Page 53 of Last Girls Alive
Katie took the opportunity to read back through the police reports for Elm Hill Mansion. Deputies from the sheriff’s department were dispatched seventeen times in a six-month period. From the reports, it was mostly screaming arguments with some pushing and shoving, but nothing that led to any arrests. Most of the problems stemmed from Mrs. McDonald and Candace. Sometimes it involved Heather Lawson or Terry Slaughter. Some of the statements were worrisome, with accusations of sexual assault, excessive discipline, and outside people being brought in for sexual favors. Shockingly, no one was arrested or prosecuted for any of the alleged abuse.
You don’t understand, Detective. If I would have left, then one of the other girls would have to take my place for the discipline.
…Just like it was Candace’s place to protect us from…
The conversation with Tanis had left Katie drained mentally and physically. There was something about the young woman that stirred every emotion inside her. Maybe it brought up memories of losing her childhood friend at camp when she twelve. Her instincts told her that Tanis had told the truth as she experienced it—the genuineness of her recollections was undeniable.
Katie didn’t want to think about the abuse and violence that was rife at Elm Hill Mansion. McGaven had forwarded her the official report from the county, detailing the reason to close the foster house was that the house was too unstable and posed a safety risk due to its age and there wasn’t enough money to fix everything. The allegations of abuse had been investigated, but didn’t reveal anything substantial. It was left open.
Her cell phone alerted to a text from Chad:Hey, haven’t heard from you. Love you.
She stared at the words and smiled. She had forgotten to call him earlier when she was rushing around at her house and feeding Cisco, but he would have to wait a little longer.
As Katie flipped through reports and background pages, she could see why no one wanted to live at Elm Hill or remodel it, until some investors saw the potential—caring more about the location and land than the history. She had to admit it was one of the most beautiful settings in the area.
She looked across the parking lot. There were four more cars than fifteen minutes ago. It seemed that Thursday nights were pretty busy here, but Katie thought that some of the patrons weren’t the run of the mill: the last three men were all carrying some type of satchel with them, which seemed odd for a Thursday night beer.
Katie thought she had better check out what was going on at the bar sooner rather than later, so she changed from her blouse into a hoodie. She already had on a pair of jeans and wanted to blend in – it was also easier to conceal her gun with a bulkier top. She pulled the rubber band out of her hair to be more casual, and look less like a cop, and then opened the car door. The light mist dotted her face and clothes. Taking a last moment to decide to wait or not, she jumped out of the car, slammed the door and jogged to the entrance of The Well.
The building had previously been some type of bait store—at least that was what she had heard. The front door was made from old wood, whittled over time by the weather and overzealous drinkers. Katie heard loud music from inside, causing the door to slightly rattle. She pulled it open and was straightaway hit with cigarette and cigar smoke, putrid and thick. As she entered, the cloud of smoke burned her eyes.
There were two men seated at the bar with two bar stools between them. A party of three was in the corner and there were two more men at a table on the right. It struck Katie as odd that there weren’t any women—not even a barmaid.
She walked up to the bar. The two men sucking down their bourbons and whiskeys didn’t look directly at her. She took an available seat. No sign of Hugh Keller. There was no one behind the counter, but she could hear some rustling in the back room where the cases of booze were stored.
Katie waited patiently. She had the upper hand—at least for now—Keller didn’t know who she was. The only photo she had seen of him was his police academy photograph. Katie had a few flutters of anxiety, but her disgust and anger at the former deputy sheriff really made her stomach turn.
A man emerged from the storeroom carrying a case of whiskey. Katie couldn’t quite see his face at first as he turned and began unloading the bottles. His short dark hair was streaked with grey, he was medium build, around six feet tall, and his arms looked as if he bench-pressed every day.
As Katie shifted on her bar stool, she noticed that one of the men sitting next to her was staring at her. His face crinkled from years in the sun and long hair pulled back in a limp ponytail made him a caricature member from a biker gang. She coolly returned his gaze until the man finally cracked a smile, revealing large yellowed teeth, and turned his gaze back to his half-empty glass. He was either completely entertained by her, or might have pegged Katie for a cop and he knew what was going to happen next.
Keller turned around and saw Katie sitting there waiting patiently. His sunken dark eyes and bushy mustache didn’t change the general overall appearance of his rookie police photo—he was older and rougher-looking. But it was him. There was no doubt.
Katie forced a smile but felt her stomach turn sour and her fists clench.
“Well, darling, did you get the wrong address?” Keller said, eyeing up Katie.
“No.”
“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at some trendy little sports bar?”
“Shouldn’t you be getting me a drink right about now?” she said, holding his stare.
There were a few low moans from some of the men.
“I see we have a tough one here tonight,” he said. Then looking around with exaggeration, he said, “Are you really here alone?”
“Do you see anyone else?”
“Honey, I don’t think this bar is for you.”
“What, are you afraid of women? I would have hated to have been the one that put you in your place.”
Keller’s demeanor changed. His back straightened, his smile disappeared, and he moved toward the glasses. “What do you want?”
“To drink?”
“Yeah, to drink. What do you want?”
