Shattered Secrets

by Karen Harper - Cold Creek 01 - Shattered Secrets

“You awake?” he asked the obvious when she looked at him. “It’s eight. Friday morning. How do you feel?” His voice was gravelly, and his beard stubble made his face look dirty. His usually police-sharp hair was mussed.

  “I feel tired. That train I hear in my head sometimes—I think it hit me.” She scooted herself up to a sitting position, pulling the quilt up higher too.

  “Dizzy, nauseated? Doc Nelson said you might be.”

  “Just hungry, I think. Wow, don’t buy cheap wine at the Kwik Shop.”

  “You giggled and cried last night. Talked in your sleep too. I would have taken notes, but you weren’t making any sense.”

  “Nothing makes sense anymore.”

  “Can you remember anything after you drank the wine or during the night?”

  “No. Maybe it was another amnesia drug. Maybe my kidnapper came calling again,” she said with a shiver. “Did you get the search warrant for Dane’s place?”

  “At least your head’s okay on what happened before you got blasted. Not yet. The judge was holding it up until she heard new evidence, but the fact that Dr. Stevens has perjured herself in a deposition means I should get it soon. The judge is obviously reluctant since the warrant my dad, ‘the previous Sheriff McCord,’ as she puts it, failed to pin anything on Dane when he served him with a search warrant twenty years ago. I told her double jeopardy should not figure in here, since Dane wasn’t arraigned or tried before. She took offense since I was lecturing her about a legal matter, but I think she’ll get me the warrant. The case is too hot not to.”

  “And are you going to talk to Reese Owens?”

  “Thank God you’re all right. We just have to keep drugs and booze out of your system. Stay right there while I fix us some juice and coffee. Oh, yeah, I’ll talk to Reese,” he said as he stretched his big frame, then went into the kitchen. “He’s in Cincinnati until tomorrow morning, and I’m not doing that over the phone.”

  “I hope I feel better by tomorrow,” she said, rubbing both eyes. “I’d like to go to the farmers’ market. I want to see my family if they come with the Hear Ye people.”

  “Let’s just see how you do with food and walking on your own today—you need some rest. Doc Nelson thought you might have ingested something like a date rape drug. They’re short-term but made worse by being mixed with any kind of alcohol. I’ll take you over to your house to pack up some things but you’re staying here.”

  He came back with two huge glasses of orange juice. A date rape drug? And then she’d spent the night here with him....

  Thank God she could trust Gabe. Because there was obviously someone in Cold Creek who’d been watching her, who wanted her out of here one way or another. That terrified her but made her angry enough not to leave until they found Sandy Kenton.

  * * *

  After breakfast, Gabe shaved and changed into his uniform, they picked up some things at her house and he checked everything there again. Nothing else seemed amiss. He called the hardware store to order new locks and a window. He took her back to his house and left, returning for lunch, still stewing he didn’t have his search warrant yet.

  “You’d think there’s someone pulling the strings for Dane, just like for Reese,” he groused as he quickly ate the lunch she’d made, before heading back to the office. She felt as if she was married to him—and spending most of the time on her own. He said Vic was going to want to talk to her, but right now he was busy trying to locate a housekeeper who had recently worked for Reese Owens and his wife.

  Tess locked up after Gabe left each time. She’d asked his permission to go up to his war room to look it all over again, hoping, as ever, to recall something useful. But she sat up there, studying the walls for an hour, while the wind kicked up and the house creaked. Feeling haunted, not by the house or even what had happened to her yesterday, but by the faces—her own and her family’s included—staring at her from the walls, she went back downstairs to wait for him.

  He called and said he’d be there in a while, just a little late. It got dark so early now. Though she hadn’t heard his car, she jumped up to greet him when she heard him at the back door. She started to open it for him, then hesitated. No footsteps, no key turning in the lock.

  When she tried to look out the window in the door, she saw it was blocked by a piece of cardboard or paper. She wondered if Gabe had done that to keep someone from looking in. But no, a crude drawing and printed words faced inward. Done in crayon, it depicted figures of three girls. Big tears dropped from the eyes of the smallest one. It looked so familiar. Suddenly she was certain she had drawn it. Was she hallucinating again? Were more memories coming back?

  She read the words under the figures. YOU BAD GIRL! YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME!

  She heard a voice from the past. She wanted to hide, had to hide! She rushed toward the closet in the hall, opened it to throw herself behind the hanging coats before she realized where she was. She took a deep breath. She was an adult, not a terrified child! She tried to recall more than her terror, but nothing else came, and she collapsed to her knees in tears.

  * * *

  Tess and Gabe stared at the drawing with the note he’d brought inside. “At first, I thought I might be hallucinating again,” Tess said. “But I’m okay now, and I’m positive I drew that. I do remember drawing Kate, Char and me many times, but since I’m crying here—I must have drawn that during my time away or just after.”

  “So you did drawings like this while you were in captivity?” he asked as they huddled over the paper at the kitchen table. “Your abductor evidently let you draw, gave you crayons and paper.”

  They had both collapsed in kitchen chairs. He’d scooted his so close to hers that their heads almost touched. She could hear him breathe, feel his deep voice when he spoke.

  “Yes, I think so. But this possibly could have been done when I got back home. Mom got me some counseling through the church, and they had me draw what I remembered—which was only this. Me so sad and scared and missing my sisters.”

  “I didn’t know about the counseling. Maybe we can find out who worked with you, contact them for memories. Can you recall anything else connected with this?”

  “I sure as heck didn’t write that message. Mike’s going to have to get prints off this too.”

  “And I’d bet we’re dealing with someone who’s too clever to leave prints. Mike found none on the wine bottle but yours.”

  “And to think I could have seen who it was if I’d just looked outside at the right time!”

  “Or if I’d driven in earlier. But it was already dark outside. Tess, don’t keep beating yourself up,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders, “because someone else is trying to do it. I’m just grateful you didn’t open the door when you thought it was me.”

  “Whoever it was probably comes out of the cornfield, does his dirty work in your backyard or mine, like he did twenty years ago, then runs back home, maybe with that light I saw moving through the corn the previous night. Can we beg or demand that Aaron Kurtz cut the field early?”

  Gabe slumped back in his chair and sighed as his gaze met hers. “You know Aaron Kurtz’s visit to the doctor his wife mentioned to us? It wasn’t to Jeff Nelson here in town. He went into Columbus to see what the pain in his legs was, and he’s flat on his back there for a while with a blood clot.”

  “So we can’t bother him with that right now. Doesn’t he have others working for him who could cut the field?”

  “Other farmers will step in to help, but we’ve got this field for at least a week or so. It was planted late anyway, and Aaron’s going to need the yield from it. Doc Nelson says he’s always been so independent and in good health that he doesn’t have much insurance. But listen, now that my place isn’t even a safe house anymore, I’ll understand if you want to leave town. You’re not remembering what we need, and you’
re obviously in danger. I’ll try to sell the house for you so you won’t have to pay a middleman. Maybe you should head home—to Michigan—until this is all over,” he said, taking her hand. Their grips tightened as their fingers entwined.

  “I don’t know. I’m scared, but I’m really angry now. You have enough to do without worrying about watching a house you’re trying to sell. And who knows if the person who did this is desperate enough to follow me, where I wouldn’t have you around. I want to stay at least over the weekend to think it over, go to the farmers’ market to see my family, if I can get to them without Bright Star hovering.”

  “In that case, starting tomorrow, I’m going to ask Vic Reingold to move in here too. He has to drive too far to get here fast anyway. Taking turns, with my deputy’s help, we can keep a better eye on you.”

  “And I still might remember something, even if I need to be jolted, like seeing that drawing. And those words—the ‘bad girl’ part. I know I was called that and I think it ties to being smacked with that stupid scarecrow.”

  Standing, then pulling her to her feet, he put both arms around her. She clung to him hard, her arms around his waist, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. Whatever horrors had happened before or were to come, his tenderness, his touch right now, made all that almost worth it.

  19

  Saturday morning, Gabe followed Tess as she drove into town and parked. He went to check in at the station before he walked down to mingle with the crowd at the farmers’ market. Jace Miller was working traffic in the area and making an occasional sweep of the roads farther out, including driving by Dane’s house now and then. Vic was moving his things into Gabe’s, then coming to the market. In the BCI lab van in the police station parking lot, Mike was checking for fingerprints on the paper that had been taped to Gabe’s back door. With all those allies around and in the crowd, Tess almost felt safe.

  She was happy that a man from the hardware store had already put in a new kitchen window, changed the locks on her doors and given her the new keys. When Gabe spoke around here, people jumped.

  On Main Street, Tess strolled through the rows of tables and booths. They had sprouted overnight while through traffic was diverted a block away. It was quite a sight with autumn bounty piled high. A mix of townsfolk of all ages, some who must be Lake Azure residents and many outsiders who’d driven in for the market, were strolling and buying. Some ate baked goods or apples right on the spot. It seemed everyone was carrying cups or plastic jugs of cider. People walked their dogs while they shopped. Tess was glad to see that kids young enough to be in strollers were pushed by their parents while preschool and elementary kids were kept within close reach. Even in a crowd like this, children needed to be watched. The bustle almost made her forget how wobbly her legs had been yesterday and how much she had slept. Her thoughts were still a little fuzzy at times.

  The earthy sights and smells helped her settle down, that was, until she saw the mayor glad-handing everyone who walked past. He’d plunked himself down on a bench that she did not recall being there before. She saw his wife, Lillian, too. What a mismatch they were. She always looked so put-together and stylish, despite the fact that she’d gained weight over the years. Marian Bell was standing over them, talking and gesturing. Tess wondered if Marian sensed they knew something about her child’s disappearance.

  Tess walked behind the bench so she wouldn’t have to face them and strolled past tables with pyramids of gold and red apples and piles of squash. The Community Church had a small mountain of pumpkins set up for this event. She smiled when she read the sign. All You Can Carry, $2. Globes of red and white onions, brown and reddish potatoes, even braided garlic, smelled of garden-rich loam from being buried in the ground.

  She stopped walking. The movement, the buzz of noise around her, seemed to stop. That thought—buried in the ground—almost triggered a memory in her, but it flew just out of reach. She looked around to see if anyone was watching. Blessedly, no. Everything was normal, busy. It felt so good just to be part of the crowd.

  She strolled past a booth that offered late-blooming herbs, another with gleaming glass jars identified by handwritten labels: honey, maple syrup, molasses and sorghum. Several booths offered bakery goods, home-baked pies, donuts, cakes and loaves of bread. She bought some eight-grain bread, then couldn’t wait to get home to eat it, so she tore off a chunk and started chewing.

  She took a wide berth around the next table. Sam Jeffers was selling animal pelts he had spread on a table with a few attached to a Peg-Board with a crudely printed sign showing his prices. She found it hard to believe, but he had buyers too.

  Tess studied the man’s printing on the sign, but it seemed cruder than that on the stick figure drawing. Still, she walked even faster to get several tables away from him and those pelts.

  She saw Dane’s sister, Marva, had a table promoting her tanning salon. It looked as if she was giving out nail files, which Tess could use, but she just wasn’t up to talking to Marva. As soon as Gabe got his warrant, she figured Marva’s friendship as well as Dane’s phony kindness to her would go up in smoke anyway.

  To her surprise, Miss Etta had a table with books and magazines spread out on it, though ever so neatly. And she had a huge plastic pump bottle there for browsers—and no doubt, herself—to sanitize their hands.

  “Oh, Tess, come over here,” she called, gesturing her closer. “This is just another of my endeavors to make learning part of this community, to get others to read. With some of the folks around here, if they so much as read a newspaper or a store coupon, it makes my day, but those little phones and tablets with picture screens are killing all sorts of real books. Now, most of these are discards, but if I give them away in trade for a new library card—” she leaned forward to tap a pile of temporary, paper ones “—maybe it will make a difference in someone’s life. By the way,” she added, gesturing for Tess to sit in the second chair she had behind the table. “How were those books I loaned you? Help ring any bells?”

  “A few. They made me think, if not remember. I can’t stop right now though, Miss Etta. I want to find my cousins if they’re here with the commune people.”

  “They are, though I didn’t see their children with them. It’s all business on Saturdays for them to sell things, but how that group makes ends meet beyond those sales is a puzzle, though I heard a rumor they might sell their land for some sort of oil drilling. Their illustrious ruler,” she added with a roll of her eyes, “doesn’t like his subjects holding regular jobs.”

  The wiry woman turned away to extend a magazine with a motorcycle on it toward a couple of teenage boys slouching past. She tapped the sign, Free Reads for a Temp Card, and the boys stepped forward to sign up. Not much Miss Etta didn’t think of. It seemed as easy as baiting a hook and fishing.

  “You look peaked, Tess. Are you all right?” she asked when the boys drifted off, and the woman quickly pumped gel sanitizer on her hands.

  “Just not sleeping like I should yet.”

  “Yet? I hope you don’t mean since the tragedy twenty years ago. Well, you just stop by—or I’ll bring the bookmobile past—and you can get a nonfiction book on relaxation techniques. You know, medical research has been proving that everything from weight loss to resistance to illnesses depends on getting a good night’s sleep. On the other hand, dependence on something like sleeping pills can create new problems.”

  Tess made her escape when Miss Etta started to talk to two women about scrapbooking. She passed a man selling handmade birdhouses, and then, at the end of the row of vendors, she saw the Hear Ye people behind a series of oilcloth-covered tables.

  Looking for Lee and Gracie, she skimmed over those working. Miss Etta had said they were here, but, with the Hear Ye members all having similar clothing and hairstyles, they seemed to blur together. So much for American individuality, Tess thought, although the bounty of their offerings wa
s diverse. Beautifully woven baskets were filled with bittersweet, walnuts or wildflowers. Mesh sacks contained walnuts in the shell and there were glass jars of them already shelled. She looked at painted wooden plaques with sayings on them like It is more blessed to give than to receive. Tess wondered if that was a hint that people should give them a tip when they purchased something.

  “Looking for Lee and Grace?” a voice behind her said.

  She turned. Bright Star Monson seemed to have materialized from the crowd.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “It’s their turn to carry sacks of things to people’s cars, a kindly gesture, going the extra mile. Now, let’s see,” he said, smiling as his eyes went over her, and he tapped an index finger against his chin. “If I ordered a plaque made expressly for you, it would say something like For the Lord has called you like a woman forsaken and grieved in spirit. And should you continue to feel that way, Tess Lockwood, you will always have a place with your cousins and with all the brothers and sisters of our flock.”

  She stood mute for a moment. Not only because he’d dared to think she would ever join them but because he’d spoken about a woman forsaken and grieved. Could he read her so well in the little time she’d been near him? Had Lee or Gracie told him much about her?

  This man gave her the chills. If Dane Thompson or Reese Owens did not pan out as suspects, Bright Star Monson should be number three on Gabe’s list, just for the bad vibe he gave off.

  “I’ll look for them later,” she said, eager to get away from him. “I hope you have a good day selling things.”

  “Always,” he intoned as she turned and walked away. In the crowd, she nearly bumped into Vic Reingold, who took her elbow and steered her along.

  “I was keeping an eye on the mayor and him,” Vic told her. “I can tell Monson bugs you. Is it because of the here and now, or does he ring any bells?”

  “If he does, they’re not conscious ones,” she said, remembering how Miss Etta had used the same phrase about ringing bells a few minutes ago. “No one really rings my bell, and that’s my problem.”