by Traci DePree
“They could be anyone’s prints,” the deputy said.
He walked ahead for a closer look at the footprints, and Kate followed as he bent to examine them. The shoe sizes were notably different. One was clearly a man’s boot—Kate recalled seeing Willy Bergen in muck boots. But the other was a petite woman’s size, maybe a four or a five.
“You said Willy was fishin’ alone when you saw him?” Skip said, scratching his clean-shaven cheek.
“Yes, just Willy,” Kate said.
“Why would she have come all this way?” Brad asked.
“Maybe the dog ran away, and she was chasing him,” Kate guessed.
“It’s a long way for the dog to have come,” Skip agreed with Brad. “And there aren’t any dog prints here.”
Kate turned to Brad. “You recognized Sonja in the photos,” she reminded him. “She did come this far. I can’t explain why, but we have proof of that much.”
Brad nodded, conceding the point.
“Why don’t we see where these footprints go?” Livvy suggested, motioning to the smaller footprints that ran parallel to the bank, then climbed back toward the trail.
Skip tugged his small pack of gear up higher on his back and headed out. Kate and the others turned to follow him. They crested the steep incline of the bank and moved toward the trail, then a good fifty yards away Kate spotted the bit of yellow she’d seen in the photo.
“There it is!” she said as she rushed forward, mindless of the underbrush that clawed at her denim-clad legs.
Carefully she pulled the yellow fabric from the squat bush. It was a lightweight spring jacket, waist length, with a tear in the back. Brad, Livvy, and Skip came up alongside Kate as she felt the pockets. Inside were car keys. Kate turned them over to study them as Brad took the jacket.
Kate’s heart picked up its cadence when she saw the picture on the plastic photo key chain: Becky and Brian Weaver’s smiling faces stared at her. Sonja had come north that day, some distance away from her car and from where the dog and leash had been found. There was no doubt about it now.
Brad closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, sighing heavily. The deputy reached for the keys and studied them.
“She was here,” Kate said.
“But we don’t know if she came here before or after the dog fell into the creek,” Skip said, shaking his head.
“But the man in purple?” Kate probed. “He must know something. We need to find him.”
Brad met Kate’s gaze as he straightened and smiled sadly. “I want to believe you, Kate,” he said. “I really do. But why wouldn’t Sonja have come home?” He exhaled. “I keep getting my hopes up only to have them dashed again. I can’t live like this.”
“Brad, what are you saying?” Kate was disbelieving. Here was proof positive of where Sonja had been, alive, possibly with another person who knew of her whereabouts, and he was giving up.
“Regardless of who that man in purple is,” Brad said, “the fact remains that it’s going on a week since Sonja disappeared. And she has Alzheimer’s. Who knows if she even remembered she was chasing the dog by the time she came this far. If she did, then you’re assuming she was cognizant enough to do...what? Get a ride from some stranger in purple?
“If she’d been in her right mind, she would have called us or gone back to the car. She wouldn’t have left the dog in the woods without finding out what had happened to him. And if she knew he was dead, she would’ve brought him home to the kids so they could say good-bye.” He shook his head. “If she was in an agitated state, it leaves us where we already are. I’m sorry, but I’m not sure that this changes anything.”
LIVVY AND BRAD SAT in the rear of the deputy’s SUV and Kate rode in the front seat as Skip drove toward the Hanlon home. The branches of tall deciduous trees bent over Mountain Laurel Road, creating a tunnel of shade on a sunny day.
The group had been quiet, somber, since the discovery of Sonja’s jacket. Her trail had disappeared into the woods. They’d looked and looked for it to no avail as the question of whether she’d seen the man in purple hung in the air. Had the man been a friend or an enemy?
Skip radioed in to the sheriff. Kate could hear the sheriff’s bass voice mingled with the crackle of the airwaves.
“What’d you find?” he cut to the chase with his deputy.
“We found her jacket, sir...Even had her keys in the pocket.”
“Any sign of Sonja herself?”
The deputy glanced at Brad in the rearview mirror. “No. We discovered footprints down by the creek, but we lost the trail in the woods.”
“Okay,” the sheriff paused. “I’ll send out a crew to scour the banks. But unless we find something we’re back to where we were before,” the sheriff said. With that conclusion, the crackle of the radio felt like a lightning strike.
THE HOUSE WAS QUIET when Kate arrived home. She meandered into the kitchen, where she got herself a glass of ice water and made a ham sandwich.
The events of the morning clung to her, as did weariness from not having slept much the night before. Since she’d found the pictures of Sonja in the woods, she hadn’t been able to get past the idea that there could be some clue within her own memory that would unlock the mystery to what had happened to the missing woman. Kate couldn’t help but note the irony of that realization: that her memory could save a woman whose own memory was fading.
How was it that Willy Bergen hadn’t seen Sonja or her jacket? Given the proximity of the footprints and the miles of shore that lined the creek, it seemed odd that Sonja had been at the very spot where Willy had been fishing. Was it just a coincidence? Had she been down by the creek and then wandered into the woods before Willy arrived? But that wouldn’t have matched the time stamps on the pictures. Sonja had clearly walked a good distance to get to the spot. Had she been looking for the dog? Or perhaps the man in purple, whoever that was? And had something happened at the water’s edge to cause her to flee, and shed her jacket? That seemed most ominous of all.
Kate tried to call Willy, but an employee at the bait and tackle shop, who introduced himself as a new employee named Kip, said he wasn’t there.
“Do you know when he’ll be back?” she asked.
“Not sure,” he said. “He’s been kinda comin’ and goin’ lately. Told me to open and close for him till I hear otherwise. Could be at home, I suppose, but I don’t know.”
Kate thanked the man and hung up. She tried Willy’s home phone, but it went to an answering machine after several rings. It seemed odd that Willy, who had his own business, would leave his shop in the hands of a new employee.
She finished eating her lunch, then went into the bedroom to retrieve her Bible. With all that had gone on that morning, she’d felt rushed in her quiet time. She settled into her favorite chair in the living room and turned to the concordance at the back of her Bible to look up the word lost.
She flipped to Luke 15. The chapter told three stories, all about lost things that were found: first a sheep, then a coin, and finally the prodigal son. An image filled her mind of a long-absent child walking up the road, returning home, devastated by his own choices and yet knowing he would still be welcomed by his father. Kate envisioned the father flinging his arms wide in joy that his beloved son had returned home, running to him as tears streamed down his face. The father had spared no expense to celebrate the reunion with his son.
Kate felt herself choking up. This was how God felt toward humanity. Regardless of what they’d done, how far they’d strayed from him; he was there waiting with arms held wide to welcome them home. That was the picture of God’s love. And that was how he felt about Sonja Weaver.
He was waiting for her to come home, even though Brad seemed to have given up on the possibility that she was still alive. Kate looked up as the troublesome thought lingered. Brad had essentially ignored the evidence right before his eyes, refusing to believe that she might still be alive. Why would he do that? Didn’t he want Sonja to come home?
&n
bsp; Betty’s innocent comments echoed then. She’d said the Weavers had been arguing. Kate didn’t like to think that Brad might have harmed his wife, but she couldn’t ignore the possibility either. Not if it led her to the truth.
But by the end of the day the search was called off again. Search and rescue had found no further signs of Sonja and the sheriff called them back. Brad said he was ready to move on.
Why wasn’t he curious to know who the man in purple was? Or why had Sonja been at that spot by the creek and then wandered into the woods? Unless he already knew the answers to those questions...A chill traversed Kate’s spine. She felt horrible even considering something like that, but the thoughts kept creeping into her brain.
If Brad knew who the man in purple was, what would that mean? That he had something to do with his wife’s disappearance?
Chapter Ten
The small white church was packed that Friday morning. Kate stared at the spot where a casket would go—at the front near the altar—but there was only a vacant space.
Brad and the children sat stiff-backed in the first pew, with Judy alongside them. Several family members, cousins, and aunts and uncles had come for the service.
Livvy and Danny sat next to Kate. Livvy passed her a compassionate look, and Kate could see that her friend had been crying. Kate gave her hand a squeeze.
“This is so sad,” Livvy confided, “especially for someone so young.” She dabbed at her eyes.
Kate didn’t reply. She truly felt that this service shouldn’t be happening—not without more evidence that Sonja was gone.
Livvy must have seen the duplicity behind her gaze. “Something’s up with you.”
Kate shrugged. “I’m having some doubts” was all she whispered. She didn’t want to talk about her suspicions there in the midst of Sonja’s memorial service. She knew that she and her dear friend would be talking later and that she would need Livvy’s help if she was going to discover what Brad Weaver was really up to—and whether it had anything to do with his wife’s supposed death.
KATE WAS RELIEVED that there had been no graveside service, though she’d learned through Becky that a headstone had indeed been ordered in Mound Cemetery on the edge of town.
Mourners gathered at the expansive Weaver home after the service. It was such a stunning spring day that most people chose to remain outside, where a rented tent with tables and chairs had been set up. A catering company was serving cold cuts.
Livvy met Kate’s eye and weaved through the chitchatting crowd to where Kate stood under one of the tall black walnut trees.
“So, what were you going to tell me before?” Livvy asked as she took a bite of her ham sandwich.
Kate turned to face away from onlookers, and the creases in Livvy’s brow deepened. “As I said, I’m having some...doubts,” she confessed. “About Brad.”
“Are you talking about him cutting off the search?”
Kate nodded. “We have new clues about what happened, and instead of looking into it, he held a memorial service.” Kate motioned to the surroundings.
A gentle wind picked up, causing their black dresses to flap against their legs. Through an open window, Kate could hear a phone ringing in the house. She watched as Brad walked inside, no doubt to answer it.
“What are we going to do?” Livvy asked. The assumption that Kate would do something seemed a given, and that Livvy would be at her side. Her friend knew her well.
“That’s the tricky thing. We need to dig, and yet I don’t want to end up hurting Becky and Brian—or Brad—more than they’ve been hurt already. We might find that the police are right about Sonja drowning, but I need some questions answered.” She met Livvy’s gaze. “Since Willy Bergen seems to be out of town these days, why don’t we get together to see if there’s more about Alzheimer’s that might tie into all of this?”
“Sure,” Livvy agreed.
Kate turned to see Becky and Brian sitting together at a table under the tent, just the two of them. Brad was still in the house.
“I want to see what Becky and Brian have to say. Can you watch for Brad?” Kate asked Livvy, who nodded.
“I’ll intercept him.” Livvy gave a mischievous grin.
Kate moved toward the teens, who spoke in quiet tones with each other, their shoulders hunched against company.
“Hey,” Kate said. They looked up at her. “Can I sit here?”
Brian shrugged, and Becky said, “Sure.”
“How are you two holding up?” Kate asked.
Becky made a scoffing sound from her throat. “This is ridiculous,” she admitted. “I don’t get why Dad did all this. Mom is still out there!”
Brian looked at her and said, “Dad’s right, Beck. You just don’t want to admit it.”
“Why do you think that?” Kate asked Brian.
Brian shook his head. Finally he said, “Mom had her good days and her bad days, but I think she would have found a way to come home, that’s why. We lived with her every day. We’d know, right? She still knew our names. Everyone is acting like she was so far gone, but I don’t buy that.”
Kate considered this. “Do you think she left you?”
That idea seemed to trouble the boy. He chewed on his lower lip before answering. “She loved us. She wouldn’t have left us on purpose.”
“So you think it was foul play?” Kate wasn’t trying to bait him; it was simply the next logical step that his suppositions presented.
His gaze flicked from Kate to his sister. He shrugged.
Kate said gently, “What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I don’t think Mom left us or that anyone took her. It’s not possible. Something must’ve triggered her Alzheimer’s.”
He made a valid point. “How long did she have the disease?” Kate asked, turning to Becky.
Becky shook her head as she thought. “She’d just been diagnosed a couple of months ago.”
Kate silently reviewed the Alzheimer’s symptoms she’d read online, and she wondered how many of them matched Sonja’s. “I’m curious. What were her symptoms?” She glanced up to see Paul talking with Brad and the Jenners. Livvy met her eyes briefly.
“Like I said, it came and went,” Brian said. “She was usually pretty normal, but then she’d get, like, really upset.”
Betty Anderson had said the same thing.
A couple of mourners walked past, and Brian stopped talking as he gave a little wave.
“She would forget words too,” Becky said when no one was within earshot. “She’d be talking and not be able to finish a sentence because she couldn’t remember the name of something.”
“What else?” Kate asked, taking mental notes.
Becky looked her square in the eyes as if measuring her. “Why are you asking all these questions?” she said. “Are you, like, investigating?”
Kate was taken aback by the girl’s frankness at first. Then she said, “I don’t want you and Brian to be disappointed.” She looked from Becky to her brother. “I’m just asking a few questions. Does that make sense?”
Becky’s face filled with a knowing look. “It makes perfect sense,” she said, smiling faintly.
Kate wasn’t sure if Brian wanted her looking into his mother’s disappearance or not. His gaze turned to the ground, but he didn’t turn away or get up to leave.
So Kate pulled her chair closer to the table that separated them and leaned in to talk in a low voice. “Has your mother always been a stay-at-home mom?”
“Yeah,” Becky said. “Ever since Brian was born. She used to be an actress and a singer in her high-school days when she lived in Berry Hill. It’s a town outside of Nashville; maybe it’s a suburb by now. She used to get parts in stage productions and singing gigs in Nashville all the time.”
“She has a beautiful voice,” Kate agreed, recalling the solo Sonja had sung in church on Easter Sunday, the weekend before her disappearance.
“She always regretted not becoming a
singer or an actress,” Becky added. “Growing up outside of Nashville, music was a big part of her life.”
“Is that why there’s a piano in the front living room?” Kate said, recalling that she’d seen the instrument the first time she and Paul had come over.
“She tinkered with it,” Becky said, “had some books on teaching herself to play but I’m the one that took all the lessons. She took some as a kid, but quit.”
“You know...” Brian cut in as if a thought had just occurred to him. Becky and Kate turned to him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. “She’d been talking about those days.”
“She had?” Kate said. “Anything specific?”
“There was some audition...” He shook his head. “I don’t remember what show it was. But I walked in on her, like, on Thursday, right before she disappeared. She was in her bedroom having a conversation with herself about it. I thought it was really weird.”
“You mean it was weird that she was talking, or some-thing else?” Becky put in, her freckled face lined in troubled curiosity.
“She was calling someone a liar, someone from her past. I don’t know who. Her face was all red.”
Liar. Had Sonja been having some sort of a flashback? It sounded more like a psychotic episode than Alzheimer’s, but then Kate was no expert on such things.
“Who was she calling a liar?” Kate asked. “And how do you know she was reenacting something from the past?”
“She was singing some song, then she broke into that two-sided dialogue. She did it a lot.” Brian shrugged. “And not just since the Alzheimer’s. I remember her having whole conversations with nonexistent people when I was little too.”
“When you were little?” Kate repeated.
“Some people do that!” Becky interrupted, speaking to her brother. “I’ve seen you talk to yourself in the mirror.”
“Yeah, but Mom wasn’t talking to herself. She was talking to other people who weren’t there.”
“Some people process events that way,” Kate said, hoping to bring the tension between the siblings down. “It’s not so uncommon or indicative of anything bad necessarily.”
