Mitch knew Clare was only biding her time, engaging him in conversation to distract him or maybe make some kind of genial connection, but he didn’t care, for he enjoyed talking to the Appletons. They were polite, courteous to each other, didn’t interrupt, and respectful. “They’re amazing beasts, aren’t they?”
Clare’s eyes squinted shut a little, and the corners of her mouth curled up. She was digging way back in her memory vault. “‘Do you give the horse his strength or clothe his neck with a flowing mane? Do you make him leap like a locust, striking terror with his proud snorting? He paws fiercely, rejoicing in his strength, and charges into the fray. He laughs at fear, afraid of nothing; he does not shy away from the sword. The quiver rattles against his side, along with the flashing spear and lance. In frenzied excitement he eats up the ground; he cannot stand still when the trumpet sounds. At the blast of the trumpet he snorts, “Aha!” He catches the scent of battle from afar, the shout of commanders and the battle cry.’”
She sat back in her chair, tears pooling in her eyes. “That’s from Job, chapter thirty-nine. I memorized it as a girl and would repeat it to myself every day.”
“It’s beautiful,” Mitch said.
Clare sighed, swept her hand over her eyes, and smiled at her husband. With that one look Mitch saw how much she loved him, adored him even. “And the greatest of all horses, racehorses mind you, was Secretariat.”
“The Triple Crown winner.”
“Yes, the champion of champions. I saw him in person once, up close. He was a beautiful beast. Gorgeous and strong. His time of two twenty-four at the Belmont Stakes will never be touched. He did the impossible.”
Mitch said nothing. He was enjoying his time with the Apple-tons so much he nearly forgot the reason he was there, his mission.
Clare continued. “Did you know his heart weighed twenty-two pounds? It was perfect. He was perfect. His will to win should be an inspiration to us all.”
The three sat in silence for a full minute, Clare obviously soaking in the memories of her childhood, her love for horses.
Finally Bob spoke. “What are you doing, son?”
The fact that he called Mitch “son,” a term of endearment in any culture, loosened Mitch’s inhibitions. “I’m getting something I’ve been missing my whole life.”
“And what’s that?”
“Respect.”
“By holding us hostage?”
“I told you yesterday, Bob, this isn’t about you and Clare. This is about me earning the respect due me.”
“You must have had an awful childhood,” Clare said. “I’m sorry.”
“Yes, I did, but don’t be sorry for me, Clare. I don’t want pity. Respect is something to be earned, and I never bothered taking the time to earn it before. It’s just as much my fault as anyone’s.”
“But now you plan to earn it?” Bob studied Mitch with those thoughtful, kind eyes.
“Yes. Seven is the number of completion, right? In the Bible? So after the seventh one, my mission will be complete, and I will have earned the respect of everyone, maybe even of the world.”
“After the seventh what?” Clare said.
Mitch didn’t want to say anything more. He didn’t want to be one of those killers who bragged about his exploits. He wasn’t looking for fame or infamy, wasn’t seeking attention or publicity. He simply wanted to be respected. Really respected. Not just given lip service or compulsory admiration.
A great sadness overcame him then. Because he’d opened his mouth and told the Appletons about his mission, his desire to earn and gain respect, he would now have to kill them too. He loathed the thought of it. “Nothing, Clare,” he said, forcing a smile. “Let’s talk more about your horses. Why don’t you have any here on the farm? I’m very interested in that.”
Chapter 21
CAN I TALK to you for a minute?”
Amy stood in the entryway to the kitchen, towel wrapped around her head, arms folded across her chest. It was the first Jim had seen of her this morning since she woke him saying Louisa needed breakfast. Jim had left the bedroom then heard Amy get in the shower a few minutes later. He could tell by the way she woke him, by the way she practically ordered him to get “the girl” breakfast, that she was in some sort of funk this morning. Not unusual, though. The past few months she’d experienced a lot of funks.
Now, standing in the doorway, Amy did not look upset. The set of her jaw, the lines on her brow, the dip of her mouth showed more fright than anger. The look chilled him. What was she afraid of? Louisa?
Steeling himself, he poured Louisa more milk and said, “Sure.”
“Alone? In the office?”
Jim paused. Alone and in the office could only mean one thing: it was about Louisa. “Sure thing.”
He followed her to the room. She closed the door behind them and leaned against it. “I want you to find her another home.”
Her statement didn’t surprise Jim as much as it should have. “Why?”
She began to pace the room. “Do I have to have a reason?”
“Reasons are good for explaining yourself, especially when you give an order like that.”
“I guess ‘because I said so’ won’t work?”
“I’m not three.”
She stopped pacing but worked her hands as if she were kneading an invisible clump of clay. “She scares me, Jim.”
“She scares you or you scare you?”
“She scares me.”
“She’s a nine-year-old kid.”
“She’s more than that.”
“More than a kid?”
“More than . . . I don’t know.” She unwrapped the towel from her head, let it drop to the floor, and sat on the desk chair. Wet, clumped tendrils of hair hung to her shoulders.
Jim knelt before her and put his hands on her thighs. “She’s a good kid, Amy. Really. She has a good heart.”
“I had a dream about her last night.”
“Okay.”
“She killed our baby. Murdered her. With a pillow.”
“That’s more like a nightmare. Don’t you see what this is? Somewhere deep inside you feel like Louisa is trying to replace our baby, be the daughter we lost. She’s not, Amy. She’s a lost, scared little girl, that’s all. If she does anything odd, don’t you see why? Look at what she’s been through.”
“A fire.”
“The whereabouts of her parents unknown.”
“Stuck with strangers.”
“In a strange town.” Jim stood. “Look, if it will make you feel any better, I’ll take her down to the police station and talk to Doug Miller, see if they’ve gotten any leads on who she is or where she came from. Okay?”
Amy kept her eyes down and nodded.
Jim lifted her chin, looked her in the eyes. “Okay?”
She smiled. “Yes.”
He kissed her. “But what?”
“What?”
“Your mouth said yes, but your eyes said ‘but.’ Yes, but.”
“I just . . . ” She started with the kneading again. “I just have a feeling something bad’s going to happen, and it’s going to center around her.”
“You think you’re dreaming omens and prophecies now?”
“No. Nothing so Hollywood. Just a feeling. Please, can’t we at least try to find her another home?”
Jim took her hands in his. “Amy, she’s been through so much already. She’s just getting comfortable with us. To shuffle her off to yet another home, who knows what kind of further psychological damage it could cause the poor kid. Her whole world’s been turned upside down. She needs some stability, some consistency. Who knows what she’s going to find out once Doug locates her parents. She needs to be as emotionally strong and prepared as possible for whatever news awaits her.”
Amy forced a smile.
Jim knelt again. “Babe, listen, we’ve been so focused on ourselves the last few months because we had to be. Healing had to take place. It’s time to start looking outward
again, start giving again.” He knew she’d grieved longer and harder than he had and that she’d resented him for that in the past. But he had grieved in his own way, and still did. His wounds weren’t totally healed yet either. But he knew it was time to move on. “This child needs us.”
She nodded. “You’re right.”
“Can I get that in writing?”
“You better have a good lawyer.”‘
Jim stood and kissed the tip of her nose then her lips. “As soon as we’re ready, I’ll take her and head down to the police station, see what’s going on.”
Chapter 22
ALICIA SIMPSON AWOKE with that feeling of urgency in her joints again. She had to get up, had to move. The clock said it was nearly 9:00 a.m., but that couldn’t be right, could it? She checked her watch. It was right. She had to be at work in fifteen minutes. The alarm never went off. She was glad now that she’d taken a shower earlier.
After throwing on a pair of khakis and a pullover, she slipped into her sneakers, brushed and pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail, applied makeup to hide her lingering bruises, and almost swallowed an apple whole. Done in ten minutes. Five minutes to get to the Food Lion in time to punch in at nine. A glass of orange juice went with her in the car.
On the way to work Alicia thought of Derek and how he never came home last night; she thought about their relationship, the smiles they’d shared, the tender moments, but also the violent ones, the bruises, the pains, the excuses. She thought of ways to escape, reasons to leave him for good. She thought about the girl, the survivor from the fire at old Jake Tucker’s, and her touch and the feelings it had produced, the confusion in her eyes. She thought about work and what Mr. Eysler, her manager, would say if she was late to her register.
But never once did she think about suicide.
She got to the grocery store just in time, punched her card, donned her apron, and took her place on the front end behind a register. Business was slow, as it always was on a Tuesday morning. Customers filtered in, filtered out, made small talk as she scanned their items, smiled, said good-bye, have a nice day. But Alicia’s mind wasn’t on her job today; it was on the girl and the look in her eyes. Strange too, because she thought she’d settled that matter during her early morning shower. The girl had probably seen the desperation and fear in Alicia’s eyes and had been confused by it. But there was something more to it than that, more than mere confusion. There was something about her touch and the vision that had accompanied it, the image of Derek frozen in a wide stance, facing a dark figure, obscured by shadows, but menacing, obviously intending harm, possibly murder. It wasn’t her imagination, or was it?
At eleven thirty Alicia took her first break and went outside to sit on one of the three benches along the store’s front and enjoy some fresh air. Maybe it would help clear her mind. The air was unusually humid for September. Low clouds formed a rippled canopy over the region. Rain was on the way.
Not more than a minute or so into her break Jake Tucker drove past, found a parking space, and climbed out of his truck. Alicia had seen him there before, plenty of times. He was a regular, as was every other local, and friendly enough, but she could tell he held an underlying sorrow at bay. But he seemed different today, lighter on his feet, more erect, younger . . . something. He seemed better, happier.
When he reached the front sidewalk, he met Alicia’s eyes and nodded, and she smiled and waved. The automatic front doors of the store slid open with a dry scraping sound, but right before Mr. Tucker walked through she called to him.
He stopped, turned, smiled kindly. “Yes?”
Alicia stood, smoothed her apron, and took one step forward. “Do you have a minute?”
His smile grew. “Sure, Alicia. What is it?”
Alicia was surprised he knew her name until she remembered the name tag she wore on her apron. He’d probably seen it a hundred times or more. They both stepped away from the doorway and moved closer to the benches. Alicia twisted her hands, shuffled her feet.
“What’s the matter? What is it?” Mr. Tucker’s eyes were warm and inviting. She didn’t need to fear him or be embarrassed.
“The girl, uh, the girl from the fire.”
“Louisa.”
“Yeah. Did she, like, did she touch you at all, I mean, did she put her hands on you at any time?” What an awfully strange question, and for a moment she thought he’d turn and walk away from her.
Mr. Tucker put his hands in his pockets and tilted his head to one side. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, I, um, yesterday I . . . ”
He touched her arm lightly. “It’s okay, you know. Just tell me.”
“Yesterday I was in the Red Wing, and she was there with Jim Spencer. She came up to me and, like, put her hand on my hand and, I don’t know, something happened.”
“You saw something. A vision?”
“Yes.” She said it so fast it nearly came out twice. She thought he’d ask what she saw, but he didn’t, which relieved her because she wasn’t ready to share that with anyone. She had to process this.
“And felt something too?”
Unbidden, tears welled in her eyes and would have spilled down her cheeks if she hadn’t dashed them away first. She was surprised by the sudden wave of emotion that washed over her, but his confirmation meant she wasn’t going nuts, that something really had happened between her and the girl in that diner. She couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat, so she nodded.
Mr. Tucker squeezed her arm. His touch was gentle but firm, full of excitement and childlike wonder. “She did touch me. Put her hand directly on my chest and quieted my heart, eased the pain that was there. I saw Raymond, my son, too. Saw him just as clear as I’m lookin’ at you here. He was smiling at me, arms open, tears in his eyes. And I was filled with such a feelin’ of relief and joy and . . . weightlessness, as if I’d been filled with helium like one of those balloons and just lifted off.”
“Who is she?”
“Louisa. But other than that, beats me. But I know she’s special. God has His hand on that little girl.”
Alicia smiled and had an urge, which she resisted, to give Mr. Tucker a hug.
They said their good-byes, and Mr. Tucker turned and entered the store. Alicia dropped down on the bench, wiping more tears from her cheeks. She wasn’t going crazy, that was good, but the fact of the vision was still there. Derek was in trouble. Spiders of unease tickled her arms and the back of her neck.
And stranger yet, she was now convinced the girl had seen the vision too.
Chapter 23
JIM AND LOUISA met Chief Doug Miller at the front desk area of the county police station. It was a new building tucked away on Route 11 between a stretch of farmland and an Omaha’s Feed store but centrally located in the county, north of Harrison-burg. The station employed more than a hundred patrol officers to serve and protect the 75,000 residents of Rockingham County.
After shaking Jim’s hand, Miller said, “Have you ever been here?”
“Nope. First time and hopefully my last.”
“As long as you’re here for the right reasons, no need to worry.”
“I guess if you find yourself behind bars, you know you came for the wrong reason.”
Miller smiled under his mustache. “You’d be surprised how many we get who don’t even know why they’re here or how they got here. Come with me.”
They followed him through the reception area, down a short hallway, and into an office area with cubicles and desks arranged neatly in two rows. Miller’s office was off to the left in a separate room. They went in, and he picked up the phone on his desk and punched a button.
“Cindy? Could you come in here for a second, please?” He placed the phone back in the jack and smiled at Louisa. “How are things going for you, young lady? Are the Spencers treating you okay?”
“Just fine, Chief. Mr. Jim and Miss Amy are taking real good care of me.”
“Good. Good. Have you remembered anythi
ng more other than your name and birthday?”
She shook her head, and the ponytails Amy had fixed earlier whipped back and forth. “Nope.”
“Well, I’m sure it will come to you soon enough. Hey, how would you like a grand tour of the building? You can see the jail cells and where we keep the dogs. There may even be one here you can meet.”
Louisa’s mouth stretched into a wide grin. “Sure. I’d love that.”
“Great.”
Just then Cindy, a young, thin officer appeared in the doorway. “Chief?”
“Cindy, would you please show Miss Louisa around the place, give her the grand tour, hide nothing from her, share all our secrets.”
Louisa looked at Jim and smiled. “Boy,” Jim said. “You’re really getting the royal treatment. Must be something special, huh?”
Louisa took Cindy’s hand and allowed the officer to lead her away. Miller closed the door behind them and turned to Jim. “How’s it going?”
“She’s a great kid. No problem at all.”
Miller sat behind his desk. “All right, so how’s it going?”
“You mean with Amy?”
“With Amy, with Louisa, with you.”
“Well, Amy still isn’t sure about the whole thing. Louisa has moments of . . . odd behavior around her.”
“Odd?”
“She knows Amy had a miscarriage, and she seems a little fixated on that. I think it just creeps Amy out a bit. She told me this morning she wanted me to find Louisa a new foster home until all this was settled.”
Miller shifted in his chair. “Do you want me to get Children and Youth to find another family?”
“No. We talked, and Amy understands that wouldn’t be best for Louisa. The last thing she needs right now is to be jostled around from home to home. She needs some semblance of order, consistency.”
“I agree. How about her memory? Anything coming back?”
Jim shook his head. “No. Nothing. How ’bout on your end? Any luck?”
Fearless Page 10