The Ruth Valley Missing

by Amber West

  “I think so.” She hopped out of the seat, voice returning to normal. “I’ll look for you on Sunday. Rest up so you feel well enough.”

  “I will.”

  I meant that last part. I had grand plans of resting the remainder of the week for Sunday. But my Sunday plans were far grander than Mass and a potluck dinner.

  ~~~

  “Why, Miss Quinn, I wasn’t expecting you to come in today. I heard you had a nasty bout with the flu?” Joan smiled at me as I stood in the bookstore doorway.

  I nodded, still feeling a little guilty about lying, but Jack figured the flu was a good cover for why I wasn’t about town for a while. He thought it was best that we didn’t tell anyone what happened until he could investigate, not wanting to tip off whoever was responsible. “I’m feeling better, a little weak, but I needed to get out of the house. I brought you some tea and scones from the bakery. I felt bad about not being able to come in and give you much of a break.”

  “Don’t be silly. This place is so dead most of the time, it’s really not a big deal if I need to close up for a few hours. Would you like to sit for a bit? You look worn out.”

  Despite the flu being a lie, I was still recovering from my injuries, so the pain throughout the day was taking its toll. “Thanks, Joan. That’s probably a good idea.”

  “How are things going with you and Jack?” Joan smiled, warm and friendly.

  I shook my head. “Word in this town spreads super-fast. I can’t get over it.”

  “Well, there isn’t a whole lot of excitement around here, which we love for the most part. But yeah, if there is something new happening, you can bet everyone will know it. Heard you sat in with the knitting circle a little bit ago. Now that is a group who likes to know the latest. And if they don’t, you can be sure they’ll make something up.”

  Joan’s tone was friendly and matter of fact, as if there was no judgment attached to the circle of gossip. “You know, Joan, when I was there, you came up.”

  She nodded, looking unsurprised. “Discussing my husband, I’m sure.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “They don’t say it to my face, but they all think I’m crazy for thinking he didn’t just up and leave me for some other woman.”

  “Can I ask, what do you think happened?”

  Joan sighed and set down her tea. “I don’t know. There were no warning signs, you know? Ed and I had a good marriage. It had its moments like any other marriage, but honestly, even if things were bad, he adored our boys. He wouldn’t leave them behind.”

  “So it’s just a feeling you have?” I tried to hide the disappointment in my voice.

  Joan looked down and went to sip her tea, replying almost inaudibly, “Mostly.”

  “Joan,” I leaned in and placed a hand on hers, “there’s something else, isn’t there? You can tell me. I promise this won’t end up the topic of conversation in the knitting circle. Or anywhere else for that matter.”

  Joan looked around and leaned in. “Ed drove a vintage truck. Spent a lot of time and energy on the thing. I even joked that it was ‘the other woman’ in our relationship. Well, I have a friend in the city that swore she saw his truck at a used car dealership close to her.”

  “Could it be another truck like his?”

  “I thought the same thing, but I asked her to check it out. When he redid the upholstery, he had our initials stitched into a little spot on the bench seat.” Joan squeezed my hand, her eyes watery, and whispered, “The initials were there. Ed would never let that truck go willingly. Something had to have happened to him.”

  I exhaled, realizing I’d been holding my breath while she spoke.

  “So you believe me, don’t you?”

  I nodded. I did agree. But as I shifted in my seat, feeling my stitches pull, I was also worried about the risk Joan would be at if she pursued her search.

  “What are you planning on doing now?”

  “My friend is going to talk with someone who she thinks can track down how the truck ended up at the dealership. In the meantime, there isn’t much I can do.”

  “Probably for the best. I mean, if anyone in town was involved and thought you were digging up trouble for them, there’s no telling what they might do.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Keep all of this to yourself for now. If you find out more, we can talk, but we should be sure that no one knows about any of this, ok?” Joan nodded as I looked at the clock on the wall. “I hate to say this, but I should probably get back.”

  “Yes, I’ve kept you longer than I meant to.” She stood up and hugged me. “Thank you for believing me, Miss Quinn. That means so much.”

  “Of course. I’m happy to listen anytime.”

  I walked out of the store, more determined than ever to follow through with my plans for Sunday.

  Chapter 31

  “You sure you’re fine staying home alone?”

  I nodded. “My side is killing me and honestly, I don’t think I’m ready to be around everyone yet. You should go, though. The townspeople might start giving you a hard time if you miss another Mass to be with me.”

  Jack shrugged, “Well, that doesn’t matter much to me.”

  “Yes it does,” I teased. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be here when you get back. Promise.”

  He stood in front of me, smiling and running his fingers across my cheek. “Ok. Only since you insist. It’ll be a little while with the potluck after.”

  “That’s fine. Enjoy yourself. And if there’s anything good, bring me some.”

  Jack laughed as he threw on his coat and headed out the door. I watched his Jeep pull away from the house. Once out of sight, I grabbed my black leather jacket from the coat closet, along with a small flashlight I had found in there. I headed for the door, stopping short as I stared at the gun cabinet in the living room. I contemplated grabbing a weapon, but figured my inexperience was more likely to get me hurt than protect me. Instead, I opted for a Swiss army knife I found in the bottom drawer of the same cabinet.

  I closed the front door behind me and headed towards the woods, taking the shortcut into town. When I arrived at the edge, I checked my watch. Everyone should be inside the church now, I thought. Slowly, I made my way out. Pulling the hood of my sweatshirt out from under my jacket and over my head, I headed past the church, hearing the music from inside, and continued towards the convent.

  The lock to the back entrance was surprisingly tricky, but after some work, I was able to pick it and get inside. The convent was the last place I would have expected to find locked in such a safe town, at least before this past week. Now, those locks confirmed there was something to hide.

  I crept inside, quietly, in case any nuns had stayed behind during services. It was silent, but I still felt the need to hug the walls as I wandered around corners.

  The living space wasn’t at all what I expected.

  I envisioned cold concrete halls, simple wooden furniture, sparsely decorated, if at all. What I saw instead were plush furnishings and opulent decor. Gaudy replicas of religious icons littered end tables and buffets, while intricate designs swirled around tapestries on the walls, and rugs covering the shiny wood floors. I took a second look at the carpet’s design, finding that again, the design from the church tapestries and confessional was there. I took out my phone, snapping photos as I walked through.

  The kitchen was huge with industrial ovens and refrigerators. An oddly sweet aroma mixed in with more familiar smells filled the room, as huge pots of stew boiled on the stoves. I peeked in the fridge to find nothing out of the ordinary; juices, produce, and packages of meat.

  I raced through the rooms, leaving the individual quarters to be searched later if there was time. As I headed closer to a dark hallway, I found two large wooden doors, chained with a padlock. God bless the internet, I thought, as I went to work picking the lock.

  The lock clicked open and I walked into the room. It was large, open, and cold. The entire fl
oor was concrete, the walls stone. The middle of the room was empty, with a drain in the center of the floor, the floors themselves slightly sloping towards the middle. I walked along the edges with my flashlight, shining light on chains hanging from walls, long metal tables and cabinets. I opened a cabinet to find surgical instruments; rib spreaders, scalpels, saws. I snapped a few more photos then turned to the other end of the room. There, against the wall were three large chest freezers.

  I threw one open, finding packages in butcher paper like the ones I saw in the fridge, labeled only with dates. I picked up a package and tore it open. Meat. I checked the other freezers to find more of the same. I shoved the open package under the others, then made my way out of the room, replacing the padlock behind me. As I headed towards the exit, I heard voices approaching. My heart started to pound as I searched the living room for a place to go. In the corner stood a large wardrobe, so I ducked in, praying there would be room enough to hide.

  Once inside, I pushed as far inside the wardrobe as I could, buried behind winter coats and jackets.

  “I can’t believe you forgot to put the potatoes in, Catherine. Honestly.”

  “Well, I remembered now, didn’t I? I’ll set them to boil separately and toss them in. No one will know the difference.”

  Sister Marjorie let out a sigh of disapproval as their steps faded into the kitchen. I stayed put, afraid to risk an escape until they were outside. As I stood in the closet, my hands brushed the coats hanging next to me. They felt large, bulky, not like anything I’d seen the sisters wear. I sat silent and still until I heard the sisters again and the click of the door. I switched the flashlight on and examined the clothes surrounding me. Coat after coat after flannel, they all had one thing in common. These were men’s outerwear, not women’s.

  I crept out of the wardrobe and made my way to the back door. Staring out the window long enough to be convinced it was all clear, I walked out, but not before getting an unmistakable whiff of lavender oil.

  Looking at my phone, I didn’t have much time left. Services would be over soon, but there was one more spot I wanted to check out. I ran, as best as I could, towards the garden. Shielded by the thickets of dormant rose bushes, I searched the ground, looking for some kind of sign, some disturbance in the dirt.

  Nothing.

  I could hear the organ playing and knew I had stayed too long. I headed towards the garden, but stopped on the outer edge, realizing the sisters would probably make their way to the convent to retrieve the food for the potluck. But I couldn’t walk out front and be seen by the parishioners either. I started to panic and looked towards the woods, the only option I had left. I began walking that way when someone stepped in front of me.

  Father Mike.

  “What are you doing out here, Jameson?”

  “Getting some air,” I said, trying my best not to stammer.

  “I didn’t see you inside for Mass.”

  “No. I didn’t think I was up to it, but I started feeling better and thought I should come for the potluck. The walk wore me out, though. I was just sitting here, catching my breath.” I took a deep breath, steadying my voice. “And praying.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Holy ground, god’s creation, it seemed appropriate.” I wanted to crumble right there, physically weak and finding my own lies unconvincing.

  Father Mike stared at me and took a look around. “Looks like you were heading towards the woods.”

  “Turns out I don’t feel as good as I thought. I decided I would head back home.”

  “Through the woods?”

  Despite the cold, I could feel a drop of sweat running down my back as I ran out of lies and excuses. The anxiety seemed to make the pain from everywhere hit all at once and I felt as if I might break down right there on the spot. “I just really want to get home.”

  People began to file out of the church in the distance. “I think you should have a seat, Jameson.”

  I was out of options. If I ran for it, people would see. Not to mention that I couldn’t really run properly without bringing on a considerable amount of pain. I eased myself slowly on to the stone bench. From this position, I could no longer see the parishioners in the distance, which I assumed meant they couldn’t see me either. Father Mike sat down next to me and let out a sigh.

  There was a sudden rustling in the bushes behind us. Father Mike grabbed my hand firmly and whispered, “Bow your head.”

  Confused, I mimicked his position, bowing my head, partially closing my eyes.

  “Father, Sister Marjorie was wondering where you were. What are you doing?”

  The sister stared at us, her eyes narrowing as her gaze fell on me.

  “Miss Quinn here needed some guidance. It seems that she was having a crisis of faith and asked that we pray out here.” Father Mike’s reply was quick, without any hesitation. I might have been impressed if his ability to lie wasn’t so disturbing.

  “Well, this is highly unorthodox. Miss Quinn, you couldn’t have waited until confession to speak with the Father?”

  Father Mike jumped in before I could reply. “Sister, sometimes a crisis is beyond us. It was a great effort for her to even be here. Let’s show her some kindness, shall we?”

  The sister pulled her lips together tightly, almost contrite, and nodded. “My apologies, Father. But please keep in mind that the potluck will be getting started shortly.”

  “Of course. We will be along.”

  The nun turned away and headed for the convent. I felt Father Mike squeeze my hand.

  “It’s too late to leave now without being noticed, so there’s no point trying to run off.”

  I felt sick. He was right. There was nowhere to go. My saving grace was the crowd of people pushing closer, making it impossible for anything more than a conversation to happen. The bushes rustled again, this time, several voices following.

  “Father? James?” Jack stood in the garden flanked by a few young parishioners. “You all go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

  The parishioners walked ahead, while Jack hung back.

  “What are you two doing here?”

  This time, I jumped in before the father could. “I started feeling better after you left, so I thought I could at least make it here to join you for the potluck.”

  I hated lying to Jack, but I knew he wouldn’t approve of my covert convent investigation.

  “And Father Michael?”

  “I needed air after the sermon and found Jameson out here looking distraught.” He stared Jack in the eyes and smirked before continuing, “I thought I could provide her with some comfort.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Jack said, through his teeth, “but I think I’ve got that covered. I think you have people to attend to?”

  Mike got up from the bench slowly. “Of course.” He turned towards me before walking away, laying a hand on my shoulder, “James, don’t forget to come to confession this week.”

  I nodded, eager for him to leave. As he disappeared behind the flowerless bushes I let out a sigh. Jack sat beside me, staring off in the direction of Father Mike.

  “You don’t look great, James.”

  I nodded, still a bit shaken. “Can you take me home?”

  “Of course. What happened?”

  “Nothing,” I lied again. “I just need to go home. I’m not feeling as well as I thought.”

  Chapter 32

  I knocked on the door and waited.

  Since my encounter with Father Mike, I’d done a good job of avoiding everyone in town, including Jack. Feigning a relapse, I stayed in my little rental, trying to sort out what was happening. What I should do next.

  I left Brooklyn to find some peace, to escape the drama that comes with city life, yet here I was in the midst of more madness than anything I’d experienced in my years in New York. If Ruth Valley couldn’t deliver what I was looking for, why not move on?

  I could throw everything I needed in my car and disappear in the middle of the night. No one w
ould have to know. Whatever horrors I’d experienced firsthand, whatever horrors I’d yet to fully uncover, they’d all be left behind in the exhaust of my little black coupe.

  But it wouldn’t only be horror I was leaving behind.

  There was Emma. Sweet, bubbly, innocent Emma, who’d been more of a friend to me in my short time here than any of the girls I encountered in my time in Brooklyn.

  There were the sweet old gossips in the knitting circle. Gossips, yes, but they meant no harm, and never had an unkind word for me.

  There was poor Joan, who was still trying to solve the mystery of her missing husband, determined to find the truth, whatever that was.

  And there was Jack. Considerate, completely swoon-worthy, surprisingly enamored with me, and willing to risk his reputation in the name of my care and well-being.

  I couldn’t leave these people behind. Not when they could all be in danger.

  Jack opened the door, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood in the doorway.

  “I’m out of coffee,” I said sheepishly, feeling the guilt of having ignored even Jack over the past week. “I was wondering if I could borrow some?”

  Jack replied, cautious, “I have a fresh pot on, if you feel like coming in for a cup.”

  I smiled. “That would be nice.”

  I stepped inside, while Jack walked over to the coffee pot, grabbing a mug, tossing a heaping spoonful of sugar in it before filling it with coffee. I sat at the table, watching as he set the cup in front of me before sitting down.

  “You’ve been quiet lately.” He leaned forward, then hesitated, leaning back into his chair. “I’ve been worried.”

  I stared down at my coffee cup. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry. I’ve been a bit overwhelmed. Needed some time to myself to recuperate, if that makes any sense.”

  Jack nodded, a look of morose understanding on his face.

  Guilt for staying away gnawed at me. I reached across the table, laying my hand on his. “I missed this, though.”

  A smile slowly spread on his face. “Me too.”

  I sipped my coffee, enjoying the bit of intimate silence, Jack gently caressing my hand in his.