Wednesday's Child

by Gayle Wilson

  “And none of them remembered seeing your husband?”

  “I don’t think that means too much,” she said stiffly, “considering the length of time—”

  “A man traveling alone with a baby?” Jeb interrupted. “Maybe that wouldn’t be unusual in Atlanta, but here…I would expect someone to remember him here.”

  “Maybe,” Susan said, finally expressing those same doubts that had kept her from sleeping last night. It seemed as if she were going about this all wrong, but she wasn’t sure what else she could do. “If he went to any of those places. Maybe he just took the wrong turn and got lost. Maybe he didn’t talk to anyone before he ended up on the road leading to the bridge. He wasn’t much on stopping to ask directions.”

  “Men aren’t,” Lorena agreed. “I guess it was wishful thinking on my part that he might have spent any time in town.”

  “There had to be a reason for him to turn off the interstate here,” Jeb said. “Linton isn’t exactly on the way to anyplace.”

  “That’s why I drove out there last night. To the truck stop at the exit. I thought maybe Richard had stopped there for some reason, and they’d sent him into town.”

  “Car trouble seems the most likely explanation. You did talk to the garages and service stations?”

  “On Saturday. Most of their business is local. One of them said there have been few enough out-of-towners through the years that he would have remembered working on the SUV. I showed him Richard’s picture. It didn’t ring any bells either.”

  “I can’t think of anybody else,” Lorena said.

  “What about Caffrey’s? Weren’t they still open back then?”

  “I never even thought about Ed and Gladys. I can’t remember when they closed, but it’s worth a trip out there.”

  “Caffrey’s?” Susan asked.

  “A mom-and-pop operation that used to be on the edge of town,” Jeb explained. “It was the first thing you came to before you hit the city limits. Kind of a general store. They carried a little bit of everything. Including things you couldn’t get at a truck stop.”

  “Like what?” Susan wasn’t sure what he thought Richard might have needed so much he’d drive almost twenty miles for it.

  “I was thinking of diapers. I don’t know much about babies, but I doubt they have the same needs that truckers do. And truckers are who Carl Williams caters to.”

  Taking a supply of diapers with him, beyond what she kept in Emma’s bag, was something Richard probably wouldn’t have thought of. That had been her job. To make sure the baby had everything she needed whenever they went anywhere.

  “If the prevailing theory is that your husband got lost or made a wrong turn and somehow ended up at the bridge,” Jeb added, “it would be much more feasible if that had happened at night. Seven years ago, Caffrey’s would have been the only game in town if he’d come through here late.”

  Like his comment about her tag, Jeb’s reasoning made sense. Certainly as much as any of the other possibilities.

  “And this Mr. Caffrey still lives in town?”

  “A few miles outside the city limits,” Lorena said. “He’s become something of a recluse since his wife got sick. That’s why folks stopped going to the store. Ed has the personality of a fish. He always acted like it was a chore to wait on you. Without Gladys he just couldn’t make a go of it. Not since the Wal-Mart went up on the highway. I can’t remember exactly when she got sick or when he closed down the store. Like I said, it’ll be worth it to ask him if he was still open then.”

  “Maybe instead of needing diapers, the baby was sick,” Jeb said. “How about Doc? You talk to him?”

  “I asked if there were a clinic here,” Susan said, turning to Lorena for confirmation of what she’d been told.

  “There’s not,” the old woman said quickly. “And there wasn’t one seven years ago.”

  “But if her husband had stopped to ask anywhere around this area about a doctor, they might have sent him to Linton,” Jeb said to his aunt. “Doc Callaway retired more than a dozen years ago,” Jeb explained, “but he still keeps up his license. He’d help anyone in an emergency. Especially if it was a sick baby. Williams would have been aware of that.”

  “But he said he didn’t remember Richard. And I specifically mentioned Emma. I did think people might be more apt to remember a man with a baby…”

  “Doc certainly would,” Jeb said, his voice decisive. “Would you like me to take you to ask him?”

  It was the same offer his aunt had made on his behalf. The one Susan thought he’d rejected. One that she, too, had been uncomfortable with.

  Now, with a new avenue of investigation that seemed to make more sense than most of the ones she’d pursued yesterday, it was suddenly appealing. Certainly worth spending more time in Jeb Bedford’s company.

  “I’d be very grateful if you would,” she said.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “THE CALLAWAYS ARE relative newcomers,” Jeb said as he pulled the Avalanche up to the curb of a deeply shaded street.

  Dr. Callaway’s house, very near the heart of Linton, was almost as large as Lorena’s. Its Victorian architecture, punctuated by gingerbread detailing and typical turn-of-the-century colors, made it obvious this structure had been built decades later than the Bedford mansion. The fact that it would still be more than a hundred years old, as well as Jeb’s tone, let Susan know he appreciated the irony of his statement.

  “Maybe we should have called first,” she hedged, a little intimidated by the size and condition of the Callaway home.

  Jeb had already opened his door. He eased down to the ground, holding on to the handgrip until his right leg could support his weight. She felt a touch of guilt as she remembered the conditions in which he’d come out last night. They’d both been soaked to the skin by the time they’d gotten into his truck. She wondered how much that combination of cold and dampness had exacerbated his injuries.

  Ignoring her suggestion, he slammed his door and started around the truck. Susan had already put her fingers around the latch of her own door, but as Jeb rounded the front, obviously headed toward her side, she hesitated. Apparently chivalry wasn’t dead in the modern South.

  As he opened her door, he held out his hand to help her down. She debated the wisdom of taking it, but without being outright rude, she had little choice. After all, he had been kind enough to drive her here, despite his initial resistance to Lorena’s suggestion. Without his cooperation, she was without transportation. She didn’t want to antagonize him.

  Reluctantly, she put her fingers into his. As they closed around hers, an unaccustomed sensation shivered through her lower body. This was clearly a man’s hand. A man who, despite his limp, engaged in physical activity frequently enough that his fingers were hard and strong.

  It was only a matter of seconds until she was standing beside him on the curb. Despite the fact that he had immediately released her hand, it seemed she could still feel his fingers, their texture pleasantly rough and callused.

  A complete contrast to the smooth softness of Richard’s.

  The comparison had been unthinking, but it bothered her that she had made it. It put Jeb Bedford into a context in which she wasn’t sure she was ready to think about him.

  She preceded him up the walk and then climbed the three steps leading to the house’s wraparound veranda without looking back. She stopped when she reached the leaded-glass door, waiting to allow Jeb to ring the bell. When he had, they stood side by side without speaking. Several long minutes passed before he reached out and stabbed the button again.

  “Hold your horses,” a voice called. “I’m coming.”

  The door opened almost at once, revealing a portly, white-haired man. Half glasses perched on his nose, he carried a book in his right hand, one finger inserted to hold his place.

  His frown disappeared as soon as he saw Jeb. He pulled the door wide, looking at him assessingly over his glasses.

  “And they told me you were h
alf-dead.” His delight was clear and obviously genuine.

  “‘The reports of my demise—’” Jeb quoted, returning the old man’s grin.

  “Have obviously been exaggerated. Thank you, Lord.”

  Jeb laughed. The sound was exceptionally pleasant, just as the feel of his fingers wrapped around hers had been.

  “And who is this pretty thing? You bringing her here to show her off? Should I offer congratulations?”

  The silence that followed was thick enough that the doctor’s smile began to fade. Jeb cleared his throat, either as a warning to Callaway or in preparation for denying his suggestion. Before he could do either, Susan offered her hand.

  “I’m Susan Chandler, Dr. Callaway. It was my husband’s body that was pulled from the river here last week. I’d like to ask you some questions, if you don’t mind.”

  The brown eyes above the half glasses moved from her face to Jeb’s and then back again before the doctor took the hand she’d offered, shifting the book he held in order to do so.

  “Forgive an old man’s romantic foolishness, my dear. It’s just that I’d heard such terrible things about Jeb’s injuries. Then to find him standing on my stoop with someone like you…I’m afraid my enthusiasm at what I would consider his great good fortune ran away with my common sense. Jeb can tell you that’s not an uncommon occurrence. My apologies to you both.”

  “They aren’t necessary,” Susan said, smiling at him. “It was a natural mistake.”

  “But with your recent loss, an unforgivably painful one.”

  “Hardly recent,” she said, responding negatively to the sympathy in his voice. It was a sympathy she didn’t deserve. “The sheriff believes my husband’s body had probably been in the river since shortly after he left home, which was seven years ago. Although I had believed he was alive during that time, I can assure you those years were long and painful enough that I’d certainly stopped grieving over his desertion.”

  The old man’s eyes assessed her as closely as they had Jeb. After a moment, he nodded, as if he’d come to some decision.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “Why don’t you come inside to ask your questions? We’ll all be more comfortable, I think.”

  He meant Jeb, she realized. More comfortable where there were chairs. “Thank you.”

  Callaway nodded again before he turned, leading the way into the house whose interior decoration was very much in keeping with its exterior design. In contrast to the dark furniture and heavy upholstery of the formal rooms they passed through, the sun porch he took them to was bright and modern.

  From the stack of books and a glass of what appeared to be iced tea on the small table next to a wicker chaise, Susan suspected this was where the old man spent most of his time. She couldn’t blame him. It would be hard to find a more appealing setting than this, with its view of the back gardens.

  “Ms. Chandler,” Dr. Callaway said, indicating a high-backed chair constructed of the same material as the chaise. Both were covered with a worn chintz whose predominate color was yellow.

  She sat where he’d directed her, watching as Jeb shook off the old man’s gesture that he should take his own place on the lounge. Instead, Jeb chose the settee, moving a couple of cushions before he sat down. Although he had said nothing, the sense of strain she’d noticed in his features eased as soon as he took his weight off the damaged leg.

  As the old man settled back into his chaise, unconsciously she studied Jeb’s fingers, lying relaxed on his jean-covered thighs. Although long, befitting his height, they were square in shape. Entirely masculine. Exactly like the man himself.

  After a few seconds, she glanced up to find he was watching her. She couldn’t imagine what he thought she was doing. At least she didn’t want to imagine it.

  “Now then,” Dr. Callaway said, offering an unexpected rescue, “what can I do for you two?”

  Jeb answered before Susan had time to gather her thoughts. And she knew very well why they were scattered. It had been a very long time since she’d been so conscious of a man. Aware of his every move. Of his almost blatant sexuality.

  “We’re trying to figure out why Susan’s husband would have been in the area of the bridge,” Jeb said. “Even if he’d come into Linton for something, it seems he should have then headed back to the highway rather than driving on through town.”

  He had called her Susan, which was surprising. Even more surprising was his use of the plural pronoun. We’re trying to figure out…

  As if they were working together to find Emma. After years of being alone, of having only herself to depend on, his linking of himself with her in that endeavor created almost the same surge of emotion the touch of his hand had earlier.

  “Took a wrong turn,” the doctor said. “He’s not the first to do that. Sign’s about as clear as mud.”

  “You may be right. More importantly, I suppose, we need to try and figure out why he was in Linton at all,” Jeb went on. “Which is why we came to see you.”

  “You think I know something about that?”

  “We’ve been trying to come up with scenarios that would draw him off the interstate, which is where we’re assuming he would have been, and into the town. Susan has checked the service stations, most of the stores in town, the café, as well as the truck stop at the exit. Nobody remembers seeing him.”

  “Or my daughter,” Susan added.

  She had felt all along that Emma would be the most important element in tracking Richard’s movements. Jeb’s agreement with that had simply solidified her thinking.

  “Daughter?” the doctor repeated. “When Richard left Atlanta, he took our daughter Emma with him. She was fourteen months old at the time he disappeared. Her car seat was found in the back of his SUV, but…she wasn’t.” She still found it difficult to even think about the possibility of Emma being in the car when it went off the bridge, much less to articulate it. “The straps on the seat weren’t fastened. Whatever failings Richard had, he would never have let her ride in the car unrestrained.”

  “You think he left her with somebody here in town?”

  Susan knew she wasn’t explaining this well. The problem was that she had no idea why Emma wouldn’t be in the car with Richard. Although she was grateful that her daughter’s body wasn’t there, Richard being alone that night made no sense.

  “I have no idea. No one here seems to have seen either of them, but I do know he didn’t leave her with anyone we know. No friends or relatives. I questioned all of them when this first happened. I even hired a private investigator. Despite all of that, as well as the publicity surrounding her abduction, no one came forward. Surely if he’d left her with someone we knew—”

  “Her abduction?” the old man repeated.

  “Legally that’s what it was. My husband had taken all the money out of both our checking and savings accounts.”

  She realized as she talked that this was something she hadn’t mentioned to Jeb. She glanced at him before she continued, but his expression hadn’t changed.

  “Because of the amounts involved,” she went on, “he’d had to go to the bank personally to do that. He had Emma with him when he did. The teller indicated that was one reason she wasn’t overly concerned about him cleaning out the accounts. She thought maybe the family was relocating. And then, after they left the bank, they both just…disappeared.”

  “That’s why the police believed he had left voluntarily?” Jeb asked. “Because he took the money?”

  “And because there was no evidence of foul play. The withdrawal certainly argued against that. It appeared that Richard had just decided to leave our marriage, but that he didn’t want to go without Emma.”

  There was a small silence. Susan had become accustomed to that reaction through the years. No one ever knew what to say at this point in her story. Not even the police. After all, husbands walk out on their wives all the time. They usually don’t take their toddlers with them.

  “I called the police, of course, but
when they found out about the bank…” She shook her head, reliving that particular humiliation. “One of the first things they asked me was if Richard was a threat to Emma. Based on everything I knew about my husband at the time, I told them the truth. I said that he wasn’t. I realized later that I should have lied, because as soon as I told them that, the sense of urgency to find her suddenly vanished. Emma wasn’t a child at risk. She was just a little girl who had been taken away from her mother.”

  “Are you saying they did nothing?” Callaway asked.

  “They went through the motions. They added her to the national database of missing children. Her picture was posted on several law enforcement sites, and there were some local newspaper stories. Nothing turned up, so after a while…” She paused, strengthening her voice to tell the part that had always made her most bitter. “After a while everyone just stopped looking for her. Emma was, after all, with her father, who had no history of abusing her.”

  “So because no one came forward with her during those years,” Callaway said, “you believe your husband must have had Emma with him when he came through here.”

  “It seems the most logical explanation.”

  “And he didn’t even leave you a note?” the old man asked. “No phone call? Nothing?” he reiterated while she shook her head to all of his questions. “He just picked up the baby and walked out the door?”

  “Apparently. Along with every cent we owned.”

  “Then a few days, weeks or months later,” Jeb said, “he drives his car into the Escatawpa.”

  “If your husband was in the water as long as the paper indicated, they aren’t going to be able to tell you whether it was days or months,” Callaway warned.

  “I know. That’s why I’m trying to figure out why he came into town and who might have seen him while he was here. And who might have seen Emma, of course.”

  “We thought maybe she’d gotten sick,” Jeb said. “Or maybe he had. Maybe he asked for a hospital or clinic at the truck stop, and they directed him to you.”