Chapter 4

“Go away,” Verne said through the glass. “Go away, Emmie.” “Open the door.” “He’ll kill us both.” “He’s not here. He’s on the ice.” “He’s always on the ice,” she said. “Then he’s here.” Poppy was shaking against me. The water from the access road was freezing in my boots. I could feel the cold climbing my legs. My cut hand had bled through my mitten. “There’s a little girl,” I said. “She’s five. She was in his shanty. There’s a phone with texts on it. He’s selling her in the morning.” Verne’s face didn’t change. That was the worst part. She didn’t look surprised. She looked tired. “I saw a coat,” she whispered. “In his truck. In December. A little pink coat. I told myself I was seeing things.” “You weren’t.” She looked at Poppy. Poppy looked back. Something passed between them, some old family recognition I didn’t understand. Verne unlocked the door.

The shop was warm. Woodstove ticking. Minnow tanks humming. Bleach and wet wool. I set Poppy on the floor by the stove and wrapped her in a horse blanket from the bench. She didn’t cry. She just sat there, counting under her breath. Verne stood by the register with her hands in her apron. “What do you need?” “Quarters. The pay phone.” She didn’t ask why. She opened the till and took out a roll of quarters, rubber-banded, ten dollars. She had kept it there for two years. She said it was for the night the power went out and the cell towers died. I think she kept it for this. I took the quarters. My fingers were so cold I could hardly work the band. The pay phone was black and heavy, bolted to the wall by the door. I lifted the receiver and heard a dial tone. A real one. The only working phone in the village. I dialed 911.

The dispatcher was a woman with a flat voice. She asked me my name. I told her. She asked me my location. I told her. She asked me what was happening. “My husband has a child in a shanty on the ice,” I said. “He’s selling her tomorrow morning at six. The shanty is gone. I have the girl. I need a deputy.” “Is the child injured?” “She’s cold. She has one shoe.” “Is your husband armed?” “He has a knife. He has a truck. He’s wet and he’s angry.” “Ma’am, where is your husband now?” “On the lake. Behind us.” There was a pause. I could hear her typing. “The causeway is flooded. The nearest deputy is twenty-five to forty minutes out. Can you stay on the line?” “No,” I said. “I need to call someone.” “Ma’am-” I hung up. The receiver clacked against the cradle. Poppy was watching me from the blanket. Verne was watching me too, her glasses fogged. “Who are you calling?” she asked. I pulled the SIM card out of my cheek. It was warm and small and wet. I had held it there for an hour. It had three contacts on it. BO. D. KYLE. “Somebody who might know her,” I said. I pushed a quarter into the slot and dialed D.