Beneath Blackwater River Leslie Wolfe (me reader txt) 📖

He looked at the image of the truck and memorized its tag, then walked around a little until he spotted it, pulled up at the loading dock, waiting for cargo. He approached a group of four men, clustered together a few yards away, and greeted them with two fingers touching the brim of his hat.

“Howdy,” he said, noticing how his presence drove the four people to close ranks, as if defending themselves from the approaching predator. He showed them the image, and asked, “Where can I find this woman?”

They stared at one another, then at their boots. One of them seemed particularly interested in a truck backing away from the loading dock, although it was more than 20 yards away.

A hint of a smile stretched Elliot’s lips. Blue-collar workers had a reputation for their solidarity, and he appreciated that. “She’s an important witness who can help us find a missing child,” he clarified. “I’m sure she’d want to help us find her,” he added, flipping through the images until he could show them a good, clear one of Kirsten.

“Um, the gal you’re looking for is Hazel Fuentes,” one of the men replied. “She’s over there, where that green light is. It’s our breakroom.”

Elliot touched his hat again. “Thanks.” He walked quickly toward the green lamp marking a door labeled, EMPLOYEES ONLY, and was about to grab the handle when Hazel stepped out of the building, holding an unlit cigarette in her hand.

“Ms. Fuentes?” Elliot asked. A flicker of fear lit the woman’s eyes.

“Yes,” she replied. “Who wants to know?”

“Detective Elliot Young, from the Franklin County Sheriff’s Office.” He flashed his badge, but smiled encouragingly. He didn’t want the woman spooked, and the investigating detective knew that smiles worked much better than frowns. “We’re looking for Kirsten Humphrey,” he showed her the photo.

The woman smiled. “Huh… She gave me her real name,” she whispered to herself. Then, turning her attention to Elliot, “Mind if I light this up?” She lit the cigarette with slightly trembling fingers and inhaled wholeheartedly. “Ask away.” Despite her hand gesture intended to convey indifference, she was visibly scared.

“You took this girl in your truck five days ago, correct?”

She took another drag from her cigarette, sending a cloud of mint-flavored smoke in the air. “Listen, do I need a lawyer?”

Elliot gave Hazel a long look. He wasn’t going to charge a hard-working woman for taking in a hitchhiker in the rain and feeding her a warm meal. The day cops started arresting people for that, all hint of civilized humanity would come to an end.

“If you’re concerned with failing to report a minor runaway and taking her across state lines, which would make it a federal offense,” he said, watching her grow paler as he spoke, “you’re in the clear. Looking at this girl’s photo, there’s no way you could’ve known she was underage. She looks very mature.”

She was quick to grab the lifesaver and swim with it. “No, I had no idea she was a minor,” she said, the look of gratitude in her eyes unmistakable. “Tell me, hon, what do you need to know?”

“What did you two talk about over your meal?” Elliot asked.

“Ahh, you know about that too, huh,” she replied. “Funny how the world works these days.” She closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to remember all the details of the conversation. “She didn’t tell me what she was running from, but I could tell it wasn’t good.” She frowned as she opened her eyes and looked briefly in Elliot’s direction, yet avoided making eye contact. “She was soaking wet and starving, the poor thing. She wolfed that hamburger down as if she’d never seen food before.”

“Did she mention where she was headed?”

“San Francisco,” Hazel replied. “I thought she might’ve been headed to Hollywood, you know, being she’s so beautiful. She could be a star someday. But no, her mind was made up, to go to the city and get a job, cleaning rooms or waiting tables or something to get herself on her feet, doing honest work.”

Elliot shot her an inquisitive glance.

Picking up on his unspoken question, Hazel clarified, “She had a strange reaction to a suggestion I made, about men, about being careful around them, you know. I would bet an entire paycheck this girl’s been abused.”

“Where did you drop her off?”

“Right there, by the exit ramp. I told her she had better chances of hitching another ride from the highway.” She hesitated for a moment, as if deciding whether to share another bit of information with him. “I gave her my phone number; I put a note in her pocket. Then I went about my business.”

“Did you happen to see if anyone else picked her up?”

A sad smile colored Hazel’s face. “Not for a long time. I came out at lunch and looked toward the highway. She was still there, leaning against the guardrail, hand in the air.” She shook her head with disappointment. “People are afraid to stop these days. You never know what freak you end up with. Some of the people who roam these highways, hon, they could kill you for pocket change and the leftovers in your coffee cup.”

Giving Hazel his card, he thanked her for her help. “If you hear from her, please give us a call.”

She nodded, a look of concern on her face. “Do you think she’s okay? Will you let me know?”

Elliot replied, “Will do,” and touched his hat briefly before turning around and leaving.

That girl could be anywhere by now. San Francisco, or anywhere else for that matter. A fourteen-year-old girl, desperate, running away from abuse at home, heading into the big unknown with her heart filled with hope. Countless murder investigations started with those words: teen runaway from a broken family, found stabbed, or shot, or strangled on the side of a road or in a gas station restroom.

Could he find the whisper in the whirlwind? All he knew was he had