by Traci DePree
But Wilbur shook his head. “Sorry, but I was at WeightWatchers that afternoon. My life coach can confirm it if you like.” He began to reach for the telephone.
“That’s okay,” Kate said with a smile. She stood and tugged her handbag over her shoulder. “I won’t take up any more of your time then. Thank you.”
Then she said good-bye and went back outside. The silver maple trees rustled in the breeze, and a mockingbird called overhead.
“One to go,” she muttered to herself.
She pulled the note she’d written with the three names and addresses from her handbag and studied it. “A-Z Auto,” she read out loud. She tucked the note back in the side pocket of her purse.
The car dealership was located on the far side of Harrington County, north of Pine Ridge, in a town named Lawrence, with a population of five hundred. A half hour’s drive from Copper Mill.
A-Z Auto wasn’t much more than a gravel lot on the side of the woods. A run-down metal building served as the office space. Kate glanced at the dozen or so cars for sale, with brightly colored paint on the windows that read “Prices Slashed.” There wasn’t a single Volkswagen there, Passat or otherwise.
Kate muttered to herself, “Here goes nothing,” before opening the metal door to the cavernous interior, which was a mechanic’s shop. Another door with a sign reading “Sales” led to the office. Kate knocked on it, wondering if anyone was in late on a Monday afternoon. It was closing in on five o’clock.
A scrawny man with greased black hair sat with his back to the door. He wore overlarge headphones and bobbed his head to whatever music his ancient stereo system fed him. Kate cleared her throat, but the man kept on. Finally she tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped and turned around at the same moment, his headphones twisting across his face so that one earpiece was on one cheek and the other on the back of his skull.
Quickly he tugged the headphones off and punched the Power button on his stereo. “Wha—?” he said as he pushed his hair back from his face.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Kate said.
Then he recovered, “Can I help you find something?” He held out a hand and said, “Orly Linder.”
Kate smiled at the man as she introduced herself. Orly looked to be in his mid- to late fifties. A pack of cigarettes stuck from the top of his white shirt pocket, and he smelled strongly of the habit.
“I hope you can help me,” Kate began, explaining again about the car in her photograph and the man in the purple sweatshirt who might be connected to Sonja Weaver.
Orly took the picture of the vehicle in his hands and held it out at arm’s length to study it. “It could be one of my cars,” he admitted. “We did sell a Volkswagen a couple months ago.”
“Was it a Passat?” Kate asked.
Orly nodded.
“Can you tell me who you sold it to?”
“Well...” Orly frowned and looked Kate in the eye. “I can’t do that.”
Hope plummeted to Kate’s feet. “This person could be the link to finding a missing woman. Surely you can offer a little—”
“What if you’re some kind of felon or something?” Orly interrupted. “It wouldn’t be right for me to go givin’ away private information like that, now would it?”
“Do I look like a felon?” Kate motioned to herself.
“Well...,” Orly said again, raising an eyebrow. Kate felt suddenly awkward. “How do I know what a felon looks like?” Now he was shaking his head. “It wouldn’t be the right thing to go handin’ out our customers’ private information, at least without some sort of compensation.”
Kate stepped back, aghast at his suggestion. He was trying to extort money from her!
He scratched his chin in thought. “Three hundred dollars might grease my memory.”
“I guess you’re out of luck then,” Kate said.
Orly crossed his arms over his scrawny chest, and Kate turned to leave without so much as a farewell. She heard him say, “Too bad, so sad,” as she closed the door to the office.
As she stood in the fading April sunshine, Kate could still feel the steam rolling from her ears. The nerve of some people! She drove back to Copper Mill feeling dejected and discouraged.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Paul and Bobby were on the river as soon as they finished lunch, fishing poles in hand as they scuttled down the steep embankment to the river below. There was something about wading out in hip boots while the cold water pushed at his legs that never failed to bring a smile to Paul’s face.
Even Bobby seemed more at ease since their conversation that morning. Paul noticed Bobby lifting his face to the rising sun and understood the emotions running through him. Being outside in God’s creation was like being in his very presence. Romans 1:20 came to mind—For ever since the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky. Through everything God made, they can clearly see his invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature. So they have no excuse for not knowing God.
Paul settled his tackle box next to Bobby, who had a wide grin on his face. “You enjoying yourself?” Paul asked.
“I sure am,” Bobby confessed.
Paul examined the knot that held his fly to be sure it was tied just so, then he waited for Bobby to finish readying his own line. Paul turned to study the water. There were no rapids along this stretch of river as there were at other spots, though as with Copper Mill Creek, the water was still a bit high. Ripples disturbed the surface here and there.
Bobby glanced at the hip waders Paul wore and shook his head. “Don’t get swept downriver, okay?”
“You can fetch me out,” Paul said.
Bobby laughed and walked with him to the water’s edge. The river was fairly shallow there, so Paul waded out slowly, step by step, while Bobby chose to stay onshore in his jeans and sweatshirt.
Once Paul had settled in the swirling water, he watched an eddy just downstream, looking for any sign of movement. He waited, holding the thick line in one hand, while Bobby cast with a lure farther out, his reel making a zipping sound as it let out line.
Finally Paul saw what he’d been waiting for: a small ring of water where a fish had surfaced. He drew back his rod and cast the fly in the same spot, like aiming for a bull’s-eye and hitting it dead-on. He let the fly sit motionless for three or four seconds, then gave it a little twitch so it moved a few inches across the water’s surface, trying to give it the effect of a fly swimming.
Then it hit—a brook trout. Its scales flashed in the morning sunlight as it jumped out of the water. Paul tugged on the line quick and hard to set the hook. He was careful to keep the line taut so the fish wouldn’t spit it out. It was a big one, Paul had seen that, and he put up a good fight, twisting first one way and then the other as Paul hauled the line in using his thumb and forefinger.
His prey was at arm’s length when Paul reached for the net at his waist. He carefully reached out, still keeping the line taut, when his foot slipped on a rock. Paul tumbled backward instantly. The bitter-cold water rushed into his waders and over his skin, but all he could think of was his prize swimming away. He stood up dripping and freezing cold...and none too happy he’d lost his dinner.
Bobby was laughing hysterically from his dry spot on the shore. Paul glanced at him. His frustration lifted at the sight of joy on Bobby’s haggard face.
“Give me a hand,” Paul said, feeling the weight of the water in his waders grow heavier as he stepped out of the river.
Bobby reached for him, helping him settle onto his backside at the water’s edge. Paul quickly took off the rubber pants and emptied the ice-cold water back into its source. Bobby was still laughing.
“That,” Bobby said, “was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” Tears streamed down his cheeks, and his face was red with laughter.
“I’m glad I could give you a good chuckle!” Paul said, even as his teeth began to chatter. “But could a guy get a towel or a blanket or something?”
“Of cou
rse,” Bobby said, climbing the embankment toward the house and returning a few minutes later with both a towel and a thick fleece blanket.
By evening, they had managed to catch a few fish, albeit from the relative safety of the shore, and Bobby had built a roaring fire near the water’s edge. The fish, now coated in flour and pepper, sizzled in the frying pan.
Bobby took a seat next to Paul. His face was slightly burned from the long day outside. “This has been a wonderful day,” he said. “I wish it didn’t have to end.” Then he turned to Paul. “Thank you.”
“It was a pretty great day for me too.” Paul flipped the fish with a long-handled spatula.
“Caitlin and the kids would’ve loved this,” Bobby said.
Paul smiled. “Kate too. She would’ve loved seeing me get doused in the river!” He lifted the heavy skillet from the fire and slid the fish onto a platter, which he set on the small table between them. Plates, forks, and beverages had already been set out.
“This day reminds me of one of my favorite passages,” Paul said, then he began to quote from Ecclesiastes 3, paraphrasing where his memory grew thin. “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to harvest, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build.”
He paused, waiting for Bobby to meet his gaze before he continued, moving down several verses in his recitation: “He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kate missed Paul when he was gone and his side of the bed was cold. She didn’t take advantage of the added space his absence afforded. Instead, she curled up in a ball and imagined him there. She hoped he and Bobby had had a good day, a fruitful day. She’d been praying for them often.
She closed her eyes, feeling the weariness seep into her bones. She’d called Deputy Spencer to let him know about the possible lead at the car dealership and he’d promised to look into it. Yet she still felt discouraged. What had she found in her search for Sonja Weaver? Was it simply time to give up? Admit defeat? If Skip didn’t come back with the name of the car’s owner, what did she have to go on? A couple of pictures that had yielded little: a man in purple, a car she couldn’t find. She prayed for the Weavers, as she had so many times over the past two weeks.
She felt as if she’d gone down so many rabbit holes, she should have been eating carrots by now.
BOBBY’S HEAD WAS TURNED toward the cabin as it faded from view when they left for Copper Mill on Tuesday morning. During their trip, Paul had seen Bobby shift his internal gears from full throttle down to first. It was a good change. A change he’d needed.
Bobby turned in his seat to face forward as Paul drove the truck along the mountain roads. Then he reached for the thermos of coffee between them and poured himself a mug.
“I called Caitlin this morning,” he said, taking a sip of the steaming drink. “It was so good to hear her voice.”
Paul turned on his blinker to enter the highway, heading east. The sky was cloudy, though it was in the upper sixties.
Bobby sighed, and Paul glanced at him sideways.
“I’m worried,” Bobby confessed.
“About what?” Paul asked.
“Going back to my old ways. It happened so gradually, I didn’t see it.” He wrapped his fingers around the mug, warming them.
“That’s true,” Paul said. “We make one little choice, then another. It doesn’t seem so bad. Then we make a bigger choice. It isn’t too far from the first. We get used to the water. Eventually the water’s boiling all around us, and we wonder how it happened. It’s one choice at a time.”
“So, how do I know the right choices to make?” Bobby asked. “Working late isn’t a sin.”
“No,” Paul agreed. “But set your boundaries and don’t cross them, whatever they are. Your wife can hold you accountable. And we’ll talk more about how you’re doing in our counseling sessions.”
Trees arched over the road, casting cool shadows like a tunnel of refrigeration.
“What are your boundaries?” Bobby asked.
“Well,” Paul began, “I eat breakfast and supper with Kate most every day. Sometimes lunch too. I don’t work evenings or Saturday much. We each set aside time with the Lord every day. And sermon preparation does not count!” He smiled at the younger pastor. “I like to pray while I run sometimes. My mind seems clearest then. And Kate comes first, before my congregation.”
“Sounds like a good list,” Bobby observed, taking another sip of his coffee. “Anything you’d add?”
Paul thought for a moment as the road twisted around a steep incline. “Rest,” he said. “Rest is essential.”
THE TOWN GREEN looked like a carnival as locals showed off their wares at the arts festival the following Saturday. Tables and tents were set up across the expansive lawn, and the sounds of live music floated from the pavilion at the park’s center not far from where food vendors sold everything from fresh-squeezed lemonade to gyros and mini doughnuts. Children scurried between legs as adults strolled at a leisurely pace, often stopping to chat with friends and acquaintances.
The sun shone bright, adding a dazzling effect to the stained-glass pieces Kate had made for the event. Renee had come to help man the table and was placing Kate’s sun catchers on a tabletop display while Kate hoisted the Tiffany-styled lamps into place. Livvy was setting up chairs for them to sit on.
Caitlin brought her paintings, setting them on easels alongside the booth. She’d managed to create three original works for the show. Done in acrylics, they were paintings of children at play, not like the cartoonish drawings she did for her children’s books, but lifelike and emotional in their content.
“I might just have to get one of these for myself,” Renee said, moving in front of the table to study them in turn. She petted Kisses’ head in the designer bag at her side. “I didn’t realize you were so good,” she added.
Kate glanced at Caitlin and saw that she was smiling at the compliment. Kate examined the paintings more closely, as did Livvy. “They’re so different in styling from your book illustrations. Both equally good,” Kate said with a wink.
Bobby had arrived in time to hear the praise of his wife. “She’s a multitalented girl,” he said.
“She sure is,” Livvy agreed.
“They’re all of Riley and Wade in one way or another,” Caitlin said, pointing to a child coming down a slide, his mouth opened wide in a shout of joy. “Maybe not their faces, but their essence. I was waiting for Riley at the bottom of the slide right over there”—she pointed to the play area in the park—“when I got the inspiration for this one.”
“I’m serious about buying one,” Renee said.
“I’m honored. Pick your favorite.” Caitlin smiled kindly. She glanced at Bobby, who excused himself to take the boys to go play.
When he was a good distance away, Kate said, “He looks good.”
“The time with Paul was a godsend. I can see that he’s trying,” Caitlin agreed. “He’s been home for supper every night, turns his cell phone off so our evenings aren’t disturbed...” She smiled.
“That’s great,” Kate said.
“I’ll take this one,” Renee said, clearly not listening to the conversation. She was pointing to the largest of the three paintings. She paid Caitlin and hauled it off toward her car, while Livvy held Kisses, before coming back to sit with the others.
“We couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day,” Livvy said. The sky was vibrant, and a slight breeze played among the trees.
Kisses circled the legs of the chairs, yipping for Renee to pick him up, which she did. “Does my Little Umpkins need some attention?” she cooed into his ear.
Kate allowed her gaze to travel across the growi
ng crowd, when she saw Brian and Becky Weaver making their way to her. She waved and watched as they approached. The other women were chatting, so she stood and walked over to talk to the teens alone.
“Hey,” the kids said in unison.
“What are you two up to?” Kate asked.
Becky shrugged. “Getting out of the house.” She bent to look at the wares on the table. “Dad’s driving us nuts.”
“How’s that?” She looked to Brian, whose gaze seemed troubled.
“He’s just depressed,” Becky finally said. “I think he misses Mom. But he did get a job.” She straightened.
“He did?”
“It’s nothing great,” Becky said. “Doesn’t pay nearly as well as the old one.”
“He’s driving a fork truck for some countertop company,” Brian added.
Just then an alarm sounded. Becky reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. “I’m meeting Kallie at the gazebo,” she said staring at the screen.
“Was that a text message?” Kate asked.
“No. I just put whatever’s going on into the alarms on my phone so I’m not late. Mom said it was the best way to keep track of what was next.”
The comment gave Kate an idea. Would Sonja have had any alarms in her phone that day, something that would tell them where she’d gone? “What cell company do you use?” she asked.
Becky looked at her strangely, then told her the name. Kate sensed that she wanted to ask about Kate’s investigation but held off because of her brother’s presence. Finally, she looked at her brother and said, “Are you coming?” He shook his head.
“Kallie’s your friend, not mine. I’ll meet up with you later.”
Becky shrugged, then said good-bye to Kate. Kate turned to Brian, noting the tension lines in his jaw.
“Is something bothering you, Brian?” she asked when his sister was out of earshot.
