November 5, 1995, Roseberry, Idaho
Monday morning, MJ is a wreck. Like her mom. Where IS Aunt K? It’s so quiet… Even outside it’s hushed and expectant. She squeezes handfuls of Aunt K’s quilt like a cat.
It occurs that Kara might have gone to Red’s to evaluate Angel’s stuff.
Groaning, MJ rolls out of bed like a hangover. She squints at the shades; her head pounds with her pulse. Her whole body aches from jumping out of the truck. As she reaches up to compress her skull, eyes land on her bandaged wrist.
“Oh yeah.”
Last night replays. Cracking through the ice. Her mom. The deed that was done.
knock. Knock. KNOCK.
Aunt K’s locked out? MJ pulls on animal slippers she’d grabbed from Red’s—Angel’s last gift to MJ before abandoning her—the previous time. A strange flash through the front window catches her eye.
“Hello?” MJ’s voice creaks like the front door.
Outside, it’s blindingly white. “Oh, it snowed!”
The Sheriff’s patrol car, red and blue lit, is pulled off the road. The lights are soft, but the flash is noticeable on snow. There’s no siren.
The Sheriff gives her a once-over. “Hello, MJ.”
Her jaw drops open. It’s the Sheriff! He’s a big stocky man with average brown hair. Once a rancher.
Her eyes dart to the empty driveway. She counts the three chairs gathered on the porch. Then she ogles Red’s place. His missing truck. Sh*t! Did she just look at everything that matters?!
She cringes. “Kara’s not here right now.”
“I’m here to talk to you. Mind if I come in?” His paw-like hand holds the edge of the door.
“Um, sure.”
Can she say ‘no?’ What could he possibly know? Nothing, she decides. Everything is the same as yesterday, before Angel came by. Nothing’s changed.
The man in the uniform follows her to the kitchen table.
She gestures to a wooden chair. “Coffee?”
“Thank you.” He takes out a booklet and pen.
Her eyes widen. She swears in her mind. NOTHING HAPPENED.
There’s no coffee, so she starts the tea kettle. F*ck!!! She wonders if he notices her tremble. What if he knows they sank Red’s Lean Mean Red Machine?
The tension MJ feels is like frying Red’s fish with him watching. A shiver works its way up her spine. Red always insisted bull trout (illegally poached) tasted best. She had to be so careful not to burn any portion of the coating. Otherwise, he’d punish her with a bruising grip. Or more.
If only the Sheriff had been around then to see how horrible Red was and to help MJ! Of course not. She seals her lips against inane laughter and throws a glance over her shoulder.
The Sheriff reviews his notes. Opens to a new page. MJ rifles through cupboards, desperate to prove herself. Any show of calm and congruity will get the Sheriff off her scent, she’s certain of it. Men are like dogs: They’ll chase prey regardless of if that’s what they’re hunting.
Like a gift from the cosmos—a jar of instant granules appears in her hand.
Oh, thank you. Thank you, God, she thinks. I swear I’ll do better. From here on out.
A moment later, more confident, she sets coffee, cream, and Earl Gray for her on the table. “Is everything OK, Sheriff?”
His eyes flare. “I don’t think so. Red’s parole officer can’t get a hold of him. His work, neither, in weeks. Someone called in sick but looks like he skipped town. Do you know anything about what’s going on?”
“It wasn’t me who called in.” He gives her a strange look. She gulps. “I didn’t even know he was on…” her voice fades as he writes in his book. She looks down ashen.
HE KNOWS SOMETHING!!! Her inner voice screams.
But then, she lets her pain show. All her pain for what happened to Angel, really. There’s not much sorrow she can summon for Red. She looks up teary. You got this, MJ. Not like you haven’t played this role before.
“Angel came home, I think. There was fighting. He burned outta there like nothing.” She let fat tears drop on the table.
“You think?”
She shakes her head. Her hair wags in her face. “I’m not certain who was there. I live here now. With Kara.”
“When was the fighting?”
MJ eyes her bandaged forearm on the table. “Last night.”
“What happened to your arm?”
She bites her lip. “I fell down.”
The Sheriff watches her expression closely. “Where’s Angel?”
“I don’t know.” The scene with Red’s truck sinking in Blue Lake plays out. Slogging the shore searching for Angel. Tears freezing her face.
MJ’s voice is tiny. “I’m afraid she’s gone.”
He gives her an intense look. “A fisherman found something up at Blue Lake. In the snow.”
He puts a driver’s license on the table.
She blinks at the card. Angel?!
Then the Sheriff holds up a blood-stained shirt. It’s streaked in mud. The blood is bright red. MJ immediately recognizes Angel’s Henley t-shirt…
“Mom!”
Subscribe for a Second Cup of Tea of extra content!
Magical Western is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Magical Western to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.