You didn’t get a muscular build like that with just coffee, Savannah thought.
“You can’t live on just coffee—” She stopped abruptly. At times, she was slow to pick up signals. She’d fed him last night. Maybe he didn’t care for her cooking and was trying to be polite about it. “Unless of course you don’t like eggs...”
Sam took another long swallow of coffee before answering. He was beginning to feel this side of human again.
“Eggs are fine.” He focused on the wristwatch he always wore. It was a little after seven. “Wow, I didn’t realize I slept in so late.”
The term amused her. To most of the people she knew, sleeping in meant noon or thereabouts.
She’d done what he’d told her to last night: turned off the telephone in her bedroom and tried to get some rest. Incredibly drained and exhausted, she’d tossed and turned, straining to listen for the ringing of the phone Sam had left on in the living room. She’d finally fallen into a fitful slumber.
Dream after dream had assaulted her. She’d spent the night searching for an endless parade of things that she’d lost, one after the other. Her purse, her keys, her car, her house. Each time she thought she found one, she’d lose something else. By morning, Savannah felt almost more exhausted than when she’d fallen asleep.
Stooping, she picked up the telephone and replaced it on the table behind the sofa. “When did the telephone stop ringing?”
Sam looked down at the notes he’d taken. He’d logged in each call, marking down the time and the number if it showed up on the LCD screen.
“About two-thirty.” He saw the question in her eyes. “The last two calls were from insomniacs, wanting to know the latest details.”
Savannah shivered. Those were the same kind of people who rubbernecked at accidents. “How can people be like that—so ghoulish?”
“There’re a lot of crazies out there.” He could testify to that firsthand. And to the converse as well. It was one of the things that kept him in this job instead of on a ranch somewhere in Wyoming. Tragedy brought out the best in most. “And a lot of nice people, too.”
He drained the last of the coffee and looked regretfully at the empty mug. Megan could well take lessons from Savannah. “This is great stuff. Mind if I have some more?”
“No, of course not. I made plenty.” Savannah began to take the mug from him, but instead, he rose to his feet still holding it.
“I’ll just help myself.”
“As you like.” Savannah led the way.
Walking into the kitchen behind her, Sam paused to absorb the warm aroma. Her kitchen faced east, and the morning sun had come spilling into the room, brightening everything it touched. For a fleeting second, he was transported back to his childhood and Sunday mornings when his mother had insisted that the whole family sit down at the table for a hot breakfast.
It gave him a good feeling, remembering.
Refilling his mug, Sam took a seat at the counter. Savannah had set a place for him. Framed by two pieces of toast, sunny-side-up eggs waited on his pleasure. He felt his stomach pinching. Maybe he was hungry at that.
“If you don’t mind, after breakfast I’m going to go over to my place to take a shower and get a change of clothes, then stop by the office to do a couple of things.”
He wasn’t going to lose her that easily. “What things?” Savannah asked as she slid onto the stool beside him, setting down another plate.
She’d made eggs for herself as well, mainly to keep Sam company when he ate. But she had no more of an appetite now than she had had last night. She’d lost three pounds since Aimee had been kidnapped. If this kept up, when they found Aimee, Savannah figured she was going to have to get a whole new wardrobe. Or start drinking milk shakes three times a day.
Aimee loved milk shakes, she thought fondly. Her throat tightened. Savannah looked at Sam, waiting for an answer.
“I want to make more copies of that photograph the saleswoman IDed, and pass them around.” Megan’s younger brother, Rusty, was always looking to earn a little extra money when he wasn’t attending classes at the university. He could pay Rusty to canvas the area with the photograph, ask some of the residents who lived just beyond the mall if they’d seen a little girl dressed like that around. “I thought I’d also post that photograph on the Internet.”
He was talking about something that was second nature to her, but right now, she was drawing a blank. “The Internet? Are you talking about setting up a site for Aimee?”
He finished his meal. “I don’t have to. There’s already an entire site devoted to missing kids. It’s called the Missing and Exploited Children National Center.” The site had been set up several years ago by the government agency of the same name located in Arlington, Virginia. The database was crammed with information that was periodically updated. Photographs were even age-altered when enough time had passed. “The police tap into it regularly to help them track down missing kids.” He didn’t want her dwelling on the fact that there were huge numbers of children reported missing every year, or how Aimee could be found given odds like that. Currently, he knew, there were more than six-thousand active cases. It was a daunting figure. “I figure it won’t hurt to have the altered photograph posted there.”
As he spoke, another idea came to him. “We can also have it shown on the news.” He’d give Gretchen a call as soon as he got into the office. Gretchen was his brother-in-law’s sister, and she was a reporter on one of the local television stations. This would be right up her alley. “I know a reporter who’ll be happy to broadcast it on the evening news. If that doesn’t work, we could ask your father to talk to his friends and get it on the air that way.”
He had to get rolling. But as he stood up, he saw that short of breaking up the yolks on her plate, Savannah hadn’t touched her food. He remembered that she hadn’t eaten anything last night, either. Or during the course of the day before.
Sam frowned. She couldn’t keep this up. “You know, if you don’t start eating something, by the time I do find Aimee, I’m going to have to bring her to the hospital in order to see you. You’ll have tubes running through you and they’ll be feeding you intravenously. You want Aimee to see you like that?”
“No.” She had no idea that he had this dramatic streak. “I’m just not hungry.”
“Eat anyway.” He watched her stare at the plate. Savannah made no effort to pick up a fork. The lady was nothing if not stubborn. “Eat or I won’t take you with me.” It sounded like a childish threat, but it was all the leverage he had available.
Ordinarily, she would have bristled at having an ultimatum thrown at her. But there was something in his voice, a kind note buried in the stern order, that had her smiling despite herself.
She picked up her fork and went through the motions. “Are you always such a mother hen?”
“Nope, I can honestly say this is a first” It was. So was losing control and kissing a client, he thought ruefully.
Moving away from the counter, Sam took his plate to the sink. As he rinsed it off, he glanced in her direction. And smiled. She was eating. One point for his team. “You’re a bad influence on me,” he added.
Whatever she was going to say in response was instantly forgotten as the telephone’s shrill ring pushed everything else into the background.
Sam sighed, turning off the water. “Looks like they’re getting an early start.” He wiped his hands on the back of his jeans as the phone rang a second time. “Maybe we should just let your machine get that.”
The answering machine had been full when they’d come in last night. Sam had used up the lull between incoming calls by playing the tape and listening to the various messages. It was an exercise in futility. People had called to ask questions, or give advice. A few promised to pray. No one said anything useful.
Savannah couldn’t listen to the telephone ring the allotted number of times before the machine picked up. Turning on the stool, she reached for the wall phone and pulled the
receiver to her.
Her heart sped up as she said, “Hello?”
“Is this Mrs. King?” The voice on the other end belonged to a woman. There was a slight accent that Savannah couldn’t immediately place.
“This is Savannah King.” Savannah didn’t bother correcting the salutation. One of the first calls she’d taken was from a woman who’d told her that God was punishing her for being an unwed mother by taking her daughter away. She didn’t need to go through anything like that again.
“Put it on speakerphone,” Sam mouthed, coming up next to her.
Savannah pressed down the extreme right-hand button, and the tiny light above it glowed red. The woman’s voice, strong and courtly, filled the space between them as Savannah replaced the receiver.
“Savannah, my name is Eliza Eldridge. I’ve just had a dream about your daughter.”
Sam exchanged looks with Savannah. Another crazy wanting to pass the time of day. Curbing his anger, Sam reached over to terminate the connection, but Savannah caught his hand. She shook her head urgently when he looked at her in silent query. She wanted to hear this. Wanted to hear everything, because somehow, someway, something had to make sense eventually. Something had to lead her to her daughter.
“I’m clairvoyant,” the woman told her. “Before you hang up, I want you to know that I don’t have a little storefront shop where I tell people’s fortunes. And I don’t have a 900 number where I pretend to delve into people’s souls by telling them bland generalities. But I do see things. Not always, and not on call. And sometimes I’m wrong.”
The woman’s voice was soft, kind, and there was a peacefulness to it that seemed to weave its way into Savannah, urging her to listen.
“But last night,” Eliza went on, “I had a dream about your daughter. It was so strong, I had to call.”
Yeah, right, thought Sam. The woman was a con artist, looking to make something off Savannah’s misery. Sam struggled to hold his temper.
“What sort of a dream?” he demanded.
“Is that your private investigator with you, Savannah?” Eliza asked.
The question drove a chill down Savannah’s back. She glanced at Sam. How had the woman known?
“Yes,” Savannah answered guardedly. “Now tell me about your dream.”
She knew that she was setting herself up, and yet she couldn’t help listening. Couldn’t help hoping that Eliza Eldridge was the genuine article.
“I was walking by a man-made lake,” Eliza began. “There were ducks swimming on the water, and there were some children feeding them.”
“Was Aimee with them?” It was an absurd question, Savannah realized. And yet...
“No, she wasn’t.” Eliza measured out her words. This wasn’t easy. “There was somebody out on a boat—fishing, I think. And there were townhouses in the background, not far from the water.”
Savannah’s mouth went dry. She recognized the description. The woman was talking about Windwalker Lake. It wasn’t located too far from her office. She’d gone there with Aimee less than a month ago. Aimee loved to feed the ducks that made their home on the lake.
“Go on,” Savannah urged breathlessly.
Sam listened in silence, ninety-nine percent certain that this was some sort of hoax. But the expression on Savannah’s face was beginning to arouse some doubts in his mind.
“I didn’t exactly see your daughter,” Eliza confessed. “It was more as if I ‘felt’ her, felt her presence when I came to the edge of the lake.” She paused, uncertain how to phrase this next part.
“Yes?” Savannah fought to keep her voice from going up.
“I came to the edge of the lake,” Eliza repeated. “And when I looked down, there was a pair of pinkand-white checkered sneakers on the bank, and a trail of blood leading into the water.”
Savannah covered her mouth to keep the scream from escaping.
Sam jerked up the telephone receiver, silencing the speaker connection. His first reaction was to tell the woman to go to hell and leave Savannah alone. But he knew that Savannah—at least a part of Savannah—believed the woman. That part would have no peace until this was checked out. So he kept his temper and his cool, and gave Eliza instructions instead.
“Look, lady, if you’re on the level, I want you to meet me at the Newport Beach police station in half an hour. Ask for Detective Underwood—”
Eliza interrupted him. “That’s not you.”
He wasn’t sure just what kind of a trick was being played here, but it was a trick. Wasn’t it?
“No, that’s not me And you don’t have to try to impress me. For now, I’ll grant that you think you know something.” He glanced at Savannah’s pale face. “So we’ll check out your ‘vision,’ or whatever it is you want to call it.” He figured Underwood had the manpower and resources to do that better than he did.
So much for a shower and a change of clothes, he realized. He hoped Cade hadn’t gotten attached to this particular pair of pants and shirt.
The woman on the other end wasn’t saying anything. “Are you willing to do that?” He half expected her to make up an excuse.
“Yes, Mr. Walters, I’m willing to do that. I’ll be there.”
“Good, so will I.” It was as good as a warning.
It was only when he hung up the receiver that it occurred to Sam that at no time had he given the woman his name.
But he didn’t have time to dwell on that. The look in Savannah’s eyes reflected sheer terror.
“Oh God, Sam, what if it’s true? What if she actually ‘sees’ this? What if Aimee’s really—” Savannah couldn’t bring herself to say it. Saying it would make it somehow true.
He took hold of her shoulders, as if the very act could anchor her to reality.
“Listen to me, Savannah. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, these people are just talking through their hats—even if they’re convinced they’re quoting Revelation.”
She knew he was right, and yet she couldn’t shake this dreadful feeling. “But you are checking it out, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but only because there’s nothing else to go on right now.” He wished there was some kind of lead, any kind of lead. But there was nothing but this to work with. Sam looked into her eyes, willing Savannah to believe hun. “Aimee’s not in that lake, do you hear me? She’s alive.”
“Alive,” Savannah echoed.
Gulping in a shaky breath, she managed to calm down a little. It vaguely registered m the back of her mind that she was relying for support on a man who was almost a stranger. It should have bothered her. She had no idea why it didn’t. Instead, she was grateful that he was in her life.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Underwood looked from Sam and Savannah to the petite, dark-haired woman who had shaken up Savannah’s world with a single phone call. His expression testified to the doubts he had. In spades.
Eliza Eldridge had come to the police station armed with letters that were signed by law enforcement officials and a scrapbook of yellowing newspaper articles trapped behind clear plastic sheets.
A couple of calls to verify the letters had gone a long way in changing his initial opinion that she was a crackpot. According to some very influential people, the lady was what she claimed to be. A true clairvoyant.
A recent transplant from Fort Worth, Texas, Eliza had a “gift” that winked in and out of her life and that, at times, the police had found useful. She’d led them to missing children before.
Or so a skillful reporter might want them to believe, Underwood thought, looking at the scrapbook. He could see by the look on Sam’s face that the other man felt the same way he did about so-called clairvoyants.
Underwood handed the scrapbook back to Eliza. “I don’t believe in things that can’t be scientifically proven, Ms. Eldridge.”
Eliza was accustomed to skeptics. She wasn’t out to convert the world. Only to help when she could.
“Do you believe in hunches, Detective Underwood?” she asked m
ildly.
Ben’s frown deepened. Though he didn’t believe that she had any sort of tangible abilities, he wasn’t about to waste time debating her, either. He had a very strong hunch in this case that the lady could more than adequately handle herself in that department.
The bottom line was finding the little girl That meant ruling out all possible theories, one by one. Even ones that were off the wall.
“I got the department to okay three divers for three hours,” Ben told Sam. “That’s the best I can do.”
“It’s a relatively small lake,” Sam said. “That should be more than enough time to cover the area.” He looked at Savannah. “And to prove that Aimee’s not down there.”
Savannah’s hand tightened around his.
Savannah was peripherally aware of Sam’s hand holding hers. She wasn’t sure just how tightly she was squeezing it. Her eyes were fixed on the lake. Each time one of the divers broke through the surface, she felt as if her heart stopped beating.
But each time, there was nothing in the diver’s arms, and she sighed with relief. And her heart would begin beating again.
Savannah didn’t know how much more of this she could take.
Underwood looked at his watch. There wasn’t much time left on the clock. Standing beside Sam, the police detective looked at Eliza. The woman stood apart from them, stoically watching the divers. It seemed to Underwood that there was more than just distance separating them. There was an aura about Eliza, something that caused him to feel respectful of the woman rather than cynically dismissing her.
Sam could feel his fingers turning numb. He inclined his head toward Savannah’s. She hadn’t moved since the scuba divers had first gone into the lake.
“Time’s almost up,” he told her.
“And they didn’t find her.” Every whispered syllable was wrapped in relief.
“And they’re not going to,” Underwood stated.
Though he tried to divorce himself from the personal aspect of the cases he worked—much the way he knew Sam did—Ben couldn’t help feeling sorry for Savannah. The woman had to be going through hell.
“Why don’t you take her home?” Ben suggested to Sam.
A Hero for All Seasons Page 10