Endurance - Jack Kilborn [47]
Mal went to the cupboard and found an extra plate and two glasses. While Deb poured the milk, Mal searched drawers for utensils.
“So you never got around to telling me about the history of Monk Creek,” she said, licking the pink frosting on a cupcake. It was buttercream, and very good. “You said you were researching it and discovered some interesting things.”
“Indeed I did. You want to hear something really interesting? This woman has dozens of forks and spoons, but not a single knife.”
“Not even a butter knife?”
“Not one. I guess you get the whole sandwich after all.”
Deb reached into her fanny pack, took out her Benchmade folding knife. She flicked the five inch blade open with her thumb and cut the sandwich in half. The meat was whitish, piled on high. The lettuce and tomato were still crisp. Eleanor had made this recently.
“Nice piece of cutlery,” Mal said, sitting across from Deb.
“I won’t be trapped in the woods without a weapon ever again,” Deb said, wiping it on her pants.
They each tore into their halves. Deb was surprised by how hungry she was. She was also surprised by the taste of the meat. It wasn’t unpleasant. Just unusual.
“Is this chicken?” she asked.
Mal shook his head. “Pheasant.”
“You sure?”
“Pretty sure. Dad used to take me hunting, when I was a kid.”
“You still go?”
“No. Lost my taste for it.”
“Pheasant?”
“Killing animals. I’m not a hypocrite, though. I still a voracious carnivore. But not enough to go after it on my own.”
Deb took another bite, then sliced into one of the apples. The crisp fruit was a nice compliment to the gaminess of the meat.
“So, Monk Creek,” she said. “What did you discover in your investigative reporting?”
Mal finished chewing, and swallowed. “The thing I liked best about being a cop was figuring things out. I didn’t like the violence, which is why I left the force to study journalism. So while researching this assignment, I wanted to learn about the history of the region, to use as a background for the interviews. And I found out some pretty strange things.”
Deb cut off another hunk of apple. “Such as?”
Mal polished his apple on his shirt and took a bite. “A lot of people disappear in these parts.”
When Deb finished chewing she said, “Quantify a lot.”
“In the past forty years, more than five hundred people.”
Deb did the math in her head. “That’s only about one a month. Doesn’t seem like too many.”
“Considering Monk Creek’s small population, that’s more than ten times the national average.”
She wiped some mayo from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’ve climbed the mountains here. It’s easy to get lost.”
“But the majority of lost people get found. Either alive or dead. These people are gone. Vanished, without a trace. You’d think some of them would have been discovered.”
“Odd,” Deb agreed. “Does anyone have any theories?”
“That’s also strange. No one seems to think it means anything. Because most of the missing people are from different states, there’s no joint task force treating this like a single problem. The only unifying factor is the sheriff of Monk Creek. And he’s… interesting.”
“In what way?”
“I spoke with him on the phone. Let’s just say I’m not convinced all of his cylinders are firing.”
“Why would the town hire him?”
“Maybe that’s why the town hired him.”
Deb finished off her sandwich. “So it’s a big conspiracy?”
Mal shrugged. “Could be. Could be just a coincidence.”
“You come up with anything else?”
“Just one thing. The disappearances began after a specific event in the town’s history. There was a pharmaceutical plant that employed almost everyone in the area. It was closed down by the government in the early 60s, and the town began to die out. As the population dropped, the number of missing persons rose dramatically.”
Deb set the apple core aside, and went back to the cupcake she’d been licking. She peeled off the paper, thinking about five hundred people missing in this area. Missing, presumed dead.
How does something like that happen? Don’t these people have families?