“I go by Tess now. But how is Dr. Thompson?” Tess inquired as she put the coffee cake on the only table Grace had left in the living room. She gestured Marva toward the two rocking chairs, but the white-haired, very tan-looking woman just shook her head and plunged on.
“Busy like never before with the Lake Azure area getting so built up. Dane’s been able to afford real upgrades in the cemetery. Why, you should see it. Using digital technology, Dane can offer having QR codes implanted on the tombstones. You know, those little black-and-white grids that can speak to smart phones. Presto! A person can see that pet buried there romping, playing like when alive, and can link to family Facebook websites too. Oh, I’m sure you know more about all that modern stuff than I do.”
“Actually my preschool students knew more than I did about all that,” Tess told her, forcing a smile. “It’s amazing all the things technology can do.”
“Well, it’s a lot better than Dane’s taxidermist friend just stuffing dead dogs, if you ask me,” Marva said with a little sniff. She brushed at the sleeves of her denim jacket as if there was dog hair there. “But,” she went on, “I have to get the van back to Dane. He makes house calls at Lake Azure now, you see. I run the tanning parlor—two shops beyond the English pub uptown. You’ll love their fish-and-chips,” Marva added as she headed for the door. “The town has probably changed from what you recall—if you do remember, I mean, because you left so young. And good luck selling your house and land, because my old place and the barn are still for sale. I don’t know what I’d do if Dane didn’t pay the taxes on it for me.”
The state of property sales in the area depressed Tess, but she smiled and thanked Marva again for the coffee cake. It surprised her there was a tanning parlor in Cold Creek. She knew they were dangerous. And it was being run by Marva, the former farmer’s wife. No way was this the Cold Creek Tess remembered. If the Lake Azure area folks had money to invest in having their dead pets stare at them from tombstones, maybe someone there would like to buy an old house, closer to town than Marva’s, to fix up and flip or for an investment. Instead of avoiding the new area of town, Tess decided she’d better put some of the posters she’d had made over by Lake Azure too.
She waved as Marva drove off in the new-looking van. If only she could have kept her mother for life and not have to come back here to sell this place and face her fears alone.
* * *
Standing outside a run-down, old barn someone had made into a makeshift meth lab before clearing out, Gabe put through a call on his police radio to Jace Miller, his only deputy. There were a few places in the hills that even satellite communications didn’t work, like odd no-man spots around here. The best sites were near the Lake Azure phone towers the residents had insisted be put in. Even some smart phones were too dumb to trust in these hills, but his call went through.
He’d figured that at least two people had been sleeping here, by the piles of smashed leaves on the floor of the barn. He’d found a scrap of old blanket once at another site and had sent it to a lab for fiber and DNA testing, but they’d found nothing except dog hairs, and he’d got nothing out of it but a four-month wait and a big bill.
“Jace, the place was another in-the-weeds meth lab,” he said into his mouthpiece mounted on his shoulder. “Looks like a mom-and-pop setup, but they’ve been cooking the stuff up here for sure. Same old story. They managed to keep ahead of us and cleared out, like they knew their time was up. Or someone warned them, but who? Over.”
“Copy that. If it’s that fly-by-night bunch we’ve been after, they’re probably already using another deserted barn or old hunting cabin somewhere. You want me to call our cleanup contact to get rid of the toxic stuff? Over.”
“For sure. Tell them it’s the usual. Drain cleaner, rock salt spilled, jugs and bottles. At least there’s no sign that anyone’s been held here against their—her—will.”
“Gabe, you can’t be on the old kidnap cases day and night forever.”
“The hell I can’t. Something’s going to turn up when we’re looking at something else, I know it is. Speaking of which, I’m going back to the commune to insist on getting a look at those girls to see if anyone matches the photo Marian Bell gave me. Over.”
“She’ll have you lifting fingerprints off those girls in the Hear Ye sect next. She’s obsessed when we both know her ex took that kid.”
“We theorize he did. Any and every lead.”
“And you’ll probably drive by your place again today to see if vic number one’s okay too, won’t you? Teresa, the one you were almost an eyewitness to her being taken.”
“She goes by Tess now, and you roll out the welcome mat for her if she drops by or calls in. Who knows what she’ll be able to remember now that she’s back here? Worse, who knows who she’ll stir up from fear she will remember something?”
* * *
Tess took the stack of eight-by-eleven-inch posters she’d made at home from the office supply store and went uptown. She knew a few spots to post them in what she was now thinking of as “Old Town,” but she’d like to venture into some of the newer places too. The Lake Azure people no doubt had more money.
Even before Gabe suggested it, she’d decided to keep her name out of this, though some folks would recognize the place being sold as the Lockwood house. The poster only gave information about the house and her cell phone number. She’d included the color reproduction of an old picture of the place she’d found in Mom’s photo album. Tess liked the picture because it was taken in the early summer before the corn grew thick and tall. It looked more spacious—almost safe.
She stopped for gas and they let her put a poster on the wall behind the cash register. The guy in charge tried to flirt with her, but she stayed all business. Without asking, she posted one on the crowded bulletin board at the Kwik Shop. She remembered standing there with her mother—or was it with Kate or Char?—reading signs about used bikes and a mini trampoline for sale. How they’d wanted any kind of trampoline.
Relieved no one had recognized her as people went in and out pushing grocery carts, she walked a few doors down into the small, storefront library both Mom and Char had loved, though they all got books there. To her surprise, Etta Falls, one of the community pillars, was still behind the small checkout desk. Miss Etta came from the pioneer family in the area, once successful farmers who had money, compared to most around here. Miss Etta was obviously surprised to see her too, because she jumped right up, whipped off her reading glasses so they dangled by a cord and clapped her hands over her mouth for a second.
“Well, I’ll be! Is it Teresa Lockwood? I heard your mother died and wondered if you girls might come back to sell the house.”
“I’m sure you remember Kate and Charlene more than you do me, Miss Etta. They were older and more avid readers.”
“Yes, my dear,” she said, hurrying around the counter, “but you were the one we were all pulling for, praying for.” Still as thin and energetic as ever, she put her strong hands on Tess’s shoulders and, stiff-armed, seemed to examine her. “You look just fine, Teresa. You all live in Michigan, so I hear.”
“After Mother’s death, it’s just me. Kate and Char have careers that call for travel.” Then she blurted out a big lie: “I don’t think about the past, only the future.”
“So good to hear. But, you know, it’s hard to forget some things.... Now, I’ll bet I could pull a few books for you to give you strength, cheer you up. I tried to give your kin Grace and Lee Lockwood self-help books on brainwashing and the like, but they are convinced that man who leads their group has all the answers—and I’m not even sure anyone in the compound even knows the questions,” she added with the hint of a smile as she released Tess’s shoulders.
Tess had forgotten how low-pitched the woman’s voice was, so perfect for a lifelong librarian. She remembered how Miss Etta always tried to help
everyone by suggesting books that would fit their interests or problems. In a way, it was nice that, just like Old Town, the woman—she was probably at least sixty-five now—hadn’t changed much. Yet this close up, Tess could see her brown hair was streaked with gray, and tiny wrinkles like spiderwebs perched at the corners of her eyes and mouth.
“Do you still take the bookmobile out?” Tess asked. “We all loved to see it coming when the weather was bad or we didn’t have money for extra gas after Dad left.”
“I take it out for several hours when things are slow here. It’s still a one-woman show, because the Lake Azure party house has book clubs galore run by their social director, and so many of them prefer to order their books out of the air—you know, online for digital readers,” she said with a sniff and a roll of her eyes.
“And your mother?”
Miss Etta’s head jerked in surprise. “You remember my mother? But she’s been a recluse for years, still is.”
“I only remember about her, that you take good care of her and that you’re from the Falls family that was the first to settle in this area.”
“Yes, that’s right. Most folks think this county is named for the waterfalls over by the quarry, but it was for my ancestors. My great-great-great-grandfather Elias Falls was the Daniel Boone of this area. As for my mother, she’s doing as well as could be expected. You never met her, did you?”
“I don’t think so. Unless I was really young then. Oh, I came in to ask if I could post a for-sale sign about my house. And I go by Tess now, not Teresa. My mother didn’t like it, but when I hit high school, she let me change it just to shut me up.”
“And, no doubt,” Miss Etta said, “because she loved you dearly, especially once she got you back.”
With a firm nod, Miss Etta took the poster and used four thumbtacks to align it perfectly with other announcements on the neatly kept bulletin board with signs recommending books of all kinds.
Sometimes Tess wished she was as book smart as her mother and sisters, especially Kate. Mostly, Tess liked to read out loud to little kids, not spend her time on adult books about crime and suspense, thrillers, not even family sagas or passionate love stories—trouble, trouble, trouble. Children’s books were so comforting, unless they were by Maurice Sendak, with all those grotesque, fanged night monsters, but she refused to read those to her kids.
Suddenly there was a strange roaring in her ears. She was being dragged through the corn, then carried away from her house but closer to the noise. Dizzy, crazy, couldn’t think, trying to stay awake because the scarecrow was going to feed her to the other, bigger monster. She knew it was in the field, big and green with a voice like the waterfall. It would chop her to pieces and eat her up like corn, but she was too scared to cry....
“Welcome home,” Miss Etta said as Tess fought to thrust away the waking nightmare. The librarian brushed her hands together after hanging the poster and hurried to her desk to pump hand sanitizer on her hands from a big plastic bottle. Tess walked toward the front door and managed to wave to Miss Etta, who called out after her, “Remember, my dear, I’d be happy to give you a temporary library card if you aren’t staying long.”
On the sidewalk, Tess stopped to steady herself and breathe in the crisp autumn air. She’d been afraid Cold Creek would magnify her day or night bad dreams. If only she could get the broken, terrifying memories out, maybe they’d all go away! Meanwhile, she knew she had to stay busy, had to stay on task.
She decided to hit the barbershop and Hair Port beauty salon to leave posters. Then she’d visit the new part of town, even try the firehouse and police station, maybe drive out to Lake Azure just to look around. She liked the idea of some things being changed or new here, not like the parts of town that looked the same way as the year, the month, the very day she was taken. Tomorrow—the anniversary of her kidnapping—would be a tough day.
3
“Of course we want to cooperate with the outside authorities, but please run that by me again before I say yay or nay about parading our young maidens before you, Sheriff McCord,” Brice Monson insisted. He had agreed to meet with Gabe that morning in the deserted common room of the largest building in the Hear Ye compound. Monson raised one eyebrow as he examined the photo Gabe showed him.
Gabe had to admit that “Bright Star” Monson’s looks alone could make someone think he was from another world. The man was pale with hair either bleached or prematurely white, and eyes the hue of water. His face was gaunt and his torso thin as though he lived on alien food in this area of homegrown goods. He always wore loose-fitting, draped outfits that reminded Gabe of something a swami would wear—or was that a guru? It was hard to tell the man’s age. His long hair was pulled straight back in a ponytail, which accentuated the shape of his skull. He wore a strip of leather tied around his forehead as if a dark halo had slipped.
“You’re aware, Mr. Monson, of the abductions of two—possibly three—young girls from the area. The most recent loss was of a six-year-old, and that photo of a child in your group greatly resembles her. I’m accusing no one of anything and I realize blonde girls that age can look somewhat alike, but the mother of the missing child is adamant that I look into this, which I’m sure you understand.”
“But all our young maidens are with families,” Monson said, handing the photo back. “I assure you, if someone in our flock had taken such a girl, we would be smitten with confusion and rebuke because we had forsaken the light. But yes, to comfort that mother’s heart, we will allow you to step into the room where that child is, maiden Lorna Rogers. There are two other daughters, if you would like to meet with the parents or their other girls.”
It suddenly seemed like such a wild-goose chase that Gabe almost backed off. But since he thought some sort of mind-control game was going on with the clever, charismatic Monson, he followed him into what looked like an old-fashioned schoolroom at the back of the building. About a dozen girls of the approximate age he’d requested were weaving baskets into which their adult mentors—craft teachers?—were placing bouquets of bloodred bittersweet boughs.
“For our market booth uptown on Saturday,” Monson whispered. Darned if the guy’s voice didn’t make Gabe think of the serpent whispering to Eve in the garden. Did he command control of this place by talking in that low voice instead of yelling?
Once the teachers caught sight of them, they and their young charges stood and bowed slightly to Monson, because Gabe knew it sure wasn’t to him. The girls were all dressed in similar navy blue or brown dresses and reminded him of reruns of Little House on the Prairie. All had long hair pulled straight back from their faces with black cords similar to the one around Monson’s forehead.
“Please, return to your games,” Monson intoned with a single sweep of his right arm. The girls, without a grin or giggle, settled back to their tasks.
Games? Gabe thought. Right away he spotted the girl Marian Bell had been so riled up about. She did resemble Amanda Bell, but, this close, he noticed differences right away. Lorna Rogers was shorter and had not one freckle, while the Bell girl’s nose and cheeks were dusted with them. Still, driven by his need to turn over every rock, he approached the child and the others with her.
“Is that weaving hard to do, Lorna?” he asked.
Her eyes widened as she looked up. She stared at his uniform, especially his badge.
“No, sir,” she replied quietly, still not looking him in the eyes. “It’s lots of fun, and I want to make more baskets for the walnuts too.”
Aside from her distinct freckles, Amanda Bell had green eyes and an obvious lisp. This girl had neither. Gabe nodded and stepped back, realizing Monson had sidled over to hear what was being said. Did everyone whisper around here?
“Thank you for your time and patience,” he told Monson as he started out of the room. “Sorry to have bothered you and the maidens.”
“I’ll see you clear out,” Monson said, and Gabe noted the double meaning of that.
At least he’d learned some things today. Lee and Grace Lockwood were crazier than he thought for coming here to live, letting their boy and girl be part of this. And though Lorna was not Amanda, he definitely didn’t trust Brice Monson.
* * *
Tess drove around Lake Azure, where the Lockwoods used to picnic and play as kids, when they were a family. The wildness of it seemed tamed now with manicured lawns and earth-hued condos set back in landscaped plantings of trees and late-flowering foliage. None of the residences looked the same, some two-story, some ranch, some A-frame. Part of the lake was cordoned off for swimming and paddleboats. Canoes were pulled up on two man-made sand beaches edging the green water. A large, two-story lodge stood at the center of it all. This was a Cold Creek community?
Feeling she didn’t belong there, she drove back into town. She’d already wandered along the new part of Main Street, reading the handwritten menu on the Little Italy Restaurant sign, peeking in Miss Marple’s Tearoom and the Lion’s Head Pub. She’d gone inside the pub because she could see a bulletin board, where she put up one of her posters. That board was a twin to the dartboard that was just inside the door.
“Want a pint or a shandy, luv?” came a very British male voice from inside. “Fish-and-chips be ready straightaway!”
That all sounded good, but she made an excuse and went back outside. No one recognized her at the fire department. The dispatcher was alone since it was all volunteer, but he said the only postings allowed were for duty shifts and schedules. She knew she’d be allowed to put a poster up at the sheriff’s office, so she headed next door. Despite the fact that it wasn’t in the same place and, no doubt, had different people from those who had staffed it years before, her feet began to drag.