Chasing Amanda (26 page)

Hannah’s voice grew quiet, and her eyes, introspective. “That, my friend, is a heart that I carved into this tree when I first arrived in Boyds.”

Molly looked at the bark, where it had curled back from the grooves. “Your and Charlie’s initials?”

“No. What’s inside that heart is sacred—but it’s not me and Charlie. Some people aren’t meant to be remembered.”

They crossed another section of road. Molly recognized the one-lane bridge, so small it almost didn’t exist, and the creek bed that grew slender as it passed under the bridge, then widened just beyond. The bridge linked White Ground and Schaeffer Roads. They climbed the grassy bank and headed back into the seclusion of the woods. The roar of several small motors broke into the silence.

Hannah crinkled her nose and looked up toward the sky, “The model airpark. The bane of my existence.”

“Boyds has an airpark?” Molly was intrigued.

“You’re right next to it, Molly.” Hannah blocked the sun with her right hand, and pointed with her left beyond the bushes. “They have limited times that they can run the planes, but when they do, they sure are noisy.”

Molly had a nagging feeling that she should have known about the airpark.

They turned away and continued on their hike, eventually reaching the Schaeffer Farm Trail, another place Molly had never seen. “This is beautiful,” she said. “I love Boyds.”

“There’s a reason I’m still here, you know,” Hannah said.

Molly listened intently, hoping for what? A confession? Hannah was her friend. She didn’t want Hannah to be guilty of anything, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Hannah was hiding something.

They talked about Tracey’s disappearance and how similar it was to Kate’s. They shared their sadness for Pastor Lett’s loss of her brother, and Molly asked Hannah if she’d thought Rodney had been involved.

“Don’t be silly. I knew Rodney fairly well. He was kind and gentle, like Carla. I still don’t know what possessed the police to drag him in for questioning. Just like that, they were the catalyst for his murder.” As she spoke, her voice became agitated.

“What do you think happened to Kate?” Molly asked.

“I don’t know. Some people say she was taken by someone from out of town. Others say she’s holed up somewhere with a child molester. If she is alive, I just hope she’s okay.” She looked beyond Molly and grew silent. “Shhh, listen,” Hannah whispered.

Molly listened. Shouts and children’s laughter carried almost inaudibly through the air. The sun, high in the sky, had long ago tipped over the noon time ridge.

“The Adventure Park,” Hannah said in an annoyed, sharp voice, and pointed beyond Molly. “It’s right over there. I was not pleased when they put the park in. It ruined a perfect setting.”

They continued in the direction of the Adventure Park, and eventually Molly came to recognize where they were. Hannah walked right over to where Molly had seen her crouched down on the day of the search—to the hot spot. Hannah knelt and patted the ground. Molly watched, stunned. The look on Hannah’s face baffled Molly—she looked as if she might cry.
Guilt?
Molly pretended not to notice, unsure of how, or if, she should approach her.

Hannah closed her eyes. Molly turned away, thinking of her biggest regret, the secret she’d kept.

Hannah stood and walked back the way they’d come, leaving Molly to stare at her back, bewildered.

Pastor Lett took the keys from around her neck and methodically unlocked the back door, first the padlock, then the deadbolt, and finally, the scratched and rusty doorknob itself. The heavy oak door creaked open, releasing a rush of frigid, stale air. Pastor Lett drew her coat tightly across her chest and stepped onto the worn, wooden floors. Her footsteps echoed in the sparsely-furnished house, giving it an aura of hollowness.

She ran her fingers along the cracked plaster walls, her mind hovering anxiously between relief and panic. Her fear of exposure grew worse with every passing day. She felt her time with the kid was coming to an end and feared not for what that would mean for her, but for the kid, for Newton, and for Hannah. She moved slowly, trancelike, through the kitchen and into the musty living room. At the bottom of the wide staircase, she knelt down, as if guided there by an unseen will. She clasped her hands over her knee, bent her head, and just before she closed her eyes, she caught a glimpse of the family portrait that hung on the wall next to the staircase.

“Please, Lord, do not take this kid from me.” She prayed with such devotion that she believed God could not ignore her, unless He did so willfully. “Please do not expose our sins to the world around us. Keep this introduction silent and let us continue to find our way together, as we’ve done for so long.” Shamefully, she continued, “I realize, Lord, that this is selfish, but it is for the best. Please forgive me for what I have done, for how I have done it.”

She opened her eyes and raised her head, her gaze settling first to the windows next to the stairs, and then higher, to the top of the stairs, where looking down upon her was a woman and a young girl—an apparition. She wiped her eyes, certain she had not seen what she thought she had. She staggered to her feet, her breath caught in her throat. At the top of the stairs, stood Mrs. Perkinson, whom she recognized from the portrait, and a young girl. The figures were transparent, yet discernable. The woman’s eyes locked with Pastor Lett’s, her floor-length dress and light apron, tied around her waist, moved as she beckoned her with her arms—motioning her to come forward. Pastor Lett’s legs felt like lead as she moved toward the stairs. She lifted her foot to the first riser, certain her legs would fail her, and yet they carried her up the long staircase. The little girl clung to her mother’s leg, peering out from behind. Pastor Lett stood three steps from the landing, holding onto the railing, her eyes wide, disbelieving. The woman turned and walked down the hall, toward the far bedroom. The little girl held her hand, looking over her shoulder once, then forward again. Pastor Lett forced herself to continue up the risers, and finally, onto the landing. She watched the tail of the woman’s dress disappear into the bedroom. The silence pressed in on her. She made her way slowly down the hallway, telling herself that what she had seen was not real—that she was exhausted. She forced the lessons that she had been taught, that the spirit lived beyond the heavenly body, to the back of her mind. She stood at the entrance to the bedroom and pushed the heavy wood door all the way open. It creaked and knocked against the wall, startling her. In the center of the room, the little ghostly girl played with a wooden dollhouse, a dollhouse that Pastor Lett had seen many times—an exact replica of the Perkinson House. The figures in the house were set up in various rooms of the tiny diorama. The girl moved them with her transparent fingers. The tiny mother figurine stood in the kitchen, next to a miniaturized stove. The father figure was placed in the study, surrounded by a desk and shelves that were perfectly scaled. The inhabited rooms were on the middle floor of the dollhouse. The top floor of the dollhouse had four rooms, each one equipped with a miniature-sized bed and nightstand, a small figurine of a girl lay on a bed in the center of one of the bedrooms. The first floor of the dollhouse had indistinguishable rooms, just bare open spaces. The last figurine, a boy, was placed in the open space of the first floor, next to a plastic candle. Pastor Lett took those images in quickly; mere seconds had passed.

The little girl looked up at her and smiled. Pastor Lett blanched, she could barely breathe.

The girl mouthed, “Thank you.”

Pastor Lett blinked rapidly and swept her eyes toward a movement at the far end of the room. Mrs. Perkinson stood in front of the boarded-up window. Each board appeared to be an oddly integral part of her body. Her hands were clasped in front of her. She nodded, as if in slow motion. A sudden chill whisked through the room, and the woman and child faded away. Pastor Lett remained still, only the ends of her hair moved with the sudden gust of air. Just as suddenly, the chill was gone, swallowed by the walls.

Twenty One

Molly pulled into her driveway to find Steve Moore, the roofing contractor that Cole had hired a few weeks before, sitting in his truck in front of her house. Molly parked her car and walked to the driver’s side door. Steve leaned over his clipboard, cell phone pressed tightly against his ear. He held up one finger to Molly. Molly sifted through her memory trying to recall if Cole had mentioned that he’d forgotten to pay him. A moment later, Steve rolled down his window. Even his large truck seemed too small for his six-foot-five frame. He smiled, a kind, open smile that held no pretense or hidden agenda, simply a welcome greeting.

Molly told him that they hadn’t had any other leaks and that she appreciated his stopping by. On a whim, she turned back and asked, “Steve, do you know anything about the Perkinson family or their house? The one near the lake?”

“Sure, I’ve worked around here for so many years that there ain’t much I don’t know. Which is good and bad if you get my drift,” he cracked a wicked little smile. “What do you want to know?”

He laughed. “Well, I don’t know them personally, if that’s what you mean. I’ve heard rumors of old Mr. Perkinson walkin’ ’round the house, on the grounds, and of the late Mrs. Perkinson sittin’ in a rockin’ chair, knittin’.”

“Really?”

“Well, there were a few stories that went around for a while, but I doubt they were true. Oh, you know how these things go, everything from Lizzie Borden to the Amityville Horror.”

Molly looked intrigued.

“I’m not sayin’ that it ain’t true, I’m just sayin’ that I’ve heard about a daughter who didn’t really exist, and a son that was born when they were really old, but I ain’t never seen no proof.” He looked away, guffawed, “Stories, they grow like trees around here.”

“Well, you never know what happened back then.”

“You know Newton Carr? He never lets things go undocumented,” he rolled his eyes. “He s’posably asked old Chet Perkinson, you know, to validate the facts? Anyway, according to Newton, old Chet Perkinson ain’t as
with it
as he used to be. Said the child was never born. So who knows where these stories come from.

“One thing I do know,” his voice grew quiet, “they all died in that house, one by one. They didn’t believe in no hospitals. It’s a wonder old Chet left.” Steve paused, then cheerily said, “Speaking of hospitals, I guess you know about the big indoor yard sale up at the private school to benefit Children’s Hospital. It’s been going on all week. I went up a couple nights ago.”

Damn!
Molly had forgotten all about it. “How was it?”

“It was great. I saw Newton there. He was picking up a bunch of kids’ stuff, probably for his grandkids, pants, shirts, dresses—even bought toys.”

Molly recalled the photo of Newton’s grandchildren in his living room: two boys, about ten and twelve years old.

Molly made her way inside, lavishing the dogs with soft strokes and kind words before opening the door and letting them romp outside. She thought about Steve’s mention of ghosts at the Perkinson House, and wondered if she were chasing a ghost, chasing Amanda’s memory.
Maybe Cole’s right
, she thought.
Maybe I am trying to right my wrong
. Frustrated, she buried her face in her hands,
It wasn’t my fault!
she thought, then she stood up straight and said, “I can’t think about this right now.” She leaned against the counter looking for a distraction—anything to take her mind off of Amanda. The blinking light on the answering machine fulfilled her wish.

“Hi, Ma, it’s me,” Molly smiled at his need to announce himself—as if she wouldn’t recognize his voice after listening to it for eighteen years. “Did you find the guy yet? Call me. Oh, and Ma, can you put twenty bucks in my account? I’m a little low. Thanks. Love you. Bye.” Molly’s finger hovered over the delete button, then she quickly pulled away. She knew she was ridiculous, but she always liked to have his voice nearby. Before checking the next message, she pulled out her cell phone and texted Erik,
Got ur msg. Dating money?
She knew the message would cause an eye roll from him. A moment later her cell vibrated with a reply,
Haha.
She smugly resumed checking messages.

The second message was a hang up, and the third was from Officer Brown. “Mrs. Tanner, this is Officer Brown with the Germantown Police Department,” his tone was professional, distant. “Just wanted to make sure Sergeant Moeler came by today. Please let me know if he has not yet contacted you.”

The message gave Molly pause. Officer Moeler had left hours ago and said he would have to provide the information to Officer Brown for direction. Molly retrieved his card and quickly punched in his phone number—she was redirected to his voice mail.

“Sergeant Moeler—hi,” she paced the kitchen nervously. She was not known for her patience, and that trait had caused her trouble in the past. She knew if Cole were there he’d caution her against bothering Sergeant Moeler—but Cole wasn’t there. “This is Molly Tanner. You were here this morning to get some information on leads? I just received a message from Officer Brown wondering if you were here yet. So…I’m just wondering what’s happening with the notes I gave you. Thanks. I can be reached on my cell. Bye.” She hung up the phone and pressed her lips between her teeth, hoping that he wouldn’t think she was the nagging type. Her mind shifted, worrying that maybe he was one of those people who said all of the right things but tended to drag their heels unless someone was sitting on them every second. She let out a long, loud breath, “No, Molly, he isn’t like that,” she said out loud, mocking herself. She grabbed an iced tea from the refrigerator and headed to her computer.