by R. C. Ryan
He sat very straight in his chair and looked from Meg to his family, and then to Raven, before gripping his hands together tightly in his lap.
“In order to handle such a cold case, we first had to gather the facts that had been reported and verified. This is what we know for certain. Seraphine was home on the morning of her disappearance. She’d had breakfast with her husband”—Raven looked at Cole—“and her three sons.” He looked directly at Quinn, Josh, and Jake. “She was in high spirits, planning to celebrate her youngest son’s fifth birthday. She’d asked him what he wanted, and he’d told her he wanted balloons. Lots and lots of balloons.”
Jake smiled and nodded. “I think I remember asking for them. But after all these years, I can’t be certain.”
“I deal only in facts.” Raven passed around copies of the depositions taken in the days following Seraphine’s disappearance. “According to their sworn statements, Big Jim and Cole had finished barn chores and had headed up to the north pasture to tend a herd. Ela, the family housekeeper, was busy in the kitchen. Seraphine and the three boys had gone to the playroom, and had spent more than an hour painting and coloring. When the boys grew restless and went outside to play, Seraphine remained behind. All of this has been corroborated.”
He took in a breath. “What we’ve learned has been pieced together carefully to form a more cohesive picture of Seraphine’s day. She didn’t drive.” He looked at Cole. “Is that correct?”
Cole nodded. “Seraphine was a city girl and a dancer. She was obsessed with dancing. She grew up in New York City, and joined a professional dance troupe at sixteen, by lying about her age.” He shrugged off her lie. “She never learned to drive. Actually, she had no reason to. She took the subway everywhere she went. She said it was done all the time. She traveled by bus with the other dancers. They were never in a town or city for more than a day or two. A gypsy, she called herself.”
Raven smiled. “That’s the information I got, as well. But despite her tender age, her fellow dancers described her as inventive, creative, and fearless.”
That had Cole chuckling. “That’s my Seraphine.”
Raven read from his notes. “On the day she went missing, Seraphine had it in mind to go to Paintbrush and get a dozen helium balloons.”
Cole’s head came up. “I never heard her say that. How would you know such a thing?”
“Hearsay evidence. I discovered it in my research.” Raven went on: “Paintbrush is an hour away by car. Impossible to walk. But Seraphine was determined to get to Paintbrush and buy those balloons. Knowing her husband and father-in-law were up in high country, she crossed the hill out back and walked out to the highway. We know this, because there was a witness. A trucker from a logging company in Canada was just passing by. The driver’s name is Sean McInnis, retired now from the Lapham Forest Farm in Saskatchewan, Canada. Though he’s over eighty now, he’s of sound mind and was willing to give sworn testimony as to the passenger he picked up that day.”
“How could you find someone that the authorities couldn’t find?” Cole demanded. “I’ve never heard of this Sean McInnis.”
Raven read from his document. “We checked the records of every known company that had regular runs through this part of Wyoming, and the Lapham Forest Farm was just one of dozens. But since their truck was recorded as having passed this way on that particular day, we checked further and found Sean McInnis. As I said, he may be elderly now, but he was more than happy to try to help. He said the woman gave him the name Seraphine, an unusual name that stuck in his mind, and she was wearing some kind of long, gypsy skirt in rainbow colors that covered her ankles, and she had ‘platinum blonde hair that fell around the face of an angel.’ He said he would have stopped for anyone needing a ride, but it was easy to stop for a woman that stunning.”
No one spoke. No one seemed to be breathing. They were in another place now. A place that brought with it a sense of dread. Finally they would learn the answers to a lifetime of questions.
“Mr. McInnis said he couldn’t take her all the way to Paintbrush. He explained that he could only take her as far as the turnoff that led to the new highway.” Again, Raven referred to his notes. “I checked with the highway authority, and I’ve learned that the ‘new highway,’ which is now twenty-five years old, was built to replace the old road that curved over several foothills and had been the site of dozens of fatal accidents.”
Because the others had gone silent, it was left to Big Jim to say, “I remember that. A lot of grumbling by folks around here about the federal government spending money on a highway that led to the same place as the old one. Once the new highway was built, the old one was abandoned and left to fall into disrepair and rot until it wasn’t even navigable anymore. A lot of folks wanted to know why we needed a brand-new highway.”
Everett Fletcher cleared his throat. “According to statistics, that old road was a death trap. The new highway has probably saved thousands of lives in the last twenty-five years.”
Raven set aside the first page of his report and began to read from the next. “Mr. McInnis pulled over at the turnoff to let his passenger out. About that time the sky was growing dark with a coming storm. He warned his pretty passenger, but she laughed and said she loved the rain. As Mr. McInnis was pulling away, he saw a panel truck coming up behind him. Seraphine waved at the driver of the panel truck, and it slowed and then pulled over. As Mr. McInnis was driving away, he watched in his rearview mirror as Seraphine got into the truck. He couldn’t recall the name on the panel truck, but he did remember that the letters were green, and there was a shamrock somewhere in the words. He remembered it for all these years only because he’s of Irish descent, and his daughter had given him a big plastic shamrock for luck. A shamrock that he always kept on his dashboard.”
Raven’s gaze moved over the family, all of whom were staring at him intently, concentrating all their energy on him, as if to pull everything from his brain.
“I’m sorry if this seems agonizingly slow. It’s just that I need to give you every detail as I’ve learned it. My team has been working nonstop on this since Meg first asked me to look into it.”
He returned to his notes. “This was the tough link in the case. This panel truck turned out to be privately owned. It wasn’t a company truck, which made it nearly impossible to track. But that shamrock turned out to be our good-luck charm. In our research, we discovered a welder by the name of Patrick Flannery who had retired after thirty-five years working with a fabricating company in Cheyenne. Flannery was a widower with no children, and on his final day he told his coworkers that he intended to drive up to Canada and spend the rest of his days fishing, hiking, and living the life of a hermit. His old panel truck was stocked with all his worldly goods, and had the words Go Irish, and a shamrock, all in green, on one side. And it was Patrick Flannery who stopped to pick up Seraphine.”
Sensing that this could be very hard news for Cole, Phoebe walked up behind him, her hand gently resting on his shoulder. Jake quickly joined her. Seeing them, both Quinn and Josh followed suit, along with their wives, with Ela joining them. Big Jim reached over to grab his son’s hand.
The entire family was joined, in an effort to lend each other their strength.
“Patrick’s work records describe him as always going the extra mile for friend and stranger alike. It’s no surprise, then, that he stopped and offered a pretty lady a ride, even if it would take him out of his way. After all, Paintbrush wasn’t that far off the beaten track. The trouble is, the old highway had been closed, and the new one had only recently opened. With Seraphine never driving, and Flannery a stranger to this part of the state, neither of them was aware of the change. We’ll never know if the darkening sky was the reason that Patrick Flannery mistakenly drove past the barricade and took the old highway. We surmise that a sudden downpour may have turned the highway slick. Whatever the reason, he apparently skidded and lost control. From our records we can only deduce that his truck went o
ver the embankment and was swallowed up in a deep gorge. We believe both he and Seraphine were probably dead on impact.”
There was a collective gasp, though no one spoke.
“The authorities who were searching for Seraphine spent most of their time searching the rangeland around here, suspecting that she’d been on foot. And, of course, no one was looking for Patrick Flannery, who had no immediate family to miss him.”
Raven set aside his notes. “Because the old highway was abandoned, there were perhaps a few dozen, probably no more than a hundred or so people, who passed that spot. Without a guardrail showing damage, or any sign of an accident other than skid marks that were probably washed away by the rain, no one saw even a hint of what lay deep below the highway’s edge, covered by foliage in the gorge. We would have never checked there ourselves. But after learning that Seraphine had been picked up by the driver of a panel truck, my operatives decided to go over every inch of the land alongside both the old and new highways with metal detectors. Even then, they almost missed the site, because the gorge was so deep.”
His tone lowered. Softened. “Once we found the remains, we sent them to a lab for positive identification. Because she didn’t want to worry any of you unnecessarily, Meg managed to find intimate objects used by Seraphine, and Patrick Flannery’s nephew, his only living relative, was able to send us what little he could of his uncle’s things. The lab has determined that the remains are, without a doubt, Patrick Flannery and Seraphine Cramer Conway. Flannery’s nephew has claimed his uncle’s remains, though he’d long ago lost track of his reclusive uncle. And this—” Raven handed Cole a thick, padded envelope “—is what we were able to recover from the crash site. There was a shoe. Remnants of clothing. Seraphine’s purse had decayed over the years, but a small enamel-covered notebook that had been inside a zippered pocket of the purse still bears her smeared, handwritten notes, which she’d apparently written before leaving home.”
Cole withdrew the notebook with a drawing of a dancer on the enamel cover. His voice was so raw, he had to clear his throat several times before he could manage to speak. “I gave Seraphine this notebook on our first anniversary. She loved it and always carried it with her.” He opened it and could almost make out a few of the handwritten words —dozen helium balloons.
Raven glanced at Everett. “The lab has returned the remains on which they’d run the DNA tests. Flannery’s remains are on their way to his nephew in Idaho. And Chief Fletcher has Seraphine’s remains in his car.”
The chief nodded. “They’re in a box. I know you’ll treasure them, Cole.” He crossed the room and had to stop and swallow the knot of emotion in his throat. “I’m sorry. I wish…” He shrugged. “I guess we all wished for something else, but at least now, finally, you know.”
Cole sat holding the small enamel notebook in both hands, staring at it as though seeing the face of the woman who’d loved it so. The woman who’d owned his heart, whose memory had teased and taunted him for all these long years.
Raven glanced at Meg before saying, “I’m really sorry to be the bearer of this news. But I’m proud of my operatives. They found what the authorities hadn’t found in twenty-five years. And though it isn’t what we’d hoped for, the case of Seraphine Cramer Conway is now, sadly, closed.”
He handed Cole the file containing all the notes before saying, “I’ll see myself out.”
Meg got up and hurried after him.
A short time later, after the family had shed their tears and comforted one another, they formed a solemn procession to the police chief’s car. He lifted the box of remains from the backseat and handed them to Cole.
Big Jim kept his hand on Cole’s shoulder as the entire family climbed the hill and chose a spot near Clementine and her five sons for a proper burial.
It was a fine day, with the sun so bright it hurt to look at it. Quinn, Josh, and Jake had been up on the hill early that morning to dig into the rich earth beside the graves of Clementine and her five infant sons.
When Reverend Cornell arrived, the Conway family climbed the hill to watch as Cole placed a small, ornate metal box in the open grave. Inside the box were Seraphine’s bones, along with a shoe, some remnants of now-faded fabric, and the lovely enamel notebook with the picture of a dancer on the cover. Cole removed the wedding band from his finger and kissed it before placing it inside.
Reverend Cornell read from a book of prayers and blessed the box before stepping back to allow Cole and his three sons to each toss a shovel of earth over the box. When it was completely covered, they patted the soil smooth and rolled a length of sod over the dirt.
Big Jim used a Bobcat to hoist the smooth marble headstone into place.
Cole ran a hand over it before reading aloud the words:
SERAPHINE CRAMER CONWAY
BELOVED WIFE
DEVOTED MOTHER
SWEET DREAMER
SHE DANCES NOW WITH THE ANGELS
As Big Jim climbed down from the Bobcat, Meg and Cory, who had remained behind the others, stepped forward. “What’s this?” he said.
“Balloons.” Cory glanced shyly at Meg. “We thought Jake’s mom would be happy if he finally got his birthday balloons.”
Cory and Meg handed Jake a blue helium-filled balloon, before passing the rest around to the others.
When everyone was holding one, Ela stepped forward and touched a hand to the headstone. “I feel Seraphine’s spirit in this place.” She looked upon the grave. “She is at rest now. At long last, she has come home, and she is at peace.”
The family released the balloons and they lifted into the air, soaring higher and higher until they were mere specks on the horizon.
When they had completely disappeared, Ela gave a satisfied nod before turning and walking away.
Slowly, one by one, the others did the same until only Cole and his three sons remained.
By the time they all returned to the house, they seemed filled with a rare sense of peace.
Cole found Meg and dropped an arm around her shoulders. “I can never thank you enough for what you did.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I know how I suffered for those hours that Cory was missing. It made me realize how much you’ve suffered all these long, endless years. I couldn’t bear that you should have to go on any longer, without knowing.”
He kissed her cheek, and then, as had been his custom for so long, turned away, intending to go off to the barn alone.
Seeing Phoebe scrubbing the countertop, he changed course, walked to her, and gently removed the damp cloth from her hand. Caught by surprise, her head came up sharply until he bent close to whisper something.
Moments later Cole and Phoebe walked outside. Halfway up the hill he could be seen sliding an arm around her shoulders as they continued the climb, their heads bent in quiet conversation.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Meg remained at the Conway ranch for several more days. While she quietly helped with chores, her mind was working feverishly. Not wanting to intrude on the family’s shock and grief, she kept her thoughts to herself as Jake’s wounds mended, as tears were shed, as hearts broken for so long slowly began to heal.
On the final day of her stay at the Conway ranch, Meg gently removed the dressing at Jake’s shoulder while he lay on his bed, stripped to the waist, his jeans riding low on his hips.
“No sign of infection. I think Dr. Walton will be pleased.” She applied ointment before adding a fresh dressing.
Jake pillowed his head on his other arm. “Haven’t you figured out by now that I’m too tough to get an infection?” As she cut a strip of gauze he studied her. “I heard you pacing through the night.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
He caught her hand. “You’re always going to disturb me, Meg. Don’t you know that by now? Tell me what’s bothering you.”
She sat back, refusing to meet his eyes. “Lately I’ve begun to feel…to feel like I’m losing myself. I don’t kno
w who I am anymore. In D.C. I was a tough trial lawyer, a career woman with no thought of settling down and taking care of anyone but myself. Here I’m a rancher with a little brother who has no one but me.”
Restless, she set aside the scissors, walked to the bedroom window, and stared broodingly at the Tetons in the distance. “I need to take control of my life again. I need to face up to some tough decisions.”
“Like what?” He swung his legs to the floor and sat watching her as he pulled on his shirt.
“Like where Cory and I are going to live. And what we intend to do going forward. I owe it to the firm to let them know if I’m in or out. And I owe it to Cory to give him a chance to compare life here with the kind of life he could have in the city.”
“You’re going to D.C.?”
She kept her face averted. “Cory and I have talked it over. It’s only fair that he get a chance to look at all the options. Who knows? Maybe he’ll fall in love with the big city.”
Jake shoved a hand through his hair. “What about the ranch?”
“I’ll be leaving it in Yancy’s capable hands. He’s already signed on through the rest of the season. By then I’ll have a better idea of how I want to proceed going forward.”
“Does going forward include you and me?”
She turned to meet his look. “You…matter to me, Jake. I’ll miss you terribly.” Seeing his face, as dark as a thundercloud, made her lift her chin in that way she had when dealing with unpleasant things. “But I need to do this.”
“It sounds as though you’ve given this a lot of thought. How long before you leave.”
“Today.”
“Today? Isn’t that awfully sudden? What about plane reservations?”
“The firm is sending its plane.”
Jake’s tone was sharper than usual. “Sending the big guns, I see.”
Meg nodded. “As you once reminded me, I need to consider my own problems in the same way I would a client’s problems. I’ve already taken a hard look at the life I left when I was a girl here. Now it’s time to revisit the life I made for myself, so that I can decide where I should be.”