Chasing Amanda (31 page)
“I know that, Newton!” Carla said sharply. “We need to go there, to make sure the cellar is secure, and, if they get a search warrant, to make sure there are no….holes for them to find.”
“Yes, yes, right. We need to go right now.” Newton stood to leave.
“What should I bring?” Hannah asked.
“No, Hannah, you stay here. It’s late and cold. I don’t want you out there in this weather. Besides, Carla and I can handle this,” Newton said, protectively.
“Nonsense, Newton. I’m coming, and that’s that. Now, what do we need?” Her hands on her hips told him that she had made up her mind.
“I’m really sorry that I got you two involved in this,” Carla said thoughtfully. “It was wrong of me.”
“Nonsense,” Hannah snapped. “We have to watch out for one another.” She and Newton exchanged a knowing glance.
Newton lowered his eyes. “Yes, yes we do. Carla, you couldn’t have done this on your own. Why, you had to rely on us.” He picked up the one large box he had been carrying and nervously changed the subject, “Well, um, let’s move on, shall we?”
Pastor Lett asked Hannah for supplies, “Extra food and water. Anything that you think the kid will need over the next week or so, just in case they watch the house, and we’re unable to get there.” Carla thought of the kid, listening to people rumbling around in the house, fearful of making a sound. “Hannah, do you have a small CD player with earphones? Something to eliminate the noise when, and if, the police come rummaging around?”
“Just a minute. I might have just the thing.” she hurried from the room.
They loaded Hannah’s car with supplies, and drove toward the Perkinson house, deciding along the way to park in the Huntington Brothers’ truck yard, which was on the same side of the road as the railroad tracks. They parked Hannah’s car behind the maintenance building and gathered their supplies. The three of them stood at the edge of the dark woods that separated the maintenance yard from the Perkinson property, nervous, but determined. Without a light to guide them, they felt their way through the woods. Hannah headed their trek, advising them,
Careful of this branch. To the right, here. Newton, watch your step!
At the crest of the hill, the house loomed before them. Pastor Lett’s heart ached at the lies that lay within the walls of the magnificent structure.
Pastor Lett watched Newton with appreciation and guilt, remembering the long and painful deliberation she’d endured when she’d first brought Newton into the fold of her situation. She’d worried that Newton might not want any part of it, and she wouldn’t have blamed him, either. After a month of consideration and worry, and the date of Carla’s visit back to Delaware at her heels, she finally decided to chance it. She’d asked Newton to visit her at the church one evening and disclosed what she’d been doing, her clandestine meetings, the reasons, and finally, about the kid. Newton had acted pleased. He’d secretly worried, he’d said, about what had happened to the child.
It was Newton, with his knowledge of tinkering, electricity, and plumbing, things Carla knew nothing about, who installed the commode in the cellar. It had been a long, daunting process. Thank goodness for the dirt floor. Carla had been in awe of Newton’s knowledge, his ability to follow the Do-It-Yourself handbooks. They had worked for a full month of nights, digging trenches for the PVC piping, connecting it to the septic system, and rigging up electricity from the lines at the Huntington Brothers truck site, unbeknownst to them, though Pastor Lett wouldn’t have put it past Newton to have asked permission and made up some story that would sit well, yet cause no concern for inquiries.
It was one year later, when timing had, once again, become an issue, that they let Hannah in on their secret. They were the two most trustworthy people that Carla had ever known, and she cared for them both a great deal. As she watched them now, she felt guilty for burdening them with her responsibilities, and yet, she couldn’t imagine how she would have made it through this many years without them by her side.
They crossed the grass and stacked their supplies next to the cellar doors. A cold gust of wind against the sweat on Pastor Lett’s face made her feel alive, alert. She took the key from around her neck and unlocked the substantial metal lock from the heavy chain, and glanced up at her conspirators, who hovered above her, watching her every move. A chill rushed through her body as a fleeting image of the child in the dollhouse danced through her mind. She hefted one door upward, then the other. The chamber below was dark. She lowered herself down the crooked steps, and from behind the shelves, behind the plywood, she heard the kid.
After the long and tedious job of securing the area was taken care of, they replaced the plywood and shelves, each moving slower than when they’d first arrived, each feeling the weight of the situation, the sadness of it. Newton climbed the cellar stairs last, and before Pastor Lett could close the cellar doors, he threw old pieces of wood, sticks, and leaves onto the cellar floor and steps.
“This will make it look like the Perkinsons stored wood here.” He gathered more leaves and threw them into the cellar, asking Hannah to hand him the small box that he had left at the top of the cellar stairs. Hannah looked around, found the box, and handed it to him, feeling something scurry inside of it.
“When you called, I had an idea that we might have to do this. So I took some precautions of my own.” He opened the box, and lifted one live rat by the tail and tossed it gently onto the steps. Then he reached back into the box and withdrew two dead rats, throwing one to the floor and the other on the steps. The stench was so bad that Hannah moved away.
“Goodness, Newton. Where did you get those?” she asked.
Carla covered her nose. “Newton, that’s awful!”
“That’s the point.”
They locked the heavy metal chain in place and began their long trek back.
By the time they reached Hannah’s car, it was after two
A.M
.
“Carla, you don’t look very good,” Hannah said.
“I’m just exhausted. This…this whole thing. Sometimes it feels so wrong,” she said.
“We all wish we had done things differently in our lives,” Hannah said, supportively. “Some things we do because we have to, and other things, we do them because they’re the right thing to do. And sometimes, what starts out feeling right, changes as time passes and lives change,” Hannah leaned against the car, her side touching Pastor Lett’s, “but by then it’s too late. Then it is what it is and we carry on.” She smiled at Carla, and then they climbed back into the car—each lost in her own thoughts, each pretending it was just another normal night.
Twenty Four
Weekend mornings always felt like mini-vacations to Molly. No matter how great of a running morning it might appear to be, her body wanted to lie around a little longer, move a little more slowly, and welcome the morning more gracefully. The sun peeked through the curtains in a streak across Cole’s body which was stretched across the bed. She curled around him, feeling as safe and warm as any secret she’d ever held. She suddenly realized how soundly she’d slept. The turmoil of the night before crept into her mind, trying to settle there, but was met with resistance—resistance of wanting a few moments’ peace without the invasion of real life.
Cole reached around her, drawing her closer, and moving his upper body over hers, his handsome face looking down at her, his eyes smiling, hair tousled.
“Hi, stranger,” he said, brushing her wavy bangs off of her forehead.
“Morning,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and lifting herself up to kiss his cheek.
“What time did you get in last night?” he asked, running his index finger down her right shoulder, sending goose bumps down the length of her arm.
“I don’t know,” she said, trying to keep focused on their conversation and not the warm sensation growing beneath her skin. “Late.”
“Mmm.” He gently kissed her forehead, her eyes, and then her cheeks.
Molly lay with her eyes closed, thinking of the feel of Cole’s whiskers tickling her skin, when the sound of the ringing phone slashed through the moment. Cole stretched across her chest, reaching for the phone.
“Hello?” Cole said with a strained voice. He moved off of Molly, handing her the phone as if it were a dirty diaper. “For you. Mike Moeler.” Cole reached for his book.
“Hello?”
“Molly? Mike. Thanks for the call last night.”
Molly rested her head on Cole’s shoulder. Cole tensed. “You won’t say anything to Edie, will you?” The pit of her stomach hurt when she thought of her betrayal.
“We’ll talk about that later. They put another officer in charge, Officer Rozutto. He wants to meet you.”
“Why did they do that?”
“We get moved around based on other cases that come up. Rozutto’s a fine detective. Can you meet us? Now?”
Molly heard the urgency in his voice, “Of course.” She sat up and turned to Cole with a look of apology. He rolled his eyes.
“Panera Bread? Half hour okay?” Mike asked.
Molly agreed, and hung up the phone.
Cole shifted his gaze above his book. “Well?” he asked in a disappointed tone.
Molly snuggled closer to him. “I know this really stinks,” she laid her head on his shoulder, “but I have to meet them. The detective wants to talk to me.”
“Do you want me to come with you—wherever it is that you’re going…with Mike.” Mike’s name held a quip of annoyance.
Molly turned to face him. “First of all,
Mike
is Sergeant Moeler, a cop, and second of all, no, I’ll be fine, but thank you.” She put her arm across his chest.
“Uh-huh,” Cole said flatly.
“Cole,” she said, trying to rein in her anxiety over the pending meeting and her ailing marriage, “how can I make it up to you?”
“That’s a good question,” he said and looked back down at his book.
Molly shook the outstretched hand of Sal Rozutto, his olive skin and thick dark hair as stereotypically Italian as his name.
“My pleasure,” he said with a voice smooth as butter and thick with culture. His demeanor was friendly, yet keenly in charge. “I appreciate your meeting with us. It’s people like you that are
in tune
, shall we say, with things that help to solve these cases.” The smile remained on his lips even as he spoke.
Molly lifted her eyebrows, “Well, I don’t know how in tune I am with it, but I’m glad to help.”
“It’s my understanding,” he said a little quieter, moving closer to her, “that you are very in tune with the issues surrounding this case, that you have seen things.” The way he said it, quiet, like an inside secret between the two of them, touched Molly. She liked this man. “That is very beneficial to us, Mrs. Tanner.”
He must have noticed the surprise in Molly’s eyes, because he added quickly, “We don’t often use...seers, but, in a case like this, where time is of the essence and a life hangs in the wings,” he paused, thoughtfully, “in a case where we need every available lead to pan out before we lose a child, well, such a case may deem it appropriate, if the…seer…appears to be a safe and sane individual.”
“But Officer Brown said—”
“Let me worry about Officer Brown,” Sal said.
“I don’t know what you’ve been told.”
“I’ve been told enough to know that you know what you’re talking about.” He glanced at Mike.
Molly took a deep breath and felt a blush warm her cheeks.
Validation
. “Well,” Molly began, “I’m not sure what I can tell you. I mean, the things I’ve seen,” she leaned forward, spoke a little softer, and hoped the other patrons would not overhear their conversation, “they haven’t really been that clear, you know?”
“I don’t know, but I do understand that this is how these things work. Have you kept a record of any of it?”
“A record?” Molly gave a little laugh and told them about her journal, “But I can tell you what I’ve seen. I’ve got most of it right here.” She pointed to her head.
Sal nodded.
Molly was torn between trust and deceit, “Sal, I have no trouble talking about it, but I want to make sure of something first.”
Mike looked at her questioningly.
“Officer Brown basically said I was a suspect. If that’s why you’re talking with me, I want to know up front. I don’t play games, and I won’t be party to any, either. If I’m a suspect, come out and tell me, and I’ll get a lawyer, and then we can talk,” she spoke confidently, almost defiantly.
“I didn’t realize that Officer Brown thought you were a suspect.” He looked at Mike.
Mike chimed in, “Don’t look at me. He never directly conveyed that to me.”
“Regardless,” Sal interrupted, “right now, you are not considered a suspect. You have my word on that, but obviously someone wants to convey things to you, whether it’s someone who is involved or knows who might be.”
“The notes,” Mike said.
“I’m interested in what you know that might help us find Tracey—and hopefully find her alive and quickly.”
“Okay, good.” Molly surveyed the surrounding booths, making sure that there was no one she knew within earshot. She stared out the window, trying to figure out how, or what, to tell them.
“Molly,” Sal touched her arm, “are you okay?”
She sighed, “I’m fine. It’s just that…well....sometimes, it’s not easy describing visions. There are many parts to them, some that will make no sense at all, others that, in the end, will have nothing do to with the vision itself.” She squeezed lemon into her water and added a little Sweet ’n Low, making lemonade. Mike and Sal watched with questioning eyes. “
This
is my caffeine,” she smiled.