Lost

“You just said—”

“I’d fallen asleep and was disoriented. The call lasted only a few seconds.” As she replayed the awful conversation in her mind, she tried to portion out a spoonful of coffee granules. Most spilled onto the counter.

Jared took over and completed the task. “Could the caller have altered his or her voice?”

“I guess. I don’t know. No, it had to have been a man.”

“Because…?”

“Because.”

“Harold Bean, maybe?”

One of the less appealing things about small towns was that everyone knew everyone else’s business, including who was or had been paired with whom. Michaele shook her head. “Jeez, no. He’s still nuts about her, sure, and as far as I know they’ve remained friends, but…no. Faith’s moved on.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Harold’s voice cracks like a thirteen-year-old’s when he’s the slightest bit emotional.”

“You sound more like a protective parent than a worried sister.”

“Damn it, Morgan, I’m not protecting him. I’m simply not going to say what I don’t believe, so back off!”

Jared held her angry stare. “When did you receive the call?”

“At midnight. I phoned you right afterward. Maybe I should have called the station or 9-1-1.”

“You did the right thing.”

Then why did he look as though she’d become his worst nightmare, as though he were about to excuse himself and charge for the bathroom?

Before she could say as much, he stepped around her, turned off the flame under the pot and poured the boiling water. “Have you searched the house thoroughly? There’s no sign that she might have been here while you were at work? Maybe she packed a bag or something, planned to stay with friends for a few days?”

“No, I didn’t notice anything when I was going around opening windows, and she didn’t say—”

The pot clattered as he slammed it back onto the burner. “You had the windows open?”

“Hello! This is Split Creek, not L.A. What’s more, two of the three people living here think we have round-the clock maid service. Maybe you can tolerate that kind of stench, but not me.”

“Okay, okay. Go lock up. Then check the closets, under the beds…Do it,” he intoned when she didn’t budge. He started for the door. “And yell like hell if you find anything. I’m going outside to have a look around.”

“For what?”

The glance he cast her over his shoulder left her feeling like a slow five-year-old. As the screen door shut behind him, she muttered, “It’s my house, buster. I have a right to at least ask.”

What did he think he was going to find out there, anyway? She’d told him Faith wasn’t here. And what did he think she’d run into upstairs?

Somewhere above her a board creaked. It was the same sound Faith used to make when she tried to sneak out of the house for a date on a school night. Of course, this time, Michaele thought, it was the house cooling, a board expanding—

Another creak sounded.

“So I’ll placate him.” She might as well, she decided. Otherwise he would do it for her and know once and for all what slobs the Rameys were. The heavy flashlight she snatched up along the way was for her own peace of mind.

Five minutes later they were both back in the kitchen.

Jared reached for the still steaming mug of coffee. “I’ve radioed the station and told them to keep an eye out for Faith, and to check on Buck. You know we can’t initiate an official missing persons search for twenty-four hours, but I’ll set in motion what I can. If you could give me a recent photo of her, that would help.”

For what? Everyone in the area knew what Faith looked like. She was one of those people who never met a stranger and talked to everyone.

“We’ll need it if we have to broaden our search,” Jared said gently. “Also, come morning, if…well, you’ll have to come into the station to fill out some forms.”

As he spoke he made less and less eye contact. That, more than anything, triggered a new dread in Michaele. “You don’t think she’s going to show up, do you.”

“I’m merely explaining procedure.” He put down the mug. “Could you get me that photo?”

The one she chose was from the top of the TV in the living room—a Glamour Shots creation, yet another indulgence the girl couldn’t afford. At the time it was taken, Michaele had been too angry to admit her sister looked gorgeous, more stunning than most of the empty-eyed skeletons in the countless fashion magazines the kid bought. It wasn’t just the filtered lens, the way Faith’s long black hair was brushed in uncharacteristic but sexy disarray, or the artful makeup that gave her eyes an almost Far Eastern tilt, her mouth a pouty just-kissed look. Faith simply had…something.

Returning to the kitchen, Michaele handed the picture to Jared. “All I was trying to say before was that if you know something, I think I have a right to be told what it is.”

Jared slipped the photo into his shirt pocket without looking at it. “I’ll be in touch.”

That was it? “Fine!” she snapped, as he headed for the door. “Then hear this—as soon as I change, I’m going to start searching for her, too.”

“The hell you will.”

Before she could move he’d spun around and grabbed her upper arms, almost lifting her off her feet to bring her face-to-face with him. It wasn’t hard to do. He might not be the tallest guy in town, but he had to be one of the strongest, and if he wanted, he was capable of making a larger man feel like a Chihuahua confronting a rottweiler.

“You stay put,” he growled. “And don’t think I won’t be checking in to make sure you’re here.”

“I can’t sit and do nothing.”

“Then pray.”

Jared Long Morgan talking about prayer? Next to her, he had the worst church attendance record in town. “Now you’re frightening me.”

“It’s about time.” But he frowned once he noticed his grip on her, and abruptly let her go. “Stay here. If she shows up, you’ll be able to let me know all the sooner.”

He started to leave again.

“Jared.” When he looked back, Michaele chewed on her lower lip. “You might as well know something. We fought before she went off to school this morning.”

“So what else is new?”

Despite his wry, even kind tone, she didn’t allow herself off the hook. “This time I threatened to shut her off financially if she didn’t start helping out more. She left crying and cussing.” Remembering the awful scene, Michaele felt her own throat ache. “What am I going to do if…?”

Jared swore under his breath and this time drew her completely into his arms. “Don’t go there, honey.”

Holding Jared was like trying to wrap her arms around the single, ancient oak in the middle of their pasture; but for once Michaele let herself need his size and strength. She almost believed that if she held him hard enough, if she shut her eyes tight enough, she could stop what felt like a free fall into the worst nightmare ever imagined.

Jared’s breath teased the top of her head. “Ah, Mike. Everyone knows the burden you’ve been carrying for years, just as they know it’s a fact of life that siblings fight. There’s nothing to beat yourself up about. Now listen.” He eased her to arm’s length. “Lock up tight behind me. Don’t open up for anyone except me, Faith or Buck. If there are any more calls, let me know immediately.” He nodded to the card on the counter. “I’ve left you my cellular phone number.”

She hadn’t noticed, and gave the card only a brief glance; all she was focusing on was him. He was about to leave, and she didn’t want him to. She didn’t want to be alone.

“I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“I’ll try to be patient.”

“Don’t hurt yourself straining.”

Although the words were warmly spoken, there was something close to despair in his eyes, and suddenly she had the strongest urge to be in his arms again, to smooth away the grim lines that were deepening around his mouth. The need was as frightening as it was compelling.

“About this afternoon…I’m sorry,” she heard herself say. “I hated that we fought.”

“Me, too.”

“I mean really hated it. Your—” she didn’t know what word to use “—your respect means a lot to me.”

“We’ll talk about that someday.”

His thumb’s caress at the corner of her mouth had a surprisingly debilitating effect on her ability to remember all the reasons for believing romantic entanglements weren’t for her. Nuts, she thought, finally succeeding in putting more space between them.

Sighing, Jared reached for the doorknob. “Remember what I said. Keep everything locked up.”

“Yes.”

And she did…only to find it didn’t quite work, in that she wasn’t alone. Jared’s presence lingered long after his car was out of sight. That disturbed her almost as much as everything else going on.

6

12:30 a.m.

“Where’ve you been?”

Harold Bean froze in the doorway, blinded by the glare of the kitchen’s fluorescent lights flashing on, and though he instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, he decided it was just as well that he couldn’t see. Looking at his mother at any time was a grim chore; it became downright painful at twelve-thirty in the morning when she wore only a nightgown and still had to stand sideways to fit through the hall doorway.

“Jeez, Mama.” He squinted, then blinked hard to get used to the brutal glare. As his vision cleared, he stepped inside the double-wide trailer, shutting the door behind him. It was all about buying time, and when he turned back to face her again, he saw that at least this gown was made of a dark, opaque material, less transparent than some. Unfortunately, the huge orange-and-yellow flowers on it reminded him of gaping mouths screaming for freedom. He figured he and those flowers had a lot in common.

“I asked you a question, young man. Where’ve you been?”

“The usual.”

He headed straight for the refrigerator. He hoped this would be one of those nights when she gave up quickly and went back to bed.

“Don’t give me that. You should’ve been home hours ago. Ain’t nothing open this time of night.”

No shit, he thought. That was another reason why he intended to get the hell out of Split Creek as soon as he graduated next year. This was a do-nothing town full of know-nothing people going nowhere. He might not be brain surgeon material, but he was smart enough to know he could make a good life for himself in the military—and not as a bottom-of-the-shitcan grunt, either. He was going to be an officer. Recruiters down in Tyler had convinced him of that. One more year, he fantasized as he took out the plastic gallon jug of skim milk from the top shelf, then it would be “Anchors aweigh!” for him.

“Don’t drink all of that!” his mother cried. “I need some for my cereal in the morning.”

Keeping his back to her, Harold rolled his eyes at the whiny demand. The sow drank no-fat milk and diet soda all day, bought everything and anything guaranteeing lower calories on the label, yet he was the one losing weight around here. Because I’m not scarfing down cookies and chips as a chaser to everything.

In fact, he had trouble trying to keep a hundred sixty-seven pounds on his six-foot frame, while he regularly had to replace the extra boards under his mother’s bed to keep it from crashing through the floor of the trailer.

As thirsty as he was hungry, but unwilling to listen to more of her yammering, he poured himself a mere half glass of the cold liquid, then returned the container to the refrigerator.

“You were out sniffing after her again, weren’t you?” his mother demanded.

“No.”

“How many times do I have to say it before it sinks into that thick skull of yours? The girl’s done with you, stop chasing her. Ain’t you got no pride?”

“I wasn’t anywhere near Faith Ramey.”

“Well, her sister must’ve believed otherwise. Why else did she call here looking for her?”

That got his attention. He stopped the glass inches from his mouth. “She didn’t.”

“You calling your ma a liar?”

“All I’m saying is that Mike knows Faith and I don’t drive up to school together anymore.”

“Probably ’cause she got tired of you laying out and goofing off. So where were you? At some club drinking? I won’t have a drunk in my house! I got rid of your no-good father, and I’ll get rid of you if’n you’re turning that way.”

“This is a trailer. Ouch!” She’d leaned into the kitchen just enough to slap him across the back of his head. White bursts of light exploded before his eyes and his eardrums ached. “Fuck it,” he groaned.

She swung at him again. “No cussing under my roof, and don’t be correcting your superiors! Guess you figure you’re too old to answer to me, but let me tell you, Harold Bean, you’re nothing until I say you’re something. Got that?”

Shaking from humiliation as much as fury, he almost spilled his milk as he stretched to set the glass on the counter. Somehow he resisted the temptation to commit violence, rubbed the back of his head and simply replied, “You’re gonna wake Wendy, Mama.”

“Don’t you worry about her. Unlike you, she knows it’s a school night and went to bed at a decent hour. She’ll get her rest. Now I asked you a question.”

A question he wasn’t about to answer, not truthfully, anyway. But he had a lie practiced and memorized. “I was at the school library until they closed. Did you forget that I told you I had a paper due as part of one of my finals and needed more footnotes?” He hadn’t said anything of the kind, but while his mother had the memory of a whole herd of elephants when it came to what happened on each and every TV soap opera, she couldn’t recall diddly about anything he told her regarding school. To keep it that way, he exaggerated shamelessly. “Remember, I explained all the instructors care about is footnotes, footnotes and footnotes?”

“Oh…yeah.” Her eyes, thin slits in a moon-pie face, scanned the length of him. “Then where is it? You badmouth your teachers, but don’t bring in so much as one sheet of paper to prove you’ve been working? How dumb do you think I am, boy? You think I don’t remember that the library closes at nine, and that it only takes you forty minutes to get home from up there?”

That voice. Sometimes Harold fantasized about wrapping his hands around his mother’s fat neck and squeezing, squeezing until her head popped like a ripe zit. His loathing for her incessant nagging was that strong. But this was hardly the time for her to know his darkest thoughts.

“It’s late, Mama.” He reached for the milk again. “I left everything in the car so I wouldn’t have to tote it all out again, come morning. If you don’t believe me, take my keys out of my pocket and look for yourself. As for the rest of the time, if you’d given me a chance, I would have explained I had car trouble.”

His mother snorted. “A likely story.”

“If I’m lying, I’m dying.” To pledge himself, he held up his hand the same way she did hers at church. “Car battery went on me. It was deader than—” he barely stopped in time to save himself from earning another smack “—I had to wait until somebody came by who was willing to drive me all the way to the Wal-Mart in Mineola and back, which was the only place open at this hour.”

She looked doubtful. “Who would go way out of their way to do something like that for you?”

“Jack Fenton.” It had taken some thinking, but Harold had remembered his former high school classmate who lived on the far side of town. “Fenton” was a name his mother had heard before, since the guy had been the class valedictorian and had impressed everyone by doubling up on his college courses to graduate a year early. But most important, Fenton was someone his mother would probably, hopefully, never meet. “He happened to pass me on his way home from Texarkana after checking on some cattle for his folks.” It wasn’t a lie that the Fentons were among the more successful ranchers in the area.

His mother brushed her stringy, chin-length hair from her face. “Well, I hope you paid him for his trouble, or at least reimbursed him gas money.”

“He wouldn’t take any.” Slinging back the last of the milk, Harold rinsed out the glass and put it in the dish drainer, fully aware of what would happen if he didn’t. “He said he hoped somebody’d do as much for him sometime if he got into trouble.”

“Now that’s what I call a Christian gesture.” The trailer groaned as his mother rocked back and forth to get enough momentum to turn around and make room for him to precede her down the hall. “You be sure to add him in your prayers, and thank the good Lord for sending you an angel in your time of need. In this day and age, there’s no telling what kind of evil could have been out there.”

The only thing Harold prayed for was that Rose Bean’s Lord “took her home” via natural causes before he was driven to murdering her himself. “Ow!” he cried, as she pinched the back of his arm. “What was that for?” Hell, was the old witch capable of reading minds now?

“You could have called from the store so I wouldn’t have lost sleep worrying. I’ll bet Jack called home. I’ll bet his parents don’t hear any lip from him, either.”

Instead of answering, Harold escaped into his room, quickly shutting and locking the door behind him before she could ask another question. He’d had enough. Besides, the key to lying well was knowing when to shut up.

As he hoped, his mother’s heavy steps moved on down the hall to the other bedroom that she shared with Wendy— “Sow Jr.,” as he called his younger sister in the safety of his mind. What a relief that she hadn’t taken him up on his challenge to check his car to make sure he’d been telling the truth. He’d been counting on that, and if he’d been wrong…he didn’t want to think about the consequences.

Not at all hampered by the darkness of his room, he twisted around and dropped onto the middle of his twin-size cot, then fisted his hands over his head like a boxing champion before an audience of thousands of cheering fans.

He’d done it! Once again he’d made it home without anyone being the wiser about where he’d been and what he’d been doing. And that’s how he planned to keep things.

7

1:15 a.m.

Patrolling Split Creek by day was about as exciting as watching a cow chew her cud; things rarely got more lively at night. Until that message in the high school rest room and Michaele’s call, Jared had begun to believe, as did most of the rest of the community, that they were overprotected. Two cops patrolling the area at night, while Curtis Jarvis manned the station, should have been enough manpower for a town twice their size. Now, who knew? And yet despite his concern, he had to fight against another yawn. He would never make a good vampire. His internal clock was better suited for day work, and his butt and mind were starting to protest this extended time behind the wheel—especially since it was getting him nowhere.

With a deep sigh, he radioed the station for a status report, but Curtis informed him that Eagan and Griggs weren’t having any more success than he was. Next he called the sheriff’s office over in Quitman to get an update and to determine what else they were willing to do at this stage. By the time he once again had both hands on the wheel, he’d reached the southwest perimeters of the community. It was the least likely area for Faith to be—mostly farms, woods and marsh—however, it also had the main access road to Tyler, and Faith was a city girl at heart. Maybe she’d decided to go down there and had had car trouble.

There had been a full moon on Monday, and three-quarters of it was still high in the night sky, but an increase of low clouds kept the terrain pretty much dark. His car’s headlights picked up another pair of eyes in the tall grass on the side of the road, and he warned, “Don’t make my day,” to what he suspected was either a raccoon, small dog or cat. The last thing he wanted was to add to the roadkill count.

The woods abruptly ended to expose two chicken-coop-size houses, neither of which was lit by security lights. Old Mrs. Fahey lived in the shack teetering on cinder blocks, and her widowed daughter Pearl Wascom resided in the one with the screened porch, set farther back from the road. Jared often thought that the two women should move in together and rent the second house to supplement their meager income, but they squabbled too much to stay under the same roof for any length of time. Only their shared commitment to keep Ezekiel Baptist Church across the street polished and ready for any service, as well as the cemetery beside it groomed like a public park, assured any civility between them. What bothered Jared was knowing he could walk up to either house and find the doors and windows unlocked. These were the same two ladies who’d been among the most spooked when Sandy was murdered in her own home. It amazed him how quickly they’d forgotten that, or, more accurately, how they preferred the comfort of living in denial—as had so many in their community.

Continuing, he drove past a few dozen equally isolated residences. With every mile he covered, he willed the radio to relieve him of his growing tension. It didn’t happen, though, and when at last he’d come full circle, he drove past the gas station again.

Buck seemed content to spend the night where he was. Just as well, Jared decided. As much as he didn’t like Michaele being alone at her place, her father would only add to her stress.

Once inside the police station, he headed straight for the coffee machine. He’d barely begun pouring himself a mug full of the potent brew, when Bruce Griggs and Buddy Eagan shuffled in. Bruce, who looked more like a lifeguard than a doting father of two little girls, reported that all he’d come up with was a small domestic disturbance in the trailer park where the Mexicans who worked at area commercial nurseries lived. Buddy, divorced and always a bit edgy, grumbled how his trip hadn’t even yielded that much.

“Bet she’s holed up with one of her instructors getting…tutored.” Smirking, Buddy poured himself a mug of coffee.

“Knock it off,” Bruce replied. “Faith’s a sweet kid. She used to baby-sit our girls, and she was the most responsible sitter we ever had.”

“Hey, my ex’s kid sister went to college down in Austin, and is only a couple years younger than Faith. Some of the stories she told about when she sat kids—”

“That’s enough.” Whatever Faith was or wasn’t, Jared didn’t want anyone discounting the possible seriousness of the situation. He carried his coffee to the city map and studied it again before checking his watch. It was after two o’clock.

Where are you, kid?

“Bruce,” he said to the younger cop, “you take the section I just covered. Buddy, you repeat Bruce’s route, and I’ll go through yours again. Everybody, look a little harder. Pause to check out remote properties. If you see anything suspicious, call for backup, pronto.”

Bruce looked the least thrilled; however, he accepted the assignment as he usually did. He simply finished his coffee, rinsed out the mug and headed for the bathroom. Buddy went to shoot the breeze with Curtis for a moment. Confident the men would be back on the street in minutes, Jared refilled his mug and carried it out to his car.

His was the only vehicle on the road as he worked his way through town. At the corner of Magnolia, he noticed Reverend Dollar’s study light just going off. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed how late the minister worked, but others were up late, too. At the other end of the street, he found Dillon Hancock still at it. Hancock lived in the attic of Last Writes, the bookstore taking up the lower two floors of the sprawling Victorian. Jared’s mood soured somewhat as he passed; the town’s number one rebel and most notorious bachelor had befriended Michaele with ease, and although Jared was fairly confident that it was only a platonic relationship, he was jealous nonetheless.

The last street in the immediate part of downtown was Cedar, and there, at the elegant, contemporary-styled house on the corner, he saw the shadow of Garth Powers moving around in his home office. Jared couldn’t blame the guy for pacing, but hoped he was keeping his mouth shut and hadn’t upset his wife, Jessica.