Shattered Secrets (3 page)

“Gabe, you can’t be on the old kidnap cases day and night forever.”

“The hell I can’t. Something’s going to turn up when we’re looking at something else, I know it is. Speaking of which, I’m going back to the commune to insist on getting a look at those girls to see if anyone matches the photo Marian Bell gave me. Over.”

“She’ll have you lifting fingerprints off those girls in the Hear Ye sect next. She’s obsessed when we both know her ex took that kid.”

“We
theorize
he did. Any and every lead.”

“And you’ll probably drive by your place again today to see if vic number one’s okay too, won’t you? Teresa, the one you were almost an eyewitness to her being taken.”

“She goes by Tess now, and you roll out the welcome mat for her if she drops by or calls in. Who knows what she’ll be able to remember now that she’s back here? Worse, who knows who she’ll stir up from fear she will remember something?”

* * *

Tess took the stack of eight-by-eleven-inch posters she’d made at home from the office supply store and went uptown. She knew a few spots to post them in what she was now thinking of as “Old Town,” but she’d like to venture into some of the newer places too. The Lake Azure people no doubt had more money.

Even before Gabe suggested it, she’d decided to keep her name out of this, though some folks would recognize the place being sold as the Lockwood house. The poster only gave information about the house and her cell phone number. She’d included the color reproduction of an old picture of the place she’d found in Mom’s photo album. Tess liked the picture because it was taken in the early summer before the corn grew thick and tall. It looked more spacious—almost safe.

She stopped for gas and they let her put a poster on the wall behind the cash register. The guy in charge tried to flirt with her, but she stayed all business. Without asking, she posted one on the crowded bulletin board at the Kwik Shop. She remembered standing there with her mother—or was it with Kate or Char?—reading signs about used bikes and a mini trampoline for sale. How they’d wanted any kind of trampoline.

Relieved no one had recognized her as people went in and out pushing grocery carts, she walked a few doors down into the small, storefront library both Mom and Char had loved, though they all got books there. To her surprise, Etta Falls, one of the community pillars, was still behind the small checkout desk. Miss Etta came from
the
pioneer family in the area, once successful farmers who had money, compared to most around here. Miss Etta was obviously surprised to see her too, because she jumped right up, whipped off her reading glasses so they dangled by a cord and clapped her hands over her mouth for a second.

“Well, I’ll be! Is it Teresa Lockwood? I heard your mother died and wondered if you girls might come back to sell the house.”

“I’m sure you remember Kate and Charlene more than you do me, Miss Etta. They were older and more avid readers.”

“Yes, my dear,” she said, hurrying around the counter, “but you were the one we were all pulling for, praying for.” Still as thin and energetic as ever, she put her strong hands on Tess’s shoulders and, stiff-armed, seemed to examine her. “You look just fine, Teresa. You all live in Michigan, so I hear.”

“After Mother’s death, it’s just me. Kate and Char have careers that call for travel.” Then she blurted out a big lie: “I don’t think about the past, only the future.”

“So good to hear. But, you know, it’s hard to forget some things.... Now, I’ll bet I could pull a few books for you to give you strength, cheer you up. I tried to give your kin Grace and Lee Lockwood self-help books on brainwashing and the like, but they are convinced that man who leads their group has all the answers—and I’m not even sure anyone in the compound even knows the questions,” she added with the hint of a smile as she released Tess’s shoulders.

Tess had forgotten how low-pitched the woman’s voice was, so perfect for a lifelong librarian. She remembered how Miss Etta always tried to help everyone by suggesting books that would fit their interests or problems. In a way, it was nice that, just like Old Town, the woman—she was probably at least sixty-five now—hadn’t changed much. Yet this close up, Tess could see her brown hair was streaked with gray, and tiny wrinkles like spiderwebs perched at the corners of her eyes and mouth.

“Do you still take the bookmobile out?” Tess asked. “We all loved to see it coming when the weather was bad or we didn’t have money for extra gas after Dad left.”

“I take it out for several hours when things are slow here. It’s still a one-woman show, because the Lake Azure party house has book clubs galore run by their social director, and so many of them prefer to order their books out of the air—you know, online for digital readers,” she said with a sniff and a roll of her eyes.

“And your mother?”

Miss Etta’s head jerked in surprise. “You remember my mother? But she’s been a recluse for years, still is.”

“I only remember
about
her, that you take good care of her and that you’re from the Falls family that was the first to settle in this area.”

“Yes, that’s right. Most folks think this county is named for the waterfalls over by the quarry, but it was for my ancestors. My great-great-great-grandfather Elias Falls was the Daniel Boone of this area. As for my mother, she’s doing as well as could be expected. You never met her, did you?”

“I don’t think so. Unless I was really young then. Oh, I came in to ask if I could post a for-sale sign about my house. And I go by Tess now, not Teresa. My mother didn’t like it, but when I hit high school, she let me change it just to shut me up.”

“And, no doubt,” Miss Etta said, “because she loved you dearly, especially once she got you back.”

With a firm nod, Miss Etta took the poster and used four thumbtacks to align it perfectly with other announcements on the neatly kept bulletin board with signs recommending books of all kinds.

Sometimes Tess wished she was as book smart as her mother and sisters, especially Kate. Mostly, Tess liked to read out loud to little kids, not spend her time on adult books about crime and suspense, thrillers, not even family sagas or passionate love stories—trouble, trouble, trouble. Children’s books were so comforting, unless they were by Maurice Sendak, with all those grotesque, fanged night monsters, but she refused to read those to her kids.

Suddenly there was a strange roaring in her ears.
She was being dragged through the corn, then carried away from her house but closer to the noise. Dizzy, crazy, couldn’t think, trying to stay awake because the scarecrow was going to feed her to the other, bigger monster. She knew it was in the field, big and green with a voice like the waterfall. It would chop her to pieces and eat her up like corn, but she was too scared to cry....

“Welcome home,” Miss Etta said as Tess fought to thrust away the waking nightmare. The librarian brushed her hands together after hanging the poster and hurried to her desk to pump hand sanitizer on her hands from a big plastic bottle. Tess walked toward the front door and managed to wave to Miss Etta, who called out after her, “Remember, my dear, I’d be happy to give you a temporary library card if you aren’t staying long.”

On the sidewalk, Tess stopped to steady herself and breathe in the crisp autumn air. She’d been afraid Cold Creek would magnify her day or night bad dreams. If only she could get the broken, terrifying memories out, maybe they’d all go away! Meanwhile, she knew she had to stay busy, had to stay on task.

She decided to hit the barbershop and Hair Port beauty salon to leave posters. Then she’d visit the new part of town, even try the firehouse and police station, maybe drive out to Lake Azure just to look around. She liked the idea of some things being changed or new here, not like the parts of town that looked the same way as the year, the month, the very day she was taken. Tomorrow—the anniversary of her kidnapping—would be a tough day.

3

“O
f course we want to cooperate with the outside authorities, but please run that by me again before I say yay or nay about parading our young maidens before you, Sheriff McCord,” Brice Monson insisted. He had agreed to meet with Gabe that morning in the deserted common room of the largest building in the Hear Ye compound. Monson raised one eyebrow as he examined the photo Gabe showed him.

Gabe had to admit that “Bright Star” Monson’s looks alone could make someone think he was from another world. The man was pale with hair either bleached or prematurely white, and eyes the hue of water. His face was gaunt and his torso thin as though he lived on alien food in this area of homegrown goods. He always wore loose-fitting, draped outfits that reminded Gabe of something a swami would wear—or was that a guru? It was hard to tell the man’s age. His long hair was pulled straight back in a ponytail, which accentuated the shape of his skull. He wore a strip of leather tied around his forehead as if a dark halo had slipped.

“You’re aware, Mr. Monson, of the abductions of two—possibly three—young girls from the area. The most recent loss was of a six-year-old, and that photo of a child in your group greatly resembles her. I’m accusing no one of anything and I realize blonde girls that age can look somewhat alike, but the mother of the missing child is adamant that I look into this, which I’m sure you understand.”

“But all our young maidens are with families,” Monson said, handing the photo back. “I assure you, if someone in our flock had taken such a girl, we would be smitten with confusion and rebuke because we had forsaken the light. But yes, to comfort that mother’s heart, we will allow you to step into the room where that child is, maiden Lorna Rogers. There are two other daughters, if you would like to meet with the parents or their other girls.”

It suddenly seemed like such a wild-goose chase that Gabe almost backed off. But since he thought some sort of mind-control game was going on with the clever, charismatic Monson, he followed him into what looked like an old-fashioned schoolroom at the back of the building. About a dozen girls of the approximate age he’d requested were weaving baskets into which their adult mentors—
craft teachers?
—were placing bouquets of bloodred bittersweet boughs.

“For our market booth uptown on Saturday,” Monson whispered. Darned if the guy’s voice didn’t make Gabe think of the serpent whispering to Eve in the garden. Did he command control of this place by talking in that low voice instead of yelling?

Once the teachers caught sight of them, they and their young charges stood and bowed slightly to Monson, because Gabe knew it sure wasn’t to him. The girls were all dressed in similar navy blue or brown dresses and reminded him of reruns of
Little House on the Prairie.
All had long hair pulled straight back from their faces with black cords similar to the one around Monson’s forehead.

“Please, return to your games,” Monson intoned with a single sweep of his right arm. The girls, without a grin or giggle, settled back to their tasks.

Games?
Gabe thought. Right away he spotted the girl Marian Bell had been so riled up about. She did resemble Amanda Bell, but, this close, he noticed differences right away. Lorna Rogers was shorter and had not one freckle, while the Bell girl’s nose and cheeks were dusted with them. Still, driven by his need to turn over every rock, he approached the child and the others with her.

“Is that weaving hard to do, Lorna?” he asked.

Her eyes widened as she looked up. She stared at his uniform, especially his badge.

“No, sir,” she replied quietly, still not looking him in the eyes. “It’s lots of fun, and I want to make more baskets for the walnuts too.”

Aside from her distinct freckles, Amanda Bell had green eyes and an obvious lisp. This girl had neither. Gabe nodded and stepped back, realizing Monson had sidled over to hear what was being said. Did everyone whisper around here?

“Thank you for your time and patience,” he told Monson as he started out of the room. “Sorry to have bothered you and the maidens.”

“I’ll see you clear out,” Monson said, and Gabe noted the double meaning of that.

At least he’d learned some things today. Lee and Grace Lockwood were crazier than he thought for coming here to live, letting their boy and girl be part of this. And though Lorna was not Amanda, he definitely didn’t trust Brice Monson.

* * *

Tess drove around Lake Azure, where the Lockwoods used to picnic and play as kids, when they were a family. The wildness of it seemed tamed now with manicured lawns and earth-hued condos set back in landscaped plantings of trees and late-flowering foliage. None of the residences looked the same, some two-story, some ranch, some A-frame. Part of the lake was cordoned off for swimming and paddleboats. Canoes were pulled up on two man-made sand beaches edging the green water. A large, two-story lodge stood at the center of it all. This was a Cold Creek community?

Feeling she didn’t belong there, she drove back into town. She’d already wandered along the new part of Main Street, reading the handwritten menu on the Little Italy Restaurant sign, peeking in Miss Marple’s Tearoom and the Lion’s Head Pub. She’d gone inside the pub because she could see a bulletin board, where she put up one of her posters. That board was a twin to the dartboard that was just inside the door.

“Want a pint or a shandy, luv?” came a very British male voice from inside. “Fish-and-chips be ready straightaway!”

That all sounded good, but she made an excuse and went back outside. No one recognized her at the fire department. The dispatcher was alone since it was all volunteer, but he said the only postings allowed were for duty shifts and schedules. She knew she’d be allowed to put a poster up at the sheriff’s office, so she headed next door. Despite the fact that it wasn’t in the same place and, no doubt, had different people from those who had staffed it years before, her feet began to drag.

She found herself both hoping and dreading that Gabe would be there. Her stomach did a weird little flip-flop at the thought of him.

Inside, a young, pretty brunette sat behind the front desk. “Can I help you?” she asked with a smile.

“I was just wondering if I could put up a poster for a house for sale if you have a public bulletin board. I told the sheriff I’d be putting some up around town.”

“Oh,” she said, rising. “I’m his day dispatcher, Ann Simons. Are you Teresa Lockwood?”

“Yes. I go by Tess now.”

“Oh, right. So I heard. Sure, I got the idea Sheriff McCord wouldn’t mind. You passed the board we use in the entryway there if you can find a place for your sign,” she said, pointing. “I don’t keep it very up to date, and please ignore the Most Wanted posters on it. We’re glad to have you back for a little while, Tess.”

“Thanks. People have been very kind.” She headed for the corkboard, then turned around. “Ann, if you hear of anyone who needs a solidly built house just outside town, then—”

The front door banged open, barely missing Tess. A woman flipped her long blond hair back over her shoulder with a metallic clatter of bracelets. She wore knee-high boots with fringed cuffs, tight black leather pants and an orange brocade jacket. Her face looked too old for the hair or the clothes—or was her rough complexion just the result of too much sun? Tess wondered if maybe she was a regular at Marva’s tanning salon.

“Is he back yet?” the woman demanded of Ann.

“No, but I’m sure you’ll be the first to hear if there is anything to know,” Ann replied calmly.

The woman huffed out a sigh as her shoulders drooped. “I’ll wait. That’s all I do now, wait. And study the other cases and find similarities despite the differences the sheriff’s been preaching to me.”

She collapsed on the pine bench in the waiting area, hunched over and swung her suitcase-sized orange leather purse between her legs. Tess watched her out of the corner of her eye. The woman looked Tess’s way and exploded again.

“You’re Teresa Lockwood, aren’t you?” she cried, jumping to her feet. “I mean, of course you’ve changed, but I’ve studied the old newspaper pictures and articles in the library so long and— You are, aren’t you? I don’t mean to startle you,” she said as she hurried toward Tess, “but my daughter’s disappeared too. If you could just help me, I’m desperate for word of her. Here, let me show you her picture—I mean, you were younger when you were taken, but you are both blonde, and the sheriff—”

“Marian,” Ann said, stepping between the two of them, “why don’t you just sit down and wait for Sheriff McCord?”

“Because I said I’m desperate and I am! Surely this woman can help me find my girl if she can just recall what happened to her years ago.”

“Come on now,” Ann cajoled, tugging on Marian’s arm. “Let’s have some coffee and calm down. Deputy Miller or the sheriff will be back soon, and—”

“Calm down? I need to talk to her—to you, Ms. Lockwood,” she cried, peering over Ann’s shoulder.

Tess was shaking. Had her own mother been this berserk when she was lost? Her heart went out to this woman—Marian—even though she wanted to flee. She finally found her voice.

“I’m sorry,” she told the woman, “but the sheriff, like his father before him, knows all I could tell. I came back, so I hope and pray your daughter will too, and then—”

“Amanda Bell. Her name is Amanda, and I’m Marian Bell. I live up in Lake Azure on Pinecrest if you recall anything at all—where you were kept, anything!”

“I don’t,” Tess whispered, more to herself than to the others. She didn’t, did she? No, of course not. If she did, it would help find the other—now two?—missing girls. It could lead to Gabe’s solving the case. It would end the horror that still haunted her like a monster just out of reach, trying to devour her. But, God help her, she could not recall a thing that would lead to anyone or any place.

Tess saw she still held the poster in her hand and quickly stuck it to the board between an announcement about a charity auction and a bank robbery in Chillicothe, the largest nearby city. She opened the door and went out into the brisk, sunny day, feeling assaulted, as though her soul had been shredded by that woman. Yet she forgave and understood her. Being recognized and interrogated like that—it was one of her worst fears about coming back.

Tess had started for her car when she heard a voice behind her.

“Hey, Tess, I thought that was your car. How’s it going, putting up posters?”

She turned to face Gabe as he caught up with her.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, his piercing eyes scanning her face. He put a gentle hand on her arm. He wasn’t wearing his hat, and the wind ruffled his mussed hair. “Were you in my office? Did Ann say something to upset you? I told her you might be in.”

“Marian Bell recognized me. She’s distraught, demanded I remember things I just can’t.”

“I’m sorry. She gets out of control, but I—”

“Understand why,” she finished with him. “I guess I was thinking about how it must have been for my mother as well as me. One thing I’m sure of. I must have felt forsaken when I was abducted and gone so long, like I was abandoned. I never really thought how devastated my family must have been—only that they didn’t come for me. I guess that was selfish.”

“Don’t think that way. You were a little girl. You were so young you might not even have formed memories into words at that point, and so you can’t recall things in words now.”

“Sounds like you’ve been reading up on it.”

“Over the years. Especially lately. I’m sorry you ran into Marian or vice versa. I’m going to have to break her heart again, set her off on another tirade. I followed a lead she gave me today that didn’t pan out. Her daughter, an only child she had late in life, was taken about four months ago and ever since, she’s been seeing her behind every tree, so to speak. But I’ll be sure she leaves you alone. I should have prepped her for you being back. If worse comes to worst, I’ll get a restraining order on her. Let me walk you to your car. Were you leaving?”

“I am now. Thanks for everything, Gabe.”

She unlocked her car door, and he opened it for her. “Don’t thank me for anything,” he said, “unless I get the bastard who’s been doing this.” Despite his words, his voice was deep and quiet, even soothing. She felt as if she almost stood in his protective embrace since he had one hand on the car roof and one on the open door while she stood there. She sank quickly into the driver’s seat, and he leaned down toward her.

Not looking at him but staring at her hands gripping the steering wheel, she spoke. “I want you to know I don’t blame you for my being...being lost that day. You told me not to run into the cornfield, but I didn’t listen, didn’t obey, even though my mother told me you were in charge. I just needed to say it, because I’m not sure I ever told you or your dad.”

“You remember that? I do too, but I still shouldn’t have been so angry that I paid no attention to the little scream you gave. Even when I decided to just ignore your antics and you didn’t speak again, I thought that was just the little tomboy next door carrying on, bugging me more. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone about our little argument either, including my dad.”

“But— I did? I screamed? I don’t recall a thing after you yelled at me and I ran through the corn rows.”

“I’m not pressing you to remember more. Sorry, if Marian Bell’s doing the yelling now. I’d better go in and break the bad news to her. Listen, call me if you need anything.”

“And if I remember anything else?”

“Yeah, of course, but no pressure from me. Keep in touch, okay? And good luck with selling the house. I’ll mention it to the mayor, since he sees lots of folks every day. He’s been in office for years now. He knows everyone.”

He extended his hand. She took it, and they shook. Despite the stiff, brisk breeze, his skin was warm, his touch strong. She needed that and gravitated to it when she didn’t want to. She had steered clear of romantic complications in her life because she just didn’t want to get close to anyone that way. And, of all people, for many reasons, Gabe McCord was way out of bounds.