Gone without a Trace

by Patricia Bradley

  “And Sharon was helping him,” Chase said. “I never understood how, though.”

  Livy held her hand up. “I’ll get to that. We know this guy’s MO, and Alex and Ben believe the same man who stalked Sharon and beat her up is the one who kidnapped Samantha Jo.”

  He ran his hand over his face, the day-old stubble prickly to his fingers. “This doesn’t make sense. Sharon lived in Bristol. Why—”

  “I escaped from the man just outside of Bristol. He abducted me someplace else.”

  “We believe the man lives in Logan Point,” Livy said. “Sharon doesn’t remember what he looked like, but she hoped he would do something to trigger a memory. That’s why she came back and went to work at Johnny B’s.”

  “But won’t he recognize you?” Allison said.

  Chase glanced at his mother.

  Sharon picked at her thumbnail. “No. I don’t look the same.”

  It was what she’d said last night, but how different could she look? Please don’t die. Something else she’d said before he lost consciousness. “Where did he abduct you from?”

  Sharon shot a nervous look at Livy. “I told you we couldn’t just tell him part of the story.”

  What were the two of them talking about? A memory nagged at his brain. Something else Sharon had said, words that eluded him. “How long ago were you kidnapped?”

  “Two and a half years ago.” The whispered words filled the room.

  His mother gasped.

  It’s me, Robyn. The words exploded in his brain. A band constricted his chest as his gaze held hers. It couldn’t be. “Robyn?”

  Tears streamed down her face as she nodded. His mind rebelled. It couldn’t be. This woman looked nothing like his wife.

  “Robyn?” His mother crossed the room and cupped her daughter-in-law’s face in her hand, turning it first one way then another. “I never would have guessed . . .” She wrapped her in an embrace. “Have you told your mother?”

  “Yes.” Robyn stepped away from his mother and walked closer to the bed, her gaze locked on him. “I didn’t mean to tell you like this.”

  Anger clogged his throat. “When did you mean to tell me?”

  She flinched at his harsh tone. “I don’t blame you for being angry—”

  “Abby. Have you told her?”

  Robyn shook her head.

  “Don’t you dare tell her, not until I’m able to be there. And until I can, stay away from my daughter.”

  “She’s my daughter too.” Robyn turned to Livy. “I knew this was a mistake. I’ll be in the waiting area when you’re through.”

  Robyn bolted from the room without another glance his way. His mother threw him a pleading look, and he jutted his jaw. “She should have called, let us know something.”

  “You should at least give her a chance to explain, son.” She followed Robyn out the door.

  He sank lower into the bed and closed his eyes. He had every right to be angry.

  “She was afraid you wouldn’t believe her.” Livy spoke softly.

  His shoulder throbbed as conflicting thoughts chased through his mind, but the ache in his heart weighed heaviest on him. “Does everyone know Sharon is Robyn?”

  “No. Only six people know who she is. We’re not even telling Charlie.”

  “Why not?”

  “Until this man is caught, it would be too dangerous. He almost killed her once. Besides, this guy is more than a kidnapper. We think he’s responsible for the death of the woman who was pulled out of the lake yesterday. He has to be stopped.”

  “How do you think you’re going to do that? You don’t even know who it is.”

  “This afternoon, I’m going to pose as Robyn and ask for my old job back at Johnny B’s. I believe this guy lives in fear that she’ll return to Logan Point and identify him, so I thought I’d make his worst nightmare come true. He’ll come after me as Robyn, and we’ll get him.”

  He lay back on the bed. “But you don’t look anything like her.”

  “By the time I put on a curly red wig and clothes she would’ve worn before she lost so much weight, I’ll look more like her than she does now. As for the nose, I’m going to tell people I had plastic surgery. And I’m going to say things only Robyn could know.”

  “How did she manage to get plastic surgery, anyway?” Evidently his wife had been having herself a good old time.

  “Like I said earlier, he almost killed her—the jerk beat her so badly she had to have reconstructive surgery to breathe.”

  Chase closed his eyes. Maybe he was the bigger jerk.

  Alex thanked the secretary and marked the last recording studio off the list the Woodson family had faxed him. Samantha Jo had not visited any of them. So far his trip had been a bust. The waitress the kidnapper took last October had moved and left no forwarding address. Not that he blamed her.

  His cell phone beeped a text. Ben with the name and address of the person who turned in the purse. A Mrs. Alma Rogers.

  Alex had tried to get the information, but the cop wouldn’t divulge it. He put the address in his GPS on his phone. Five miles from where he was.

  He checked his watch. One o’clock. His shift at Johnny B’s started at four. It would be pushing it to drive the rental car to the address and talk with Mrs. Rogers. He looked at the text again. Oh, good, her phone number. He dialed and identified himself, and then spent the next five minutes convincing the woman he was a private detective, and then waited while she called the precinct where she turned in the purse to check him out. At least she didn’t hang up.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Jennings, but a body can’t be too careful these days,” she said when she returned to his call. “The policeman said he had been talking to you.”

  “Yes ma’am. You did right to call and check.” And cost him ten minutes of time. “How did you get the wallet?”

  “I was sitting at the bus stop, and this nice young man pointed it out, asked me if the billfold was mine. He could’ve just taken it, you know. No one would have ever known. When he found out it wasn’t mine, he suggested that I take it to the police station.” She paused, and he heard the unmistakable flick of a cigarette lighter. “Did the woman who lost the billfold claim it?”

  “No, not yet. What did this young man look like?”

  “Very nice looking. Wore those clothes hunters and the military wear sometimes.”

  “Camouflage?”

  “Yes, I believe that’s what my grandson calls them.”

  “Do you remember what color hair he had?”

  “Young man, I may sound old, but I’m not senile. I would have remembered what his hair color was if I’d seen it, but he wore one of those black toboggans pulled down over his ears. And before you ask, I didn’t see his eyes either. He wore sunglasses.”

  “Was he very tall?” Getting information from Mrs. Rogers was like pulling teeth.

  “He was taller than I am.”

  “Ah—”

  “And before you ask, I’m five six.” Exasperation had crept into her voice.

  “Thank you so much for your time, Mrs. Rogers. You’ve been a great help. The young man. He didn’t give you his name, did he?”

  “He did.” She took a deep draw, and he pictured a seventyish, blue-haired granny smoking a pencil-slim cigarette. “Why are you so interested in him? If he was a criminal, why didn’t he just take the billfold and run? There was money in it—I saw it when I looked for a name. I can assure you we both just want the billfold returned to its rightful owner.”

  “Yes ma’am, I’m sure you do. The name?”

  “John Douglas—that’s the name he said.”

  He thanked her and hung up. So now the guy was playing games with them. But at least now Alex knew the billfold was a plant and that their killer had Samantha Jo.

  Two hours later, Alex had picked up his new rental car and was back at the bed and breakfast staring at a very unfamiliar Livy.

  “How do I look?” She pushed the black-framed glasses u
p on her nose, and then she turned away from the mirror and rested her hand on her hip.

  Alex tilted his head and looked her up and down. “Are you . . . padded?”

  She nodded and smoothed the plain white shirt. “You like?”

  Heat crept up his neck. “You certainly don’t look like Livy.”

  He couldn’t believe the way the long, curly auburn wig changed how she looked. Or how much the rectangular black-rimmed glasses and loose-fitting clothes over the padding had transformed her into a resemblance of the Robyn in the old photos.

  She turned to Robyn. “Do you think I can convince Johnny B that I’m the old you, only skinnier?”

  “He was so upset when I called in and quit, he won’t care,” Robyn said.

  “We have one more person to get approval from, and she was in her pottery shop when I arrived,” Alex said. “But let me call Ben first.”

  After he made the call, they went to find Kate, and Livy questioned him about his trip to Nashville. “So you think the wallet was a plant?”

  “Yep. While I flew back, Ben had Wade and another deputy find and call all the John Douglases in Nashville. None of them knew anything about the billfold.”

  “John Douglas,” Livy said. “That name sounds familiar.”

  Alex opened the door to the pottery shop. “He’s a famous FBI profiler. Wrote a book on profiling.”

  Livy snapped her fingers. “That’s where I remember it.”

  “So he’s playing with us,” Robyn said.

  “Yes, and he’ll get overconfident and make a mistake.”

  She shivered. “I hope so.”

  Kate looked up as they entered.

  “Well,” Alex said. “What do you think?”

  She wiped the clay from her hands and studied Livy. “It might work with the explanation that she’s lost weight and had a nose job. There is a family resemblance.”

  Livy turned to him. “Then we’re good to go.”

  He wasn’t sure he was ready to put the plan into action. “Ben said to tell you he’d have a deputy stationed at the plaza.”

  22

  After Livy left for Johnny B’s, Robyn wandered out to her mother’s pottery shop where she was unloading the kiln. She needed something to keep her mind off Chase.

  “Hey, Kiddo.”

  The nickname wrapped around Robyn like a warm, fuzzy robe. She didn’t know why her mom had such a penchant for nicknaming everyone when they’d been kids. Kiddo for her, for Taylor, Pipsqueak, and Livy had been Little Bit.

  She admired a still-warm porcelain vase. “This is beautiful.”

  “That did turn out well. In fact, everything did.”

  “Like Christmas?” All her life Robyn had heard her mother say when she opened the kiln after firing a load that she didn’t know if it was going to be Christmas or Halloween.

  Her mom laughed. “Yes. You want to work in the clay?”

  Robyn had hours stretching before her until Livy and Alex returned. “Sure.”

  She surveyed the bags of clay. “Does Daddy still dig this for you in the field behind the house?”

  Kate nodded. “Makes him feel useful. He’s going to be upset we didn’t tell him.”

  “I know. But Ben thinks we should wait.” She hesitated. “Thanks for not pushing me to talk about what happened.”

  Her mom’s smile didn’t erase the sadness in her eyes. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

  Robyn cut off four pounds of clay and took it to the wedging table, where she kneaded the clay into a cone. “I use clay when I work with victims of abuse.”

  “I’m glad you took something I taught you and put it to good use.”

  “I don’t think I ever thanked you for teaching me.”

  “You did. In a hundred different ways.” Kate glanced at the clock on the wall. “Oh my! It’s almost four, and I promised Abby I would pick her up from volleyball practice and take her to the hospital.” She took off her clay-stained apron and hung it on a peg. “Would you like to go with us?”

  She wanted to, more than anything. “I don’t think Chase would be happy about that. I’ll stay here and work.” She pounded the clay into a rounded ball and set it beside the wheel. “Will you bring Abby back here?”

  “Yes.” Then, with her eyes bright, her mom put her arms around Robyn. “I’m so glad you’re back. And it will work out between you two. God didn’t bring you through the fire to deny you your husband,” she said softly.

  Robyn leaned into her mother’s embrace. “I know. Just don’t know if Chase is on board.”

  Her mom squeezed her shoulders. “It’s going to be all right.”

  After she was alone, Robyn took her seat behind the wheel and centered the ball, loving the feel of the cool, wet clay as she coaxed the sides up in a cylinder. When she’d pulled it as high as the clay would allow, she bellied the cylinder out into a vase, then cleaned the bottom up before lifting the bat off the wheel to admire. Her mom would be surprised. When she’d made two more vases, she cleaned up the wheel.

  Robyn didn’t use the wheel with the women she counseled. Instead, she taught them how to sculpture, and now she pinched a small ball of clay and set it on the table beside a bowl of water. Her fingers moved quickly, shaping the ball into a lamb. By the time her mom returned with Abby, she had a flock of sheep.

  Abby gently touched the small animals. “Wow! How’d you do that?”

  Robyn brushed a stray curl from her daughter’s face. “It’s not hard. I can show you, if you’d like. How was your dad?”

  “He said he was coming home tomorrow.”

  So soon? She’d thought he would be there at least a week—long enough for Ben and Alex to catch her abductor. “Your dad is a good guy.”

  “Yeah, I know. And so is my mommy.”

  Abby’s words cut her breath off. How could the child feel that way after she’d been gone so long? Two and a half years was a lifetime to a kid. Tell her. What would it hurt? But then she would have to tell Abby she had to keep it secret, and that was too much to ask any child to do. Surely it wouldn’t be much longer. “I’m sure she would be proud to know you feel that way.”

  “Sometimes I think someone is holding her prisoner. You know, like Samantha Jo at the diner. And she’ll escape and come home to us.”

  “What do you know about Samantha Jo?”

  She shrugged her thin shoulders. “Just what I hear grown-ups say when they think I’m not listening. TJ says his daddy’s going to find her.”

  “I hope he does.” Sooner rather than later too.

  “My mommy used to make things with clay.” Abby touched the clay sheep again. “How come you know how to do the same stuff my mommy and Nana do?”

  “I had a good teacher, and I’ll tell you about her sometime.”

  Abby turned and looked into her eyes. “I bet she’s not as good as Nana.”

  “I don’t know . . . Has your grandmother taught you how to make things from clay?”

  “I’ve been helping Nana since I was little. Mommy would bring me over here sometimes when she helped her. I make crosses and soap dishes. Sometimes TJ comes over, and I show him what I’ve learned.”

  “I see. You’ve talked about TJ before. Who is he?”

  “You wouldn’t know him. He came to live here last summer with his mom, Dr. Leigh.” Her eyes grew round. “He’s Sheriff Logan’s son. Only he didn’t know about him. But now he does and TJ’s mom and Sheriff Logan are getting married.”

  So that’s who TJ was. She had a vague recollection of him at Ben’s house that first day back. “Really? I tell you what, why don’t I show you how to make sheep and you can make them a wedding present.”

  “I like that. But Nana said you were going to tell me something about Aunt Livy.”

  “I’ll tell you while you work.” As she showed Abby how to sculpt sheep, Robyn explained how Livy planned to play a role at the restaurant.

  “Aunt Livy is going to pretend she’s my mommy? But how? Sh
e’s so skinny like you, and my mommy . . . well, she wasn’t so skinny. And how would that help Mr. Alex find this lady?”

  It touched Robyn that Abby didn’t want to say she’d been fat. She would make a good diplomat someday. “Your last question first. I can’t explain everything that’s happening, and we wouldn’t have even told you this, but we were afraid someone might tell you they heard your mother was back. We’re hoping what Livy is doing will help Mr. Alex.”

  “Is my mommy ever coming home?”

  “I believe she is, Abby. Soon too.”

  “Are you going to stick around?”

  “I hope so, Abby. I hope so.”

  Livy adjusted her blouse. All day she’d immersed herself into the role she had to play. Remembering Robyn’s mannerisms, like twisting a strand of her hair around her finger and chewing on her pencil. Small things. The way she never looked people in the eye. At least they sounded alike when Robyn wasn’t using her Bristol accent. She had to make this work.

  With Ben in the parking lot and Alex in the kitchen, she was as ready as she’d ever be, and she pushed open the door to the restaurant. Johnny B sat at the cash register. Livy approached him slowly, walking hesitantly like the old Robyn rather than her normal, confident gait. “Evening, Johnny B.”

  He looked up from his receipts. “Do I know you?”

  “I think you do.” She held out her hand. “Robyn Martin. I used to work here.”

  His mouth dropped open and his eyes bugged open. “You don’t—”

  “Look the same.” She looked down at the floor and ran her hand through her hair, catching one of the strands and twisting it around her finger. “I know. But I lost weight while I was gone. Got my nose fixed. And now I’m back and need a job.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  Livy looked around the restaurant. “You’re busy and it looks like you don’t have enough help. I’m experienced. What’s the problem?”

  “Got a little sass while you were gone too.”

  Oops. She’d have to watch that. The black glasses she’d picked up at the drugstore slipped down her nose, and she pushed them back. “I was a good worker for you.”