Missing

By Bernie Ziegner

Amy is anxious about her sister. Ronnie has disappeared and her mother’s boyfriend, Jerry, walked out of the woods carrying a spade.
When Amy pulls a bloody shirt out of the burn barrel, and Jerry comes toward her, she runs like hell, afraid that Jerry will do to her what she thinks he has done to Ronnie.
Rick, a freelance writer and would-be novelist, took Amy in and found her story intriguing. Together, they decided to research the subject.
Jeanette, Amy’s mother, offers no help. All she looks forward to is her next drug fix and Jerry is her supplier.
Finding answers takes Amy and Rick on a whirlwind journey which involves police from several jurisdictions, many area towns and businesses and even a few bars.
Rick becomes involved with a local biker gang, whose home turf is one of the bars he visits.
After chasing for information and gaining the interest of police, Rick and Amy end up confronting a killer and placing themselves in the direct path of an axe wielder.
Drugs, police, stabbings, shooting, and strangulation will all keep the reader on the edge of the seat.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosstrum Publishing
• Release date: Apr 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781625700391

Bernie Ziegner

Bernie Ziegner grew up in Philadelphia. His career involved work as an electronic engineer for major defense contractors. He lived in Arizona for over two decades and now resides in Massachusetts. He can often be found in western Montana where he enjoys nature, horses, cattle and the local people.

Book preview

MISSING

By

Bernie Ziegner

Published by Rosstrum Publishing at Smashwords.

Copyright 2015 Bernie Ziegner

Praise for

MISSING by Bernie Ziegner

Missing is a taut little New England crime tale. Bernie Ziegner knows the darkness in people and the Maine woods.

—David Daniel, author of Coffin Dust and White Rabbit

Bernie Ziegner delivers another page-turning thriller. In his fourth novel, he takes the reader to the backwoods of Maine where a serial killer runs rampant, terrorizing the community and staying one step ahead of the law. Lock your doors and windows and enjoy!

—Mike Johnson, author of Lawless in Brazil

A print version of this book is available from Rosstrum Publishing and other fine booksellers

Print version: ISBN no.: 978-1-62570-038-4

CD for PC print version: ISBN no.: 978-1-62570-041-4

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Rosstrum Publishing

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http://www.rosstrumpublishing.com

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Excerpts from Wreck on the Palisades copyright 2015 by Bernie Ziegner. All rights reserved. The excerpts were typeset specifically for this volume. The actual book, when released, may differ slightly from this version.

Also by Bernie Ziegner

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PURSUIT

DEATH IN CEDAR CANYON

COMING SOON

Wreck on the Palisades

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Visit www.rosstrumpublishing.com

Chapter 1

Amy paced between the table and the window; then glanced outside, frowned and turned back to her mother.

Mom, think! When’d you last see Ronnie? Her voice rose in pitch. When was she here? Where’s my sister?

Jeanette rung her fingers together, enough for the knuckles to turn white. She shook her head. The small cutting board still had traces of the powder she’d inhaled. Don’t remember...earlier.

Mom! Where is she? Amy glared at her mother. "Where’d that jerk-off Jerry go? You seen him?"

He’s around. Brought me this stuff. She looked at the cutting board.

Oh Mom, for God’s sake, think. Was Rhonda here when Jerry came home?

Jeanette nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the cutting board. Uh-huh...before he got home. I remember.

Amy glanced out the window and turned back to her mother. Where did that asshole go? I didn’t see him when I got home.

Jeanette shrugged. Said he was gonna burn some of his junk...is what he said.

Amy stood silent, stared at her mother, then shook her head and went to the kitchen door. She saw a wisp of smoke coming from the burn barrel. What the hell’s he burning?

▬

Rick took one last look at the house he had lived in for several years in Hawley, a small town west of Boston. He started the engine and put the pickup truck in gear. Wow, he thought, I’m already thirty years old. He shook his head. Well, the divorce is final and there isn’t anything to keep me here. He knew, as a freelance writer and novelist, he could ply his trade just about anywhere. Of course, the inheritance left by his great aunt eased the financial bumps of freelance work. Giving his ex-wife a large chunk of it, however, left him bitter. What little he owned of a personal nature was now stuffed into the shell camper on his pickup.

Before leaving town, Rick parked at the post office and mailed the last installment of his most recent novel to his agent in Boston, hopeful it would be published before year end. He filled out a change of address card and left.

He hadn’t heard from Fred, his high school buddy, in over a year and his phone had been disconnected. Rick decided to look him up on his way north. It was a bit of a detour, but he had nothing but time. Fred had bought a diner in Milford and had been doing well for years; but something had happened.

Winter was over and new green was evident on the trees. The temperature was in the fifties and he lowered the window a couple inches, the air refreshing. Midday he arrived in Milford, a few miles inside New Hampshire. After topping off the fuel tank, he parked in front of an old diner tucked between an antique store and a barber shop. The Towne Diner looked much as he remembered from years earlier. He entered and sat at the counter. The place was busy with all the booths occupied. A stout middle aged woman placed a menu in front of him and smiled, order book in hand.

Hi. What can I getcha?

Rick didn’t look at the menu. I’d like a ham and cheese on rye, please, and coffee.

As the waitress wrote his order, Rick cleared his throat. Excuse me. Does Fred Morrison still own this place?

The woman looked up and shook her head. Fred, he died over a year ago. It was sad to lose him. Heart attack, they said. She shook her again. Sorry.

Rick watched her walk away with his order. Fred dead? He was the same age as me. They had drifted apart over the years, but his demise saddened Rick. Fred had been a young man in the prime of life.

The waitress brought his order and left the check on the counter. Be anything else?

Rick shook his head. The waitress nodded and walked away. He ate his sandwich mindlessly, berating himself for not having stayed closer to his school friend. Finished, he glanced at the check and reached for his wallet. He laid a five dollar bill on the check and left.

His parents’ summer home near Eagleton, Maine was now his. When his father died, his mother deeded the place to Rick after his divorce was finalized. He helped her get established in an assisted living home close to Boston, and promised to get down there every month or so. She had nodded, grimacing. Well, he thought, he’d try.

He drove the back roads of New Hampshire, enjoying the warm spring day, and crossed into Maine in late afternoon. Dusk found him in the small town of Norris. The map showed a state park just past the town proper, and suddenly he saw the sign: Beyer Creek State Park. A smaller sign pointed to the campground entrance. The place was empty, he noted, but it was the middle of the week.

Rick stopped the truck at a level parking spot close to a stone fire pit. Outside he heard the crickets, and a few birds winding down for the evening. He would sit for a while by the fire and enjoy the night before crawling into his sleeping bag. He pulled a folding chair out of the shell camper leaving enough space so he could arrange his sleeping bag between boxes and bags of belongings. It was dark under the trees, but with a flashlight he found enough dry wood for a campfire.

Rick had begun to doze by the warmth of the fire when snapping and cracking of branches brought him to full alertness. He stared into the dark toward the sound. A disheveled girl burst into the camping area and stopped, staring at him with wide fearful eyes. She bent over, hands on her knees, taking large gasps of breath. Rick just stared for a moment, stunned by the sight of the young woman, hair tangled with sticks and leaves, and face streaked with dirt. She pulled the backpack from her shoulders and dropped it at her feet as she struggled for breath. Her eyes never left his.

Rick stood up slowly. Her eyes followed his every movement.

Are you in trouble? You need help? He didn’t move toward her.

She nodded.

He saw tears running down her face, mingling with the streaks of dirt. Her jeans were soaked with mud at the knees and the cuffs. Her light jacket had splotches of dirt.

What’s wrong? Someone chasing you?

He was going to beat me - kill me, she gasped, still fighting for breath. She looked behind her, then picked up her backpack and took a few tentative steps toward him.

Who’s after you? Can I help you? Want me to call the cops?

My mom’s boyfriend. She shook her head. No cops.

She turned and looked again into the woods behind her.

"I don’t hear anyone coming. Maybe I should call the cops."

She shook her head. No, she gasped. Then ran the back of her hand under her nose and sniffled.

He’s out there. Chasing me. Can’t let him catch me.

Why’s he after you?

She put her hand to her mouth and looked at him. I think he killed my sister. I accused him of it. He... She wiped a tear with the back of her hand. He wanted to kill me, saw it in his eyes.

My name’s Rick. What’s yours? Rick smiled.

Amy.

Where you heading, Amy?

She shook her head. Can you let me hide in your camper for a while?

Rick hesitated, uncertain of what was happening. He saw the fear in her eyes and gave in. Okay. You gotta crawl in amongst the junk. Cover yourself so no one notices you if they come by.

Thanks, she mumbled and pushed her backpack into the camper, then crawled in.

He pulled a blanket out of a box and a cushion and handed them to her.

Cover up and be still. We’ll see if anybody comes through here.

Thank you.

Rick sat facing the campfire, listening to the forest noises. What the heck am I supposed to do with her? A terrified young girl running blindly through the woods. Some damn wild-child. Her eyes wide and wild, and her disheveled demeanor had given Rick pause, not at all sure what was happening. Is she even telling the truth? he wondered, as many other thoughts assailed his mind. Was she running from something she had done? What should he do? Not call the police? Why was she fearful of calling the police? Was she a fugitive?

Rick sighed. Even with the splotches of dirt and the tangled and dirty hair, he had seen a very pretty young woman. Is she even twenty? he asked himself. Even her oversized sweatshirt didn’t hide the full figure.

Rick had started to nod when the squeak of a truck tailgate startled him. He saw Amy peer out, look into the darkness of the forest and then focus on him. He glanced at his watch; a little over an hour had passed.

No one’s been here, he said.

She nodded and climbed out of the camper, pulling out her backpack. Amy placed the backpack near the fire and sat on it.

What are you going to do? he asked. Can’t go back home?

She shook her head. He lives there. She stared into the flames. If I go back, he’ll hurt me or kill me.

Why?

She turned her head up and glared at him. When I came home I couldn’t find my sister. Then I saw him coming out of the woods with a spade. Just before that I found a smoldering flannel shirt in the burn barrel that had dark spots on it. It was his shirt.

They were blood spots?

That’s why he was burning it.

"What was he doing?"

I yelled at him, asked him where my sister was. She caught her breath. I had the old shirt in my hand. I yelled he had killed her. That’s when he started toward me with the spade. The look on his face... I ran. I heard him coming behind me and swearing. I ran and ran until I got here.

Your mother’s there. You can’t go back?

Amy glowered at him. No. He killed my sister. She’s gone. He’ll come after me; I saw it in his face. I go back there, he’ll kill me.

But your mother?

He keeps her drugged up on cocaine. She shook her head. Ever since he came there, she’s been wasted. Bastard.

But the police… he started.

No! She paused. He said he would kill me if I ever said anything to the cops about the drugs. Told me that quite a few times. I’m not going back there.

Amy stared into the fire and they were both quiet for a few minutes.

Amy, how old are you?

Just turned eighteen a month ago.

You’re out of school?

She nodded. I was out looking for a job. She disappeared while I was gone.

Where was your mother?

She works at the supermarket; got home before me, around three.

Can you call a friend? Have them come get you?

She shook her head. I don’t want to bring trouble to them…to their families He’ll be out looking for me.

Won’t your mother be looking for you and call the cops?

Bastard will give her some bullshit story. If she gets her blow, she’ll probably forget I’m gone...that Ronnie’s gone.

She wiped tears away with the back of her hand.

Are you hungry? Want something to eat? Drink of water?

Amy shook her head. Got some. She patted her backpack.

You should be home with your mother. We can call the cops to take that guy away from there.

Cops won’t do anything. She looked at Rick and scowled. My mother’s not going to send him away; needs him to bring the drugs. She shook her head. Besides, what the hell they gonna do. There’s no proof.

I can drive you back home, get the cops.

You not listening! Amy stood up, her hands on her hips, her face darkening. What the hell’s the matter with you? Her voice had an edge to it.

I just think that you should be home. ... It’s your home.

She picked up her backpack and slung it on her shoulder. You just don’t listen, do you?

She started walking towards the state road and called out, Freakin’ asshole.

When he turned to look a few seconds later, the darkness had swallowed her.

Amy, come back. His call went unanswered.

Rick watched the fire die down to glowing embers. He felt uneasy about Amy walking away in a huff, but unsure what he should have done or said. I’m sure she thinks I’m a jerk. Shit, she ought to call the police and get that guy outa there. Of course, if her mother won’t file a complaint…

When the chill made its way through his jacket, he got up and pulled a spade from within the camper shell. In a few minutes he had the remains of the fire buried in a mound of earth, satisfied that it would not flare up during the night. Before crawling into the sleeping bag he removed his jeans and shirt, and then locked the camper hatch and tailgate. He slid into the sleeping bag, and then smiled. Amy’s scent was there. Hope she made it to a friend’s house tonight.

Chapter 2

Rick was awake at 6 a.m., his usual time, and quickly donned his clothes which, to his discomfort, had gotten cold overnight. He wet a cloth and cleaned his face. Brushing his teeth got rid of the sour taste. Rummaging through a satchel, he found his portable shaver and went to work on his beard aided by the mirror on the driver’s door. Feeling almost normal, he put on a light jacket and started the truck. Gotta find some coffee pretty damn soon.

The rising sun filtered through the trees as he left the campground and drove onto the state road toward Norris. After a few minutes he saw a figure ahead walking along the side of the road. It looked like a girl with a backpack. Was it Amy? The road took a bend and he could no longer see her. When he passed the curve, there was no one walking by the road. He slowed, glancing into the trees. He stopped where he thought he had seen the girl. The road was straight ahead and there was no one in sight. Puzzled, he was ready to drive on when he was startled by a knocking on the passenger window.

Surprised, he lowered the passenger window. Amy looked in at him with derision. Rick was speechless for a moment with mouth agape.

What?

Get in. I’m sorry, he said.

Amy opened the door, tossed her backpack on the jump seat, and then sat down forcefully, not looking at him.

I’m sorry. Guess I was a little tough on you.

You’re such an asshole. She stared out the front window.

Thank you.

She slowly turned her head, a smile forming. Thanks for stopping.

Rick started the pickup again and brought it up to speed. I felt bad. Where did you stay last night? Friend near by?

She didn’t reply immediately. Under a pine tree.

Pine tree? Why didn’t you come back?

Didn’t want to hear your stupid questions, she replied without looking at him.

I could have driven you somewhere, a friend, motel, somewhere. Pine tree? Christ.

I only have sixty bucks to my name. Didn’t want to use it all.

Pine tree. Good grief, girl.

Amy glanced at him and scowled. Get over it.

But...your mother, she’ll be worried. Don’t you care?

She faced him and glared. Yes, I care. She gulped. I’ll call when I get somewhere.

Won’t she panic, you missing and your sister gone?

She nodded.

He drove a few minutes before Amy said anything. I’ll call her. I want to find a job in a restaurant. Everyone says I’m a good cook.

She glanced at him. He nodded.

My mother taught me before she went off the deep end. Amy shook her head. She brought that bastard home... I can’t go back there. She fell silent, staring fixedly out the windshield.

Rick glanced at her, saw the trembling lip. Her fear seemed palpable. She had combed out her hair since he’d seen her last and the bits of leaves and twigs were gone. Her face was still smudged with dirt and tracks of tears. He felt empathy for her, but he wondered, what could he do?

Look, I’m driving through town and then on up to Maine. Suppose I drop you off at the police station?

Amy shook her head. No!

I can drop you off wherever you want, but let’s report your sister missing so they can be looking for her.

She shook her head, and then swiped her eye with the back of her hand.

Amy, I can go in with you. We’ll just report it so they can keep an eye out for her. Can’t we do that?

Amy stared fixedly out the window and didn’t respond.

Norris was a small town and in a minute Rick saw the sign for the Police and drove the pickup into the parking lot. With the engine off, it was quiet in the cab.

She’s dead. It was almost a whisper.

You don’t know that for sure. He got out of the truck and hurried to open her door. We’ll make a report. It’s the right thing to do.

She slid out of the truck seat and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands. When he touched her arm to guide her to the building entrance, she scowled and shook him off.

Reporting it was the right thing to do, he was sure of it. Someone had to look for the girl. Had this guy really killed her? How could Amy be so sure? He wished she would open up to him and tell the whole story.

Amy pulled open the glass door and went in, unmindful of Rick behind her. Then she stopped and turned to him. He saw what he thought was fear and confusion on her face. He placed his hand again on her arm. This time she didn’t resist as they went up to the counter.

The woman Rick assumed was the dispatcher looked up from her control console. May I help you?

We need to report a missing person.

The Chief is in his office. I’ll ask him to see you. She handed Rick a form. Please fill this out. The chief will need it.

Rick took the form and clipboard and guided Amy to a chair along the wall. Fill in what you can on this. It’s good that the he can see us right away.

She nodded and took the clipboard. He watched as she filled in the detail requested. Finished, she looked at Rick. Her eyes filled and then overflowed. He took the clipboard from her just as a door opened and the sheriff came into the reception area.

He glanced at Amy and then held the door open.

I’m Chief Mosley. Come on back – let’s see how I can help you.

Rick and Amy got up and started past him in the hallway. The police chief took the clipboard from Rick. First door on your right.

In the small meeting room, the Chief asked them to sit at the table, and he sat opposite them. He quickly looked over the Missing Person form, and then turned his attention to Amy.

You’re Amy Stockton?

She nodded.

He looked at Rick, holding his gaze for a couple seconds. You are?

Rick Williams.

The police chief turned to Amy and smiled. I know your place. I think I met your mom awhile back. Suppose you tell me what happened.

Rick saw Amy’s lip tremble. She twisted her fingers together in her lap. She sniffled and started telling what had happened from when she arrived home from job hunting.

The chief jotted in a small notebook as she spoke. He reached on a shelf behind him for a box of tissues. She thanked him and blew her nose.

Her car was there when you got home?

Yes, where she always parks it, against the house, Amy replied.

And this other fella, this Jerry Wheeler, was his car there?

Amy nodded. Uh-huh. Parked behind Ronnie’s car.

So he had come home before you got there.

Yes.

Chief Mosley glanced at Rick, then back to Amy. Please continue.

Rick felt the chief’s gaze on him from time to time as Amy told him her story. He has to know I’m not from around here. Probably wondering who I am and how fit in with Amy.

Chief Mosley looked at Rick. So you’re going where?

My parents left me their place up on Moose Lake. It’s near Eagleton, said Rick.

Uh-huh. The chief turned to Amy. You going home? Need a ride?

Amy shook her head. You going to look for her? Look for Ronnie?

"This afternoon, it’ll be 24 hours. I’ll put some officers on it. Tomorrow I’ll get some volunteers to look through the state park. I’ll be talking to your mother and look up this Wheeler fellow. Where can I get a hold of