by Lyn Cote
The front door to Sylvie’s shop beckoned him. But now that he was here, he hesitated. Getting out of his vehicle, he reminded himself not to make the mistake of repeating a kiss or his ill-fated proposal.
He let himself into the brightly lit and inviting store. And there was Sylvie at her desk. She looked up at him and smiled with her whole face.
“I didn’t expect you to come so soon,” she said.
“The sheriff called my boss and he sent me back.” He had taken her hand and held it, unwilling to release her.
Something warm and wonderful expanded inside Sylvie. As she gazed into Ridge’s eyes, she saw so much there meant for her and she read every line. Feeling the intensity between them, she slipped her hand from his and looked away. “Did the sheriff tell you that Tanya confessed to killing Ginger by accident?”
“Yes, but he also said that she was out of her mind on drugs.” Ridge took another step toward her. “And you were right. They did find drugs in her room. Especially hallucinogenics. In particular LSD.” He couldn’t seem to stem the flow of words. “The hospital psychiatrist says that she is having frequent flashbacks from bad trips.”
Recalling the scene with Tanya, Sylvie gripped the arms of her chair. “Yes, that’s what Keir told me, too. But I was there. I visited her and I don’t think we can dismiss her confession as unreliable as a result of her drug use. There may be some truth in her words.”
Sylvie looked troubled. Hoping to make her feel better, he offered, “That’s because you haven’t confronted as many drug abusers as I have. They begin to lose touch with reality.”
Rising, Sylvie took a step back from him. She wouldn’t let him dismiss her opinion. “But why would Tanya say she’d killed Ginger by accident when she hadn’t? Why would she run away? She was severely malnourished and suffered some frostbite. Something serious is going on with that girl and it’s not just drugs. I feel it.”
He pursued her. “Sylvie, we get false confessions all the time. And with someone like Tanya, who’s been using hallucinogenics, the line between reality and drug-induced memories becomes blurred. She’s not responsible for what she says. Or culpable.”
She didn’t give ground literally and figuratively. “I’m sorry, but I can’t agree. I think Tanya knows something about Ginger’s murder. There isn’t any other reason for her to bring it up.”
Her sweet fragrance drifted to him. She was standing so close. “Well, I’m going to talk to her myself tomorrow,” he conceded.
“Good.” She abruptly turned away from him.
Why was she withdrawing from him? It goaded him. He nearly proposed to her a second time. He clenched his teeth.
Sylvie turned back to him, but slowly. For a long moment, she stared into his eyes. She wished she had the courage to bring up his refused proposal. She wanted to say to him, “I have loved you for a long time, Ridge.” But of course she couldn’t say that.
The wall clock ticked loudly in the quiet room. He didn’t know how long they stood there staring at each other. But then Sylvie brushed past him and headed to the small kitchen in the back.
As if they were connected by transparent fishing line, he followed her. “Sylvie…” he said, but then did not know how to go on. His heart seemed to be doing jumping jacks in his chest.
“I need to close up for the night,” she said over her shoulder. He followed her into the small kitchen.
She was emptying the basket of used coffee grounds into the garbage. He wanted to say something to her. Somehow he needed to say something to her. But he could not put the confusion inside him into words. Besides, if he proposed, she would probably take him lightly again.
She turned to face him. She saw before her a good-looking man, more importantly a man who looked intelligent and commanding. But she wouldn’t let him off the hook about his erstwhile proposal. “Ridge, how many women have you proposed to?”
Ridge froze in place. Why had she asked him that question? Had she read it in his face? Instantly the image of Ben’s mother flashed through his mind. But for the first time in forever, it didn’t taunt him. In fact, he only felt a sense of bittersweet loss. Sharon was dead. So what did it matter that she had married his best friend instead of him? It didn’t matter. Not anymore. But he recognized also that the hesitance he’d felt about assuming responsibility for Ben had been related to leftover regret about Sharon choosing Ben’s father over him. But no more.
Sylvie’s voice intruded on his thoughts. “When I was a girl, Ridge, I had a crush on you. But now I have fallen in love with you for real.”
Her honest words shocked him into replying, “If you love me, why didn’t you just say yes, then?”
“Because you haven’t realized yet or admitted why you proposed to me. And until you do, I will not say yes.” She turned away again and began to wipe the kitchen counter and generally straighten up the kitchen, politely dismissing him.
For several moments, he stared at her back. He was tempted to once again reach out and grip her shoulders and try to understand her. But he felt incompetent.
Without a word, he turned and walked away. Outside, he felt the spring breeze against his heated face. He got into his SUV and sped off to his parents’ house.
A few minutes later, Sylvie locked the door of her shop and then walked down the steps. She hadn’t bothered to zip up her coat or put on her hat. Her hip hurt her today. The weather was changing and it always affected her.
Her mind took her back through all the times Ridge had touched or kissed her. Had those been what had given her the courage to tell Ridge the truth about her feelings? His actions had spoken loudly and she had told him how she felt. Still, he was denying his feelings for her and there was nothing she could do about it. And she wouldn’t agree to any proposal from him until he was ready to be honest with both of them. Could she?
Or this might all be moot since he might not ask her to marry him again. This March could prove to be one of the worst months of her life. Her mood slid to the cold sidewalk. She stepped over it and walked on. Self-pity was not her style.
She crossed the street and walked down the side street toward the waterfront. The street was empty as usual. That would wonderfully change in another two months. This interminable winter would end. The crowds would come again and keep her too busy to mourn.
As she came abreast of the alley, she heard a man’s voice. “Ms. Patterson?”
She halted. “Yes?”
It happened so fast she didn’t have time to scream. A man whose face was hidden behind a snowmobiling mask lunged out from behind a short fir tree. He grabbed her. Pulled her behind the fir tree. He shoved a cloth in her face. It had a sickly sweet smell. Her knees weakened and blackness swallowed her.
TWELVE
Later, Ridge stared out of the bedroom window at his parents’ house. It was dark now and he saw only his own sorry reflection in the glass. He was restless. He felt as if he were on the brink of something, as though he were standing on tiptoe at the edge of a cliff.
His life in Madison had become predictable. But in Winfield nothing was predictable. This evening at the dinner table, both his mother and father had actually said a few words to him. And to each other.
But more upsetting, earlier he had purposely decided not to repeat his proposal to Sylvie but it had been a very difficult thing to do. He couldn’t get her words out of his head. I have fallen in love with you for real.
His cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Matthews.”
“Ridge, Sylvie hasn’t come home,” Milo said on the line. “Is she with you by some chance?”
Instantly alert, Ridge glanced at the bedside clock. “No, Milo, I left her at her store nearly two hours ago.”
“Then I’m calling the sheriff. I’ve called everyone and no one has seen her.”
Icy fear speared Ridge’s heart. “Milo—” But before he could say anything further, Milo hung up. Ridge snapped his phone shut. As if experiencing an ea
rthquake, he grabbed hold of the window sash. Sylvie, where are you?
Within the half hour, the sheriff entered the Matthewses’ kitchen. Ridge had not gone out on his own to look for Sylvie though that had been his first impulse. But his professional knowledge had clicked into place. He needed to coordinate any search with the sheriff in order to be effective. Now he faced Keir, dread pulsing, jabbing him with each heartbeat. His parents stood silently behind him. “What’s the plan?”
“I’ve issued an APB,” Keir replied, thin-lipped. “I’ve called in everyone. I’ve notified the local radio and TV station and they will be alerting everyone that Sylvie is missing. Milo is faxing Sylvie’s photograph to the TV station.” The sheriff paused, exhaling loudly. “I don’t think there’s any possibility that this isn’t related to Ginger’s death. Do you?”
Ridge didn’t bother to reply to this unnecessary question. “What can I do?”
“Follow me to headquarters.” Keir was already turning toward the door. “All my deputies are going to meet up there and we will figure out who’s going to be searching what area. And I have specific sites that I want to check for clues and to search.”
“Like Leahy’s place?” Ridge was snatching his coat off the peg by the door and shrugging it on.
Out of the blue, Ridge’s dad spoke up. “You’ve heard the weather reports? A storm is headed our way. They don’t know whether it will be rain or snow. Depends on the temp.”
“I’m aware of that.” Keir looked even grimmer. “Let’s get going.”
As Ridge turned to close the door behind him, his mother called after them, “Godspeed.”
Sylvie came awake slowly as if someone was very gradually drawing back a curtain to the morning light. But this couldn’t be morning, because there was no light. There was fabric over her eyes. And her wrists were bound together behind her. She was lying on a floor, a very cold floor. A musty smell of rotted wood filled her head and she moaned. Where was she?
“It’s about time you came around.” A man’s harsh voice came from above her. He sounded irritated. “I didn’t know how long the chloroform would knock you out. I must have left the rag on your face too long.”
She turned her head toward the voice. Then she remembered. This must be the man—the one who had grabbed her. Why am I here? She tried to speak, but her mouth was too dry. She made only a croaking sound.
“Here, drink this.” The man lifted her head and put a glass to her lips.
She didn’t want to drink anything from him. But she had no choice. He held the back of her neck tightly and the strength in his hands frightened her. She took a sip. He squeezed her neck, silently insisting that she drink more. She drank several more swallows. Nearly gagging.
“Okay, that’s enough. That should do it.”
Should do what?
March 26
The next morning, Ridge strode up the side of his parents’ drive on his way inside. The long, fruitless night weighed him down. The skyline was gray and heavy with snow clouds, reflecting his mood. Overnight, the wild wind had changed direction. The stormy Low front had been blocked as it moved eastward by a stronger High stalled over the state of Michigan. This had forced its powerful winds to remain swirling over and gathering moisture from both Lake Michigan and Lake Superior. The saturated front was sweeping down from the northeast.
This was the perfect situation to bring snow down on their heads. He watched the tops of the tall trees sway this way and then the other way, bending against the whirling wind. He felt as though he were a victim of the same kind of confusion, as well. Where was Sylvie?
Every deputy in Winfield County had been searching all night long for Sylvie. He had been out, riding with Trish Lawson, following every road in their quadrant and trekking into isolated snowbound hunting shacks. All around the perimeter of the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest that occupied the center of the county.
Minutes ago, Trish had dropped him off at his vehicle parked in front of the sheriff’s department. He’d come home to get some breakfast and change into dry shoes and his boots. Then he had an errand he had to do. No matter what the sheriff thought.
He opened the back door and walked into the kitchen and the fragrance of fresh-brewed coffee. His parents were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. His mother rose immediately and came to him. “Did they find her?”
He shook his head, rubbing one tired, twitching eye with the heel of his hand. “Not a sign of her. Deputies on loan from Ashland County are coming to take over the day shift and continue the search.”
His dad put his coffee mug down. “Did you feel that wind? That bad front has moved in.”
This was true on so many levels. Ridge nodded and sank down into the nearest chair, exhausted yet driven by his need to find Sylvie.
His mother went to the stove, dropped wheat bread into the toaster and quickly whipped up scrambled eggs for him. “When this snow starts, it will be the worst kind of lake-effect snow, wet and heavy.”
His father got up and poured Ridge a mug of coffee and brought it back to the table, setting it in front of his son. “I’ve seen snow like that bend trees to the ground and break power lines. This is going to be bad.”
Ridge clung to the warm mug of hot coffee. So many different feelings ricocheted in every direction within him, he tightened his self-control. “All that doesn’t matter. We have to find her. We will find her.” Ridge wondered if he was trying to convince his parents or himself.
Setting the plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of him, his mother commented, “You’re exhausted. You eat this and then maybe you can catch a few hours of sleep.”
Ridge forced himself not to shovel in the warm breakfast. He needed this food and hot coffee to revive him. “I’m not going to bed. After I finish breakfast, I’m going to talk to that Tanya Hendricks at the hospital.” That was his errand, the one the sheriff wouldn’t approve of.
“You mean Ollie’s granddaughter?” his mother asked.
Ridge nodded as he chewed buttered wheat toast. His eyes burned after hours and hours of searching, staring into darkness. “Sylvie spoke to Tanya yesterday. When I spoke to Sylvie late yesterday—” Right before I took off and left her defenseless. His gut twisted. “She told me that she had spoken to Tanya yesterday and that she thought the girl knew something about Ginger’s murder.”
“I heard that the girl confessed to killing Ginger accidentally. Do you think that might be true?” his dad asked.
“I don’t know.” Ridge took another long swallow of the hot brew. “But it is the lead I have to follow. And Sylvie said that the girl must have a reason for making a confession. And she’s right.” Why didn’t I listen to her? She was right. She was right about a lot of things. Her words came again and again. I have fallen in love with you for real.
His dad pushed up from his chair. “You eat breakfast, then. I’m going to put chains onto your tires. If you’re going to be driving around the county, you’ll need them. The weatherman is predicting the end of the world.”
Surprise rippled through Ridge again. His father hadn’t made a joke like that for a very long time. And especially at a stressful time like this.
His mother sat down in the chair adjacent to Ridge. She bowed her head. He realized that she was praying. He masked his reaction to this by taking in large mouthfuls of scrambled eggs. Whatever she is praying, Lord, double it. Please.He tightened his control again. He had much to do this day. With God’s help.
Sylvie tried to think. But she couldn’t. The thoughts in her mind fluttered around like lightning bugs, flickering in the pervasive darkness. His voice came again, louder and angrier. “Where was Ginger’s hiding place? Where did she hide things?”
“Ginger?” she whispered.
“Yes, where did your cousin hide things?”
“My cousin?” she whispered again. Her mouth was so dry and her head seemed to be floating away.
He slapped her. “I don’t want to hurt you.
I didn’t want to hurt your cousin. Now tell me. Where is her hiding place?”
Her cheek stinging, she tried to focus on his words. Ginger’s hiding place. Yes, she knew where Ginger’s hiding place was.
He shook her. “Tell me—”
Suddenly an old memory popped into place. She and Ginger, girls again, giggling and hiding love notes about boys in the…“In the ceiling. In the attic.”
“Which attic?”
Her mind couldn’t bring up the information he wanted…. “Attic?” she repeated.
He cursed. And then he slammed something against the floor and it broke right beside her head. She jumped. Was it wood? “Tell me!” he yelled. “Tell me! Or you’ve had it!”
Ridge strode down the hallway to the psych ward. At the glassed-in partition, he halted and said, “I’m Ridge Matthews.” He pulled out his state badge and showed it the nurse. “I’m here to see Tanya Hendricks.”
“I don’t know whether she can have visitors,” the nurse hedged.
“I’m not a visitor. I’m a law officer and I need to talk with her concerning a kidnapping and murder.”
“Our psychiatrist is on the floor,” she said, rising from her chair. “I’ll go get him.”
“You do that.” Ridge felt his patience slipping from his fingers.
The psychiatrist came to the window and after a few moments of discussion, he pressed the button to let Ridge in. “I want to be present as you question her,” the psychiatrist said. “She’s been quite agitated. And I don’t want to trigger any more flashbacks. Stress can often do that.”
“No problem. But I want you to understand that she may have information which will lead us to Sylvie Patterson. I don’t have time to waste.”
“That’s why I’m letting you in.” He nodded, gesturing toward her hallway. “I realize that time is of the essence. But Tanya’s grasp of reality is very tenuous at this moment. I must protect her, also, no matter what the court order said.”
“Got it.” Ridge followed the psychiatrist into Tanya’s room. The girl’s half-eaten breakfast sat on her bed table, which had been pushed to the side. She was pale and disheveled. And she was lying limply, staring vacantly at the ceiling.
