Blackteeth Read online

  “Okay,” Hesper said, pleased with herself as she studied the ten-dollar bill. She turned it over and asked, “How do I find a man?”

  June blinked at her. “Tinder? eHarmony? Match?”

  “Not like that.” She tapped the bill with the end of the Sharpie.

  June took a step closer and looked at the written words obscuring Alexander Hamilton’s face. “‘Where is Olivia?’” she read out loud. “The hell?”

  Chapter Three

  What you lose on the cost you

  will gain in the wear. – proverb

  Hesper was very much aware that she’d reached a corner in her life. She had to turn the corner or back away slowly. It was a corner she’d been approaching for a very long time. Ultimately, it wasn’t hard to make the decision. She went right around the bend, and said, “It’s a long story.”

  June said kindly, “I kind of figured that you’re a long story kind of girl.” This was part of the reason that Hesper was able to make that decision. In the year that Hesper had known her employer, June had never stabbed anyone in the back on purpose or by omission. She didn’t treat anyone unkindly unless they were first unkind. She purported only to hate one person in her entire life and that was the UPS delivery guy who seemed to dislike all things coffee as a matter of course.

  “When you hired me, you weren’t curious?” Hesper asked, feeling anxiety coursing through her at her abrupt decision. The anxiety faded speedily and another feeling replaced it. She had a moment of confusion as she tried to identify the feeling and then she decided it was relief. Plain and simple relief filled her right to the top. It flowed out and poured over her entire body. She bathed in it.

  “Do you know how many people come and go through a coffee shop?” June asked matter-of-factly. “You’ve been here, what, a year? How many employees have come and gone since then? Dove is just about to go live on the beach in a yurt and eat Oregon grape and hazelnuts for breakfast. She’s going to live on what she finds in garbage dumpsters.”

  “Four or five,” Hesper said. “Joe. Margie went to Starbucks. And that one guy with the smiley face tattooed on his forehead. He didn’t last long. I don’t know how someone can mix up whole milk with skim. Then there was the skinny blonde who didn’t want to work on Mondays, Thursdays, or Saturdays. And was there someone else?”

  “Point is that if I got too curious, I wouldn’t hire anyone.” June sighed. “I know I offer benefits but the overhead is killing me. If I hadn’t inherited the business and didn’t own this building outright, I would be in the deepest pile of smelliest poopoo. Besides, unless you’re an axe murderer then I don’t care.”

  Well, I’m not an axe murderer, Hesper thought. The day’s not over yet, though.

  “I might hire an axe murderer,” June reconsidered, “if they were a good barista.”

  “I disappeared around twelve years ago when I was ten,” Hesper said very quickly before she could change her mind. “Then two years ago I was found next to a river.” Doesn’t that sound like the beginning of a soap opera-esque tale of intrigue? It would be laughable if it wasn’t true.

  June threaded her fingers together as she unmistakably contemplated Hesper’s words. Her face crinkled. After about thirty seconds, comprehension flooded her mien. “Hesper,” she murmured at last, “…Hesper…White. Oh, Hesper Whitehead. You changed your name to just White. I remember the case. Everyone probably remembers. Your hair is black now.”

  “Dyed.” Hesper fingered the shoulder-length ends. The color underneath was a rich auburn and she missed it. When the roots started showing she wasn’t going to dye them again.

  “And you’re a barista,” June finished gracelessly.

  “I couldn’t very well go into computer engineering with a fourth-grade education.”

  “Sure.” June looked more than uncomfortable. Hesper had seriously thought that her employer had known, but June had been oblivious. She was going to look up Hesper now, and there wasn’t a question about that. “Didn’t they arrest some guy?”

  “And convicted him, too.” Thomas Madrid was the man who was rotting in a jail somewhere in Alabama; he was the one her mother had called about. It might even be a limited time before he was released for whatever reason his attorneys had conceived.

  “It’s been in the news lately.” June’s brow wrinkled some more. “Jesus. He kept you for ten freaking years. I hope they cut his nuts off and put them in a mason jar with formaldehyde so people can look at them.”

  June paused to look around the shop. There was a lull as there usually was during the afternoons. People were getting off work and heading home. Most of them wouldn’t want a coffee unless it was Friday afternoon, and it was only Thursday.

  “I don’t think they do that,” Hesper said.

  “And you can’t remember anything,” June said. “I seem to remember reading about that. There was that 20/20 episode where they went over the case. It seems like there was some doubt about that guy they arrested.”

  Hesper shrugged. The less she said about Thomas Madrid the better. It was no wonder that her mother was bugging out. The next thing that would happen is that her grandmother would call, or possibly her father would call, wanting her to participate in a tell-all memoir that he would co-write. All Hesper needed to do was to provide salacious details, and he would take the lion’s share of the proceeds.

  “Who’s Olivia?” June asked.

  “There were other children who went missing within about three years in that area. I was just one of six.”

  “You were the first,” June said. “Oh darling, and I called you a dark horse.”

  “Yeah, well, I am a dark horse,” Hesper said. “Is this going to change things here?”

  “Hell no,” June said forcefully. “You’re a good person. You’re a terrific barista, although you’re understandably moody. Is this Olivia one of the missing children?”

  “Yes. There was a campout for Girl Scouts near the Tennessee River. They went to sleep, and when the scout master went to wake everyone up, Olivia was gone. She was wearing a t-shirt with her school’s name on it and jammy pants.” Hesper swallowed carefully. She didn’t tell the story very often, and when she did it was a struggle.

  “And when they found you, you were wearing that shirt. Olivia’s shirt.” June nodded. She finally remembered. “That was how they connected you. I’m sorry, dear. I can’t imagine how terrible it must have been for you. I don’t even know what to say.”

  Hesper nodded. Most people didn’t know what to say. They sometimes talked about miracles and God’s plan and other pedestrian platitudes that grated on her nerves.

  June looked out the door. “That man obviously recognized you and wrote that on the bill to what? Taunt you?” She glowered suddenly. “We should call the police.”

  And what would the police do? Hesper thought about it. Warn the man? Make certain he knew he wasn’t welcome at Abracajava’s again? Tell him to not let the sun set on him in Portland? It was just three little innocuous words on a ten-dollar bill, which was a pretty damn good tip, by the way.

  “Sooner or later people recognize me. I suppose I should change my first name because Hesper’s too unusual.”

  “At first I wanted to call you Hester, you know like in The Scarlet Letter.”

  “I shouldn’t have to give everything up,” Hesper said quietly. “I like my name. It was my great-grandmother’s name. She was a WAC in WWII. She flew planes as a sort of delivery service under Jackie Cochran.”

  “No, you damn well shouldn’t have to give everything up,” June said forcefully. She looked out the front door again as if she expected the man to reappear. “What does he want?”

  “It could be that he’s a crime groupie,” Hesper said. “I used to get emails and phone calls from them, which is why I don’t do social media anymore. My family has my email address and that’s about it. My father sells my number to reporters on anniversaries and when the media gets re-interested in it. Thomas Madrid has s
omething pending in the Supreme Court of Alabama, so I wouldn’t be surprised if Dad stirred up the pot again. He does interviews sometimes and makes it sound like I talk to him, but I haven’t talked to him for months.”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard you speak so much ever before,” June marveled.

  “I haven’t told anyone this much since I popped up on the radar again.”

  “Oh,” June said. “And if I blab, you’ll know you can’t trust me. That’s rather a lot of pressure on me. However, I can’t think of who I would tell. ‘Infamous victim works as a barista and tells horrid secrets of her captivity to her boss’, as told by The National Peeper.” She patted Hesper’s shoulder awkwardly. “That goes against everything my mama taught me, I hope you realize. I won’t even tell Bob.” That was saying a lot because Bob was June’s husband and the love of her life. Furthermore, Hesper could tell that June unambiguously meant what she said.

  Hesper nodded. The only one she’d really trusted was the first psychiatrist. She felt a little better for having shared more with June than anyone else. She was going to have to tell Kisho about it. Wait, is Kisho going to be jealous that I didn’t tell him first? No. He doesn’t work that way.

  “The police,” June repeated. “We don’t want him coming back.”

  “He might be a police officer,” Hesper said seriously. “He wouldn’t be the first to come asking me if I remembered anything else. Some of them believe that I’m lying.”

  June appeared appalled. “You were a victim. You were ten years old. Jesus tap-dancing Christ. I think I need a drink. You want a shot? Let’s make it Irish. I have a bottle of ten-year-old single malt scotch in the bottom of my desk for occasions in which…well, in which I feel that certain need. Like now.”

  “I’ll get the coffee ready,” Hesper agreed.

  “Put up the closed sign. It’s time to take a break.”

  “So, a groupie, a police officer, a private detective, or possibly just some jerk who happened to recognize you,” June summed it up.

  “I want to find him,” Hesper said.

  June looked at the cup of coffee in her hand. She had been particularly generous with the scotch whisky as had Hesper been generous with the whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. “I should get a liquor license, so I can serve these.”

  “I want to give him that ten-dollar bill back,” Hesper added. She unfolded it and pushed it across June’s desk, so June could see the writing that Hesper had added on the back.

  June nodded as she registered the words. “No more hiding?”

  “I don’t think so,” Hesper said. “I don’t know who he is.”

  June sipped her coffee. “What do you know about him?”

  “Tall, about six foot and change, brown hair, brown eyes. Caucasian. Has a tan like he spends a lot of time outside. White teeth. He wanted a latte with an extra shot of espresso and very little foam. Whole milk. He…looked a little odd when he saw the latte art I did.”

  “That’s a pretty good list,” June said. “What latte art?”

  “The skull.” Hesper considered. “I should have done the dick and balls one, though. Maybe next time.”

  “Hmm. How old would you say he is?”

  “Not much older than I am.”

  “Twenties. I wouldn’t think he would be a cop because they don’t become detectives until after they’ve been in service for a while.” June shook her head. “Of course, he could look younger than he is, or I could be relying too much on the dependable knowledge obtained from watching too many television crime dramas.”

  Hesper shook her head. “Early twenties. Strong like he works out. Cute. Dove said he had a good butt, but I never looked at it.”

  “How did he pay?”

  “Cash,” Hesper said. “I thought of that. A debit card would have been too easy.”

  “Okay. That would make him a groupie or someone who recognized you and just is messing around. But doesn’t writing ‘Where is Olivia?’ strike you as too personal? If he were a groupie or a cop, he would have written ‘Where are the rest of the children?’ or something like that.”

  “It does,” Hesper agreed. “And I saw him yesterday, too.”

  “Here?”

  “No, at the sports store down the street.”

  “Jimmy’s Sporting Goods?”

  “Yeah.”

  June tapped her fingers across the rim of the cup. “Maybe he was smart enough to use cash with you, but dumb enough to use a credit card at Jimmy’s. Did he buy something there?”

  “He was coming out, and I don’t remember if he had something in his hands or not.”

  June clapped her hands together. “I kind of like playing detective. Let’s go talk to Jimmy. I set him up with Alicia last year, and I happen to know that Alicia puts out on the first date. Second date, too. Pretty sure they’re still dating, and she’s still putting out. He owes me.”

  “Who’s Alicia?”

  “A friend of my younger sister,” June said as she stood up. “I think they spent the better part of their twenties toking and hooking up with anyone who had weed. Good times.”

  Jimmy was a tall man in his fifties with a genial smile. When they entered Jimmy’s Sporting Goods and More, he appeared happy to see June and gave her a hug. He’d glanced curiously at Hesper and June offered, “This is Hesper. She works for me and she’s a friend, too.”

  Hesper liked that. She hadn’t been someone’s friend for a very long time. In fact, it felt like it had been a millennium. There hadn’t been such a concept as friends where she’d been. There’d been survival with an extra-large helping of more survival. It all felt very alien and still did. But there had been others there whom she cared for, and if she couldn’t call them friends, then what had they been?

  “Hesper,” Jimmy said. “Any friend of June’s may very possibly become a friend of mine. Can I interest you in a sailboard?”

  June glanced around. About ten feet away a sales clerk was discussing the merits of neoprene with a couple in their thirties.

  “You had a customer yesterday,” June said.

  “Yeah,” Jimmy drawled. “I had a good day yesterday. There’s several events coming up, and people are stocking up on gear.”

  “Tall man, twenties. Brown hair. Brown eyes. He likes latte and whole milk,” June rattled off. “Cute buns.”

  Confusion passed across Jimmy’s face. “Aren’t you married, Junie?”

  “You know I am, Jim,” June said. “You bowled with Bob last weekend, as you well know. This same guy came into my place today and left something strange.”

  “Well, it happens,” Jim said, with hands held out palms up. “Portland, city of roses and weirdos and star children. We need to change our official nickname. What kind of strange thing did he leave?”

  “I saw him coming out of your business yesterday,” Hesper said. “So he was in here.”

  Jimmy scratched the side of his head. “It was busy yesterday. Do you know what time it was that he was here?”

  “Right about four,” Hesper said. “I just left Abracajava’s. He was staring at me as he walked out.”

  Jimmy’s face wrinkled. “You’re a cute girl, you know. Guys, and girls too, are gonna stare.” He paused and added, “I sense that this person isn’t your typical kind of hookup.” He looked at Hesper again and asked, “Or is it for you, cupcake?”

  June sighed. “This is serious, Jimbo.”

  He pursed his lips. “Serious like bunny boiler serious?”

  “Something like that,” June agreed.

  “Four of the p.m.,” Jimmy said musingly. “I was here. I sold some stuff to a guy who was having it delivered to his condo. Sounds like maybe it’s the same guy.” He beckoned to them, and they followed him back to a tiny office in the back of the store. He thumbed through a towering pile of receipts on his desk. “No, no, no, no, but that guy was hilarious. He’s going windsurfing at the Hatchery. He weighs like four hundred pounds and said it was on his bucket list. I
had to special order a life jacket for him. Probably going to kite for a maximum of five minutes before the Coast Guard has to haul him out. Didn’t want to do lessons with a pro, either. Uh.”

  Jimmy paused as June impatiently tapped her fingernails across the desktop, and she asked very deliberately, “How’s Alicia?”

  “Um,” Jimmy said, “she’s fine. Hale and hearty. Have I thanked you for getting us together?” He looked down at the pile of receipts and nodded his head. “Here we go. I remember him. Southern guy. Just moved from Alabama. Don’t remember the town, though.”

  Hesper frowned. June had hit the nail on the head. Writing a message like that was personal for the man. He was too young to be a parent. The various ages of the vanished children hadn’t been old enough for husbands or wives, but they almost certainly had an array of relatives. For example, a brother.

  “His name is—”

  “Symmes,” Hesper said.

  Jimmy looked surprised. “How did you know?”

  “Olivia’s last name was Symmes,” Hesper said. “Must be her brother. Well, it’s not the first time a relative came calling on me. They all think they can just ask me, and it’ll be different for them. Like they’ve got the magic touch or something.”

  “Huh?” Jimmy asked.

  “He’s kind of stalking Hesper,” June explained hurriedly.

  “Well, screw him then,” Jimmy said. “You want his address. It’s down the street. He said he was renting until he figured out if he wanted to stay in the area or not.”

  Hesper nodded. “Yes, I’ll need his address. Phone number, too, if he left it.”

  Jimmy grabbed a Post-it and a pen and scribbled the information on it. “Just remember you didn’t get it from me.”

  Hesper studied the address. The condo was literally down the street. She focused on the name. “Moss Symmes,” she read. “That’s just great.” It was so not great.

  June nodded.