Chapter 8

Word got around.

“She’s a Killer ... Queen.” That was how the reigning monarch of the cafeteria said it. She dominated THE table and what she said became LAW. Her table held the prettiest, most desirable, richest girls in the school. They went where SHE went, and they didn’t go where she didn’t. She passed judgement on possible boyfriends, she was the power ... just like she was in High School.

“She didn’t get raped,” said April Sue ... April Sue Queen was from the south ... the deep south ... Queen Mountain Guest Ranch, Wyoming. Chastity was important to southern belles ... or at least the pretense of it.

“She’s a killer,” repeated the beauty.

“She didn’t get murdered,” said Anna Wilson. Anna ... such a mundane name. Her father was the developer of the number one ski resort in Jackson Hole.

“She’s a KILLER.”

She was just loud enough that I heard her say it. So far it had been innuendo and whisper in the corner with silence when I walked by.

Stepping up to the plate I took a swing at her fast pitch. “You have a problem with that?” I asked.

“Yes, I do ... you took a life.”

“I didn’t take a single life ... I’ve eliminated five scum of the earth.”

“Oh ... My ... God! You are a serial killer,” to the table she said, “ ... she ‘s a murderer.”

“You’d prefer that she was raped and murdered?” asked Hilda Gill. Mr. Gill was a wheel in Kiewit Coal. An Executive Vice President in charge of Engineering. A Mining Engineer in his own right, he owned about a million patents.

“Excuse me,” Hilda said. “I’m Hilda Gill. Would you object awfully if I joined you for lunch. This table is beginning to smell bad.”

Anna Wilson wrinkled her nose, “I believe you’re right, Hilda.” She looked directly at me, “Mind if I join you?”

April Sue smiled at me. “April Sue Queen,” She stuck her hand out. I shook it.

“Karen Post, pleased to meet you.”

Then I was group hugged.

“We’re all of the opinion that Miss Fancy Panties would rather you were killed.”

“I would,” she shouted. “You took the law into your hands! You denied those men a fair trial.”

Looking at the three new friends, I said, “Is she related to a judge or prosecutor?”

Queenie ... as that is how I called April Sue ... and would for life, said, “County Justice of the Peace.”

“You’re kidding? A JP?”

“Not kidding ... Golden Valley County, Montana. Population seven hundred and two. County seat, Ryegate. Population two hundred sixty nine,” said Anna.

“Good Lord ... where does she keep her second head?”

“I heard that!”

“Second head?”

“Can you imagine the inbreeding. I wonder how many girls were in her graduating class.”

“Nine, smart ass.”

“Ooo ... name calling.”

Hilda, six feet two inches of stacked Germanic War Princess, her breasts entered a room a second before the rest of her, suggested that perhaps a quiet corner away from the peanut gallery would be good.

The quartet gathered up trays and moved as far away as physically possible from the vocal interference from Miss Miller.

“So ... I’m Karen Post, I’m from the colonies in Montana. You?”

The three explained and defined themselves by their parents.

“But what about you?” I asked, “You won’t always have them ... who ARE you?

“It’s like ... I ran away when I was 16 ... the elders had nefarious plans for me. I wasn’t having it. I dressed in jeans, wool shirt and a jacket and left. I put on a few miles ... afoot, overland and made my way to a back road.

I knew Golden Valley was sending a hay truck to Cremer. The Colonies help each other at need. I hid out and jumped the truck when they slowed down at the corner. A dusty bumpy road.

They drove past the Hauge Ranch and I knew I was close. The Cherry Creek ford is particularly nasty so they had to slow. I jumped off at the creek and followed it west. At the road a couple in a pickup stopped ... hollered for me to get in back. The hay truck was a lot more comfortable. They turned right at the highway and kept going. At Harlo we turned left on 12 left again on 294. I was wondering... 12 makes a huge sweep north ... miles and miles out of the way. We turned right on 89 and then back on 12 all the way to Townsend. They let me off.

I went south ... they went north. Helena is the only place a couple from the colonies can run to and get married ... no birth certificates ... and no records.”

“They were runaways? Same as you?” Hilda said.

“Yah.”

“How did you know where to get out?”