Perilous

by Tamara Hart Heiner

  Amanda said, “Hey Sara, didn’t your adoption certificate say you were born somewhere out here?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah. Some small town in New York.”

  “New York’s just west of us. We could try to find some of your relatives.”

  “I don’t have any relatives.”

  Amanda waved her off. “Sure you do.”

  “I don’t want to. If they wanted to see me, they could have found me. End of story.”

  “Well,” said Amanda, “we have to go west anyway. We’ll cross through New York.”

  “We need a map,” Jaci said. “We can stop at a gas station and get one. And food. We need food to make a trip like that.”

  September 28

  Westmount, Quebec

  Carl poured over the huge wall map of Quebec in the Westmount RCMP office. The city of Montreal and its surrounding suburbs took up most of the state.

  Inspector Ancelin had been assigned to the case. He studied the flier in his hand, his brow creased. The red jacket he wore suggested the British history behind the RCMP. “We should’ve been notified of this flier.”

  Carl tried to hide his annoyance. “Well, doesn’t anyone in your office get the Toronto Sun?”

  “We get the national paper, The Globe and Mail. Only if we’re looking for something particular will we buy our own individual papers.”

  “Ah.” Carl turned back to the map, his mind racing.

  Had The Hand known that? Had he placed the ad in the paper he knew the RCMP wouldn’t read? More and more, it looked like The Hand had an important connection somewhere.

  Ancelin stepped up to the map. “The girls could take any of these roads out. However, they would’ve been stopped at the border. To avoid detection, they might have traveled through the uninhabited forestland,” he pointed on the map, “and come out somewhere in Vermont.”

  Carl held his breath. They had left Canada, all right. He was certain of it. “The day this flier printed—were there any calls into your office?”

  “About the girls?” Ancelin shook his head. “None that I recall. The police may have received a few. I can pull up the logs and see.”

  “I’d like to leave the police out of this. If we can.” Carl chose his words carefully. He doubted the RCMP would take kindly to an American being suspicious of the Canadian police force.

  “Well, let me pull up the logs for all the calls we got here for the past several days.”

  It was a tedious process, reading the brief call descriptions.

  After several hours Carl’s eyes began to burn. He didn’t even know what he was looking for, but his instincts told him there was something here.

  A quarter after five in the evening, Ancelin yawned and stretched. “Coffee?”

  Carl nodded, not looking up from the computer screen. “Please.”

  His eyes were swimming. Everything was listed in French and English. He was getting too tired to focus on the words when the word “kidnapped” leapt out at him.

  He pushed the back button and the screen popped up again.

  “September 22. 0900 hours. Rachel Brosseau reports missing friend, Natalie Denis. Missing two days. Natalie’s boyfriend not answering phone calls. Believes they’ve been kidnapped.

  “Action taken: recorded phone number and all addresses involved. Contacted Montreal police. Police agreed to send out a patrol. Report from police: Natalie with boyfriend. Wanted privacy. Returned call to Rachel, left message. Case closed.”

  On the surface it looked perfectly normal, easy to see why the case was closed. But it didn’t feel right. Why hadn’t Rachel answered the return call? Could be any reason. No big deal, just leave a message.

  A quick conversation with Rachel would rule this out. He pulled his phone out and dialed the number listed in the record.

  It rang once and then went to voicemail. A female voice launched into a chirpy recording, followed by a beep.

  Carl hung up, a knot of dread building in his stomach. “Inspector.”

  Ancelin walked in, carrying two cups of coffee. “What did you find?”

  Carl was busy jotting down addresses. “I need to get to these addresses and talk to this girl. Her friend saw something. Maybe Rachel knows about it.”

  Ancelin peered over his shoulder and grunted. “Victoriaville. Small city. About two hours from here.”

  Carl jumped up. “Then we better get going.”

  Carl tried not to get his hopes up as he and Inspector Ancelin approached the last address on the list. Natalie’s boyfriend, Chris, was their final hope.

  The other houses had held no answers. The apartment still had two girls living in it, but they hadn’t seen or heard from Rachel for almost a week. They weren’t worried because she often took trips without telling anyone.

  Natalie’s house had a family living in it. Her sister and her sister’s husband, or something like that. Natalie hadn’t been home in days. But when they had called the police, the police had told them that they had already investigated her disappearance. She and her boyfriend had gone on a secret rendezvous.

  Same story the police had told the RCMP. But Carl didn’t buy it. Where was Rachel now?

  Ancelin had been on his cell phone ever since leaving Rachel’s apartment. His voice was snappy and urgent while he spoke with different men in his department. He parked the car at the last address and hung up.

  Carl looked at him. “What do you think?”

  “It’s too convenient that they all went on vacation at the same time.”

  Carl nodded. “Let’s see what we find here.”

  Carl rang the doorbell to the slender townhouse and waited. No answer. Frustrated, he reached out and tried the door. It opened.

  Ancelin shook his head. “We can’t go in.”

  “Maybe you can’t,” Carl grunted. “But nothing’s stopping me.”

  He stepped into the apartment, taking in the hospital smocks on the sofa and the shoes in the corner.

  The bedroom had an unmade twin bed in it. A bag of chips lay open on the dresser. Socks and pants littered the floor.

  Pulling open dresser drawers, Carl ran his fingers under clothing, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

  He went into the bathroom. The toiletries were gone. First clue. Gone out of town.

  He wandered into the kitchen, spotting Ancelin hovering in the doorway. Carl opened the fridge. Old food. He stepped around the table and stopped short. A slick, new Blackberry sat by a dirty plate. Carl frowned and picked it up. Now that was odd.

  “Anything?”

  “A phone.” He waved the Blackberry. Nobody would go out of town without bringing this along. “Something’s going on. I want to ask the neighbors if they saw anything.”

  “I’ll ask.” Ancelin straightened his jacket. “They’ll answer me.”

  Carl followed him out the door, his fingers counting the missing people: Natalie, Rachel, Natalie’s boyfriend. Three. Where were they?

  Ancelin rapped loudly on the door of the next townhouse.

  The door opened, revealing an old woman with crystal blue eyes and wispy gray hair. “Oui?”

  Carl followed their gestures as they conversed in French, illuminated by the lit street lamp over head—Ancelin indicating the house, the old woman pointing to the road.

  More questions. Ancelin handed her a card and moved to his car.

  Carl followed him. “Well?”

  “It’s late. I’ll take you to your hotel. But tomorrow we’re going to the police station.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Carl.

  “Chris stopped by her house. Asked her to keep his cat. He had on a backpack and said he was going on a trip for a few days. She agreed to take the cat. He was walking away when a police car pulled up. He turned and ran. They gave chase and forced him into the car. Caused quite a commotion.”

  Ancelin squealed out of the parallel parking space. “The police are lying to us.”

  Carl slipped his fingers into the han
dhold and looked out his window, glad that he hadn’t been the one to suggest the idea.

  Chapter 17

  Jaci curled up tighter, shivering and feeling cramped. Uncurling her arms, she tried to stretch, but tumbled off the porch into the dirt. “Ow!”

  She heard Sara laugh.

  “Sorry,” the fair-haired girl said, extending a hand. “Watching someone roll off a porch first thing in the morning is pretty funny.”

  Jaci rubbed her sore back as Sara helped her onto the porch. No sign of the rain today. It was a clear, beautiful morning.

  Amanda stood and stretched. “My whole body aches. Maybe we could sneak to the police station one by one?”

  Panic crossed Sara’s face. “They’ll be watching.”

  Amanda’s lip twisted up. “They can’t be watching everyone, everywhere. There must be someone—”

  Sara lifted a hand. “Shh.”

  From inside the house came voices and what sounded like chairs being scraped across a wooden floor. In an instant the girls scrambled off the porch, shoving together against the wall, out of sight from the windows.

  “I thought they were out of town,” Amanda said.

  “Hush,” said Jaci, jabbing her in the ribs with her elbow.

  Sara’s fingers clasped together tightly, her knuckles white, hands shaking. Her eyes were wide, her face pale.

  “Sara,” Jaci said. “Are you okay?”

  Sara focused on her and nodded her head.

  Jaci leaned in to Amanda and breathed, “Post-traumatic stress syndrome.”

  Jaci reached out and put a hand on Sara’s arm. “No one’s going to hurt us.” She glanced behind her at the house, ignoring the sound of laughter and the buzz of voices.

  “Let’s sneak away. We’ll stick to the houses and nobody will dare to harm us in a neighborhood,” Amanda said.

  “I’ll lead the way. We’ll go around to the front and walk like normal people.” Jaci started to creep forward, the other girls crawling after her. She went around the house and pulled up short.

  Amanda came up behind her. “Look at all the cars.”

  The driveway, lawn, and street seemed to have become a parking lot. Even as they watched, other cars pulled up and stopped next to the house.

  “Is it a party?” Amanda questioned.

  Jaci frowned and shook her head. “Doesn’t make sense. At nine in the morning?”

  A young couple got out of their car and opened the back door to get out a baby. The man wore a white shirt and tie, and the woman was wearing a skirt and black heels.

  “They look like they’re going to church,” said Jaci.

  “Church?” Sara said.

  The three of them looked up at the brick house. Almost on cue, an electric organ began to play the familiar notes of a hymn.

  Jaci smiled. “We’ll be able to get help here. Come on, let’s go inside.”

  “Okay,” said Sara. “If we sneak in the back.”

  Jaci opened the door and stepped in, followed by Amanda and Sara. The sound of a hymn being sung in broken harmony wafted down the hall.

  The girls hurried down the hall, following the singing. They entered a large living room just as the opening prayer finished.

  As choruses of ‘amen’ filled the room, they filed into a row of empty chairs set up in the back. An old man glanced at them, turned away, then turned back to stare.

  Jaci felt her face flush pink, but she sat down, avoiding anyone’s eyes. She sat on something hard, and she stood up again to pick up the hymn book on her plastic folding chair. There were maybe sixty people in the room, including children.

  “That old man keeps staring at us,” Sara said. “We aren’t safe here.”

  Jaci wished she could reassure her, but she suddenly felt anxious. “Let’s go. We shouldn’t be here.”

  “Agreed,” Amanda breathed. “Let’s slip out.”

  Sara put her hymnal down, and the three of them tiptoed from the room, stepping out into the bright sunshine.

  A teenage boy ran past Jaci, nearly tripping her.

  “Hey, wait,” he said, touching Amanda’s elbow. He looked about eighteen, athletic build, with reddish-brown hair. His triangular face was very pleasant.

  “Yeah, what?” Amanda asked, pulling her arm back.

  “You left in a hurry,” he said, eyeing them. He stepped closer. “Anyway, my mother sent me after you guys. She said you looked like you needed help. Come and meet her—she’s real nice, and she’ll help out. Where are your parents? What are you doing for dinner?”

  He took Amanda’s forearm, already starting to haul her back.

  “No.” Sara launched herself at him and yanked Amanda out of his grip. “We don’t need any help. We’re fine.”

  Both the boy and Amanda gave her startled looks.

  “Sara, what’s wrong with you?” asked Amanda.

  Jaci slipped to Sara’s side. “She’s right. We can’t.” She turned to the boy. “Tell your mother thanks for the offer, but no. We really prefer to be left alone. It’s kind of difficult to explain.”

  The boy nodded, looking confused. “You’re on the run?” he guessed. “Are you runaways? Done something wrong?”

  “Something like that,” said Jaci.

  “Wait here and I’ll get some food from home. You can take it with you.”

  Amanda nodded. “That’s very kind of you.”

  Jaci hesitated. “We’ll wait inside for ten minutes.”

  “Please don’t betray us,” Sara said to the boy.

  “I’m just gonna go tell my mom. I have to tell her.”

  They followed him back into the house while he hurried off to find his mom. The girls stood in a corner of the empty entryway.

  A moment later he was back with his mother. He glanced at them once, waving slightly, as he and his mother left the building.

  The girls watched through the window as they drove away in a big, tan pick-up truck.

  Jaci wanted to get a message to him—somehow she had to do so without Sara noticing. Her eyes landed on a stack of pamphlets displayed on the hall table.

  “Watch the clock, Amanda,” reminded Sara.

  “Why? What could possibly happen?” Amanda countered.

  “What if we’re being watched?” she responded. “What if someone follows them and delays them and they never come back? What if they call the police and tell them where we are?”

  Sara bit her lip. “We should never have agreed to this.”

  “Stop worrying,” Amanda said, rolling her eyes. “We need the food. We won’t make it without it. We had to take the risk.”

  Sara didn’t reply, but glanced at Jaci.

  Jaci froze over the paper she was marking, feeling Sara’s eyes on her. She blushed and covered it with her arm.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Where’d you get pen and paper?”

  She held up the pamphlet. “I tore the paper from here and found the pen on the floor.”

  Sara narrowed her eyes. “And what were you writing?”

  “Nothing,” Jaci insisted. “Just doodling.” Please, don’t let her ask to see it.

  “Let me see,” Sara said, holding out her hand.

  The tan GMC pulled up, and the boy climbed out of the passenger seat. A woman came around the other side.

  “They’re here,” Amanda interrupted, getting up and grabbing her bag.

  Jaci pocketed the paper and stood, too. They hoisted their bags and hurried out the door.

  “My name is Alice,” the woman said, handing a loaf of sandwich bread to Sara as they joined her at the door of her truck. “This is my son, Aaron.”

  The boy nodded at them and handed Jaci a Tupperware of cut fruit. She shoved it into her bag.

  “Here is my phone number,” Alice continued, handing a slip of paper to Sara.

  “Here’s some cheese,” Aaron said, holding out a package of processed cheese. Amanda took it and put it in her bag. “And s
andwich meat.” She grabbed that as well.

  Aaron turned back to the truck, reaching inside. “And we’ve got some spaghettios, a can opener, and a small sack of flour. You’ll be regular pioneers.”

  “I’ll help,” Jaci volunteered, climbing up into the cab.

  “Here,” Aaron said, handing her the flour. “And here’s—”

  “Take this,” she interrupted, thrusting the paper into his hands. “Don’t open it ’til we’re gone. Just do what it says.” She jumped down before he could say anything.

  “And some bottles of water,” Alice said, helping Sara load up the bags with water. “Are you sure you won’t come over? You girls need help. You can use my phone. Let’s call your parents, tell them to come get you. You can stay the night if you want. Come on, you’ll fit in the car.”

  Get in the car. Come with me. Jaci wasn’t frightened of this woman. But the words frightened her. She took a step backwards. “We have to go.”

  “Well—” Alice hesitated. “Well, you’ve got my phone number. Whatever you need, give me a call.”

  “Thanks,” Jaci said, still trying to shake off the sudden, eerie feeling.

  “Let’s go,” Amanda said, shouldering her bag, now laden with food.

  They went around the block as quickly as they could, putting distance between them and the church.

  “You know, Sara,” Amanda said, running her hand along some bushes, “I think it’s good to be cautious, but do we have to be so suspicious of everyone? I mean, we can’t walk from here to Idaho with no help. At some point, we have to trust people.”

  “But not here, Amanda,” Sara insisted. “They know we’re here.”

  Amanda turned to Jaci. “What was on that piece of paper you gave him?”

  Jaci gave Amanda a warning look, but it was too late.

  Sara whirled around. “What? What did you do, Jaci?”

  “Calm down, Sara.” Jaci rubbed the palm of her hand on her jeans. Sara was making her jumpy. “I just gave him a piece of paper with my phone number on it. I asked him to call my parents and tell them we’re okay.”

  “Is that all?” Sara retorted. “Because they probably have the phones tapped. They’ll know exactly where we are.”

  “I’m counting on it,” Jaci said. “I said to tell them another family in Vermont befriended us and we are catching a ride to Maryland. From there we’ll try to contact them before we continue west.”