Page 20 of Backwater Justice
Izzie let out a chuckle. “You’ve been gone for what, twenty-four hours, and you’re already in the thick of something. Why am I not surprised?”
“Exactly!” Annie said. “See you tomorrow. Safe travels.”
* * *
It was the beginning of the Sisterhood’s next mission. Even though they had very little information, they would unearth whatever shenanigans were happening in the Pacific Northwest.
CHAPTERTEN
Maggie Spritzer And So It Begins
Maggie had been working for Annie for several years. She was one of Annie’s top journalists. She was also a compulsive nail-biter when she wasn’t looking for something to munch on. Petite, with red curly hair, she often had smudges of orange dust on her fingers and her cheeks from digging into the bottom of a bag of cheese puffs. She blamed her penchant for junk food on the thousands of hours she spent on stakeouts, always being the first to break a story. Being Annie’s right-hand, Maggie was involved in most of the missions, and this one was no different.
When Vanessa Rowan went missing, and Myra’s friend put up a reward, Annie sent Maggie to Salem to cover the story. In the beginning, the gas station attendant said he saw someone matching Vanessa’s description getting into a pickup truck owned by the Spangler family. But when Maggie interviewed him, he was rather vague. He recalled someone in a green truck filling the tank with gas, and someone, maybe a girl, on the road. Maggie had plenty of experience with witnesses who recant or “don’t remember.” The attendant said he was busy that day, and maybe he got confused.
Several days later, Vanessa’s parents received a text from Vanessa saying:
Sorry. I’m okay. On a journey. Love you. V.
After receiving the message, her parents notified the authorities. The local police thought there was no reason to continue the search, and they called it off. News coverage of the missing teen halted. But for the Rowans, it wasn’t over. As far as they were concerned, their fourteen-year-old daughter was still missing. The idea that the tracking device had been turned off was a big red flag. Vanessa wasn’t supposed to know her parents had installed it, but obviously, somebody knew. Whoever had done it didn’t want anyone to know of the girl’s whereabouts.
* * *
Julie Rowan had reached out to Vanessa’s friends in Portland, but none of them had responded. When Maggie arrived the first time to cover the story, she drove to Portland to confront Vanessa’s friends. Finally, one of the girls confessed that they had told Vanessa about a party, but she never showed up. They didn’t want to get themselves or Vanessa in trouble. Maggie could have a hair-trigger temper at times, and almost blew a gasket when she discovered the friends were withholding vital information. Now she was glad to be back looking into the situation. This time, she was more than determined to uncover every clue and missing piece of the puzzle.
* * *
The plan was for Maggie to meet Annie’s pilot and board the jet first thing the next morning. It would give the flight crew enough time to sleep and refuel. Annie sent Maggie a follow-up text:
There will be plenty of food on the plane.
Kathryn Lucas
Kathryn Lucas began her career as a cross-country long-hauler when her trucker husband Alan was diagnosed with MS and Parkinson’s. He loved the road, and Kathryn wasn’t going to let him spend the rest of whatever time he had left sitting in a wheelchair on the porch. Kathryn was determined to give Alan what he loved: the open road, with Kathryn driving the eighteen-wheeler.
One fateful evening when they were at a truck stop, three white-collar-professional men approached them. The men were part of a motorcycle group, and the macho high they got from riding their hogs gave them much too much bravado. They saw a vulnerable couple and took advantage of the situation in the most sickening way. The men raped Kathryn while her disabled husband was forced to watch. Alan died shortly after the horrific incident, and the men were never brought to justice. That was, until Kathryn met the Sisters, who had their own approach when it came to accountability. She was avenged, but also alone. She decided to continue as a cross-country trucker. It made her feel close to the man she’d loved. She was brash, blunt, and outspoken, but she would always have your back.
Isabelle Flanders
Isabelle “Izzie” Flanders knew all too well about injustice. Her successful architectural career had been destroyed by a colleague who framed her for drunk driving. Not only did she lose her license, but also her fiancé. Myra heard of her plight, and the women of the Sisterhood found the means to exonerate her. She now owned her own architectural firm and was married to a computer whiz named Abner who was teaching her lots of technology tricks that she’d been able to put to good use in the past. Now she would try her skills at housekeeping, which would make Abner laugh out loud. It was the one thing she really hated. But she’d do anything Annie or Myra would ask; anythinganyof her Sisters would ask.
* * *
There were two young women who were believed to be in peril. It was time to join forces again.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Vanessa The Escape
Vanessa wasn’t sure how many days she had been locked in what appeared to be a basement in a commercial building. There was a small awning window near the ceiling. It had bars on the inside to allow the window to open a few inches, but she noticed the crank was missing. She thought she heard trucks pass by from time to time. Otherwise, it was quiet.
The room looked as if it had been set up for someone to crash for the night. It had two cots, an upholstered armchair, and a small table with a lamp. A microwave sat on a narrow shelf on the opposite wall next to a closet-sized toilet area with an accordion door. There was a step-in shower with a plastic curtain, a wall-hung sink, and a bare lightbulb over the spot where a mirror should have been. Privacy and luxury were not on the menu. Stairs led to a locked and bolted door. Once a day, someone would unlock it, open it quickly, and leave a tray of food for her. The timing of the food delivery was also difficult to track.
By the second day, she realized she was being held captive. But why? Was it the pills she’d seen tumble out of the box? Why would anyone care? She rubbed the side of her face. It felt swollen. She figured she probably had a bruise, as well. But there were no mirrors. No way to tell. Her wrists were still raw from the rope, and her lips still had some of the glue from the tape. During the last food drop, she ran up the stairs and started yelling. “Somebody please! Tell me what is going on!” But she got no answer. Her backpack was gone, and of course, her phone. All she had were the clothes she had been wearing.
By the second, or perhaps the third day, the armpits of her shirt were beginning to stink. And her underwear? She didn’t want to think about it. After her sandwich was delivered, she took a quick shower. At least her body was clean. Her hair was a different story. She used the strong-smelling soap that got most of the oil out of her hair, but she didn’t have a comb, and it dried in clumps around her head. She wanted to wash her clothes in the sink but feared being found naked would only add to her misery. Someone might think it was an invitation to rape.Rape. At least she hadn’t been through that torture. Yet. In fact, the only harm done her was the initial punch in the face.But why?
The light from the window was her only point of reference as to how many days she had been there. She surmised it was maybe a week. There was absolutely nothing for her to do except sleep, think, and eat the sandwiches she received every day.