Beyond the Roses

by Mary Cantell

  “Yes, sir, it’s mine,” Kyle said.

  “Were you out last night cruising—or something—in your car?”

  “No, sir, I wasn’t.”

  “Can you prove that?”

  “Yes, sir, I can.”

  The detective cocked his head. “How’s that, son?”

  “Got a dead battery, sir. I haven’t driven her in over a week.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “Now what?” Lissa questioned the detective after leaving the house. Totally crushed, she felt the blunt force of hitting a stone wall at the boy’s statement.

  “We don’t give up, that’s what. Between Crimestoppers, the Amber Alert, and multiple police districts involved, we’ll find your daughter, Ms. Logan.”

  “Do you believe him?” she asked.

  “The kid?” He turned to glance back at the house. “Yeah, I do. I mean he’s rough around the edges, but that clunker of a car looks like it could barely run itself into the ground.” The detective reached for his ringing phone.

  Brian pulled Lissa into his arms. “It’s you who needs to believe right now.” Brian’s blue eyes softened. They held a measure of love and sympathy that made her want to cry. “We’ll find her, Liss.” He held her until the detective got off the phone.

  In a moment of clarity, the haunting image of the SUV from back in the summer came to her.

  “Wait,” she began, excitedly. Brian let go of her, and she turned to face the detective. “There’s something I forgot—” She paused. “It probably wasn’t anything, really. But a while back we were tailed by someone on the road.”

  “You and your daughter?” Detective Hastings asked, reaching for his notebook.

  She nodded. “A white SUV.”

  “You sure about that, Liss?” Brian questioned, his brow furrowing.

  “Positive,” she said with a nod.

  The detective kept his gaze on Lissa. “I’m listening,” he said intently.

  “We were driving back from Lacy’s school. All through the city on the way home it followed right behind; that is, until I pulled up to a police station. Then it hightailed out of there.”

  “Was it a man or woman at the wheel?” he asked.

  Lissa shook her head. “I don’t know for sure. I couldn’t tell.”

  Brian’s face closed in. “You never told me about that,” he said.

  She shrugged. “I didn’t want to burden you with my problems.” I didn’t want to scare you away.

  The detective wrote something down in his notebook. “Anything else?”

  Lissa looked first at Brian and then back to the detective. “I already told the first responding officer everything I could think of…I thought that info would be related to the Peeping Tom…and the neighbor. You don’t think any of this is related, do you?”

  “Every town has a Peeping Tom,” said the detective. “I’m not sure what we can do about them unless they’re caught in the act.” He paused. “Now what about the neighbor?”

  “Just a guy who lives in the neighborhood. He was outside my window one day. I’m sure he’s fine.” She rolled her eyes. “I was just being paranoid.” She paused. “And we had a break-in, too. Back in the early summer…nothing stolen or anything.”

  The detective continued writing. “Nothing was stolen, you say?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing I’m aware of.” She paused. “But I reported it to the police just the same.”

  “Okay, so back to the neighbor. What’s the name?”

  “Mike. Mike Hemstead.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Well, it’s just a hunch, and it’s probably nothing, just odd.”

  “And?” the detective interjected.

  “He was outside my window working one day during the summer.”

  “This is odd…how?” he asked.

  “He said he was working on the air conditioning, but, oh, well, it’s probably nothing.”

  “No, no, go on,” he said impatiently.

  “Well, his tool belt—”

  “Tool belt? What about it, Ms. Logan?”

  “It was brand new.” She paused. “If a maintenance worker has been around, wouldn’t his tool belt look—well…wouldn’t it be worn?”

  The detective stared into the distance as though in a trance. He closed his notebook and said, “You may have something there, Ms. Logan. I’m impressed.”

  Don’t flatter me, sir. Please just find my daughter.

  The crisp, November air whisked through the trees, scattering leaves carelessly across the streets and sidewalks. November was always dreary. Her mother went home to be with the Lord last year at this time, and it was the first month of the fall season where the weather often turned bleak. She hated November and wished the calendar skipped from October to the New Year. January was bleak, too. But, at least, the days were longer and springtime on the horizon. What good can come in November? She knew of too many instances where these kinds of situations turned out for the worst. Whether in true-to-life stories or movies, the happy ending wasn’t always within reach. Sometimes, evil in this world happened and, sadly, the innocent suffered. She wanted to shuck the thoughts from her mind, hoping they would scatter away like crisp leaves in the wind.

  Lissa glanced back at the house hoping for a sign they’d been right all along, and Rob Hellinger’s nephew was indeed culpable in Lacy’s disappearance. She searched the windows to see if someone inside possibly had regrets about their story and stood staring out with guilt in their eyes. The windows remained closed, the shades drawn. Like blind eyes.

  Who else could it have been? Her thoughts raced. Though, oddly, her emotions remained calm. There were no tears. Not like last night where they flowed for hours. From somewhere deep inside, a quiet peace came over her. God doesn’t give anything we can’t handle, she knew. She prayed silently that God would ordain her next steps.

  “Okay, well, it looks like we’ve got another lead,” the detective said, putting his phone back in his breast pocket. “I’m going to drop you off back at your house, Ms. Logan, ’cause I have a full day. But I’ll be in touch, so stay close to your phone.”

  “What kind of lead?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure right now. That’s what I have to go find out.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Woodward’s department store hummed with afternoon shoppers. New Thanksgiving displays replaced old Halloween decorations and featured “hot ticket” signs on the backs of paper turkeys at strategic eye-level spots all over the store. Sales associate Jennifer Duncan in the Junior’s department busily rang up a short queue of customers as Bill Cummings from security made his rounds. In between customers, he caught her eye, giving her a subtle nod that everything was under control in the area. Normally, he made his rounds unannounced, slipping through the aisles of display racks without much fanfare. Dressed in street clothes, no one was the wiser of his security detail: a detective exclusively hired to spot pilferers. With the extra customers in the store, his radar was primed.

  Women, young and old, stepped into and out of the dressing rooms. The pattern seemed pretty routine for the first hour on duty until something caught his eye. A slim, petite brunette walked into the dressing room with a white scoop neck top underneath a denim jacket. She carried a stack of items on hangers in with her; however, on her return, it appeared the top she now wore looked different to him. A yellow top appeared from under a denim jacket and her torn jeans looked much tighter than before. The detective kept an eye on her while she lingered, casually exploring the department, and fondling the merchandise. She ambled across the wide marble floor toward the lingerie department and paused at the display where slips, bras, and assorted silky items in pastel colors were marked down to half-price. When the young girl maneuvered around the table, the detective caught sight of something underneath her denim jacket. A dangling price tag.

  “Excuse me, miss. Just wondering if you were going to pay for those items you have there.”

/>   The girl innocently looked up at him. With a dumbfounded expression she said, “These?” She held up a pair of leopard-print underwear. “Oh, I’m just looking today.”

  Detective Cummings said, “How about the clothes underneath your jacket? Are you just looking at those, too?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “That’s my brother,” Officer Dwayne McCall said with astonishment when he scanned the accident in the log. The report included emergency response from neighboring Carroll and Washington counties, and a medical helicopter was called to the scene. He remembered it well. The sight of the crumpled hunk of metal that was once a vehicle turned his stomach upside down. “When did this come in, Rachel?”

  “Not long ago. Sometime late last night,” the secretary said. “Why?”

  Officer McCall didn’t have time to respond and was out of the building and on the phone in his patrol car within seconds. There was only one hospital he knew with a landing pad. A call to the hospital’s main desk confirmed his younger brother had been admitted last night and was in room 402. By the seventh unanswered ring to his private phone, he disconnected and called the hospital back to request the nurse’s station to inquire about his brother. The nurse on duty told him he’d been called down to x-ray. “He’ll need some clothes,” she added. “It would be helpful if someone brought some along with other essentials, if possible, to the hospital.”

  “Oh, sure. I’ll swing by his place,” Dwayne replied, grateful that his brother was still alive. “I’ll bring everything he needs.”

  “How’s it going?” fellow officer Gerry Seitz called out the window, pulling into the adjacent parking space.

  “Hey, Ger,” he said, pokerfaced.

  “You look like the world just fell on top of you. Y’all right?”

  “I just found out my brother was in a car accident.”

  “Too bad. Which accident?”

  “The one on I-340 last night.”

  “Heard about it. Pretty bad. Was it a full moon or something? Heard the highway was shut down for hours.”

  “Yep.”

  “So how’s he doing?”

  “He’s alive.” He gave a weak smile. “That’s about all I know. I’m going to his apartment now to get some of his things.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Gerry said. “I’m done for the day and my wife is away. Got nothing better to do.”

  ****

  The one-bedroom apartment sat amid a cluster of garden-style buildings nestled by a grove of shade trees on Queen’s Chapel road. The last time he’d been here was the day he helped Don move in, close to a decade ago. Don insisted on giving him a key—just in case. Dwayne thought he didn’t need to be a guardian to Don, not anymore. He’d been needy as a child, being smaller than most of the kids his age, and Dwayne often stood up for him when the occasional bully threatened him. They’d always been close and even more so after their parents passed away. When the opportunity came along for Don to get his own place to live, Dwayne was genuinely happy his little brother had the fortitude to step out on his own.

  When he pulled up to the curb, an elderly woman standing on the sidewalk seemed alarmed at their presence.

  “Anything the matter, officers?” she inquired, bearing a worried frown.

  Dwayne tipped his hat to her and answered, “No, no, ma’am, we’re just here on a friendly visit is all.” He gave her his best smile, hoping to allay her fears.

  Inside the quiet interior of the tiny vestibule, they stopped in front of the row of mailboxes where his brother’s name was etched in handwritten ink at the top of A-2. They took the short set of stairs down to the lower floor with two gray doors and two more on each side of the hall. He searched for the key. A trace of latex paint hung in the air.

  The bare bones apartment spoke to the practicality of bachelorhood. Leather chair. Television. Dining table. Dwayne went to Don’s bedroom while Gerry waited in the living room. Upon opening the dresser, he found two pairs of jeans and several cotton pullovers and T-shirts. He gathered them along with several pairs of socks and all his underwear. Who knew how long he would be away from home. On top of the wood bureau among the clutter sat his asthma medication and an inhaler. Dwayne placed everything into a leftover grocery bag he found stashed in the lower cupboard of the kitchen.

  On the way out, he noticed some papers strewn haphazardly on the dining room table along with some photos of nature scenes. He picked up one of them. In the corner of the room sat a folded-up tripod and a long-range telescope.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  When Dwayne McCall stepped off the fourth-floor elevator of the Holy Cross Hospital, he braced himself. He didn’t have a fear of blood or guts, but the unease filling him as he moved down the hall was palpable. In the overly bright fluorescent lights, patients were wheeled up and down the hallway on stretchers. The hospital personnel wore their best smiles when they passed. Whether it was the uniform or just their work ethic, he didn’t know, but whenever he wore the blue, he felt more respected than any other time. He politely nodded on his way through the corridor, not knowing whether the patients were on their death beds or just in for maintenance repairs. Most of the injuries he witnessed as part of his job didn’t affect him emotionally, but this time, a sick feeling formed in his stomach on the way to his brother’s room.

  “You doing all right, Mr. McCall?” the nurse asked and reached for the cord to draw the privacy curtain around his bed.

  “Sore as a beat-up hound dog.” His words came out slow and scratchy.

  Dwayne didn’t know how bad his brother’s injury was, but judging by the damage to the vehicles, it was a miracle he was alive. The semi-private room held another patient dozing in the two-bed suite. A game show blared from the TV anchored in the ceiling.

  The nurse pulled back the curtain surrounding his brother’s bed and looked up to see Dwayne standing at the threshold. “Good morning, Officer,” she said with a smile and beckoned him inside. “You have a visitor,” she told Don and swiftly turned to leave.

  “Hey,” Dwayne said as he shuffled toward the bed. “Sorry about the accident, man.”

  Don spoke in a hoarse voice. “Yeah, nothing like getting up close and personal with a semi-tractor trailer.”

  “I’m sure.” He chuckled. “You’re lucky there were three cars in front of you. Can’t say the same for some of them. At least two fatalities.”

  Don grunted and shook his head.

  “I went to your place and got some clothes.” He held up the bag of personal effects he picked up from Don’s apartment. “Got your asthma medicine, too.”

  “Thanks, man. Just put it over there on the bureau. Did you bring the inhaler?”

  “Yeah, it’s all here, I think.” He inspected the bag and, moments later, frowned. “Crap, where’s the inhaler? Sorry, I thought I picked it up. I’ll go back for it.”

  “Thanks, I’d appreciate it.”

  Dwayne studied the traction set-up where Don’s leg hung motionless. He figured there was severe trauma to his body but was hesitant to inquire just how injurious the accident had been. The shock of seeing him in this condition rendered him dumb for the moment. Compared to his brother, he got the good end of the deal—house, wife, twin boys. Now poor Don got a raw deal—again. He eyed the elaborate mechanism of straps and pulleys and wondered if his brother would ever walk again.

  The doctor came into the room and walked to his bedside. “I’m Doctor Hodgeson. Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble I see,” he said with a doctor’s professional half-grin, attempting to lighten the situation. He glanced at Dwayne.

  “Doctor,” Dwayne nodded and extended his hand. “I’m his brother.”

  The doctor shook it and then plopped his hands on the railing around the bed. “You’ve been banged up pretty good there, Mr. McCall,” he said and turned back to Dwayne as if speaking to him as well. “But you’re going to be all right.”

  A wave of relief shot through Dwayne. “That�
�s great news, doctor.”

  “Glad to hear it, Doc,” Don echoed.

  “But how long will he be in—in this condition?” Dwayne asked.

  “In traction? Well, it’ll be some time before we move him out of here. In some cases, the spinal compression fractures he’s endured may end up being permanent injuries, but we’re on a wait-and-see period before the final assessment. Then he’ll be able to tell us himself whether he’s got either weakness or complete numbness in his lower back.” The doctor studied the report. “It’s the L-3 and L-4 that I’m concerned with; otherwise, he’s just got a broken leg and some minor bruises that will heal one-hundred percent, I’m certain.” He tapped his pen on the paperwork.

  “Then rehab?” Dwayne asked.

  The doctor nodded. “Rehab is a given, yes. But I’m confident he’ll do well.”

  Dr. Hodgeson made a few notes on the chart and turned to leave.

  “Thanks, Doctor,” said Dwayne.

  “Thank you,” the doctor replied with a knowing look.

  Dwayne knew the look. The doctor left the room and Dwayne focused on Don. Even more pressing than his brother’s physical condition, there was something else on his mind he needed to discuss with him. He knew this wasn’t the best place or the perfect time to discuss family business, but the concern he bore for his brother weighed more than convenience.

  Dwayne picked up the TV remote and turned the sound to mute. “I hope you don’t mind, Donny, I just want to talk for a moment. A lull came over the room, and Dwayne bit his lip before speaking. “You up for talking?”

  “Sure, I’m sore, but I can still talk. What’s on your mind?”

  Dwayne paused and gathered his courage. “The telescope I saw at your apartment…you know, when I was over there this morning getting your stuff.”

  His mind floated back to the dining room table where pictures lay. “Does it still work?”