Seed of Desire

by Ellen Parker

  “You quarreled, didn’t you?”

  His face heated and he turned away from the open office door on the off chance someone walked past. “That would be one description. She… is she married?”

  “That’s Beth’s story to tell. In the words of your profession, I’ll neither confirm nor deny.”

  He sighed. “Cute, Anita. Real cute. I really do want to talk with her. Can you give her that message?”

  “The next time I speak with her. Anything else?”

  “Not at the present time. I appreciate you handing off the message.” He disconnected the call and leaned back in his chair. He’d emailed, texted, and left a voice message. If she was out of town on dog business, lying in wait at Big Cat Farm after work today would be useless. “Out of my hands. At least for a few hours.”

  He entered a reminder into his phone to leave another message when the office closed.

  * * *

  Beth shivered as she drifted toward consciousness. Her head hurt. As she struggled to draw a deeper breath, something tickled her nose. A cough emerged, sounding muffled. What happened? She opened her eyes to a dark world. When she blinked, the scene didn’t lighten. The world hummed. And moved. Her eyes drifted shut and her mind relaxed into a black space. Where am I? She coughed again, tried to bring a hand to her face, but discovered it wouldn’t move from behind her back. What’s wrong with me?

  The next time Beth woke, cold air swept over her. She blinked and stared into darkness. Instinct made her twist her shoulders as something, or someone, pulled at her. She coughed, bent at the waist, and felt phlegm exit her mouth.

  “Don’t worry. Almost done.” A deep, muffled voice mingled with a dog’s whine.

  Suddenly she was flying. No, carried. She shivered. My name is… She tried to organize her thoughts. A dim memory of the stop with Dancer formed and vanished in an instant. What happened next?

  A large hand forced a sweet, damp cloth across her mouth and nose. She rolled her head aside, felt it forced back, and surrendered into the quiet darkness.

  Later—it could have minutes, hours, or days—Beth drifted up toward consciousness. Pain in her head. Cold in her limbs. Her cheek rubbed against something firm and coarse. She opened her eyes to darkness, blinked, and groaned.

  Dark. Cold. She blinked a few more times, licked her lips, and realized the fabric was gone from her face. Okay. She attempted to draw a large breath.

  Pain shot across her chest. Coughs contracted her body. She lay quiet and exhausted.

  Careful not to breathe deeply, she stared into the darkness and sniffed to explore her surroundings. A familiar scent teased her nose from nearby. Dog. She closed her eyes to listen better.

  Gathering air in several small breaths, she licked her lips and tested her voice. “Dancer.”

  The sound of the other creature breathing remained steady. She went to move an arm. Only a painful inch or two. Arms are tied. She pushed against the floor with her elbow, raised a few inches, and collapsed again. Legs. She discovered that her knees, stiff and cold, moved when she concentrated. Her feet appeared to be bound together, the same as her hands. She wriggled her fingers, attempting to restore a little circulation. Bit by bit, she inched close to the smell and sound of dog. When her cheek brushed against the coarse, familiar hair, she sighed into the fur. Dancer. We are in so much trouble.

  Resting often, Beth attempted to improve their situation. Already she could find a few narrow strips of light gray in her darkened world. Rolling to her front and moving earthworm style, she bumped against metal. Exploring further, it appeared to be a shelving unit, or at least a portion of one. She twisted and turned until her fingers surrounded a narrow metal support. Straining her wrists apart, she rubbed her bonds. Up and down. Over and over.

  “Dancer. Wake up, girl.” Her voice strained from a dry mouth.

  Up and down. Over and over. She prayed the material was duct tape rather than plastic ties. Up and down. Over and over.

  Her head lolled forward and she rested. Or passed out.

  Dancer whined. Toenails scrambled and scratched against a hard surface. The dog sneezed, and the sound echoed around them.

  Beth jerked out of a dark dream. “Dancer. Come, Dancer.”

  Another monster-size sneeze. The retching sound of the dog emptying her stomach filled the space. The dog moved then, her nails scratching against the floor as if the dog remained unsteady on her feet.

  A shiver trembled through Beth’s body and magnified in her already throbbing skull. Better air. Cut myself loose. She moved her wrists again. Up and down. Over and over. Her hands popped apart—almost. She jerked and tested the damaged bindings.

  Dancer bumped hard into Beth’s elbow, sinking once again to the floor.

  “Oh, girl.” Beth tipped her head forward again. “We can’t give up now.”

  A cold nose, followed by a warm, damp tongue, contacted Beth’s skin. A sturdy paw with hard claws slid down her arm.

  She rolled toward the dog, wiggled her fingers, and strained on the weakened bindings. “Paw. Give me paw.”

  Dancer managed to stand beside her and place one paw on Beth’s hands.

  “Again, Dancer. Paw.”

  A few well-placed scratches of Dancer’s sharp nails against the binding, and Beth jerked one arm loose and around her body. “Good girl.” She leaned against her dog as they both rested for a long moment.

  Finish. Beth explored the ragged duct tape dangling from her wrist. Energized by success, she used her hands to release the bonds on her ankles. Bare feet. What had happened to her new sneakers? An image of large hiking boots returned. How dare he?

  “Dancer.” She croaked the word while looking for a black dog in a dark space.

  A canine whine prompted Beth to crawl to her left. Her hand landed on a soft pad of cloth, releasing another spurt of the sweet chemical smell. Coughing spasmed her body.

  Canine nose prodded her shoulder.

  “Okay. I get it.” She continued forward, her feet tingling from renewed blood flow and cold.

  Bumping against smooth metal, she explored it with her hands. A lump. Another. Same size. She reached up and encountered another one. Bolts. Nuts. Great. They were in a bolt-it-together-on-site shed.

  She pulled herself up against the wall. “Find the door.”

  Dancer swished against her legs and whined from a new position.

  Think. Solve the problem. A new pain shot through her head as she stood to her full height. Dizzy, she slid her fingertips against the wall of their prison and collapsed to an awkward sit. She listened to her dog whine and move around.

  Crash. Thump. Thump.

  Dancer yelped and tumbled against her.

  Beth panted, waited for her heart to settle back into her chest. The shelf. “Nice try, girl. My turn.”

  She explored the items knocked from shelf to floor with cautious fingers until she found a long, sturdy metal piece that might serve as a tool. Crawling back to where several thin light strips hinted at an opening, she raised up on her knees and gripped the makeshift tool like a baseball bat.

  “Back, Dancer.”

  Bang. The crash bounced around the shed once and took three laps around her brain. Next, she prodded with the tip of her weapon at one of the pale strips. Poke, poke, poke. She pushed harder as the metal eased forward. Push. Pry. Push. Pry.

  Pop. A tiny piece of metal dropped against her hand.

  A bolt? One down. Three hundred to go.

  Push. Pry. Push. Pry. Pop.

  A small hole got pried larger.

  Dancer pushed her way in front of Beth, extending her nose into the cold, fresh air. Like invisible energy, clean air rushed into the shed, replacing the stale and banishing the last trace of the sweet chemical.

  Once again resting on the floor, Beth breathed deeply before opening her eyes. Outside, moonlight reflected on a thin layer of snow. Clean and smooth, not even an animal track marred the pristine surface. She forced her gaze up. Some distan
ce away, a line of evergreens stood calm as a stage curtain.

  Shifting her gaze to her right, she spotted a flame struggling against the dark. Dancer settled across her feet, nose pointed toward the source of fresh air.

  Beth wrapped her arms around her torso and rested her throbbing head against the cold shed wall. “In the morning. After I rest.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jackson stood with the others in the conference room as the speaker, a retired state supreme court justice, left the podium. The first of the lecture series, scheduled for first Mondays from November through March, had started well. It had even taken his mind away from Beth’s silence. Almost.

  “Care to continue over a drink?” The lawyer next to him passed a business card over with the invitation.

  “Thanks. But no thanks.” Jackson reciprocated with a card of his own before unclipping his phone. “Plan to check messages and head on home.”

  “Keep in touch.”

  He glanced at the business card before slipping it into an interior coat pocket. He’d do that. A man never knew when a contact within the profession would come in handy.

  A few minutes later, Jackson stood in a quiet corner of the hotel lobby and frowned as he reread a text message. “Call me. ASAP. Concerns Beth. Anita.”

  Beth. The sight of her name freshened the pain in his gut. He tapped the number.

  “This is Anita.”

  “Have you heard from Beth?” The words tumbled from Jackson’s lips full of hope.

  “That was going to be my question to you.”

  He sank down on an upholstered bench and minimized a sigh. “No. But not for lack of trying. She’s avoiding me. My last three calls have gone direct to voice mail. No reply to any of the texts either.”

  A silence too long to be normal wavered between them before Anita spoke again. “We’ve got bigger problems than a quarrel between the two of you. She’s missing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She never arrived at the breeder’s kennel with Dancer.”

  “How long?” His fingers tightened around his phone and he leaned forward, feeling as if he’d been punched in the gut.

  “She left here this morning, early. Planned to be at the breeder’s by noon. Keller called when she hadn’t arrived at five. We’ve been contacting hospitals and sheriffs between here and there. In case of an accident,” Anita added the final phrase in a distracted voice.

  “No sightings on her van?”

  “Nothing.”

  He tapped his index finger against the back of his phone. “Have you talked to Daryl? She had a conversation with him at the dance.”

  “Carla’s on the phone with him now. Wait one sec.”

  He strained to make out any clear words between the cousins.

  “Okay.” Anita returned to the line. “Daryl wants to know where you are?”

  “I’m in Eau Claire. Finished business here and ready to go home.” He listened again as Anita’s voice floated off away from their connection.

  “Daryl wants you to drive to Templeton and call him when you get to the city limits.”

  “Templeton?” Only people I remotely know there are Sylvia’s relatives. “Are you sure? What if I call him as soon as we disconnect?”

  “I’m delivering his message, not making this up. He says you’re the closest.”

  “One thing…” He moistened his lips before taking the risk. His search for a divorce record was incomplete, and previously, Anita had politely refused to answer. “Can you explain Beth’s last words to me at the festival? Is she married?”

  The silence—two seconds by his internal count—suspended time long enough to recall the sadness in Beth’s eyes and voice after slamming the van door.

  “That’s Beth’s story to tell. It’s too complicated to attempt tonight. Are you going to follow up on Daryl’s request? Eau Claire gives you almost an hour head start on Carla and me.”

  Jackson stood and nodded. “I’m going. Tell Daryl to expect a call in about a minute.”

  * * *

  Beth jabbed her tool at her best guess for the metal seam. Each time the two types of metal contacted, the sound reverberated in her head, increasing the already constant pain. She’d lost count of the number of bolts popped, but the hole grew a little each time she roused from her stupor. “I can’t do this.”

  Dancer nudged Beth’s arm, creeping forward to extend her nose into the modest hole to the outside world.

  “Good girl.” Beth pressed her body against the dog for a bit of warmth and comfort.

  A moment later, her eyes drifted shut while her mind spun into the past, to a late March morning over three years ago and an apartment in Urbana, IL.

  “Wish me well?” Bruce Morse set down his bundles of camping gear and faced her.

  She grasped his hands in her smaller ones, standing more like a cautious friend than a spouse. “Always. It’s your decision to make.”

  “You’re involved.”

  “I know.”

  She held back her real feelings. They’d been together most of two years. Married for fifteen months. And recently, it felt better. Was she falling—no, wrong word—growing to love him? Did he feel the same? Or were the big life decisions pressing on him squeezing out his ability to respond to her? Did he notice the ways she found herself expressing the new feelings? Did he anticipate the little comforts of fresh ground coffee or the radio tuned to his favorite station?

  “Enjoy your weekend.”

  “Stay safe.”

  He leaned forward and brushed a kiss on her forehead. “No danger allowed. I’ll be with my brother and two of his friends.”

  Warm, moist pressure against her cheek brought her back to the present.

  Beth raised a hand to her pounding head and made a minor adjustment to her hooded sweatshirt. It was so cold. And dark. She turned her head and stared out the hole slightly larger than her palm.

  Dancer growled.

  Beth listened. A thud, followed by another, and another. Something was moving outside. Leaning close to their ragged window to the world, she looked into a blurry world. Blinking didn’t bring anything into clearer focus.

  She leaned back and rested her head, closed her eyes. “I don’t know, girl. But it’s out there and we’re in here. Let’s hope it stays that way.”

  She sighed as Dancer crawled over her cold, bare feet, offering a temporary fur blanket. It hurt so much to make sense of anything with her eyes open. Time to rest. Save her strength for daylight. She lapsed into a private world of quiet gray.

  * * *

  “You have arrived at your destination.”

  Jackson ignored the voice from his GPS and continued down the snow-covered driveway. This may be the address on the map, but his assignment was to pick up some person named Mrs. Morse and follow her directions.

  His headlights shown on virgin snow as he curved past a final clump of pines. A house with at least two obvious additions came into view. And the lights were on. He glanced out across the dark expanse of Lake Templeton before stopping his Jeep. Why here, Daryl?

  Here goes nothing. He exited the vehicle, but before he reached the bottom porch step, the house door opened.

  A tall figure wearing a long black coat and carrying a bundle in one arm and a small cooler in the other emerged. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Are you Mrs. Morse?”

  “Who were you expecting? The Queen of Norway?”

  He shook his head and approached. “No, ma’am.”

  “I have blankets, water, and a thermos of hot broth. And the name, young man, is Gertrude. Do we need anything else?”

  “Another flashlight. I only have one.” He took a stack of bedding from her arm.

  The lady was not what he expected. Then again, Daryl had only given him a name. No mention was made that he would be picking up a tall, sharp-witted octogenarian.

  She disappeared into the house and returned in a few seconds carrying a heavy-duty
light. “Let’s get going. She’s been missing too long already.”

  “Daryl indicated you know where she might be.”

  “What I know”—she settled the cooler at her feet and snapped her seat belt—“is a few of the local places. Instinct tells me my grandson, Kevin, and his festering dislike of Beth is involved. He and his brother explored all around this lake and at one time knew all the abandoned homesites. No promises. I’m working on educated guesses.”

  “I’ll take it.” He turned the Jeep around. “Right or left at the road?”

  Three-quarters of an hour later, Jackson slowed as he rounded a corner on the snow-covered county road. I’ll wake from this nightmare soon.

  From the moment he responded to Anita’s text, his world had slipped into some sort of alternate reality. Beth and Dancer were missing. Daryl ordered him to Templeton. And this lady, Gertrude Morse, who rode in his passenger seat, insisted they drive with the windows down and the heater fan on the lowest, quietest setting. At least dawn was coming. Maybe portions of this would make sense in daylight.

  Gertrude waved him to a stop. “I smell smoke.”

  He drew a deep breath of cold air and detected a tinge of sharp, burning wood. “Which direction?”

  “Go ahead. Watch for an overgrown drive on the right. The boys roamed this far and made friends with a former owner.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He eased the Jeep forward and watched for a gap in the trees wide enough to indicate an old, private road.

  Five minutes later and fifty yards down a nearly invisible path, Gertrude waved for him to halt. “Do you hear that?”

  “I can’t stop here.” Four-wheel drive or not, he needed more than a gesture from his passenger to stop on snow over soft dirt.

  “Listen.”

  He tuned out the soft rumble of the Jeep and concentrated on picking up sounds from within the close stand of pine. There. Was it…?

  Woof. Woof. Woof.

  “That’s dog, not coyote.” He pushed the accelerator as they came out of a corner.

  The headlights picked out a jumble of timber resting on an old foundation in a small clearing. The smell of smoke was stronger, as if they’d reached its source. Jackson turned the wheel, eager to pinpoint the origin of the barking.