Chasing the Skip (12 page)

I opened the most recent Denis e-mail.
I’ll call you tonight
, it said.
Can’t wait to hear your voice
.

I scrolled through the e-mails below. Mom had met Denis on a dating website called More Fish. She’d sent him her phone number the e-mail before, and her chat name before that. Most of their actual correspondence must have been over chat, and then over the phone, because the e-mails didn’t tell me much about Denis Longwell.

I pulled up the More Fish website, typing in Mom’s e-mail address and her same password. The account loaded right up, and there at the top of her contacts list was Denis’s profile:
DENIS LONGWELL. RETAIL MANAGER. SAN DIEGO, CA.

His picture was fuzzy and badly lit, probably taken from one of those computer cams. He had dark hair and dark eyes and wasn’t balding or fat or anything, but his skin and smile both looked oily.

From her messages, it seemed like Denis was the only guy Mom had been contacting often, but she’d mostly just given him her e-mail and arranged phone calls. She had messages from him as recent as a few days before she left. If she’d gone to visit a guy, this was probably the one.

I pulled up the WhitePages website, looking for a Denis Longwell in San Diego, California. The search brought up three listings for D. Longwells. I copied down the listings with a pencil from the reference desk. If I could get Dad to drive me out there, we could easily check that many. If he could get over this constitutional-rights issue, he might even be proud of me.

I headed to the pay phone to leave Jamie another message, but when I got there, I had a different idea. Dad was pissed over Ian, but if I could help him get Ian back, maybe he’d be in a good enough mood to help me find Mom. I dialed Dad’s cell—the phone that was still in the truck.

I wondered if the car or the cell phone could be tracked. In movies these things always had microchips that let people find bad guys, but since people still stole cars and phones and stuff, that probably didn’t work in real life.

I jumped when Ian picked up the phone. “Bounty man’s office,” he said.

Tingles zipped through my ear. I hadn’t really expected him to answer. I mean, if I was running around with a stolen cell phone, I wouldn’t take incoming calls.

“That you, bounty man?”

“No,” I said. “It’s me. Ricki.”

“Hey,” Ian said. “Wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“So, where are you?” I asked.

“Where’s your dad? He’s not using you to get to me, is he?”

“No,” I said. “He went to get a rental. He doesn’t know I’m calling.”

“What’d you call me for, then?”

“Um, because you stole our trailer, with all my stuff in it.”

“Nah. Do you know how obvious that would be? I left the trailer a couple of blocks from the hotel. Tell your dad to get a rental with a trailer hitch.”

“What are you giving me advice for? You’re the one who got us into this.”

“Hey, you know I didn’t mean for you to get caught up in it. It’s not your fault bounty man’s dragging you along.”

If Ian was being nice to me, maybe I should be nice to him back. If he trusted me, he might let me know where he’d gone. Dad could sure use a lead, as bad as this chase was going.

“I wish I’d been there when you grabbed the car,” I said.

“So you could stop me?”

“So I could see you again.”

Ian laughed. “I stole your ride, girl. Why would you want to see me?”

“Well, it’s nice to see someone standing up to my dad.”

“You should try it sometime. It’s not that hard.”

“I stand up to him,” I said. “I just never thought to steal the truck. Where are you taking it, anyway?”

“Why do you want to know?” he asked. “You going to run and tell your dad?”

I needed him to trust me. “Are you kidding me? He yelled at me for not watching the truck. If I told him I talked to you, he’d lose it.”

“Yeah, well, even so. Better if you don’t have anything to hide, right?”

I exaggerated a sigh. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t be like that.”

Now I needed to choose my words carefully, so that Ian would believe me. “I thought maybe I’d come meet you, after I get away from my dad. If I knew where you were going.”

Ian paused for a second. “You’d want to do that?”

“Well, sure,” I said.

“Why, exactly?”

I thought for a second. And then the answer came to me, almost too easily. “I think my mom ran off to San Diego. Since you need to keep moving, maybe you could help me find her?” I was pretty proud of myself for coming up with that so quickly.

“You want me to take you to California?”

“Sure. You game?”

“Yeah, okay,” Ian said. “But how are you going to get to me?”

“I don’t know. Hitchhike?”

“That’s pretty dangerous for a cute girl like you.”

My cheeks flushed a little. I was doing this to help Dad, wasn’t I?

“Look, how about this,” he said. “You tell your dad where I’m going, and he’ll bring you to me. Then we’ll take off. How’s that sound?”

I paused. “You really want me to tell Dad where you’re going? Why would you do that?”

“Do you know how fun your dad is to mess with?”

I almost laughed. “So where are you going?” I asked.

“I’m headed east. My sister lives in Des Moines, so I’ll be at her place. I bet your dad can find it if you tell him that much. Make him do some work. Think it’s his idea. That kind of thing.”

“Okay,” I said. “Then what?”

“Then you and me’ll meet up. Head to San Diego or wherever.”

My heart beat faster. This was all sounding too doable. I couldn’t run off to San Diego with Ian, could I? That would be exactly the kind of ballsy thing Ian kept telling me to do.

But I wouldn’t. I’d tell Dad it was a setup. That would be the smart thing.

“I’ll see you in Des Moines,” I said.

“See you there.”

And then the dial tone buzzed in my ear.

I kept the phone pressed against my cheek for a second longer. Had Ian told me the truth? Maybe he wasn’t even headed to Des Moines. If I was in his position, I’d have lied to keep my dad off my back.

Even still, I had to tell Dad about the conversation. That was the only way to be sure I didn’t really intend to run off with Ian.

But as I sat on the curb to wait, the doubt kept poking at me, like a kid who didn’t want to hear no. I couldn’t help wondering, if I did run off with Ian, how long would Dad keep tracking us? And if he found Ian first, which would be more important to him—finding me, or turning in his skip?

North Platte, Nebraska.

Days since Mom left: 31.

Distance from San Diego, California: 1336.63 miles.

12

The sky was dark by the time Dad showed up. Yellow floodlights lit the parking lot, and patrons gave me worried looks as they left. I just sat there with my feet in the gutter.

Dad parked a little blue sedan along the curb. I could see the outline of Stan in the dim back seat.

I stood as Dad climbed out of the car. “Sorry it took so long,” he said. “I got a lead on Ian. He tried to use that credit card on I-80 toward Lincoln. He’s headed east. One of the addresses I have is for his sister out in Des Moines, so he might be going there.”

“He is,” I said.

Dad leaned against the car. “What makes you so sure?”

“I called him.”

“You called him.”

“Right. I called your cell phone.”

“You forgot he stole it?”

“No. I was trying to help you out.”

Dad lowered his chin, casting shadows across his face. “I said I’d give you more to do. But I didn’t tell you to start projects of your own.”

“It wasn’t a project. I just called him.”

“And he happened to tell you where he’s headed.”

I had to be careful. He’d be pissed if he knew I’d suggested I might run away with Ian. “I think he wants you to chase him,” I said. “I think he’s having fun.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “Great,” he said. “That’s just great.”

I hugged my arms around my waist, balancing on the edge of the curb. “I was trying to help. At least now you know where to find him.”

“First we’re taking Stan back to Denver,” Dad said. “Then we’ll deal with Ian.”

That would mean we wouldn’t be getting up to Des Moines for at least a day. How long would Ian wait for us? “Shouldn’t we go after him now?”

“You quit worrying,” Dad said. “We’ll talk more after I drop off Stan.”

I walked around to the passenger door and pulled it open. “The trailer’s parked a couple of blocks from the hotel, just so you know.”

Dad sighed, walking around to the driver’s side. “I don’t want to mess with it right now. I want to get this job done.”

I climbed into the car. A pine air freshener hung from the rearview mirror, making the car smell like it’d been scrubbed in Pine-Sol. Whoever designed that scent had obviously never smelled a real pine tree.

“We should at least stop by the trailer,” I said. “Grab some clothes and stuff.” Suddenly I felt like the adult, making sure we had everything we needed.

Dad looked at me like he was surprised I’d actually had a good idea. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Wouldn’t want it to get towed.”

Stan leaned between our seats. I caught a whiff of him and was grateful for the pine freshener. “Find that boy of yours yet, Max?” he asked.

“We’ve got some leads. But don’t worry. We’ll take you to Denver first.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Stan said. “I’m happy to ride along.”

Dad shook his head. “It’s getting late. Besides, I’m not taking any more chances. Better a bird in hand than two in the bush.”

Stan laughed. “I suppose that makes me your turkey, huh, Max?”

“Sure are.”

Stan made a series of gobbling noises and then fell back in his seat, cracking up.

Dad drove back by the Ramada and began circling the surrounding blocks, looking for the trailer.

“Did you check your phone records, too?” I asked. “He might call ahead to his sister.”

“I’ll do it in the morning.”

“How’s that going to help?” Stan asked.

Dad laughed. “Why? You taking notes?”

“What’d I want to do that for? Hiding’s too much work for me. Besides, I never know when you’re coming till you show up.”

“Too true,” Dad said.

*   *   *

The trailer was parked outside a drugstore, and the owners weren’t excited about us leaving it in their parking lot. Dad had thought to get a rental with a trailer hitch, so we ended up towing the trailer to an RV park and leaving it there. I said we should take it with us, but Dad didn’t want it getting stolen again. Considering Ian knew we were coming, that seemed like a pretty good call to me.

What with getting the trailer settled and our bags packed, we didn’t reach Denver until after midnight. When we dropped Stan off at the jail, he turned around to grin at me and wave good-bye. I waved back. I wondered if he’d ever manage to get his life together. He seemed happy the way he was, but it was a tragic kind of happy—the kind that just wandered around, never arriving anywhere. I knew guys like that at school, who migrated about bumming cigarettes and breaking hearts and occasionally ambling into class. I’d thought that was something a person grew out of, but I guessed Stan hadn’t.

When Dad got back to the car after dropping Stan off, he was scowling.

“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” I asked.

“Define ‘okay.’”

“Do you think you’ll have to pick him up again?”

“Probably. They might throw him in jail for longer this time, though. He’s racked up quite a record.”

Would Stan keep smiling in prison? I could imagine him leaning through the bars, begging the guards to bring him a drink.

“Doesn’t it ever make you sad?”

“What?”

“All these people and their messed-up lives.”

“Sure,” Dad said. “Stan especially. He’s a pleasant enough guy. But he’s also an alcoholic, and he lets his addiction run his life.”

That was probably true. It seemed like he had a mom who cared about him, even if she did turn him in to the law.

“At least he doesn’t have any kids,” I said.

“He did,” Dad said.

“What?”

“He had a daughter, but she died, and his wife left him. He’ll get around to telling you the whole story if he sobers up enough. I’ve heard it twice.”

“Is that why he drinks so much?”

“I think that’s how it started. Now I think it’s just an addiction, and it’ll carry on until he gets some help.”

“And that doesn’t make you feel bad?”

Dad switched lanes, heading toward a motel. “Sure it makes me feel bad for him. But it doesn’t change the job.”

“Have you ever thought about helping people, instead of hauling them off to jail?”

Dad was quiet for a moment. “Stan’s more likely to get the support he needs by facing the consequences than he is bumming around bars. It’s a chance for him to realize he’s doing wrong.”

“Then why isn’t he getting better?”

“Because he’s choosing not to. He’s been sentenced to court-mandated rehab before. But he’s not ready to change, so he slips out the first chance he gets.”

“Isn’t there anything else you can do for him?”

“Look, prison isn’t just about cells anymore. There are counselors and probation officers—lots of people to help the skips figure out what’s wrong and fix it. But that’s not my job. My part ends when I take them in.”

“Maybe that’s not enough. Maybe people need you to be more involved in their lives.” I wasn’t sure when I had switched from talking about skips to talking about me, but somewhere I had, and Dad hadn’t followed.

“Nah. I’m pretty good at the part I do. As long as skips keep jumping bail, someone has to bring them in. Leave it to the pros to help them change.”

I leaned my head back against my seat. We shouldn’t have been having this conversation right now. I was way too tired to make any sense.

Dad got quiet then and let out a long, slow breath. He just sat there, staring straight ahead, putting on his blinker to pull in to the motel. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know how to say what I needed to say.