Count to Three

by T. R. Ragan

  She walked with a limp to the chair where she’d left her coat.

  He’d gone to a lot of trouble to make everything perfect tonight. She hadn’t even looked at the ring, which had cost him a fortune.

  Her friends didn’t even know he existed?

  Swallowing a giant lump in his throat, heart racing, he watched her collect her things. Panic seeped into his bones. He couldn’t let her go, not after everything that had happened. He looked around until his gaze fell on the centerpiece on the table, a heavy glass vase filled with dozens of red roses. Two long strides brought him to the table. He grabbed hold of the vase and ran toward her.

  Gretchen never saw it coming.

  Carlin’s computer screen came to life. Once he accessed the internet, he typed the words “boy witnesses the abduction of Ali Cross” into the search engine.

  Quite a few links came up, many about Ali Cross being a runaway, some about a boy who had witnessed a bank robbery two years ago. His eyes scanned each header, then abruptly stopped at the one that read Twelve-Year-Old Says He Saw Ali Cross Tossed into a Van. Police Are Looking into It. He clicked on the link, swept past a picture of a mobile home park, and read through the entirety of the article, which included the boy’s description of what he saw. Upon further investigation, detectives were unable to find any trace evidence. But the boy, the article went on to note . . . has no intention of leaving it at that. He’s adamant about what he saw and refuses to stop looking for Ali Cross, a girl he’s never met.

  Carlin sucked in some air after realizing he’d been holding his breath.

  Ali had been right! The kid had seen him toss her in the back of the van. How was that possible?

  He might have shut down his computer at this point and let the whole thing go. But it was the last line that bothered him, niggled, made his eye twitch.

  The kid refused to stop searching for Ali Cross.

  There was no mention of the boy’s name other than to say that he lived with his mother. Carlin scrolled back to the top of the article to take another look at the picture of the mobile home park where, according to the caption, the kid supposedly lived. There was no signage in the picture that would tell him which park it was, but that wasn’t necessary, he realized, the moment he saw the palm trees at the front and the high-rise apartments in the foreground in West Sacramento, where he’d done some work recently. He did a quick search of “mobile home parks in West Sacramento.” There it was: the Hawkeye Mobile Home Park. It was on an acre of land and held forty to fifty trailers.

  Maybe he would pull the old Camry out of the garage and do a quick drive-by.

  No. He would do better than that, he thought, as the phrase “keep your friends close and your enemies closer” crept through his mind.

  He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out the lanyard attached to a badge holder. The one he’d been given when he attended a small business conference at Sacramento’s community center in Midtown. He slipped the piece of paper with his name on it out from under the plastic badge holder, then used Microsoft Word to make a new badge with a new name and a new career as a journalist.

  Once that was done, he shut off his computer and left the room. All he had left to do was find a nice pair of slacks and a button-down shirt, then he would be off to the races, ready to interview the kid himself and see if he had anything to worry about.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was nearing ten o’clock when Quinn pulled her grandmother’s blue 1988 Lincoln Town Car next to the curb just outside the Hawkeye Mobile Home Park in West Sacramento.

  She hadn’t slept well last night. After watching Dani comfort Ali’s mother yesterday, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her own mother. On one hand there was Dani and Mary, two grieving mothers who cared only about finding their missing daughters. And then there was Quinn’s mother, who decided one day that she wasn’t happy, that something was missing in her life. Of course, there had to be more to the story, but Quinn didn’t care about why her mother left, just that she had. Maybe things would have been different if her mother ever thought to visit once in a while, or to write or call.

  A few minutes later, Mary Cross appeared, parking her Toyota Corolla behind Quinn. They both climbed out. On an earlier phone call this morning, Quinn had explained that Ethan was upset with her after telling him he wasn’t trying hard enough and she hadn’t heard back from him.

  Mary was insistent about meeting Ethan. She wanted to talk to him, decide for herself if he was to be believed.

  And so here they were.

  As they walked side by side, gravel crunching beneath their shoes, Quinn was sorry to see that the most neglected trailer on the lot was the one Ethan lived in with his mother. The wooden stairs leading to the front door of the trailer showed signs of dry rot.

  Quinn knocked. Voices from a television sounded from inside as they waited. Quinn felt her chest tighten. She’d obviously hurt Ethan’s feelings when she told him he wasn’t trying hard enough. That wasn’t fair. He was doing his best, and her words had been hurtful and unprofessional.

  The thought of meeting his mom wasn’t helping settle her nerves either, since she knew his mom had been through a lot and probably just needed a break.

  Ethan’s mom opened the door. She was short and rail thin with gray streaks running through her dark hair. She wore shorts and a tank top. The monitor around her ankle stood out. It looked like a giant iPhone.

  “I’m Quinn Sullivan with the Callahan Agency and this is Mary Cross, the mother of Ali Cross, the teenager who went missing recently,” Quinn said. “I’ve been working with Ethan—”

  The woman put up a hand, stopping Quinn from going on. “Why can’t you people just leave me alone? I clean houses six days a week, and on my one day off everyone suddenly needs to talk to me. I just sent a reporter packing. He wasn’t happy about it. Something about the determined look in his eyes tells me he’ll be back. So leave me be.”

  “Please,” Mary said before the woman shut the door. “Your son might have seen something that could ultimately help me find my daughter. I’m begging you to let me talk to your son. Ethan could be my only hope.”

  Shaking her head, the woman said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t want my son to get involved.” The door shut swiftly before Quinn or Mary could do anything about it.

  Quinn made her way down the stairs, then waited for Mary before heading toward the street. Mary’s eyes glistened. Quinn worried she might cry. She wasn’t like Dani when it came to comforting people. She wasn’t a hugger, preferring to keep her distance. Being abandoned by your mother could do that to a person—harden them and make it difficult to trust. She’d been so angry after Mom left, she’d taken her anger out on Dad, blaming him for Mom’s leaving. And then when Dad got sick, she blamed the only person left to blame. Herself. She couldn’t look into a mirror without seeing the person deep within—ugly and selfish.

  There was no hiding the truth.

  She was the reason her mom had left. She knew that much was true because her dad was a kind man. Never raised his voice. Hundreds of people she’d never met before came to his funeral, and they all had a story about how Dad mowed his elderly neighbor’s lawn every week for years, played his ukulele at the nursing home twice a month, and brought a rose for every lady in the place.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mary use a tissue to wipe away tears. “Don’t give up hope,” Quinn said as they walked. “We’ll find Ali.”

  They’d reached the end of the gravel road when someone called Quinn’s name. She stopped and turned around. So did Mary.

  Ethan was jogging toward them.

  When he caught up, he stopped to catch his breath and shoved his hands deep into the front pockets of his dirty jeans. “Sorry about that. My mom is paranoid about people coming around, asking questions.”

  “That’s okay.” Mary introduced herself and offered her hand.

  Ethan shook it, then pointed to a little grassy area with a pi
cnic bench and swing set. “If you want to talk we could go over there.”

  Mary nodded.

  Once they were all seated—Quinn and Mary on one side of the picnic table and Ethan on the other—Mary spoke directly to Ethan. “I understand you saw my daughter shoved into the back of a van.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Are you sure it was her?”

  “I didn’t know who she was when I saw it happen, but a few days later when I saw her face on the local news station on TV, I knew. One hundred percent sure,” he added.

  “What was she doing before she was taken?” Mary asked. “I’m not questioning whether or not you saw her, I just need to know. Was she on the phone? Was she talking to the man? Did she look worried?”

  “I was kind of far away when I first spotted her, but I do think she had her phone out. When I got close enough to get a really good look at her, she was walking past the back of the van where the driver was. I’m not sure if he said anything to her, but she did glance his way. I don’t know if she said hello, but I would say she was minding her own business.”

  “The police didn’t take you seriously, so why should I trust you?”

  His body tensed and his jaw hardened. For a second there Quinn thought he might walk away. But he didn’t.

  “I can’t say I’m proud of some of the things I’ve done, but I never harmed anyone. Some of the stories about me have been blown out of proportion.” He kept his gaze on Mary Cross. “The thing is, I’m not a liar. From what I’ve heard, the police followed up on everything I told them. They just couldn’t find any evidence—no security cameras, tire tracks, or signs of a struggle, so I can’t really blame them for moving on.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Don’t mean no disrespect, but I’m not here because I want to earn your trust. I’m just trying to help.”

  “Fair enough,” Mary said. “But when the police decided to move on, why didn’t you?”

  “Because less than a week after filling out a police report, I read in the paper that the police thought she was a runaway.” He shook his head. “I just couldn’t let it go.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I was there. I saw it happen. Ali looked right at me when that man was shoving her inside the back of the van. She looked scared, as if she were begging for help.” He unfolded his arms and rested his hands on the table. “I should have done something, should have shouted at the man to stop, but I didn’t. And now I can’t get the look of panic in her eyes out of my mind. I don’t care if nobody takes me seriously or anyone believes me because I know what I saw. That’s why I went to see Dani Callahan.”

  “I believe you,” Mary said.

  Ethan’s demeanor changed in an instant. He sat up a little taller, and his shoulders pulled back a tiny bit, as if those three words were exactly what he needed to hear. He tossed the bangs out of his eyes and looked directly at Quinn. “I am trying. I’m trying my hardest to remember everything, but it’s not that easy. When I close my eyes, all I see is Ali looking at me. I don’t see the van or the driver or feel the sun on my back. I see Ali looking at me.”

  Quinn hadn’t realized how badly she’d hurt his feelings until that very moment. She’d pushed him too hard. She’d been working with Dani for years now. Her research skills were decent; she had the ability to get information from many sources, and her surveillance skills were instinctive. But getting out there and interviewing people, working closely with strangers, was a whole new world. Ethan might act like a tough guy who smoked cigarettes and cut school, aloof and sort of distant, but he was only twelve and he wanted to help. “I’m sorry about the other day,” Quinn said. “I never should have pushed you so hard.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m sorry too.”

  A moment of reflective quiet hovered over them.

  “So what now?” Ethan asked.

  Quinn perked right up, ready to get back to work. “I have some ideas.”

  “I’m on leave of absence from work,” Mary said. “What can I do to help?”

  Quinn smiled, figuring Dani wouldn’t mind a few extra helping hands. “That would be great, Mary. I need you to look up any and all companies in the area that might use a white cargo van. Construction crews usually tend to use trucks, but sometimes they call in painters or plumbers or electricians who may or may not use a cargo van. I know it might sound ridiculous and a bit overwhelming, but we have to start somewhere. Ethan thinks the logo on the van was some sort of squiggly or curly lettering. It might be initials, but we shouldn’t limit ourselves. We need to keep an open mind.”

  Mary kept nodding her head as she took notes on her phone.

  They talked about the driver and the blue coveralls and the way the sun bounced off something shiny, probably metal in the back of the van. Mary would keep that in mind too, when she did her research.

  All three of them exchanged phone numbers, then Mary pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and slipped it across the table to Ethan.

  He slid it back. “Keep it,” he said. “I’m not doing this for money.”

  Mary tucked the bill back into her wallet. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

  “None taken,” he said. “In fact, when we find your daughter, I’ll take the money.”

  “Deal,” she said.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Only minutes ago, Carlin Reed had walked through the Hawkeye Mobile Home Park with his head held high. Figuring he needed to start somewhere, he knocked on the first door he came to.

  A shirtless man with so much hair on his chest it looked like shag carpet answered, and Carlin got right to it, explaining that he was a journalist and was looking for a twelve-year-old boy who had allegedly witnessed an abduction and who lived there with his mother.

  The man dug his fingers through the mass of hair and scratched as if it might help him remember, but it didn’t.

  Carlin figured it might very well be his lucky day when the man’s wife, who was apparently listening from another room, shouted, “Tell him he’s looking for Ethan Grant. The boy lives with his mother on Lot 34.”

  Carlin thanked the man before heading off to Lot 34. Again, he rapped his knuckles on the door and waited. He wasn’t worried about the boy recognizing him because even if the kid thought he saw something from wherever he might have been hiding out that day, Carlin had since cut his hair, shaved, and was wearing a fitted suit.

  On his drive there he’d thought about turning around and forgetting about the boy, but he quickly changed his mind because he didn’t like the idea that he might always be looking over his shoulder, suspecting every kid he passed on the street. Better to know your enemy and keep an eye on him, he decided.

  When the door opened, a fragile-looking woman who seemed as if she hadn’t slept in years greeted him. He plastered on his most charming smile, then introduced himself as journalist Mike Hinch.

  Her gaze went straight to his badge. “He’s not here.”

  “May I ask where I might find him?”

  “No.”

  When she went to close the door, he put a hand to it and stopped her. “I’ll pay you a hundred dollars.”

  “He’s with his dad for the summer. He’s not here. If you don’t leave, I’ll have to call the police.” She looked at his hand, waiting for him to remove it.

  His jaw quivered, but he managed to control his tone as he said, “Thank you for your time.” The second his hand dropped to his side, she slammed the door shut.

  She was lying. He hated liars. He needed to think.

  He sucked in a breath as he walked down the stairs and headed back the way he came, gravel crunching beneath his nice shoes. This was the first time he’d worn them. Now they were sullied.

  As he exited the mobile home park, two women entered.

  His body tensed. Keep walking. Do not make eye contact.

  The older woman was Mary Cross, his future mother-in-law. Despite her pale face and dark circles, Mary Cross was a pretty lady. If not for her, he never would
have met Ali, the love of his life. The first time he’d met the Cross family was when Mary had called him on his business phone to do some work. She’d been so trusting! She left him completely alone inside her house while she ran off to pick up her youngest daughter. Since nobody was home, he hadn’t been able to resist taking a look around. There were pictures of Mary and her two daughters all over the house. The older daughter instantly caught his eye. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, which was why he’d set out to find her bedroom. The walls had been covered with artwork signed by Ali. She was talented. On a whim, he’d gone through her drawers and had taken a pair of silky pink panties with a hint of lace around the edges. He wasn’t a pervert. No way. He just wanted something of hers.

  Thankfully, he’d gotten back to work a few minutes before Mary Cross came home with both daughters in tow. Ali had hardly glanced his way before heading up the stairs to her bedroom, no doubt. Her little sister, Gracie, though, was outgoing, friendly, and curious. It hadn’t taken much to get her talking about her family. She talked while he worked. That’s when he’d learned all about Mr. Cross and how he was living with his secretary across town. Despite the freckles and the braces, Gracie was cute.

  Once he got to his car, he slipped behind the wheel and drew in a breath. That was a close call. What if Mary Cross had recognized him and then saw the badge around his neck? What then? Calm down. Nobody saw you.

  Before he buckled up, he saw the women heading back his way. His insides flip-flopped when he saw a boy come out of the trailer on Lot 34 and run after them. What the hell?

  The kid had been home, after all.

  His hands clasped tightly around the steering column as he watched the boy catch up to the two women and usher them over to a picnic table where the three of them huddled together, everyone leaning in close.

  The thing that bothered him most was seeing the younger woman. What was she doing here, and why was she chatting it up with Mary Cross and a twelve-year-old boy who claimed he’d witnessed Ali Cross’s abduction?