I remembered back to the wintry day we’d sat outside by a stream on a log and she’d told me about Greg’s abuse. “Right. You said he tried rehab but it didn’t take.”
“Well, that part was true. But Shelby’s accident also made him feel so guilty he couldn’t live with himself. He tried rehab twice, and then stopped. He gave up on himself, Shelby, and me.”
“Is that when he started to hit you?”
Her face remained calm. “Yes. I landed in the hospital several times before I finally decided to leave him. I couldn’t take the abuse anymore. The last time I was hospitalized, the law took over and stuck him in that prison. He’ll be there for three more years. I know I waited too long in that horrid situation, but I was afraid to lose the financial support I needed to keep Shelby going. I had her moved to a private facility, and it was exorbitantly expensive. Still is.” She rose from the bench, thrusting her hands into her pockets, facing the panoramic scene below.
“Wait. What?” I glanced at her in surprise. “Still is?”
She turned back to me, grimaced, and lowered her eyes. “I know I should have told you. I don’t know why I didn’t. It was really stupid of me. The longer I kept the secret, the harder it was for me to bring it up. I just feel so damned responsible. If I had only been watching her more closely. If I had run faster, yelled louder...” her voice trailed off into silence.
“Honey, you can’t take responsibility for an accident. The door wasn’t shut, the kitten escaped. It was nobody’s fault. It just happened. You can’t blame yourself.” Although I actually did blame Greg for bolting out the door without ensuring his daughter’s safety first, I held back. I’d already shown enough hatred toward this guy I’d never met, and now wasn’t the time to place blame.
A tear fell, tracing her cheek. “That’s what Mom keeps telling me. I’m still trying to come to terms with it. I went through therapy for years, but still haven’t been able to forgive myself.”
I wiped her cheek with my sleeve. “Where’s Shelby now?”
“At the Woodruff Long Term Care Center, in Lakeville.”
“Is that where you go when you say you’re seeing your girlfriends?”
She nodded. A guilty expression crossed her face. “I’m sorry I lied, Gus.”
I took her hand and squeezed it gently, then pulled her to me and enfolded her in my arms. I stroked her hair, nuzzled my face into her mass of curls, and covered her neck and cheeks with kisses. A part of me couldn’t believe she’d lied to me for the past nine months like this. But I let it go. “It’s okay. I understand, and I’m so sorry. You’ve been through so much. But now that I know, we can move forward, right? We have our whole lives ahead of us. Our whole lives.”
A faint sense of hope filled her eyes, as if she were brushing against feelings of redemption for the first time in fifteen years. I reached for her again and we held each other on the now breezy hillside.
“Ready to go home?” I asked.
She nodded, hugging me one last time. “Uh-huh. Thanks for understanding.”
We strolled arm-in-arm down the hill, at a much slower pace than our ascent. I tried to accept the idea that Camille’s fifteen-year-old daughter lay comatose in a hospital bed less than ten minutes away.
Chapter Thirty-Three
C amille slept all the way home to East Goodland. I figured that the wine, exercise, and the stress of revealing her secret to me had simply knocked her out.
She stirred when our tires crunched over the gravel driveway. “Are we home?” she mumbled.
“We are, honey.” I pulled up the parking brake and let out a weary sigh. It had been a long day.
“What time is it?” She seemed confused, rubbing her eyes.
“About eight.”
She raised her seat back and yawned. “Oh my gosh. I can’t believe I slept through the whole ride home. I’m sorry. I wasn’t very good company, was I?” She smiled ruefully and pushed open her door.
The memory of her confession still lingered heavily in the air between us and it pulled at my heart. “Not to worry, my love. I had fun watching you sleep. You made the cutest little expressions on your face all the way home.”
An embarrassed laugh burst from her lips. She stuck out her tongue, and then started to collect her drawings, antique book, and paperweights. For a moment, I was afraid she’d cross the fragile border between laughter and tears, but she stayed calm and walked around to the back of the car, watching me mix and match the wine from three cases.
A smile blossomed on her face. “You’re giving me wine?”
I laughed. “Of course I am. You’ve got to have the good stuff to pour when you make me dinner next time, right?”
She chuckled. “You’re assuming quite a lot there, Professor.”
“I’m just saying…” I lifted one of the boxes to carry into her house.
She closed the Outback’s tailgate. “Hey. We never stopped back at that last antique store, did we? ”
I didn’t tell her I was glad she’d been asleep when we passed it. “Next time, sweetheart. It’ll be a good excuse to go back there.”
She unlocked the front door and held it open for me, and I maneuvered the carton through the doorway. I carried it through the living room and toward the kitchen, but a sense of unease hit me.
Where’s Boris? It’s too quiet in here.
Camille pulled her keys from the front door and joined me in the kitchen. “Boris! I’m home, baby. Come here, boy.” She turned to me, smiling. “Poor little guy, I’ll bet he missed us.”
The house was still. Ginger hopped down from her perch on the refrigerator and meowed, reaching up to the counter with her paws.
Camille whistled once more for Boris, and then leaned down to pat Ginger. “Where is that little monkey? He must be sleeping.”
Ginger cried again and rubbed against Camille’s legs.
“Oh, kitty, are you hungry, girl?” She opened a small can of tuna-flavored cat food and emptied it into Ginger’s dish.
“I’ll find him,” I said, feeling more worried by the minute. If Boris really was sleeping when we walked in the door, it was very strange that he didn’t wake up when we called him. And I never knew a dog to sleep through his owner’s return after a long day of absence. Usually, they were waiting by the door the minute they heard the car come into the driveway.
I searched unsuccessfully through the living room, where he normally slept on his bed by the fireplace, but no Boris.
When I passed through the dining room, a billowing curtain caught my attention. I walked over to shut the window and stopped. Broken shards of glass covered the floor. The window was up and the screen was missing.
Someone had broken in.
I stiffened and called to Camille. “Honey? Can you come over here?”
She joined me in seconds. “Did you find Boris?” Gasping, she raised her hand to her mouth when she spotted the broken window. “Who did this?” She looked around nervously and skittered behind me. “Oh my gosh, Gus. Do you think they’re gone?”
“If he was still in here when we came in the driveway, we probably scared him off.”
“I sure hope so,” she said in a low whisper.
“But I’d rather be safe than sorry.” I slid one arm around her waist. “Can you call the cops? See if you can get Joe to come over. I’ll check out the house.”
Camille dialed the police station, and I looked around for a weapon. The fireplace utensils were lightweight and not heavy enough to use in self-defense. I eased open the foyer closet door, looking for both the intruder and something that could be used as a bludgeon. I poked my head inside, looking for the light switch. “Camille? I’m looking for something to use—like a baseball bat.”
She thumbed off her phone and reached around me into the side of the closet. “Joe’s on his way.” She pulled something long and silver out of the corner. “Here. Take one of Greg’s old golf clubs. I guarantee you, it can knock a person out.”
I clo
sed my hand around the iron and grimaced, thinking of the torment she’d endured at that bastard’s hands. “Thanks. I’ve got to check out the rest of the house.”
“You’re not leaving me alone, mister.” She followed two steps behind me. We searched all of the rooms, but the house was empty.
Joe Russell arrived ten minutes later, dressed in casual clothes. I felt guilty, because it was Saturday and he’d probably been relaxing at home. His young partner, Adam Knapp, pulled up in his cruiser seconds later. They approached the house together, hands resting on the butts of their weapons.
I opened the door and waved them inside. “Come on in, guys.”
Joe marched up the front steps, his voice booming. “Did you see anyone?”
“No,” I shook my head, still gripping the golf club .
“Are you sure he’s gone?”
“Pretty sure. We checked all the rooms down here and on the second floor.”
Adam clicked on his flashlight. “I’d better check out the cellar. You never know.”
I hadn’t thought of that. “Good idea.” I pointed to the cellar door and he disappeared down the stairs.
Joe followed me into the dining room and examined the glass on the floor beneath the window, shaking his head. “Wonder what they were after. Any valuables missing?”
“Yeah, but not the kinds of things you’d expect, like jewelry or her laptop.” I showed him to the table. “Have a seat and I’ll give you the details.”
He sat, pulling a stubby pencil and steno pad out of his jacket pocket.
Camille slumped on the other side of the table with her head buried in her arms. Her shoulders shook.
Joe shot a concerned look at her. “Camille? Are you okay?”
She raised a tear-stained face. “Not really, Joe.”
“They took a few pieces of Camille’s clothing,” I said quietly. “There were some, ah, underclothes that were hanging on the shower rod.”
Joe grimaced and started to write down the particulars.
I waited until he paused and looked up. “The weirdest thing is they took her dog. They took Boris.”
Joe looked doubtful, and turned back to Camille, speaking gently. “Are you sure he didn’t get out? Have you looked in the yard?”
She nodded. “We looked already. We can’t find him.”
I added, “We searched all around the yard, Joe. And he’s not a wandering type; he’s a housedog. He would’ve come back up onto the steps if he got out.”
“Cellar’s all clear.” Adam returned from the basement, and then walked around the outside of the house. Returning through the kitchen door. “Well, it’s not rocket science. Looks like he got in through this broken window, and left through the kitchen door. You said you found it unlocked, right?”
Camille nodded. “Yes. I locked it before we left.”
Joe stood. “Pretty cut and dry, then.”
Camille stood and gripped his hand. “You’ll find my Boris, right, Joe?”
He gave her a small smile. “We’ll do our damnedest, Camille. Just hang in there.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
T he next morning was Sunday. Instead of going to church, I rose early and drove to Camille's. To be sure that Boris hadn't been let out by the burglar yesterday, and somehow become lost in the woods, we decided to search for him in the nearby woods and fields. We knew it was unlikely that we’d find him, but we couldn’t assume anything when it came to Camille’s baby.
She made a few phone calls and word spread quickly. By noon, most of the cast and crew congregated in her backyard, including a very distressed Cindi Fox. Adam Knapp volunteered to partition the land and organize the volunteers into groups. Cindi, Randy, Takeema, Nelson, Lisa, and Candy were in our group.
Adam assigned us to the hills east of Camille's property. We were to search the woods and fields bordering Goodland Road and work our way south until we reached the Frediani property. Adam headed west with another party of searchers, spreading them out in a long line, each person separated by only a few feet. Mr. Bigelow herded a third party down the valley, beginning in the recently harvested cornfield to the north of Camille's property line. The plan was to walk for an hour in each direction, and to reconvene at Camille's. If we were unsuccessful, we'd turn in the opposite direction, cross Twin Bridge Road, and send out the three-arm search crew in the eastern direction.
I led our group through Camille's backyard, taking up the position on the leftmost wing.
“Boris!” I cried.
Soon the whole gang joined in, their voices singing in unison. “Here, Boris!”
Cindi's voice rang among the others as she hurried along, calling the loudest and walking the fastest. “Come out, Boris. It's okay. Nobody will hurt you,” she shouted. When she walked, she carried a few dog biscuits in her hand, waving them in hopes they’d attract the missing dog.
Camille walked between Cindi and me, her voice laced with concern and her face resolute. I knew she held back the tears for the sake of the teens who had so generously offered to help with the search.
The morning fog had evaporated, leaving a coating of dew on the grassy paths. Tall maples, beech, and black walnut trees rustled overhead, their leaves partially transformed from brilliant green to vermillion and gold. The sun heightened the vibrant colors, dancing through the leaves that glowed as if lit from within. If circumstances had been different, it would have been a perfect fall day.
We reached the edge of the woods and came upon a recently harvested field. Tractor tire tracks wove uniformly up and down the field from east to west. Although the harvesting process had been mechanical and nearly automatic, they'd missed some of the crop. Twenty feet from the edge of the woods, a broad patch of beets stood defiantly in the morning sunshine, their tops glistening with dew.
Seven deer raised their heads from the middle of the field, feasting on a banquet of beets that had fallen from one of the trucks. They froze, watched us for several seconds, and cantered toward the woods.
A pair of mourning doves lamented from the branches overhead.
Cindi looked up, and then scuttled closer to Camille, looking nervously toward the treetop. “What's that sound?”
Camille pointed to the birds perched on a stout branch, smiling at Cindi. “Not to worry, dear. It's just sweet little birds singing sad songs.”
“I thought it was ghosts.” Cindi heaved a sigh of relief. “But why are they sad? Do they know Boris is missing?”
Our teenage companions smiled indulgently as Camille explained that the birds always sang this poignant refrain. I was pleased to note their tolerant, amused, and affectionate reaction to Cindi's childlike comments. It boded well for them as adults, and shored up my faith in their generation. In spite of too much television, too little time with family, and the soul-deadening influence of the current pop culture, a sign of genuine decency shimmered in the eyes of our young allies.
We decided to stop for a break and found damp seats on a stone wall in the sun dappled woods. I broke out a pack of orange cream Lifesavers and passed them down the line. A quiet sense of camaraderie descended upon us.
A black walnut fell from the tree above, bouncing near my feet. I picked it up and rubbed my fingers over the green shell. The grainy texture felt like fine grit sandpaper and the citrus aroma whisked me back to my childhood. I knew the sharp, fresh scent would linger on my fingers until bedtime. I remembered pelting the nuts across the fields with Siegfried and Elsbeth when we were kids. I raised the shell to my face and inhaled again, remembering the feeling of running over bumpy nuts nestled in the grassy spreads beneath the trees. It had been like running over a field of small baseballs. I sighed and sat back in the sun, marveling at the brain’s complexity, marveling that one simple scent could summon long-buried memories.
Nelson sat on the other side of Camille. He turned to her with a hopeful expression in his eyes. “Maybe the other groups found him, Miss Coté. Or maybe one of your neighbors picked him up.”
<
br /> Camille forced a smile. “I suppose.”
“Did he have his tags on?”
“He did.”
He tentatively slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Well, then, that's good. If someone found him they can call the dog officer and they'll look up your name. Maybe there will be a message on your machine when you get home.”
I was touched by Nelson's concern for Camille. She smiled tremulously. Patting his arm, she whispered a teary thank-you, and then walked to the edge of the field and stopped with her back to us. Shading her eyes against the strong morning sun, she gazed across the field, searching among the hillocks of soil for her missing companion.
A vast field of sunflowers flanked the harvested beet field to the east. Heavy heads nodded in the breeze, their yellow petals swelling in a saffron sea. The field stretched across gently sloping hillside for hundreds of acres.
Takeema rose from her perch beside Candy and Lisa. “Should we look in there? He might have gotten lost in all those flowers.”
I stood and stretched. “Good idea, Takeema. We can each take a row and spread out until we cover the whole field. Then we can meet up at the far end and head back south.”
With a renewed sense of energy, the group prepared for the next phase of the hunt.
Chapter Thirty-five
C amille brushed tears from her eyes and joined the group again. We spread out, covering the entire length of the field. The rows were clearly marked, so if each of us walked straight along to the other side, no one should get disoriented.
I took the leftmost position. Camille, Cindi, Nelson, Molly, Candy, Takeema, and Randy took their places, each separated by twenty rows. I tossed an encouraging smile at Camille just before we disappeared into the yellow ocean of flowers. Striding along on my own path with renewed vigor, I could hear the others, but could see only sunflower stalks and bobbing flower heads.
The narrow trail running between each row of plants was about the width of a large tractor tire. I turned my upper body sideways to make my way through without damaging the flowers. The dinner plate-sized flower heads bowed and swayed in the light breeze. Several bent across my path. I lifted them out of the way and moved forward. Fine bristles covered the thick stems and prickled my hands.
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