Sophie Last Seen

by Marlene Adelstein

  Jesse looked at Star. “We’re in luck. They’re open.” The food pantry was at the top of her list.

  They parked the truck, left Saint Anthony in the front seat with the windows cracked, and followed the arrows on the sign to the church’s side entrance.

  Inside was a small room with a long countertop. Two women worked behind it, one older with a wrinkled face and pretty hazel eyes. The other was a young woman rocking a sleeping baby girl in a stroller. The shelves behind them were stocked with canned goods. They both had three-ring notebooks and were logging in items. Meanwhile, a lanky male customer was putting cans of food into a brown bag. He exchanged small talk with the older woman then left with his bag.

  “May I help you?” the younger woman said, looking from Star to Jesse.

  Jesse stepped up to the counter while Star stood back shyly.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” Jesse pulled out Star’s drawing of Paul Bunyan. “I’m looking for this man. I don’t know much about him, but he used to sleep on the beach near the Duneside Cottages, and I have a feeling he may have come to the food pantry. I was wondering if you ever saw him.” She slid the drawing across the counter toward the young woman.

  She looked at it quickly. “I don’t think so.”

  The older woman came closer. “When was this?”

  “Some time ago,” Jesse said. “I know he was definitely in Wellfleet around six years ago.”

  “Six years ago. My word. That is a long time. Let me see that picture.” She had a thick New England accent. She seemed tough, though, as if she’d survived some rough winters. She studied the drawing. “Could have been any number of young men who passed through here. Hippie types, you know? I’ve worked at this food pantry for fifteen years. So I’ve seen them all. And my memory is like a trap. Is he a relation?”

  “Oh, no, no. It’s a long story. But actually, I’m looking for my daughter.” Jesse reached into her purse and pulled out a photo of Sophie and the missing person flyer with the computer-aged image. “We used to come to Wellfleet for vacations, and we stayed at the Duneside Cottages. My daughter spotted this homeless man, and I’m afraid she might have befriended him. He might have taken her. Or not.” She let out a sigh. “I don’t know. She’s been missing for six years and was taken closer to our home in one of the hill towns. At this point, we’re grasping at any clue.”

  The younger woman gasped and whispered, “Six years.” Then she instinctively moved closer to her child in the stroller.

  “I remember hearing about her. Bird Girl, right?” the older woman said.

  Although she wanted to shout, “She has a real name!” Jesse just nodded.

  “That is a sad story.” The woman looked at her coworker, who was now fussing with her baby. “Melissa”—she nodded to the other woman—“only moved here recently from Florida with her baby daughter and just started at the food pantry. So she won’t be any help. And I can’t say I’ve ever seen your daughter. I’d remember. This girl has...” She paused, staring at the photo of Sophie, searching for a word. “An intensity about her.”

  Jesse and Star exchanged a glance.

  The woman picked up the drawing of Paul. “This man.” She tapped the drawing with her finger. “Well, he looks familiar, but as I said, put a beard and some long hair on any of these washashores, and they all look like this.” She turned to Jesse. “I’m sorry, I wish I could be of more help.” She slid the papers back to Jesse then patted the back of her hand. “That’s a terrible cross to bear, my dear. Just terrible. I’m very sorry.”

  Jesse withdrew her hand. There it was—that unsolicited vessel of sympathy from a stranger, like an unwanted gift. She’d come to hate it in the early days of the tragedy and would never get used to it. “Thank you. It was just a long shot. Good-bye.” She grabbed Star by the sleeve and tugged her toward the door.

  “Dear,” the woman piped up. “You might want to try the Big Book meeting at eleven this morning. They meet downstairs. Those men just might know your homeless man. They look out for each other. Some of them have been coming for years and years.”

  “Big Book?”

  “You know, AA. Give me the power...”

  “Oh, right, of course.”

  “Good luck, dear.”

  There was time before the meeting, so they piled back into the truck and drove over to the Wellfleet Boatyard, the next place on Jesse’s list. Star stayed put while Jesse walked up to an old wooden schooner and showed the drawing around to a few workers. The men were busy and uninterested. They gave it a cursory look.

  “Who drew this? A kid?” one guy said with a snide chuckle.

  “Six years ago? Are you crazy, lady?” another said then tossed it back to Jesse.

  She slipped back into the driver’s seat next to Saint Anthony and let out a sigh. She rubbed his soft floppy ear between her thumb and index finger.

  Star pushed her hair out of her face. “Maybe we have to come back in the summer. Maybe somebody has to spend the whole summer here. You know, hang out at his spot on the beach and observe like Sophie did. You have to be super patient. You can’t just blow in and expect your bird to come to you.”

  “I know. I know...” Jesse nodded, thinking that was what Bixby said, too. “I’ve waited and watched and listened for years now.” She reached for her locket, forgetting she’d tossed it into the creek. Her fingers slid down her neck. She regretted having done that. She missed it. Without warning, there was a catch in her throat, and her eyes filled. “You know, I haven’t had lunch with a girlfriend in years. I don’t even have any girlfriends anymore. No one to call and just gossip with. I haven’t read a book for pleasure or gone shopping for a pair of shoes in ages.” Suddenly, tears were running down her face.

  Star looked around nervously, found a crumpled napkin in the door’s side compartment, and handed it to Jesse.

  Jesse took it and blew her nose. “When is it time to stop waiting?” She looked at Saint Anthony, right into his big brown eyes. She leaned down to him and touched her head to his, forehead to forehead. “When is it, sweetie?” She caressed him, took a breath, and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

  Star patted Jesse on the arm. “You need a break. A little fun. Why don’t you go away with Barnes? I know you like him.”

  Jesse nodded. Yes, Barnes. She wished he was with them. He’d know what to do. Something about him reminded her of the Dog Whisperer. Jesse used to watch his show on the National Geographic Channel even though she didn’t have a dog then. He always told people to be calm and assertive for their dogs. That was Barnes. Calm. Assertive. It made her want to please him, to get him to rub her head the way he rubbed Saint Anthony’s. But she’d pushed him away. She turned back to Star. “Yeah, I do like him.” She knew she might not see him again. “A vacation does sound good right about now. But it’s hard to turn off the brain. You know what I mean?”

  They sat silently for a few minutes, just listening to Saint Anthony panting.

  “I wish I could stop thinking about Sophie,” Star said. “I don’t mean the good things, the happy memories when we were kids. It’s the bad thoughts I don’t want. The creepy things that crawl into my brain and just sit there and infect it like a computer virus and make me do bad things. Then there’s the stuff I’m afraid happened to her. That could have happened to me. That’s the stuff I just want to delete.”

  Jesse thought of the cuts on Star’s arms—they must be some of the bad things Star was talking about. It felt too soon to bring them up. “I know exactly what you mean. I’ve tried God knows what.” Sex. Drugs. Alcohol. She looked at Star and thought, We’re quite a pair. They both reached for Saint Anthony and petted him.

  OUTSIDE THE CHURCH, a small group of men and women stood together, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. Jesse parked the truck. She and Star maneuvered their way through the crowd near the church. They entered through a side door, headed down a hallway, and found an open door. A few people were scattered about the room, sitting on folding c
hairs. A long table in the back held stacks of pamphlets and books: One Day at a Time, 12 Steps and 12 Traditions, The Big Book. They’d come to the right place. Some of the people from outside started ambling in. Jesse and Star sat in the back. A few middle-aged men came in with their paper coffee cups, giving Jesse friendly nods. Another man with a full head of silver hair, blue jeans, and a denim work shirt strode up to the front. He exchanged words with a few people, shook some hands, then called the meeting to order.

  “Hi, everyone. I’m Larry, and I’m an alcoholic.”

  “Hi, Larry,” everyone chanted in unison.

  “Yoga is down the hall to the left, and Al-Anon is in the chapel. If you want one of those, nice to meet you, but you’re in the wrong place. This here is your Friday-morning co-ed Big Book meeting.”

  Jesse glanced about nervously.

  “Why don’t we jump right in. Who wants to go first today?”

  A few hands shot up, but Star nudged Jesse with her elbow. She gestured for Jesse to stand up and speak. “Go on,” she prodded.

  Jesse stood. “Hi, everyone.”

  “Louder,” Star said.

  She started again, louder this time, “Hi, everyone. I’m Jesse. I’m not an alcoholic... well,” she mumbled, “I don’t know. I have been drinking a lot lately.”

  Star stared at her and made a gesture that said, “Get on with it.”

  “I’m really sorry to barge into this meeting, but I don’t have much time and have a very brief announcement. It’s kind of important. I wonder if you might help me.”

  There were rumblings in the audience, and Larry stood up again. “Miss, are you here for the AA meeting? If not... no solicitations are allowed.”

  “No, no. Please hear me out. I’m sorry to intrude”—she started speaking really fast—“but my daughter went missing in 2012 from a shopping mall in Holyoke, Mass. She’s never been found. She was ten years old at the time. We used to come here every summer, rented a cottage on the beach, and this is a drawing of a man I only recently learned my daughter may have befriended during our last visit here. He used to sleep on the beach near our place. He rode a red bike. I don’t know anything about him, but it was suggested he might have come to your meetings, or maybe one of you might recognize him.” She held up the drawing then passed it around the room. She pulled out the photo and Missing Person flyer. “And this is my daughter. This was what she looked like then, and here is an image of what she may look like now.”

  There were murmurings among the group. Someone said, “I remember that case.”

  Another said, “Me too.”

  Jesse hoped these people wouldn’t bring up Bird Girl and Bird Mom. They passed around the photos and drawing. An attractive middle-aged woman in a sweatshirt stepped forward. “I don’t like where this is going. What are you suggesting? Alcoholics are kidnappers? We’re good people.”

  There was more rumbling from the crowd.

  “No, no. I’m just looking for any clue as to what might have happened to my daughter. Anyone who might have seen her or might know something. I’m not accusing anyone. If you could only imagine what I’ve been through all these years. Not knowing where my daughter is... what happened to her.”

  A man toward the front of the room said, “Yep, I remember him. He came to some meetings. I think I saw him last week.”

  Larry nodded. “Yes, that’s right. He spoke a few times. Didn’t he lead a meeting or two this year?”

  Finally, an older man wearing a fleece vest stood up. Tufts of fluffy white hair stuck out from under his baseball cap. He held his hands up to shush the crowd. “People, people, hold on a minute. This drawing is of Gregory Adams. The spittin’ image down to his favorite Harley T-shirt. He was a buddy of mine. He did attend some meetings but not last week and not last year. There was a tragedy. Don’t you all remember? It was big news. He went overboard on the fast ferry from P-town to Boston. Never did learn how to swim. His body washed ashore back in the fall of 2012. I’m sure you all heard about it.”

  A hush fell over the crowd, then they began chattering among themselves.

  “That’s right, Nate,” someone said to the old man.

  “He was your good friend. I remember him now,” somebody else said.

  The old guy spoke again. “He was the quiet type. Tended to disappear in a crowd, if you know what I mean.”

  Just what Sophie had told Star about him.

  “He’s been gone for years. Poor guy.” He turned to Jesse and handed her back the drawing. “I’m sorry, miss. Don’t know exactly why you’re looking for Greg. He had his share of troubles to be sure, but we got along. Watched out for each other.”

  “You’re sure it’s him?” she asked, nodding toward the drawing.

  “Hundred and twelve percent.”

  Jesse looked over at Star, who sat there wide-eyed. “Thank you,” she said quietly to the man. Jesse opened her mouth to say more then decided otherwise. She nodded at Star, and the two of them walked toward the door in a daze. Jesse stopped abruptly and made an about-face. “Sir, could Gregory have left town shortly before he went missing?”

  “He rode his bike to Truro a couple times a week. Hitchhiked to Provincetown once in a while. But he never went any farther unless I drove him. He didn’t own a car. Didn’t drive or have a license. He felt safe here. He was no pedophile, if that’s what you’re getting at. He’d never mess with any little girl. That, I can assure you. He was a decent man. A good friend.”

  Jesse said, “Do you happen to know if Gregory liked birds? You know, was he into bird-watching?”

  He cocked his head to the side and squinted his eyes. “How did you know? Wouldn’t pay attention to nothing but them birds. Feeding them. Watching and watching. Yapping on and on about them. Driving me friggin’ crazy. Friggin’ birdbrain, he was.” And he gave an uncomfortable chuckle.

  “Okay, thank you.” She headed for the door then stopped, turning back to the old guy. “One last question. Where is this Gregory buried?”

  “Out at the town cemetery. I should know. I paid for the plot.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jesse walked out of the church and found Star already standing near the truck.

  Star shook her head. “Well, that takes care of that. Our big clue is dead.” She kicked a rock then kicked it again. “So his name was Gregory. He liked birds, and he rode a red bike, just like I said. Just like Sophie said. But he’s dead.” She plucked a small pinecone off a tree, crushed it in her hand, then threw it. “I’d say case closed.”

  Jesse planted her hands on her hips, staring at Star. “Case closed? Hardly. Don’t you think it’s kind of strange that the old man in the meeting didn’t say how Paul Bunyan went overboard?”

  “I thought he jumped.”

  “Well, maybe. But maybe not. And we don’t know the date he died. It’s still possible he came for Sophie before.”

  “But he didn’t drive. How would he have even gotten to the mall in Holyoke, hours away?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is I have a daughter who’s missing. And she and this Paul Bunyan character obviously met and spoke. And they both were into birds. Something is fishy.”

  Star shrugged her shoulders. “In the missing person business, it all seems to be pretty fishy. I think it’s time we go home.” She started walking toward the truck.

  “Star, wait a minute. Haven’t you heard there’s no such thing as a coincidence? There has to be a reason. A connection between the two.” She’d been thinking she was going to find him. Find Sophie. Maybe there were more clues. Maybe Sophie was still nearby even if Paul Bunyan was gone. Jesse had been so sure the trip would lead to something. She wasn’t ready to give up. Jesse inhaled. “I think we should look it up.”

  Star swiveled back toward Jesse. “Look what up?”

  “If he went overboard and then his body was found, it would be in the local paper. Let’s just confirm it, get the facts, and see if they printed a photo of Paul or Gregory. Wha
tever his name was. Just make sure it’s the same person. Just because some old guy we never met, a total stranger from some AA meeting, is saying all this, it doesn’t mean we have to believe him. Maybe he’s leaving out some important detail. Maybe Paul Bunyan did know how to drive. Just because you don’t have a license doesn’t mean you can’t drive. Maybe he stole a car or borrowed one.” Jesse looked at Star, feeling determined. “You’re good at finding stuff on your smartphone, right? Start Googling.” And she nodded at the girl’s cell phone.

  They sat together under a tree outside the church. Star typed in “Gregory Adams Wellfleet” into her smartphone and pulled up a few articles from September of 2012 from the Cape Cod Times.

  “Look at this.” Star pointed to the first article on the screen. The photo of Gregory Adams looked nearly identical to their drawing. “That’s him for sure. That’s our Paul Bunyan.” Star started reading the first headline aloud: “Authorities puzzle over passenger missing from fast ferry.” She quickly skimmed the article. “A fisherman spotted a man falling or jumping off the fast ferry from Provincetown to Boston on September second. Gregory Adams was seen boarding the ferry by surveillance cameras that day, but they didn’t show him disembarking. He was reported missing by friends.” She looked at Jesse then back at the article. “That was days before Sophie went missing.”

  A later article still had no answers. The police continued their investigation, including searching the waters where the man was spotted falling in. The last article went on to say that a woman walking her dog at Race Point in Provincetown discovered a body washed ashore around 6:30 in the morning on September 6, 2012. The man’s friend, Nate Acton—apparently the man they had met at the AA meeting—was interviewed and said Gregory left a note for him. According to the article, Nate said Greg was a veteran and had been depressed.

  Jesse read over Star’s shoulder, taking it all in.

  “This confirms it,” Star said. “Paul existed. His name was Gregory, and he most likely met Sophie. But then he died, probably a depressed guy who jumped to his death before Sophie went missing.” Star exited the site and put the phone in her pocket.