Can't Find My Way Home

by Carlene Thompson

  ‘Oh,’ she said faintly, surprised. His father wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble, she thought. He’d probably ignored everything Mark had sent to him. It had seemed to her that Garrett’s father decided Jonah Wilder was the Genessa Point Killer from the day someone attacked Tessa Cavanaugh and nothing could change his mind.

  Garrett’s cell phone rang. He answered, then looked at the two women leaning forward, their eyes snapping with curiosity. He put a hand over the phone speaker. ‘Personal call. Sorry.’ Brynn and Cassie sank against the back of the couch and drank their coffee in silence. ‘I’ll be home in about twenty minutes, honey,’ Garrett said. ‘Yes. Half an hour, tops. OK. Love you.’ He tucked away the phone and said, ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ Brynn thought about a wife and probably children waiting dinner at home for him, a wife and children that didn’t wait for Mark, Mark who lived a solitary life and probably subsisted mostly on TV dinners and fast food.

  ‘I know Mark was obsessed with proving his father wasn’t the GPK.’ Cassie looked at Brynn. ‘Sorry, but that’s what they call the Genessa Point Killer around here,’ she informed Brynn with soft regret.

  Brynn mumbled, ‘Oh,’ Cassie’s gentleness almost making her smile for the first time in hours. The murderer had been referred to as the GPK even eighteen years ago.

  Cassie turned her gaze back to Garrett and went on emphatically: ‘But I think you’re wasting time talking about the past murders. This is about Mark and GPK wouldn’t go after him. After all, there haven’t been any more murders for eighteen years and GPK killed kids. Mark is thirty-four.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Garrett said. ‘Unlikely, but possible, that Mark could be another victim of the same person. Maybe the Genessa Point Killer has been inactive because he moved and got away with more crimes matching GPK’s when everyone blamed Jonah. Or he’s been in prison for something else, served his sentence and came back to Genessa Point. In either case, Mark came here and found out something he thought was crucial. That’s what he told you, right, Cassie?’

  ‘He said he’d found out something about his father’s death.’

  ‘And you think he’d found the killer.’

  ‘Well … yes. He didn’t say that, but he sounded upset, or like he was trying to hide that he was upset or—’

  ‘OK.’ Garrett’s blue gaze flashed to Brynn. ‘And you also think he’d found the killer?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t think anything yet. I need more evidence.’

  Brynn felt like grinding her teeth in frustration, but tried to act composed and, most of all, credible. ‘There’s something you don’t know, Garrett,’ she said. ‘Last night, around midnight, someone called me. The caller ID said unknown caller. I usually don’t pick up anonymous calls, but I thought maybe it was Mark so I did. Music began playing. “Can’t Find My Way Home” by Blind Faith. Mark loved that song. He listened to it over and over, he played it on his guitar and sang. It was his song. At the end of the song on the phone, someone sighed. Then they hung up.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me that last night!’ Cassie exclaimed.

  ‘You were already upset. I didn’t want you to lie awake all night like I did.’ She looked at Garrett. ‘Anyway, Mark wouldn’t have made a call like that to me. Someone else did – someone who knew it had meaning for Mark, especially way back when we lived here. I’m sure the call came from the person who took Mark.’

  Garrett leaned forward, his piercing eyes fixed on Brynn’s. ‘Did you hear anything else during the phone call? Any background noises?’

  ‘I’ve thought about that a lot. I only heard the song. Then the sigh.’

  ‘Is the sigh part of the song?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Absolutely. The caller sighed, and no, I couldn’t tell if it was male or female.’ Brynn felt a chill tingle through her. ‘Only that it was long and … dramatic. Haunting.’

  ‘I’ve heard the song but not for a long time. I can get a video of it on the internet. I’ll listen to it tonight,’ Garrett said in a businesslike tone, scribbling in his notebook. ‘Who around here would know it was Mark’s favorite song?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Brynn thought. ‘Mark had a lot of friends. You, for instance.’

  Garrett stiffened and looked up at her. ‘Like I said before, we used to be friends. Then when he was sixteen, a few months before your dad’s death—’

  Brynn lifted her eyebrows.

  ‘Well, it was just teenage boy stuff.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Nothing important. Go on with who could have known Mark’s favorite song.’

  Brynn could sense that further questions wouldn’t get her any more information about the end of Mark’s and Garrett’s friendship. ‘Well, any of his friends. They could have told their friends or families. Mom gave piano lessons at our house. Some of her students probably heard Mark playing the song in his room before Mom made him turn it off. Those students could have told other people.’ Brynn’s voice fell. ‘My God, I hadn’t thought of all the possibilities.’

  ‘Don’t get depressed,’ Garrett told her. ‘The calls you got are what’s important, especially if Mark’s been taken.’

  ‘If he’s been taken?’

  ‘I have to consider all possibilities, Brynn. I can’t assume he was kidnapped and is being held for some reason.’

  ‘You know he was kidnapped but it wasn’t for ransom! We would have gotten a ransom demand by now,’ Brynn said sharply.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Maybe, nothing!’ Brynn fixed Garrett with a hard stare. ‘How much blood is in Mark’s car?’

  Garrett looked taken aback for a moment. Then he regrouped and answered in a business-like voice. ‘The seats are vinyl. There was a wide streak along the back of the front seat, blood smears all over the back seat, and a patch about four inches in diameter on the back-seat carpet. It was still damp. We don’t know how much blood there is altogether because we just found the car about an hour ago.’

  ‘You’re assuming it’s all Mark’s blood,’ Brynn said.

  Garrett gazed at her steadily. ‘No. I’m not.’ He paused. ‘Maybe none of it is Mark’s blood.’

  His meaning was clear and anger again washed over Brynn. ‘You mean maybe it’s the blood of someone Mark took?’

  Garrett remained silent.

  ‘That’s crazy.’

  ‘I said I have to consider all the possibilities.’

  ‘That’s not a possibility,’ Brynn snapped and rushed on. ‘But maybe Mark wounded whoever attacked and took him. His blood type is O positive. Is all the blood in the car O positive?’

  ‘As I said, we only found the car an hour ago. We haven’t had time to collect all the blood, much less test it. But you may be right and not all the blood is from one person.’

  You’re not convinced, Brynn thought. You’re seriously considering the possibility that the blood might belong to someone Mark kidnapped. You think Mark might have taken someone and killed them because the Genessa Point Killer really was a team – Jonah Wilder and his homicidal son, Mark.

  Brynn stared at Garrett. Until today, she hadn’t seen him since he was seventeen. In twelve-year-old Brynn’s opinion, he’d been the handsomest of Mark’s friends. He’d been polite to everyone, but he’d always seemed reserved, private without being furtive, confident but not cocky, more mature than Mark’s other friends. And there had been something about his eyes – not just their striking azure color, but a perceptiveness and sensitivity she’d never seen in anyone else’s gaze. When he’d looked at her, she’d felt as if he could read her mind and she could almost read his. It hadn’t made sense to her at the time. When she was older and remembered Garrett, she attributed it to a romantic, adolescent fantasy, yet Brynn never forgot the feeling of having a bond with Garrett that went deeper than a crush, a bond she’d never mentioned to anyone, even Cassie.

  Disturbingly, she still
felt a link between her and Garrett. Somehow she could see through the careful inscrutability he tried to maintain and what she saw now was doubt. For a moment, Brynn and Garrett stared at each other just as they had when they’d first sat down. Then Brynn straightened her shoulders and said in a strong, definite voice, ‘Garrett, neither my father nor my brother was the Genessa Point Killer. That man was never caught. He’s still out there and I think he has Mark. I have a feeling you think so, too.’

  Garrett’s gaze didn’t waver as he took a deep breath. ‘I told you earlier that I depend on evidence, not feelings,’ he said firmly. ‘Mark is your brother and you love him. You can’t see beyond your emotions, Brynn. That’s why you have to rely on me. You have to believe that I will go where the evidence takes me, no matter how my father felt about Mark, no matter how I feel about Mark.’ He paused, his voice deepening. ‘You also have to believe that I will not stop until I find Mark, dead or alive.’

  Brynn’s cell phone rang. She answered immediately, to hear ‘Can’t Find My Way Home.’ She stood up and frantically motioned to Garrett, who rushed across the room, holding his head close to Brynn’s. When her slightly extended arm began to tremble, he put a steadying hand over hers. Finally, the song ended. After a moment, a distorted voice asked, ‘Have a nice flight, Brynn? So glad you finally decided to come looking for your brother. He’s thrilled that you’re here. Too bad the two of you can’t say hello, but you’ll have another chance … maybe. Got to go now. ’Bye, pretty girl.’ After a beat of silence, the voice added, ‘’Bye to you too, Sheriff Dane.’

  FOUR

  Brynn ran down the stairs to the first floor of Cassie’s house. For the first time in over a week, she’d awakened feeling rested thanks to the sleeping pill Cassie had forced her to take around nine o’clock last night. The pill had not lessened her anxiety about the anonymous phone call, though, and she couldn’t wait to learn what Garrett had found out about it. She’d hoped to catch Cassie before she went to Love’s Dress Shoppe but on a small antique table near the foot of the stairway, Brynn found a note:

  Good morning, Sleeping Beauty! I checked on you before I left, and you were out cold. I’m so glad you slept well. Wish I could spend the day with you, but I have a big shipment coming into the store today. I left the keys to the car on the kitchen table. If anything comes up, call me immediately! C

  In the kitchen, Brynn found not only the keys to the car, but a foil bag of Costa Rica coffee, a fresh loaf of bread from the bakery and a jar of seedless blackberry jam. Brynn smiled. Cassie had remembered her favorite breakfast. Within five minutes, while the kitchen filled with the smell of fresh coffee, Brynn downed her first slice of jam-laden toast while planning her day.

  After eating, she dressed in dark skinny jeans and a bright turquoise and green chiffon blouson top with long, pleated bell sleeves. She added her opal and gold dragonfly pendant and the matching, dangling earrings. She’d been fascinated by dragonflies since she was a little girl and believed they brought her good luck. ‘And I need all the luck I can get,’ she told herself, fastening an earring. She studied her image in the mirror. I look happy, cheerful, and optimistic, she thought, which shows how deceptive appearances can be.

  Twenty minutes later, she climbed into the dark blue coupé that Cassie had loaned her for the visit to Genessa Point. Eight months earlier, Ray’s frequent absences from home had extended from days to weeks; when he was in Genessa Point he spent most evenings in bars drinking hard, taking drugs, and Cassie had gotten proof of adultery. She’d divorced him and had seemed happier ever since.

  Brynn pulled out of the garage, rolled down the windows and paused a moment to appreciate the warm, sunny morning before leaving. What a beautiful day, she thought. But she had no time to enjoy it. She had to get somewhere quickly: police headquarters.

  She had been there after her father’s death, but she thought she remembered little about the interior until she walked in now and saw how much it’d changed. In the last eighteen years, the building had been refurbished. The once-yellowed white walls now shone dove gray and white solar shades hung at the windows. Gleaming oak-toned vinyl covered the floor, and waist-high faux wood partitions placed throughout the main office gave deputies privacy for their desks. Several lush plants sat in sunny spots.

  To a casual glance, the room looked entirely different than it had eighteen years ago. Some new paint and window treatments didn’t change the atmosphere for Brynn, though. She remembered the old room as vividly as if she’d seen it yesterday. She also remembered walking in as she clung to her mother’s cold, shaking hand and cringed under the hard stares of the deputies. Back then, she’d wished she could disappear.

  Brynn straightened her back, reminding herself she was not that twelve-year-old girl anymore, and approached a middle-aged, craggy-faced woman sitting behind a counter. She gave her name and noticed the woman’s face twitch slightly when she heard, ‘Wilder.’ In a deep, grainy voice, she told Brynn the sheriff was busy and she’d have to wait a few minutes. Brynn took a seat as the woman picked up a phone but, almost immediately, Garrett walked down the hall, talking loudly. He glanced into the main office and stopped along with his companion – a young girl holding onto the leash of a very large, beautiful reddish golden dog.

  Brynn stood up. ‘Good morning, Sheriff Dane,’ she said, aware that the activity of two officers at the coffee machine came to a standstill as they listened. ‘I know it’s early, but I stopped by to see if you’ve found anything new about …’ Brynn glanced at the girl. ‘If you’ve found out anything new.’

  ‘I’ll speak with you in my office,’ Garrett said expressionlessly.

  The girl was a different matter. ‘You’re Brynn Wilder, aren’t you?’ she asked excitedly.

  Garrett frowned. ‘Savannah!’

  ‘Well, she is,’ Savannah insisted. ‘I know it. I’ve seen her picture on her books and I saw her on TV doing an interview.’

  Brynn finally took a good look at the slender, adolescent girl with long, slightly curly blonde hair and laser-blue eyes like Garrett’s. A wisp of pale pink gloss covered her heart-shaped lips.

  ‘This is my daughter, Savannah, who’s obviously a fan,’ Garrett said in a slightly apologetic tone.

  ‘And this is Henry,’ Savannah added, motioning to the dog who cocked his head at Brynn, as if curious. ‘He’s half Irish Setter, half yellow Labrador. He’s a fan, too.’

  ‘Hello, Savannah. Hello, Henry.’ The dog sat down and raised a paw. Brynn smiled, stooped and shook his big paw. ‘What a gentleman.’

  ‘I really love your books, Miss Wilder,’ Savannah gushed. ‘I’ve read all of them.’

  ‘Well, there’ve only been two,’ Brynn said, smiling.

  ‘And I’ve read them over and over. I read them to Henry. He loves them, too.’

  ‘I’m glad both of you like them.’

  ‘Oh, I do! They’re wonderful! Aren’t they making a movie out of the first one?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I wish I was in that movie! There’s a part in it that would be just perfect for me!’

  ‘Let’s see …’ Brynn pretended to think. ‘Evangelista!’

  ‘Yes!’ Savannah looked up at Garrett. ‘See, Dad, I told you!’

  ‘You’re not an actress.’

  ‘I’m going to be in the play.’ She looked at Brynn. ‘It’s called Genessa Point: The Beginning. I don’t think that’s a great title, but I play second lead—’

  ‘Savannah, Miss Wilder is here to talk to me about business,’ Garrett said repressively. ‘I thought you were going to help Mrs Elbert with her hot dog stand.’

  ‘Oh, the hot dog stand,’ Savannah said in a beleaguered tone. ‘It’s nine-thirty in the morning, Dad. No one’s buying hot dogs.’

  ‘Still, you promised to help her.’

  ‘When you dumped me off with Mrs Elbert and drove away like something was chasing you, she told me she didn’t need my help until three this afternoon. I had to walk all
the way here to tell you.’

  ‘And you have told me. Four times. You can start helping her at three.’

  ‘What do you want me to do until then?’

  ‘Go home.’

  ‘Don’t you remember? Mrs Miller’s taking two weeks off because her daughter’s having a baby and you said you didn’t want me at home alone.’

  Because of what’s happened to Mark, Brynn thought. He’s flashing back to the old days of the Genessa Point Killer when parents didn’t want their adolescents unsupervised. But where is Savannah’s mother? Maybe she has a job, like mine did.

  ‘Just sit in the waiting room for a while,’ Garrett told Savannah. ‘We’ll decide what to do with you after I talk to Miss Wilder.’

  Savannah flashed another look at Brynn, who saw disappointment in her beautiful blue eyes. ‘Oh, OK,’ she said mournfully. ‘But I want a cup of coffee and Henry wants a doughnut.’

  ‘Fine, only make it decaf coffee for you and one doughnut for Henry. Now be a good little girl.’

  Savannah closed her eyes, her face turning bright pink. ‘Oh, Daaaad,’ she moaned.

  ‘What did I say wrong now?’ Garrett asked Brynn as they walked down the hall and Savannah slumped into the main office, Henry trotting jauntily beside her as if he already smelled doughnuts.

  ‘“Be a good little girl?” Really, Garrett? How old is she?’

  ‘Just thirteen.’

  ‘Thirteen is nearly an adult in her mind. You insulted her in front of about a dozen people.’

  Garrett sighed. ‘Raising a teenager is hell.’

  ‘I believe that’s the general consensus. I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘But I wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world,’ he added quickly.