Brenda seemed unsure about calling the police, too, but I pushed. Something felt very wrong. Finally, Mrs. Hansen let me call the sheriff’s office.
They sent Jerome Nillson.
We’d been standing on the front porch, waiting, so we saw his car pull up. Sheriff Nillson was thick around the middle, but not tall, yet he seemed large, imposing. It was the uniform, and the way he carried himself, and the booming voice. Brenda looked away when he strode toward us, just like she had when he’d talked to us before our show last night. I figured this time it was because of her shiner.
I met him at the middle of the sidewalk and repeated what I’d told the dispatcher. Sheriff Nillson immediately agreed with Mrs. Hansen’s assessment that it wasn’t anything to worry about.
“She probably ran away.”
I didn’t have the courage to argue, but Brenda appeared at my elbow, her face tight. “She did not. We have another show tonight. At the fair. She wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
I was glad to hear Brenda was as worried as me.
Sheriff Nillson studied her black eye. I think he did, anyhow. He was wearing those reflective cop sunglasses, his mouth a thin line. “Well, then, how about this? If she doesn’t show up for this evening’s show, that’s when we’ll start to ask questions.”
He smiled over us at Mrs. Hansen. She was standing in the half-open front door, so she could slip forward or back as the situation required.
“How’s that sound, Gloria?” he asked, raising his voice. “We won’t even start worrying about Maureen yet. She’ll be at the fair tonight, you can bet on it. No reason to waste all the manpower, right?”
Mrs. Hansen shrugged.
Sheriff Nillson seemed to dislike something about the motion. “How’ve you been, Gloria? Want to invite me in for some coffee?”
He moved toward the porch. Mrs. Hansen backed into the house, scowling, but she didn’t close the door. Brenda and I stayed on the sidewalk.
“She’s not going to be at the show tonight,” Brenda said under her breath. “I know it in my bones.”
I felt the same thing. It made me jittery. When I closed my eyes, the image of her on her knees overwhelmed me. Had those men hurt Maureen? “Should we tell him . . . tell him what we saw the other night? What we saw Maureen doing?”
She spun on me, and at first I thought she was going to yell at me for bringing up the thing we’d promised to forget. But she didn’t look mad. She looked surprised, and then scared.
“Heather, Sheriff Nillson was there. I thought you knew.”
CHAPTER 18
Jerome Nillson’s back was a square, blocking our view of Mrs. Hansen. His meaty hands hung loose at his sides. Brenda’s breathing was uneven in my ear as she waited for me to respond. I felt like she’d smacked me sideways.
Sheriff Nillson had been there?
I closed my eyes, remembered the strobe light, that hand pushed against the back of Maureen’s head, shoving her into him, that familiar copper ID bracelet hanging against a wrist much thinner than Sheriff Nillson’s. My eyes popped open.
“Think,” Brenda said.
The flashing lights. Slicing everyone in half. Lighting up my torso, hiding my face, doing the same for the men inside, a line of them, Maureen in the center, turning. Brenda’s scream. And then the door slammed closed, but not before the man on the end, the thick-waisted one, dipped his face down, never bringing it into sight, but he didn’t need to because I knew how he moved from all the times I’d sat behind him in church.
Tears welled in my eyes. “Jeez.”
She nodded. “I was positive you saw him clear as I did. That’s why I was so bothered when he came by the stage last night. Did you see how upset Maureen was?” She tossed another glance at the front door. Sheriff Nillson had gone inside. “Let’s scram.”
“Who else was there?” I asked as we hurried around the corner, out of sight of Maureen’s. I felt exposed despite the shielding green arms of the neighborhood trees.
She opened her hands, palms up. “Nillson’s face was the only one I saw. His and Maureen’s when she turned. I think it was Nillson’s house they were all in, too. I biked by but couldn’t be sure. He lives on Twenty-Third, so if it wasn’t his place, it was close.”
The county sheriff hosting a BJ party in his basement. It made my scalp prickle. “What was she doing there?”
Brenda rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know, Heather, I honestly don’t. She never told me a thing about it. You know Maureen. She likes attention, and she likes money. Maybe she was getting both.”