by Sarah Hualde
Joy bubbled inside Lydia as she welcomed each girl to the meeting. Incoming moms greeted each other with excited squeals of delight before delving into local gossip. Their chatter circulated on the discovery of a vacant car behind the movie theater.
Honey Pot’s dual-screened theater was showing Christmas classics, heartwarming flicks in one room and holiday disasters or horrors in the other.
The girls dealt out the details like cards. Rumor and truth mixed and married until the room was buzzing with curiosity flavored drama.
Noah Householder, shift leader of the cinema, found the deserted vehicle after closing. He called Gus, and the deputy quickly handled the strange situation.
“The car was dead. Noah thinks whoever was in the car is dead too. “
“I didn’t hear they found a body.”
“They didn’t.”
“Just blood.”
“I heard someone had been living in it. There were junk food wrappers everywhere.”
“And blood.”
“Not just blood. A bloody sleeping bag.”
“What else did they find?” Lydia’s words broke the banter, surprising even her. She intended on just listening. Once an adult spoke up, the rumor well ran dry. Fortunately for Lydia, this news was too mouthwatering to keep restrained. The girls bounced as they relayed the gossip.
“A nametag.”
“Yeah, some guy in Lewiston is missing his bling.”
The girls laughed and changed the subject. The tea continued without revisiting the theater. Flora poured tea and served treats as Lydia led the group in devotional thoughts.
Kat inventoried the gift baskets in the nursery, while she kept watch of the littlest guests. Eloise, Floras’ eldest, helped her oversee the rowdy crew.
All the personally selected baskets were accounted for, but the generic guest baskets were lacking. Kat counted them over again for the third time. Still, there was one missing.
Lydia reassured her that there would be plenty to pass out. Kat clicked her tongue and worried over another lost package. Each time an item went missing, Kat felt her sanity drift farther away. She could blame the pain meds, but she only took them right before bed.
Kat called over Sam and Jess to help her number the gifts again. They reluctantly left the movie to help their mother. Still, one basket was gone. Knots solidified in her stomach as she handed out the gifts, sure they would run short.
After dessert, Kat carted the bounteous load to the dining area. The grateful teens repeated thanks for their gifts. They shared the contents of their baskets with each other. The youngest mother of the group, a fifteen-year-old farm girl, giggled and gushed over her new leggings and her infant’s matching pair.
Lazy to leave, the teens discussed their plans for Christmas and their hopes for the New Year. Lydia and Flora listened to each wistful dream, while Kat stared off in fretful distraction. The hours passed swiftly.
With one final prayer and a hug, Flora said farewell to the last baby and its mother. Lydia wished them each a Merry Christmas. Once all the teens were gone, Kat sighed and plopped into the nearest seat. No momma left without a gift, much to Kat’s relief.
“You are way too serious.” Flora watched Kat prod the pressure points on her shoulders. “What have you been doing? There’s not a relaxed muscle in your neck.”
“Writing the Christmas script, that’s what I’ve been doing.”
“Hasn’t that already been done?” Lydia pulled up a chair and nibbled a left-over scone. “In the book of Luke, I believe?”
“Yes, thank you, Linus.” Kat scowled and crossed her arms. “I wanted this year to evoke more emotion. I want to move people. That and to allow more kids to speak in the pageant.”
Flora rubbed her healing hands in sanitizer and piled up dirty plates. “That’s nice.”
“Nice, but unnecessary. Don’t forget this is your family’s Christmas, too.” Kat huffed and stretched before joining the cleanup. Even her friends thought she was incapable of running a simple children’s play. She would prove to them she was as much of a servant as they were. Not that it’s a competition, she chided her inner thoughts. My friends are on my side, she chanted.
It was the rest of the congregation and the community she couldn’t stand letting down. Kat bit down on the bitter truth as she popped the last brownie chunk into her mouth and all three ladies returned to clean up duty.
✽✽✽
Lydia couldn’t keep her mind off of Ivy’s absence. She longed for the evidence Ethan would accidentally expose over his late-night calls with Gus, his deputy. Such a tiny town didn’t have a dangerous side, but crime was everywhere. Honey Pot had its mediocre waves from time to time. Lydia was certain; if Ethan were in town, he would have some nugget of information to calm Lydia’s worried heart.
Lydia disclosed no Pottersville news to her husband during their international emails. She didn’t want to bother him with the hometown mishaps, but the reports the teen moms had been repeating unsettled her.
A small fluttering of fear crept along Lydia’s spine. Images of her missing student wedged themselves into every thought. She needed to talk with Gus. And if she wanted Gus to answer her questions, Lydia needed to get baking.
Lydia’s cookies, though scrumptious, failed to persuade Deputy Gus to let go of any juicy information. Lydia would just have to investigate herself and hope that no one alerted Ethan. She hated to bother her friends, but she couldn’t do this alone.
✽✽✽
After dinner and after answering a lingering email from Ethan, Lydia sat in Kat’s minivan with a flashlight and a wooden walking stick. Flora, although, wrapped up in a blanket in the backseat, was ready for action. Lydia supplied the coffee, as usual, and explained her worries to her friends.
“Did you try calling Ivy’s stepfather?” Kat asked as they circled the police station for the third time. They were waiting out Deputy Gus. His rounds would start any minute. They needed him gone to get a deeper look at the Bug.
“It did not go well. And now, he won’t pick up the phone.” Lydia wiped the mouth fog from the passenger window and peered into the station window as the van cruised past. “He’s still there.” She reported on Gus.
“Nuts. We’ll make a wider circle this time.” Thirty minutes later, the deputy’s car grew smaller down the road. “We’re on.” Kat almost whooped and tossed the car into the parking lot. Unable to run, Kat was the getaway driver, which made Flora the lookout. She bundled up in her coat and shuddered in anticipation.
Lydia turned to her friends, “This won’t take long.”
“I’ll turn the car toward the road, for a faster escape. But then I’m shutting the lights off.”
“Gotcha.” Flora slid the van door closed. She and Lydia skulked to the Bug. Honey Pot had no impound lot or major lockdown area. Just a parking lot with a tiny gate. It was easy to negotiate. The only car in the lot was the hot pink Volkswagen.
“Keep watch.” Lydia shot her light on the back seat.
“The sleeping bag is missing,” Flora said.
“It’s probably bagged and in the office.” Lydia squinted, getting a better look at the interior of the car. Everything else rested where it was discovered.
Gus must have finished photographing. He had no reason to box each item. There was no evidence of anything too suspicious. Other than the blood on the sleeping bag, which didn’t amount to enough to constitute a death, everything else was just abandoned goods.
Kat backed in the driveway, watching the road. Her movements startled the searchers even though she’d warned them.
Flora quivered. She needed to use the bathroom. She blamed the cold, and the heightened tension of the moment.
“I can’t see,” Lydia whispered.
“Why not?” Flora shuffled over to her side.
“My flashlight beam keeps bouncing off the windows.” Lydia exhaled and put a steady hand on her pal’s shoulder. “I’m going to try the door.”
&nbs
p; “No!” Wide-eyed and panicked Flora nearly wet herself.
“Don’t worry. If it’s unlocked, we’re fine. We won’t touch anything.” Flora shuffled her feet. “I understand. If you don’t want to be a part of it, I get it. Just be a lookout.”
Lydia pulled out a pair of leather gloves and slipped them on. Flora’s big eyes grew even larger. She was unaware Lydia was this prepared. “Don’t worry. Everyone has gloves with them, in Pottersville, in December.” Flora remained skeptical. She gazed at her own knitted mittens. “It’s cold. It’s not premeditated.”
A security light on the station door flickered on. A cat shot past the back step, yowling as it rocketed past Flora’s feet. She yelped and fell back into the shadows. Now, she really needed the bathroom.
“Is Rachel on tonight?” She remembered the receptionist. Lydia shot a look toward the building.
“Her car’s not here.” She shrugged and turned back to the V.W. Flora turned away. She would not lie and did not want to cause a friend trouble. Especially with their spouse.
Metal scratched and scraped. The keening of the door squeaking open electrified Flora’s nerves. She focused on the street and the station building while hopping from foot to foot, struggling not to pee.
Kat jetted from the driveway, leaving the car lights off and disappeared. Flora saw distant high beams growing brighter and pointed at the parking lot.
“Hide,” Lydia shouted. Flora ran toward the building and hunkered between the trash can and recycle bin. Lydia, with nowhere else to go, slid into the backseat of the imprisoned car. She panted, knowing she had not made the wisest of choices. Lights glittered off the fogged windows and glistened on the beading condensation. For a moment, it appeared the lights were hunting her down. Lydia calmed her mind and listened.
Flora squatted. She was scared beyond belief. A door opened, a key chain jingled, and then the front doorknob rattled. Flora pictured Gus inside the station. She wondered whether Honey Pot city council had, finally, shelled out money for security cameras. Could Gus see the Bug on an inside monitor? Flora hushed to listen. The lights did not move.
Meanwhile, Lydia took advantage of her situation. She was in a muddle of trouble, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t make the most of it. Since she was already stuck inside the mystery car, contaminating evidence, she might as well have a look around.
Gus seemed powerless to help her find Ivy and Lydia was sure the girl was in distress. She had to do whatever she could to make sure Ivy was safe.
Using the police car headlights, Lydia examined the back seat. Candy wrappers, water bottles, old lottery tickets, and tissues littered the floorboards. Nothing too unusual. Peeking around the passenger bucket seat, she spied the sleeve of a leather jacket. She tugged on it with her gloved hand. Pulling it closer, she read the label. It was Joan’s old jacket. Fear knotted in Lydia’s belly. Even though her daughter was safely in Africa, with her father, seeing her jacket in a crime scene, in Pottersville, made the bile rise in her throat. She forced the feelings aside and dug through the jacket pockets. A thin plastic card slid out and onto the floor.
With a bang, the station door shut. Flora jumped, and Lydia smacked her head on the car door in panic. Lydia was found out, she knew it. She played with alibis in her mind and tried to figure out how to keep Flora from being discovered. No amazing ideas solidified as the bright headlights contracted and the squad car drove away. Lydia let out a breath, which clouded on the glass.
The passenger door jerked open, and Lydia screeched. Flora echoed the horrified howl. “You scared me,” she whispered.
“You’re scared?” Lydia pulled out her phone and took a hasty picture of the card. The flash revealed a small paperback book on the floor. She snapped a photo of it and exited the car in a hurry. She shut the door and shook, tossing the tension aside.
“Where’s Kat?” Flora hopped and danced beside Lydia.
“She pulled away right before Gus showed up. “
“She must’ve seen him coming.” The minivan chugged into the driveway a moment later with Kat hanging out the window and beckoning her accomplices to enter.
“So, spill.” She commanded once she was safe and warm in Lydia’s kitchen. The toilet flushed down the hall, and Flora appeared moments afterward.
“It’s on my phone.”
The plastic card was a nametag of sorts. Not the badge the girls had discussed at the tea but a glossy black business card with the moniker Mr. Levere and a phone number embossed upon it. Tiny gold lettering beneath the name was too reflective to make out. The next picture was plainer, a dog-eared paperback of To Kill A Mockingbird.
Lydia’s shoulders slumped, and she muttered to herself in angry unintelligible bursts. “Fill us in,” Kat demanded.
“Ivy was in that car. This is the book we were studying together. I knew I recognized that car, but I wasn’t certain. I didn’t want to believe she’s in danger.”
“You don’t know the blood is hers. It could be Mr. Levere’s blood.” Flora pointed out and then excused herself to the bathroom again.
“I’m not sure that’s any better.” Lydia explained, “I believe he might be one of Ivy’s ex-boyfriends. A terrible one.”
CHAPTER 9
“I hate to say goodbye.” Ethan’s face was lonesome when it came time to end the video session. Joan spent ten minutes chatting to Lydia about the projects she and her father were tackling together, about the care packages the church had sent, and about the urgent supplies still needed. Joan was growing up faster in Africa than she had at home. Lydia both missed her freckle-faced reckless girl and cherished the self-sacrificing woman that spoke from her computer screen.
Ethan had only grown younger in his week at the Zambia Orphanage. He’d help build dorms and construct beds. He’d witnessed the deplorable water conditions and watched a water pump work for the first time in seven years.
Lydia yawned, though she fought against it. Noon in Africa was four in Honey Pot. She’d napped and planned for this call but could not fight off the morning grogginess. Ethan smiled and blew her a kiss. That was it. It would be two days until their next talk. Lydia wondered if Ethan ever checked in with the office while he was away or if she was the only hometown communication he had.
Now that she was up, there was no returning to real sleep. If she drifted off now, horrible nightmares would disrupt her rest. Every time Ethan was away or working late, the pattern repeated.
After twenty years of marriage, she could not sleep without her husband in the house. It seemed impossible to make it through an entire REM cycle without Lydia waking up due to horrific images. She switched off her computer and reached for her cell phone. One screen exchanged for another.
The missed call symbol flashed. No return number appeared, and no message. She switched on a podcast and headed for the bathroom.
After a healthy breakfast of pop tarts, black coffee, and creamer Lydia was restless. The scarcity of tinsel and evergreen, made her feel even lonelier. She waited until a decent hour and called for reinforcements. Kat was attending to some trauma or other, but Flora carted both families’ children over to Lydia’s for lunch and decorating.
With pizza set out, salad torn and tossed, and juice pouches at the ready, the children cheered and celebrated. Jess chattered about her own cheerless home as she scattered ornaments and models all over Lydia’s living room. Eden giggled and played with the wooden animals from a hand-carved Nativity. Eloise draped tinsel on the highest branches of the artificial tree. The boys assembled Ethan’s Christmas train set with awe and care. Meanwhile, the mothers watched on, helping as needed, but leaving most of the fun to the children.
“Where did you say you saw Ivy? You sure it wasn’t Lewiston? That’s where she lives. Well, between here and there. Ashton’s over 50 miles away from her.”
Flora detailed her account once again, down to the farewell hug. “I didn’t like leaving her there, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
“I
vy’s smart. I’m sure she knows what she’s doing. But I can’t get over her being in Ashton. I wonder if Emily has heard from her, yet.” Did Emily’s mother live in Ashton? Maybe the family reunited, earlier than expected, and Ivy was staying with them through the season.
Lydia tried to shake off her something’s wrong radar and put on her; it’s none of your business cap. It didn’t work. The girl’s absence from their appointment, lack of communication, appearance at the bus stop, and now in Ashton was gnawing at her.
Winter was a weird time of year for taking to the roads. There were few stops between the surrounding cities and the town. It was far too cold to walk. Plus, sunlight only brightened Pottersville from 10am to 4pm December through February.
Lydia called Ivy, the day Emily questioned her, but someone disconnected Ivy’s phone. She hunted down Ivy’s stepfather’s number and rang him, only to have a very vague woman answer. The woman didn’t know who Ivy was, let alone if she had lived in the house. She tried the same number another night just to have Ivy’s stepfather hang up on her.
If Ethan were home, she would’ve talked it out with him. He would have gone to work and searched the police reports for information. He would have called Mr. Mike and used his authority as Sheriff to get a conversation started, maybe even an impromptu search going for the girl. But Ethan was on a different continent.
Lydia wasn’t sure what her next step should be. Where was the line between being helpful and being nosy? At night, her inner voice nagged her to get up and search for the girl. During the day, life, appointments, lonesomeness for her family, and phone calls from friends distracted her thoughts away from her pupil.
It wasn’t any of her business. Her interference could make things worse for Ivy. Then again, how could she call herself a Light for Christ if she didn’t use what she had to shine in the darkness? She jotted down notes from Flora’s encounter. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do. She would find Ivy.
