Again, the shake. “We protected her as best we could, Tyler.” He paused and his voice cracked. “I really miss her.”
Tyler crossed his arms and stopped, facing Jack. “Any chance you can go back to work if someone else stayed with Nancy? I know it’s going to be hard, but you can’t put your life on hold much longer. Eventually, you need to take care of yourself as well as Nancy. Nancy loves you with all her heart, Jack. She has to know you can’t stay at the house much longer. That you need to work, have a goal.”
Jack stared at Tyler a long time, his face unmoving, his eyes unreadable. Then he continued walking. “I’ve thought about calling her mother.”
“Do it.”
Jack nodded, and, after a few more moments of silence, asked Tyler a question about the Red Sox. With a wry grin, Tyler answered him, letting the subject drift back to sports.
When they got back to the house, the women waited in the library, and Nancy let out a full-bodied laugh as Dee finished the last words of a story. Jack stared, stunned, and Tyler nudged him forward, whispering, “Ask now.”
“When you’re gone,” Jack whispered back, and Tyler dropped it. Jack was probably right on that one, but he did step forward and greet his wife with a kiss and a squeeze on her arm. “Everything okay?”
Nancy returned the kiss. “Absolutely. Dee is a delight to talk to.”
Jack turned to Dee, his eyes gleaming with pleasure. “Then you’ll have to come back more often.”
Dee gave Nancy a quick hug. “I will. Promise.” She paused, a touch of concern on her face. “And you’re positive about the articles?”
Nancy nodded. “I think they will help.”
“I’ll send them to you first for approval.”
“Thank you.”
Tyler and Dee backed away from the couple then turned toward the door as they exchanged final goodbyes and thank-yous. Tyler held the car door for Dee, and she settled in as if she belonged there, a look of true satisfaction on her face.
Tyler turned the cruiser back toward the office, and they were clear of the Bradfords’ drive before he spoke, even though his curiosity ate a hole in him.
“Okay, what articles?”
A broad, gleeful grin spread over Dee’s face. “I wondered how long you’d wait to ask. I’m going to propose a series of articles about the Bradfords to the local newspaper editors. Up-close-and-personal follow-ups. With all the press this case has gotten, one of them should snap up the idea. Nancy and I think they might help the search, or at least keep folks’ minds on Carly.” She cast a sideways glance at him. “Do you mind if I quote you?”
Tyler hesitated. He couldn’t decide if this was way out of line or if Dee had stumbled on a path of healing for herself as well as Nancy. He looked deep into his own instincts but found no immediate negative reaction to the idea. In fact, something far inside told him this might help Dee more than Nancy. Still, her closeness to him held its own kind of dangers. “Just tell me what you’re quoting. And no case details. As you know, we’re holding some things back on purpose.”
She held up her right hand in a scout salute. “Promise. But…speaking of case details…”
Now his gut gave a twist of dread. “What case details?”
Dee turned a bit sideways within the confines of the seat belt. “You’ve talked to Bethany Davidson, right?”
“Twice. Nancy told you about Davidson?”
“Yep. Did she tell you that Carly drew a picture of a redheaded nurse screaming at her in the E.R.?”
Tyler knew his surprise showed all over his face. “How did you find that out?”
“We went through Carly’s artwork. Very revealing. So, do you mind if I interview Davidson for one of the articles?”
Right at that moment, he had the urge to put a lid on the whole article idea. This could get much worse. He took a deep breath. “Dee, as much as I appreciate your help, I need you to be careful. Anything, anything could turn up a lead…or drive the kidnapper deeper into hiding. Maybe I should go with you.”
“I understand, Tyler, I really do. And I promise I’ll be careful. But you being there will hamper her honesty. She might tell me something she’d never say in front of a cop. Anything I hear that appears suspicious, I’ll let you know. So can I talk to Davidson?”
He raised a shoulder in a half shrug. Technically he couldn’t really stop her.
After a moment, Dee cleared her throat. “Or…you could go with me, wait somewhere.” Dee flopped back in the seat to face forward again, satisfied. “Then we could go talk to Mr. Riley and the pet store folks.”
An alarm bell went off in the back of Tyler’s head, and that slight feeling of dread escalated. “Who’s Mr. Riley? And what pet store?”
Color drained from Dee’s face. “A teacher at Carly’s school who showed a real interest in her artwork, promised to teach her to raise butterflies. The pet store was her favorite place in Portsmouth. She made friends with all the employees so they’d let her pet the kittens and puppies.”
Now Tyler felt the heat leave his own face. “We’ll be back in the station in five minutes. I want to hear everything you and Nancy discussed.”
Two tears slid down Carly’s cheeks as another long lock of her ebony hair hit the starkly white sheet draped around her neck. Since this whole process had started, she’d counted the curls as they fell. Thirty-five so far. She reached up to brush the tears away.
“Don’t move. And stop whimpering. It’s just hair. It’ll grow.”
“But my hair has never been cut. Mama said—”
Hands clamped down on her shoulders, cutting off her words. The handle of the scissors, still clutched in her captor’s right hand, dug into her collar bone, and the tips of the blades spread menacingly against her cheek. “This is your own fault. If you hadn’t lost the sandals, they wouldn’t have started looking again. The Bradfords, oh high-and-so-mighty Doctor Jack, they think you’re theirs. Their little girl. Well, they can look all they want for a little girl. What they won’t be looking for is a boy.”
Carly’s lips tightened. “I’m not a boy.”
“For now you will be. Until we can get you out of reach, you will be.”
Carly sniffed and tried to blink away the rest of her tears. She looked up toward the window. Please, she prayed. Please send someone soon.
TEN
Dee stared out the window of her cabin into the dense New Hampshire woods, her mind wandering as wild and free as an animal in that thick undergrowth. The woods enchanted her as nothing else could, and the fact that the retreat sat so isolated and away from the world had been the only reason she’d agreed to come. What no one alive knew was that Aaron Jackson had begged her to come before his death. He knew these rolling hills and lush forest would help her heal. She had finally agreed to come as a tribute to him.
Aaron had been right. Slowly, gradually, she was healing.
Dee’s mind flashed on Tyler, who had driven her back to the retreat this afternoon and walked her to the door, his hand warm and comforting on her arm. Their growing friendship had been a part of that healing, almost from the moment they had met. His nonstop curiosity about her and her life, his willingness to be gentle and open when they talked had charmed her. Still, something had clicked inside today, when she had snapped to his defense, when his touch on her arm made her trip over her tongue.
Am I falling for him? She sat straighter, ignoring the blinking cursor on her computer.
Her eyes shifted to the left, to the open closet at the back of the cabin. The emerald green dress, her last gift from Mickey, still hung there, waiting for her to lose those last pounds. She had loved Mickey with all her heart, and life without him had felt impossible. She knew, on some level, that she would always love him, always hold him dear. She had made it through three years, and her thoughts no longer centered on him, but Mickey still lingered in the back of her mind.
Her thoughts turned more regularly toward Tyler these days, and she’d found herself idly
wondering what he was doing at that moment, how his day had gone. Yet each time she did, a twinge of guilt tweaked at her conscience, as if she were cheating on her husband. Mild, but constant. Was she ready to move on—to date again? Maybe.
Joshua, however, was a different story. She continued to feel his absence as if she had a knife embedded in her heart, a knife that had twisted once again during her chat with Nancy, accentuating the sense of loss. Joshua would live forever in her mind and soul, forever eight, instead of growing to eleven, as he would be now. She should be contemplating his teen years, when he would be all raging hormones and gangly legs, instead of remembering his death.
A picture of them taken at a family reunion flashed through her mind, reminding her that Joshua looked more like her brother than Mickey, with his long blond hair instead of Mickey’s half-Italian dark hair and eyes. Yet they would always be tied together in her mind and heart. Father and son.
I wonder what Tyler’s kids will look like?
The abrupt thought so startled Dee that she burst from her chair and strode out on the porch, gulping in rich, fresh air. The breeze on her face felt like a cleansing bath, and she sighed, letting the wind and scents of pine and wildflowers wash over her.
Late spring in New Hampshire came with a flood of new life, and it surged all around the cabin, even in the fading light of evening. Near the edge of her porch, lavender blooms carpeted a wide swatch of the woodland floor, filling the entire area with a sweet smell, especially in the crisp air following a quick rain or the moist breezes of early dawn. The birch and oak trees, their limbs covered with new leaves, rustled with birds and squirrels settling for the night, while the pines whispered their soft evensong, one Dee knew well from back home.
Being here had brought a peace to her mind and soul like nothing before had. Finally, she had found within herself the hints of healing. She craved this now, wanting to embrace memories of Mickey and Joshua without the overlay of pain they always brought. That was still to come, but at least she no longer had to make a conscious, intentional decision to live through the day.
So would her growing friendship with Tyler help—or hinder? She tried to push away thoughts about Tyler, but one lingered. The last thing he’d said to her, on the porch of the retreat this afternoon, was “I think God is opening some doors in this case. I can feel it.” His grin had been so boyish and excited, that she’d not said anything about the case—or God.
Dee turned her face toward the few bright patches of blue that shone through the tops of the trees. “You left,” she whispered. “Why did You leave me?”
It was the first time she’d talked to God in three years.
Dee turned and went back in, her gaze falling briefly on the green dress again. So, no, maybe she wasn’t ready for someone like Tyler, yet. Yet.
Brushing a tear away and trying to rein her thoughts in from the wild wanderings, she stared at the blinking cursor. The article, so close to completion, just needed its ending and a bit of editorial tweaking.
Dee grinned and leaned back in her chair. When she’d called the local paper’s editor this afternoon, he’d been ballistically thrilled about the idea of her filing regular columns, especially about Carly’s abduction. She was in a prime position to provide insights no one else had, and he wanted to see something that night. If she could get it to him before midnight, he’d run it the next day.
Although she’d been staying in the lodge house for safety after the attack, Dee had insisted on coming back to the privacy and silence of the cabin to write and handle her correspondence, and the remaining hours of the afternoon had been amazingly productive. She’d returned to the lodge for dinner, but was now back at the screen, taking advantage of the last hours of light, wanting to get even more done.
Taking a deep breath, Dee sank back into the article, typed the ending then verified her referenced Web sites and tightened the prose. Finally satisfied, she saved it, attached it to an e-mail and sent it off to the editor, with a copy to Nancy.
Dee stared at her e-mail account a moment, the incomparable urge to share that most writers have not quite satisfied by the submission to the editor or the one sent to Nancy. Grinning, she typed a hurried note to her mother and sent the article off to her as well. Then, riding the same impulse, she composed a quick note to Tyler, just suggesting that he make sure to check the paper the next morning.
With a deep, long sigh and sense of accomplishment, Dee closed her laptop, unplugged it, and tucked it under her arm. She locked the front door of her cabin and headed back to the lodge, feeling a lightness of heart and mind that she’d not felt in a long time.
Darkness had fully enclosed the retreat, and the small number of area lights did little to illuminate her way back to the lodge. She picked her way carefully along the trail, keeping the lights of the lodge house in sight. The night scents and sounds, enhanced by the light chill in the air, filled her senses, and suddenly Dee Kelley just felt profoundly glad to be alive.
She laughed, and gave a little skip forward, a burst of energy filling her body and mind. Another skip, and Dee felt as if she could hear the rush of blood through her veins, the sound of her own breaths filling her lungs. An unfamiliar charge of joy flowed over her, and she spun around in a light dance step. It was as if a casing of ice that had covered her, holding her prisoner, had now shattered, and a warmth of new life surged around her.
Dee skidded to a sudden halt, her eyes turning again to the sky. “Is this You?” She turned on the trail, yet continued to look upward. “Are You doing this?”
The crackling sound of shoes on dried leaves came from her left, and Dee spun, peering into the darkness. “Who’s there?”
Only the natural sounds of insects and frogs responded at first, along with a light wind that stirred her hair around her face. Then she heard it again, more distinct this time and slightly ahead of her.
Dee glanced at the lodge house, not wanting to run, but a flood of fear seized her and she broke into a trot, careful to clutch her computer close to her chest. She didn’t stop, afraid of what she might hear next.
She arrived at the lodge and slowed, catching her breath. You’re just being paranoid. It was probably a rabbit or raccoon. Some night hunter. In front of her, a welcoming glow blazed through the windows, showing some of the writers who had lingered long after dinner. Two of them hung out in the downstairs game room, playing air hockey. She climbed the steps of the back deck and looked inside, where one of the other women read by the fireplace, sipping tea. To her right, a yellow square on the ground showed that Maggie still worked in her office at the end of the hall, blinds wide open, as usual.
Normal. All was normal. With one glance back at the woods, Dee went inside, closed the door and locked it.
Tyler sat down hard in his office chair, ignoring the creaks of protest it gave off. He wrapped his hands around a hot mug of coffee and inhaled deeply, as if to start his absorption of caffeine before even taking a sip. He’d had another night of little sleep and odd dreams, most of which had to do with Carly and Dee in danger. He also couldn’t get a midnight e-mail from Dee out of his head. It had simply said, “Made a connection. Maybe we can turn the press coverage to the good. Check the paper tomorrow.”
“Whatever that means,” he mumbled, stretching his legs out under his desk. He would be moving slow today, mind and body.
In fact, he’d just taken his first sip from the mug when his mother appeared in the door of his office, the local paper in hand and a pleased but curious look on her face. “You need to see this.” Peg placed the paper, which had been folded open to page five, the op-ed page, on his desk and pointed.
He squinted a bit, then the letters came into focus. He stared down at the column headed with “One Parent’s Journey.”
Beneath the column head and Dee’s byline, a black box contained a short editor’s note.
Today we start a new column by local writer Dee Kelley, which will focus on cultural and newsworthy items wit
hin our community and how they may affect the way we raise our children. This first column deals with a recent event that concerns every parent in the area. Comments about Ms. Kelley’s observations are welcome.
He scanned the column quickly, halfway afraid of what it would say, how much of the investigation Dee might reveal. A smile slowly spread over his face, however, then he read it again, more thoroughly this time.
The Hope of a Mother’s Heart
Nancy Bradford feels lost in her own kitchen, and there’s not a mother alive who would blame her. Her husband Jack wanders around in their backyard aimlessly, occasionally stopping to stare into the woods behind their home, eyes searching, heart aching.
Three months ago, Carly, Nancy and Jack’s eight-year-old daughter, raced off to play with her dog in those woods. She never returned. The intense search for the missing girl involved local and state police as well as federal agents, but after a few weeks, the search dwindled as every clue led only to a dead end.
Yet hope never faded for Nancy and Jack, and the recent discovery of new leads has rekindled their anticipation that Carly will be found. Nancy shared that hope and anticipation with me recently, as we sat in Carly’s bedroom, a sweet little girl’s room filled with dolls and toys that feels too big and lonely these days.
“I miss the little things the most.” In her lap, Nancy holds Sasha, the little poodle who misses Carly so much he stays in her bedroom all the time. “The sound of her flip-flops on the kitchen tile, her screams of joy when she played with Sasha. She used to plant this silly, wet kiss on me before school, just to see if she could mess up my makeup and make me fussy…”
The article went on to describe Dee’s own loss, and it summarized what had been in the press so far about Carly and the steadily increasing numbers of children who are abducted every year. It asked people to scour their memories and to never forget about Carly Bradford. Related sources, including their Web sites and phone number, were listed in a sidebar to the article. Tyler sank into his chair, his forearms resting on the desk. “Good for you, Dee Kelley. Let’s hope your little tribute triggers some memories and turns over some rocks.” He looked at Carly’s picture. “Hang in there, Carly. We’re going to find you.”
The Taking of Carly Bradford Page 9
