by Karen Anders
Allie took a slow, deep breath and pushed the past where it belonged: out of reach.
Keeping everyone involved calm and focused until Hope was found was the order of the day. That, and finding Hope, was all that mattered.
“The girls are the ones who suggested we call you,” Mrs. Vandermont said, her round, kind face easing Allie’s mind. With blond hair, a clear genetic connection to her daughter, she was dressed in gray yoga pants and a T-shirt, pedicured red toes stark against the white of the carpet. It was evident by Mrs. Vandermont’s expression that she was focused on the girls—all the girls. “Thank you for driving all the way up here. I’m sure we’re overreacting and that this is just a matter of Hope getting lost—”
“Please don’t give it another thought, Mrs. Vandermont.” Allie held out her hands to Mercy, who, as far as Allie could tell, was trying her best not to rely on the support her friend Willa was attempting to provide. She squeezed Mercy’s hands tight in a silent gesture of understanding. “I’d always rather have someone overreact than assume. Deputy Sutherland is going to be bringing some additional help to search for Hope.”
“I should make some coffee, then.” Mrs. Vandermont squeezed her daughter’s shoulders before she pushed herself to her feet. “That would be all right, wouldn’t it?”
“More than all right,” Allie said. “Girls, would it be okay if I talked to you about what’s happened in the last day or so? Just in case there’s something the police officers need to know.”
“Dad?” Willa leaned over to look at her father. “You can go help Mom. We’ll be okay.”
Mr. Vandermont glanced at his daughter with more appraisal than disapproval. “Are you sure? Mercy? Portia? You, too?”
“We’re sure.” Mercy let go of Allie’s hand to wrap a solid arm around Portia’s frail shoulders. Portia twisted her hands together and gave a weak nod.
“I won’t ask them any questions,” Allie explained at the hesitant expression on his face. As a certified children’s therapist trained to treat kids who had been or were going through traumatic experiences, she wasn’t allowed to pose any. But she could give them an opening to talk. In Allie’s experience, listening was the most important thing she could do. “I promise, if we run into any issues, I’ll come and get you.”
“All right.” Mr. Vandermont kept his blue eyes pinned on the three girls as he raked restless hands through his hair and followed his wife out of the room.
Allie stood up and walked the few steps to the padded straight-back chair at the end of the coffee table. She needed some distance; she needed to see how they were with one another, on the off chance something was going on here other than a friend who had wandered off. “Hope has been telling me about this sleepover of yours for a while,” Allie told them. “She was very excited about it. Were you all, as well?”
All three girls nodded.
“It would help if you could tell me everything you did. What time you all arrived,” Allie said, nudging the conversation where she needed it to go.
“Around five,” Mercy said. “Hope was late, but that’s because she’d gone to the movies with her uncle before he dropped her off. He stayed for a little while, talked to Mr. and Mrs. V. and then we had pizza for dinner.”
“We don’t order pizza very often. Mom doesn’t think it’s good for us,” Willa interrupted. “But it was for my birthday, so she made an exception.”
“Did it have mushrooms on it?” Allie asked in almost a whisper. “My friend Eden hates, and I mean hates, mushrooms. And you know what? Whenever we order it, we make sure to order with mushrooms. Just so we can watch her pick them off.”
Willa and Mercy both laughed a little. “I don’t like peppers,” Mercy said with a watery smile.
“Vegetables on your pizza means it’s healthy.” Portia’s eyes filled. “That’s what Hope always says.”
Simone said the same thing. “I bet you watched a movie.”
“That one where the girls go chasing ghosts with lasers and stuff,” Mercy said as Willa sniffled. “Mr. V. fixed up the tent over by the trees so we could feel like it was a real campout. Her mom made us s’mores in foil for dessert.”
“Campout?” Allie’s heart stuttered to a stop. “You slept outside last night?”
“Uh-huh.” Mercy nodded. “We thought it would be fun and different. Mr. V. even went out and got us a tent—”
“This was a last-minute decision?” Allie’s thoughts threatened to race, but she pulled back, tried to distance herself. “What made you think of that?”
The three girls glanced uneasily at each other. Finally, Willa shrugged. “We all agreed, but it was Hope’s idea. She said she’d seen something about it online and that it sounded fun.”
“It was fun,” Portia whispered. “Until it wasn’t.” Willa and Mercy nodded, but Portia’s big brown eyes shifted to the floor.
“What is it, Portia?” Allie leaned forward, letting the other two girls take a bit of a lead. “I promise, anything you say here, none of us will be mad. We all just want to make sure Hope is found safe. Okay?”
Portia didn’t look convinced.
“Por.” Willa reached across Mercy’s lap and held out her hand. That Portia immediately grabbed hold conveyed the strength of friendship among these girls. “What’s wrong?”
Portia’s chin wobbled. “I heard Hope get up. I should have gone with her, but I didn’t want to. It was cold.” The last few words came out in a sob. “I’m so sorry! I should have been her friend and now she’s missing and it’s all my fault.” Tears spilled down her cheeks as Willa tugged on Portia’s hand. Mercy moved to the side as they settled Portia between them, hugging their arms around her.
“I didn’t hear her.” The alarm in Mercy’s wide eyes told Allie she wished she had.
“That’s because you were snoring,” Willa said.
“I do not snore!” Mercy countered and brought a trembling smile to Portia’s face; the goal, Allie realized when she caught a silent exchange between Willa and Mercy.
Allie barely heard them over the roaring in her head. For the first time in as long as Allie could remember, the security she found in her clinical world crumbled. She clenched her fists to cling to the trained detachment that allowed her to do her job. Words that should help them seemed to have gotten trapped somewhere between now and twenty years ago when another nine-year-old had disappeared. During another birthday campout.
Chloe.
Allie squeezed her eyes shut, snapping them open again when she heard Willa speak.
“None of this is your fault, Portia.” Willa hugged her friend close. “We should have all gone, just as we promised.” Willa turned pleading eyes on Allie with a pained expression that might haunt Allie for the rest of her days. “We made a pact when we first met. We’re sisters. Where one goes, we all go. Except we didn’t. And now one of us is gone.”
Allie stared at the three of them, huddled so closely together she couldn’t determine where one ended and another began. Her own arms ached from her tightened fists. Her throat burned from trying to swallow. Her skin had gone icy, as if she wasn’t ever going to be warm again, and yet part of her, the tiniest part, clung to the thin thread of hope that this situation wasn’t what it seemed to be.
“Are you all right, Dr. Hollister? Allie?” Mercy asked as Allie rose to her feet and walked to the French doors.
Allie heard her as if from a vast distance. “I’m going to go see where you all were sleeping last night. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She pulled open the door, stepped out onto the patio and walked quickly around the pool. She could hear the girls calling her from inside the house, but she didn’t stop. Not as she hopped over the low-lying bushes. Not as she slipped and slid her way down the slight hill to the clearing ahead. She could see the outline of the red-and-blue tent situated beneath an
outcropping of healthy pine and willow trees.
Her breathing came in short bursts, as if she had to remember to inhale. The brisk morning air felt tainted with gloom, the heaviness pressing down on her as she kept her eyes pinned on the tent, resisted the pull into the past. She started to run, as if she could leave the memories, the sensation of panic behind. But she knew the emotions had settled inside her chest another early morning twenty years ago.
She skidded to a stop at the edge of their campsite, her toes damp from the early-morning moisture. Four cloth folding chairs, water bottles stored in holders, the gooey remnants of the foil-wrapped s’mores lay amid wadded-up sleeping bags peeking out from the zippered tent flap.
An odd keening erupted into the air and only as Allie turned in a slow circle, did she realize the sound came from her. She covered her mouth. Haunting little-girl whispers and giggles echoed through time and sent chills racing down her spine. “Not again. Oh, God, please, not again.” She bent double, her stomach rolling as she dropped down to the ground. “This can’t be happening.” The date. What was the date?
“Dr. Hollister!” Deputy Sutherland, along with a handful of deputies, followed the same path she’d taken moments before. “Dr. Hollister, are you all right?” He hurried over and grabbed her by the arms to haul her to her feet.
“No.” His demanding question pierced the fog in her brain. Now wasn’t the time to break down. Now wasn’t the time to lose control. She needed to get a hold of herself. Disconnect. Separate herself from the nightmare unfolding around her. Hope, she told herself. Hope was all that mattered. And yet... “Is there any sign of Hope?”
“No, ma’am.” An officer who introduced himself as Deputy Fletcher shook his head. “We’re about to expand the search. My officers already went through this area—”
“She won’t be here.” Allie shook her head and only then did she see the concern on the older deputy’s face. “She’s gone.”
“Gone? You mean you think she went down to the river?”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” She took a step back, focused on the tent.
And the solitary plant situated on the ground.
Violets.
Allie walked forward, knees wobbling. Every impulse coursing through her urged her to discount the pot and spilling flowers. A coincidence, she told herself, but as she, Eden and Simone had learned in the last few months, there were no coincidences.
She took a shaky step forward and then another.
Every cell in Allie’s body screamed out as she remembered that night, the following days before their friend’s strangled body had been found.
In a field of violets.
Allie touched a hand to the hollow of her throat. “Chloe.”
“Hope,” Deputy Sutherland corrected. “Dr. Hollister, if you think we need to be searching elsewhere—”
Allie shook her head, got to her feet and pulled out her cell phone. She pointed at the deputy while it rang. “You need to get your team back here, but no one should touch anything. Not a thing, do you understand?” Allie’s hands shook. When the deputy didn’t move, she shot into command mode. “I think we’re standing in a crime scene. I’m a special consultant with the Sacramento PD, Deputy. I also work extensively with the FBI, so believe me when I tell you you’ll want to do as I suggest. Now.”
“Ma’am.” The hostility was expected; clearly he wouldn’t appreciate being told what to do in his own jurisdiction. “What exactly is going on?”
Allie held up her hand to silence him. “Lieutenant Santos? It’s Allie Hollister.”
“Allie?” The shock on the other end of the phone didn’t surprise her, nor did the distinctive sound of rustling sheets and murmured voices. “Hang on. We had a late night with the kids.”
Allie pressed her lips tight and wrapped her free arm around her waist.
“Ma’am?” Deputy Sutherland’s tone strained to the point of snapping. “Would you please tell me what’s going on?”
“Hope didn’t run away,” Allie whispered. She returned her attention to the potted plant, resisting the pull once again to fall solidly into a past she’d been trying to climb out of for two decades.
“Allie?” Lieutenant Santos came back on the line. “This can’t be good news if you’re calling me before seven on a Sunday. What’s going on?”
“You need to get Cole and Jack and get up to—” she recited the Vandermonts’ address, grateful that she could request two detectives who were friends “—as soon as you can. One of my patients, who was staying overnight at a friend’s house, went missing in the last few hours.”
“That’s out of our jurisdiction, Allie. As much as I’d like to help—”
“Hope Kellan is nine years old. She was camping with her three best friends. Now she’s missing.” Allie’s eyes burned. “But this isn’t just about Hope.” She took a deep breath and uttered the words that would turn her nightmare into reality. “It’s about Chloe Evans.”
Copyright © 2017 by Anna J. Stewart
ISBN-13: 9781488016677
The Agent’s Covert Affair
Copyright © 2017 by Karen Alarie
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