by Becky Melby
Hannah clutched her stomach. Dolly was the only one who knew of the letters.
The man grabbed her arm.
“Leave her be. She’s just a girl. It’s him you want.” Jonathan pointed at Papa and the two men advanced. Three men rose from the bar and yelled at the men to step away from him.
There was nothing she could do for Papa. With all eyes on her father, she slipped around the ruckus and ran outside. She ran and didn’t look back until she got to the back door of the blacksmith shop. Please, someone be here. She knocked. One knock, followed by two. Please. The door cracked open, showing a sliver of Jim’s face, then flew open. “Hannah! What is it?”
“Two men. They got Papa. I need your horse. I have to warn Liam.”
“What men? What did they say?”
“I can’t…explain now. Your horse…please.”
“Can you ride?”
“Yes.” She hadn’t ridden a horse since they’d moved into town, but it would come back to her. It had to.
Big Jim moved like a man half his width. In five minutes she had mounted his massive roan and was flying over the bridge. The shoed hooves clamored like church bells ringing out danger.
Father God, protect Papa. Her mind scrambled to picture the cellar room. What had they found? What proof that could hold him? It was a storeroom, swept clean since the last guests, and lined with barrels of apples. No different from any other cellar.
Unless they lifted the barrels and the lids of the benches, dug beneath the burlap sacks, and found blankets and bandages and clothes of every size. Oh God, hear my prayer. If they have not found those things, blind their eyes. She thought for a moment of turning back, of taking the clothes and stuffing them in the walls with the letters. But time was precious. All that mattered was Liam.
A half moon crouched between tall, skinny pine trees. The sky was deep blue, the color of the velvet dress Mama was buried in. An hour from now she might not find her way home. She might not want to go home. She willed her thoughts to fill with hope, but nothing slowed the tympani of her pulse as the horse pounded the dirt.
The church roof, silhouetted against the night sky, marked her turn. Mama, can you see me? Shadows slithered around the gravestones. Hannah shivered and turned her eyes back to the disappearing road. It wasn’t far. A mile, maybe two from the church. Please, let there be lights lit. A plot of cut corn to her right, and then the house, small, low, far from the road. Firelight glowed from a tiny window. Hannah slowed the horse.
She’d never been to Liam’s house. Never even seen his mother. She needed an excuse for being there. Papa. She’d say her father was hurt. No…Jim. Big Jim needed him. That would make sense. She knocked. Heard footsteps.
The door swung open and a wild-eyed man stood in front of her, a squat brown jug swinging from one finger.
“I…I need to talk to Liam.”
The man laughed. “Sure ‘n’ you would, lass.” He stepped onto the porch. “Not nearly as much as you’d like to talk to his da, now, would ya?” The wind whipped at the stained muslin shirt that hung to his knees.
Hannah took a step back.
“You’d be the shopkeeper’s daughter now, I believe,” His hand lifted to the tie of her bonnet.
“Leave her be!” Liam shoved into him. The older man’s scarred, dirty hand flew back and clipped his jaw.
Liam reeled. “No more! That’s the last time you lay a hand on me, old man.” His fingers curled into a fist.
The sound of his knuckles smashing into his father’s face was the last thing Hannah heard as her legs gave way beneath her.
CHAPTER 31
Draw up the offer. I can be there by—”
Emily smashed the brake pedal. The hand that held the phone jutted out to stop a plastic bin sailing across the others jammed into the back. As the light turned red, the van stopped, partway into the intersection. Thankfully, there were no other cars on the road this time of night. “Sorry,” she apologized to the Realtor’s voice mail. “I can be there when you open.”
She closed the phone and it rang in her hand. “Hello.”
“Miss Foster. Mike Ross with Southwest Realty. So glad you called.” The man seemed to gulp on the last word as if salivating over the sale.
“I had no intention of waking you, Mr. Ross. I thought I’d called the office number, not your cell.”
“One and the same, and no worries. Realtors never sleep. I’m on the job at two a.m. the same as two p.m.” He laughed. She didn’t join him. “Do you want to meet at the house? I imagine you’d like to see it before we finalize the offer.”
She’d look like an idiot if she said no. “That will be fine.”
“At the house at nine, then.”
“Yes. See you then.” Pulling into a gas station, she programmed her GPS for the next place she wouldn’t call home.
A person could get lost in St. Louis, blend in with the crowd. No one would notice the house in the middle of the block was no longer for sale. No one would care.
Useful. Why hadn’t that triggered an alarm? “You are definitely useful.” She quoted Jake to the clear plastic bin on the seat beside her. A construction paper quilt block stared back at her. Tumbling blocks pattern. A symbol meaning it was time to pack up and go.
Adam fingered the key in his pocket. He’d taken it off the ring so it wouldn’t jangle. He waited while Lexi hid her bike next to his in the brush. The air was warm, but he couldn’t stop shivering. Thin cirrus clouds slid across the waxing moon. It was too bright out.
The house was dark. No light from the TV, thank God. The beer should help, unless it made Ben have to go the bathroom. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He should have found a way to slip him sleeping pills. He wiped his damp hands along his pants. His pockets were bulging, already stashed full for whatever they might need tomorrow. They’d both brought their backpacks, just in case. His GPS was still programmed for Fredericktown, Missouri. If Ben heard them, they might have to start running now.
He’d told Lexi to stay home, but she was acting like a mom again, all scared of him going alone. He didn’t want her here. By himself he could slip in and out walking silent like an Indian. If Ben even snored too loud, Lexi would probably scream. At least he’d talked her out of bringing the cat. When they left for real in a few hours, there’d be no talking her out of it. “Leave your pack here,” he whispered.
“Not if you’re bringing yours.”
Adam sighed hard enough to hit her in the face with his breath. “Fine. But leave it by the back door. You’ll make too much noise. I might need stuff from mine.” A rope, for instance, to lower out of an upstairs window. Or tie up Ben.
They walked in the grass along the driveway. Ben’s room was on the opposite side. When they reached the back door, Adam pointed to Lexi’s pack. She stuck her tongue out at him but took it off. He slid the key in the lock then stretched his shirt sleeve and wrapped it around the handle to absorb the sound. It muffled the click, but the noise still made his heart skip a beat.
Blinds swung on the other side of the door as he eased it open. He signaled to Lexi not to close it. The floor sqeaked under their shoes as they padded slowly across the kitchen. The room smelled of old pizza and old beer. Lexi was hoping the beer was poison. It smelled like it.
The carpet in the dining room silenced their steps. Adam held his hands out to avoid bumping anything. As his little finger grazed a chair, he heard a sickeningly familiar noise, not where he’d hoped it would be. Ben was sleeping on the couch.
Lexi let out an almost but not quite silent gasp. He shot her a shut-up look and tiptoed to the stairway. The upstairs nightlight glowed enough to show dim outlines. The steps groaned like an old man in pain. Adam stopped after each one and held up his hand, listening for Ben’s snore, all the while planning how they’d escape if Ben woke up. At the slightest sound, he’d find something to tie the rope around near a window.
He handed her his penlight and stood back and let her go in first so he
could guard the hallway. Moving in slow motion, he reached in his backpack for his hammer. All he’d have to do was swing it and Ben would back off.
Lexi opened the closet door. Adam shot a thumbs-up sign into the room. She did good. That was the part he’d been most worried about. She didn’t turn the light on until she was halfway into the walk-in closet. Smart girl. She’d listened to his instructions after all. He heard the dresser drawer jerk open. Not far enough, he could tell by the sound. He waited, tiptoed to the stairwell. Snores still rumbled.
“Adam!” Lexi’s whisper was way too loud. He ran into the room. She pointed the light at the drawer, open about three inches. Not wide enough for the box. “Stuck,” she mouthed.
He bent close to her ear. “Can you reach the box and open it?”
She shook her head. “I tried.”
Adam pushed her away, got down on his knees. Clothes hung around his face. He’d never been claustrophobic before. He motioned for Lexi to close the closet door. His pulse pounded in his ears. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed both handles and tugged.
The drawer moved with a wrenching sound, slamming Adam onto his backside. He smashed into Lexi, who hit the closet door with a thud. The entire front of the drawer landed on Adam’s legs. “Go listen.” He forced a whisper. His throat felt like it was closing. “See if he’s still sleeping.”
Lexi, wide-eyed, shook her head. “I can’t.”
Adam looked inside the drawer and saw the box. He heard the end pop off Lexi’s inhaler. The spray, and her deep breath, seemed magnified in the small space.
“Then get out of the way.” He shoved the drawer front at her and grabbed the flashlight. He stood, but as he reached for the door, it swung open.
Lexi screamed and pointed the flashlight in Ben’s face. Adam glared at the man whose arm shielded his face, whipped around, and jabbed his hand into the box, pulling out a wad of cash and stuffing it in his shirt. His hand crept across the floor until he felt his hammer. In one fluid motion, he slammed the hammer on Ben’s bare foot, grabbed Lexi’s arm, and shot past the cussing hulk. He ran halfway into the room. Lexi didn’t. As he reeled around to see Ben’s fat hand on Lexi’s arm, his GPS flew out of his backpack.
Ben laughed. Deep and wicked. “Going somewhere?”
Victory Drive. How ironic.
Emily stared at the blond cupboards, harvest gold appliances, and white Formica countertop. “Cheery,” the Realtor called it as he inched the pen closer.
“It has potential.” Unlike my life. After twenty-four hours without sleep, twelve of them spent ranting and driving too fast, she’d developed a twisted sense of humor about her serial gullibility. As she reached for the pen, she noticed Mr. Ross’s watch. Just like Adam’s. Her heart squeezed. Adam would be crushed when he found out she’d left. This would be just one more loss in his life. The trial would begin in less than an hour. Oh, God, don’t let Ben get those kids. Maybe she should have stayed, played the part just for them. She hadn’t stopped to think.
“Miss Foster? Any questions?”
“No. No.” She signed her name, slid the papers across the table, and stood.
“I have a good feeling about this. We’ve got motivated sellers, and I think before you know it you’ll call this place home.”
Not a chance.
She had one hand on the door handle of her van when her phone buzzed. She pulled it out, afraid to look at the screen.
Jake. Wondering where she was. He’d be there to pick her up for the hearing. He’d be wandering through a more-empty-than-usual house, wondering why she’d left. She pushed the button to make it stop vibrating.
She backed onto the street, took one more look at the tan house with white trim, and tried to feel something. Satisfaction, hope, anything. Nothing surfaced.
“In two-tenths of a mile, turn left.”
She was going to Fredericktown. In the past few exhausted hours, the need to find out what happened to Hannah became demanding. With no answers for her own life, she could live vicariously through someone else’s.
An hour later, a she passed a sign for Bonne Terre/Farmington, her phone rang again. “Sorry, Jake.” She mashed the button again and threw the phone back on the passenger seat. Seconds later it buzzed again. An envelope showed in the window. A text message she would look at. If, by some remote chance, he was calling to apologize, to grovel maybe, it might lift a smidgeon of her mood. Or make it worse. She’d look at it when she got to a stop sign. Not before.
Two miles down the road, it vibrated again. Another call. “Sorry. All done being useful.”
Her pulse picked up speed at a STOP AHEAD sign. Slowing the van, she pulled to the shoulder. No sense being in the middle of the road if she was going to have a breakdown. Or break something. She held her breath and opened her phone.
ARE KIDS WITH YOU? MOM’S FRANTIC.
ANSWER. PLEASE.
CHAPTER 32
In one mile, take ramp right.”
The techno-British voice of Adam’s GPS used to be funny. From the backseat of Ben’s smelly Suburban, Lexi glared at it through tears, wishing she could smash it.
“Are we having fun yet?” Ben’s words slurred. The right front tire vibrated on the rumble strip.
He’s gonna get us killed. She fought the urge to grab Adam’s hand. She turned to him and he nodded. He was being brave for her, and she knew his thoughts were racing, trying to come up with a plan. His foot jiggled a small flowerpot. One of them had fallen out when they stopped at the restroom and Ben had sworn up a storm. His stupid plants.
Adam’s hands kept going to his pockets, but Ben had made him empty them. All his stuff, including his knife, was in his backpack, too far back to reach.
Ben had stood and watched while she and Adam hauled the way-back seats out of the Suburban. “You want to go camping? Let’s go camping,” he’d said. “Nice little birthday trip.”
He was drunk. But not drunk enough. Either one of them could outrun him, but Ben did what he always did—he threatened. If one of them left, or screamed, or tried to grab the phone, he’d hurt the other one. The whole time they’d packed the SUV, he’d had his fat hand on one of them. When they stopped at a rest area, he grabbed Adam’s arm before he let her out of his sight and stood at the open door, watching her go in and out of the stall. Then he took Adam with him into the men’s restroom and made her stand close enough to answer him when he called her name. Lexi put her hand over her mouth. What would he do if she threw up all over him? Maybe it would be the perfect distraction.
The headlights reflected off a sign that said thirty-two miles to St. Louis. Ben waved at the sign. The tires on his side swerved over the white line. A car horn blared. “So what’s in Fredwhatever, Missouri, that you’re so anxious to see?”
“Letters.” Adam spat out the word.
Ben laughed. “Stupid kid.” He let go of the wheel to scratch his head then jerked it back.
Lexi’s forehead knocked against the window. “The police are probably already looking for us.” Her hand slid into her sweatshirt pocket and wrapped around her inhaler. Would it sting if she shot it in his face?
“They won’t look until a person’s gone for twenty-four hours. We’ll be in Texas by then.”
“That’s not true. Not with kids.”
Ben swore and called Adam a stupid kid again. Lexi wondered when the last time was he’d called Adam by his name. She wrapped her arms tight across her stomach. “He’s not the stupid one,” she whispered, then raised her voice. “You coulda won custody, you know. Now you’re gonna get slammed in jail for a long, long, long time.”
It was the first happy thought she’d had all night.
“What happened? Where are the kids?”
Emily’s voice quivered. Jake cupped one hand over his ear to hear her over his mother’s crying and Wayne and Topher on their own cell phones. As he grabbed the piece of notebook paper from his mother, a squad car pulled up in front of the house. He crossed the kitchen in
two strides and walked outside. “They’re not with you?”
“With me? Why would they be with me? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” He ran his hand across his eyes. “They’re gone, you’re gone, Ben’s gone. You tell me.”
“How could you think—”
“I’m not thinking!” He slammed his fist on the top of the grill. “Mom said maybe you ran off with them like she said she wanted to, thinking you were helping—”