Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel (6 page)

The Boise City high school was an older building, three stories, with arched windows and doorways.
There was an adequate parking lot filled with cars and pickups, most
were
older models
,
but some were tricked up with racy chrome wheels and low profile tires.
There were some notable
exceptions
,
a shiny Pontiac G6, a 2011 GMC Terrain SUV, and at the end of the lot, taking up two spaces, was a new Ford Mustang, metallic gray,
exactly
like the one so often seen on the TV commercial
s
.

Lester pulled the pickup into a space marked Visitors and got out.
Next to
the
sidewalk, an American flag flapped loudly in the wind, its chain banging against the
metal
pole. Inside, he found a room marked Office and stuck his head in the door.
A heavyset woman at a
desk covered with papers
,
looked up, her face surprised at the sight of a badge.

“May I help you?”

“Yes Ma’am.
Would you be so kind as to check and see if a girl by the name of Melissa Parker is in school today?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so.
Is something wrong?”

Lester hesitated, wondering how much information to release at this particular point in time, but said, “Ma’am, I really don’t know.
It seems Melissa had an argument at home last night and walked out.
Never came back.
Probably just a teenage kid thing, but we wanted to check it out, make sure she’s okay.”

The woman smiled.
“Oh, I know how that is.
I went through all that stuff with my boy Jeff when he was that age.
His parents were the stupidest people on earth. Then he got older and in only a year or two, our IQ shot straight up.
She chuckled silently to herself, her ample bosom shaking in amusement. “Let me just check today’s attendance on the computer.
I thought I’d never get the hang of these things.
She tapped the keyboard a few times.
The corners of her mouth turned down and her brow furrowed.
“Oh my, no, Melissa is absent.
That’s unusual for her. She has a great attendance record going back to her sophomore year; been here every day except for that one time she had the flu.”

Lester nodded and asked, “Do you think I could talk with Becky Wilson?
I understand she and Melissa are good friends.”

“Sure you can
,
Sheriff.
Let me look and see what class she’s in.”
After a moment, “Here she is, Algebra.
Have a seat.
I’ll just step down the hall and fetch her.”

Lester didn’t want to take a seat; he wanted to walk, pace the floor a little, his anxiety growing
by the hour
.
As he stepped toward the hall, a man in a white shirt and orange tie emerged from an inner office.

“Sheriff Morrison,” the man said, extending his hand.
“I’m Walter Moody, they let me be the principal here.
We met once, at a fund raiser for the Volunteer Fire Department.
Remember?”

Lester shook his hand and said, “Yes, I do remember you. We talked about that gawd awful blizzard that came through here the year before and how you had to close down the school for a week.”

“Oh, wasn’t that a storm?
Hope we never have anything like that again.
Say, I overheard the conversation with you and my assistant.
Is there a problem?
Has something happened to Melissa?”

“Oh, I doubt it.
Thought I ought to check on her though, just doin’ my job.
I
was hopin’
to talk to her friend Becky Wilson, see if she might have any thoughts as to where Melissa could be. Um, somebody headin’ this way now.”

The woman from the desk came down the hallway with a young girl trailing behind her.
The girl looked scared. Becky Wilson was blonde and tall, fair skinned, with luminous blue eyes that could melt a young boy’s heart at twenty paces.
She wore typical teenage blue jeans with decorated pockets and an orange sweater with the word
Bobcats
across the front.
Walter Moody said, “Let’s talk in my office.”

The principal took a seat at the head of an oval table and indicated to Becky that she should sit across from the Sheriff.

“Becky,” Lester said, “I’m afrai
d your friend Melissa is missin
g
. Her folks haven’t seen her since late yesterday.
Did you
happen to
see her or talk to her anytime after ten o’clock last night?”

“No
Sir
, I rode home with her on the school bus in the afternoon, just like we always do.
Me and my parents went into town
after supper,
but we didn’t get home till late, around eleven I think.
No, I didn’t see Melissa at all.”
One by one,
Becky looked at the solemn faces around the table.
“You people are scaring me.”

Lester said, “Melissa had an argument at home and apparently left the house and went for a walk to cool off.
Did you see anyone along the highway when you came back from town, anyone at all, a car on the side of the road, a hitchhiker maybe?”

Becky gripped the edge of the conference table, her knuckles growing white.
“No, but I wasn’t looking either.
I was tired
,
and most of the time I was laying across the back seat with my eyes closed. I’m sorry. Oh my God. I can’t believe she’s missing.”

Lester reached across the table and gently took the girl’s hand
s
in his.
“That’s okay
,
honey. Don’t worry, we’ll find her. Maybe she went to another friend’s house. Do you know any other places where she might have spent the night?”

“Not really.
Her folks are really, really strict.
My house is the only place they allow her to visit and that’s cause we live just down the road. Her daddy is a real…” She stopped speaking and looked around the table.

“I know
,
Becky,” Lester jumped in, “You don’t have to say it.
I know what you’re thinkin’.
I met the man this mornin’.
He’s a real piece of work isn’t he?”

Becky nodded, her eyes tearing up. She reached for a Kleenex box sitting in the middle of the table.

The sheriff continued.
“Becky, let me ask you this.
Does Melissa have any boyfriends? Is she datin
g
anyone?”

The teen hesitated and said,
“Well, I don’t know if you would call him a boyfriend or not, but she has dated a boy that she likes a lot, Carlos Sanchez.
He plays on the football team.
We’re both cheerleaders, Melissa and I, that’s how she met him.
Actually, you couldn’t really say they had
dates
.
Carlos is what you might call a friendly date, the kind where you just meet up with someone at a restaurant or go for a ride after a game.
You know what I mean?
Besides, there isn’t a whole lot to do on a date in Boise City.”

“Did Carlos see Melissa at her home very often?”

The girl
shook her head
vigorously
.
“Oh no, Carlos would never do that. Her dad, well, her dad hates Mexicans. Melissa said he thinks they should all be thrown in the back of a truck and dumped in the Rio Grande River.”

“Okay, Becky, you
can
go on back to class now
.
I’ll contact you or your folks when we know Melissa’s all right.
Thanks for talkin’ to me, you’ve been a big help.”

Becky acknowledged Lester and the Prin
cipal with a wan smile
, dabbing
at her eyes with
the
tissue.

When the young girl had left the room, Sheriff Morrison asked, “Mr. Moody, where would I find young Carlos Sanchez this time of day?

The principal looked up at a round, dinner-plate sized clock on the wall.
“My guess is that’s he’s gone
out
somewhere for lunch. It’s that time of day. Most of the kids leave the school at noon and head out for a burger somewhere or some snacks at one of the convenience stores.
Then we have a home football game tonight. Most of the players get out of school early on Fridays and meet up back at the locker room, somewhere around five if I remember right. That might be your best chance to catch up with him.”

Lester agreed, thanked the man, and walked out, noting the trophy case on the wall.
Plaques and gold statues filled the shelves, mostly for football and track.
Outside, the lot had all but cleared with only a dozen scattered vehicles left behind.
On the front steps, students in pockets of three or four sat talki
ng and laughing
, unaware that at that very moment, one of their own was fighting to stay alive.

C
hapter
6

Billy Ray looked up at the sound of the office door banging against the stop.
Lester stomped across the gray tile floor with quick, hard steps, his boots making a loud clump-clump as he went.
The
well-worn
chair groaned and creaked as the Sheriff leaned back and put his feet up on the paper-strewn desk. A piece of dried mud fell from the front of one heel and broke into several pieces.
Lester made no move to brush it off.
In contrast, the deputy’s desk was spotless with forms aligned and in their proper tray. Two retractable ballpoint pens sat to the right of a protective mat, exactly parallel with a yellow note pad.

“You look like a horse with a burr in your saddle blanket,” Billy Ray said with a grin. “What happened at the school, one of the teachers scare you with a book?”

Lester ignored the verbal jab.
“You find anything in those clothes?

“Nope, no stains of any kind.”

“I didn’t
learn much
either.
Got Becky Wilson out of class and talked with her.
Wasn’t
any
help.
She didn’t know anything we don’t know
. The news shook her up though. Felt sorry for the poor little thing.
Couldn’t find the so called boyfriend. He’s playin’ in the game tonight. I’ll try to catch up with him th
en
.”

Billy Ray pointed at the computer screen. “I started the report. I wrote up
the call from dispatch, the time, and
the conversations with the Parkers
.
I’ll add that you talked to Becky Wilson
if you want.”

“I
want
and put it all on paper.
I don’t trust those damn computers.
I’ve never yet had a piece of paper tell me
File Not Found
when I want to look at it.”

“C’mon Sheriff, aren’t you going overboard on this?
We have no victim, not yet anyway.”

Lester’s feet hit the floor
with a thud as
he leaned toward the deputy.
“I
’m gettin’ a little tired of hearing that kind of talk.
S
somethi
ng’s
happened to that girl, Billy Ray,
I know it,
I feel it, and I’m not gonna sit around here, wastin’ valuable time waitin’ for her to show up.
I’m gonna find out if somebody took her, or hurt her, or if she run off, whatever.
One way or the other, I intend to get to the bottom of this real quick like, or hope to.
Now you can sit there and twiddle your thumbs the rest of the day if you want or you can come along and help me.
How do you want to play it?”

Billy Ray, sensing the
Sheriff’
s mood
,
tried to keep it light.
“
Well, I’m not very good at thumb twiddlin’, not a
s good as you old farts anyway
.
Where do you want to start?”

“Back at the farm place.
I want to take a good look around. Then, you and I are goin’ for a walk?”

“A walk, what are
you
talking about?
”

Lester declined to answer and fished a well worn phone book from a desk drawer. He
found the listing for Parker, Albert, and dialed.