“It’s all my fault,” she said, her eyes wild with fear.
“You were with me all night. How is this your fault?”
“It just is,” she whispered. “It’s been hours. He’s probably hiding some place, scared. I’ve got to find him!”
He blocked her way to the front door. “I can’t let you. Give me the keys.”
Traci pushed against him and squared her footing. “You don't know what it's like, Randall.” She spun around and faced him, but her eyes would not focus on him. She was talking into the air. “You don't know what it's like to want to run when nobody is chasing you. To be put in a place where people tell you that you're safe, but you know that you're not, you're not ever safe. Everybody's making decisions for your life and nobody cares about your life. No matter how scary it may be out there, it's better than here. Running is all that you can do.”
She was sobbing now, pacing in circles. He could see where this was headed, and he just couldn’t let it go there tonight. “Tracinda ...”
“Running becomes your life. No, it doesn't work. It doesn't fix anything but it's the only thing you know. You don't know about that life, Randall. You just don't.”
He reached for her again. She pushed his hand away, regained her composure and pointed her finger at him. “I'm taking the car, Randall. If it stops running, I'll take the bus. I'll ride every bus on the line. I'll walk every street and search every alley but, I'm going to find Milo. I'm going to find him and I'm going to bring him home.”
He knew he had to stop her and grabbed her hand. She twisted it away and rushed outside through the back door. Randall strapped on his weapon, ran out the front door, leaped off the side of the porch just in time to meet her at the car. He grabbed her hand on the door handle. She tried to pull away. He blocked her fist inches from his face and held onto her wrists, as he looked into her tear streaked face. “I'll drive.”
RANDALL EXCHANGED A wave with Officer Sinclair as they drove past each other in the alley behind Spring Street. Two and a half hours and four squad cars crawling the streets of Keeferton and no trace of Milo. Traci had gone through the cycle of fear, rage, adrenaline and finally passed out in the passenger seat. He was thankful for that. There were a thousand things he had wanted to say but tightened his jaw and kept quiet. It was time to get home and have a tough conversation in the morning.
“Angel, wake up.” Randall said nudging her out of the car.
“Did you find him?” she murmured, half asleep.
“No, not yet.”
She tried to get back in, but he placed both hands on the car top and blocked her with his chest.
“We’ll get some sleep, a shower, and something to eat. Then, we can start again, fresh.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well, I am,” he insisted through clenched teeth. She looked at his face for what seemed like the first time since that night. “Be reasonable, my love,” he pleaded softly.
She nodded, dropped her head on his chest, and her legs weakened.
Randall lifted her into his arms and carried her to the door. “Believe me, we’re doing everything we can to find Milo.”
Chapter Seventeen
Traci
RANDALL UNLOCKED THE door and she stepped in ahead of him. “What am I doing?” She needed to stop and think. As much as he would never admit it, everything was taking a toll on him. They were both exhausted and should be celebrating the most important night of their life together. Milo was a smart kid. Why would he up and take off like that? She couldn’t ignore the burning in the pit of her stomach and wondered if Ray Winston was somehow connected to this disappearance or worse, Charlotte Carter. She tried to push back against the anxiety and fearful imaginings, but she was just so tired. She took off her cap and tossed her purse onto the sofa when suddenly she felt Randall’s forearm thrust against her ribs. Her head hit the edge of the table as she tumbled to the floor.
“Show me your hands!” Randall shouted in the dim light with his weapon drawn.
Traci heard the sound of something metal hit the floor in the kitchen. She crawled to the corner of the room and turned on a lamp.
“Milo!” She scrambled to her feet and lunged to embrace him, but Randall grabbed her upper arm and pulled her back to his side. The gun still aimed directly at Milo.
“Kick that knife away from you ... easy.” He nodded at the floor in front of Milo's feet.
“It's a fillet knife ... for the fish I caught,” Milo said with a tremor in his voice.
“How'd you get in here?”
“He has a key!” Traci said sobbing.
“Good God, woman. Why didn't you tell me?”
She broke free, rushed across the room and threw her arms around Milo. Her fists full of his shirt, she pulled him tightly into her embrace. She placed her trembling fingers gently on each side of his face and stared into his eyes. They were both afraid and tired and confused. Finally, she buried her face in his shoulder and squeezed her eyes closed fearing this moment was her imagination and would slip away from her.
“Where’s Moe?” Randall asked brusquely and holstered his gun.
“At the pit, I guess.”
“The pit? Now?” He glanced at his watch. “It’s 3:00 a.m.”
“Yeah. He starts the smoker and shovels all the coals into the pit around midnight every night. Then I ride to work with Sarah and Vinny. I went fishing, stayed too long, I guess. Anyway, I got a ride into town with one of the guys.”
“The guys ...” Randall cleared his throat.
“Randall, please,” Traci said slightly above a whisper as if her strength would give out and those words were all she had left.
“Yeah, okay. Everybody's nerves are raw right now. I’ll call the station and make some coffee.”
“Please,” she looked at him pitifully over her shoulder, then gently shook her head “No.”
“Right ...” Randall took a long slow deep breath. “I’m going to bed.” He locked the front door and trudged up the stairs. Traci waited until he was out of sight.
“I didn't know where you were,” she whispered.
“Me and Josh used to go night fishing down by Austin Cove. I just felt like going back there last night. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“You should’ve let somebody know,” she said searching his weary face.
“Why?” He finally looked at her. “I'm sorry.”
“No. I'm sorry that you had to ask ‘why?’”
Milo picked up the knife and wiped it off with a hand towel. Traci recognized the blue handled German steel blade. “That belonged to Josh.”
“Yeah.” He pierced the knife tip through the belly of the muskie and sliced it open. “It’s my fault, you know.”
“What?”
“Josh only came here because I needed a ride. If I hadn’t been here ...”
Traci embraced his face in her hands again. “No, Milo. He was here to hunt down the coyote. Don’t blame yourself for what happened. Besides, I’m the one that convinced Randall to stop the second car. Otherwise there would have been another police officer sitting in the alley that night.” She shook her head and closed her eyes. They could not go back to that night. Nothing would bring Josh back. “I’ll put this away. You get some sleep. I’ll text Moe and let him know you’re okay.” She tossed the entrails across the room to the curious cats, then wrapped the fish in parchment paper and put it in the freezer. She scrubbed down the counter and joined Milo to wash her hands in the sink. “We'll talk later.”
Traci walked upstairs, undressed and softly climbed in bed with Randall who was already fast asleep. The sound of his snoring was comforting to her, much better than those ambient sounds she played while he was away. She placed her hand on her stomach and took in two deep belly breaths and waited for the calm to settle her body into rest. In a little while the alarm would go off and their morning routine would start. It didn’t matter that it meant only three hours of sleep. She could never convin
ce him to sleep in on the weekends. “Good habits are hard to keep and easy to break,” he always said. No, that wasn’t it. Well, whatever, it was something like that. Right now, she wanted to stop time and rest in his arms more than anything.
Milo was back. Everyone was safe. But somehow, she still felt unsettled as if everything would be taken away from her at any moment. She felt the adrenaline surge up again and shifted her focus.
She reluctantly lowered her eyelids and that same dream was waiting eagerly for her to drift off to sleep. She was on the shore of Bear Falls and the waves were cresting from the seasonal flood. She looked across the waves and saw the small canoe and a person was frantically waving for help. She was the person. Traci reached her superhuman long arms across the water and laid hold of herself as she started to sink. She pulled with all her might but could not lift herself out of the coal black water. The names of the people she loved were floating across the waves just out of her reach. She could hear their voices as they passed by. She opened her mouth to call out, but she had no voice. Finally, she was pulled under the surface, unable to call for help and nothing to hold, tumbling, suffocating, until somehow, she was pushed above surface and floated to dry ground. Everything that had been on the shore was gone, and she was standing inside that small white room with no windows and one small door only twelve inches tall. She knelt down to peer out the tiny door. And that’s when she woke up. Every time.
She opened her eyes at the end of the restless night. A blade of sunlight warmed her face from where she had forgotten to close the blinds last night. She turned onto her side tuning her ears for the familiar sounds. She stroked the paisley printed sheets that were BOGO at ThriftValu. She held her breath at the song of the goldfinch and starlings that made their nests in the eaves of the homes in Magnolia Grove. And, Randall lying next to her. His arm draped across her waist. His body was already preparing him for the new day, sensing the dawn. His breathing was lighter, the snoring had ceased. He turned onto his back and raised his arm over his head, balancing it awkwardly against the headboard. She needed the precision of his routine to regulate her emotions. His consistency was like the earth under her feet. She closed her eyes tight and pretended to be asleep as he began to shift around in the bed. Soon the alarm would go off and he would reach across her body to grab the phone and stop the annoying jangling tone within his record-setting ten seconds. He would kiss her shoulder and stroke her arm, then cover her neatly with the comforter before sliding out of bed. She waited, anticipating each beautiful moment of it. Was it selfish not to share a “good morning” kiss with the man she loved to be able to sit in the quiet simplicity of just ... being? Possibly, but whatever. These little things were her life now and she refused to let one slip by unnoticed. She would fight hell to keep this life.
She held out her hand and examined her engagement ring, made a fist and opened her fingers again. It was almost a perfect fit, just a tiny bit loose. She’d have to be extra careful with it until they took it back for a proper sizing. Wait until the women at Dewey Station got to see it. Maybe she should take it off now for safe keeping. No. She made another fist. They could pick out their wedding bands in time for the real ...
“Wedding?”
She gasped, then covered her mouth as to hold the word back inside. Wedding. She was married, sort off, to Captain Randall James Remy Wells. A myriad of questions flooded her mind. How could she possibly plan a wedding? Would she take his name? Should she? Did it matter? What about her house? Maybe they should sell and move. No, they would stay. Sure, they would sit down and discuss it, and then they would decide to stay. That was that. He could sell his place and keep the furniture. Oh, all that weight equipment and the car stuff, how would they make it all fit? They would figure it out. All of it would just work out. She’d have to explain things to Milo. That will be ... just fine. She took a long slow deep belly breath. She peeked one eyelid open and watched Randall tiptoe across the floor to the newly tiled bathroom for a fifteen minute shower and shave. Then he’d pull on his gray sweatpants commando-style and head downstairs to start the coffee and his giant carb-loaded breakfast.
When Traci was sure he was downstairs, she pulled back the covers and climbed out of bed, took her spot near the window and peaked through the blinds to the backyard. There came Randall’s three whistles “pfweet, pfweet, pfweet” for Peter, James and John. The feline trio appeared right on cue. Randall filled their bowls next to the scarlet rhododendrons where they liked to hangout since the Hazelton House restoration was now fully underway. She smiled knowing that he really didn’t like cats but somehow, he had taken charge of their care. Next, he walked along the side of the house, kicking each trash can and lifting the lids to check for racoons, before finally going around front to get the morning Faucier Times Daily newspaper.
“Every step better. Every day ...” she whispered and thought about what she felt when Milo was missing ... and now ... what day was it? She reached over and quickly checked her phone and found a text from Moe. He had picked up Milo for work, would do a better job of keeping up with him, and all was well.
Traci walked into the bathroom, pushed aside Randall’s open toiletry case on the sink and cleared away the steam from the mirror. She washed her face, dabbed an extra layer of concealer under her eyes, brushed her teeth and vomited into the sink. She had hoped that by stopping the anxiety meds the nausea would go away. But it was back again. She would talk to the pharmacist this week to find something to help. In the meantime, she had a wedding to plan!
Chapter Eighteen
Randall
RANDALL STEPPED INTO the small meeting room as the facilitator began calling the names on the roster for attendance. The Tri-County Sheriff’s Association was working to coordinate efforts to better communicate and support local law enforcement. Randall intended to mention the multiple warrant requests for Charlotte Carter that were still hung up. Chief Dorsett stopped him at the door. “Let’s take a walk.”
“I’m headed into the Sheriff’s meeting.”
“I know, come on.” The chief gestured toward the hallway leading to the rear exit of the station. They walked out to the parking lot behind the building and then across the street to a small municipal park. They sat down on the wooden bench.
“We just got word from Rest Haven that old man Garrett passed away.”
“Natural causes?”
Dorsett shrugged and looked away, totally disinterested, took out a bag of cashews and offered some to Randall. He declined and glanced around the area. There were bits of litter, random chalk drawings and a sign designating it the safest spot in Faucier County with stick figure children dancing around a merry-go-round. Evidence of children everywhere around them, but there were none. Randall looked at the man who called him away from the video conference to share a snack. No way. Where was the explanation for the prolonged administrative leave he had been forced to endure? He had just been released back to active duty with no details just hours ago. He was about to sprint over to City Hall for the marriage license and make things right with Reverend Mac. After the experience he just had, he was not in the mood to waste time. He gathered up his folder with all the information regarding the case and the login credentials for the virtual conference. Maybe he could still catch the Q&A segment at the end. Dorsett took the folder from him and placed it on the bench out of his reach.
“I want to give you a heads-up,” he said without making eye contact. “I’ll be making an announcement after this year’s election. This thing is bigger than Gundry. You know that, right? The governor is pushing for changes that bring more people into the region. More people, more problems. Then, it takes more police to deal with the problems and more money for the police department budget. It’s a vicious cycle. You follow me?”
He stuffed his hand inside the bag and fiddled with a few cashews in the palm of his hand, brushing away the salt. “My wife said I need to watch my sodium intake,” he said through pursed lips. “She’s pro
bably right.” He tossed the cashews in his mouth, shook the bag a few times, and looked up toward the clouds on the horizon.
“I’ve got to make a decision about what’s best for me and my family. You know my grandson is headed to college? Hard to believe it. Whichever way the election results end up, I want to assure you that either way, you’ll be taken care of.” He wiped his fingers across his lap then reached in the bag for more. “Did you know it was your father’s recommendation that got me on the force? He introduced me to my beautiful bride. She was selling tickets for one of the fundraisers at our lodge. Why aren’t you a member? The application is just a formality, you know that, right?
“Yes, I just haven’t ... I’m not ...” Randall had to watch himself. He wasn’t sure what was happening with this conversation. “I’ll have to make time to do that, Chief.”
“Of course, you’re young ... and busy.”
“What about this case with ... I’ve been focused on ...” He reached for his folder.
“Let the sheriff departments deal with that. We’re handing it off to them. They can bring the Feds in if necessary but take your mind off that one. I owe it to your father to help you keep your hands clean. Remy was a good man. May he rest in peace.”
“I have a beautiful bride of my own, Chief.” Randall was losing his patience and from the sound of things, possibly his job. He took a deep breath and continued, “And a direct threat to her well-being is having Charlotte Carter still at-large, as you are fully aware. Now with a second homicide in Magnolia Grove, you’re asking me to step back from these investigations?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you to do. There are many types of threats. Some more dangerous than others.” Dorsett threw the paper bag on the ground and stood up. Randall stood up with him, straightened his back to match his height.
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