Love Rekindled

by Serena B. Miller

  “Probably,” Ed said. “I doubt the precinct would send plain-clothed detectives just to see if an old woman was home.”

  “Would you mind if I drove up there, poked around a little and maybe asked some neighbors what they know? There’s a chance the car’s owner is having Christmas with relatives. A neighbor might know that. They might even know who she’s visiting.”

  “You aren’t on duty today.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll be happy to do this on my own time.”

  “You realize you don’t have any jurisdiction.”

  “Of course, but I’m not going there to arrest anyone. I care about this case and I’m anxious to solve it. That baby needs its family.”

  “Then go knock yourself out,” Ed said.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything back from the coroner.”

  “I know it’s been a long day for us but today is still Christmas for normal people. What do you think?”

  “I think that’s a no.”

  “You would be right.”

  “Any word on the fingerprints?” Rachel said.

  “Again, it’s Christmas day. When I called the lab, they said they are working with a skeleton staff and it might take a while. I hate to say it, but that poor girl picked a very inconvenient time to die.”

  “Has there been any reports filed of a missing car?”

  “Plenty, but none of them were for a blue ’92 Buick.”

  “What about a young woman who’s gone missing?”

  “No one who matches the description.”

  The phone rang and Ed answered it. Rachel waited to see if it was something that might involve her.

  “I understand,” Ed said into the phone. “Yes, we’ll help look for him. Yes, I do understand, my father suffered from dementia too. Yes, I know that it’s very cold out. Was he wearing a coat? Good. I’ll be right there.”

  “What’s going on, Ed?” she asked.

  The police chief was already buckling on his utility belt, and grabbing his coat.

  “Ray Jones over in Ragersville wandered off during his family’s Christmas this morning, and they still haven’t found him. I need to take care of this. I’ll leave you to follow up on the Jane Doe mystery.” He put on his hat. “I don’t think there will be any danger involved in your trip, but be careful up there.”

  “Always,” she said.

  As Ed drove off to help find Ray, she decided to stop by the Hochstetlers before she headed up to Cleveland.

  When she arrived, the baby was resting comfortably in a small, handmade cradle made of cherry wood. Agnes sat nearby on the couch with two-month-old Rosie on her lap. Rosie wore a small, white, kapp just like her sister’s and mother’s and a simple blue dress. Her little feet were bare, even though it was winter, but the wood stove was putting out so much heat that Clara was also barefoot as she hovered over the cradle.

  As Rachel approached, little Clara put a finger up to her lips to warn that the baby was asleep. It was a surprise to see that the baby was wearing a tiny, white, kapp exactly like the others. Anyone seeing her for the first time would assume she was an Amish baby.

  “How is everything going?” Rachel kept her voice soft so as not to disturb the sleeping baby.

  “Oh, we are doing fine. It’s going to be hard to let this sweet baby go,” Agnes said. “We will happily keep her if no one else wants her.”

  “I don’t think it’s that easy,” Rachel said. “Social Services will have to get involved if we can’t find the baby’s relatives. I’m headed to Cleveland today to see if I can trace down someone who is a relative and can take charge of her.”

  “I hope they are good people,” Agnes said.

  “I do too,” Rachel agreed. “Are you staying here?”

  “Keturah thought it might be best for now. We weren’t sure if I would be allowed to take the baby home with me. We do not live far away, but we do live over the Holmes County line instead of Tuscarawas. I did not know if it would make a difference to the county government.”

  “I don’t either, but if you don’t mind it probably is better for you to stay here at least for today. Where is Keturah?”

  “Keturah is helping out on another birthing call,” Agnes said. “It might be a while before she comes back. I’m so glad you came. I think there is something you need to know.”

  “Like what?”

  “My mother-in-law did not tell you everything that happened yesterday morning.”

  “Why not?” Rachel asked.

  “I’m not sure she remembered it with everything that was going on this morning,” Agnes said.

  “And what was it?” Rachel hoped for even a small clue she could follow up on.

  “The mother was still conscious for a moment after Keturah helped her out of the wrecked vehicle. Before she died, she told Keturah not to let him have her baby.”

  “Not to let who have the baby?”

  “That’s what we don’t know,” Agnes said. “She just said ‘him.’ We think the mother might have been trying to run away from whoever ‘him’ is.”

  “Thanks for telling me, Agnes.” Rachel was troubled by this information. “And thank you for what you are doing.”

  At that moment, the baby began to fuss, and Clara responded by gently starting to rock the little cradle.

  “It is not a problem.” Agnes smiled. “As you can see, I have a good helper.”

  “Yes, you do,” Rachel said, slightly envious of Agnes and her children. “I’ll check back with you when I know something more.”

  Chapter 19

  As Rachel drove out of Sugarcreek on Route 39, she stopped at the McDonald’s outside of town. There she purchased the largest cup of coffee they offered. The only sleep she’d had was a two-hour nap before she went on duty last night. There had been times when she’d gone much longer without sleep, and she knew she could do it again. Besides, with the restaurant closed down for Christmas day, Joe was able to thoroughly enjoy being with Bobby. They didn’t need her around in order to play with Bobby’s Christmas toys.

  Technically, she did not have to make this trip. She could have gone home and climbed into bed and dealt with it tomorrow. Or she could have handed it over to one of the other officers tomorrow, but this situation felt personal. She’d been the first cop on the scene and the vision of rain pouring down on that young mother’s face wouldn’t go away.

  Until that sweet baby was settled and safe with, hopefully, loving family members, she would not be able to rest.

  She did some quick calculations in her head. The drive to Cleveland only took about an hour and a half. If all went well, she’d be home in time to spend the rest of the evening with Bobby. He would probably want to play the Chinese checkers they had bought him, which were quickly becoming his latest obsession.

  Chinese checkers, she could handle. There was actual strategy involved. It was his Candyland phase that had been rough on her. The day Bobby announced he was too big to play that “baby game” had been a happy day for her.

  When she arrived at the address Ed had given her, she parked across the street and took a good look at the neighborhood. No doubt this had been a nice, blue-collar neighborhood once. Now it was a seedy, rundown place that gave the impression that the only people who still lived here were those who had lost hope of anything better.

  She had not changed out of the civilian clothes she’d worn to her aunt’s Christmas brunch. Slacks, a sweater, and a warm jacket. Having worked in Cleveland in past years, she had a hunch that whoever lived at this address was not gone but was just not willing to open the door to a uniformed police officer. If that was the case, she was hoping that a paper plate heaped with Lydia’s cookies might help get her foot in the door. Before she stepped out of the car, she carefully secured her Glock beneath her sweater at the small of her back, just in case. It was, in her opinion, better to have a gun and not need it than to need a gun and not have it.

  It looked as though whoever lived in this house
cared at least a little about their home. There were a couple of dead plants in pots on the small porch, a couple of garden gnomes in a flowerbed in front, and an actual welcome mat outside the door. How welcome she would be, provided anyone was home, was anyone’s guess.

  She knocked on the door and, just like with the two street cops, no one answered. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a curtain flicker. She took a couple steps back so the inhabitant could see that she was a just a non-threatening woman holding a plate of Christmas cookies.

  She hoped there was nothing about her that shouted “cop.” She’d also driven her classic silver blue Mustang. That was something she’d already begun to regret. It would not be a good idea to leave it parked on the street for too long while she was inside the house, assuming she was ever allowed inside.

  She had placed a red bow on top of the cookies.

  No cop here. Just a friendly neighborhood do-gooder.

  Probably not something this neighborhood saw often… if at all.

  She pasted a big grin on her face and hoped for the best.

  A few minutes later, she heard a faint sound coming from within. She recognized it as the thump, drag, thump, drag sound of someone using a walker.

  There was a great deal of fumbling on the other side of the door, as various locks were opened.

  A thin, elderly woman with a deeply-lined face, unkempt gray hair, and wary eyes peeked through the small crack as she carefully opened the door.

  “Are you Mabel Evans?” Rachel asked.

  “I am.”

  “My name is Rachel Mattias,” she said. “I’m from Sugarcreek, Ohio. If you have a minute or two, I’d like to talk to you.”

  “If you’re trying to sell me something, I don’t have any money.”

  “All I want is a little information.”

  The woman shrank back. “I don’t know nothing.”

  “Okay, then.” Rachel held the plate out toward the woman. “At least take these cookies. They are made with real butter and are some of the overflow of my Aunt Lydia’s Christmas baking. You would be doing me a favor if you would take them. Lydia loves to bake. She never seems to know when to stop. I don’t think my little boy can handle any more sugar, and I know that I don’t need the calories.”

  “Well…” The woman wrestled with the decision of whether or not to unlatch the storm door. Finally, she did and held out her hand. “Okay.”

  Opening the storm door was a mistake. Smiling, Rachel held firmly onto the handle as she handed the woman the cookies.

  “Merry Christmas!” she said. “Actually, I’m a cop from over in Sugarcreek. What I need to talk with you about is your car.”

  “What about my car?” Mabel said.

  “Do you own a blue, ‘92 Buick?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where do you usually keep it?”

  “Out back, in the garage.”

  “Did you loan it to someone?”

  Mabel hesitated. “No. Why?”

  “Did you realize it was missing?”

  “Missing?” The old woman said. “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “How long has it been since you went back there?”

  “I don’t know. A few weeks. I don’t get around so good anymore.”

  “When was the last time it was driven?”

  “My brother comes get it out of the garage and drives it around every now and then to make sure it still runs.”

  “When was the last time he was here?”

  “Last month. He’s been down in the back some lately.”

  “A vehicle matching the description of your car and bearing your car’s license tags was found, wrecked, last night outside of Sugarcreek, Ohio. Any idea how it might have gotten there?”

  “If you’re a cop,” Mabel said, “why aren’t you dressed like one?”

  “I’m not on duty today.” Rachel pulled her badge out of her pocket and held it up for Mabel to inspect. The old woman steadied it with her hand and brought her nose up close to read it. Rachel realized that quite a lot might happen around her house without Mabel knowing it.

  “Well, it looks official enough.” She handed the badge back to Rachel and hobbled into the living room, sitting the cookies on a small table as she passed. “Come on in then, and lock the door. Some of my neighbors will steal me blind if I don’t watch out.”

  “How long have you lived here?” Rachel asked.

  “Nearly sixty years now. It was a good neighborhood once. Lots of nice young families. Now, I’m afraid to go outside unless my brother goes with me, and he’s getting a little scared too.”

  Mabel had once been a tall woman, but not anymore. Her back was sharply curved and she seemed to be permanently bent over her walker. Still, even though she was obviously unable to do much in the way of house cleaning, Rachel was surprised to find the house well kept, and the smell was fresh and clean. It was definitely not the smell that she usually associated with an elderly woman’s house—especially one who was infirm.

  It was also sparser than most old people’s houses she’d been in, but the couch that Rachel was directed to sit upon was comfortable. Mabel lowered herself onto an armchair.

  “Go ahead,” she said. “Ask whatever it is you want to ask.”

  By the time Rachel had explained the whole story, the old woman had grown pale.

  “Do you have any idea who that young woman was who died?” Rachel asked. “We need to find the family.”

  There was a long hesitation while Rachel watched something play behind Mabel’s eyes. There was a decision being made, and she was afraid she wasn’t going to like it.

  “No,” Mabel said. “I have no idea. I don’t know anyone who matches that description. Like I said, there are a lot of druggies around here. Probably one of them stole it.”

  “Does your brother, the one who sometimes drives your car, have a daughter or granddaughter who might fit the description?”

  “My brother never married or had any children.”

  “Do you have children or grandchildren?” Rachel asked.

  “No. Wish I did, but I don’t.”

  “When I came up the sidewalk, I noticed your garage had a padlock on it. Do you always keep your garage locked?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who has a key?”

  “Just me.”

  “That’s it?”

  Another hesitation. “Yes.”

  “May I take a look inside your garage before I leave?”

  Mabel thought about it for a moment, then dug into a drawer in the table beside where she was sitting and handed Rachel a key. “Suit yourself.”

  As Rachel went out to inspect the garage, she was puzzled by the fact that the garage was still padlocked, even though the car was gone. Thieves rarely bothered with keys. They used crowbars to pry a lock off, or special tools to cut it. And she couldn’t imagine why car thieves would go to so much trouble for a vehicle that wasn’t worth all that much. Nothing added up. Mabel was not telling her everything she knew.

  She unlocked the padlock and opened the doors to the detached, single-car garage that was just big enough to park a car in with a couple feet on each side. The space in the middle was now empty. Up until this moment, she had thought there might have been a mistake about the license tags. Now she knew for certain that it was Mabel’s car the girl had been driving. There had been no mistake.

  In a TV drama, she would see a clue. Some left-behind piece of evidence that would help her solve the case, but there was nothing in here except a few yard tools. A couple rakes. A shovel. An old push mower.

  Whoever took the car had unlocked the garage, backed it out, and then carefully returned the doors and padlock to their normal position. They might even have returned the key to its regular place beside Mabel’s chair unless there was another copy.

  She supposed the brother could be suspected of some sort of wrongdoing. He seemed to be the only other person with access to the old Buick, but unless Mabel was lying abo
ut her brother, she couldn’t see how he would be involved with Jane Doe and the baby.

  Still, she was fairly certain that Mabel was hiding something. The question was, why? What would an old woman like her have to hide?

  Mabel was waiting at the front door to receive the key after Rachel finished her investigation of the garage. As she handed over the key, Rachel also gave the old woman her business card. “Please call me if you can think of anything that will help us find out who the dead girl is who stole your car.”

  “Like I told you before,” Mabel said. “I don’t know nothing about it. Besides, I’ve learned to keep my nose out of my neighbors’ business. It’s a lot safer that way around here.”

  “This has something to do with a neighbor?” Rachel asked.

  Mabel did not answer the question. Instead, she stuck her head out the door and craned her neck to look up and down the street as though to make sure the coast was clear. “You were smart not to wear your uniform.”

  “Why?”

  “This neighborhood don’t like cops. You seem like a nice woman. You said you have a little boy. Best for both of us if you never come back.”

  “My number is on my card. Call me if you think of something else that I need to know, or if you just need help.”

  “Yeah.” Mabel ducked back inside. “Sure thing.”

  Rachel had parked on the street, directly across from Mabel’s house. She got into her Mustang, started it up, and sat there for a few minutes checking her text messages.

  As she sat there, she saw a young man walking down the street toward the house next to Mabel’s. Late-twenties. From a distance, he did not look like he belonged in this neighborhood. Tall, well-built, short haircut, white. Someone who, from a distance, looked like he could have been an Eagle Scout at one time.

  But that swagger did not come from attending scout meetings. That was street-level swagger. Cock-of-the-walk level. Alpha-male, I-own-everything-I-survey level. A gang member if she’d ever seen one.

  It had been a long time since she had to use her knowledge about street gangs to assess a situation. Now, she tried to recall what she knew. This young man swaggering up the sidewalk probably wasn’t a Heartless Felon, which from what she knew tended to be primarily made up of young black men. But she’d heard there was another gang in the city gaining prominence that was white, and every bit as tough and deadly.