A Change in Altitude (20 page)

She rose to greet Sharon and took her by the arm. “What is it?” she asked softly. “What's wrong?”

Sharon's eyes met hers, and for a brief moment Maggie glimpsed such sadness and despair. Then she blinked and Sharon had rallied. She gently pushed Maggie's hand away. “I need to talk to Jameso,” she said.

Maggie turned to call him, but he was already there. “What is it?” he demanded, in that direct way men had that could be, in spite of its brusqueness, comforting in its strength.

“The police in Vermont found Joe.” Sharon's voice had the flat affect of someone who has worked hard to strip all emotion from her words. “But they didn't find Adan.”

People surrounded Sharon and led her to a chair at a table near the bar. Someone put a drink in her hand—something dark and potent that she swallowed without question. She yielded, disconnected from herself, from the grief and fear that threatened to overwhelm her. Jameso put a hand on her shoulder and bent to look her in the eye. “Tell me what happened,” he commanded.

“Someone from the Orleans County Sheriff's Department called and asked to speak to me. He said they'd located Joseph Franklin, but that there were no minors living with him. According to Joe, Adan left over a week ago, and Joe has no idea where he's gone.” The words sounded so foreign, as if she were discussing some other Joseph Franklin, a stranger or a character in a television show.

“Adan left?” Jameso scowled. “Do you mean he ran away?”

“The police seem to think so. They wanted to know if I'd heard from him.” She hugged her arms across her chest, wishing she could squeeze out the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. “I can't believe Joe didn't tell me. I'm Adan's mother. I have a right to know.”

“Why did he leave?” Maggie asked. “Do they know where he was headed?”

“Joe wouldn't tell them anything. I know how he can be. He clams up around authorities, or he starts spouting off about his rights.”

“So the police are just guessing?” Jameso's voice rose in anger. “Are they charging Joe with anything in connection with the boy's disappearance?”

“I guess they questioned the others—Wilson and the Russians and a couple of other hangers-on they picked up. They all said Adan left last Saturday morning. He and Joe had argued over something, though no one would say what the argument was about.”

“Sharon!” She looked up and Josh Miller was there, his Stetson slightly crooked on his head, the fine lines around his eyes deepened by concern. “I just heard the news about Adan,” he said. “I'm sorry.”

“Thank you,” she said, and had to look away from the kindness in his eyes. Everyone was being so kind, going out of their way to avoid blaming her for what had happened. But she couldn't push away the guilt so easily.

“Can you tell us more about what happened?” Jameso asked Josh.

“It took me a few calls to find out what little I know,” Josh said. “That's why I wasn't here sooner. I was hoping to have some good information for you.”

“What did you find out?” she asked.

“Not much. Joe and his followers had hooked up with another bunch of hard-core preppers and were squatting on National Forest land up near the Canadian border. The deputy I talked to said it was pretty rough conditions: tents and an old camper, though they were cutting timber—illegally, of course—to build some cabins. Joe had already rubbed some of the others the wrong way, and he and Adan had some clashes. The next thing everybody knew, Adan had packed a backpack and headed out.”

“Didn't Joe try to stop him?” Sharon asked.

“The others said he didn't.” Josh moved closer to her. “Do you have any idea where he might go? Do you have any relatives in the area? Friends?”

She shook her head. “Neither Joe nor I are close to our parents. The children weren't in school, and we lived away from children their own age.” She grabbed her purse and pulled out her cell phone. “I gave Adan a phone before I left. I've been calling and calling, but it always goes straight to voice mail and I never get an answer.”

“He might have lost the phone, or left it behind,” Josh said. “They're looking for Adan.” Josh squeezed her shoulder. “They'll find him.”

She wanted to believe him but couldn't. Anything could happen to a fifteen-year-old boy, on his own among strangers. Adan knew a lot about hunting and fishing and living off the land, but he'd been sheltered from things other kids his age knew about, such as how to drive a car or navigate in a city.

“If you want me to go up there and look myself, I will,” Jameso said.

This declaration brought a lump to her throat. She took his hand and squeezed it, unable to speak. Part of her did want him to do just that, but she still had it together enough to realize the foolishness of this. Jameso had never lived in Vermont. He didn't know the area or the people. And he had obligations here.

“No,” she said after a moment. “You're getting married in a few days. And your baby will be born soon. You need to stay here. With your family.”

“You're my family, too.” His voice was rough with emotion. “I know I haven't always acted like it, but I love you. And I hate anyone who would hurt you.”

Something gave way within her at those words—a restraint that had been binding for too long fell away. This is why she'd come to Eureka, what she'd driven all the way across the country to hear. She hugged his neck and pulled him close. “You're a good brother,” she said. “And I love you for wanting to help me, even if you can't. No one can. All I can do is wait.”

“Then we'll wait with you.” Maggie patted her arm.

She looked at Maggie, her face flushed and her body rounded with the promise of new life; at Jameso, torn between anger and dismay; then at Josh, all concern and tenderness and the same powerlessness she felt.

In leaving Vermont, Sharon had lost her son, though she prayed not for forever. But she'd gained a new family and a second chance, here in Eureka. That had to count for something, and when she did find Adan again, he'd be a part of that family. She wouldn't give up hope for him, or for herself.

“I
'm really sorry about your brother,” Lucas said after he rode over to Alina's house the next morning. In ripped jeans and a baggy T-shirt, his hair drooping into his eyes, he reminded her so much of Adan she wanted to cry.

But she'd done enough crying. Her eyes felt like they had sand in them from crying so much last night. But this morning she just felt—numb. She drooped against the door frame. “Yeah, it sucks,” she said. Missing Adan had been the worst thing about coming to Eureka, but she'd always been able to think of him safe at home with their dad—only a phone call or a plane ride away. Not knowing where he was, or if he was even safe, left a whole different void in her heart, a jagged pain that couldn't be soothed.

“If you don't want to paint today, that's okay,” he said.

“Painting sounds good.” She straightened. “I need to do something and I don't want to be alone.”

He waited while she retrieved her bike; then they pedaled slowly toward Main. “If you want to talk about it, that's okay,” Lucas said. “But if you'd rather not, that's cool, too.”

She didn't know what she wanted. “It just . . . it doesn't seem real. I mean, I haven't seen him or even talked to him in weeks, so I'd kind of gotten used to not having him around. But still, I always knew he was there. I could have picked up the phone and called him if I wanted.”

But she hadn't called him. She'd been too afraid he hadn't wanted her. After all, her father hadn't said a word against her going away, and Adan wanted so much to be like their dad. He talked like their father and chose to stay in the woods with him instead of coming to Colorado with Alina and her mother. As if he didn't care. She bit the inside of her cheek hard, tasting blood. But it was better than letting loose a flood of useless tears again.

“Do they know what happened?” Lucas asked.

She shook her head. “Mom said the police think he and Dad argued, and Adan either left on his own or Dad sent him away.” Her voice broke and she swallowed hard. Where would Adan have gone? How could her brother have just disappeared?

Lucas looked miserable, as if he might cry himself. “I wish there was something I could do,” he said.

“Just hanging out with me is good.” She took a deep breath and felt a little steadier. “It helps, having something else to think about. So, what are we going to paint today?”

“Mom said we should do that old shed out back. I don't think she trusts me with anything inside the house; but it'll be more fun being outside anyway. But I've got a surprise for you first.”

“Oh?” Lucas's surprises were good.

“Yeah, I took your advice and put out a bunch of flour around the windows and table and counters.” His expression cleared and he was once again the eager Lucas she was used to. “I had to wait until Mom wasn't around. I thought I could get out there and clean it up with D. J.'s shop vac before she found out.”

“Where did you get the flour?”

“From my grandma's pantry. That's another thing—I need to stop on the way home and buy another bag to replace it.”

“Did you get any footprints?”

“I haven't checked yet. I thought we could do that together.”

“Cool.” She pedaled harder, surging ahead, but he raced to catch up. They turned onto Main, past the Last Dollar, where Danielle waved from the front porch; past the Dirty Sally, closed at this hour. Flowers bloomed in yards along Oak Street, and an apple tree was studded with dozens of little green fruit, like tennis balls tied to the branches.

They slowed and pumped hard to climb the hill up Fourth, breathing hard, muscles straining. The exertion felt good, all that blood flowing letting some of the sadness burn off. At the top, they each took their feet from the pedals at the same time and coasted down the long incline, the cool air blowing through her hair.

They turned onto Pinion and skidded the turn into the drive of Lucas's house. Next door, Reverend Kinkaid looked up from tending his vegetable garden, then walked over to greet them. “Good morning,” he said. He wore khakis and a faded T-shirt advertising a barbecue place, Hog Heaven. The shirt made her want to giggle, but she managed to keep a straight face.

“Good morning,” she said.

“I was very sorry to hear about your brother, Alina,” he said.

“Uh, thank you.”

“If there is anything I can do to help you or your family, let me know.”

“Thanks. Right now we're just waiting to see what happens next.”

“I'll be praying for you.”

“Thanks.” She wasn't sure if she believed in prayer, but it was kind of nice, thinking of other people petitioning God for her. It couldn't hurt, right?

She and Lucas left their bikes by the front steps and went into the house, which was unlocked. “How does everybody already know about my brother?” she asked. “How did you know?”

“I heard it from my mom, who heard it from Jameso at the Dirty Sally.” He shoved a ladder to the side so they could get to the kitchen. “Reverend Kinkaid probably heard it from someone who was there, too.”

“How are things going up at the mine?” She felt bad for not asking before. “Have they found the guys that are trapped yet?”

“Not yet. D. J. is helping, running a back hoe to dig.”

She hugged her arms across her chest and shivered. “I can't imagine being trapped underground like that. Like being buried alive.”

“We hope they're alive anyway.” He picked up a glass doorknob, the old-fashioned, faceted kind. “Mom found these at Grandma's store. She wants to put them on all the interior doors.”

“They're like big jewels.” She picked up another knob and held it as she looked around the room. Lucas's mom had painted a geometric border near the top of the high ceilings. Oak wainscoting and refinished hardwood floors added to the look of something old that had been made new. “This is a beautiful room,” she said.

“It'll be our living room. And these steps go up to the bedrooms. Four of them.”

“And you'll have the tower to yourself,” she said. “Like your own apartment.”

“They're letting me fix it up like I want. One room's going to be my bedroom and the other a kind of study and workshop, with tables and my PlayStation and stuff. We can go up there after we check the flour.”

The flour. She'd almost forgotten. She set the doorknob aside. “Do you think we'll find anything?”

“Let's find out.” He pushed open the door into the kitchen.

The kitchen looked the way her bathroom had when she'd dropped a whole box of dusting powder once. White covered the floor and most of the table and countertops, as well as the tools, scraps of lumber, paint cans, and assorted construction debris that littered the room. “It's going to take you forever to clean this up,” Alina said as she followed him into the room, their tennis shoes leaving tracks in the flour.

“Look!” He pointed to a pair of much smaller footprints in the flour. About four inches long, with distinct toes.

“Oh my gosh!” Alina stared at the trail of prints across the table. “What do you think made them?” Definitely not a ghost, but an animal of some kind.

“I have a book. Let me get it.” He turned and raced from the room.

Of course he had a book. She smiled. He was such a geek. The kind of guy you'd want to be stranded on a desert island with. He'd know how to build a raft, which plants you could eat, and stuff like that.

“I think it's a raccoon.” He returned, the book open. “Look.”

She studied the page he pointed to, which showed tracks very like the ones in the flour. “It says they're attracted to small objects,” he read.

“Look, he went out the window.” She pointed to the trail of white footprints leading across to the window.

“Maybe we can follow it.” Lucas closed the book and laid it on top of a paint can.

They raced outside and around the house. At first, Alina thought they'd lost the trail; then she spotted a smudge of white. “The flour stuck to the grass in places,” she said.

Bent at the waist, eyes focused on the ground, they followed the trail of flour to the leaning shed in the back corner of the yard. Covered in board and batten siding like the house, the shed was gray with age and slanted a little to one side. The door stood open and Alina could see a jumble of boxes, tools, and what looked like trash filling the small space.

“It doesn't look like anyone's used this for decades,” she said.

“The raccoon's been using it.” Lucas walked around the side and pointed to a broken window. Flour dotted the sill below the broken pain. “I think he went in here.”

She leaned toward the window, careful to keep her distance, in case the raccoon decided to jump out suddenly. “It's too dark to see anything in there,” she said.

“I'll get a flashlight.”

He ran toward the house, long legs stretched out, tennis shoes making muffled thumps in the weeds. Alina waited in the shade. She was curious to know what they'd find in the shed, but not as excited as Lucas. That was okay. Watching him get excited was almost as much fun as being excited herself.

He returned a few moments later with the flashlight and shone it through the window. The first thing Alina saw was a big spider web. She drew back. “I really don't like spiders,” she said.

“They won't hurt you. At least, most of them won't.” He shone the light on the web. “It doesn't look like anyone's home. Come on. Let's go inside.”

She followed him to the door of the shed but hung back, letting him dive in first. He shoved aside an old lawnmower, a bookcase, and a stack of boxes, until he reached the section of the shed beneath the broken window. When he shoved the last box aside, he shone the light down onto a kind of nest. Alina braced herself to flee an angry raccoon, but the animal was nowhere in sight.

“Maybe he just uses this for storage,” Lucas said. He bent and retrieved a piece of shiny metal from the pile of detritus piled on a faded quilt. “This is my mom's key fob that went missing a couple months ago.”

While she watched, Lucas sorted through a pile of screws, a teaspoon, a door handle that matched the ones on the kitchen cabinets, thirty-three cents in change, and a bunch of other small, metallic objects the raccoon had apparently collected.

“There's a hole in the wall,” she said.

Lucas shifted his attention to the hole. “Funny, it doesn't look like an animal gnawed it,” he said. “It looks like someone cut it out on purpose.”

He bent and shone the flashlight into the space. “There's something here.”

“More raccoon treasure?” she asked.

He reached in and pulled out a blackened object, about the size of a paperback book. “It's a purse,” he said. “One of those fancy ones.”

“An evening purse,” Alina said. She reached out and Lucas handed her the object. The black was tarnish—the purse had once been silver. It was heavy, covered all over with little silver scales. What might have been jewels trimmed the frame and the clasp. “I'll bet this was really fancy a long time ago,” she said.

“Do you think someone put it in the wall to hide it from thieves or something?”

She fumbled with the clasp but was able to force it open. The purse was lined in blue satin, surprisingly bright and clean. “There's papers in here. Letters.”

She tugged out one small, square envelope, covered in spidery writing.

“That stamp looks old.” Lucas looked over her shoulder. His eyes behind his glasses grew wide. “What does it say?”

Alina carefully took out a single sheet of stationery and unfolded it. The page was brittle, and the spidery writing was faded. “I can't read it,” she said. “We need a magnifying glass or something. And better light.”

“I have a magnifying glass up in my room,” he said. “We can go there.”

She tucked the letter back into the envelope. “First, we'd better clean up that mess in the kitchen. And then we have to paint the shed.”

He looked as if he was about to argue, but finally nodded. “My mom will have kittens if she comes in and sees flour everywhere. And even D. J. will be upset if I don't paint the shed, after I begged him to let me.”

Alina patted the purse. “This will give us something to look forward to.” The letters would probably turn out to be nothing important, but they would be one more distraction from her real-life problems, better than TV or homework.

 

When Lucille walked into the Last Dollar and saw Chris Amesbury occupying the front booth, she was tempted to turn and leave. The director had managed to annoy and/or offend almost everyone in town, and at least half of them had complained to the mayor about his presence.

But she wasn't a coward, and she'd learned long ago that ignoring a problem didn't make it go away. So she hitched her purse more firmly onto her shoulder and strode to his table. “May I join you, Mr. Amesbury?” she asked.

He looked up from the remains of his lunch special (BLT and homemade potato salad) and blinked, like someone coming out of a doze. “Oh, hello, Mayor Theriot.”

“May I join you?” she asked again.

“Uh, sure.” He hastened to move aside a pile of notebooks.

“What can I get for you, Lucille?” Danielle stopped beside their table. She wore a peasant blouse and a flowered jumper. With her hair in twin ponytails, she looked like a milk maid, or possibly the buxom model on the label of a German beer.

“The special is fine. And iced tea.”

“Save room for blackberry cobbler,” she said. “I made it this morning.” She turned to Amesbury. “Would you like some dessert?”

“Could I persuade you to feed it to me?” He gave her what he probably thought was a winsome smile.

“One pie in the face, coming right up.” She winked at Lucille and moved away.