“Evidence suggests dingoes may actually have eaten that woman’s baby,” Dalton says.
When I look at him, he shrugs. “I read about the case. The problem with her story was that dingoes weren’t known to take children. The problem with your story, kid, is that the same applies to those you call the wild people. They don’t have kids. It’s against their rules. So they sure as hell aren’t going to steal one.”
This isn’t entirely true. We know Maryanne’s group prohibited children, but that doesn’t mean others followed the same laws. Dalton’s just putting Baptiste on the offensive, trying to break his story.
“We found evidence,” Baptiste says. “The wild people came, and they took her.”
“They snuck into your tent in the night?” Petra says. “Plucked her from your arms while you slept?”
“We did not sleep with her in our arms. Sidra’s mother lost a child by accidentally suffocating her in the night, so Summer slept in a box that I built. It was evening. I was hunting, and Sidra was with the baby. She was making dinner while Summer slept in her box, right near the fire. Someone grabbed Sidra from behind. Put a sack over her head. She fought, but she was overpowered. She heard grunts of communication, like the wild people. She smelled wild people. While she was bound and blinded, they took our baby. In her place, they left one of their skulls, the sort they use to mark territory. They told Sidra not to come for Summer. The voice was low, guttural, like the wild people. They said Summer was theirs. Sidra screamed and screamed, and finally I heard her and came running. We found tracks. We tried to follow them, but they went on the ice and we could not.”
“When did this happen?”
“Ten days ago. We have been searching ever since. A friend is searching, too. She used to be one of the wild people. She said she would find Summer, but we have not seen her since she left, and then, last night, Sidra disappeared.”
“This friend,” I say. “You said she’s a wild person? Are you sure she didn’t take Summer herself? That’d be a nice trick—steal your child, blame it on the others, and then offer to get the baby back herself.”
Baptiste hesitates. I’m watching for some sign of calculation in his gaze. There are possibilities here that lay the blame for Summer’s fate at his feet. Maybe he exposed her himself, pretending hostiles took her. Maybe Ellen did take her—rescuing her from unfit parents. If so, he’ll see an opportunity here to blame Ellen, especially if he knows she’s dead and can’t defend herself.
I’m watching for the look that says he’s considering his options. Yet when he hesitates, he only seems to be thinking through what I’ve said, wondering if it’s possible that Ellen took their baby. Then he shakes his head.
“No,” he says. “When Sidra told her the wild people took Summer, Ellen was confused. Like you said, she claimed they don’t have babies. She knows of two groups in the area. Tribes, she calls them. Neither allows babies. She thought we were mistaken. Then we showed her the skull, and she said it was definitely the wild people. Her own tribe, judging by the markings. After thinking about it for a while, she said she remembered one woman who wanted a baby. Ellen wondered whether this woman might take Summer, in hopes that the tribe would let her keep her. Or maybe she wanted a baby more than she wanted to be in the tribe.”
“Take Summer and flee with her,” I say.
He nods. “There wouldn’t be any reason for Ellen to steal Summer.”
“Down south, plenty of people can’t have babies and would happily pay for one.”
His brow furrows. “How would Ellen get Summer down south?”
“Maybe she didn’t think you should keep Summer. You and Sidra have only been on your own for a year. Adding a winter baby seems … unwise.”
His cheeks color. “It was an accident. Ellen used to be a nurse. She said if we didn’t want the baby, she’d have helped us end the pregnancy. If we did want the baby, she’d help us with that, too. It was completely up to us. We decided to have the child. The birth was easy, and Sidra’s milk came in, and Summer was healthy.”
All true. Abby—Summer—was indeed healthy and well cared for, and from what I learned from Tomas and Nancy, Ellen had been helping the young couple, just as she promised.
So why was Baptiste carrying the gun that might have killed Ellen? I’m not seeing an easy answer here, and I need to set that aside. There’s a bigger issue to deal with.
“Tell me about Sidra,” I say. “She disappeared last night?”
Baptiste nods. “When I woke, she was gone. I didn’t worry at first. She isn’t sleeping well, with Summer gone. Neither of us is. She also needs to rid herself of the milk a few times a day. Ellen said that was important. She has to…” He struggles for the words. “Express, Ellen said. Express the milk, even if it goes to waste, so she’ll keep producing it for when Summer comes back to us. It’s painful—the milk—so Sidra often gets up in the night. I’ve told her to just do it in the tent, where it’s warm, but I think she liked the excuse to…”
Baptiste looks away. “It hasn’t been easy for us, with Summer gone. Sidra thinks I blame her because she was with Summer when it happened.”
“Do you?” That’s Petra, challenge in her voice.
Baptiste snaps, “Of course not. Sidra was ambushed. Maybe it’s my fault. I ran as soon as I heard her screaming, but it wasn’t fast enough to catch whoever took Summer. Sidra says she doesn’t blame me, and I say I don’t blame her, but … It’s been difficult. I think she’s found excuses to spend time away from me, and that hasn’t made things easier. When I woke and found her gone, I didn’t want to run after her. I…” He trails off.
“You wanted time away, too,” Petra says. “You did blame her.”
He spins on her, and I cut in with, “Petra? This isn’t about you.”
Her eyes spark, but her cheeks color, too, even as she turns a glare on me. I meet it evenly. She knows what I mean, just as I know why she’s saying this. She lost her daughter in a car accident. At the time she’d been divorced, but she’d had a good relationship with her ex … until the accident. Petra had been called to pick up her daughter unexpectedly after having a couple of glasses of wine. While that impairment didn’t contribute to the accident—it was the other driver’s fault Petra blew under the legal limit—her ex couldn’t forgive her and drove her to the brink of suicide.
Now she’s looking at Baptiste—whose baby was lost on her mother’s watch—and she sees her ex, and I need her to back the hell down. We lock gazes, and after a moment, she nods.
“Continue,” I say to Baptiste.
“I knew Sidra needed time away from me, like she does after an argument. I wanted to give her that, but I wanted her to know I care, too. If I left her alone too long, she might think I don’t want her around either. I got up and made her breakfast, and then I went looking for her. I discovered she hadn’t been out expressing milk. She’d been emptying her bladder. I found the spot. I also found her night-torch there, extinguished, and signs of a struggle.”
“Hostiles stole my wife?” Petra says.
I let her have that one, and I watch Baptiste as he snaps, “No. I understand you’re blaming me, but it doesn’t appear to be wild people. One person took her. One pair of tracks. They didn’t leave behind anything as they did with Summer. I followed the tracks, but whoever took her knows how to cover a trail.”
“Of course they do,” Petra mutters.
“So first you lose your baby,” Felicity says, “and then you lose your wife.”
Dalton rolls his eyes my way. I know exactly what he’s thinking: Well, at least neither of us needs to play bad cop here. We have Petra and Felicity for that.
Felicity keeps going. “And you didn’t even lose them to the same people. That would make sense, if the hostiles kidnapped Sidra to feed the baby. But no, it was different attackers.” She meets his gaze. “Or was it the same attacker? You wanted Sidra, and the only way you could have her was to run away with her. The next thing you know you�
��re stuck with a wife and a baby—”
“Stuck?” His voice rises. “Stuck? I would happily be stuck with Sidra for the rest of my life. I’d happily be stuck with her and twenty children if that’s what she wanted. And before you accuse me of not wanting Summer, I did. It was our decision to keep her, and I never regretted it. I want my baby and my wife back, and I’m trying to be patient here, but the longer you keep accusing me of hurting them, the longer someone is actually hurting them.”
“We have Summer,” I say.
“What?” He turns on me, blinking as if he’s misheard.
“Summer is in Rockton, and she’s safe.”
He teeters, eyes shut, relief shuddering through him. Then his eyes snap open. “You took her? Someone from Rockton stole—”
“No, you dolt,” Felicity says. “Why would they be here if they stole your baby? I brought them to you.”
“I’m not a dolt,” he says slowly, as if restraining his temper. “I had to ask. The same as you had to ask whether I hurt Sidra, when you know how much I love her.”
“And I had to ask that because I know you have experience faking deaths. Also experience behaving like utter fools, reenacting Romeo and Juliet.”
He sputters for a moment before facing me and saying, evenly, “If you suspect me because of that, let me assure you that Sidra and I are not children who thought faking our deaths would be romantic. Has Felicity told you why we did that?”
“Because the settlements would have forbidden your marriage,” I say.
“Yes, but we had a plan for dealing with it, one that wouldn’t have left our families grieving for us. We planned to leave together, with notes to explain, and then we’d return in a few years, after we had a child so they could not separate us. Sidra wanted to ask Felicity for help. I argued, but she trusted her friend. She didn’t even get a chance to explain the plan. As soon as she said she wanted to leave with me, Felicity threatened to tie her up and keep her from making such a terrible mistake. Threatened that if she ran, the whole settlement would come after us, and if something happened to me in the pursuit, well, that wasn’t Felicity’s fault.”
I turn slowly on Felicity.
Her cheeks are bright red. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was only trying to make Sidra listen to reason. I just wanted her to slow down and let me negotiate with my grandfather.”
“All right,” I say. “Felicity? Please join Petra in staying out of this. You’ve voiced your suspicions. That’s enough. Baptiste? Your baby is fine. We didn’t take her—we’re trying to return her. I’m not sure who did take her. We found her with Ellen. And I’m very sorry to say, Ellen is dead.”
Baptiste freezes, his color draining. “Dead?”
“Which is also not our doing,” Dalton says. “Casey and I were out camping last week. She heard your baby crying and found her under the snow.”
“Wh-what?” His eyes round. “Summer was—”
“She’s fine,” I say. “Ellen had her. She’d rescued her, and she was on the run, and someone killed her. She died clutching Summer to her, keeping her warm. She saved her.”
“You both saved her,” Petra says. “You’re the one who found the baby before—” She stops, as if realizing Baptiste doesn’t need that image. “Before anything happened.”
“Thank you,” Baptiste says. “I’m not sure how we can ever repay you, but we will. Thank you for finding her, and thank you for finding us. Ellen…” He slumps as the news of her death penetrates the relief at his daughter’s survival. “She only wanted to help. She only ever wanted to help. I shouldn’t have let her go after Summer. I knew it was dangerous, and we already owed her so much, and I should have said no. I was desperate, and now…”
“She’s gone,” Felicity says. “Falling apart isn’t going to help you find Sidra. You’re soft, Baptiste, too soft to—”
“Enough,” Dalton says, the word harsh enough to make Felicity give a start. “A woman is dead, Felicity. A woman who died helping your friends, and Baptiste is allowed a moment to feel bad about that. It isn’t weakness. It’s called being a fucking human being.”
She flinches and then her face hardens, as if she wants to snap something back. She can’t, though. The only comeback would be to accuse him of equal weakness, equal sentimentality. Whatever impression Dalton’s made on her, it must not be that.
After a moment, she says, “You are right. I am sorry for this woman’s death. I’m just concerned about Sidra.”
“As am I,” Baptiste says. “I don’t want to fight over who is more concerned. We both are. Now, can we try to find her? Please?”
“Could you show us the spot where she disappeared?” I ask. “Our dog can track scents.”
He frowns. Again, I’m looking for signs, this time of worry, of panic. I see only confusion and then surprise and then relief.
“Your dog?” He looks at Storm. “She’s a hunting dog?”
“Just for people,” I say. “Residents wander into the forest and disappear. She’s trained to bring them back.”
“Eric’s the Rockton sheriff,” Petra says. “Casey is his detective. Finding things is her job. Down south, finding killers was her job.”
He doesn’t hesitate at that. Again, he looks relieved. “So you’ll find who killed Ellen?”
Am I certain that’s relief? It certainly seems like it. Dalton is watching him with equal care. He’s seen the gun. He’s figured it out.
Is this not the gun that shot Ellen? Or was Sidra the person holding it, and Baptiste knows nothing about that? Or did Baptiste fire it mistaking Ellen for a hostile, maybe hoping to injure and question one about Summer?
So many possibilities. At this point, all I can say is that my gut tells me that if Baptiste is a killer, he’s an accidental one, and Lane misunderstood the situation and is covering for him.
“Was Sidra taken here?” Dalton says, startling me from my thoughts as he looks around. “Someone camped here. I’m guessing that was you.”
Baptiste frowns and follows Dalton’s gaze to the campsite just beyond. He shakes his head. “No, this wasn’t us.”
“Not you last night?” Dalton says. “Or not you at all?”
“Not us at all. We have a permanent winter site closer to the mountain, with better shelter. This is someone’s temporary camp.” Baptiste walks into it and looks around.
“There’s evidence that animals were slaughtered,” I say. “A hunting camp?”
Dalton has followed Baptiste, and they’re both poking around. After a few minutes, Dalton says, “Overnight camp. They killed their dinner, and maybe a little more to-go, but that’s it.”
“It isn’t the wild people,” Baptiste says. “We haven’t seen anyone else in days.” He turns to us. “What if it was a lone hunter who stole Sidra? There are a few of those around. There’s a big man who calls himself Cypher. Sidra doesn’t like him so we stay away. There’s a younger man, Jacob, who we’ve traded with…”
He turns slowly to Dalton, who’s bundled up, with a hat and hood, but now he takes a closer look and says, “Oh.”
“Yeah, that’d be my brother.”
“I … I’ve heard stories. Yes, all right. I don’t mean to blame your brother for anything. I just thought, what if a man was hunting and saw Sidra…”
“Jacob’s hunting far from here. Tyrone Cypher is in Rockton right now. But, yeah, I take your point. Some guy could have been passing through, saw Sidra, and waited for her to leave your shelter last night.”
“More than one person stayed in this camp,” I say. “I found multiple boot prints. One isn’t much bigger than mine, which suggests a woman. That’s why I thought it was your camp. A man and a woman…” I trail off.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Dalton says.
I nod.
Dalton sighs. “Fuck.”
THIRTY-NINE
Who do we think camped here? The couple I accidentally set on Baptiste and Sidra’s trail.
No, let’
s be honest. The “accident” is that I hadn’t meant to endanger this young couple, but that’s because I’d been thinking abstractly. I offered Cherise an irresistible reward for finding Abby’s parents. I just lacked the foresight, in that moment, to see “Abby’s parents” as people who might be endangered by me setting a dangerous woman on that quest.
I’d realized my mistake the moment I made the offer, which is why we’d labored to make it ironclad, in hopes of protecting Abby’s mother from Cherise’s ruthlessness. Even if we’d rescinded it, though, Cherise would know how valuable this information was, and she’d search for Abby’s mother in hopes of a reward. The only thing we could do was close off loopholes.
It wasn’t enough.
Earlier, Felicity told me I was wrong for making the offer. She might not have said much more then. She does now. I take my lumps, even as Dalton and Petra come to my defense. Baptiste says he understands why I did it, and he’s grateful that I was so anxious to reunite Summer with her parents. He’s cutting me slack, being kind, while I see the worry in his eyes.
In the end, all I can do is apologize, while Dalton insists that Sidra is in no actual danger.
“We were very, very clear on the stipulations of the deal,” Dalton says. “We don’t pay out until we see the baby’s mother and confirm she hasn’t been hurt. Yeah, Cherise is going to make Sidra spin us some bullshit story about how she went with Cherise voluntarily, but we know better. We’ll get Sidra back, and tell Cherise where she can stick her deal.”
“I would exercise more caution than that,” Felicity says. “I understand the impulse. I also want to punish Cherise for what she did.”
“But that’s like punching a grizzly in the face,” Baptiste says. “Even if the grizzly doesn’t come after you, it’s going to strike at the first human it sees.”
Felicity nods. “She will find a way to punish Sidra and Baptiste for the loss of her reward.”
The young settlers exchange a look, acknowledgment of shared ground.
Alone in the Wild Page 28