by B. J Daniels
But there was no brown van in the parking lot at Bud’s. Instead, the only vehicle key on Gary’s ring went with a small, older-model two-wheel-drive pickup. Harp had also searched the man’s house and found no sign of Maggie.
But what he had found was meth in one of the drawers in the bedroom that he knew he could use as leverage.
“Maggie didn’t tell us anything. She’s missing.”
That got the man’s attention. “Missing?”
“If you know anything about what happened to her—or about the meth I found in your bedroom...”
Gary groaned. “Okay, I saw her that day at the cowboy’s house. I surprised her. The house was open, okay? I didn’t break in. She wasn’t happy to see me. We argued. I might have pushed her.”
“And she might have fallen and smacked her head on the edge of the bookcase?”
“Look, when I left she was fine. She was pissed and threatening to call the cops if she ever saw me again, but that was it.”
“What did you do then?” Harp asked.
“I told her I was done. Move in with her cowboy. I didn’t care. And I left.”
“That was the last you saw her?”
“Yeah, I wanted her back. I love her, all right? I thought maybe we deserved a second chance... I’ve changed.”
Harp doubted that, but he said nothing.
“She made it perfectly clear that she’s moved on. So that was that. I told her that the cowboy can have her. Now she’s missing? I swear I know nothing about that. She was fine other than a little blood on her temple, but otherwise was fine when I left.”
Harp got the feeling that he was telling the truth. “Did you see anyone as you were leaving?”
Gary shook his head.
“You didn’t notice another vehicle parked nearby?”
He started to shake his head again, but stopped. “I saw an old brown van parked in the trees behind the house. If anyone was driving it, I didn’t see them.”
* * *
FRANK TURNED ONTO the road to the Roberts North Dakota farm, feeling as curious as Nettie was about meeting Jenna’s parents. In the afternoon light, the place sat on a wind-scoured plot devoid of trees or even snow. Old farm equipment rusted in a nearby field and a windmill clanged as it turned slowly in the breeze. He and Nettie climbed out.
There were no Christmas lights or decorations to be seen. If not for the faded curtains at the windows and the pickup parked out front, he would have thought the farm abandoned.
“This place gives me the creeps,” she said as they started toward the porch steps.
“You can stop right there!” a strident female voice announced. “Whatever you’re selling, we aren’t interested.”
Frank looked up to see a thin, weathered elderly woman in a faded housedress standing on the porch, holding a shotgun. He stopped walking and so did Nettie. The woman looked as if she knew how to use the firearm.
“Mrs. Edith Roberts?” Nettie asked.
“Like I said—”
“We’re here about Jenna.”
The shotgun wavered in her skinny arms for a moment. “Don’t know anyone by that name.” Her voice broke, though, as she said it.
“We’re afraid your daughter is in trouble,” Nettie persisted. “We’re hoping you can help us find her.”
“That doesn’t come as much of a surprise. You the law?”
“Private investigators,” Frank said.
The woman licked her thin lips. “Like I said—”
“We know Jenna is your daughter. We also know that she gave birth to a baby thirty-three years ago,” Frank said. “We’re afraid that the father of that baby now has Jenna and plans to hurt her.”
“Clark Terwilliger?” Edith Roberts said the name like a curse, lowering the shotgun to one hand as she reached for the porch pillar with her free hand for support. Her gaze went to the horizon. “Les will be back soon. If he catches you on his property—”
“We can make this fast,” Nettie said. “Please, let us come in.”
The woman hesitated. Her brown eyes looked as washed-out as the land. “The moment we hear his tractor coming up the road...” Seemingly weak from the news, she stepped away from the pillar. The shotgun thumped against her stick-thin legs as she led the way inside.
They followed her into a living room with a worn sagging couch, two threadbare recliners and an ancient television. There were religious sayings on the walls and pictures of Jesus.
“We need to know what happened to your grandchild,” Nettie said.
“I don’t have a grandchild,” Edith snapped as she stood the shotgun by the door and motioned for them to sit down. She stayed standing by the wall, her arms crossed over her flat chest. Frank could see that the woman had her ears nervously peeled for the sound of the tractor. He wondered what would happen if Les Roberts found them there asking about Jenna.
“What happened to the child that Jenna gave birth to?” Frank asked.
“It died.”
“I don’t think so and neither does Clark Terwilliger. We heard he’s been looking for the baby.”
“I wouldn’t know nothin’ about that. A midwife took care of it.”
“Here at the house?” Nettie asked.
Edith shook her head. “Over at my sister’s in Turtle Lake. I didn’t want to know. I just wanted it done. God’s will that it died. Jenna came home and we put it behind us best we could.”
Frank doubted Les Roberts had put it behind him, especially given what Dana had told them about Jenna’s parents. “How long before Jenna left here after that?”
The woman seemed upset by the question and maybe a little guilty. “Run off at sixteen.”
“Have you seen her since?”
Edith looked away for a moment. “Called once a few months later. Needed money. Les...”
“You didn’t send her money,” Nettie said. “Did she say where she was calling from?”
“Didn’t ask. That’s the last we heard from her.”
“Then you didn’t know she’d gotten married to a farmer in Montana?”
Edith looked almost pleased to hear that, but then said, “You say she’s in trouble now, though.”
“The father of the baby, Clark Terwilliger, is apparently after her and might have already found her.”
The woman shuddered at the name as if it was one not spoken under this roof. “Don’t know how I can help. Like I said—”
“Why would Clark think the baby survived?” Frank demanded.
“How would I know what a man like that thinks?”
“Mrs. Roberts,” Nettie said. “If the child survived—”
She shook her head. “You’re wastin’ your time.”
“Let us at least talk to your sister,” Nettie pleaded. “What is her name?”
“Edna. Edna Burns, but she is goin’ to tell you the same thing I did.”
But there would be a birth certificate—and a death certificate, if she’d really died, Frank thought.
At the sound of a motor engine, he saw Edith tense. “You have to get out of here.” Fear made her rigid.
They’d been sitting on the edge of the couch and now rose quickly. “Here is my card,” Frank said. “If you think of anything else that might help us...”
She took the card and shoved it deep into the pocket of her dress as she turned and hurried to the door.
They both stepped out into the blinding light. Frank blinked. He could see a tractor coming across the flat surface of stubble field, still a good half mile away. He and Nettie hurried down the porch steps and into the SUV. He glanced at Edith standing board-straight on the porch, her face a mask of fear.
“He won’t hurt you, will he?” Nettie asked as she whirred down her window.
<
br /> “Go! Please! I’ll be fine.”
Frank started the engine and drove down the road. The tractor passed in the field next to them. From beneath bushy white brows and a dark stained baseball cap, Les Roberts glowered at them as he slowed the tractor. And then they were past him.
He glanced in the rearview mirror as the elderly man pulled up to the house and climbed off the tractor before heading toward the porch, where his wife was waiting.
“I feel like I need a shower,” Nettie said. “You think she’s all right?”
He saw her glance back. “Our staying would have made it worse. I suspect she’s had plenty of experience dealing with him.”
His wife shuddered. “I can’t imagine being that terrified of a man.”
Frank reached over and took her hand. “You would have killed him in his sleep years ago.”
She squeezed his hand, and when he glanced over at her, he saw tears in her eyes. “I hate to think there are still women who live like that. Poor Jenna, growing up in that house, let alone coming back to it after...” She looked away, wiping at her tears.
* * *
EXHAUSTED AFTER HIS meeting with the family, Flint had gone back to the ranch. He knew he needed sleep. Upstairs in his room, he lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. His mind whirled. Maggie, where are you? Was she also somewhere lying on a bed, staring up at a ceiling? He just hoped she was all right.
He thought of the ex-boyfriend. Mark would have a name soon. The Billings cops would pay him a visit. If he had Maggie... He thought of what Mariah had said. Maybe a basement. Maybe soon he would get the call that she’d been found alive and well and was on her way home. Home.
Flint thought of his house, of the two of them living there. He thought again of the Christmas tree he planned to get from the mountains. He had envisioned the two of them decorating it together, holiday music in the background, a crackling blaze in the fireplace. He could almost smell a beef roast cooking in the oven.
And then a terrible thought would hit him that Maggie was never coming back because Maggie was dead. He tried to push away the dark thoughts, but they loomed over him, following him about like a black cloud. He could feel his heart pounding. He stared out at the falling snow, wondering when it was ever going to stop.
Closing his eyes, he tried to get back the Christmas scene, but it refused to come. Determined not to let his mind go down another dark hole, he instead recalled their first kiss.
They had both been so wary about falling in love. They’d both wanted to take it slow. Or at least he had. Maggie had agreed. So they’d spent many hours getting to know each other.
Those were the most wonderful days, he thought now. They had gone on picnics and hikes. They’d swum in the creek, taken bike rides and ridden horses. They’d been like kids and he’d felt himself falling hard for her.
Their first kiss was after one of those horseback rides. They’d ridden up into the mountains after saddling up at the ranch. It had been a beautiful Montana summer day, the sky a blinding blue without a cloud to be seen. The air had smelled of fresh water and flowers and pines. Everything was green and alive.
They’d gotten off their horses to walk down to the creek’s edge. When he couldn’t stand it any longer he’d grabbed her and kissed her with a passion that neither of them had expected.
He’d wanted her right then, but the kiss had scared him. He’d had passion with Celeste—the wild, untamed type that ran like a race between love and hate. He didn’t want that again. And at the time, he’d thought that was the only kind there was.
Months later, after several attempts that were blocked by Celeste and his job, they’d finally made love. It was sweet and slow. At least at first. Then it was filled with passion and love and tenderness. He’d realized that was the way it was supposed to be.
Just thinking about that night made him ache. If he’d had any doubts about him and Maggie, they’d ended that night. He loved her and she loved him. He’d found himself wanting all the things he had yearned for when he’d married the first time: a home, children, a life filled with joy and love.
With Maggie, he really believed that they could have it all. And yet he’d dragged his feet because of Celeste, because of that disastrous marriage, because of those broken dreams.
He reached over and picked up the small velvet box with the engagement ring in it. If only he’d asked her before... He opened the box. The diamond flashed brightly as if mocking him. He closed it and put the box into the top drawer of the nightstand, fearing it might stay there forever.
Why hadn’t he asked about old boyfriends? If he had, he might have a name, and Mark would know now and have found the man. Maybe have found Maggie. If Maggie was with the man... Wasn’t that better than some stranger who wanted Maggie for some other godforsaken reason?
He closed his eyes, his head aching. As he lay there, he told himself he would never be able to get to sleep.
When his phone rang, he jerked awake.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MAGGIE HELD HER breath as what seemed like hours later, she heard footfalls. As they stopped on the other side of her door, she opened her eyes.
She fought the remaining effects of the drugs as she stared at the doorknob. It slowly turned and the door began to open. Her gaze shot up and she flinched in horror. She’d been so sure she was going to see Celeste’s face that she reared back at the sight of a man she’d never seen before.
He was big and easily filled the doorway with the kind of muscles and tattoos that shouted former prison inmate. He was strangely handsome, almost boyish, with short blond hair and big brown eyes fringed with dark lashes. He stepped into the room carrying a shopping bag. It wasn’t until he drew close that she realized he was older than she’d first thought, closer to his midfifties than forties.
“I see you’re awake,” he said, smiling at her.
“You have to let me go. You’ve made a mistake. I don’t know who you are, but I shouldn’t be here.” Her voice sounded strange even to her ears. “Please, let me go.” The words came out on a sob.
“Don’t be silly,” the man said. “This is where you live now.”
No! She thought of news stories about abducted women who’d spent years being locked up in shacks behind some crazy’s house or trapped in a basement. She looked past him and saw that he’d left the door standing open.
“Help! Help! Someone help me!” she screamed.
He moved so swiftly that she only caught his image out of the corner of her eye as he reached through the bars. She didn’t stop screaming until she felt the slap. It knocked the air out of her. She fell back, banging into the metal bed rail. Her head swam.
“I won’t hear any more of that,” he scolded. “Now you behave, young lady, or I will turn you over my knee. You have this beautiful room all to yourself. You should be more thankful. I don’t want to have to spank you, but I will if you make me.”
She stared at him, his words filling her with horror. Spank her? He was talking to her as if she was a child. His words echoed in her head, making her heart race with terror. This is where you live.
“I brought you something pretty to wear,” he said as he dug in the shopping bag. “But promise me you’ll keep your dress nice. If you do, then you can come into the kitchen and eat with us.”
Us? She again looked toward the door, remembering that she’d thought she’d heard a woman crying before. How many other people were here in this house? Was it a house, though? Was it a basement apartment? It didn’t feel like it. It felt as if someone had tried to make it look like a real house. To fool her? To fool the others? If there really were others.
“Promise?” he asked.
All she could do was nod, her cheek still stinging from where he’d hit her.
He reached through the bars with an item o
f clothing. She thought about grabbing his arm, jerking it through the bars and...and then what? Even if she broke his arm, she couldn’t see how that would get her out of the cage.
She took the clothing he handed her, all the time her mind racing. What did this man want from her? “Please let me go.” It came out almost a whimper.
“I’m warning you. Unless you want to go to bed without any dinner...” Her stomach growled in answer and he laughed. “That’s what I thought. Now get dressed. Just call when you’re ready, and if you behave like the sweet girl I know you are, then you can sit at the table.”
She could get out of this cage? It was the only way she would ever stand a chance of escaping. “I will,” she said in a small, timid voice that seemed to please him.
The moment he left she looked down at the items of clothing he’d brought her and felt a shudder move through her. The dress was something for a six-year-old but in her size and the shoes were saddle oxfords. Had anyone worn those in the past fifty years?
“Is there a problem?” he asked from the doorway, startling her.
She shook her head.
“That’s my girl.” He smiled. “Daddy doesn’t want to hurt you.”
Daddy? Maggie fought the tears that burned her eyes. She swallowed and nodded because she was too scared to speak. Too horrified.
She waited until he left the room again before she took off her jeans and shirt and put on the dress. It was pink and white with pink bows and clearly secondhand. It looked ridiculous on her. The socks he’d brought her were white with pink lace around the top. She sat down and pulled them on with trembling fingers, terrified of what would happen next. She’d just finished lacing up the shoes, which were also used but in her size, when she sensed him in the doorway again.
“Good girl. Ready for your surprise?”
* * *
HARP KNEW HE’D broken every law in the book by taking Gary Long the way he had. Except, he hadn’t acted as a sheriff’s deputy. He’d merely taken the man home, immobilized him for a while so he could get the truth out of him. He liked to think of it as a citizen’s arrest.