The Meadowton Sheriff’s department had been working overtime since the initial calls came over the radio. The report, although appalling, did not take the township entirely by surprise. After all, this was not the first instance where teenagers turned up missing in the vicinity of Adler Lane. Seven years had elapsed since the last abduction, and Meadowton’s lone sheriff still hadn’t gathered any tangible evidence to link anyone other than Ben Murden to the disappearance. The one clue, a torn piece of denim supposedly belonging to the victim, was recovered in the peach grove. Nothing else was ever found.
The locals soon became frustrated by what they estimated to be shoddy police work. Surely, they imagined, in the hands of a reasonably competent detective, something other than a tattered piece of Levis would have marked the trail. Whether merited or not, Sheriff Ralph Ackerman had acquired the reputation of a man who had no business presiding at the helm of a kidnapping investigation with such an ominous history. But despite his blemished record, Ackerman had an advantage that the more qualified could only balk at. Since nepotism played a large part in determining a man’s worth, it seemed as though the only way Meadowton would be able to rid itself of the sheriff was through an unfortunate mishap.
Of course there were those in town of moderate influence who delicately suggested that Ackerman should try his hand at another less taxing profession, but the man proved to be as stubborn as he was oafish. He had no intention of relinquishing the position he had inherited from his father upon his own retirement twenty years ago.
Ackerman spent the previous twenty-four hours almost submitting to the cardiovascular meltdown some had wished for. He was, by his own admission, grotesquely obese. The county department had to order specially tailored uniforms to fit over his bulging belly, and even these garments appeared as though they would split at the seams when wrapped around his massive torso. Some children in town joked that Ackerman was so fat that even his eyelids had rolls. Because of such insults, Ackerman became increasingly bitter over the last fifteen years. He’d been known to chastise old ladies or anyone else he deemed inferior.
In recent days, Ackerman had become dreadfully impatient with his obligations. And each time his skills were called into question, his rage manifested. Few who knew him would deny his quick temper and impulsive tactics (had they been successful tactics no one would’ve complained nearly as often). Like most who failed miserably at their endeavors, the sheriff seldom gazed at his own reflection to earnestly confront his faults. He blamed most of his inadequacies on one man, a scapegoat for all to feast upon—Ben Murden.
Since assuming the role of sheriff, Ackerman devoted much of his energy trying to piece together the bits of evidence that he believed would somehow link Murden to a crime. His own father had initiated the investigation years ago, when the disappearance of the first child disrupted the small town’s atmosphere. But neither father nor son had the aptitude to discover more than they were meant to know. The senior Ackerman retired in shame, and warned his son at the time that he would be remembered as a failure if the kidnappings remained unsolved.
On this evening the sheriff parked his green and white squad car on the street out in front of the McCann’s household. A circular pool from the police car’s strobe lights bathed the lawn with a cherry-colored glow. The time on Ackerman’s wristwatch blinked 7:31 P.M. in bright neon green. As he waddled from his car to the bluestone walkway leading to the McCann’s front porch, the humidity already took a toll on the man’s posture. He began to sweat through his shirt, and his breathing was somewhat arduous. Normally Ackerman would’ve patrolled the streets from the comfort of his air-conditioned cruiser, but responsibility beckoned tonight. The disappearance of the two teenagers rightfully took precedence over his ability to endure the heat of such summer nights.
Ackerman was not considered a particularly handsome man beneath the lard that distorted most of his features. Now in his early forties, the sheriff appeared tired and slovenly. His carrot-colored hair receded nearly to the top of his head, and his squinty blue eyes seemed to be lacquered by a silver haze. As he stood upon the McCann’s front porch, a heavy layer of perspiration gathered beneath the brim of his hat. He pressed the doorbell with his thumb and then waited impatiently for a response. Within seconds, a swarm of mosquitoes had picked up the sheriff’s scent and commenced a relentless assault on every portion of his moist flesh.
Andrew had just arrived home from work thirty-five minutes prior to the sheriff’s visit. He barely had time to eat dinner and loosen his tie before being interrupted by the chime of the doorbell.
“Honey,” Andrew called to his wife as he made his way to the foyer. “Are you expecting company?”
“Not me,” Linda answered from the kitchen.
As Andrew neared the front door he noticed red lights pulsating from the police car in the driveway. Ackerman was no stranger to Andrew, in fact, both men knew each other quite well for not being friends. However, a level of concern entered Andrew’s expression on this night, especially since the sheriff typically didn’t go out of his way to meet anyone outside the call of duty.
Once noticing Ackerman standing beneath the porch light with curiosity surging in his eyes, Andrew’s face slipped into an obvious frown. After determining that something was amiss, Andrew jerked open the front door and looked at the sheriff with growing anxiety.
“Sheriff Ackerman,” Andrew announced with a degree of perplexity altering his tone. “What can I do for you tonight?”
“Evening to you, Mr. McCann,” Ackerman replied through a scowl. “I pray I’m not disturbing you and your family.”
“Well, no, of course not, Sheriff.” Andrew nervously tugged the necktie away from his collar as he backed away from the open door. It took him a few seconds to manufacture the courage necessary to ask his next question. “Your not here on business, are you?”
Ackerman chuckled in a sonorous voice before suggesting, “Maybe we can talk about this inside, Andy.” He then removed his hat so that the crown of his glistening head shone under the porch light.
Andrew stepped a few more paces away from the door to permit the rather plump sheriff to pass under the threshold. Ackerman sighed with relief after lumbering into the air-conditioned foyer. He closed the door behind himself and wiped his brow with a handkerchief he had stuffed in his back pocket.
“You sure do keep a lovely home here,” Ackerman complimented Andrew. “You wife seems like a woman who keeps things in good order.”
“Thanks, Sheriff,” Andrew answered, “but I suppose you didn’t come here to talk about my home or my wife. So what’s the problem?”
Before Ackerman replied, Linda entered the foyer to see her husband standing awkwardly beside the sheriff. She had heard many unflattering rumors in regard to Ackerman’s professional temperament, but it wasn’t until this moment that she actually ever met the man face-to-face.
Rather than addressing the sheriff directly, Linda’s eyes immediately centered on her husband as she reached for his hand. “Andrew,” she said softly, “What’s going on?”
The sheriff tipped his hat and introduced himself as informally as possible. He sensed that his presence made the McCann’s’ uneasy, and he enjoyed toying with their insecurities by delaying the reason for his unannounced arrival. When the silence became too unbearable, Andrew resorted to a more direct form of dialogue with the sheriff.
“Look, Sheriff, my wife and I would be glad to help you out with anything we can…”
“Glad to know it,” Ackerman interrupted. His icy blue eyes shifted from place to place around the foyer and flight of stairs adjacent to the door. “I don’t want to take up any more of your time than necessary, folks, so why don’t I just begin by asking you if your son is at home.”
“Our son?” Linda remarked defensively. “Why do you want to know?”
“I need to ask your boy a few questions,” Ackerman responded while pulling out a small notepad and pencil from his hip pocket.
Linda pee
red at her husband and sheriff with disbelief and uttered, “Is Kyle in some sort of trouble, Sheriff?”
“I wouldn’t go as far and say that just yet, ma’am. I just got a few things to smooth out with him. Is he at home?”
“Of course,” Andrew replied, but he glared at his wife for confirmation because he hadn’t yet seen his son today.
“He’s upstairs in his bedroom,” Linda said confidently. “He’s been home all evening.”
“That’s fine,” Ackerman grumbled as he scribbled a note on his pad with the dull pencil. “Can you ask him to come down here and speak to me for a moment?”
Andrew hesitated briefly but it was fairly certain that the sheriff’s request wasn’t an option at this point. After another few seconds of lingering silence, Andrew leaned across the open stairwell and shouted to his son. “Kyle, can you come downstairs for a minute. We’ve got someone here who wants to talk to you.”
Just as his mother had indicated, Kyle had retreated to his bedroom since dinner. He didn’t usually go to his room so early, but lately he’d been experiencing some intense headaches that seemed to have no origin to any other sickness. The throbbing sensation started at the center of his brain and methodically crept its way across his temples. Such bouts with pain were brief but still severe enough to leave the boy drained and not capable of any prolonged conversation. When Kyle heard his father’s voice calling him from downstairs, a spell of tension subsided. He was in no mood to see anyone at this time, however, and would’ve been especially unnerved to encounter the ursine-sized sheriff leering at him from the bottom of the stairwell.
Kyle’s eyes instantly met with Sheriff Ackerman as he hopped off the bottom step leading to the foyer. His mother and father greeted him with suspicious glares. Andrew cupped his hand on his son’s shoulder and calmly positioned him in front of the sheriff.
“It seems that Sheriff Ackerman would like a word with you, Kyle,” Andrew announced solemnly.
Kyle attempted to appear befuddled by this request, but he secretly guessed why the sheriff had come to his house tonight.
“Good evening, boy,” Ackerman said, extending a moist pink hand toward Kyle.
Kyle clutched the sheriff’s sweaty fingers and shook his hand tentatively. “You wanted to talk to me, Sheriff?” he said sheepishly.
Andrew and Linda appeared increasingly concerned as the sheriff jotted some additional notes in his pad. The sheriff promised to get right to the point and he did not disappoint in this regard. “I’ve just come from the Collins residence,” he declared. “Do you have a buddy in the neighborhood by the name of Casey?”
“Yeah,” Kyle answered innocently. He forwarded a darting glance at his mother and father before shrugging his shoulders. “We hang out together sometimes.”
“So I’ve been informed,” Ackerman noted. “According to Casey, you boys were together just two nights ago.” Ackerman paused to review a section of notes he had scribbled in his notepad earlier. He then said, “Apparently, you boys camped outside the other night, is that correct?”
Kyle nodded his chin once and said, “We pitched a tent in Casey’s backyard. I’m sure he’s already told you that.”
“Indeed he did, boy,” Ackerman snorted, sounding as if the excitement of his interrogation was beginning to interfere with the natural rhythm of his breathing. Without making an attempt to cover his mouth, he coughed once before resuming his questioning. “Your buddy also mentioned that you boys decided to go on a little hike into the woods off Adler Lane.”
Kyle did not have to turn his head in order to access the appalled expressions of his parents. He felt their stares shooting into his body as his father’s grip tightened on his shoulder. When some type of an explanation seemed inevitable, Kyle admitted, “We did leave Casey’s yard for a little while. He then quickly glanced at his mother and murmured in an apologetic tone, “I know I promised not to go anywhere else, but we got bored.”
Like any mother faced with an embarrassing predicament, Linda shook her head, but she still did not understand the gravity of the situation. Of course the sheriff was more than eager to clear up as much confusion as he could. “Casey also expressed to me that you boys were in the vicinity of Ben Murden’s peach grove,” Ackerman stated more matter-of-factly.
Andrew’s fingers slowly balled into a fist as he attempted to control his anger. He would’ve never dreamed of striking his child, but the shock of this information triggered a tense impulse in his body. After managing to keep his temper in check, Andrew leaned next to his son’s ear and asked, “Kyle, do you know what the sheriff is talking about?”
Kyle’s voice was barely audible when he confessed, “We were in the area, but we didn’t actually go into the peach grove.”
“Why would you do such a stupid thing?” Andrew’s voice snapped. He now paced away from his son with an increased feeling of uneasiness. A layer of perspiration coated his face as well as the sheriff’s when he spoke again to Ackerman. “I don’t know how many times I told my son to stay out of those woods, especially after dark. But don’t worry, Sheriff, I’m going to make sure that Kyle never goes near that peach grove ever again.”
Linda listened carefully to all of the sheriff’s information, and though she wasn’t pleased to discover that her son had lied to her, she didn’t consider his actions serious enough to merit a police investigation. There had to be some other reason to prompt a visit from the burly lawman.
“I appreciate you informing us, Sheriff,” Linda offered kindly, “but did my son break any laws?” Kyle leaned sheepishly against the walls as the sheriff paged through his notes.
“No, ma’am, to my knowledge he did not,” Ackerman responded. “But I’m afraid your son and his friend may have inadvertently stumbled upon a crime scene.”
“What do you mean?” Linda questioned.
“Well,” Ackerman continued, “according to Casey, the boys did see something up in those woods the other night.”
Andrew moved back in front of his son’s face to monitor the sincerity of the boy’s face. The boy’s sagging mouth and shifting eyes revealed his guilt.
“What is the sheriff trying to tell us, Kyle,” Andrew asked in his most adamant tone.
Kyle decided not to immediately respond, which prompted the sheriff to supply the details as they had been relayed to him. “They met up with a couple of teenagers near Murden’s shanty. It’s not uncommon for youngsters to make some private time for themselves up there, if you know what I mean.”
Linda now grabbed her son by his hand and spoke to him sternly. “Kyle McCann, I want you to explain to the sheriff exactly what you saw in those woods.”
Kyle released a disgruntled breath and sighed, “We saw another boy. He was older—maybe sixteen or seventeen.”
Ackerman fumbled through his pockets to find two wallet-sized photographs of the teenagers in question. He first showed them to Kyle’s parents and then pushed them into the boy’s hands. “Do you recognize either one of the individuals in these photographs?” the sheriff asked.
Kyle needed to glimpse at the color shots only momentarily before identifying the boy as the one he encountered the other night. He almost blurted out his confession but decided to bluff in order to spare himself any further humiliation.
“I…I can’t really say for sure,” Kyle lied. “It was really dark,” he continued, somewhat unconvincingly. He then hastily handed the photos back to the sheriff. Ackerman sneered at the boy’s fib and stuffed the photos back into a pocket near his belt’s holster.
“Your buddy must have better eyesight than you do, boy,” Ackerman said knowingly. “He had no difficulty in identifying the boy in that photo as the one you met up with in the woods.”
Andrew’s spell of tension had curtailed to the point where he began to consider the connection between the teenagers and his son’s presence in the woods. “Look, Sheriff,” he said, “I don’t want to play detective here, but what do those kids in the photographs h
ave to do with my son?”
“You of course are aware of the string of disappearances reported in those woods over the years, aren’t you, Andy?”
Andrew paused for a second and motioned to his wife. Both of them appeared humbled by the notion of what the sheriff was about to say next.
“We were told that none of the missing have ever been found,” Linda remarked, rather unconfidently.
The sheriff became more assertive as he continued. “Two nights ago, Tommy Norris and his girlfriend Kathy Peterson decided to test the myth that has marred the reputation of our fine town for a number of years. We found the Norris boy’s registered vehicle parked on a dirt trail near Adler Lane. These teenagers, who were last seen by your son and his friend, vanished sometime later that evening. We presently have no clues as to where they might be.”
A sustained silence engulfed the foyer as all eyes trained on Kyle for some type of explanation. After it became evident that Kyle was not going to escape this predicament by keeping his mouth closed, he said, “I don’t know what happened to either of them, Sheriff. We might’ve ran into the boy, but we didn’t see anything else.”
Linda felt herself shaking over the implied accusation that her son had something to do with the teenagers’ disappearances. She casually stepped between the sheriff and Kyle and said, “I don’t think my son has any reason to lie to you, Sheriff. If he says he didn’t see anything, then I’m sure he didn’t.”
Ackerman picked at the peanut grit between his teeth with the end of his pencil as Linda instinctually defended her son. She wasn’t the first mother to believe that her boy’s word was infallible, but Ackerman had been involved in enough investigations to know that the truth was rarely ascertained in a single interrogation. After a moment of contemplation, the sheriff crammed his notepad back into his hip pocket.
“I needn’t remind you folks that those woods are not a proper environment for a boy his age to be snooping around in.”
“I agree,” Andrew said. “He won’t be doing anything like this again. I promise you that.”
“Well, I don’t want to put our town in a panic,” Ackerman said wryly. “There is a small chance that those teenagers simply lost their way up in those woods, but the search parties haven’t turned up any clues as of yet.”
“Have you notified their families?” Linda questioned, displaying a deeper level of consternation.
“I can’t really discuss the specifics, ma’am.”
Linda nodded her head and shuffled closer to her husband. For comfort, Kyle still maintained his ground with his eyes focused on anything other than his parents or the sheriff. He hoped he wouldn’t be expected to answer any further questions.
Ackerman relieved the boy’s anxiety considerably when he motioned for the door. The sheriff could find no polite way to excuse himself from the McCann’s’ home, so he smiled sharply and tipped his hat as he walked out onto the porch. “If I have any more questions, I’ll be in touch,” he said grouchily. He didn’t wait for any kind of response. His mere tone of voice hinted to the probability that he was not yet finished with this investigation.
Neither Andrew nor Linda bothered to wish the sheriff goodnight. The formality seemed too coerced at the moment. Once the sheriff had gone, Kyle recognized that he more explaining to do to his parents. Andrew didn’t waste any time getting his message across to his son.
“Do you even understand what a dangerous position you put yourself in?” Andrew reprimanded. “I thought I told you to stay out of those woods.”
“I know, I know,” Kyle replied guiltily. “But I’m okay—nothing happened.”
Linda made it a point to take her husband’s side quickly. “We’re not sure what happened, Kyle. We do know that two teenagers are now missing. You and Casey could’ve very well likely been added to that list.”
Rather than debate the issue longer than necessary, Kyle lurched up the stairs toward his bedroom. “I’m going to go to my room right now,” he sulked, “is that okay?”
“I have a feeling that you’re going to be spending a whole lot more time in your room if you don’t start listening to us,” Andrew said.
“Yeah,” Kyle muttered under his breath, “like you really care.”
Kyle didn’t utter his last statement loud enough for Andrew to distinguish the words, but his expression alone told of his frustration in regard to his father’s absence from the home on most evenings. Maybe it wasn’t fair of Kyle to harbor such emotions, but he did carry resentment back to his bedroom on this night. It seemed painfully obvious to the boy that he was losing touch with his dad. Perhaps there’s no lonelier feeling in the world than for a boy to experience an estrangement from his father when he wasn’t quite ready to let go of his childhood.
The evening managed to conjure up new fears in the McCann’s household, but Andrew seemed particularly unsettled by the turn of events. He spent most of the evening thrashing beneath the bed covers. During his restlessness, he fixated on the spinning blades of the ceiling fan above his bed. A sliver of light reflected in the bedroom from beneath the closed door. His eyes alternately shifted on this illumination and the shadows flickering against the room’s walls.
When it seemed as though sleep would avoid his earnest intentions tonight, Andrew turned to his side and reached for his wife’s leg. “I can’t sleep,” he whispered to her, assuming that she had encountered a similar level of fretfulness.
Linda was positioned on her back with her hands clasped behind her head. She wasted no time in making her thoughts known. “I don’t think this town can handle anymore kidnappings,” she announced wearily. “I really think we need to leave here, Andrew.”
Andrew may have considered similar notions, but his job made it almost impossible to relocate on short notice. “We’ve talked about this situation before,” he huffed, hoping that his wife could sense the anguish in his voice. “But I can’t just pack up and leave Meadowton—I mean there’s no one who can take over my job right now.”
In the past, Linda had always submitted to her husband’s practicality in regard to his employment, but for the first time in many years she felt that the safety of their family was in jeopardy.
“We have to think about our son,” she said, being careful to pitch her voice just above the whirling sound of the ceiling fan. “For whatever reason, Kyle’s getting too close to everything that has happened around this town…”
Andrew gently caressed his wife’s thigh with his hand. He sensed the tension in her tightening her muscles. He tried to sound delicate when he spoke to her again. “We can’t let a bunch of rumors chase us out of our home, Linda.”
“We can make a new home.”
“How would that look for me, honey? I mean, this town is depending upon me to complete that project.”
“You seem too worried about what other people think,” Linda chided, while pushing her husband’s hand away from her body. “I know you care a great deal about your job and this town, but what about your son—do you care how he feels about you?”
Andrew hoped that their conversation did not stray into this sensitive area. He didn’t want to argue with his wife now. “You know that I love you and Kyle and I’m doing my best to make the best decisions for our family. Give me a break, Linda, okay?”
“I’m telling you that I don’t like it here. And Kyle’s is at an age where he needs you around the house. I think he’s acting reckless so that you’ll notice him.”
“That’s crazy. I already spoke to Kyle about those woods. Besides, we don’t even know what happened. We may be jumping to conclusions.”
“Something must’ve happened to those teenagers, Andrew. They couldn’t just vanish into thin air, could they?”
Andrew didn’t have the answer to assuage his wife’s dismay on this occasion. The coolness that had earlier emitted from Linda now affected his mood as well. While lying in bed, even with his wife at his side, he sensed that a barrier had been set between them. They no long
er kissed each other as they once had, and when clasping hands, the touch that defined togetherness seemed oddly subdued. It wasn’t that his love for her had diminished, but he suspected that she had grown restless of his habits and he wasn’t certain how to make his wife understand how he felt about her and their son.
But there was something else troubling him on this evening, too. A sensation within his head had become more prominent in recent days. It started out as a dull vibration at the center of his head. Gradually, a sound—similar to that of a chiming bell—expanded over the interior region of his skull. It hadn’t been persistent enough for him to seek medical attention, but it remained consistently vague and struck usually during his restlessness. On some nights, he could barely prevent himself from grappling at his ears like a man driven to the brink of madness. Perhaps there was a reason for this presence, but he was too afraid to search for the answer now.
Chapter 15
Songs of a Peach Tree Page 15