Vicious (5 page)

At Walt’s urging, Susan postponed taking Michael to the movie. Mama’s Boy often waited just long enough between victims so that mothers let down their guards—and then he’d strike again. And everyone would be on edge once more. Sometimes, Susan got fed up always looking over her shoulder, and she’d resolve not to let this creep scare her. But then little things would happen—like someone calling and hanging up, or a piece of trash that mysteriously made its way into their backyard—and suddenly she’d feel hunted.

One solace: at least none of the victims’ sons had been harmed, not physically anyway. But Susan often worried that if anything were to happen to her, Michael wouldn’t have any memory of her.

It was strange, after all the precautions they’d taken, they still couldn’t escape tragedy. But it was Mattie who couldn’t remember his father or older brother. Susan kept plenty of framed photos of them at home to help her son feel connected to them. She didn’t want to lose that connection either.

She still needed it—even now, with Allen in her life.

“You know, maybe Allen will rent us a boat tomorrow,” Susan said, with a glance at Mattie’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “We could go sailing. Your daddy used to take us sailing all the time. Do you remember going out on a boat with Mikey and Daddy?”

Her son let out a long sigh. “Mom, I gotta go
now
!”

“Okay, honey, okay.” Biting her lip, Susan slowed down for another curve in the tree-lined road. She considered taking him out to the woods and letting him go there. But she thought about Wendy Matusik, and the notion of venturing into those woods with Mattie right now gave her the willies.

Wendy’s wasn’t the only recent missing-person case in Cullen. In her Web search, Susan had found a link to a brief story about a thirty-six-year-old woman from Vancouver, British Columbia, who had been camping with friends in Cullen earlier in the summer. Monica Fitch had gone hiking in the woods by Skagit Bay one morning and never come back. A weary rescue worker on the unsolved case said he believed Monica might have attempted to go swimming in the bay and drowned.

None of those “Best Places to Visit” articles that Susan read had mentioned any casualties among Cullen’s hikers and campers.

After another curve in the road, she noticed an intersection up ahead. At the corner stood a slightly run-down, one-story cedar shaker with an illuminated sign over the front porch.
ROSIE’S ROADSIDE SUNDRIES
, it said between twin Coca-Cola logos.

“Hallelujah,” she sighed. “Hold on just a little longer, sweetie. We’ll stop in here. I’m sure they have a bathroom. That’s my good boy….”

As Susan pulled into the gravel lot, she noticed a neon sign for Rainier Beer in the front window. A sandwich board by the screen door advertised:

Gourmet Deli & Snacks! – ATM

Beer & Wine – Fresh Coffee – Ice Cold Drinks

Camping Supplies & Live Bait

RESTROOMS

“Thank God,” Susan whispered as she read the last line.

Also on the porch, on the other side of the door, was an old-fashioned, coin-operated bucking bronco for the kiddies to ride. Someone had tacked a faded, weather-beaten handwritten placard on the front porch post:
THIS IS A KID-FRIENDLY ZONE
—
WATCH WHEN YOU BACK OUT
!

Susan parked beside a dark green Honda Civic, the only other vehicle in the small lot. Switching off the ignition, she glanced up at the illuminated sign again and remembered the
Bellingham Herald
news article:
Wendy Matusik was last seen that Friday afternoon around 2:30 at Rosie’s Roadside Sundries in Cullen. She was alone….

As she helped Mattie out of his booster seat in back, Susan glanced at her wristwatch: 2:30.
And Friday, too,
she thought, hesitating for a moment.

She told herself she was being silly. “C’mon, sweetie,” she announced. “Let’s leave Woody in the car. He can sit out this little excursion. I’ll crack a window for him….”

Once Mattie climbed out of the car, he made a beeline for the bucking bronco on the store’s front porch. Clutching the front of his pants with one hand, he bounced on his heels and pointed to the coin-operated pony ride. “Can I, Mom? Can I, please?”

“First, the bathroom,” she said, shutting the car door. “Then you can take on the mechanical bull.” Stepping up to the front porch, she took Mattie by the hand and pushed open the screen door. Inside Rosie’s Roadside Sundries, it smelled like stale coffee and popcorn.

Two teenagers—a pretty brunette and her gangly, goofy-cute boyfriend—wandered up the aisle with shopping baskets. Susan guessed they were both about eighteen. “We’re getting this,” the young man declared, waving a box of Cap’n Crunch at his girlfriend. “I have breakfast with the captain every morning.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Do you sleep with him too?” She tossed a box of Pop-Tarts into her basket. “God, you’re so retarded—” The slim, pixie-haired girl stopped and grimaced with embarrassment when she locked eyes with Susan and Mattie.

The boy let out a laugh and nudged her. “Hey, nice talk, Moira, real sensitive….”

Susan ignored them and headed up another aisle with Mattie in tow. The shelves were full of slightly dusty canned goods, from pork n’ beans to corned beef hash to Chef Boyardee—all stuff that could be heated over a campfire. There was Cheez Whiz and Saltines and Progresso and Campbell’s Soup cans. The store had old hardwood floors and somewhat poor overhead lighting—all the better not to see the dust or the expiration dates on the merchandise. On one side of the store, there was a movie-theater-type popcorn maker, a microwave oven, two kinds of coffee brewing, a Coca-Cola fountain, and a heated display case with rotating spits that kept hot dogs and corn dogs warm.

Pulling Mattie by the hand, Susan headed up to the counter. Beside the register and a lottery ticket display stood a plump, kind-faced woman with bright orange hair that had to be a wig. Susan guessed she was around seventy years old. “Excuse me,” Susan whispered to the woman. “Where’s the restroom, please?”

“Oh, this looks like an emergency. Am I right?” The woman didn’t even wait for Susan to respond. She motioned for her to step behind the counter. “C’mon, let’s take the shortcut, honey. It’s right here out back.”

“Thanks very much,” Susan said, following her. Between the counter and the back door, they passed by a little play area with a mat, some Fisher-Price toys, and a multicolored, plastic mini jungle gym for toddlers. Mattie stopped dead in his tracks to gaze at it. He was still clutching himself in front.

“C’mon, sweetie,” Susan urged him.

The woman waddled to the back door, opened it, and looked back at them. “Oh, that’s for my grandson when he visits,” she explained. She smiled at Mattie. “He’s just about your age. You can play here, too, honey—after your bathroom break.” She pushed open the screen door. “You can come back in this way, too, if you’d like. I’ll leave the door open for you.”

“Thanks again, you’re a lifesaver,” Susan said, prodding Mattie out the doorway.

They hurried up a short dirt path, past a Dumpster and some recycling bins, to a chalet-style, white stucco hut. Susan noticed a paved pathway that wound around from the front of the store, intersecting with this trail. There was a bicycle rack and a phone station at the junction point. The hut housed the men’s restroom on one side and the women’s on the other. Pulling Mattie by the hand, she headed toward the women’s side.

“NOOOOOOOOOO!” he shrieked. He must have noticed the international women’s symbol by the door. He stopped and tried to sit down on the ground. “Don’t take me in there!”

“We’re not going through this again,” Susan hissed, hoisting him up to his feet. “Now, c’mon, please—”

“No! I don’t want to go in there!” he protested. He tried to wriggle free from her grasp. He started crying. “Please, Mom! Please! I want to go in the
boys’
room!”

“Oh, Lord,” she muttered. She took a deep breath. “Okay, fine, fine. The boys’ room it is. I haven’t got time for the pain.” She led Mattie to the other side of the little chalet hut. He went back to holding himself in front. Susan paused at the men’s room doorway and cracked it open a few inches. “Excuse me!” she called. “Is anyone in here?”

“Yeah! I am!” someone answered.

Susan could hear water running—and then, a hand-dryer roaring. She stepped back from the door and glanced down at Mattie, who was doing an
I-have-to-pee
dance. “Hold on, sweetie. I can’t take you in there just yet.”

The door swung open, and a handsome young man almost bumped into her. He drew back for a moment. “Um, excuse me….”

He was about eighteen. Susan guessed those two kids in the store were his friends. His short, dark brown hair was messy and wind-blown—and somehow looked perfect. It gave his boy-next-door good-looks a sexy edge. About six feet tall, he had a lean, solid build. He wore a leather jacket over a black T-shirt and olive cargo pants. For a moment, he blocked the doorway and gaped at her.

“I’m sorry, but is there anyone else in there?” Susan asked. “I want to take my son in.”

“Oh, go for it,” he said, nodding. He stepped aside. “If you’d like, I’ll stand guard out here, make sure no one goes in.”

“Thanks a lot.” Susan started to lead Mattie past him.

He touched her arm. “Um, someone wrote a nasty message on the stall divider,” he whispered. “You might want to—avert his gaze.”

“Thanks,” Susan said. Then she took Mattie inside the men’s room. The young man hadn’t told her that the place stank or that someone had thrown a roll of toilet paper—now yellow—in one of the urinals. But thanks to the young man’s warning, she managed to distract Mattie so he didn’t see
“SUCK MY BIG DICK”
carved on the wooden stall divider. Mattie was just learning to read, too, so she was grateful for the warning. While Mattie did his business, Susan thought about Holden Caulfield in
The Catcher in the Rye
, saying how he wanted to go around erasing all the
Fuck yous
so little children wouldn’t see them. It was sweet of that young man to warn her about the graffiti, sweet of him to stand guard, too.

After all that panic and drama, Mattie didn’t go number two. He didn’t even tinkle much. Susan kept his attention diverted from the stall divider while he washed his hands at the sink. When they stepped out of the men’s room, she found the young man standing by the door.

“Thanks, you’re very nice,” Susan told him. She nudged Mattie. “Can you say thank you?”

“Thank you!” Mattie said, squinting up at the young man. “Do you play football?”

He smiled at Mattie. “I’m on my high school’s lacrosse team. It’s almost like football, but much cooler. Are you a Huskies fan?” He nodded at Mattie’s sweatshirt.

“The Huskies rule!” Mattie announced, though he’d never seen a Huskies game. It was just something he’d picked up from the other boys at Yellowbrick Road Day Care.

The young man smiled at Susan. “You from Seattle?”

She nodded. “Yes. We rented this house for the weekend, and I’m not exactly sure where it is. Are you from around here?”

“No, I’m from Seattle, too. But my family has a cabin not far from here. I’m staying there with some friends. Anyway, I know the area. Where are you headed? Maybe I can help.”

“Birch Way,” Susan replied. “It’s a house on the water, number twenty-two Birch Way.”

The young man just stared at her. His smile faded.

“Do you—do you know where that is?” she asked, a bit puzzled by his sudden, somber reaction.

He nodded glumly and cleared his throat. “Sure. Just keep going north on Carroll Creek Road for about fifteen minutes. Birch Way will be on your left. Look for a red mailbox. Number twenty-two is the only house on that road. It’s pretty isolated.” He seemed to work up a smile. “I’m one of your closest neighbors. My family’s cabin is a little over a mile away.”

“So this house, is it nice?” Susan asked. “Is it okay? I mean, the way you looked at me when I mentioned the address—”

“No, it’s fine,” he said coolly, cutting her off. “There are a lot of rental houses around here, and that’s one of the loveliest.”

Susan gave him a puzzled smile. It struck her as odd that this high school lacrosse player would use the word
loveliest.
It seemed rehearsed, as if he had been told to describe the house that way to people. Susan automatically tightened her grip on Mattie’s little hand.

“Well, I should take off,” he said after a moment. He glanced toward the gravel lot at the front of Rosie’s Roadside Sundries. “My friends are probably waiting for me. Nice talking to you. Enjoy your weekend.” He smiled at Mattie, made a fist and shook it. “Go, Huskies, right, dude?”

“Go, Huskies!” Mattie enthusiastically agreed, shaking his little fist, too.

Susan watched the young man retreat up the pathway, toward the parking lot in front of the store. She could hear his friends talking, and the girl laughed about something. As Susan retreated toward the store’s back entrance, she heard car doors shutting and the motor starting up, and then the sound of gravel under tires.

Inside Rosie’s Roadside Sundries, the nice woman with the Lucille Ball hair—who turned out to be Rosie herself—let Mattie run wild in the small play area. Susan picked up a few things for the weekend. Allen had probably already stocked the house with groceries and supplies. But Susan figured she ought to give Rosie her business, after they’d used her bathroom and play area.

“I’m staying the weekend at this house on the water,” Susan told Rosie at the counter. The plump older woman was ringing up her items. “It’s—um, Twenty-two Birch Way,” Susan said. “Do you know it?”

“Oh, yes, that’s a very nice house,” Rosie answered, momentarily distracted. She donned a pair of cat’s-eye glasses dangling from a chain around her neck to read the price sticker on a box of Ritz crackers. She kept them on while totaling up the sale. “You’ll like it there, hon. That’ll be twenty-one-oh-five.”

Mattie didn’t want to leave the play area, but Rosie assured him he was welcome to come back and play there any time. She opened her till drawer, fished out a quarter, and handed it to Susan. “That’s for a ride on Seabiscuit outside—for my new little buddy there.”