“Are you going to take a blasted minute?” Mother’s voice blew past like a northern wind, rattling the gates in the stockyard next door. A few desperate cows bound for the slaughterhouse bellowed. 

Johnny rattled away in the battered F-250, past a long line of unsold new and used vehicles on my lot. 

I waved a mechanical sayonara, imagining Toyota Tundras racing headlong toward a financial buffalo jump. The truth that Johnny would never touch another car on this lot clung to me like cobwebs in an abandoned barn. My heart contracted into hard stone and sank into bile. Panic tightened my chest, stealing the oxygen required to live. Mucus pooled in my nasal cavity. 

A three-quarter about-face lined my sights with Mother. I cleared the accumulation of snot into an old red hanky retrieved from my pocket, folded it and tucked it away again. 

“Your disgusting,” she said. 

“Can’t be helped.” I stomped past her and her treacherous Chrysler. 

Within the sovereignty of the dealership office, I found the landline and dialed the operator. 

“Yes, miss, could you connect me with the Sheriff’s office in Eureka, Montana,” I said in the gentlest voice I could muster. The Mylar earpiece conformed to my ear with a luxurious fit compared to the Nokia.

The purr of the expected connection soothed the barbaric meditation on matricide and dissolved my imaginings of the Chrysler in a car crusher.

A man answered. “Eureka Police, Officer Gerulis speaking.” His voice sounded kind and cooperative. Not at all like a cop. 

“This the Sheriff’s office?” I asked, searching the phone’s keypad for my error.

“Oh, yes!” he exclaimed in a jovial tone. “We share the space with the Sheriff. Local PD I mean. Small town perks and all.” His warmth came through the phone, even at that great distance. “Did you need to speak to the Sheriff proper, sir?”

“I’d hoped.” I stumbled mentally over several questions that came to mind. Questions I hadn’t prepared ahead of time, like a good detective would do.

“The main Sheriff’s Office for Lincoln County resides in Libby, actually. I could put you through if you’re inclined.” Before I could agree, he continued. “Fact is though, Sheriff de Lude spends the most of his time here, at the Eureka Station office. Under Sheriff takes care of most business down at Libby.”

“Well actually,” I said, regaining the purpose of my call. On the other side of our large display window, Mother sat in the Chrysler, smoke from a cigarillo rising from the open window to meet her Maker. “My call is about a possible missing child.”

“Oh, Lordy,” he said, concern discernible in the pitch of his voice. “Not another. Can you describe the child, sir?” I heard the scramble for pen and pad on the other end.

“No, no,” I rushed to clarify. “This is a little girl I was told may be missing up your way. I wanted to talk to someone about it, help—” What to call my problematic sister? “Help a friend find some comfort that the child had someone searching for her.” This had grown awkward quickly.

“I’m not sure what you’re asking, sir.” Officer Gerulis’s vocal cues suggested a shift toward suspicion. “Do you have information on a missing child in the area around Eureka, sir?”

The burning ember of Mother’s cigarillo arced across the gray light of the morning and bounced on the gravel lot. Confusion over what to tell the pleasant policeman hijacked my resolve. Hand cupped over my eyes, I stared at the desktop to ground myself. Mid-grade commercial multi-line phone, pen holder, calendar-style desk blotter with a large circle of red highlighting today’s date. 

An invasive recollection of Renée’s high-pitched wail cut in on the effort. 

“I’m sure it sounds sketchy, Officer Gerulis,” I said in a slow, even timbre. The odor of claustrophobia settled around me. Days of conditioned air captured me in the enclosed space. “Truth is, my sister is staying with a friend in Eureka. She called me, distraught about a missing child. Wants me to travel up there and help find the little girl.” I paused for several heartbeats, waiting for his response. Officer Gerulis kept quiet, so I went on. “My sister, she can get a bit dramatic. Tends to overestimate trouble. Anything you might tell me that I can pass on, help alleviate her distress. That’s all I’m asking. If you’re at liberty, I mean.”

The policeman let out an audible sigh. “Well, I can sure understand the problem.” He cleared his throat. “You caught me in a bind, here, with your question.” The sound of his breathing implied a level of uncertainty not usually present with lawmen I’d known. Most of them were delighted to inform me that such things were none of my damned business. This Gerulis character seemed to want to help me despite the rules of law that protected citizens from those intrusive questions of reporters and miscreants.

“I understand, officer. I do a little private work myself, investigating things that typically fall outside the boundaries of criminal law. Just hoped for news that would put my sister’s mind at ease.” 

He cleared his throat again. “Then you know the limitations on providing outsiders information about investigations or local citizens.”

“Yessir. I follow that.” A short pause. “Wouldn’t a search for a missing person be a matter of public knowledge? My guess is that your citizens get involved when a young person goes missing. That’s the kind of information I’d hope for is all.” 

“You got a point, yes. We definitely make it public if some kid goes absent from where they’re expected.” The phrase almost sounded like a dodge. Made me wonder what kind of situation would cause a lawman to put so much thought into his response. Reminded me of a congressional hearing. Yea or nay, sir? What say ye?

I spied Mother’s car still idling in the lot. No doubt her simmer was approaching a boil. It didn’t seem wise to escalate the conflict with her any more than I already had. It would take at least a week for her to calm enough so she stayed out of my hair as it was. 

In desperation, I reached for the ring on this investigative merry-go-round. 

“Okay, Officer Gerulis, I don’t want to put you on the spot. Can you at least tell me if you folks have an ongoing search for a lost child up there?”

“We do not,” he said, leaving a wide space after the negative, “exactly speaking,” he continued at a lower volume, “currently have any ongoing investigations into missing persons.” 

“So then, has there been one that is resolved?” I hoped the question allowed him room to say without revealing the status of the child, dead or alive.

“There has not been a resolution.” He scrambled for words after this misstep. “I mean to say, we aren’t officially looking for a missing person, at this time.” His voice sounded a little breathless.

Our conversation had become oddly clandestine. Maybe he expected me to read between the lines? 

A gruff voice boomed in the background, loud enough for me to determine a tone of authority demanding compliance from my officer. The muffled sound of Gerulis talking with the mouthpiece covered followed. When it cleared up, the policeman said, “Can I get your name, sir?”

My natural resistance to identifying with my sister, especially when she was actively stirring up trouble, made me hesitate. But ignoring the question was childish. And I needed to get back outside before Mother started harassing Akira. He had work to do.

“It’s Connor Pierce. Down in Custer County,” I added, hoping the fact indicated professionalism.

“Aw!” The unprofessional exclamation suggested he now understood my need. “That mean Renée Pierce would be your sister?” I detected a teasing grin mingled with his words. 

“That would mean as much.” I said it with a grimace that he couldn’t see, but supposed he could visualize.

“Well, Mister Pierce, the family your sister stays with have had some troubles that do, at times, involve the whereabouts of their youngest daughter, Kayla. The parents are not living together, and they do, at times, make complaints that the child has gone missing. We generally find one or the other of them has made the claim vindictively. Other times the child will be found camping on or near one of their properties. She’s a handful, to be sure, and very capable for such a young one.” He chuckled. “As a Native of the Kootenai People, I’d be proud to call her one of our own.” 

“That sounds like you folks have the situation under control.”

“Well,” he said again, drawing the word out. 

“Pardon?”

He hastened the follow on. “Family dynamics like this are a bit unclear when a child goes absent from one house or the other.” He took a deep breath. 

Before he could continue, a loud voice shouted, “Ollie! Dammit man! End that call. Pronto!”

After a prolonged moment of silence, Officer Gerulis came back on, voice tight and controlled. “I hope I’ve helped answer your questions, Mr. Pierce. Maybe talk to your sister and reassure her. Good day.” Click.

My wide-open eyes stared through the wall of glass until the stale air dried them out. 

Mother now stood beside her car, puffing another cigarillo. Getting rid of her would be even more difficult with me drowning in ambivalence. And Eureka law enforcement had created a gargantuan question mark regarding the well-being of the little girl called Kayla with the abrupt ending to my query. 

A familiar anxiety twitched behind my solar plexus. One that always came with a new P.I. case. The only thing likely to relieve the uneasy twinge was a six hundred mile drive into the Rocky Mountains. 

How was I going to pull that rabbit out of my hat?