The Ruth Valley Missing (17 page)

“Could it be another truck like
his?”

“I thought the same thing, but I
asked her to check it out. When he redid the upholstery, he had our initials
stitched into a little spot on the bench seat.” Joan squeezed my hand, her eyes
watery, and whispered, “The initials were there. Ed would never let that truck
go willingly. Something had to have happened to him.”

I exhaled, realizing I’d been
holding my breath while she spoke.

“So you believe me, don’t you?”

I nodded. I did agree. But as I
shifted in my seat, feeling my stitches pull, I was also worried about the risk
Joan would be at if she pursued her search.

“What are you planning on doing
now?”

“My friend is going to talk with
someone who she thinks can track down how the truck ended up at the dealership.
In the meantime, there isn’t much I can do.”

“Probably for the best. I mean, if
anyone in town was involved and thought you were digging up trouble for them,
there’s no telling what they might do.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Keep all of this to yourself for
now. If you find out more, we can talk, but we should be sure that no one knows
about any of this, ok?” Joan nodded as I looked at the clock on the wall. “I
hate to say this, but I should probably get back.”

“Yes, I’ve kept you longer than I
meant to.” She stood up and hugged me. “Thank you for believing me, Miss Quinn.
That means so much.”

“Of course. I’m happy to listen
anytime.”

I walked out of the store, more
determined than ever to follow through with my plans for Sunday. 

“You sure you’re fine staying home
alone?”

I nodded. “My side is killing me and
honestly, I don’t think I’m ready to be around everyone yet. You should go,
though. The townspeople might start giving you a hard time if you miss another
Mass to be with me.”

Jack shrugged, “Well, that doesn’t
matter much to me.”

“Yes it does,” I teased. “I’ll be
fine. I’ll be here when you get back. Promise.”

He stood in front of me, smiling and
running his fingers across my cheek. “Ok. Only since you insist. It’ll be a
little while with the potluck after.”

“That’s fine. Enjoy yourself. And if
there’s anything good, bring me some.”

Jack laughed as he threw on his coat
and headed out the door. I watched his Jeep pull away from the house. Once out
of sight, I grabbed my black leather jacket from the coat closet, along with a
small flashlight I had found in there. I headed for the door, stopping short as
I stared at the gun cabinet in the living room. I contemplated grabbing a
weapon, but figured my inexperience was more likely to get me hurt than protect
me. Instead, I opted for a Swiss army knife I found in the bottom drawer of the
same cabinet.

I closed the front door behind me
and headed towards the woods, taking the shortcut into town. When I arrived at
the edge, I checked my watch. Everyone should be inside the church now, I
thought. Slowly, I made my way out. Pulling the hood of my sweatshirt out from
under my jacket and over my head, I headed past the church, hearing the music
from inside, and continued towards the convent.

The lock to the back entrance was
surprisingly tricky, but after some work, I was able to pick it and get inside.
The convent was the last place I would have expected to find locked in such a
safe town, at least before this past week. Now, those locks confirmed there was
something to hide.

I crept inside, quietly, in case any
nuns had stayed behind during services. It was silent, but I still felt the
need to hug the walls as I wandered around corners.

The living space wasn’t at all what
I expected.

I envisioned cold concrete halls,
simple wooden furniture, sparsely decorated, if at all. What I saw instead were
plush furnishings and opulent decor. Gaudy replicas of religious icons littered
end tables and buffets, while intricate designs swirled around tapestries on
the walls, and rugs covering the shiny wood floors. I took a second look at the
carpet’s design, finding that again, the design from the church tapestries and confessional
was there. I took out my phone, snapping photos as I walked through.

The kitchen was huge with industrial
ovens and refrigerators. An oddly sweet aroma mixed in with more familiar
smells filled the room, as huge pots of stew boiled on the stoves. I peeked in
the fridge to find nothing out of the ordinary; juices, produce, and packages
of meat.

I raced through the rooms, leaving
the individual quarters to be searched later if there was time. As I headed
closer to a dark hallway, I found two large wooden doors, chained with a
padlock. God bless the internet, I thought, as I went to work picking the lock.

The lock clicked open and I walked
into the room. It was large, open, and cold. The entire floor was concrete, the
walls stone. The middle of the room was empty, with a drain in the center of
the floor, the floors themselves slightly sloping towards the middle. I walked
along the edges with my flashlight, shining light on chains hanging from walls,
long metal tables and cabinets. I opened a cabinet to find surgical
instruments; rib spreaders, scalpels, saws. I snapped a few more photos then
turned to the other end of the room. There, against the wall were three large
chest freezers.

I threw one open, finding packages
in butcher paper like the ones I saw in the fridge, labeled only with dates. I
picked up a package and tore it open. Meat. I checked the other freezers to
find more of the same. I shoved the open package under the others, then made my
way out of the room, replacing the padlock behind me. As I headed towards the
exit, I heard voices approaching. My heart started to pound as I searched the
living room for a place to go. In the corner stood a large wardrobe, so I
ducked in, praying there would be room enough to hide.

Once inside, I pushed as far inside
the wardrobe as I could, buried behind winter coats and jackets.

“I can’t believe you forgot to put
the potatoes in, Catherine. Honestly.”

“Well, I remembered now, didn’t I?
I’ll set them to boil separately and toss them in. No one will know the
difference.”

Sister Marjorie let out a sigh of
disapproval as their steps faded into the kitchen. I stayed put, afraid to risk
an escape until they were outside. As I stood in the closet, my hands brushed
the coats hanging next to me. They felt large, bulky, not like anything I’d
seen the sisters wear. I sat silent and still until I heard the sisters again
and the click of the door. I switched the flashlight on and examined the
clothes surrounding me. Coat after coat after flannel, they all had one thing
in common. These were men’s outerwear, not women’s.  

I crept out of the wardrobe and made
my way to the back door. Staring out the window long enough to be convinced it
was all clear, I walked out, but not before getting an unmistakable whiff of
lavender oil.

Looking at my phone, I didn’t have
much time left. Services would be over soon, but there was one more spot I
wanted to check out. I ran, as best as I could, towards the garden. Shielded by
the thickets of dormant rose bushes, I searched the ground, looking for some
kind of sign, some disturbance in the dirt.

Nothing.

I could hear the organ playing and
knew I had stayed too long. I headed towards the garden, but stopped on the
outer edge, realizing the sisters would probably make their way to the convent
to retrieve the food for the potluck. But I couldn’t walk out front and be seen
by the parishioners either. I started to panic and looked towards the woods,
the only option I had left. I began walking that way when someone stepped in
front of me.

Father Mike.

“What are you doing out here,
Jameson?”

“Getting some air,” I said, trying
my best not to stammer.

“I didn’t see you inside for Mass.”

“No. I didn’t think I was up to it,
but I started feeling better and thought I should come for the potluck. The
walk wore me out, though. I was just sitting here, catching my breath.” I took
a deep breath, steadying my voice. “And praying.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Holy ground, god’s creation,
it seemed appropriate.” I wanted to crumble right there, physically weak and
finding my own lies unconvincing.

Father Mike stared at me and took a
look around. “Looks like you were heading towards the woods.”

“Turns out I don’t feel as good as I
thought. I decided I would head back home.”

“Through the woods?”

Despite the cold, I could feel a
drop of sweat running down my back as I ran out of lies and excuses. The
anxiety seemed to make the pain from everywhere hit all at once and I felt as
if I might break down right there on the spot. “I just really want to get
home.”

People began to file out of the
church in the distance. “I think you should have a seat, Jameson.”

I was out of options. If I ran for
it, people would see. Not to mention that I couldn’t really run properly
without bringing on a considerable amount of pain. I eased myself slowly on to
the stone bench. From this position, I could no longer see the parishioners in
the distance, which I assumed meant they couldn’t see me either. Father Mike
sat down next to me and let out a sigh.

There was a sudden rustling in the
bushes behind us. Father Mike grabbed my hand firmly and whispered, “Bow your
head.”

Confused, I mimicked his position,
bowing my head, partially closing my eyes.

“Father, Sister Marjorie was
wondering where you were. What are you doing?”

The sister stared at us, her eyes
narrowing as her gaze fell on me.

“Miss Quinn here needed some
guidance. It seems that she was having a crisis of faith and asked that we pray
out here.” Father Mike’s reply was quick, without any hesitation. I might have
been impressed if his ability to lie wasn’t so disturbing.

“Well, this is highly unorthodox.
Miss Quinn, you couldn’t have waited until confession to speak with the
Father?”

Father Mike jumped in before I could
reply. “Sister, sometimes a crisis is beyond us. It was a great effort for her
to even be here. Let’s show her some kindness, shall we?”

The sister pulled her lips together
tightly, almost contrite, and nodded. “My apologies, Father. But please keep in
mind that the potluck will be getting started shortly.”

“Of course. We will be along.”

The nun turned away and headed for
the convent. I felt Father Mike squeeze my hand.

“It’s too late to leave now without
being noticed, so there’s no point trying to run off.”

I felt sick. He was right. There was
nowhere to go. My saving grace was the crowd of people pushing closer, making
it impossible for anything more than a conversation to happen. The bushes
rustled again, this time, several voices following.

“Father? James?” Jack stood in the
garden flanked by a few young parishioners. “You all go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

The parishioners walked ahead, while
Jack hung back.

“What are you two doing here?”

This time, I jumped in before the
father could. “I started feeling better after you left, so I thought I could at
least make it here to join you for the potluck.”

I hated lying to Jack, but I knew he
wouldn’t approve of my covert convent investigation.

“And Father Michael?”

“I needed air after the sermon and
found Jameson out here looking distraught.” He stared Jack in the eyes and
smirked before continuing, “I thought I could provide her with some comfort.”

“Thank you, Father,” Jack said,
through his teeth, “but I think I’ve got that covered. I think you have people
to attend to?”

Mike got up from the bench slowly.
“Of course.” He turned towards me before walking away, laying a hand on my
shoulder, “James, don’t forget to come to confession this week.”

I nodded, eager for him to leave. As
he disappeared behind the flowerless bushes I let out a sigh. Jack sat beside
me, staring off in the direction of Father Mike.

“You don’t look great, James.”

I nodded, still a bit shaken. “Can
you take me home?”

“Of course. What happened?”

“Nothing,” I lied again. “I just need
to go home. I’m not feeling as well as I thought.”

I knocked on the door and waited.

Since my encounter with Father Mike,
I’d done a good job of avoiding everyone in town, including Jack. Feigning a
relapse, I stayed in my little rental, trying to sort out what was happening.
What I should do next.

I left Brooklyn to find some peace,
to escape the drama that comes with city life, yet here I was in the midst of
more madness than anything I’d experienced in my years in New York. If Ruth Valley
couldn’t deliver what I was looking for, why not move on?