Take the Bait

by S. W. Hubbard

  Frank was conciliatory. “No, of course you can’t. I understand. But if Janelle was worried about something, that could be significant.”

  Miss Powell studied him with narrowed eyes. “Why? The child was abducted. What do her petty little school problems have to do with that?”

  “Maybe they weren’t so petty.” Frank was about to elaborate, but Miss Powell cut him off.

  “Now you look here.” She tapped her desk blotter with the whistle she wore around her neck. “You didn’t hear it from me that there was something wrong with Janelle. All I said was that she was a little distracted. I’m sure it was only senior slump. You know they start looking forward to graduation so much that they lose interest in the here and now.”

  Frank offered her a tight little smile. “I suppose. Did you ever notice her talking to anyone at the games—maybe a guy who was a little older, someone not from around here?”

  “Certainly not! I tell my girls cheerleading is a serious responsibility. There’s no time for flirting or carrying on during a game.”

  “But afterward,” Frank persisted. “Did you ever notice who she left with?”

  “Her father, of course. He came to every game.” Miss Powell stood up. “My next class is waiting for me,” she said as she glanced out at a group of chattering girls sprawled on the gym floor.

  “I won’t keep you,” Frank said. He turned back as he reached the door. “Just out of curiosity, do you still have the basketball schedule? When was the game against Lake George?”

  Miss Powell rustled around in her desk and produced it. “January twenty-second. You really think that’s important?” she asked, clearly wishing she had never mentioned Janelle’s slump.

  “Could be. When’s the next home baseball game?”

  “Today at four. Why?”

  “Oh, Earl and I are great baseball fans. Maybe we’ll see you there.”

  After leaving the high school, Frank sent Earl off to finish talking to Dell Lambert’s neighbors while he answered a call from Carla Sweeney, who’d reported seeing a strange man lurking around her neighbor’s house. The prowler turned out to be the neighbor himself, wearing a new hat and jacket as he checked the condition of his gutters. A waste of time, but he couldn’t blame Carla. The whole town was jumpy.

  Upon his return, Frank could hear Meyerson’s distinctive staccato voice issuing commands before he even reached his inner office. Doris, clearly intimidated by the state police presence, sat with her back to Frank’s open office door, pounding her keyboard with unusual speed. Frank suspected that the computer screen might reveal “The quick red fox jumped over the lazy brown dog,” typed over and over again.

  Meyerson hung up the phone and brandished some file folders at Frank by way of greeting. “Forensics reports. They found squat at Lambert’s place. No fresh footprints. No fresh tire tracks. And the rain we had Saturday night would’ve washed away old ones. No pieces of fabric stuck on the bushes.”

  Frank detected a note of sarcasm in Meyerson’s voice and he didn’t appreciate it. Lew probably thought he was squandering state police resources, but he wouldn’t be embarrassed into cutting corners. He would work on the assumption that nothing was as it appeared, until he had conclusive evidence showing him otherwise.

  “Thank you, Lew,” Frank said in a voice entirely without inflection, as he took the reports. He read them over, if for no other reason than to show Lew that he wasn’t willing to accept his judgments unconditionally. “What about you, Earl?” Frank asked. “What did you learn from the neighbors?”

  Flustered, Earl pulled a tattered notebook from his pocket and began to read, with some difficulty, from his own notes. “The Seiverts slept late—the sirens are what woke them up. Mr. and Mrs. Lanterman were asleep, but the kids were up watching cartoons.” Earl paused. “I asked to speak with the kids, but Mrs. Lanterman said a bomb could go off while they’re watching Scooby-Doo and they wouldn’t hear it, so …”

  Frank waved him on.

  “Mr. Paulson woke up early and drove into Placid to get the New York Times, but he said he didn’t pass another car until he was outside Trout Run. He didn’t notice if Mr. Lambert’s lights were on. And the Zwickles are still away,” Earl concluded.

  “Good work, Earl,” Frank said and watched the tension drain out of Earl’s face. Then he turned back to Meyerson. “What about the medical examiner’s report?”

  “Autopsy’s today. We’ll have it tomorrow.” Meyerson then launched into a detailed recitation of every trail, field, and pond his searchers had covered, which Frank listened to while lost in his own thoughts. Janelle took a new shape in his mind’s eye. The guileless face that stared out from all those posters the Stevensons made had been replaced by a Janelle who was a little sharper, a little sadder, a little more worldly.

  • • •

  Across the green from the Town Office, the Presbyterian church sat: a rectangular red brick building notable only for its huge parish hall, the only space in town big enough to hold a wedding reception, the volunteer fire department annual pancake breakfast, and the concerts put on by the Trout Run Independent Cultural Society.

  So though Frank was not a member of the church, he’d been there many times, and he knew just where to find Bob Rush. Taking advantage of a brief lull, he popped across the green and entered the church through a side door. Disregarding a sign requesting visitors to announce themselves to the church secretary, he headed straight back the hallway, past the Sunday school classrooms, to a door marked simply, PASTOR BOB.

  Frank tapped on the door, then marched in without waiting for an invitation. Bob Rush leaped from the easy chair where he had been reading, sending two books and a sheaf of papers scattering across the Oriental carpet on the floor. For a split second Frank saw a flicker of irritation cross the minister’s face, but in an instant his features had composed themselves in an expression of welcome.

  “Well, hello Frank. What brings you here today? Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “Might be serious, might not. I was hoping you could take a minute to talk to me. Do you have the time right now?”

  “I always have the time to serve this community, Frank,” the minister answered earnestly.

  Frank controlled the urge to roll his eyes. There was something he found irritating about this man. For one thing, he was better looking than any minister had a right to be. Six feet tall, broad-shouldered yet trim, Bob Rush had the look of an outstanding athlete. In his mid-thirties, his wavy brown hair showed no signs of gray or thinning, and his skin was rosy. But the most riveting thing about Bob Rush, everyone who met him agreed, were his eyes. Although startlingly blue, the usual adjectives “icy” or “piercing” did not apply—perhaps because the eyes were offset by long dark lashes, the likes of which no woman could ever hope to duplicate with makeup.

  Whenever anyone spoke to him at length, Pastor Bob had a tendency to keep his eyes cast down, as if he were concentrating so hard he couldn’t bear to catch sight of any distractions. Then, when he answered, his eyes would fly open and he’d fix you with those baby blues. Women seemed to find this disarming, but Frank thought it was all a bit much.

  “I’m here about Janelle Harvey,” Frank said, settling himself in a pretty but rather uncomfortable bentwood rocker. “Her friends said you were close. I was wondering, did she ever tell you that anything was bothering her?”

  Pastor Bob focused his eyes on his folded hands, listening to Frank as if he were a priest hearing confession. Slowly he raised his head, fixed Frank with “The Look,” and said, “She was a member of our youth group and she was a fine young woman.”

  Puzzled by this non sequitur, Frank tried again. For a man with a Yale degree hanging on the wall, Bob Rush seemed a little obtuse.

  “Look, I know the buzz around town is that Janelle has been kidnapped by a stranger, so I suppose you probably think any problems she talked to you about aren’t relevant. But I’m very sure there was something happening in her life, and that
it might have a bearing on her disappearance. If I knew what it was, it might help me find her. Can you tell me if she confided in you?” Frank repeated.

  Bob simply shook his head.

  “She didn’t, or you can’t tell me?” Frank asked.

  “As a minister, I cannot reveal the privileged confidences of my parishioners,” Pastor Bob said, rising from his chair. He spoke down to Frank from his full height. “But I’m quite certain that nothing Janelle discussed with me has anything to do with her disappearance.”

  “Are you, now? Well, I wish I could be so confident. Without knowing what happened to Janelle, I kind of have a hard time saying for sure what’s not important. You don’t happen to know where she might be, do you?”

  “There’s no need to be sarcastic, Mr. Bennett.”

  Frank observed that Pastor Bob did a good job of appearing righteously miffed as he busied himself stacking his books neatly in a corner of his desk.

  “Heck, Bob, I’m sorry.” Frank struggled to match the minister’s own earnest demeanor. “It’s just that I’m so worried about that kid. She could be in danger. And her poor father is just heartsick, not knowing what’s happened to her. What if betraying a confidence meant that we could bring Janelle back home safely and end her father’s misery? What would you do then?”

  “I’d pray to the Lord to guide me. Just as I pray every day that He will see fit to return her to us. But I assure you, there’s nothing I can do to help.”

  Clearly, nothing was to be gained from gentle persuasion. As he rose to go, Frank took a parting jab. “Melanie Powers says Janelle had a crush on you. That wouldn’t be what she confided in you, would it?”

  The potshot hit like a bullet between the eyes. Bob’s handsome face turned a blotchy red and his upper lip trembled. He summoned all his dignity to reply, but his voice came out half an octave higher than normal. “I would think, Mr. Bennett, that an experienced police officer would know better than to listen to the idle fantasies of a girl like Melanie. And now, you’ll have to excuse me. I have a sermon to write.”

  Frank left without another word. He was beginning to feel that a girl like Melanie knew more than people gave her credit for.

  “So, do you know these girls, Kim Sorenson and Melanie Powers?” Frank asked at four as he and Earl drove over to the baseball field to talk to Janelle’s cheerleader friends again.

  “Yeah, sort of. Kim’s older brother was in my class, but he was a real jock.” Which meant, Frank knew, that he would have had nothing to do with Earl. “And Melanie, well, everyone knows Melanie.”

  “Yeah, I bet.”

  When they arrived, the High Peaks team was down 5-0, and the cheerleaders were making a halfhearted attempt to get the twenty or so fans in the bleachers to show a little team spirit. There had been talk of canceling the game in light of Janelle’s disappearance, but the teachers and coaches felt it would be best to keep the kids occupied.

  Lithe Kim performed some effortless handsprings, but the show really belonged to Melanie. She just jumped up and down, shaking her pom-poms, and as she leaped into the air, her breasts fell; as she landed they rose, doing their own part to urge the team on to victory. Frank found his eyes drawn back to her with less than professional scrutiny.

  A pop-up fly to right ended the game and Melanie’s mesmerizing performance. Frank intercepted Kim and Melanie as they left the field.

  “We already told you everything yesterday,” Kim stated before he could even get a word out.

  Frank smiled at her in a way that he hoped conveyed fatherly benevolence instead of the irritation he felt rising. She really was a suspicious, sour little thing.

  “There’s something else I needed to clarify with you,” he explained.

  “Sure,” said Melanie.

  “I have to go straight home,” said Kim simultaneously.

  Melanie turned on her. “Kim, he’s trying to find Janelle. We’ve got to help him!”

  Kim pressed her lips into a firm line of disapproval. “My mother said I wasn’t to hang around after the game.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Kim. He’s a policeman. What, do you think he’s going to kidnap us?”

  Kim said nothing but the look on her face implied that she didn’t think this out of the realm of possibility.

  “Well, I’ll stay,” Melanie said.

  Kim wavered. “I guess it would be okay if it’s just a few minutes,” she said finally.

  “Do you remember the High Peaks-Lake George basketball game?” Frank asked. “Did you notice that Janelle was particularly moody or unhappy around that time?”

  “We were all unhappy—we lost,” said Kim.

  “No, I mean even before the game.”

  Kim stared straight ahead in stony silence.

  “That was around—” Melanie broke off in midsentence, stopped by her friend’s ferocious glare.

  “That was what?” Frank asked. “Melanie, if you know something you need to tell me, now.”

  Melanie looked from Kim to Frank, trying to size up who posed the greater threat.

  Finally, positioning herself on the bleacher so she wouldn’t have to see Kim’s stern disapproval, Melanie said, “I think that was around the time she broke up with Craig.”

  “Everyone’s been telling me that Craig’s her boyfriend—no one mentioned that they’d broken up.” This was it, the opening he needed! If Craig wasn’t in the picture, there must be another man.

  “Only me and Kim knew,” Melanie answered. “And Craig wouldn’t accept it. He kept acting like they were still together.”

  “Why did she break up with him?”

  “When we asked her, she just kept saying it wasn’t working out. But the thing is, they never had a fight or anything before that.”

  “And you’re absolutely sure there was no one else?”

  “That’s what made it so weird. By the end of senior year, everyone’s all paired up. There’s no one left but the geeks and dweebs.”

  Earl slouched down even farther than usual.

  “How about someone not from school?” Frank persisted. “Someone she met in Lake Placid, maybe, or at the mall in Plattsburgh?”

  Melanie and Kim kept shaking their heads. “When we go there we’re always together. We go to the movies, we come home. We go shopping, we come home. There’s no one to meet there,” Kim said firmly.

  Frank found that hard to believe. The sidewalks of Lake Placid were packed every weekend, winter, summer, and fall. “What about college boys who come to town for skiing or skating or bobsledding?” he prodded.

  “They come with their own friends. They’re not interested in us.”

  “Yeah. Unfortunately,” Melanie agreed. “And the kids who go to Lake Placid High School and North Country Academy are all so stuck up.” Now Frank understood. The kids from Trout Run were at the bottom of the social ladder. The wrong shoes, the wrong jeans—all those things that meant so much when you were seventeen. So they kept to themselves.

  “So there was no one not from around here that she ever talked to?” Frank asked.

  “Well, there were those Butterheads,” Melanie giggled.

  Even Kim cracked a smile. “Not Butterheads, Bruderhof,” she corrected.

  “Bruderhof? What’s that?” Frank asked.

  “That goofy term paper she was writing …”

  “On Utopian Religious Communities?” Frank remembered the note cards he’d taken from Janelle’s room. He hadn’t looked closely at them yet.

  Melanie nodded. “Janelle saw these people one day when we were out by Stult’s Farm. They were getting ready to hike up Mount Ursa. The girls were all wearing long skirts and these dorky scarves on their heads. Serious style crisis. And Janelle, like, recognized them.”

  “Not the people themselves,” Kim said, taking over the story. “She recognized from the way they were dressed that they must be Bruderhof. You see them around here sometimes. They come together in a bus to go hiking. Anyway, Janelle had read about
them for her term paper and she started talking to them. Asking them about their group, religion, whatever you want to call it.”

  “And what did they tell her?” Frank leaned forward as he listened to Kim. A religious cult—there was a possibility that had never occurred to him. They’d had some trouble with Moonies recruiting on college campuses in Kansas City, but that had been years ago.

  Kim shrugged. “The girls were kinda shy, but one of the men talked to her for a few minutes. I didn’t listen to what they were saying. Then they went on their hike and we went home. That’s it.”

  “So where are these people from?” Frank asked. “You said you’d seen them before.”

  Kim squirmed on the hard bleacher, clearly exasperated by all Frank’s questions. “I don’t know where they live—ask up at the Store. I’ve seen them in there.”

  “Did the man give Janelle any literature on their group? Did she—”

  “What’s all this got to do with who kidnapped Janelle, anyway?” Melanie interrupted.

  “He doesn’t think anyone kidnapped her,” Kim snapped. “I heard him talking to Miss Powell at school. He thinks she ran away.” She scowled at Frank, daring him to deny this.

  Understanding crept slowly over Melanie’s face, rearranging her features from curiosity to shock. “But Janelle wouldn’t run away. If something was bothering her that much, she would have told us. Why do you think she ran away?” she asked Frank. When he didn’t immediately answer, she turned to her friend, “Why does he think that?”

  “Because he doesn’t know how to catch the creep that kidnapped Janelle, so he’s trying to make her look like a runaway. C’mon, Mel. I told you this would be a waste of time.” And the two girls got up and left.

  Frank could feel Earl’s eyes drilling into his back, willing him to turn around and offer some explanation.