Scotoma

By Susan Egner

Corky Allen settled into a new life as a single parent and newspaper reporter. Covering a story about the proliferation of pornography in her suburban town spurred Corky to question the choices women make, trading their souls for love and security. Her journalistic quest uncovers an abusive marriage, a religious cult entrapping women, even murder. Would finding the truth rest on Corky’s shoulders?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Seale
• Release date: Nov 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301908271

Susan Egner

Minnesota Author Susan Egner followed her father’s footsteps into the life of a newspaper reporter before turning her pen to fiction. Her father, Lou Egner, was the well-known photojournalist for the Florida Times-Union and the former Jacksonville Journal. Now married and living in Burnsville, Minnesota, a suburb of Minneapolis, the mother of two and grandmother of four, fondly recalls, “Daddy gave cameras to my two sisters and me when we were still in elementary school saying, ‘Wherever you go, always remember to take your camera.’ He felt a story could unfold anywhere and he wanted us prepared. That training resulted in my writing about female photographers.”Encouraged by friends after hearing the stories she made up for her own children, Egner wrote and published her own children’s book series, Has Anyone Seen Woodfin? She has made multiple guest appearances with costumed characters in seven states and Shanghai, China; appearing in bookstores, elementary schools, children’s hospitals and the Mall of America. Her work was featured as one of ten programming initiatives at a gala event held in Chicago’s Field Museum by PBS affiliate, WYCC.Egner’s previous writing experience also includes writing and editing for the Dakota County Tribune, a weekly newspaper. In addition, she was a freelance writer for the Dayton Hudson Corporation Santa Bear series.Egner made the transition to e-B­­ook publishing in 2012 with her five-star rated novel, Scotoma. A gifted storyteller, Egner’s characters face challenges and often undergo personal transformation as they confront issues in contemporary society. Her stories are about ordinary people who find themselves in adverse circumstances that could face any of us. The choices each makes—and the resulting consequences—weave a tapestry of mystery, intrigue, and romance that will keep the reader wholly absorbed until the last page.Susan Egner proudly supports Operation eBook Drop, which provides free access to uniformed men and women deployed in service overseas. Learn more about Susan Egner on her website, EgnerINK, on Google+, and on Facebook.

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Chapter One

Pornography came to Apple Valley just as winter was surrendering to spring. Though shocking that something thought found only in grimy urban neighborhoods had penetrated the wholesome lifestyle of rural suburbia, it was news. Something I had to cover as a part of my job. The story required investigative reporting, just the same, because it was more than just a man hawking dirty pictures; it was the other side of that picture that interested me. What pushed young women to demean themselves in such a way? That question, one that would bring me much closer to home than I ever anticipated, troubled a mother’s heart while it intrigued a writer’s soul.

My name is Courtney Allen, although everyone calls me Corky, thirty-eight years old, single parent of two practically grown children, and a reporter for a local weekly paper. My newspaper office looks out on a pasture of grazing Guernsey cows.  That’s not to say we’re unsophisticated in Apple Valley, one of the most desired residential neighborhoods south of Minneapolis. We have all the cosmopolitan assets: theaters, restaurants, sporting events, even the Mall of America, within a twenty-minute drive while enjoying residence in the fresh air and clean values of a rural community.

I live in a large house with a pool in a designer neighborhood where other upwardly mobile young executive families reside. We’re a former upwardly mobile family. I got the house in my divorce settlement, allowing my children to remain in familiar schools until emancipated. I don’t earn enough to support this house, but according to Minnesota divorce law, I had five years to figure it out. I still have three to go. In the meantime, I’m focused on building some type of career and raising my children to be as unscathed as possible by the changes in their family structure, something that seems to be working I might add. We have a close and friendly relationship with my former husband, in some ways better than when we were living together. He comes over on his free days, sometimes as often as three or four times a week, not only to see the kids, but to look after our still jointly owned yard, pool and house.

This is no small accomplishment considering the hurt and feeling of rejection that I had to force myself to overcome. Speaking of demeaning experiences, try separation and worry while your husband serves as a consultant during the Persian Gulf War, coping with his drinking mixed with other dysfunctional behaviors regarding non-family women, moving repeatedly due to his job and then being dumped for a younger model. Believe me, I know the definition of demeaning, and I was determined not to allow that definition to label the rest of my life. I have worked hard, painfully hard, to look beyond all his transgressions in order to promote a healthy home environment for our children.

The day that my role shifted from writing for an investigative news article to a more personal agenda began, in a way, not with a situation with my former husband but with a phone call from the daughter of my closest friend, Angie. Her daughter’s name is Terri, and she’s an aspiring musician, primarily vocal. Angie and her family lived next door to us for a decade until her husband Tim’s career as a salesman relocated him to Siren, Wisconsin, an hour and a half drive northeast. We continue to see each other as often as possible and talk almost daily. At least we did until recently.

When I answered the call, Terri said, Hi Corky, guess what? I have my own band now. Are you impressed? I couldn’t help but smile. Her voice held that contagious excitement, almost giddiness that you seem to outgrow when you pass the age of thirty.

Why Terri, that’s awesome news. And yes I am, tell me about it.

Well, you know I’ve been plunking around on a guitar since I was a kid.

Hardly plunking, my friend. You have a gift. She was seventeen and showing signs of becoming a beautiful woman. She played the guitar as if it were a limb of her own body and sang like an angel. Terri made a too familiar scoffing sound; a curious trait she’d adopted in the last few months; as if embarrassed by her own talent.

You’re never going to believe it, Corky. I’m going to be playing in a bar two nights a week. It’s called Fishermen’s Bait.

In a bar, Terri, are you sure? You’re under age.

It’s all been cleared. Wisconsin laws aren’t as strict as Minnesota’s. I have three guys working for me and the band is licensed under the oldest. It’s all set.

How old is the…um… oldest?

Twenty-nine.

Now I was struggling to take this all in. Was it legal for a seventeen-year-old girl to work with a group of grown men in an establishment that served alcohol? Seemed unlikely to me. I made a mental note, as if I were interviewing the subject of an article, to do some research on this unfamiliar issue.

Okay, I said, Okay, I’m tracking. What else?

That’s it, I guess. I was just wondering when you were coming to visit so you can hear my band?

I flipped my calendar open. My work assignments were pretty well caught up. I worked all week, occasionally covering events on weekends, and turned in my stories and photography at the latest by end of workday Friday. I worked for a county newspaper that came out weekly on Monday.

Let’s see, I have to cover a ribbon cutting ceremony on Friday morning and then I’m free for the weekend. I’d need to check Josh and Katie’s schedule but if there’s no conflict, I could probably drive up late Friday afternoon. Will you be playing Friday night?

Yep, starting at nine. That’s great. I’ll tell Mom you’re coming. See you Friday.

Uh, Terri, wait, one more thing.

What?

Your band. Does it have a name?

Yeah, I call it Seclusion. Do you like it? Was it my imagination or had her voice changed in timbre when she told me the band’s name, become more guarded?

Sounds… very original. Did you choose it for a reason?

Not really, listen, I’ve got to go. See yah Friday, she said and the phone went dead. It wasn’t my imagination. Everything about the nuance of her voice conveyed a different message but I didn’t have a clue what it was. I guess I’d find out when I visited.

Chapter Two

Driving to Siren had turned out to be an easy decision since it was my ex-husband’s weekend to take the kids. Gary had torn down the cabin we had owned together on Lake Minnetonka west of the Twin Cities and rebuilt a year round home. The kids enjoyed all the toys their father had refused to buy when we were married; ki boat, pontoon, jet skis and so forth. I had grown up on a lake and learned to slalom ski when I was seven. Naturally I had wanted the same thing for my children but it would take a divorce to accomplish it. I know what you’re thinking and no, I didn’t divorce my husband because he wouldn’t buy me a ski boat. Get real. I divorced him because, like many of our other high-income friends in later years, it was discovered that he couldn’t keep his girlfriends straight so they started calling me. As you can tell, it wasn’t exactly a Leave it to Beaver household.

I arrived in Siren at the cocktail hour, something my friend’s husband Tim never missed. One of the things that had cemented Angie’s and my friendship so many years ago was the similarity of our husbands. Both had come from alcoholic, dysfunctional families and shared the same recreational interests of golf, golf, and, did I mention golf, something that allowed them to easily separate themselves from family for long periods of time. Oh, and might I add, drinking beer. Lots of beer.

I turned into their driveway to find Tim throwing what looked like camping gear into the back of his Ford F250. He looked angry. Well, that was nothing new. He almost always looked angry. What was surprising were the rare times he did smile. When he did, it presented an astonishing transformation. His straight white teeth dominated a megawatt smile that seemed to reach from ear to ear. His uptight body language changed instantly, becoming approachable, almost friendly. But that was not happening now as I climbed from my car. I wasn’t sure what was going on, so I approached with caution.

Hi, there, I said.

She’s in the kitchen, he growled, not even turning around to simulate a welcome.

I walked up the six steps in the garage to the back door and let myself in. I could hear Angie unloading the dishwasher.

I’m here, I called.

Hey, she said, throwing her dishtowel down on the counter and coming around to greet me. After we hugged, she asked, How was you drive? Are you thirsty?

She didn’t seem the least bit flustered by what was going on out in the garage. As usual, she was dressed to perfection in the latest and greatest to be offered by Chico’s. Likewise, her hair and nails were recently done. Did I hear myself grumble as I glanced down at the stubs I called nails? Obviously Tim’s mood had not penetrated into the house, however, but I decided to reserve any comments or questions until I analyzed the lay-of-the-land, you might say.

Got any iced tea? I said.

Coming right up. Why don’t you take your bag down to your bedroom while I get things ready? We’ll have it out on the deck.

I lugged my bag down the stairs to the basement guestroom. In their last house, the guestroom had been a sofa bed in the family room, but in both cases, I had my own bath, this time with a tub, which I preferred over a shower. Things were looking up.

When I joined Angie in the kitchen, she was juggling a tray with glasses of tea and a plate of snacks while tugging at the sliding door that opened onto the deck.

Here, let me help you, I said, rescuing the tipping tray from her hip.

I set the tray on the table while she placed cushions on the outdoor chairs. I could hear the waterfall bordering the putting green Tim had built in the backyard. Just as in their backyard when they lived next door, the flowers and shrubs were bright, colorful and impeccably weed free.

This is so beautiful, I said.

Angie looked up and glanced around the familiar garden. If you play golf, she said, her voice smug, even a little sad. For the first time, I noticed dark shadows under her eyes.

Speaking of Tim, is he going somewhere? I asked.

No, why? asked Angie as she ushered me into a chair.

Oh, well I saw him packing stuff in the back of the truck and I just thought…

Actually it was not uncommon for Tim to choose to be elsewhere whenever I visited. We didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye and on rare occasions, I faced off with him and his anger when it was directed at Angie.

He’s getting ready for a camping trip he promised Sean. Its next weekend and he has a busy week ahead at work, so he’s getting his packing done now, all but the food of course. That’s my job.

He doesn’t seem very happy about it.

Oh, you know Tim, if he can find something to snarl about, that will be his first choice of behavior. I think he’s mad that Sean had other commitments today and isn’t helping him. He tried to get me to help but I reminded him I had other commitments, too, she said, nodding to me and flashing a Cheshire grin.

It wasn’t often that Angie stood up to Tim and usually she did so only when it coincided with my visits. Needless to say, there was no love lost between Tim and me.  I shuddered to think what she tolerated in my absence. At any rate, I was glad to see that she was mustering up some courage. Over the years I had slowly grown to despise the man. I couldn’t imagine being married to him. Gary might have been far from perfect, and like Tim, held deep-seated anger dating back to who knows what happened during his childhood, but he had rarely taken it out on us. I learned through our short stint in couples’ therapy that he transferred his anger to physical activity, usually something repetitive like raking the yard or shoveling snow. Tim let it all hang out except for the true reason behind it. We were all clueless as to why two successful men with loving wives and fine children were always fuming about something. Over the years we had shared our woes in this endless struggle.

I like your hair, I said as I took a sip of my tea. Once again Angie had chosen a new style for her brunette mane, this time even more heavily stripped with blonde. She was determined to fight gray for far longer than I. I just didn’t have the time or money, or interest for that matter, to color my hair every three weeks.

Thanks, I’m glad you like it. I’ve found a new hairdresser. Her prices are outrageous but she does do wonders. You might want to try her on one of your visits, she said, patting a stray blonde hair into place while eyeing my traces of gray.

Now Angie, we’ve been over this before. Probably a hundred times. I’m not going to start coloring my hair. Change of subject, I said, leaning over to give her a partial hug. What have you planned for the weekend? And the weekend was pretty much like all the others, shopping, a movie, lunches out and dinners at home to sample her newest recipes. Angie was a talented, gourmet cook. Lots of talking.

The visit to hear Terri’s band was a new experience, however. Terri was, in fact, playing in a bar with three men, all in their mid to late twenties; though she had changed the band’s name since I had talked to her. Now she called it Second Chance. I wondered the reason for the change but decided not to mention it. We sipped our drinks and listened while Terri sang.

At the break, Angie turned a radiant smile on me. She’s good, isn’t she?

She’s more than good, Ang. She’s breathtaking. She seems so much older than seventeen when she sings. It’s hard to take in.

Remember when Terri was a preschooler and how shocked you were by the phrases that came out of her mouth. You used to say she was ‘four going on twenty-four’, remember.

I grinned and nodded. It was true. Terri had always seemed older than her age.

Well, she stayed in character, still beyond her years, and now operating her own band. Her music is heart rending, Ang, and her singing has grown powerful, more impassioned since the last time I heard her.

Angie nodded and I caught a glint of tears in her eyes. Before I could delve into their cause, the break was over and the band returned to the stage. We nursed our drinks and listened and watched. Though neither of her parents was blonde, their Swedish genes had genetically passed Nordic white blonde hair to their daughter. What they call a Scandinavian towhead. I watched her as she swayed with her song, one foot tapping in rhythm. She was taller than her mother at five feet seven and lithe in a sexual, sensual way almost shocking for a child I’d known since she was in elementary school. Her undulations reminded me of an animal on the prowl, sensual yet feral.  Her crystal blue eyes stroked the faces of her audience, hesitating on mine for just a minute as if looking for approval. Then with a triumphant smile, her gaze moved on. The smile struck me in an uncomfortable way, as if she were trying to communicate a message. Again, I thought about her band’s new name. Why had she changed it? Was she asking for a Second Chance? For what?

I left mid-day Sunday after church and brunch with the entire family. Tim’s gruff behavior remained in place for the entire visit and I felt more and more unwelcome. I never had the opportunity to speak to Terri privately about her choice of names for her band and instinct told me to leave it alone in a group setting. There were secrets in this family. It was a relief to return to my uncomplicated and happy life as a single mother and newspaper reporter, and I didn’t miss the irony.

Chapter Three

I arrived home to find Gary getting the pool ready for the summer season. We had established a friendly, even affectionate relationship since our divorce and since he co-owned the house, he liked to putter with the pool and the yard whenever he had the time. While the hose was refilling the pool’s winter draining, he rode the tractor mower back and forth across the back yard. I caught his eye and waved. He nodded. A stub of a cigar hung at the corner of his mouth making his smile lop-sided. It was a familiar look that still had the power to tug at my heart. I had loved this man for seventeen years, totally unconscious to his philandering. We both worked hard now to make things as peaceful and compatible as possible for the children. We had never planned it but I will always be grateful for that one gift. I was happy now but it didn’t mean I didn’t still love him, would always love him, I suppose.

Mom, called Katie from the kitchen. Are we having dinner here? It may have sounded like a strange question but remember, my children’s mother had added two new tag-lines to her identity, newspaper reporter that often had me out at night covering city council or school board meetings and single woman, meaning I now went on dates.

Yes, I thought we’d light the grill and have some pork chops and corn-on-the-cob.

Corn-on-the-cob, this early? Yum.

Well, not homegrown, sweetheart. Probably imported from Mexico.

Still, she said, it makes it feel like summer is right around the corner. Can I invite Dad?

You can invite your father any time but thanks for asking. Shuck the corn, will you? It’s on the counter. I’m going to take a shower.

I went upstairs but before turning left into my bedroom, I turned in the opposite direction toward the kids’ rooms that faced each other at the end of the hallway. I could hear music, or at least what the teenage population called music, pulsing from Josh’s room. I tapped on the door.

Yeah? Josh yelled out. I knew he thought his sister was on the other side of the door.

I cracked the door and asked, Yeah?

Oh, sorry Mom, I thought it was K. She’s been bugging me all afternoon.

We’re going to cook on the deck. Would you light the grill for me, while I take a quick shower?

Sure. Dad staying?

Your sister is asking him right now. Guess we’ll see.

Josh thundered down the stairs. I had worried more about my son after our divorce than I had my daughter. Katie had expressed her outrage from the very start and moved on. Josh has yet to voice an opinion even though it has been over three years. But I watched him go and recognized a familiar skip returning to his step. He was my light-hearted child and it was slowly returning. He’d be okay. We all would.

Chapter Four

Dinner passed smoothly with conversation focused on the kids. Gary glanced at me occasionally and gave a tentative smile. Even though we’d never had any of the hateful behavior that so many divorces spawned, he still was less than comfortable being welcomed back into the family fold. Well, what was I supposed to do?  I can’t erase his guilty conscience.

Oh, Mom, Darlene called just before you got home. I forgot to tell you, said Katie as she salted her ear of corn.

That’s enough salt, Katie. Did she say what she wanted? I asked. Darlene is my older sister’s daughter. My sister, Mattie, is twelve years my senior and has married children and grandchildren. Darlene has four children already and I have a hunch her call was to tell us she’s expecting again. She’s married to a minister who believes he’s building an army for God.

Bet she’s pregnant again, said Katie, reading my thoughts. What’s with them? Haven’t they ever heard of birth control?

They have some different beliefs, that’s all. We might not agree with them but we can try to respect their right to make their own choices.

Radical. Its dark ages, scoffed Josh.

It’s similar to Amish beliefs, I think, I said, even though I was as clueless as my children about their cousin’s choice of lifestyle. Having grown up in an affluent lifestyle made her choice of deprivation difficult to understand.

The Amish home school their children, don’t they? Is that what Darlene is doing? asked Gary, entering the conversation about our niece for the first time. There was no love lost between my sister and my former husband. Mattie felt our divorce was a direct act against God and held Gary responsible for throwing me into a sinful abyss. 

I think she is, I said. Darlene is very bright. She graduated at the top of her class in college. I’m sure she’s quite capable.

But Mom, remember when we visited Aunt Mattie. Darlene wasn’t even allowed to swim in her own mother’s pool without a shirt over her bathing suit? Uncle Mark wouldn’t let her. Their two little girls can’t either. They have to wear long skirts instead of shorts, too. Of course, that doesn’t apply to Jacob or Peter. How come they get to wear shorts or a bathing suit with no shirt?

It does sound like the dark ages, said Gary, eyeing me cautiously. How does your sister feel about it?

Oh, who knows, Gary, I said, giving him a bewildered smile as I handed him the platter of pork chops. You know Mattie and I have never agreed on many things.

That’s ‘cause Mom’s liberated and enlightened, said Katie.  Darlene said that Mark isn’t going to let any of their children go to college. How weird is that?

Do you think that’s true, Corky?

I honestly don’t know, Gary. We’ve never really talked about it.  I wiped my mouth with my napkin and pushed my plate away. Who’s ready for dessert?

Thankfully, that ended the conversation. After dessert, the kids stayed at the table to visit with their father while I excused myself to call Darlene from the privacy of my office.

Aunt Corky, a voice whispered through the receiver.

Yes. Darlene how are you. I was surprised to hear you’d called. Everything okay?

Um, I’m just getting the girls ready for bed. I need to listen to their prayers. May I call you back in a little while? Mark is over at the church and I’d like to talk to you before he gets back.

Of course, honey. I’ll be here all night.

Oh, and Aunt Courtney?

Yes.

If I don’t call back, don’t call me. Okay? I’ll call you tomorrow or sometime soon.

I’ll wait for your call, honey. She had switched my name from Corky to Courtney in a heartbeat and my heart sank. Something was definitely going on but I would have to wait for her call to find out what. It didn’t bode well that she had to wait until Mark was out of the house to talk freely.

I thought about Mark, a tall, attractive man with thinning brown hair, unremarkable though not unattractive features, a tight smile that rarely reached his brown eyes and a silky, charismatic voice. His voice was his one real strength. Even I had been pulled in by his persuasive, soft-spoken promises. Pulled in yet repulsed, I remembered, shaking my head that had begun to throb. I rubbed the bridge of my nose as I paused at the top of the stairs. I could hear Katie’s giggles, her brother’s guffaws and the gentle rumble of Gary’s laughter downstairs. Life could be so simple sometimes. I savored the uncomplicated sound of my family’s relaxed enjoyment of each other.

When I rejoined them, Gary was gathering his things, preparing to leave. You can let the hose run all night, he told Josh. It probably won’t be full until later in the morning but turn it off before you leave for school. If it hasn’t filled yet, you can turn it back on when you get home. You know the chemicals to add when it’s full, right?

Yeah, Dad. See ya, said Josh, turning to climb the stairs to his bedroom before his father walked out the door.

Is he okay? asked Gary, watching his son’s back with slightly squinted, appraising eyes.

He’s okay, still adjusting. He’ll be fine. I’m glad you could stay for dinner.

Me, too.

Chapter Five

My phone was ringing when I walked into my office the next morning. I hurriedly unlocked the door and made a dash for it.

Journal. Apple Valley office, Corky Allen speaking, I answered.

Good morning. Hard at work? she said.

Or hardly working, I said smiling, recognizing Angie’s voice

What’s the racket in the background?

My police scanner.

High crime in cow country?

Hardly but why the sarcasm? Is there a reason for your call, or did you just want to give me a hard time?

No, there’s a reason. Sorry if I sounded sarcastic. I was only teasing, she apologized.  I hadn’t heard from you since you left yesterday and I wanted to be sure you arrived home in one piece.

I’m sorry, Angie, I should have called. Gary was at the house when I drove in and ended up staying for dinner.

You two, she said, her voice conveying disbelief. Why did you get divorced? You’re together all the time.

Not really. He misses the kids, that’s all.

He misses you, too, I’ll bet.

Angie, we’ve been through all this. Really, I don’t have time. I just walked in the office.

Oh that’s… I didn’t hear the end of her sentence as my scanner came alive and I turned my attention to the static laced discussion.

Hold on Angie, something’s coming across on the scanner.

Apple Valley Inn, man in standoff with police. Need backup.

Angie, I’ve got to go. Call you later. I hung up before she could ask for an explanation, grabbed my camera and purse and raced to my car. I heard sirens and knew that I’d have to step on it if I hoped to get any action shots.

When I pulled alongside the curb in front of the Apple Valley Inn just east of downtown, I was stopped by a local police officer. I climbed out of my car and greeted him.

Can I get any closer, Randy? Randy was the newest addition to the local force and more cooperative with the press than some of the more senior officers. I’d really like to get some action shots.

No can do, Randy replied, his attention riveted to his radio. We could hear two of Apple Valley’s finest, Denny Jensen and Craig York, trying to coax a man out of the building. Then the sound of a single shot exploded through the speaker.

Randy snagged the hem of my jacket and unceremoniously yanked me down behind his squad car. This was uncharted territory for Apple Valley police. It was doubtful that any officer had fired his gun except at the shooting range.

Who’s in there? I whispered.

Lucky Rigdon. Denny caught him selling pornography at the high school. Lucky jumped in his car the minute he spotted Denny and high tailed it here. We’ve warned the owners before to get this place boarded up. I knew that the establishment in question had recently been purchased by a couple of retired Viking football players who planned to convert it into a supper club with live entertainment. A second shot pierced the silence bringing drive-by gawkers to pull over behind my car.

I need to move them along. You stay put, he ordered, as he stepped around me and walked toward the cars lining up on the side of the road. I turned my camera and snapped two shots of Randy waving cars away. Another patrol car arrived and two officers rushed toward the building. I recognized Dave Marso and John Kemp.

Coming in, crackled Dave’s voice over Randy’s police radio. Two more shots were fired. I heard a scuffle and someone asked for cuffs. Shortly Lucky walked out between Denny and Craig. Shoulders hunched, head down, his hands cuffed behind his back. Dave and John followed. I scrambled from behind Randy’s car, ran across the road and squatted to one knee to snap a few more pictures. Rigdon barked out a threat and pointed at me, but the officers ignored him.

I waited until they passed, then sidled up to Dave. Can I interview him before you take him in? 

Not until he’s booked and then only if he’s willing. Call the chief.

Pushing Rigdon’s head down as I’d seen on so many television crime shows, they shoved him into the back of a squad car and drove off. I scribbled a few notes before returning to my car. Not until then did I realize how frightened I’d been witnessing something only previously seen in television drama. This was semi-rural Apple Valley. Twenty miles south of the Twin Cities, cornfields still delimited the town’s perimeters. My hand was shaking and I shivered as a cold drop of sweat dribbled down my back. I seated myself in my car and leaned my forehead against the steering wheel. This was my town; the town where I was raising my children. Alone. It was a startling realization that crime of any type, much less pornography, was erupting in the rural suburbs of Midwestern towns. Minneapolis had always seemed like a big, harmless town, not a city, but it was growing and