bowlegged, stands at about five foot ten inches, though he seems much larger. His face is deeply lined with a scattering of red patches that look, even to my untrained eye, like the beginnings of skin cancer. He is wearing his work clothes, coveralls, a barn jacket and brown leather boots caked with mud. He absentmindedly begins stirring cream into his cup of coffee and waits for me to speak.

Verna, on the other hand, doesn’t give me a chance to ask any questions as she has many of her own. “You don’t have any idea where Bethie is?” she asks. “Why she didn’t come out with the rest of her class?”

“I don’t,” I admit. “One of her classmates commented that Beth was exceptionally upset during the lockdown—”

“What would you expect?” Verna interrupts. “A man with a gun comes barging into the school. Of course she would be very upset. I would be worried if she wasn’t.”

“That’s the thing,” I say, lacing my fingers together and laying them on the table in front of me. “Not one of the students who came out of Beth and Augie’s classroom even knew that there was actually an intruder in the school. They knew they were in lockdown, but no one saw a gunman.” Verna blinks at me through her thick-lensed glasses but doesn’t respond. I decide to get right to the point. “Your daughter and son-in-law are separated, correct? And a divorce is pending?”

“Yes,” Verna says warily, and fear springs to her eyes.

“I’m wondering,” I begin carefully, trying to find the right words. “I know that sometimes in divorces there can be heated discussions about child custody.”

“You’re wondering if Ray Cragg could be the one in the school with a gun because Darlene won’t let him see the girls,” Will Thwaite says bluntly. Beside him, Verna seems to deflate.

“I am wondering exactly that,” I say, looking back and forth between the two of them. “We’ve got a school full of children trapped in that building and no one seems to know who would have any kind of motive to storm in there with a gun. Right now, Ray Cragg seems to be the only parent unaccounted for.”

Verna’s eyes well with tears and she dabs at her face with a crumpled-up napkin. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of him since this happened. Ray has treated my daughter terribly and I’m glad she’s divorcing him.” Verna presses her lips together and struggles to continue. “Ray loves those little girls and I can’t imagine that he would hurt them, but now I don’t know.” She shakes her head resolutely as if to convince herself. “No, he wouldn’t hurt his girls, ever.”

“But he would hurt his wife, right? Has hurt her and can’t do that anymore. Darlene has a restraining order against Ray, so for all purposes he can’t get to her, at least not physically.”

“You think that Ray might threaten to hurt his girls in order to get back at Darlene?” Will asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you, Mrs. Fraise.”

Verna cups her age-spot-speckled hand beneath her chin, her fingers covering her mouth, which is trembling with emotion. She nods. “It’s possible. It’s possible Ray could do that.”

“Okay, I’ll check it out and get back to you as quickly as I can. In the meantime, Darlene is doing okay? Someone is with her?”

“Yes, my husband, Gene, is with her. She was so upset when Beth didn’t come out with the other children. She’s sure something bad has happened to her.”

I turn my attention to Will Thwaite. “Your granddaughter and Beth are friends?” I ask. “Could that explain why Augie didn’t come out the window with the other children?”

“I know that Augie and Beth are friendly,” Will says. “But I wouldn’t say that they were best friends. Augie and her brother came to stay with us about eight weeks ago and she wasn’t very happy about leaving Arizona. Her mother was…was involved in an accident and Augie and P.J. are staying with us until she gets better.”

“So you don’t think that Augie would have stayed in the school to be with Beth?” I ask.

Will shakes his head. “More than likely Augie was trying to go and find P.J. Those two are as thick as thieves, though Augie would never admit it. She looks after that boy like she’s the mother. And that girl is as stubborn as cement. She gets an idea and doesn’t let it go. Runs in the family, I think. You find P.J. and, more likely than not, Augie will be right there with him.”

“That may be why she ran back into the school after she brought Faith out. What grade is P.J. in?”

“Third grade, Mrs. Oliver’s room,” Will says. “There’s Cal Oliver over there, Evelyn’s husband.” He points to a thin, long-legged man with a white beard and a bald head sitting by himself at a corner table. I’ve never formally met Mr. Oliver, but he’s a familiar face. A cell phone sits on the table in front of him and he just stares at it as if willing it to ring.

“I need to get going now,” I tell Will and Verna. “Thank you for your help. I promise I will let you know as soon as I learn anything about your grandchildren.” I’m halfway across the room when a thought strikes me.

“Mr. Thwaite, one more thing,” I say apologetically. “P.J. and Augie have different last names. What can you tell me about their fathers?”

“Well, it couldn’t be Augie’s dad. He was the one who called us to come get them. As for P.J.’s father, never met him. As far as I know, he’s never been involved in P.J.’s life. I don’t think that P.J. even knows his name.”

Out of the corner of my eye, throughout my conversation with Will and Verna, I could see Ed Wingo puffing up like a blowfish trying his damnedest not to interrupt. He can’t hold it in any longer and shakes a finger at me. “What the hell is going on out there? I don’t think you could find your own ass if you tried.”

As much as I’d like to give Ed a piece of my mind, I know it’s useless. “We’re doing the best we can,” I tell him mildly, and this makes him even angrier.

“Oh, shut up, Ed,” Verna says before he can say another word.

“I’ll be in touch,” I say, and rush out of the café into the snow. At least an inch has fallen since I’ve been in Lonnie’s. Now we have two possibilities. Ray Cragg seems to be the most obvious suspect, and it’s a long shot but maybe P. J. Thwaite’s biological father wanted to come reclaim his son. At least I won’t go back to the chief empty-handed. I sweep the snow from my windshield with my arm and climb into the car. A blast of cold air from my heater greets me when I turn the ignition. I try to put a call into dispatch, but there is no answer. Obviously communication is still a mess. I consider using my cell phone to check in with Chief McKinney, but decide against it. First I want to check out the Cragg lead and the chief has more than enough on his plate right now.