by Nancy Mehl
“I’m so sorry.” I moved closer and took his hand. “Surely you realize most churches don’t act like that. My family went to church for years, and they never treated anyone so . . . so shamefully.”
He squeezed my hand. “The service here was great. Full of love and joy. As I sat there listening to Jonathon, I realized my attitudes about life were colored by that one terrible experience. Everything has been tainted by it. And it was a mistake. Our lives are more than one or two bad incidents.”
Too choked up to speak, I just nodded.
“A couple of years later, my mother found another church. She kept asking me to go with her, but I wouldn’t. I was angry at religion and angry with her for getting sucked back in. But the person I was the angriest with was God.”
“What those people did had nothing to do with God.”
“I know. But I was trapped by my rage. Couldn’t open my heart to Him or to any Christian, even after my mother found the right kind of church—one where people loved her, accepted her, and treated her like true family.”
“Does she still go there?”
“Yes. Going on twelve years now.” He smiled. “After we get back, I’ll take some time off and visit her. I think it’s time we went to church together.”
I smiled at him. “I’m sure that will make her very happy.”
“I should have done it years ago. I’ve lost valuable time with my mother because I couldn’t move past that terrible incident.”
“Are you trying to tell me I’m doing the same thing?”
“Your treatment of your father revolves around what happened to your brother, doesn’t it? Everything is tied to Ryan’s abduction.”
“My father drank before Ryan disappeared.”
“True, but he was under incredible pressure. In time, I think your family could have recovered. But when Ryan was taken, it all spiraled out of control. There was no going back. No chance to start again.”
I squeezed his hand one more time and then let it go. “I hear what you’re saying, but I need some time.”
“I know. It will take a while. But do it with your father. The two of you will get better faster if you have each other. It’s what I should have done with my mother.”
“Zac, one thing terrifies me.”
“What’s that?”
“At some point Mom will have to be told the truth. About me. About Ryan.”
“You can face that later. Just concentrate on what’s happening now. Not what might happen later. When the time comes, if you and your father can present a united front, you can both help her through it.”
I started to tell him I wasn’t sure my mother would listen to anything my father said, when the front door opened and Reuben came in. His expression was grim.
“It was definitely August?” I asked.
He nodded. “Someone bashed his head in.”
I heard Zac’s quick intake of breath. “He was murdered?”
“Yes. Someone killed him and left his body near the road outside of town. We know he packed at least one suitcase, but it wasn’t there. Who in the world would kill someone for a bunch of stuff that wasn’t worth anything? It’s crazy.” He shook his head. “Things like this aren’t supposed to happen in Sanctuary.”
“I’m sorry, Reuben,” I said. “I know August was your friend.”
He sank down in a chair across from us. “We weren’t really all that close. August was hard to get to know, but he was one of us. That makes it tough.”
“Have you talked to Rae?”
“Yeah, she was at the restaurant. As you can imagine, she’s very upset.”
“So what happens now?” I asked.
He sighed. “Well, we called the sheriff. He and his deputies are out there now securing the area.” He offered me a weak smile. “You may have another excuse to stay in Sanctuary. No one is supposed to leave town right now.”
Zac and I exchanged looks. “I still want to go to Nathan’s brother’s house. Will we be able to do that?”
“I don’t know. Let me talk to my deputy sheriff friend, Paul Gleason.”
“Thanks. I’m praying Elijah’s really at his uncle’s.”
“And if he is?” Zac said. “What will you do?”
“We’ll turn around and come back. Until we have more answers, I don’t want to make them suspicious.”
Reuben scanned the room. “Where’s your dad?”
I explained to him about the call from Zac’s friend and my father’s decision to go to Jamesport. I was glad he’d left before the sheriff shut down the roads out of town.
“Okay. I’ll talk to Paul. Find out when we can get out of here. I promised Rae I’d take her over to the church to see Jonathon. We need to plan a service for August as soon as they release his body. He didn’t have any family, so we’re it.”
I nodded. “Fine. I’ve got to call Ed . . . again.” An idea popped into my head. “If I tell him we’re near Sanctuary and there’s been a murder, he may actually tell me to check it out.”
“You take care of that, and I’ll come back when I have more information. If Paul says we can’t leave, there’s nothing I can do about it, Wynter.”
“Please try to convince him. We can’t let the Fishers get away.”
“I understand.” He reached over and grabbed my hand. “I’ll do my best. I promise.”
He left just as Esther returned. She came in the door, her usual smile missing.
“Are you all right?” Zac asked.
She nodded. “Losing a friend is sad.”
“I didn’t know you and August were close,” I said.
She went over to the chair where Reuben had been just moments before and sat down. “When August came here, years ago, he’d been through a bad divorce. He loved his wife, but she found another man. August’s heart was broken. Randi knew him from a restaurant in Festus. She was just getting ready to open her café and still didn’t have a cook. She offered him the job, and he accepted. August liked to keep to himself, but he was still part of our community. He came to our church dinners and took part in other social activities—always alone.
“Then he and Rae found each other. Rae’s personality made up for his quiet spirit. I think August felt complete around her because she allowed him to be himself. She did the socializing, and he enjoyed the benefits without having to say much. It was a perfect match.” Esther smiled sadly. “Rae will miss him. More than most people could understand.”
“Janet was really upset.”
Esther sighed. “I think Janet and August were kindred spirits. Both of them kept to themselves, and they shared painful pasts.” She stood up. “Have you had lunch?”
I shook my head.
“I’ll prepare something.”
“Let me help,” I said.
“Thank you, Wynter, but if you don’t mind, I need a little time alone in my kitchen to pray. I hope you understand.”
“Yes, of course.”
Zac and I were silent until she was out of sight.
“So do you still think August was stalking you?” Zac asked.
I sighed deeply. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m missing something. Like there’s a common thread that links everything together, but I just can’t find it.”
“Is August’s death part of the pattern?”
I studied him. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
“Well, the timing is certainly odd.”
“If August was the one who sent me those newspaper clippings, and now he’s dead—”
“Maybe those clippings are more important than we realize. Could they be connected somehow?”
I stared at him for a moment. “It’s possible,” I said slowly, my mind trying to sort through all the information from the past several days. “After lunch I’m going through those articles again. Could be I missed something important.”
Zac nodded. “Might be a good idea.”
I noticed how tired he looked. “Are you sure you’re doing okay? Do you
need to rest awhile?”
“I think I do,” he said, sounding reluctant. “I feel like such a wimp.”
“You have nothing to feel bad about. I’m just happy you’re getting stronger.”
“Me too.”
Esther called us and we went into the dining room for lunch. After we’d eaten, I followed Zac up the stairs to his room.
“Take it easy,” I told him as he sat down on his bed. “You’ll be back to your ornery self anytime now.”
He snorted. “Trust me. I’m too afraid to stay sick. If Esther comes after me with that nasty stuff again, I’ll jump out the window.”
“Well, the front porch roof is only a few feet below us. The worst damage you can do is to cause yourself a lot of embarrassment.”
“Anything’s better than Esther’s remedy for food poisoning.”
“Poor baby.”
He smiled wryly at me. “I detect a note of sarcasm in your tone.”
“Oh? I’m sorry. I meant that comment to be dripping with it.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Have you considered leaving the news behind and going into comedy?”
“Maybe tomorrow. I need time to work on my routine.” I smiled at him. “You get some sleep. I’ll check on you before dinner.”
“If Reuben gets permission for you to leave town, let me know before you go, okay?”
“I will.”
I closed the door and went to my own room. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how the kidnapping of babies in Missouri could be connected to the abduction of a young boy in Illinois, but I had to take a look. Someone in Sanctuary sent those clippings because they felt they were important. Was it just a coincidence, or was something more going on?
I closed my door and went to the drawer where I’d put the envelope.
It wasn’t there.
Chapter
Seventeen
I stood staring into my drawer for a while. Frankly, I couldn’t believe my eyes. First the fudge. Now the newspaper articles. Hoping Zac had taken the envelope, I went back to his room. Unfortunately, he had no idea where it was.
Hurrying back to my room, I turned on my laptop. It didn’t take me long to find the original stories. In the last seven years there had been eight abductions from Missouri hospitals, the last one occurring a little over three years ago. In six of the cases, no one noticed anybody taking the baby. In one instance, a witness saw a woman near the nursery with a large bag. Police wondered if it was used to carry the baby out of the hospital. In another abduction, a new mother noticed a nurse come into the nursery and wheel a baby out, but she wasn’t sure which baby was removed. She assumed the nurse was taking the baby to its mother. Surveillance cameras didn’t help much. Many people came in and out of the nurseries, but no one appeared suspicious. And cameras near the entrances and exits just showed people carrying suitcases and bags in and out, making it impossible to tell if anyone was hiding a baby.
I sat back and pondered the information. How could seven babies be whisked away from different hospitals without anyone realizing something was wrong? Surely it wasn’t that easy. Although I read each story carefully, I couldn’t see any connection to my brother’s kidnapping. I took the note my father had given me out of my pocket and read it again.
Your son is alive and your daughter is in terrible danger. There’s no time to lose.
It was handwritten and nondescript except for the first letter t on the words terrible, There’s, time, and to. The top line was extra long, drawn out almost to the end of the word. But unless we could match the handwriting to someone, it wouldn’t help us. It was possible police could take fingerprints from the note or the envelope. Of course, that would mean calling them in, and we weren’t ready to do that yet.
I slapped the note down in frustration. Our entire case seemed to be hiding in the shadows. Shadowy clues that didn’t make sense. Incidents that seemed ominous. But trying to drag them into the light wasn’t working. We had no solid leads. No real evidence.
I looked at the envelope the note had come in. It had been mailed to my father a week before Zac and I arrived in Sanctuary. Whoever sent it knew we were coming. A new and frightening thought popped into my head, making it hard to catch my breath.
A sudden knock on the door startled me. I got up and opened it. Reuben stood there.
“We’ve been given permission to leave town, as long as we return by this evening,” he said.
“Great.” I motioned him inside and shut the door. “Reuben, whoever sent this note to my dad mailed it about a week before we got here.”
He frowned. “You contacted Martha two weeks before you left St. Louis. She obviously spread the word all over town.”
“But, Reuben, how would this person know about my dad? To find him they’d not only have to know about my past, they’d also have to know my real name. I’ve gone to great lengths to hide it. How could anyone in Sanctuary have that kind of information?”
The stunned look on his face revealed his understanding of the implications. “You’re right.”
“Unless the weird things that have been happening aren’t about Sanctuary at all. They’re about me—and my brother.”
He stared at the letter in my hand. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
I sighed heavily. “But that’s all we have. Unsubstantiated conclusions. I think we need to focus on Elijah. He may be the key to everything.”
Reuben shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Look, I know you love this town, but you have to face the facts. Something’s not right here.”
“Do you think Ryan’s kidnapper lives in Sanctuary?”
“I’m beginning to wonder about that. But who sent me those clippings? The kidnapper wouldn’t do it. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself.” I rubbed my forehead. “And how are those kidnappings connected to Ryan?”
“Look, although I can’t prove it, I’m certain Nathan and Anna Fisher had nothing to do with taking Ryan. They would never kidnap a child.”
“You might be right. From what Zac’s detective friend says, the Fishers were living in Jamesport when Ryan was taken. If that’s true, they couldn’t have done it. I have to wonder if they know who did, though.” I sighed. “Let’s get going. We’re just spinning our wheels. If Elijah is the key, we need to find out the truth about him.” I jumped up, grabbed the letter, and slid it back into the envelope. “We’re taking this with us.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not letting it out of my sight. The clippings are gone.”
Reuben’s mouth dropped open. “Gone, as in someone took them?”
“I’m sure I put them in the dresser drawer. When I came upstairs to my room, they were missing.” I picked up a light jacket, since a quick look out the window showed more clouds moving in. Springtime in Missouri was volatile, to say the least.
“If Elijah’s not at his uncle’s—”
“We’ll have a talk with your friend Paul.” I put my hand on his arm. “I don’t want to put anyone at risk, Reuben. A man’s dead. It might not have anything to do with what’s going on, but if it does and we don’t say anything . . .”
“I know, and I agree.” Reuben put his hand over mine. “We’ll find the truth, Wynter. I want you to know you’re not alone.”
“I do know that. You and Zac have been so helpful. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Zac is a good friend,” he said, his voice husky. “But I hope I’m becoming more than a friend.”
“I know chasing after my brother hasn’t given us time to explore our feelings. I’m sorry.”
He put his finger on my lips. “Don’t apologize. Your commitment to your brother is one of the things I love about you.” He took his finger from my lips and gently brushed away a strand of hair that had escaped from my braid. “Please don’t push me away, Wynter. No matter what happens. I know you’ve been hurt.”
“I’m trying, Reuben. I really am.”
; He took my hand off his arm and kissed my fingers. “Good. Now, Samuel’s farm isn’t far away, but we should get on the road. Depending on what we find, we might want to spend a little time there.”
I nodded. “Let’s go.”
I stopped by Zac’s room. He was sound asleep. We told Esther we were leaving and headed out of town. Reuben’s truck was nicer inside than I’d expected. When we got out on the main road, the storm Dad had been concerned about hit us with its full force. I was grateful we hadn’t taken my little Prius. Reuben’s huge vehicle was up to the challenge of heavy rain and gusty winds.
We didn’t talk much on the way to Samuel’s house. Trying to be heard above the sound of the rain, the wind, and the windshield wipers seemed to take too much effort. I appreciated having time to think about what might happen at Samuel Fisher’s house. If Elijah was there, the plan was to leave. We’d know where he was and that his parents weren’t trying to hide him. If he wasn’t there, we’d contact Paul Gleason, tell him our story, and ask for his help.
Gradually, over the sound of the rain, another noise grew in intensity. I checked the side mirror and saw a truck coming toward us faster than anyone should be driving in these kinds of conditions.
“That guy’s going too fast,” I said loudly, trying to be heard above the noise. “You’d better slow down or pull over.”
Reuben glanced in his rearview mirror. “Some people shouldn’t be allowed to drive.” He let up on the gas pedal, rolled down his window, and motioned for the other driver to pass. But instead of going around us, he drew up closer. Reuben motioned once again, his arm getting soaked by rain. No response. He pulled his arm inside and closed the window. “What’s wrong with this guy?”
Without any warning, the truck rammed us.
“Hold on,” Reuben yelled.
I looked over toward the side of the road. After a line of trees, the ground dropped sharply. Missouri was full of hills, and we were driving next to a dangerous slope. Before I could warn Reuben, the black truck pulled up next to us, sideswiping us. I tried to see the driver, but the windows were tinted, and I couldn’t see inside the cab.
