Barn Burner (Jubilant Falls series Book 1)

by Debra Gaskill

  Are Mommy and Daddy looking for me? Lyndzee asked herself. Will they find me in these woods? What if they can’t? What if I never get out of these woods? Maybe I better keep walking.

  But I’m so tired, I hurt so bad and I just can’t walk any more, she answered to her thoughts. Maybe if I don’t move, maybe if I stay in one place, it will be easier for them to find me. Maybe if I sleep, maybe just for a few minutes.

  She looked around. But where?

  Behind her, about a hundred feet off the path, two large boulders had fallen together, forming a small cave. Lyndzee stepped closer. There was room there, if she curled up tight. She touched the floor of the cave beneath the rocks. Dirt and leaves would be her bed, but at least they were dry.

  With her back to the opening, she could stay a little warmer. Before she lay down, Lyndzee folded her hands.

  “Dear Jesus, let Mommy and Daddy find me soon. Amen.”

  An owl hooted in the branches above her head and Lyndzee’s eyes shot open. She sat up and folded her hands again.

  “Dear Jesus, and please keep the animals from eating me.”

  ***

  After looking over her story on Lyndzee’s disappearance, Addison and Pat Robinette each grabbed a stale doughnut and a paper cup of strong coffee from the employee break room before heading back out to the scene of Lyndzee's disappearance.

  It still hadn't occurred to Addison that she should probably check in with Duncan and Izzy, just to see how things were going. The search for Lyndzee and the story were the only forces driving Addison right now.

  With Pat right behind in his MG, Addison pulled her Taurus as close to Pop’s Carryout as she could get and surveyed the scene. Jubilant Falls' police still had the Carryout cordoned off and had moved the big renovated school bus they called a mobile command post into the parking lot. Painted flat black with the JFPD's emblem on the door, the bus had 'Mobile Command Post' painted in gold letters on the side where the school's name had once been and several radio antennae on top. It looked exactly like what people thought it was: a small town effort at big-city policing.

  Beside the door of the mobile command post stood a JFPD podium set up for periodic press briefings. Someone had taped a piece of paper to the department emblem. In thick black letters, the paper said: NEXT BRIEFING 1400 HOURS.

  Addison checked her watch. It was 1:30 in the afternoon. Channel 9's mobile truck with Luke Brockmore inside had not yet appeared.

  The slick little lazy bastard didn't know the meaning of sticking with a story and digging down deep for his facts, Addison thought to herself. He'd rather just show up about an hour before broadcast time, do a quick interview for some basic surface facts that anybody with a high school journalism class could find and run with that.

  With Pat behind her, Addison knocked on the school bus door. Gary McGinnis, black circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, answered.

  "Hey, Penny, Pat. C'mon in." He held the door open for her. Addison climbed up the entryway steps and looked around. The command post was filled radio equipment, a lockable cabinet used to store weapons, and a refrigerator. Several JFPD officers sat poring over reports with Plummer County sheriff's deputies at a small dinette near the back. The electronic sound of ringing cell phones occasionally pierced the tense atmosphere.

  "So where are we so far?" she asked, pulling out her reporter's notebook.

  McGinnis sighed. "We're draining the pond out behind the college soccer field and we still have volunteer search crews combing the area, but nothing has turned up."

  "I'll get photos of that," Robinette spoke up, still standing in the bus's stairwell with his Nikon suspended around his neck. "Anything else photo-worthy?"

  "Search crew shots probably—we'll need a shot of the two o'clock briefing, too," Addison said.

  "Gotcha boss."

  "Anything on Ripsmatta, Lundgren or Castlewheel?" she asked as Pat departed.

  "Nothing. They've disappeared from the face of the earth. We’ve checked the last known addresses of Ripsmatta and Castlewheel and all of Talley Lundgren's best known haunts.”

  "Any tips?"

  McGinnis shrugged. "We've got a hotline set up into the main dispatch center and we've got two uniforms working that. We're getting everything from possible sightings to some lady psychic calling in to say Lyndzee's still got a positive aura so she's still alive."

  "Anything you're seriously pursuing?"

  "We're seriously pursuing anything that's plausible at this point."

  Addison came back around to the three suspects. "Do police think that because these three guys can't be found they are somehow all involved in this?"

  "It seems really strange to us that we can't find all three of them. They have no known connection to each other, so you would think that one or two of the three could be easily located. And if they don't know anything about the abduction—"

  "So you're calling it an abduction now?" Addison looked up sharply from her notepad.

  "We have no evidence now that she wandered off on her own. We have the family pet left tied outside the carryout. We have three suspicious men in a surveillance videotape and none of them can be found." McGinnis paused. "But we also have had no contact from any kidnappers, yet."

  "If it's an abduction, you've got to call in the FBI." It was a statement, not a question. Once a missing kid was considered kidnapped, then it became a federal crime and the whole face of the investigation changed. There was enough of a turf war between the Plummer County Sheriff's Department and the JFPD, Addison thought to herself. Throwing the feds in the mix would certainly complicate things.

  "That's something they're talking about doing back at the station. They'd bring up a couple agents from the Cincinnati field office, if that's what happens."

  "Is it something they'll decide on today?"

  Gary shrugged. Addison knew he had the answer to her question. He just couldn't announce it yet. She changed the subject.

  "Do you think the family will talk to the media?"

  "I've been told to refer all interview requests to the college PR weenie, David Horatio."

  "I wonder if the family has granted any?" Addison asked, thinking aloud. Jaylynn Thorn had to be beyond hysterical by this point. And they were friends, after all. Maybe she could call her. And Seaford wasn't any dummy. He know what the media could do for him, or as evidenced just a few days ago to him.

  "You can always ask. The worst thing they could say is no."

  There was a knock on the command post door. McGinnis looked over Addison's shoulder.

  "Oh God, it's the hairspray king Brockmore. Must be time for the briefing." McGinnis smiled at Addison.

  Gary's briefing didn't include anything he hadn't told Addison face to face, so afterwards, Addison caught up with a search team as they came back in for new assignments. Asking quick questions, Addison got a few quotes from searchers that she would add to her story later that evening.

  "I just know that if it were one of my grandchildren, I'd want somebody looking for them like these folks are," said one white-haired woman with a walking stick and orthopedic shoes.

  "Did you see anything that could help police?" she asked.

  The white-haired woman shook her head. "Nothing. It's like she vanished off the face of the earth."

  In a few hours, Addison was back at the office.

  "Anything new?" Dennis Herrick looked up from his computer screen and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  As she passed by on her way into her office, Addison shook her head. "Police have nothing yet, but I'm going to try to contact the family. Maybe they'll talk to me."

  "Good luck."

  She closed the door behind her and flipped through her Rolodex for David Horatio's number. When his voice mail picked up. Addison swore under her breath as the voice mail began to play:

  "Hello, you've reached the desk of David Horatio, Media Relations Manager for Golgotha College. I'm not available to take you call right now, bu
t if you'll leave a message—”

  The phone beeped prematurely and Addison began to speak.

  "David, this is Addison McIntyre, with the Journal-Gazette. I've been told you're the contact—”

  "Mrs. McIntyre, hello!" Horatio's well-modulated voice came on the line. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to pick up. I'd just stepped across the hall to talk to Dr. Thorn."

  No doubt engineering the pretty face to put on everything from missing money to abducted children, Addison thought to herself.

  "That's what I'm calling about. Gary McGinnis said you’re heading up the media interviews. I'd like to talk to Dr. and Mrs. Thorn, if it's possible, about their daughter's disappearance."

  "I'm glad you've asked, Mrs. McIntyre. There have been a number of requests and we're in the process of setting up a press conference for the family later today. Right now, it's scheduled for 4:30 on the steps of the College Administration Building, so it can make the evening news broadcasts." Horatio was cool and self-possessed.

  How much did he know about the missing money or Lyndzee's disappearance? Addison wondered. He probably knew of more sins in those hallowed halls than his lily-white soul could stand.

  "This thing's turning into a big deal. We've got stations and newspapers coming from Columbus and Cincinnati —about ten total."

  "Any possibility of talking to Dr. or Mrs. Thorn privately before the conference?"

  Horatio was silent.

  "You know I am the editor of the hometown newspaper, the one everyone in Jubilant Falls reads. That oughta be good for something," she wheedled. Addison knew he'd see through the line about how many people read the Journal-Gazette. Because of Jubilant's location, other dailies like the Cincinnati Enquirer and the Cincinnati Post were considering opening Plummer County bureaus to expand their circulation and the Journal-Gazette's circulation was dropping a little each year. Her coverage of Lyndzee's disappearance needed to be better than anybody else's in order to keep the paper's credibility in Plummer County strong.

  "Let me ask Dr. Thorn."

  He put her on hold long enough for Addison to light a cigarette and take a few luxurious puffs.

  "I'm sorry," Horatio came back on the line. "Dr. Thorn wants everyone to have the same opportunity for interviews. Mrs. Thorn will be present at the press conference, however. You can ask her anything you want at that time."

  "He's still pissed off about the missing money story, huh?"

  "Mrs. McIntyre, I have to admit, Dr. Thorn was not happy about that—"

  "So he won't talk to me privately."

  "I'm afraid so." Horatio's voice took on a well-oiled tone. "Thank you for calling. We'll see you at 4:30." With a click, they were disconnected.

  Well, you really can’t blame Seaford, Addison figured. I'd be pissed off too. But you'd also think that he'd see through that and know that I want to help him find his daughter, too. And I can get the word out better than nearly anyone else in town.

  From memory, Addison dialed in Jaylynn's private number. It was an end-run around both Horatio and Seaford, but she had to try it.

  After two rings, a woman's tremulous Georgia voice said, "Hello?"

  "Jaylynn? It's me, Addie McIntyre."

  "Oh, Addie, what am I going to do? What am I going to do?" she wailed. "He took my baby just like I told you he would! He's got the police convinced he didn't and they let him go, but I know he took her. I know he took my baby!" Jaylynn began to cry. "I'm never going to see her again! I know it!" The sounds of sobs filled the receiver.

  "Jaylynn, please, calm down. This isn't going to bring Lyndzee back. She needs you to be strong right now. Let me come over there and do an interview. You can make a statement, say anything you want—"

  "I can't Addie, he's having me watched like a hawk! He's got the staff making sure to report everything back to him. I have to go to this press conference at 4:30, but I can't —hey!" There was a sound of air rushing and then the clunking sound of the receiver falling to the floor.

  "Jaylynn, what's going on? Jaylynn!" Addison called into the receiver.

  "Who is this?" asked another female voice.

  "Who is this?" Addison retorted.

  "This is Dr. Rachel Wiseman. Can I help you?"

  Addison's blood ran cold. Seaford had this bitch all over Jaylynn. Was it a way to keep her off balance, if the two of them were doing the nasty in their free time? No wonder the marriage was crumbling. "This is an old friend and a private conversation between Mrs. Thorn and myself. Please put her back on the line."

  "Mrs. Thorn is under a great deal of strain right now and is unable to take calls." The receiver clicked sharply in Addison's ear as Wiseman hung up.

  Addison punched in Jaylynn's number again. No one answered. Addison could envision a terrified Jaylynn staring at the ringing phone as Wiseman watched over her. She shivered and hung up. It would be one more question she would put to Seaford at the press conference.

  Chapter Seven

  There was a knock on Addison’s office door and Marcus Henning poked his head inside. Addison, contemplating what questions to ask at the afternoon press conference, looked up from her writing.

  "Hey, Addie—jeez, you look like shit." He stepped inside her office, carrying a sheaf of photocopied sheriff's reports.

  "Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ve been here for two days straight. Whaddaya got there?" she asked.

  Marcus sat down in the wing chair in front of her battered desk. The two chairs had been the one feminizing touch she'd brought to the office after taking over for Jess Hoffman. They'd come from an interior decorator's store that was going out of business, along with the small decorator table in the corner that held the latest copies of American Journalism Review and last week's editions of the Journal-Gazette.

  "I know this is a bad time to bring this up, with the Thorn girl missing and all, but the sheriff's reports hadn't been picked up for the last week."

  "Thank you, John Porter." Addison rolled her eyes and made a mental note to check in on Suzanne this week, if things ever slowed down.

  "I did some nosing around and talked to the sheriff’s investigator this morning. They’ve got a suspect in the Kernenberger fire. The one that got Porter canned.”

  “There was a helluva lot more than just one fire that led to that, Marcus. You know that. What’s the deal?”

  “It seems that the Kernenbergers let vagrants stay in their barn overnight in exchange for chores on the farm.” Marcus pulled the wing chair close to her desk and slid a report across Addison’s desk.

  “That explains the Sterno cans at the site. Who’s the suspect?”

  “The police are thinking it’s Talley Lundgren.”

  “What?” Addison’s jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  “No. It seems he was supposed to stay there the night the fire broke out. He’d helped with haying earlier that Saturday and stayed that night. He was supposed to stay Sunday, too, but Walt Kernenberger said he went to church early in the day so they don’t know if Talley came back or not. Why are you so surprised?”

  “Talley is also a suspect in the Thorn case.”

  "Talley Lundgren?" Marcus was incredulous.

  "I know, I know. You might as well put Santa Claus and the tooth fairy on the list while you're at it. I mean, he's a wino, he's homeless, and he's nuttier than hell, but he’s no kidnapper."

  “I can understand an accidental fire. I mean, what’s the worst that will happen? He gets six months in jail, where he’ll get three squares and a warm bed, right?”

  Addison sighed. "When it rains, it pours. We need to do a story on the fire, and do it now. I obviously can't because I'm all over this missing kid."

  "What's the deal on that?"

  "Nothing. It's like she's just plain disappeared. Poof! And there's something going on between her parents. Dr. Thorn has got his staff watching Mrs. Thorn like a hawk. That school doctor, Rachel Wiseman, was in her bedroom monitoring her phone calls when I called for an interview
."

  Marcus whistled. "That's creepy."

  "What's even creepier is that the college called it an abduction before the police did."

  Marcus narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "So what do they know that the police don't?"

  "I don't know. The mother thinks the father engineered it, but the police have no proof—yet. They're looking at three other white males as suspects, a drug dealer, a registered sexual predator and Talley Lundgren right now."

  They were silent for a moment, both thinking about their own children and the irreparable hole in their hearts should those children go missing like little Lyndzee Thorn.

  Addison spoke first, moving them away from that emotional minefield.

  "Why don't you follow up on the fire for me until this thing with Lyndzee Thorn settles down? Get me a page one story for tomorrow, but don’t mention Talley’s name. We don’t want to spook him—”

  “If he reads the paper at all,” Marcus interjected.

  “He doesn’t have to read the paper. Somebody just needs to tell him the cops are looking for him and he could disappear. I don’t want that responsibility right now.” Addison turned to her computer and opened the file marked News Budget and typed in the story idea. “It might be interesting to see how common this is, letting folks sleep in the barn. Talk to the extension agent, a couple of other farmers, that kind of thing. If other farmers in the area don't know anything about this, I'd be surprised, but if they don't they ought to."

  Marcus was silent for a moment.

  “You don’t think Talley had anything to do with the Thorn thing, do you?” he finally asked.

  “I really hope not.”

  ***

  The sun was just beginning to climb over the horizon when Lyndzee opened her eyes. She groaned as she stood up, cold and stiff from her wounds and her uncomfortable sleeping quarters. It had been a rough night. Every strange sound, every cracking stick or the soft padding of a wandering animal woke her, until she was finally so exhausted sleep crashed in on her like a wave. Her stomach rumbling with hunger, she walked slowly, like an old woman crippled with arthritis, back to the path.