Grandma nodded. She scuffed around the corner, her steps stiff and shuffling, the way Tim Conway walked when he pretended to be the old man from Grandma’s Carol Burnett Show videos.
Meghan held her breath and followed several feet behind her, stealthily so she wouldn’t know she was being followed. Not until her grandmother closed herself in the bedroom did Meghan puff her cheeks and blow out the air. Thank goodness she hadn’t mentioned Sean’s text. Grandma wouldn’t have been able to rest if she’d known what he discovered.
Meghan turned awkwardly in the narrow hall and returned to the kitchen. As she lifted down the coffee canister, a worry struck. What if a nap didn’t clear Grandma’s confusion? She’d acted so strangely. Could something be seriously wrong with her? And if there was, would she be able to help Sean continue the investigation?
Twenty-Two
Little Rock, Arkansas
Sean Eagle
Sean hung up the phone, leaned back in his chair, stretched, and mouthed “Thank You” at the ceiling. Mrs. Baldwin’s grateful praises still rang in his ears. The Baldwin family could rest easier tonight knowing that the questions surrounding their daughter’s suspicious death in 1982 were now answered and the man responsible was already behind bars. He’d worried that Mr. Baldwin, frail and suffering from emphysema, wouldn’t live long enough to hear the answers. But God had guided the detectives in the right direction, and DNA testing, unavailable back in ’82, proved their theory. Gratitude rang in his heart, along with a prayer.
Help me find the answers for Meghan’s grandmother, Father, please.
Sean didn’t know the woman, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since he heard her voice last Sunday evening. She’d sounded so kind, so trusting, so hopeful. How she could still hold on to hope after so many years was a testament to her faith. He wanted to see her faith rewarded. And he wanted it to happen on this side of heaven.
None of the detectives in the department believed he’d solve this case. Two of them outright laughed at Sean for even trying, especially since he was investigating on his own time. But he had to try. He wanted it for Mrs. DeFord. He wanted it for Meghan, too. But of course, most of all, he wanted God’s will for both of them. If the search brought Meghan’s mother and grandmother together again, that might be satisfaction enough. It might have to be satisfaction enough. No one in the department had ever solved a case that stretched back so many decades. But there was always a first time, and he felt deep down he was onto something bigger than one little girl lost in a blackberry bramble.
He read down the list of names he’d gathered from the missing-persons data files.
Amelia Arnold, age 2 years 4 months; Seba, Arkansas; February 3, 1937
Henry Leonard, age 2 years 3 months; Pactolus, Arkansas; August 21, 1938
Delia Holt, age 2 years 7 months; Mason Valley, Arkansas; March 4, 1940
Eugene Hastings Jr., age 9 months; Beaty, Arkansas; April 12, 1942
Matilda Beckett, age 3 years 2 months; Gravette, Arkansas; October 16, 1942
Margaret Blackwell, age 3 years 1 month; Cumpton, Arkansas; July 14, 1943
Francis Killian, age 1 year 11 months; Pea Ridge, Arkansas; June 15, 1944
Bertha Fair, age 1 year 8 months; Lime Kiln, Arkansas; January 1, 1946
James and Robert Phillips, age 1 year 1 month; Colcord, Oklahoma; May 6, 1946
A brief physical description of the child followed the date he or she was last seen, and even though Sean had already noted the similarities, he experienced another chill. Every child, from the toddler taken from Seba to the one-year-old twins in Oklahoma, had blue eyes and blond hair. Something meaningful hid in that bit of information. He hoped he and Meghan, with Mrs. DeFord’s help, would uncover the significance.
“Hey, Beagle.” Tom Farber always twisted Sean’s unusual name, probably in the hopes of getting a rise out of him. So far, with the Holy Spirit’s help, Sean had managed to disappoint the man.
Sean spun in his chair to face the detective and his partner, Greg Dane, who stood near the door leading to the elevators. “Yeah?”
“Dane and me are heading to Rosey’s for a sandwich. Want something?”
Rosey’s, a little bistro in the River Market area near the cold-case department’s office building, had the best reuben and fries in town. Sean’s mouth watered as he thought about chomping through a towering stack of corned beef on toasted rye bread. But he shook his head. He’d brought some microwave soup with him so he could work on Mrs. DeFord’s case through lunch. “Thanks anyway.”
Farber shifted his attention to Sean’s temporary partner. “What about you, Sanderson? Wanna come with us?”
As usual, Miles Sanderson looked to Sean for guidance. Sean waved his hand at the younger man. “Go ahead. I recommend the reuben.”
“Sounds good.” His grin wide, Sanderson bounded out of his chair and strode across the floor to Farber and Dane.
Sean understood the younger man’s elation—the others hadn’t asked him to lunch or for an after-work drink until now. No doubt the green recruit thought he’d finally made the team. Sean just hoped Sanderson wouldn’t let the older, rowdier men lead him astray. Miles was a good kid but a little too eager to please. The way Meghan had been when she first arrived in the department.
“Hey, Miles.”
The man paused and shot a questioning look over his shoulder.
“Got a lot of work to get done this afternoon. Don’t let those two hooligans talk you into extending the lunch hour.”
Farber and Dane smirked at each other, but Sanderson nodded in all seriousness. “No, sir, I won’t.”
Dane gave a mock salute. “Bye, Preacher. Enjoy the quiet.” The three headed out. Since the other two detectives, Tyler Roach and Anthony Johnson, had left a few minutes earlier, the office was now all Sean’s own.
He took the cup of soup from his side drawer but placed it on the corner of his desk instead of heading to the break room’s microwave. Blue eyes, blond hair. The simple descriptors all in a row haunted him. What did it mean?
Kendrickson, Nevada
Diane
Diane observed her mother loading their lunch dishes into the dishwasher. Glasses on the top rack, plates and pans on the bottom, silverware categorized by utensil. Meghan’s worry about Mother’s inability to function earlier that day had raised questions in the back of Diane’s mind, but she witnessed no hint of confusion in Mother’s actions now. Except—
“Mother, did you rinse those beforehand?” Mother had never let Diane put unrinsed dishes in the dishwasher. How well she remembered her mother’s fastidious instructions. She remembered her own argument, too—why have the luxury of a dishwasher if you were going to wash the dishes before putting them into the machine?
Mother angled a smile in Diane’s direction, serene and controlled—in other words, her usual self. “This is one of the models with a built-in garbage disposal. It will chew up any leftover bits of food. Isn’t that convenient?”
Yes, Mother’s faculties were in fine form now. Diane sent a look at Meghan she hoped communicated her doubt about the severity of the morning’s confusion.
Meghan gave no indication she even noticed. She fiddled with the cloth napkin crumpled on the table. “The jeweler said your necklace would be ready this afternoon, Grandma. How about Mom and I go pick it up for you while you rest?”
A scowl crossed Mother’s face. But for once it wasn’t meant for Diane. “Young lady, will you please stop trying to send me back to bed? Granted, I’m no spring chicken, but I’m not ready to be put out to pasture, either.”
Meghan pushed the napkin aside and rose. She grabbed her crutches and double-stepped to Mother. “I’m not trying to put you out to pasture. You usually lie down for an hour or so each afternoon. Now that lunch is over, it should be rest time.”
Mother shook her head, her dark eyes glinting with a hint of orneriness. “For kindergartners, yes. Do I look like I’m in kindergarten?”
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Meghan flashed a sheepish grin. “Well…”
Diane rose and joined them. “I think what Meghan is trying to tell you, without coming right out and saying so, is you’re going to have an important phone call this evening with Detective Eagle. She wants you to be alert and able to answer questions.”
Meghan sent a warning frown at Diane and then touched Mother’s arm. “Sean will likely ask you lots of things about the day Maggie disappeared. Wouldn’t it be wise to rest and refresh your memory before he calls?”
Mother gazed at Meghan for several seconds and then leaned against the counter and folded her arms. “I know what happened this morning alarmed you, and I’m very sorry. But you don’t need to worry. I’m eighty. I’m bound to have moments when I have trouble gathering my thoughts. It’s really not that unusual.”
“It isn’t?” Meghan skimmed a wide-eyed glance at Diane. “You mean you do that a lot?”
Mother chuckled—not quite her normal, carefree chuckle but close. “I wouldn’t say a lot, but frequently enough to know it will pass when it happens.”
“But you were so…mixed up. And emotional.” Meghan bit the corner of her lip. “That doesn’t seem like you at all.”
Mother closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. She pinned her gaze on Meghan. “I’m sure my embarrassment heightened the reaction. I’m generally alone when I lose track of my thoughts. To appear incompetent before an audience is humiliating.”
Ah, yes. Mother could never be imperfect.
Meghan’s face pursed in sympathy.
Diane recalled something else. “What about fainting? Is that something you do frequently, too?”
Mother scowled. “No, of course not.”
“But you get light headed? The way you were at the antique store on Monday?”
Mother balled her hands on her hips. “If the two of you are going to gang up on me, I might have to send one of you home.”
Diane knew which of them would get the boot. She imitated Mother’s pose. She could be stubborn, too. She’d learned from the best. “How often do you suffer light-headedness, Mother? And before you answer, remember that Meghan and I have been here for five days and we witnessed both light-headedness and fainting within the first three.”
If Mother’s scowl got any deeper, her eyebrows might disappear in a forehead furrow. “It was hot those days.”
Diane rolled her eyes. “It’s always hot in Nevada, Mother.”
Meghan cleared her throat, obviously an unspoken message to Diane to knock it off. “Grandma, were you overly warm this morning when you couldn’t remember the word for coffee or find the sugar bowl?”
“I wasn’t warm—I was groggy. I wasn’t awake yet.” Mother’s words snapped like a hatchet descending on a chunk of firewood. “You’re making much too much out of a few issues of aging, and I won’t listen to one more word about it. If it will make you feel better, I will lie down for an hour, but I want you both to know I’m doing it under duress.” She pointed at Meghan. “And don’t you and your mother go pick up my necklace! I want to examine it myself and be sure it is fixed correctly before I take it from the store. I won’t be swindled.”
Meghan held up both hands in surrender. “All right, we won’t go. I promise.”
At once, Mother’s stern expression softened. She sighed and wrapped Meghan in a hug. “I know you’re only concerned, sweetheart, and I appreciate it. But you don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine. For eighty, I’m fine.” She stepped free and moved toward the hallway. “The dishwasher is ready to be run. Will one of you start it, please?” She disappeared around the corner.
Meghan bent, reaching for the door of the dishwasher.
Diane moved into her pathway. “Let me get it before you knock yourself off your crutches.” She started to close it, but something caught her attention. She paused, frowning at the empty detergent holder. Had their conversation stolen Mother’s concentration and derailed her from her normal routine, or was this another example of her forgetting something?
She retrieved the gel detergent from under the sink and filled the little square. As she snapped the cover in place and closed the door, she made a promise to herself to observe Mother more closely. She’d gather the proof she needed—with Meghan as a witness—that Mother was reaching the age where living alone was no longer wise. From there it would be an easy reach to convince both her mother and her daughter that the responsible, sensible, most compassionate thing was to seek placement in an assisted-living facility. Not even Meghan would be able to argue about it if Mother was falling at her feet.
While Mother napped and Meghan worked on another scrapbook page, Diane would browse the Internet for local facilities.
Little Rock, Arkansas
Sean
Sean purchased his dinner at a drive-through and headed home. The scent of beef, onions, and grease rose from the bag on the passenger seat and invited him to dig in. Even though the food would be cold by the time he reached his house in southeast Little Rock, he’d wait. He’d fussed too many times about inattentive drivers to become one himself. And that burger with cheese, bacon, and grilled onions would be a mighty distraction in his hand. He needed his focus on the late-afternoon traffic.
Downtown Little Rock buzzed with activity all day, the rattle and clang of the streetcars competing with tourists and locals enjoying the River Market shops and restaurants, but five o’clock—closing time for many of the offices—doubled the number of cars on the streets. When the city set up the Arkansas Cold Case Investigations Department six years ago on the fourth floor of one of Little Rock’s historical buildings at the heart of River Market downtown, he’d wondered if the police chief had made a good decision. Downtown? So far from the 12th Street station? But Sean had grown fond of the location.
He wouldn’t have enjoyed the cramped, dark quarters of the single basement room the previous cold-case detectives—a handful of volunteer retired detectives who worked on unsolved rapes and murders that took place in the city—occupied even if it was part of the police station. The top floor of an old apartment building at the heart of River Market served the team well. One small office near the elevator gave the captain his personal space, and the large open-floor area gave all six detectives their needed elbow room. Lots of windows allowed in light and offered a view of the city as well as the Arkansas River and the sister city, North Little Rock. He often relied on the ideal setting to soothe him after uncovering particularly ugly truths about the last minutes of someone’s life.
He eased onto Highway 30 and followed it south, picking up speed to match the flow of traffic. So many people, and all in a hurry. He glanced at other drivers—moms with kids in car seats, men with their faces set in tense scowls, all no doubt driving home to deal with homework and evening activities or putting supper on the table. Family stuff.
An ache built in the center of his chest. He hadn’t been part of a family circle since his folks’ car accident his freshman year of college. He sure hadn’t expected, then, to still be alone fourteen years later, but there wasn’t a soul—not a wife, a child, or even a dog—waiting at the other end of this drive for him. Most of the time his caseload kept him too busy to think about what he was missing, but ever since Meghan came on the scene at work, he’d had moments like this, especially when he was alone, when he longed for family. And Meghan’s pretty face always inserted herself into those longings.
It was stupid, though. They were partners. Close because they had to be. Not once had she ever hinted that she saw him as anything more than her mentor and colleague. Which was probably best, considering she wasn’t a believer. He knew the biblical passages about not being unequally yoked, and he’d never forget his mom’s admonition about dating—“Don’t let yourself fall in love with a girl who doesn’t love the Lord.” So he’d kept his feelings in check. Or so he thought.
The day he stood beside Meghan’s crushed Toyota and watched the Jaws of Life cut back the hood, terrified about what h
e’d see when the interior was finally revealed, he realized how deeply he cared about her. More than a partner. More than a friend, even. But he wouldn’t act on his feelings. He’d seen too many halves of a couple sitting in a church pew, incomplete and sorrowful, because their other halves wanted nothing to do with God. If he was meant to have a family someday, God would bring a faithful woman into his life.
Until then, he’d be Meghan’s friend, and he’d keep praying for her salvation the same way he prayed for Dane, Farber, Roach, and Johnson.
While his tires hummed on the highway and the hamburger taunted his senses, Sean reviewed the questions he intended to ask Mrs. DeFord this evening. She might not have answers right away. She might not have answers at all. But hopefully she’d remember something that would guide him in the right direction. As he drove, his thoughts turned into a prayer, as they always seemed to do when he was burdened. By the time he reached his simple 1960s-style ranch house on Arapaho Trail, the peace he’d come to expect had settled his mind.
He glanced at the time. Five forty in Arkansas meant only three forty in Nevada. It’d probably be a couple hours, maybe three, before Meghan called. They’d all have a chance to eat their supper before chatting. He turned off the ignition, grabbed the bag holding his supper and his briefcase stuffed with printouts from his research, and bounded out of the car. Carrying the bag in his teeth, he trotted across the grass with his briefcase in one hand and house keys in the other. As he slipped his key into his front-door lock, his cell phone sang “Unchained Melody,” Meghan’s ringtone. His foolish heart flipped in his chest.
He propped the briefcase against the siding, snatched the bag out of his mouth, and fished for his phone. The music seemed to grow louder by the second, and he was sure she’d hang up before he got the call answered. Finally his fingers connected with the phone. He yanked it free, pushed the connect icon, and rasped out, “Hello?”
Bringing Maggie Home Page 18
