Gwendy's Magic Feather

35

GWENDY’S FIRST IMPRESSION OF Caroline Hoffman is that she’s a woman who is used to getting her own way.

When Gwendy walks into the stationhouse at 9:50 AM (a full ten minutes early for the meeting), she’s hoping the Hoffmans haven’t arrived yet so she and Sheriff Ridgewick will have time to discuss the investigation.

Instead, the three of them are waiting for her in the conference room. There’s no sign of Sheila Brigham, the longtime dispatcher for the Castle Rock Sheriff’s Department, so Deputy George Footman escorts Gwendy inside and closes the door behind her.

Sheriff Ridgewick sits on one side of a long, narrow table, a chair standing empty next to him. Mr. and Mrs. Hoffman sit side-by-side across from him, a second empty chair separating them. They make an interesting couple. Frank Hoffman is slight in stature, bespectacled, and dressed in a wrinkled brown suit that has seen better days. He has dark circles under his eyes and a slender nose that has been broken more than once. Caroline Hoffman is at least three or four inches taller than her husband, and thick and broad across the shoulders and chest. She could be a female lumberjack, something not unheard of in this part of the world. She’s wearing jeans and a gray Harley Davidson sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up. A tattoo of a boat anchor decorates one meaty forearm.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Gwendy says, taking a seat beside the sheriff. She places her leather tote on the table in front of her, but quickly removes it and puts it on the floor when she realizes it’s dripping wet from melting snow. She uses the sleeve of her sweater to wipe up the small puddle left behind.

“Morning, Congresswoman,” Sheriff Ridgewick says.

“Can we get started now?” Mrs. Hoffman asks, glaring at the sheriff.

“Sure thing.”

Gwendy leans forward and extends her hand, first to Mr. Hoffman and then to his wife. “Good morning, I’m Gwendy Peterson. I’m very sorry to meet you both under these circumstances.”

“Good morning,” Mr. Hoffman says in a surprisingly deep voice.

“We know who you are,” Mrs. Hoffman says, wiping her hand on her pant leg, like she touched something unsavory. “Question is, how you gonna help us?”

“Well,” Gwendy says, “I’ll do whatever I can to help locate your daughter, Mrs. Hoffman. If Sheriff Ridgewick needs—”

“Her name is Carla,” the big woman interrupts, eyes narrowing again. “Least you can do is say her damn name.”

“Of course. I’ll do whatever I can to help find Carla. If the sheriff needs additional personnel, I’ll make sure he has it. If he needs more equipment or vehicles, I’ll make sure he has that, too. Whatever it takes.”

Mrs. Hoffman looks at Sheriff Ridgewick. “What the sheriff needs is someone to come in here and show him how to do his job properly.”

Gwendy bristles. “Now wait a minute, Mrs. Hoffman—”

The sheriff touches Gwendy’s forearm, silencing her. He looks at the Hoffmans. “I know you folks are desperate for answers. I know you’re unhappy with the way the investigation is progressing.”

Mrs. Hoffman snickers. “Progressing.”

“But I assure you me and my men are working around the clock to chase down every single scrap of possible evidence. No one will rest until we find out what happened to your daughter.”

“We’re just so worried,” Mr. Hoffman says. “We’re both sick with worry.”

“I understand that,” the sheriff says. “We all do.”

“Jenny Tucker over the hair salon says your guys were checking out the Henderson farm yesterday,” Mrs. Hoffman says. “Wanna tell me why that is?”

The sheriff sighs and shakes his head. “Jenny Tucker’s the biggest gossip in town. You know that.”

“Doesn’t make it not true.”

“No, it doesn’t. But in this case it’s not true. Far as I know, no one’s been out to the Henderson place.”

“Why not?” she presses. “From what I hear he did time in Shawshank when he was younger.”

“Hell, Mrs. Hoffman, half the hard-grit laborers in Castle County served time at one point or another. We can’t go searching all their houses.”

“Tell us this,” she says, cocking her head to the side like an agitated rooster. “And give us a straight answer for a change. What do you have? After a full week of walking around in circles, what do you have?”

Sheriff Ridgewick lets out a deep breath. “We’ve talked about this before. I can’t tell you anything more than I already have. In order to protect the integrity of the investigation—”

Mrs. Hoffman slams a heavy fist down on the table, startling everyone in the room. “Bullshit!”

“Caroline,” Mr. Hoffman says, “maybe we should—”

Mrs. Hoffman turns on her husband, eyes burning. The thick veins in her neck look like they’re going to explode. “They got nuthin’, Frank. Just like I told ya. They ain’t got a goddamn thing.”

Gwendy has been listening to all of this with a sense of disconnected awe, almost as though she were sitting in the front row of a studio audience at an afternoon talk show—but something inside her awakens now. She raises a hand in an effort to take control of the room and says, “Why don’t we all just take a minute and start over again?”

Glaring at Gwendy, Mrs. Hoffman suddenly jerks to her feet, knocking over her chair. “Why don’t ya save that happy horseshit for the folks ’round here who were dumb enough to vote for ya?” She kicks the chair out from under her feet, spittle spraying from the corners of her mouth. “Coming in here with your fancy clothes and five-hundred-dollar boots, trying to shine us on like we’re stupid or somethin’!” Flinging open the door, she storms out.

Gwendy stares after Mrs. Hoffman with her mouth hanging open. “I didn’t mean to… I was just trying…”

Mr. Hoffman stands. “Congresswoman, sheriff, you’ll have to excuse my wife. She’s very upset.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Sheriff Ridgewick says, escorting him to the door. “We understand.”

“I apologize if anything I said made matters worse,” Gwendy says.

Mr. Hoffman shakes his head. “Things can’t get much worse, ma’am.” He looks closely at Gwendy. “Do you have children of your own, Congresswoman?”

Gwendy tries to swallow the lump that rises in her throat. “No. I don’t.”

Mr. Hoffman looks down at the ground and nods, but he doesn’t say anything further. Then he shuffles out of the room.

Sheriff Ridgewick stares after him and turns back to Gwendy. “That went well.”

Gwendy looks around the conference room, unsure of what to do next. It all happened so fast her head is swirling. She finally blurts out, “I bought these boots at Target.”