by Traci DePree
“Me either.” Kate took a sip of the cold drink. “Don’t you think that’s odd?”
Paul shrugged. “We saw her for what, a few hours a week at the most?”
He made a good point, but Kate still couldn’t get over the shock.
“Judy seemed very...at home, didn’t she?” Kate observed.
“She did.” Paul met her gaze. “What do you make of it?”
Kate shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’d be interested to know what the relationship is.”
“She said she and Sonja were friends from way back,” Paul reminded her.
“True.” Kate nodded, realizing that she was likely making more of a few glances than was warranted.
They sat in silence for a while, finishing their beverages, each lost in thought. Kate imagined Sonja wandering the woods, confused and alone. And cold. Along with that image, she continued to pray that Sonja would be safe and warm...and would come home soon.
The idea that the forty-something woman had Alzheimer’s still bothered Kate, so she pulled her laptop from its carrying case and set it up on the dining table.
Paul got up and took the glasses to the sink to wash them. “What are you doing?”
“Just looking something up,” she said.
Paul nodded, then stretched and kissed Kate on the top of her head before heading for the bedroom.
When the computer was fully booted, she typed in the words Alzheimer’s and symptoms and waited for her slow dial-up connection to collect the appropriate links. After a few minutes, up popped the first page of sites. She clicked on one and began to read.
1. Memory loss
2. Difficulty performing familiar tasks
3. Problems with language
4. Disorientation
5. Decreased judgment
6. Inability to think abstractly
7. Misplacing things
8. Mood swings
9. Personality shifts
10. Lethargy
Based on what the Weavers had said that evening, several of these symptoms fit Sonja Weaver. But was the Alzheimer’s so bad that she’d never find her way home? Where could she be?
WITH ALL THAT HAD GONE ON with the Weavers the night before, Kate hadn’t yet had a chance to call Caitlin Evans about the arts festival. She’d been up much of the night thinking of Sonja Weaver and praying for her safe return.
Paul had gotten up early and left for a Saturday-morning breakfast with several of the other pastors in Copper Mill. Kate finished her morning devotions and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, then called Caitlin, but no one answered. Since she had errands to run anyway, Kate decided to pop by the Evans’ a bit later and try to catch the young mother at home. Caitlin’s husband, Bobby, was the pastor at the Baptist church, a young, sincere man who seemed deeply committed to his congregation and his family, and Caitlin was a children’s book illustrator who’d gained local acclaim for her whimsical books filled with brightly painted pictures.
Kate didn’t know her well, but she hoped Caitlin would consider joining in the arts festival and perhaps sell a few of her original works.
AS KATE DROVE TO the Evans’ a little while later, she breathed another prayer for the Weaver family. A few minutes later, she pulled in front of a small, well-kept home and made her way up the stone walkway to the screened porch. Kate could hear children’s voices when she knocked on the front door.
There was no answer, though Caitlin’s patient yet stern voice floated through an open window alongside the door.
“Riley,” Caitlin said. “You are not allowed to call your brother those sorts of names. You need to stop saying mean words.”
“But he’s a baby and poops in his pants!” a child’s voice answered defiantly.
“No, you’re being mean, and we don’t act that way in this house.” Her voice neared the front door. Kate could hear Caitlin say something to her children before the knob turned.
When the young woman opened the door, her eyes traveled to the open window, and her pretty face flamed red. “Did you hear all that?” Caitlin asked as she tucked her long brown hair behind one ear.
Kate smiled and said, “I raised three kids of my own, and I recall saying words to that effect many times when they were growing up.”
“Sometimes the things that come out of Riley’s mouth...” She shook her head. “I’m just glad you aren’t someone from our church!”
“Aren’t pastors’ kids known for being naughtier?” Kate teased.
“Don’t tell me that!” Caitlin laughed good-naturedly and glanced at the clipboard in Kate’s hands. “Are you selling something, Kate?”
“Actually,” Kate began, “the chamber of commerce has asked me to help them find artists to sell their pieces at the arts festival, and your name came up.”
Caitlin seemed stunned at the comment. “My name? Why?”
“Because of your children’s book illustrations, of course. We were thinking that maybe you could sell some of your artwork.”
The woman began to smile, but then her gaze traveled to her boys in the living room behind her. They were tugging on both ends of a fire engine. Wade, the younger of the two, started crying when Riley won the tug-of-war and took off for the stairs with his prize.
“Boys!” Caitlin sighed, then motioned for Kate to come inside.
“Please excuse the mess,” the young mother apologized. “Seems I can’t keep up now that I’m outnumbered.”
The house was quite messy, though Kate could see through the melee that there was a cute home lurking underneath the toys that were strewn about.
“Is Bobby at the pastors’ breakfast?” Kate asked, noting that he didn’t seem to be home.
Caitlin shook her head. “Oh, I doubt Bobby went. He mentioned something about a visitation in Pine Ridge today.”
Two-year-old Wade was still sobbing about his lost fire engine until Caitlin swooped him up in her arms. He was an adorable child with round cheeks and big brown eyes like his mother. Caitlin kissed his tears, then whispered something into his ear. A gap-toothed grin filled his face, and she set him back down to play with a stack of blocks that was already leaning like the Tower of Pisa.
Caitlin led Kate to a small dining table in view of the living room. Paperwork was stacked on every inch of its surface, and Caitlin quickly cleared two spots for them to sit down.
“About the festival...I don’t have paintings just lying around,” Caitlin admitted. “The publisher owns the rights for the illustrations I do for books, so I’d need to create original stuff just for the show.”
“Would you be willing to do that?” Kate asked.
Caitlin paused to consider. “I would love to do something like that, but...” Her tone was hesitant, and she shook her head. “With the kids and my deadlines for my contracts, I don’t know how I’d manage getting any paintings done. What are the dates?”
Kate showed her the sign-up sheet that bore the date of the event that was three weeks away. “You could share a table with me,” Kate offered. “I’m selling some of my stained glass, but I’d be happy to make room for a few paintings. That way you wouldn’t need to come up with a whole booth’s worth.”
“Can I think about it?” Caitlin said as she glanced at Riley, who had returned from upstairs and was climbing over the side of his brother’s playpen to get inside. “Riley, get down!” she said.
Kate could sense that the younger woman wanted desperately to say yes to the request, but the demands of life were holding her back.
Kate understood. She’d once been a young mother herself.
THE COUNTRY DINER WAS PACKED with chatting customers when Paul stopped in for breakfast with some of the local pastors.
It was a regular event, the pastors gathering at the popular eatery to share the goings-on in their churches as well as support one another in their ministries, which had their ups and downs.
Pete MacKenzie, the Presbyterian pastor, was already seated in a booth with Father Lucas Gregory,
the Episcopalian rector. Bobby Evans was the only one missing. The two ministers waved Paul over, and he scooted in next to Lucas.
“Good morning,” Paul said as he reached for the menu, though as often as he ate there, he practically had the thing memorized.
“How was your Easter?” Pete asked as he took a sip of his steaming coffee.
“It was a good one,” Paul said, trying to think back to a mere week before. With all that had happened at the Weavers’ the night before, the celebration of Christ’s resurrection seemed a long time ago. “How about you?”
Before Pete could answer, LuAnne Matthews arrived at their table with a coffeepot in hand. The heavy-set woman turned the cup in front of Paul upright and began to pour without bothering to ask if he wanted any coffee.
“How did you know, LuAnne?” Paul teased.
“After a few dozen times, a girl catches on,” she said with a wink. Then she set the pot on the table and pulled out a pad and pen from the pocket of the polyester apron she wore. “These two already ordered. What looks good to you today, Paul?”
Paul was famished after his morning run. He could feel his stomach rumble in response to the mention of food. “Let’s go with the Everything Omelet. What does that come with?”
“Everything,” she said.
Paul laughed, as did the other two. LuAnne smiled and scooted off to place the order.
“Where’s Bobby?” Paul asked, noticing that the Baptist pastor was missing. Paul glanced toward the door to see if Bobby might be walking in just then.
“I called him earlier,” Lucas said. “Says he has too much going on to make it today.”
Paul groaned. “It’s a Saturday!”
“Maybe he didn’t finish his sermon.” Pete shrugged and winked at them. “I think we’ve all been there.”
Paul nodded. “But he hasn’t made it the last four times we’ve gotten together.”
“Who’s keeping track?” Lucas grinned. “I do think he’s lost a bit of weight though,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Have you seen him lately?”
The comment gave Paul pause. Bobby was already a slender man; he didn’t have extra pounds to lose.
“How much weight?” Paul asked, feeling worried for the man.
“Enough to notice. It could be nothing.” Lucas patted his own belly as if he were Santa Claus. “There are plenty of folks who could stand to lose a few.”
“I’m not going to touch that comment!” LuAnne teased when she returned with the man’s breakfast.
“You sure are full of vinegar today,” Pete retorted jokingly to the waitress.
She winked and set his plate down as she said, “I get that all the time.”
The front door opened, and two men in orange search-and-rescue vests made their way to the counter. LuAnne’s face sobered, and she said, “Did you hear that the search-and-rescue team is asking for volunteers to help look for Sonja Weaver?”
“No, I hadn’t heard,” Paul said, reaching for his cell phone as he remembered that he’d turned the ringer off during his run. There were two missed calls—one from Kate, the other from Brad Weaver.
Paul excused himself from the table, called his voice mail, and listened as Kate told him essentially what LuAnne had just relayed. The message finished with, “They said to meet at Lookout Point at nine o’clock.”
Paul glanced at his watch, relieved that he wasn’t too late to go and help out. He walked back to the table.
“What happened?” Pete said, his brows furrowing in concern.
Paul told them about Sonja’s disappearance, as well as her diagnosis of Alzheimer’s.
“Oh, man. That’s awful! I’ll help with searching,” Pete offered.
Lucas added, his expression serious, “I’m on board too.”
“Thanks,” Paul said. “I’ll call Kate to let her know we’ll be there.”
KATE WAS IMPRESSED at the support the citizens of Copper Mill showed that morning. Dozens of volunteers, brought by word of mouth and neighborly concern, gathered at Lookout Point to help search and rescue look for Sonja Weaver.
“We don’t know these people,” Kate heard Becky whisper to Judy Connelly, who was standing next to Kate.
Judy placed a hand on the girl’s back as the man in charge of search and rescue called everyone to gather around so he could give instructions. Kate assumed that Brian had stayed home in case Sonja returned.
“They don’t have to know you to care,” Judy said as her eyes met Kate’s.
Kate waved to Danny and Livvy, who had brought their teenage sons James and Justin along with a contingent of the high school’s football players.
Paul, Pete and Lucas joined them. Kate noted that Paul had changed into hiking boots.
“We’re concentrating our search south of Lookout Point,” the search-and-rescue coordinator spoke into his megaphone, “along the creek where we found Mrs. Weaver’s Bible.”
Kate wondered if there was another contingent searching where she’d heard the shout, but she knew that without concrete evidence, it could be a waste of time and manpower. At least here they had Sonja’s Bible and her car as starting points.
“I want you to spread out ten to twenty feet apart as we sweep the area. Steer clear of the creek; it’s still flowing pretty hard.”
Kate could see the search-and-rescue boat puttering in the swollen creek at the bottom of the hill.
When the search coordinator had finished, he turned the megaphone over to Sheriff Roberts, who essentially repeated the instructions in his authoritative tone.
Finally, Brad Weaver, who was at the sheriff’s side, took the megaphone in hand. He looked frazzled, as if he hadn’t had a wink of sleep the night before. The dark circles ringing his eyes looked more pronounced today. He motioned for Paul to come forward.
“I’d like Paul Hanlon to pray for success for us today,” he said. “And for Sonja.” He held out the megaphone, and Paul moved to the front of the crowd.
“Father in heaven,” Paul began when those assembled had bowed their heads, “grant us eyes and ears to find Sonja. Guide us to where she is.”
After a moment, Paul ended the prayer, and the searchers lifted their heads, a new dose of hope evident.
But by five o’clock, their strength was depleted, and their hope had turned to despair.
Kate was exhausted from combating the twigs and uneven ground in the woods and ravines all day. Her feet hurt, and her arthritic knee was throbbing. Paul didn’t look much better.
The team had found what they suspected were the footprints of Sonja and her dog heading up the trail along the creek. Kate pointed them out, but when she saw the dog’s prints turn back south, and finally found a leash tangled in a tree that spanned the rushing waters, her heart plummeted. Attached to it was a bracelet, which Brad identified as Sonja’s after search and rescue fished it out of the water.
Kate and Paul moved along the shore, and when she turned her head to look downstream, she spotted a heap of white like a discarded blanket clinging to a sandy spot.
“What’s that?” Kate pointed.
Skip went to investigate.
Something inside Kate told her to stay back, that she didn’t want to see whatever it was. She glanced at Becky, who was tucking her brown hair back into its ponytail. The girl chewed her lower lip and held tight to Judy’s hand.
When the deputy returned, his face was ashen.
“It’s the dog,” he whispered to Brad and the sheriff, who were waiting on the other side of Kate and Paul.
Becky started crying immediately, and Brad took off down the slope toward the animal. Kate saw him squat down to examine the white shape. Two other men were right behind him, placing hands of comfort on his shaking back.
“What does this mean?” Judy said, her face filled with horror.
The sheriff lifted his hat and scratched his head. His lips were pressed in a thin line, and he turned his head, not answering Judy.
Brad returned whi
le the authorities examined the dog.
“Do you think Sonja drowned?” Brad’s voice rose in volume, panic edging his words as he turned to the sheriff. “Do you?”
Judy placed a hand on his arm, and after exchanging a long glance with her, he made a visible effort to calm himself.
Finally the sheriff spoke. “With the dog and Sonja’s bracelet”—he sighed—“it’s looking more and more likely that we won’t find her alive.”
Chapter Seven
When they got home, Paul pulled off his hiking boots and sank onto the couch, closing his eyes. “I could sleep right here.”
“No kidding,” Kate said as she sat in one of the overstuffed tan chairs. “I’d so hoped we’d find her today.”
She slipped off her shoes and socks to rub her feet. The pain ebbed ever so slightly. She sighed, realizing she still needed to get supper going. “Are sandwiches okay tonight?”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Paul said, lifting an eyebrow and reaching for the phone that lay on the coffee table. Kate gave him a questioning look. “Tony’s Pizza,” he mouthed, then placed an order for delivery.
“Perfect,” Kate said, putting her feet up. She dozed instantly, only to be awakened by the ringing of the doorbell. She started, realizing that she’d been dreaming that Sonja was in a house with no doors, looking for a way out. What could that mean? That Sonja was locked up somewhere, and she couldn’t get out?
Kate shuddered.
BY THE NEXT MORNING, there was still no word on Sonja. Brad came to church with Becky and Brian, each wearing brave expressions. When the service let out, the congregation converged on the family like doting aunts on a sick child.
Kate watched as Brad patiently answered one question after another. “Yes, the police are still looking.” “No, there’s no word on Sonja.” “Yes, we’re managing fine...”
ON MONDAY, KATE MADE a meal of chicken chow mein, which she took to the Weavers’ for supper. Judy met her at the door.
“Oh, Kate!” she said sweetly, opening the door wide. “How nice of you to come by.”
Kate was surprised to see Judy again, and she glanced past her to see if Brad or the kids were home. The scent of chocolate-chip cookies wafted down the hall from the kitchen.