by Mary Cantell
“Now, Ms. Petruzzi, I just wanted to confirm that you called the Amber Alert number,” Detective Hastings said, his pen poised above his notebook. “You said you had some information, a tip for where to find the missing child, Lacy Logan?”
“Ms. Logan,” she began, turning to Lissa, who remained in the doorway despite the woman’s invitation to sit. “I think I saw your daughter.” She paused. “But I can’t be sure. I just thought it prudent to alert the police because it might have been her and then again maybe not. Our eyes do tricks on us. I know that for a fact.”
Detective Hastings tapped his pen on his thigh. “Where did you see her, Ms. Petruzzi?”
“Earlier this evening, I was on Rt. 70 at Shady Grove, not far from the lake.”
“Do you remember the time?”
“I don’t recall exactly but I was coming home from Fielding’s market—I didn’t have any candy for the children, so I went out to buy some. By the time I got back, I’d say it was getting close to six-thirty.”
“Where did you see her? Was she walking by herself?”
“When I stopped for a red light, I noticed a little girl about yea high,” she said, indicating with her hand. “She was walking alongside the fence by the road. Then the little girl turned her head. It appeared someone may have called to her because she quickly ran over to their car.”
“What was she wearing?” the detective asked.
“Did she have a ghost costume on?” Lissa interjected. “Or was she carrying a sheet?”
Ms. Petruzzi looked doubtful and shook her head. “No, no sheet. She had…um, I think it was a striped shirt—blue and white—yes, a blue and white striped shirt. That’s about all I recall, really.”
Lissa’s stomach lurched. Lacy had clothes matching the woman’s description, though so did a lot of people. Striped shirts were ubiquitous. She tried to recall what Lacy was wearing underneath her costume. When she stepped out of her bedroom just before leaving for the party, her ghost costume was already on. The only thing Lissa noticed was her daughter’s faded blue jeans and scuffed barely white Keds sneakers. Or maybe some other pants? At this point, her mind turned back into mush.
“So, Ms. Petruzzi, what happened at the car? Did someone talk with her? Did you notice any impression on the child’s face?”
The woman opened and then closed her mouth, struggling how to respond.
“Okay,” the detective said and shifted in his chair. “Let’s begin with the car. What happened at the stoplight after you saw the child go over to the car?”
Mrs. Petruzzi’s eyes enlarged. “I saw her get into it.”
“She got in. Okay. Did you notice whether she looked, possibly, forced into the car, or did she go in voluntarily?”
“Um, it looked like she knew the person inside the car because it wasn’t long before she went inside.”
“What kind of car was it? Do you remember the make or model?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t know either, really. I’m so sorry, detective.” She glanced over to Brian and then let her gaze settle on Lissa. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know makes and models of cars. I’ve never been good at that sort of thing. My late husband loved model cars—he had a hobby of building them—poor soul is gone to Heaven now but he—”
“So you don’t know whether it was a new or late model?” the detective interrupted.
“No, sir, I’m sorry.” She folded her hands as though about to say grace for dinner.
The detective twisted in the chair.
“But I can tell you what color it was,” she said, brightening.
Lissa, who’d been hanging on the woman’s every word, strained to hear.
“What color?” the detective asked.
“It was a very odd color,” she began. “It was yellow. Bright yellow, like a jar of mustard.”
A burning sensation sputtered up in Lissa’s throat. She turned and ran out of the kitchen and then out the front door into the night.
****
Lissa heard Brian’s voice in the distance calling her as he came up the sidewalk. She wanted to respond to him but didn’t have the strength even though the nauseous feeling had passed. His footsteps came quickly as he jogged toward the car and got in.
“Liss, honey,” he said, breathless, when he got there. “Why’d you run out?”
“I’m a mess, Brian. I’m sorry…but when she—she said a yellow car, it just struck me hard. I think I know who did this. Or might have…I don’t know.” She held a hand to her forehead.
“You think it’s the same yellow car you said Lacy mentioned?”
She shrugged. “How many yellow cars are in this town?”
“It might be significant. I’m sure it’s not lost on the detective. But in the meantime, I better take you home.”
Lissa shook her head. “No, I’m all right now. I just needed some air. It felt like the walls of that lady’s kitchen were about to close in on me. And all of those gargoyle things…” She shuddered. “Eww.”
“You look pale, Liss. You’re going to run yourself down, and then what good will you be? To anyone. Let me take you home. Tomorrow, we can—”
“I can’t rest now, Brian, I’m too wired. What about the detective? Is he coming?”
“I don’t know how much longer he’ll be.” Brian rolled down the window. “Wait, here he comes now.”
Lissa wished he would walk faster as he ambled up the sidewalk. And ditch the cigarettes, too. I don’t need you to die on me from lung cancer.
“You okay, Ms. Logan?” the detective asked, bending down to the level of the window.
“Detective—” her voice now rising with excitement, “—the yellow car…I know who owns it. Remember, I told you about it before? Lacy mentioned the color of the car parked on the street the day she was—was, I don’t know—stonewalled, I guess, by that girl on her way home from school. She said there was—”
“A yellow car,” he said, finishing her sentence.
“Yes, we need to check that out, sir.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
At 6:47 p.m., police officer Dwayne McCall pulled up to the accident scene; the sight of crumpled metal sent a punch to his stomach. What was left of the torn-up vehicle had been moved off to the side leaving shards of broken glass and debris in the roadway. With only one lane reopened, traffic crawled through the area. The delay was compounded by everyone gawking at the horrific mess. Even more unnerving, the officer noticed something intriguing within the wreckage. One of the cars looked familiar. A medical helicopter sat on the roadway, the rotary wings spinning. He watched them carry a stretcher and load it into the aircraft before stepping out of his squad car.
****
“The patient is secure.” The paramedic wiped his brow and turned to the pilot. “Any cautions?”
Pilot Jason Hardy focused on the control panel. “No cautions. All clear. All instruments in the green.”
“I’ve started the Sentanyl,” called the nurse, while checking the IV.
“Fuel?”
“One hour-fifty minutes.”
“Engines?”
“Two to fly.”
“Okay.”
“We’re in flight mode. EMS-38 1 is lifting with four souls on board. Inbound for Holy Cross.”
“Patient looks to be in his mid-to-upper thirties,” the nurse said. “I hope he makes it.”
****
“Hey, some crash,” Officer McCall called to one of the other patrolman on duty after pulling up to the scene. “Nasty.”
“You could say that,” the patrolman replied. “We got 340 still closed—all lanes. I just happened to be on I-70 when it happened—traveling west myself. Saw it happen. Scared the heck out of me. If it weren’t for the no U-turn sign, one of the cars could’ve clipped me good.”
Officer McCall turned around to look at the highway. “What U-turn sign?”
“My point exactly. It flew—somewhere. The car just missed me by a hair.”
; “Heard there was a pile up. How many?”
“Yep. There was an eighteen-wheeler,” he said, pointing about fifty yards down the roadway where the mammoth truck jackknifed. “It must have slipped on some oil or something, who knows? And then another couple of cars slid into him. And on the other side of the highway, coming out of cross traffic, a taxi cab slammed into the whole pile of ’em.”
“Collision between an eighteen-wheeler, two cars, and a taxi? Good night. Anything suspicious about it?”
“I don’t know, sir. I expect it’ll all come out in the investigation.”
“How many got airlifted?”
“Just one, sir. And an ambulance took another one. Unfortunately, there were two fatalities.”
The officer stared toward the pile of wreckage on the side of the road, wondering how anyone even survived.
****
“Emergency trauma three,” the lead nurse called out when the EMS team bolted through the door of Holy Cross hospital.
“Right ac joint and a 14-gauge on his right hand,” the paramedic announced. “With 80 systolic. He lost a lot of blood in the accident.”
“Anything for the pain?” the lead nurse asked.
“Base suggested morphine. Five mgs administered so far.”
“Got it,” she said, taking notes. “Any family here?”
“Not that I know of.” He shook his head. “Bad accident.”
The patient was transferred to one of the bays and like a choreographed dance, the ER trauma team jumped into action. An assistant set up a chest tube monitor while another assistant drew blood.
“Breath is decreased,” the surgeon said. “He may need a CT scan when his vitals are stable. Keep me posted on any changes.”
“Doesn’t appear to be any brain hemorrhage but…”
“Vitals are steady.”
“Airway is open.”
“Get a scan.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Celia turned on the bedroom TV and waited for the mud mask on her face—guaranteed to soften lines and wrinkles—to dry and harden. “Charlie, is that you?” Celia called when she heard the familiar sound of the front door closing. She quickly rinsed off the mask and patted her face dry. Downstairs, her husband sat at the kitchen table chomping a sugar cookie. A glass of milk and a section of newspaper lay on the table in front of him.
“I thought they served dinner at the Legion Hall?
“They did,” he said through a mouthful. “But I didn’t eat much—wasn’t hungry for some reason. Until now.”
“It’s not good to eat so late. Not just before bedtime. And why were you so late? It’s after ten. I was getting worried.”
“There was some kind of commotion on the road. A bunch of road flares were set up on 340 and a cop was redirecting traffic. He made us turn around, so I had to take the long way home or come home by way of West Virginia. I took the shortcut through Petersen’s farm.”
“That must have been the accident they were talking about on the news,” she said. “Glad you weren’t in it.” She placed a peck on his cheek and took the empty glass to the sink. After rinsing and setting it in the dishwasher, she wiped the sink with a paper towel and put in the drain stopper before heading back upstairs.
****
“A yellow car? Ms. Logan, I don’t know how we’ll be able to—” the detective began.
“Can you please just check it out? I know exactly where it is, the house is right up on—oh, I forget the name of the street, but I know where to find it.”
“Ms. Logan, it’s mighty late.” Detective Hastings stubbed his cigarette on the curb and clicked open the door to his SUV.
“I know it’s late, sir, but—”
“Liss,” Brian interjected. “Better to wait until morning to buttonhole people rather than wake them up. It’s almost midnight.”
“Ms. Logan, he’s right. Even I—”
“But I know someone in that house may have taken my daughter. I can’t wait much longer. This is our only clue,” she cried, her energy sparking to life.
“Even if you know who might be responsible for this, it’s not the best time to interrogate him—or her,” the detective said.
“He’s right, Liss. Better wait for a reasonable hour.”
She glared at both of them. “If you don’t go, I will.”
“Tell you what, Ms. Logan.” Detective Hastings raised his hand in surrender. “I’ll make a deal with you. Go home, get some sleep, and I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning seven a.m. sharp. Deal?”
Lissa could see she was up against a wall. It wasn’t like these men weren’t on her side but she needed to be taken seriously. She cupped her face in her palms. She prayed for God’s will to be done and to give her the wisdom to do the right thing. During her prayer, a warm feeling spread through her limbs and the queasiness in her stomach eased. With all the pleas she’d uttered before, this was the first time she’d been physically moved by one.
“Ms. Logan?”
She looked up.
“Okay, Ms. Logan?”
Lissa released a sigh and nodded begrudgingly. “Okay, seven a.m. sharp. I’ll be outside waiting.”
The detective gave her a decided look, tugged his tie, and took a step backward toward his car. He pointed a finger at her. “You got it.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lissa stared at the alarm clock. The room, so silent she could hear the whisper of the digits as they flipped… 2:01, 2:02. With each passing moment, her desperation grew. Time was truly her enemy, and the night became all the more menacing for what remained hidden. Where are you? The only solace she could find was that God knew. The minutes ticked by and scraped her nerves raw. She cried out, “God, please bring her home.”
She coiled in a fetal position; her body tensed. Along with the image of her daughter’s face, the driver of the yellow car loomed in her mind. Did he play a part in this? Caught in the dissonance between wanting to find Lacy herself and having to wait for professional help, the frustration only intensified her resolve. Her desperation stole any ability to sleep. The down filled comforter on top of her bed lent little comfort now even after taking a melatonin tablet chased by chamomile tea. Despite her need for sleep, there would be no rest tonight. She felt locked in a box with no windows or door. No way out. Is this some kind of penance, Lord?
Lissa checked her phone. Two calls came in just before midnight. One from her Aunt Celia and one from an unknown number in Elmdale. It would be too late to call back now. Another glimpse of the clock revealed that time appeared to slow down. She lay curled on the bed, phone in hand. and stared at the time as her nerves, on edge, prickled underneath her skin.
Wired, she got up and paced. The worn floorboards flexed and squeaked under her feet as she moved restlessly around the apartment. Like an automaton, she roamed from room to room, drawn to the windows where she held out a glimmer of hope of finding something outside in the darkness to relieve the potent ache in her chest. She scanned the street, straining for the figure of a child’s moving shadow or the flashing lights of a police car to distract her from the bitter anxiety now soaking into her bones. The night remained quiet. Everything and everyone safely tucked in. Nothing short of having Lacy home and safely under her pink satin bed cover would make a dent in repairing her crumbling heart.
Lissa went to Lacy’s room. In the glow of the nightlight, the sight of her daughter’s empty bed brought another pang of guilt. She ran her hand across the soft, cool satin and then moved to Lacy’s desk, presently cluttered with a stack of library books, assorted crayons and markers, and back issues of American Girl magazine. She turned on the desk lamp and opened the top drawer. Among several colored pencils and erasers sat her white leather-bound one-year diary Lissa had purchased for her when they shopped for school supplies back in September. The scent of its leather, still fresh. Lissa valued her daughter’s privacy, but there was something about the tiny leather journal that tempted her to open it. The diary came with a
little key to keep the contents private but apparently Lacy hadn’t locked it. The key remained taped to the front cover in the original sealed plastic. She opened the diary and began reading…
Monday, October 3 ~ Had fun in school today. Met a new girl named Julia and we walked home together.
Tuesday, October 4 ~ Miss Keogan praised me in class for my report on Daddy and Grandpop. Good day.
Thursday, October 13 ~ Julia was sick today. Walked home alone. A girl was mean to me on the way home. She said my family caused trouble in this town. Saw Tommy’s brother there sitting in his ugly yellow car.
Lissa stared at the words her daughter wrote. Her heart began to palpitate. Trouble? What on earth…?
Just after the sun rose came a knock at the door. Finally, the dreaded night had passed. Lissa didn’t think the avalanche of grief and regret that poured out from her soul through her anguished cries would ever slow. All night long, the imposed respite from the search kept her handicapped—confined in her own cell block of emotional turmoil. Whoever was behind the door was either Brian or the detective, and she welcomed the relief of another human being, someone who could erase the enigma of her daughter’s disappearance. The energy within her to conquer this nightmare she was locked into began to simmer once more.
Ten minutes to seven, ahead of the detective, Brian stood at the door in a fresh button-down shirt and khakis. When Lissa answered, she fell into his arms.
“Long night, I know,” he said, pulling her close.
Still dressed in the same jeans from the night before, she trembled in his arms. As much as she cared deeply for Brian, she would have traded him or anyone at that moment for a hug from her child. She longed to inhale the scent of crayons and grape bubblegum that sometimes lingered in her hair. Lacy’s birthday was in less than a month. She would be nine in December. The horror of the situation smacked her once more.