The Ruth Valley Missing (27 page)

“You make me sound like a mess.”

“More or less. They gave you meds
for the pain before I got here, so I couldn’t tell them to go easy on the dose
for you. That’s why you’re probably feeling like you got hit with an elephant
tranquilizer.”

“Are you calling me fat, Finelli?” I
smiled, weakly. He gave me a reassuring look, still squeezing my hand. “So,
wait, am I in New York?”

“No, you’re still in North Carolina,
but in an actual city with a real hospital. Your friend called and told me to
get down here.” He shook his head. “What did you get yourself into, James?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The raid made the news. The church
in that small town was killing people for insurance money? Amazing. Leave it to
you to leave the city to escape and land in the middle of that.”

“Yeah, I have a talent for finding
trouble.”

I meant to make a joke, but found
myself choking on the end of my sentence.

Finelli pat my arm. “It’s okay,
James. Everything is going to be just fine.”

I squeezed his hand, wanting to tell
him about everything, wanting to find out what happened, but I found myself
unable to get anything more than a ‘thank you’ past the lump in my throat.

“We have plenty of time to catch up.
You rest up so we can get you out of here and home.”

“Home. Where’s that?”

Finelli let go of my hand, patting
it.

“We’ll figure it out. Now rest.”

My discharge from the hospital was a
welcome one. As the med dosages were altered to account for my sensitivities, I
found myself more awake and far more restless. I wanted answers. I couldn’t
remember a thing past the sagging couch of the rectory. I suspected Father Mike
was the “friend” who called Finelli, but he hadn’t been in to see me at the
hospital.

When a bag of clothes and personal
items from my old place showed up, I’d hoped Mike would soon follow, but all
I’d found was a scrap of paper sitting on top of my clothes, a location and
time scrawled on it.

So I found myself standing in a
diner, a modern update of the one I left behind in Ruth Valley, looking around
for a familiar face.

“Table for one?”

The older woman waited patiently as
I looked around the restaurant. “No, actually, I think I’m supposed to be
meeting someone here.”

“Try the booth in the corner there.”
She smiled and added as I walked past, “Lucky girl.”

As I approached the booth, I could
see a man in a dark blue suit, the unruly hair unmistakably belonging to Mike.
I stood by the table and cleared my throat.

He looked up and smiled. “I see you
got my note.”

I slid into the booth, slowly. “Yes,
I did. And I’m assuming the clothes were your doing?”

He nodded. “I didn’t think you’d
want to meet me here in a hospital gown. Those things get drafty.”

“Thanks. It’s nice to be in my own
clothes. Speaking of which,” I nodded towards his outfit, crisp white dress
shirt and tailored suit, black and white collar noticeably missing, “this is
nice.”

“Yeah, well, you aren’t the only one
relieved to be in your own clothes.”

Before I could ask him what he
meant, a man approached our table. “Demings, I’m heading back.” The man looked
down at me and smiled, “Excuse me, Miss, but I need to borrow him for a
second.”

Mike held up his finger. “I’ll be
right back.”

I watched as he left the table,
walking with the other well-dressed man. They stepped outside of the diner,
talking for a few minutes. Mike stood listening and nodding, pushing his jacket
out of the way as he placed a hand in his pocket to retrieve something. As he
did, I caught sight of the holster strapped beneath his jacket and the flash of
something on his belt. A badge.

The waitress brought me seltzer
water with lime, while I watched Mike shake the man’s hand, smiling, before
heading back inside.

“Sorry about that.” As he slid into
the booth I caught the glimmer of the badge once more. He caught me looking and
grinned, unclipping it from his belt and setting it on the table.

I reached for it, running my fingers
over the words ‘Federal Bureau of Investigation’ and shook my head.

“I knew it. I knew you couldn’t be a
priest.”

“I’m not sure whether I should be
offended or relieved. Either way, you didn’t know.”

“I did!”

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at
me over a glass of sweet tea.

“Okay,” I conceded, “I didn’t know.
But I knew something was off about you. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

He shrugged. “Couldn’t take that
risk.”

“So, what happened?”

“Agents raided the convent shortly
after you passed out on that awful couch. Jack and the nuns are in custody,
townspeople are being questioned, paperwork is being filled out. The usual.”

“Interesting world you live in. Mine
doesn’t usually classify clocking a nun and following up with paperwork as
‘usual’.”

“I suppose not.”

I sat quietly, staring at my glass,
gently tapping my finger on the side.

“Do you miss Jack?” Mike’s voice was
suddenly soft, sincere.

I pulled my lips in tight. “Not so
much him. More the idea of him and everything that went with being with him.
Finding a place to be. I’m not saying that I thought that being the Sheriff’s
girlfriend in a small town would have been my dream gig or anything, but it was
nice to feel some kind of…”

I faded out, unsure of what I wanted
to say.

“Belonging?” Mike offered.

“Maybe.” I shrugged, shaking my head.
“Maybe if I hadn’t been trying so hard to find a place to belong I would have
realized that I wasn’t in the right place to begin with.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I
had a gut feeling about Jack when I came into that town, but it was based more
on logistics, nothing obvious. I figured if bad things were happening and the
one cop in town doesn’t know, he’s either involved or an idiot. And, for what
it’s worth, he didn’t strike me as an idiot.”

“And that’s why you couldn’t tell me
you weren’t really a priest. Because of my relationship with Jack.”

“That was a big reason. It was
difficult, too. I was tempted to knock you upside the head with my badge more
than once.” I suppressed a smile as Mike continued, “But, as it turns out, your
ability to get on the nuns bad side so quickly and your inability to keep your
nose out of other peoples’ business helped make the case. I went in on a hunch
after we received an anonymous tip about the insurance fraud. No one wanted to
investigate, and honestly, I took a big risk asking to go in. If things had
gone another way, I’d be behind a desk the rest of my career. Or worse.”

“If it was that risky, why’d you ask
to go in?”

“I grew up in a small town, not all
that different from Ruth Valley. I have a soft spot for those kinds of people.
People like Andy and Joan - who are both fine by the way - they’re trusting.
They take care of each other. And people on the outside don’t always get that –
treat them like they’re crazy for it.”

“I can understand that.” I smiled,
thinking of my first time meeting Emma and how much I loved exactly what Mike
described, then cocked my head to the side. “Joan and Andy are alright?”

He nodded. “I got Andy out after he
got slashed, and when Joan found out about her husband’s truck, I was worried
she’d be in danger, so I got her out too. Sadly, it was too late for her
husband.”

“I’m so glad they are safe.” I was
also happy to hear Joan found closure, that she confirmed that her husband was
the man she married, a man who loved her for better or for worse. I set my
elbow on the table, setting my chin on my hand. “I can’t believe it’s all
over.”

“Makes you think twice about
responding to a Craigslist ad, eh? You look for an apartment and find a
psychotic sect of man-hating nuns. Don’t even want to think about what looking
for a mattress might get you. Creepy.”

I rolled my eyes. “Very funny,
creepy priest.”

Mike pouted. “I’m not a priest,
remember? And I still don’t think I was all that creepy.”

“Any priest who flirts as much as
you did is creepy.”

“Like I said,” he paused, one side
of his mouth turning upwards, "I’m not a priest, so any activities you
deemed creepy should be retroactively forgiven.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“So. What’s next for you? Headed
back to Brooklyn? Finelli mentioned you could stay at his place upstate if you
need some time. Nice guy.”

I shrugged, suddenly feeling awful
as I realized I had no idea what was next. “I don’t even know where I’m going
after you leave the diner.”

“Oh well, that’s easy.” He reached
in his pocket and tossed a hotel key on the table. “You’ll be here for next few
days at least.”

I raised an eyebrow, holding the key
up. “What’s this?”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Nothing
‘creepy’. I need you to stay in town for a few days. You’re a witness and
haven’t been questioned yet. I made a point of keeping anyone from bothering
you at the hospital, but you’ll need to talk to some people tomorrow.”

“Oh,” I said, oddly relieved to have
something to do and somewhere to be.

“I had your clothes packed up and
sent to the hotel, anything that looked like you might need it. Everything else
has been boxed and I’ll help you get it shipped to wherever you decide to land
after this.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. You took a bullet
for me, even if it was accidental.” He smiled, taking a final sip of tea before
standing up and tossing a few bills on the table. “I should get going. Come on.
I’ll give you a ride to the hotel.”

I nodded, following him out to the
car. He opened the passenger side door, lending a hand as I lowered myself in.

~~~

“So, I’m a few blocks away if you
need anything.”

Mike helped me out of the car and
walked me to entry of the hotel.

“Thanks.” I looked at him, suddenly
feeling very awkward. “You know, it’s strange. All this time calling you Father
Mike, and mostly thinking you were, at best, a really creepy priest. We’ve been
through all this stuff, but you’re this guy I don’t even know. Is your name
even Mike?”

He extended his hand, waiting for me
to take it. I gave him a suspicious look and laid my hand in his.

“Hello. I’m Special Agent Michael
Demings. My friends call me Mike. Actually, they call me a lot of other things,
but I’ll share those with you some other time. Maybe over dinner?”

I laughed, still holding his hand.
“Jameson Quinn. Nice to meet you, Agent Demings. And I’ll have to check my
schedule.”

“Jameson Quinn? Is that a ‘stage’
name?”

I punched him in the arm, but
continued smiling.

“Sorry. I couldn’t help it.” He
rubbed his arm. “You do throw a decent punch.”

“You better go. Don’t want you in
trouble on my account.”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” I leaned forward and threw
my arms around Mike’s neck, feeling overwhelmed. “For everything.”

Mike hugged me back, then pulled
away, his eyes disappearing in a broad grin. “For you? Any time.”

As he headed for the car and I
turned towards the door of the hotel I heard him call after me.

“James?”

I turned around. “Yeah?”

“Wear your green sweater.”

I bit my lip, suppressing a smile as
I watched him disappear into the car and drive off.

As I walked into the hotel, I felt
an odd combination of calm and excitement come over me. I still wasn’t sure
what the future held, but for the moment, dinner was enough.

The Ruth Valley Missing might have
existed only as an unfinished Word document, partying with outdated versions of
my resume on the backup drive if it were not for a wide assortment of people,
too many to name every one of them.

Yet still, I have to point out a
few.

To the countless number of readers
of my blog and other work who cheered me on when I said I was going to finally
write a novel – a huge thank you! (Look, Mike, you even got a character named
after you.)

Many thanks to my family: My
three-year-old, who watched Pirates of Penzance on repeat while I worked, and
entertained me with his rendition of Pirate King when I was done. The husband,
who read everything I wrote, and listened to me go on and on with only the
occasional yawn. My Dad, who often tells me to stop talking about things and just
do them, and my Mom, who tells imaginary people in her dreams that I’m a
talented writer. My siblings, especially my sister, who are so ridiculously
funny and talented that I’m always pushing myself to keep up.