Coincidence…
“Debra?” Jama said softly. “Which direction were you coming from on your bike?”
For a moment, Jama thought she wouldn’t answer. Then she said, “From St. Charles.”
That was the eastern trailhead. The truck had been found in a swamp west of River Dance. Opposite directions. But then, wasn’t that where someone would place herself if she were on the run from the FBI?
“Didn’t you date Mark Streeter in high school?”
“Yeah. He dumped me for your foster sister. Now can I get some sleep?” The voice was sharper now.
“His little girl went missing today. It’s believed she was abducted and brought to this area. I just thought that if you were on the Katy Trail for very many miles, you might have seen or heard something that could help us find her.”
Debra lay still for a long moment, so still that she looked as if she had stopped breathing. Then she took a deep breath and turned over to look at Jama, pain evident on her swollen face. “She hasn’t been found?”
“Not yet. I just came back from searching.”
“If I’d seen a child in danger, don’t you think I’d’ve done something to help her?” Debra snapped.
“Of course you would. Okay, Debra. Call us if you need anything.” Jama retreated and followed Zelda, still uneasy, trying to remember where the Katy Trail from St. Charles came close enough to the Missouri River that Debra could be run off the road, fall hard enough for this much damage and lose her bike in the river. And then, of course, she would have to be close enough to walk here with her injuries.
“Let me get you something to sleep in,” Zelda told Jama. “I’ll throw those clothes into the washer. I gather you didn’t bring a change?”
“I’d planned to return to Columbia tonight.” Jama felt a deep stab of pain as she thought about Tyrell, his anger. And once again, the loss.
They walked through the kitchen, and Zelda pulled a small casserole dish from the refrigerator. “Tortilla pie. You used to love this, didn’t you?”
Jama had been hungry earlier, but her appetite had fled.
“When did you eat last?” Zelda asked.
“I had a late breakfast.”
“You need to eat,” Zelda commanded. “You can clean up in the hall bathroom. The bedroom across the hall from Debra is yours. I’ll just take the unfolded laundry from the bed. That’s my junk room. I seldom get many overnight visits.”
“I could take the sofa.”
“You’ll take the bed. By the looks of it, you need as much rest as Debra does. I’ll keep checking her tonight.”
“I’ll help. Set an alarm for me.”
Zelda stuck the tortilla pie into the microwave, then turned around and pulled a kitchen chair away from the table. She sank down with obvious weariness. “You’ll do no such thing, Jama Sue. You look bushed. You’re sleeping, end of argument. Get washed, changed, and by then the food will be hot.” She glanced down at Jama’s shoes. “Those are a lost cause.”
“They’re my only ones. I’ll try to scrub them up in the bathroom.”
“Leave your muddy clothes in the hallway. I can stick them in the washer now, then dry them next time I check on Debra.”
“You’re too good to me.”
Zelda gave Jama a long, sad look. “You feel like one of my own.” She gazed down the hallway, sighed and looked back at Jama. “That would make me proud.”
The tragedy in those words weighed Jama’s heart with sympathy and blessed it with love. She carried that comfort with her as she washed…for a little while. But then she began to wonder how eager Zelda would be to embrace someone who had carelessly cost a bright, promising young surgeon her life.
After all the years of hard work in the field both at home and abroad, a few hours tramping through the woods would not typically faze Tyrell. He enjoyed the physical exercise. But tonight he felt as if he’d been climbing a mountain that couldn’t be scaled. He ached as he stepped from the SUV and hauled his gear from the backseat.
Jama’s confession had killed his appetite, but in the house he went through the motions of making himself a sandwich, heavy on the roast beef between thick slices of Mom’s homemade, whole grain bread.
He remembered Jama’s words about that long-ago Christmas dinner Mom had planned. Comfort food.
All of Jama’s words continued to flow through his mind, like pieces of flaming confetti tossed into the air.
He had moved his things into the studio apartment above the garage, but tonight he felt as if that was too far away. It had no phone service yet, and if someone tried to call the house instead of his cell for some reason, he wanted to be here.
He carried his sandwich and a glass of milk to the breakfast bar, pulled out a stool and prayed. Mercers always said grace before meals, and though there were many times he’d forgotten over the years, in this house it was second nature.
It was brief. No words involved, not even silent ones. Just a need for connection. A call for help. An opening of his spirit to make way for the Holy Spirit to connect with him, to fill him, give him wisdom.
How could this happen? How could he have spent so much time with Jama and not sense she was withholding a secret so devastating?
No answer came from above.
He remembered the passages of scripture she had quoted to him-words she had memorized, obviously. Words that had moved her so profoundly that she changed the course of her life because of them.
She had given up a promise of life with the man she loved because of the guilt she carried.
Tyrell shoved the sandwich aside, placed the milk back into the fridge and found the family Bible. It had all the birth and death records of the Mercers, dating back to the early 1800s, written in Mom’s neat script, which she had transferred from the huge old Bible handed down from generation to generation.
Holding this book comforted him. He opened it and saw the colored highlighting and underlinings on the pages, and in spite of everything that had happened today, he smiled. It was a study Bible, one Mom had purchased a few years ago, and which she and Dad had read through time after time, underlining different passages at different times, Mom in blue ink, Dad in yellow highlighter. Some verses were both underlined and highlighted.
Because of Jama’s memorized passages, he carried the Bible to the kitchen table and found Proverbs. A book of wisdom. He could sure use some wisdom right now.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Baying…in the darkness. Humphrey? Rocking. Doriann was rocking. She opened her eyes and still saw darkness, still felt the rocking. Then she felt the hardness against her side, heard a splash of water. She jerked awake then. She’d fallen asleep in the boat. Just curled up in the bottom and fallen asleep. For how long?
More baying. It wasn’t a dream. She grabbed the sides of the boat and pulled herself up. Humphrey. It couldn’t be him! She knew hunting dogs could run for miles…had seen them running back and forth, back and forth, eager for the hunt, sniffing the ground and howling with glee at a scent.
Lights onshore. Doriann caught her breath, and then cried out. How far had she floated? How long had she been sleeping? Could that be River Dance? She saw the outlines of buildings, those gold-yellow security lights, saw some windows with dim blue glow coming through them. Someone at home watching television.
“Hey!” she cried. “Hello, help! Somebody. Is anyone there? Help me!” And then, because it was louder than any other noise she could make, she just screamed and screamed. A little-girl scream that Aunt Renee said could peel the bark off a tree.
Humphrey howled and kept howling.
Somebody would have to hear her. They’d have to!
Jama sat at the kitchen table, hair dripping, toes freezing. The pajamas Zelda had given her were five inches too short and they hugged her a little snugly in some places, but they were flannel.
She cut a wedge from the tortilla casserole with the side of her fork, and transferred it to a small saucer. The aroma
of steaming cheese, chilies, beef and beans piqued her hunger. Zelda knew how to cook.
The first bite trailed heat down Jama’s throat and warmed her stomach.
After quick instructions for Jama to make herself at home, Zelda had gone to bed. She had a rough night ahead of her, checking on Debra every hour for signs of concussion.
Jama had taken her third bite of casserole when a sound from somewhere outside puzzled her. There was a distant baying of a hound dog on the hunt, and then the piercing strum of a scream mingled with it. Like the sound earlier, when she and Tyrell were on the riverside. They’d decided the sound was coyotes at the time, but now she wasn’t sure. Perhaps an animal being hunted? Trapped? She’d heard rabbits cry like little babies when caught by a cat.
She shivered. All the chaos of the day was catching up with her. She thought about the dogs that were supposed to arrive to help search for Doriann. Had they been brought in yet?
She took another bite of the food, washed it down with milk, then got up and covered the casserole. She would wait until it cooled further before replacing it in the fridge.
Overshadowing everything was the memory of Tyrell’s angry voice. Regret filled her. Hunger abandoned her.
She should have told him long ago about her part in Amy’s death, but to have told him today of all days, with everything else hitting him, was the wrong timing. If he had suspected the kind of bomb she’d drop on him, he might not have pressed so hard for answers.
“Oh, Tyrell, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She sank back down at the table and buried her face in her hands.
“I’m sorry.”
Tyrell paced across the living-room floor, listening to the squeak in one particular floorboard every seventh step. It was a large living room, in a large house, built by Tyrell’s grandfather, Joseph Mercer, with the intention of filling its rooms with a large family.
Now it was empty and dark, lacking the comfort Tyrell had always found here.
He stepped to the wall of windows he and Daniel had helped Dad install twenty years ago. They overlooked the hillside of vines. The thermometer read forty degrees now, and though it was warmer than it had been, it was still too cold for a child to be out there alone.
He heard a creak of floorboards behind him. He stiffened. Before he could react, the lights came on. Daniel stood in the middle of the room, hair sticking out, wearing jeans with no shirt.
“Went upstairs to read. Must’ve fallen asleep,” Daniel said.
“I didn’t know you were here.”
“I parked in the garage. I was just going to rest a few minutes, then change and check the temperature.”
“It’s fine.”
“You’re back.”
“Jama and I were warned away twice by the Feds, threatened with arrest…We figured that was pushing it.”
“Where’s Jama?”
“Zelda Benedict’s for the night.” Tyrell heard the stiffness in his voice.
Daniel’s gaze sharpened, and Tyrell knew he was about to ask questions.
The house phone rang and he answered eagerly, glancing at the caller ID. “Renee? Any news?”
“I thought you might have some for me.” Her voice, typically vibrant with life and the type-A personality that drove her, had an unfamiliar edge to it. “I was clued in that you and Jama were ousted from the search.”
“We avoided jail, obviously.”
“Of course. Is Jama at the house with you?”
“Why?” Why, all of a sudden, was everybody so interested in Jama? He knew immediately that his recent thoughts colored his voice.
A pause.
He glanced at Daniel, saw the concern. “I’m sorry, Renee. It’s been a long night.”
“Getting longer.” Still that edge.
“Something’s up?”
“The agents found tracks all through the woods. They heard some kind of altercation a little over an hour ago, animal and human, probably a dog. Screaming. Maybe Doriann. Shouting. Maybe the kidnappers. There were signs of a struggle near a small boat dock owned by a local-”
“Wait. What time did they hear the commotion?” He recalled the sound he had heard as he and Jama returned to the Durango.
“It was about an hour and a half ago, maybe two. I’m not getting minute-by-minute reports. Why do you ask?”
Tyrell closed his eyes. “Jama and I might have heard the same commotion. We thought it was coyotes.”
“Oh, Tyrell,” Renee whispered.
Vexed that they might have been so close to Doriann and missed the chance to reach her, he stood and walked to the windows, glaring out into the darkness, toward the security lights of River Dance that did not make him feel secure.
“What are the Feds doing now? What else have they found?” he asked. “Are they any closer to finding these monsters?”
“They started interviewing local landowners and discovered there’s a rowboat missing. Then they went farther downriver and discovered that there was also a fishing boat missing. There were drops of blood on the dock.”
“No sign of anyone in the forest?”
“None yet.”
“We know Doriann escaped them at one time. We could tell by the tracks we followed. Then, for some reason, she turned and followed her abductors.” Now it sounded as if she had either been caught again, or she was being followed. And now she and her captors could be headed downriver, out of the vicinity. They could be anywhere.
“The hunt has expanded,” Renee said. “Several law enforcement units have been called in.”
That didn’t comfort Tyrell. Doriann could be at the center of a maelstrom of danger.
“Where are you getting all this information?” he asked. “I know the federal agents aren’t giving you a play-by-play.”
“Remember my friend from school, Mona Johnson? She married Tim Holloway, who’s been called to help secure the perimeter. He got the news from the sheriff, then told Mona, and she’s called me three times with updates.”
“Good. Keep me informed, and don’t go telling anyone else about Tim’s involvement, or he’ll be in trouble. Want to talk to Daniel? He’s here.”
“First, I want to make sure you call Jama. She needs to know.”
“Not tonight. She’s probably asleep.”
“She’ll want to know, Tyrell. I can’t believe you’re trying to keep her out of the loop. I think-”
“Here’s Daniel,” Tyrell said, then swiftly handed the cordless phone to his brother, and left. He took his sandwich and the family Bible to his apartment. Daniel was at the house to answer the phones. He would get Tyrell if there was any news. And Tyrell had his cell.
Ironic that he was being forced to wait and pray and contemplate at a time when he most needed to be doing something. He knew that the disasters of the day weren’t happening simply to teach him how to do what had always been difficult for him-to wait. But the lesson was being learned, nonetheless.
He sat at the window overlooking River Dance. From here he would be able to see the top of the clinic roof during the winter months when the deciduous trees were bare. He could see the Show-Me River flowing into the Missouri during daylight, and if he opened his window, he knew he would be able to hear it.
He turned on the lamp beside his chair and opened the Bible. He selected an ink pen from the collection he kept in a coffee mug. It was a red pen. Appropriate, he thought. Tonight, he felt as if his own blood had been spilt.
He read for a while, then prayed, then read some more, with red pen in hand. He kept going as his eyelids grew heavy. He shared with God his agony over Doriann’s abduction, his worry over his father, his pain and disillusionment with Jama. His anger.
Oh, the romance that had carried him these past few months, when he’d craved time with Jama. Since she was a resident in Springfield, only thirty minutes away from where he worked, they’d seen each other often. How right it had felt, and how sure he’d become that she was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.<
br />
That romantic, idyllic bubble had burst tonight, leaving a clearer view of the woman he’d thought he knew so well.
Driven to his knees, he felt his heart cry out to God as never before, and as he prayed, his past mistakes came to his mind-his outspoken judgment of Mark and Heather’s parenting skills. How much blame did they lay on themselves because of his words?
He thought of the judgment Jama must have heard in his voice earlier tonight when he scolded her about Utah, about the times through his life that his words-his thoughtless attitude of judgment-had wounded others. And worse, some of his final words to Jama tonight had been harsh and wounding.
He laid it all bare to God. And then he continued to pray for mercy.
Doriann’s throat hurt, and she’d lost the sound of Humphrey’s howl. She couldn’t scream anymore. She sat huddled in the center of the boat, freezing.
Aunt Renee was always reminding them not to give up praying for something they really wanted-if they thought it was God’s will. So was it God’s will that Doriann get out of this river alive?
“Please, God, take care of me. I want to go home.” She felt tears again, and sniffed to keep from crying, because that just made her colder.
This was the first time in Doriann’s life that she was homesick. She loved to travel, to camp, see the country with her grandparents and vacation at their time-share. Once, she’d gone to England with Mom and Dad for a symposium. She loved adventure. But not now.
The boat bumped into something hard, jolting her. This was not the kind of traveling she liked. Oh, to be home listening to Mom and Dad talking about an exciting case, competing with each other over who had done the most surgeries that day, and who had engaged in the most compassionate doctor-patient heart-to-heart. They were really big on having a great bedside manner.
The boat bounced against something again, and then just sort of slid into some bushes. Leaves brushed across her face, and she jerked away with a cry. What now?
The boat turned again with the force of the river, but the clinging brush proved to be too much for the current. She had hit a shore of some kind.
A Killing Frost Page 24
