Echoes (20 page)

"I never slept in the kitchen before," Caitlin said with shy smile. "Can we do it again tonight?"

Her eyes were still wet with tears but in spite of everything, Tess laughed. Sure, they could. As long as there was a wheelchair and a straight jacket waiting for good old Aunt Tess in the morning. Caitlin didn't ask why they'd slept on the kitchen floor or why Tess had been blubbering into the telephone when she'd woken up. Tess didn't enlighten her.

"Am I going to school today, Aunt Tess?"

"Do you think you're up to it?"

"I guess. We have art today and...and maybe if I go, Mommy will be waiting to pick me up when it's over."

From your mouth to God's ears, Tess thought.

After they'd had breakfast and dressed, there was still time before school. While Tess washed their dishes, Caitlin got out some paper and crayons and began to color.

"Mommy came to see me last night when I was asleep," she said. Her voice was soft and serious. "She had to talk to me."

A dream. Just a dream. She took a sip of her awful instant coffee and asked, "What did she have to talk about?"

"She said we'd be together soon."

"Does that mean she's coming back?"

"I don't know." Caitlin pulled a yellow crayon from her box and made a sun on her drawing.

On the surface the dream wasn't so strange. Why wouldn't Caitlin be dreaming about her mother? Why wouldn't those dreams involve Tori coming to get Caitlin and taking her away? But it felt wrong. It felt as threatening as a premonition. Caitlin was old enough and bright enough to differentiate between what was dream and what was real. But if Tori's nocturnal visit was anything like the episodes Tess experienced in Molly's world, then Caitlin might not be able to tell the difference. But why would Caitlin have visions like that about her mother?

"How come you keep looking at that wall, Aunt Tess?"

She hadn't realized she was staring until Caitlin's voice interrupted her. She blinked, trying to grasp the trailing wisp of her thoughts. Where had she been going with that? If Caitlin was having visions like that about her mother....did that mean that Tori was trying to get a message back to her daughter? She'd told Caitlin they'd be together soon. What did she mean? That she was coming back, or that something was going to happen to Caitlin? God, no.

Tess felt sickened by the conclusions she'd drawn. She didn't understand what was happening here, but one thing she did know. Whatever else took place, Tess was not going to let anything happen to Caitlin.

"How come you keep looking at that wall?" Caitlin asked again, frowning as she glanced over her shoulder and then back at Tess. "Is there a bug on it? Is that why you keep looking over there, cuz you see a bug?"

Tess forced a smile that felt plastic. "No, honey, I was just thinking."

Caitlin nodded, turning her attention back to her artwork. "Sometimes
I
see things on the walls," she said, choosing a green crayon from her box. The tip of her tongue darted out as she colored in the grass. "You 'member when you asked if Mommy saw people that I didn't? She doesn't, because I see them sometimes, too."

Tess's mouth was dry. She took another sip of her coffee before asking, "What kind of people? People that you know?"

Caitlin shrugged. "Sorta. I guess so. I hear them, too, but I don't talk back to them or anything. I know they're strangers."

Tess's heart hammered against her chest. What was going on here?

Caitlin frowned, looking at Tess with sudden apprehension. "I don't try to see them, Aunt Tess. I can't help it--"

"It's okay, honey. I'm not upset with you. I know you don't try to see them."

Caitlin's brow smoothed. She put down her green crayon and picked up a blue.

"These people...do they dress funny?" Tess asked.

The question caught Caitlin off guard. Her voice revealed her surprise. "Yeah. They wear hats and the Mommies wear long dresses. Do you see them too?"

"Sometimes." Tess sounded calm, as if they were talking about the weather. But a thousand disturbing questions bounced inside her head in a chaos of images and unfinished thoughts. How could she make sense of this?

"Is it eight-thirty yet? That's what time Mommy takes me to school."

Caitlin began gathering up her crayons and putting them away. Learning that solid, stable Aunt Tess saw people on the walls too had somehow relegated the experience to normalcy for the little girl and she smiled as she cleared the table. Learning that she shared in this group hallucination with Caitlin had the opposite effect on Tess.

Caitlin took her finished picture to the refrigerator and secured it with a magnet before she picked up her backpack and headed for the door. As Tess reached for her keys, she glanced at Caitlin's drawing. Every hair on her body stood on end as she moved closer.

The drawing was of a child, a baby boy dressed in small brown trousers and a white button down shirt. He was smiling. Behind him was a wagon, beside him a woman in a long skirt and apron. At his feet was a brown and white dog. Caitlin had written Lady beneath it.

"Come on, Aunt Tess," Caitlin said from the door.

Numb, Tess followed.

Chapter Nineteen

Sheriff Smith and Deputy Ochoa pulled in just as Tess returned from dropping off Caitlin at school. Fortunately she'd managed to get in and out without running into Craig. She didn't want to explain to him why she looked like she'd slept on the kitchen floor.

The two officers followed Tess inside and listened incredulously as she began the painful task of explaining what had happened the night before. When retold in the sunny kitchen, the events seemed dramatized and anti-climatic. But in the dark of night, they had been excruciatingly real.

"Well that doesn't make a goddammed bit of sense," Smith said.

At Tess's uncomprehending look, Ochoa said, "We had a break this morning. Your sister's car was found outside Piney River. There's no sign of her, but it was near enough to the bus station that a couple of officers started asking some questions and showing her picture around. One of the women working the ticket counter remembers seeing her."

Tess was glad she was sitting down. "Did she buy a ticket?"

"She did, but she paid cash and the woman didn't remember where she was going. She must have used another name, though. There's no record of a transaction for Tori France."

"What about her car?"

"Parked legally. No signs of a struggle or duress."

Smith was watching her closely, gauging her reactions. She could read in his eyes that as far as he was concerned, finding Tori's car only confirmed what he already knew. She'd robbed Frank Weston and taken the first ride out of town. But Tess didn't believe it for a minute.

"Spoke to Lydia Hughes this morning," Smith said. "Seems she recalls your sister using the pay phone outside the coffee shop yesterday morning. She says after your sister hung up she seemed agitated."

"And she's just mentioning it now?"

"It was a busy morning and with Frank Weston dying that afternoon—she said it slipped her mind."

"Even when Tori came up missing? I don't believe it."

"I don't see that Lydia would benefit from lying about it, Ms. Carson."

Tess didn't know how to respond to that, but it didn't seem possible that
Lydia could forget Tori being upset that morning when by the afternoon, she'd disappeared. But why would she lie? As the sheriff said, what possible benefit would there be? Unless she was somehow involved... Involved in what? Abducting her sister? She pictured Lydia, soft spoken, rounded, kind to a fault....

"We're going to take a look outside, see what your prowler was up to."

Tess stayed at the kitchen table, staring at Caitlin's drawing, thinking of Tori on some outbound bus to who knew where, thinking of Lydia Hughes wrestling Tori into a dark room in a secret keep.

She couldn't have said how long the two men were outside before the back door opened again and the young deputy came in again.

Still standing on the stoop, Smith said, "There's not much of anything left after the storm." His voice was hard and gravelly, his eyes bloodshot and flat. "You didn't see anything else?"

"Just what I told you. I didn't even see the shadow of whoever was here. I heard a car start, but it was far away. It could have been a truck for all I know."

Smith cursed under his breath and let the door slam shut again. Tess scowled at the place he'd stood.

Ochoa said, "I know you must be sick, worrying about your sister and all. But we're going to figure out what's going on here. Finding her car was the first break we've had. Now we know a starting place to work from."

"A starting place? As far as Sheriff Bullet Balls is concerned, that starting place is my sister hitting the high road with a dead man's stolen money."

Ochoa's lips twitched at her derogatory nickname for Smith, but when he spoke, his tone was serious. "The sheriff's not happy about having so little to go on. He's used to a big city where there's a team of specialists just standing around to help other teams of specialists. As far as he's concerned, we're in the stone ages here. He's frustrated. But he's got a lot of years in law enforcement under his belt, Ms. Carson. He'll figure things out."

Tess nodded, wishing she could share his confidence. "I made a flyer this morning with Tori's picture on it. Could I email it to you to print out?"

"Yes, ma'am." He pulled his pen and tablet from his pocket and gave her his email address. "I'll make sure it gets distributed and posted."

She took the paper from his hand and prayed it wouldn't be too late.

Chapter Twenty

After the sheriff and deputy left, Tess paced, too keyed up to dwell on the turmoil of her thoughts, too exhausted to rest. She had to do something and the idea of paying a friendly thank you visit—complete with egg and sausage casserole—to Grant Weston had seemed like a stroke of genius. Much better than Plan A, which had been cold calling on him and stammering out questions on his doorstep like some amateur private investigator on TV.

She found the road that branched off to the Weston's ranch without difficulty. The entrance was well marked and easy to see in the daylight, but it wasn't until she turned onto the gravel drive leading to the house that she realized where she was. That first night, when she'd been lost...

She passed beneath an iron arch that had weathered and rusted, but hanging from it was a shiny plaque, obviously a recent addition, with the words
Rancho Almosta
fashioned out of scrolling wrought iron. Rancho Almosta. Almost a ranch.

That night it had been too dark to see the details of her surroundings, but she remembered the house and out buildings, and the stranger who'd seemed so familiar. Undoubtedly he was Grant Weston. Had some part of her recognized him from the movies? Was that why she'd felt like she knew him? It was the logical explanation, but the feeling had been deeper than mere recognition, and she knew it.

The rain had washed the lush spring growth on the trees to a glossy green and the leaves whispered merrily, dappling the sunshine as she drove beneath. Her perceptions were at odds with the fear inside her, a fear that seemed to have nothing to do with this cheerful, pleasant scene.

Between the massive trunks, Tess glimpsed the waving grasses of an enclosed paddock embraced by distant rolling hills and thick piney woods. She'd expected pristine grounds and an immaculate, if not opulent, manor. Grant Weston was rich and famous, after all. Instead, an aged white fence picked up where the oaks left off and curved with the road. In places the chipped and peeling paint had been altogether stripped, in others broken boards hung in disrepair. On the other side of the fence a dozen horses grazed contently on the waving grasses. A big pinto looked up and tracked her progress up the drive.

The house itself sprawled impressively, yet a closer look revealed despair seeping from the nooks and crannies like lichen from damp crevices. She was glad it wasn't night. She remembered how darkness had transformed the neglect into shifting shadows and looming menace. Even in daylight her imagination was working overtime.

For God’s sake, Tess, keep it together.

But how could she when it felt like a countdown was ticking away inside her? She parked her car next to Grant's truck and got out. Ignoring the trepidation that dogged her steps, she tucked Grant's flashlight under her arm and stepped up to the wide railed porch that sagged around the entire ground floor. Sprouting at its foundation, a riot of bougainvillea sashayed in the light breeze and scattered bright splashes of petals across the wooden planks. Overhead, verandas opened from the second floor rooms to provide unmarred views of the desolate kingdom. It looked like a ghost town from a western movie. She wouldn't have been surprised to see John Wayne step out, adjust his holster, and mount up.

Grant yanked open the front door before she could knock and almost collided with her on the stoop. She gasped and jumped back, nearly launching her casserole into orbit.

"Oh, hell," she said, fumbling to save the dish, his flashlight and her precarious balance all at the same time.