A Killing Frost

by Hannah Alexander

  As she huddled near the top of this tree, though, she wondered if she would ever love the smell of pine again. She hadn’t realized, until she was up and settled on a branch she hoped was strong enough to hold her, that she could be stuck up here for a long time.

  It was colder up here, and it was supposed to get colder tonight. Would she be frosted over in the morning, along with the trees and crops?

  Footsteps…the sound of shoes scrabbling over the rocky creek bed below.

  Her nose itched, then tickled, then before she could stop herself, she sneezed. Froze. Listened.

  The footsteps stopped.

  Please, God, please, God, please, God, please!

  She squeezed the branch and took slow, silent breaths.

  A rustle of leaves.

  Doriann closed her eyes tightly, pressed her lips together and waited.

  More footsteps. And then heavy breathing.

  She couldn’t help it. She peered down through the thickly covered branches of the tree.

  Clancy had light brown hair, and he wore a black-and-red plaid shirt. The black-red-brown pattern blurred beneath her. All he had to do was look up. The least sound from her, the slightest movement, and she could be captured again…or die.

  Good thing he didn’t have a gun.

  He passed beneath the tree, then out of her sight. She listened to his footsteps disappear into the woods, brush rustling every so often until all she heard was her own breathing and the trickle of a thin stream along the creek bed.

  Too, too close.

  She couldn’t see anything from this tree trunk, just green needles in every direction, and other treetops, a small cliff above the dry creek…

  She studied the cliff more closely. A crevice halfway up the side of the rocky wall looked big enough for somebody to hide for a while, almost like a small cave.

  She’d already fallen asleep outside the barn, and couldn’t take the chance she’d fall from this height. Also, it would be colder up here in the tree than down on the ground. She would wait for a few minutes, until she was sure he wouldn’t hear her, then climb down. There were better places to hide, and if possible, she might even find the river and start following it to River Dance.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tyrell ran his hand gently along a grapevine. The air was about fifteen degrees colder than when he had left for the clinic, but the weather could change at any time. He didn’t want to ruin a single one of these expensive bales unless it was necessary.

  “Clouds are still covering the sky,” Daniel said, joining Tyrell at the end of the row.

  Tyrell pointed to the western horizon. “But they’re moving out. You can see sunlight spreading toward us. I figure by nightfall the sky will be clear. We’ll get our frost. Below freezing temperatures.”

  “It’s so unusual for this time of year.”

  Tyrell gave his brother a humorless grin. “This is Missouri. Expect the unusual.”

  “That’s why I’m not a farmer. You always did like to gamble.”

  “I’ve never gambled in my life.”

  “Maybe not on the riverboats, but you gamble, just like Dad. How much does this ranch stand to lose if the freeze happens?”

  “Hard to tell. We’ll see the impact on the vines and trees for years to come.”

  “And yet you’ll keep doing it,” Daniel said, shaking his head. “Just like Dad.”

  “He did okay, didn’t he? He has no outstanding debts, and he has enough to retire comfortably, and soon.”

  “He worked his tail off to get it all done.”

  They were both silent for a moment, and Tyrell wondered if Daniel had the same thought he did. Dad could have died today. What if he still didn’t make it? Then there would be no retirement.

  “He taught me as much as, or more than, I learned in college,” Tyrell said. “He thought this freeze could hit after the unusually warm March we had.” The sunshine and seventy-degree weather had coaxed the shoots out early. Right now, he could knock into one of those shoots accidentally, and it would fall off.

  Tyrell studied a row of Vignoles vines. “You’re right, life is a gamble. That’s one reason Dad diversified years ago. The cattle aren’t going to freeze. And besides, stressed vines often make the best wine.”

  “That’s an interesting thought, Tyrell, but a stressed Dad doesn’t make for good healing. The guys are wanting to know if we should do something about the fruit trees down around the lower forty.”

  “No. Let’s stop here. There’s no guarantee we’ll save the crops anyway, and we need to save a few more bales for the cattle. We could lose the grass for a while.”

  “Great attitude, there, brother.”

  “I’m not being pessimistic, I’m just saying-”

  Tyrell’s cell phone beeped. Caller ID showed it was their sister Renee.

  “Tyrell?” Though not as characteristically serene as her twin, Renee nevertheless knew how to keep her cool most of the time. She didn’t sound cool now. She sounded as if she’d been running. “Mark and Heather have an FBI agent at their place. They got a call just now. A motorist reported seeing an old brown pickup suddenly leave the right lane of eastbound I-70 and bounce down an embankment. It matches the description of the vehicle driven by the abductors.”

  Tyrell felt his gut clench. “Where on I-70?”

  “Just east of Columbia. It’s estimated that this happened about the same time the all points bulletin was issued on the truck.” She paused for breath. “There was a report of a stolen vehicle that matches the truck’s description. Want to know where from?”

  He really didn’t. “Where?”

  “Swope Park area. And that truck had a scanner. Which means the kidnappers were probably listening to the scanner when the bulletin went out. That’s likely why they stole that particular vehicle. Tyrell, this is…this is-”

  “Take another breath, sis. Are the authorities focusing their search in the direction the truck went over the embankment?”

  “Yes. The area south of I-70 should be crawling with police or FBI by now.”

  Tyrell handed Daniel his fuel can. “Renee, have you heard if anyone is searching the section of Mark Twain National Forest near Columbia?”

  “No one has said.”

  “I have some friends in the forestry department up there. I think I’ll give them a call.” In fact, he could think of quite a few people he could call in this part of the state, all of whom would be eager to hunt for a brown pickup carrying a terrified eleven-year-old. “How are Mark and Heather holding up?”

  “Not the best.” Renee paused, took yet another audible breath as if to steady her runaway thoughts. “Heather’s blaming herself, and the worry about Dad is putting everybody here over the edge.”

  Tyrell glanced at his brother. “Daniel says she’s alive.”

  He caught his brother’s approving gaze as he sensed the flare of hope those words gave his sister.

  “He did, really?” she asked. “I mean, he’s not just saying that?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Is he there?”

  “Standing beside me.”

  “May I talk with him?”

  Tyrell handed his phone to Daniel, and turned to gaze out across the rows of gray-brown vines, barely clothed with shoots of new green.

  Tyrell had lived through some bad times, but he’d never had this much worry gnawing at his gut. As he listened to Daniel reassuring their sister, he tried hard to let his brother’s words give him comfort.

  It didn’t work.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ruth Lawrence taped a makeshift sign to the broken window of the front door and turned back to Jama, hands on hips. “No more patients. It’s way past normal office hours, anyway.”

  Jama nodded. She had called Zelda Benedict and had her drive their final patient to the E.R. in Hermann.

  “I’m sure no one else will come through that door,” Jama said.

  “Applicants only.”
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br />   “How many more do you expect?”

  “Two.” Ruth straightened an already perfectly straight stack of periodicals and walked to the reception window, her brisk footsteps squeaking across the polished wood floor.

  Jama followed her. “Is there any reason to interview more? I thought you’d made your decisions.”

  “We have no idea if Zelda or Chelsea will work out for us. I need more possibilities on file, just in case.”

  Jama studied her director. The telephone answering system had been switched on-it had taken them thirty minutes to decipher the directions and set up the recorded announcement. The task had focused Jama’s mind and reduced her stress workload, but this left her more time to worry about Doriann.

  Ruth’s movements were erratic. She didn’t seem able to sit in one place for long. She continually tugged at her braid, and several strands of wavy hair had escaped the weave.

  Jama wondered if this increased agitation had begun after her husband’s call.

  Ruth caught Jama watching her. “What?”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You’re thinking something.”

  “Last I checked, it wasn’t necessary for a woman to tell her boss every thought on her mind.”

  Ruth fidgeted once more with a strand of her hair, then yanked the clasp away and fingered out the weave, allowing her dark brown hair to fall in waves over her shoulders.

  It was then that Jama saw Ruth’s vulnerability. Her posture revealed worry and traces of sadness. That poor woman, Eric had said.

  “Are you okay?” Jama asked.

  Ruth raised her eyebrows. “Of course.”

  “Really? Because it seems to me that you’ve been a little more fretful since the call from Tanzania.” It wouldn’t hurt to get the subject out in the open. Why ignore it?

  Jama, mind your own business. You don’t want anybody digging into your past.

  “I’ve noticed that you and Zelda both have overactive imaginations,” Ruth said.

  Jama shrugged. Her cell phone rang. She tapped her Bluetooth. It was Tyrell.

  “Jama, there’s been some news.”

  She froze at the sound of his voice.

  “The FBI believe the kidnappers are headed south from I-70.”

  “How do they know?”

  “Reports about the vehicle. It left the interstate just past Columbia.”

  “You mean they could be headed in this direction?”

  “It’s possible. I’m calling everyone I know in the area to be on the lookout for a brown pickup truck.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Right now there’s nothing to do.”

  “I’ll be working here a little longer, then I’ll drive back to Columbia tonight. Call me if you hear anything?”

  “I’ll call.” She heard the tremor in his voice.

  When she disconnected, she was shaking.

  “And you?” Ruth asked.

  Jama looked up to find her director still standing in the same spot. “Me?”

  “You asked if I was okay. I’m asking you the same. You’re obviously not-”

  “The kidnappers have been spotted, and are still in central Missouri.”

  “No ransom note, no calls of any kind?”

  Jama shook her head.

  Ruth sank down beside Jama with a heavy sigh. For a moment, she said nothing. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, head bowed. She stared at the floor with such intensity, Jama knew she was seeing something besides wood grain.

  “There’s no way to give someone comfort at a time like this,” Ruth said at last.

  Jama shook her head.

  “I know this has been a difficult day for you.”

  Jama shrugged. What an understatement. “I can’t imagine what’s going to happen next. I can’t even comprehend how people can be so evil.” And yet Jama knew she was also guilty.

  “Don’t even try to comprehend it,” Ruth said, her voice gentle with compassion. “Just take it a moment at a time. Then when you get through that, take it an hour, a day, a week at a time.”

  Jama shivered. She couldn’t face the thought that Doriann might simply disappear for good, and yet that was a frightening possibility. To never know what happened to her.

  “It took a lot of effort to return to work today,” Jama said. “It took even more effort to stay here. But now I’m afraid to leave and go home, which is silly. I just feel a need to be doing something.”

  “You are doing something,” Ruth said. Compassion no longer threaded through her voice. The abrupt, dispassionate director had returned. “You’re seeing to the health of a community. It’s an important role. You can’t do anything to help your niece right now, but you can help others.” Ruth gathered her hair into its clasp as she stood and returned to her office, firmly ending any further conversation.

  Jama watched her go.

  That poor woman…

  Lost. Doriann stumbled and fell to her knees in a pile of leaves, and was tempted to lie down in them. She didn’t know where she was. She’d wandered in these woods for what felt like hours and hadn’t found the river, the road or the Katy Trail. Retracing her steps would be like following the strands of a spiderweb.

  She knew she’d passed a couple of trees at least three times, and she didn’t know how to keep that from happening again. She’d found herself at a dry creek bed twice, but because she didn’t know which way to follow it, she didn’t try. Now she wished she had.

  She shivered, hugging her arms tightly to her stomach. She’d tried to tell herself it could be worse. Clancy could’ve caught her. Deb could be with Clancy. It could be warm enough for snakes. Clancy could be killing someone right now, instead of chasing one fast, smart girl through the woods.

  Yes, it could’ve been worse.

  Doriann’s face and hands hurt where the branches had scratched her, and she was hungry…so hungry. She wished she hadn’t stopped to drink creek water, because it had only made her colder.

  She closed her eyes and scrunched herself into a tight ball. It was one of the ways Aunt Renee said to avoid hypothermia. It didn’t work. Doriann needed to move. That would be best.

  Was Clancy lost in the woods, too? Before she’d been able to climb down from the tree, she’d heard him calling to her. He’d called softly at first, assuring her that all was well, and that he had just been trying to scare her, because little girls shouldn’t be wandering around alone in a dangerous place like Kansas City. Then in the next second he’d screamed at her about all the things he’d do to her when he caught her. She hadn’t come down from the tree until his voice fell silent.

  She looked up into the sky, which was still cloudy above her. She could see a patch of blue near the horizon, but no sun, so she couldn’t tell which horizon she was looking at.

  If that was the western sky, it meant the clouds were clearing. That meant it could get colder. She couldn’t keep going all night long just to stay warm.

  But what else could she do?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jama stretched in her chair, arching her back and rubbing her eyes. She was tired, and the words on the computer screen blurred more and more often. The later the afternoon grew, the less able she was to keep Doriann from her thoughts. And Tyrell. And Monty.

  She heard a car door closing and looked outside to see a young woman pushing a wheelchair up the ramp to the front porch.

  In the wheelchair was Jama’s beloved old friend and the retired school coach, Ted Claybaugh.

  The woman paused outside the door, looking at the sign Ruth had placed there. She said something to Ted, who replied gruffly. The woman shrugged, opened the door and backed inside with the wheelchair.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Keith,” she called over her shoulder. “Mr. Claybaugh insisted on being brought here.”

  Jama stepped into the waiting room and greeted her grizzled old friend with a hug. “Ted, I knew you’d be in charge of that nursing home by now.”

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p; The longtime widower grunted and shook his head, but there was the light of humor in his gray eyes. “I had to get my bluff in on them soon as I walked in the door.” Gone was the former deep bass boom of his voice.

  “You’re not walking today? What’s the deal?” Jama knew it was the nursing-home rules that anyone taken to a medical facility must be safely transported, but she also knew Ted would have walked, anyway, had he felt able.

  “I thought I’d fake chest pain so I could come see my favorite student.”

  “Are you really faking?” She glanced at the aide.

  The woman shook her head.

  “Tell you what, Ted,” Jama said. “Why don’t you let me get some vitals since you’re here?”

  “Guess you could. I should have the right to observe your skills, bedside manner, all that, while you work me up.”

  “It won’t be much of a workup,” she warned.

  After falling for the third time on the front steps of his home a few months ago, Ted had checked himself into the nursing home, despite the protest of his son and daughter. He’d told them he’d never been a burden to anyone, and he wasn’t about to start now.

  “He’s been complaining of chest pains since this morning,” the aide said. “They’ve been getting worse, according to the pain scale.”

  “Since this morning?” Jama exclaimed. “Why wasn’t his physician called?”

  “I thought it was indigestion,” Ted said. “We had chili last night for dinner, and Shirley Watts always puts too many beans and onions in it.”

  Jama led the way to a treatment room. “Most recent vitals?” She avoided glancing into her director’s office. She could expect Ruth’s displeasure to radiate into the hallway.

  “I have them charted here.” The aide handed Jama a sheet. Ted’s temperature was elevated by a degree, his pulse a little fast and his respiratory rate a bit too rapid.