tell him she's not here Read online

  Emma paced her room and wondered for the hundredth time what she could do. It just didn’t feel right to hang around the house and wait to hear if Kerry was alive or dead.

  Frustrated with the police, Emma sat at her desk and turned on the computer. She checked her e-mails in the vain hope that Kerry might have sent an e-mail. Heaving a heavy sigh, she shut her computer screen. Of course, she hadn’t really expected there to be anything, but still, she kept hoping.

  She wandered around her room, not knowing what to do, or what she wanted to do. She turned on the television and, glancing at her watch, flicked through the channels until she found The Simpsons.

  Emma crept into bed and closed her eyes, listening to the program. She wished with all her heart that Kerry was beside her. Kerry loved The Simpsons.

  Unable to bear the memoirs, she flicked the TV off, and walked out into the hall. The house had always seemed large to Emma, too big for just four people. Nevertheless, her mother had fallen in love with it and they had moved in six years before.

  The stately two-story brick home, with its black shutters and huge white columns, had always been such a joy to Emma’s mother. Emma knew her parents were well off. Surely, whoever had abducted Kerry, if they’d wanted the sizeable ransom, would’ve contacted her family.

  Emma wandered into Kerry’s room and felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of Kerry’s bed. Last summer her mother had their bedrooms redecorated. Emma had chosen her favorite colors - soft greens, and blues with lovely old antiques. Kerry had gone for a more dramatic black and white scheme with bright red accessories scattered around the room, and sophisticated shiny black bedroom furniture.

  Kerry’s clothes were still lying on the floor where she left them. Her mother refused to allow anyone to clean disturb Kerry’s room. She wanted it to be exactly as Kerry left it, for when she returned.

  Emma walked over to Kerry’s window seat and settled in; watching as the snow fell in big wet flakes against the window. Shutting her eyes, she concentrated on Kerry, praying with all her heart that her sister was still alive.

  ***

  “What kind of operation is this?” George Olson slammed his fist onto the desk. “My granddaughter is missing and all you can say is, you’re doing the best you can? I want to know what it is you are doing.”

  Sighing, the chief of police of the small town of Conway, Indiana, rose from behind his desk.

  “We’ve circulated her picture to every police station and missing person’s website we can. Without more information, there’s not a lot to go on. I’m sorry, Doctor Olson. I know how frustrating this must be for you and your family.”

  “Frustrating? Is that what you think? We aren’t frustrated; we’re terrified for our granddaughter. It’s been more than a month and not so much as a clue as to where that bastard took her. There has to be something else we can do.” George Olson swallowed back emotion before meeting the sad brown eyes of Chief Nelson. “She’s alive, damn it. She’s alive somewhere and waiting for us to help her.”

  “I’ll call you if we hear anything,” the chief promised, avoiding the other man’s eyes.

  The old man stood frozen by the pity and sorrow in the chief’s voice, He whispered, “She is alive and will come back to us.”

  Chief Nelson nodded and stood silently while the old man shuffled out of his office. He felt sorry for the old guy.

  Chapter Eight

  Kerry flung herself into the pickup, and then hurriedly inserted the key into the ignition. Panicking, in case he had somehow managed to follow her outside, Kerry shoved the truck into Drive and floored it down the uneven driveway.

  She caught a whiff of his scent and rolled down the window, then breathed in the first clean air she had had in over a month. Reaching up, she pushed back the hair that was blowing into her face. Only then, did she discover the blood; his blood, all over her, down her arms and across her face. The front of her T-shirt was covered in dark red blood.

  Good, she prayed he bled to death or burned to death. With any luck, one way, or the other, he would be dead. Glancing down at the speedometer, she eased her foot off the gas. Eighty miles an hour was way too fast on a dirt road. She mustn’t get into an accident now; she was free. Free! She could hardly believe it.

  She approached a paved road, then stopped and let the truck idle. Which way, which way would be the fastest to a town? Seeing car lights coming from the left, she turned right. She didn’t trust anyone anymore.

  She decided that eventually any direction would lead to a town. A town would bring police and people. Wiping a hand across her face, she discovered she’d been crying. Along with the thick red blood splattered across her face, there were tears. Her face was hot with them.

  “Thank you God,” Kerry whispered. “Thank you for helping me. I swear I will keep all my promises. I swear I will.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Kerry caught the first glimpse of light. A town, it had to be. Pushing down hard on the gas pedal, she felt the truck surge forward.

  Kerry rubbed her eyes and squinted in the direction of the light. What was happing to her? Ten minutes ago, she felt great, now she felt so sleepy she could barely keep her eyes open. Turning the heat down, she shook her head. She had to stay awake, she had to. She turned off the highway onto a small paved road heading towards the small point of light.

  She bit her lip and peered around. She had to concentrate; she had to get to the light. Easing the truck to a stop, she tried to think. She felt so weak and pliant; it was almost as if she had no bones. She opened the window, letting in the freezing cold air, trying to stay awake. Now, she couldn’t even see a light. Stopping again, she struggled to keep her hands on the steering wheel. Never in her life, could she remember had being so tired.

  She twisted her head to look around. She thought she should turn around and head back to the highway. She needed to find a place to turn around. Shifting the truck back into gear, she concentrated on the highway.

  There was a road up ahead. No, it looked more like a driveway. She could see lights on in a house. Should she pull in and ask for help? Better not, better to find a town, someplace with a lot of people. She pulled into the narrow driveway to turn around, and then paused, and gazed at the house. Someone was home; she could see shadows behind the curtains. The television was on, casting a blue eerie light behind the curtains. She could walk up to the door and ask for help, but what if they were like him? Better to keep to her plan to find a town.

  She should probably get out of there, just in case they came out to investigate. Putting the truck in reverse, she pressed on the gas, only to come to an abrupt halt. Driving forward, she opened the door and leaned out. Damn, she’d hit a mailbox. She had to get out of there.

  Then again, maybe someone would notice and call the police. She hoped so.

  Kerry backed the truck into the road and hit the gas pedal. Driving as fast as she dared, she sped into the darkness. She had to find help fast. She was growing sleepier by the mile.

  ***

  Will and Phoebe Long flipped on the porch light, then walked cautiously out onto the front step of their porch and gazed down the driveway. The crash they’d heard sounded like it came from the road in front of their house.

  Will pushed the flashlight on, and then turned back to his wife. “Go get the cordless. We might need to call the cops.”

  “Call the cops on who?” The old woman asked, peering toward the road.

  “Someone hit a tree or something out in front. They might be hurt.”

  “Oh,” She uttered, and then trotted into the kitchen.

  The old man walked hesitantly toward the road. He hoped no one was badly hurt. He’d served in Vietnam and had seen men die horrible deaths, but lately, the young people were the ones who got to him. A bunch of them had been drag racing up and down his road over the last year and crashed. He hoped he wouldn’t find any more dead kids in a car.

  He hurried the last few feet and gazed around. Only blac
kness met his eyes. Frowning in thought, he turned back toward his house, only to see his mailbox bent to the ground. Swearing softly, he walked over to inspect it. Someone had flattened his mailbox.

  When he saw his wife hurrying up with the phone in her hand, he flicked the flashlight in her direction. “Don’t hurry, Maw. Some kid just knocked our mailbox down. I’ll fix it in the morning.”

  “Those damn kids again,” she said. Together they walked over to look down, she nodded, “Kids.”

  Both stared down at the ground a few seconds, and then shuffled back to the house to watch their program, relieved.

  Chapter Nine

  Amanda Green shifted from foot to foot as she leaned against counter, listening patiently to Mabel Crabtree. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore the usual Walmart uniform. She’d known Mabel Crabtree since Bible School in the third grade.

  Mabel wasn’t happy and she wanted everyone to know it too. After all, she pointed out to Amanda, she’d been shopping in Walmart since the day they opened, and if she wanted to return something, then by God in Heaven, they had better cooperate.

  Amanda glanced anxiously around. Where in heck was her boss? Knowing Mr. Cooper, he was probably hiding out in the storeroom. She really couldn’t blame him but it still pissed her off that he was leaving her to deal with Mrs. Crabtree alone.

  Mrs. Crabtree was a large and intimidating woman. She was broad all over, broad face and broad body. Her bright red hair was styled and held in place with multiple layers of hairspray. She was dressed in a brilliant green pants suit, with a gold necklace looped several times around her neck.

  Her husband, a little guy, bragged that she had the broadest behind and reddest hair in Lawrence County.

  Mabel’s deep baritone voice had the power to frighten anyone in town, especially when she was unhappy. Her neighbors swore that when Mrs. Crabtree was disappointed with her husband, her voice could be heard in a six-block radius of her house.

  Amanda bit her lip and tried again. “Mrs. Crabtree, I can’t take anything back that’s been used. I don’t have the authority to take anything back without a sales receipt.”

  “Now you listen to me, Amanda Green, don’t you even think you can take that kind of attitude with me. Why, I’ve known you since you were a baby.”

  “Mrs. Crabtree, I swear I’m not taking an attitude with you. Mr. Cooper has to okay any return that doesn’t have a sales receipt. That’s Walmart’s policy, you know that.”

  “Policy? Girl, don’t talk to me about policy. I spend a lot of money in this store, and if I want to return something, I expect you people to take it back.”

  Amanda looked desperately around but couldn’t spot anyone that might conceivably be willing to help. The teenage checkout girls in the first three lines nearest the service desks had their heads down, avoiding looking Amanda’s way.

  Annoyed, Amanda flipped the intercom switch and called Mr. Cooper to the service desk. All is fair in love and war, and angry customers, thought Amanda. She didn’t want Mrs. Crabtree mad at her. Everyone in town knew what a long memory she had. Besides, she wasn’t paid enough to argue with the woman.

  She turned around to assure Mrs. Crabtree that help was on the way. It wasn’t like Mrs. Crabtree to turn so pale over her paging Mr. Cooper. They had fought many a time in front of the courtesy booth about one thing or the other.

  Concerned, Amanda leaned over and touched Mrs. Crabtree’s arm. “Are you all right?”

  Mrs. Crabtree slowly raised her arm and pointed toward the front door. Amanda followed her shaking hand.

  Just inside the sliding glass door stood a young girl, clad only in a small white T-shirt and panties. This in the small town of Lepanto, Arkansas, was shocking enough, but what had caused Mrs. Crabtree to turn so pale and to shake was the amount of blood splattered over her entire body.

  The girl’s hair was matted with it. The t-shirt was more blood-stained than white and blood covered most of her bare legs and feet.

  As if the stares had added more weight than she could carry, Amanda saw the girl’s body fold slowly onto the hard ceramic floor.

  Chapter Ten

  Deputy Casey Anderson pushed back the old swivel chair he’d inherited from the sheriff and propped his feet on his desk. Nothing going on, again. Of course, not a whole lot happened in the small town he lived in. Glancing down at his watch, he debated calling Cindy. Eight o’clock was too early to call her on a Tuesday; she’d be watching her favorite television shows. Although she never complained, he knew she didn’t like him calling during her programs.

  He shifted restlessly in his chair and let his mind drift. He didn’t know why, but lately he felt trapped. He’d had a talk about it with his grandmother only last Sunday. She thought he should go back to school, maybe criminal law, or even accounting. He’d heard the FBI was partial to lawyers and accountants. His grandmother had even offered to pay for school. She wanted him to see more of the world, not just Lepanto, Arkansas.

  She teased him about being too good looking to be a cop. She’d told him to aim high, not to settle for a small town cop’s life. After all, she’d said, he was only twenty-three, too young to settle down and raise a family. Not that she didn’t like Cindy, she did, but the only thing the girl was ambitious for was a diamond ring. She said God always gave people a sign to show them the right way to go. People just had to be smart enough to recognize it.

  Casey thought maybe he should look for a sign, something that would show him the way. He knew deep down he didn’t want to marry Cindy. She was a nice girl, but he certainly didn’t love her.

  The shrill ringing of the telephone broke into his thoughts. Yawning, he picked up the receiver. “Police Department, Deputy Anderson speaking.”

  He jerked himself into a sitting position and listened closely. “Slow down, Amanda, repeat what you said but a little slower. Okay, relax, I’ll call the sheriff, and we’ll be right there.”

  He slammed the phone down, then immediately called the chief, repeating what Amanda had told him. Hanging up the phone, he grinned. It was about time something exciting happened in Lepanto. He grabbed his hat and informed the dispatcher where he was going. Yanking on his coat, he raced to his squad car and flipped on the sirens. This was action and Casey loved action.

  ***

  Sheriff Butler returned the phone to its base. Turning to his wife, he said, “I’ve to go back out, there’s been some trouble at Walmart.”

  “Not more shoplifting, Andrew, can’t Casey handle that? My word, you just had your dinner,” his wife complained, frowning.

  “Not shoplifting, Darlene. Some young girl walked into Walmart a little while ago covered in blood.”

  “Covered in blood! Was she in an accident?”

  “I don’t think so. Young Amanda Green was working the front desk. She told Casey the only thing the girl had on was a T-shirt and a pair of panties.”

  “My God, did she know who she is? Is she a local girl?”

  Absently, he shrugged his shoulders and hurried over to peck his wife on the cheek before hurrying out the front door.

  Darlene rushed over to the window and watched as her husband flipped on his sirens and pulled out of the driveway. Hurrying over to the antique end table she’d inherited from her mother-in-law, she picked up the phone. What good was it being the wife of the sheriff if she couldn’t spread the news, especially shocking news such as this? Who to call first? Who would appreciate this kind of gossip more than anyone? Mabel Crabtree, of course, and Mabel thought she always had the news first.

  Chapter Eleven

  Casey slammed the patrol car into Park behind the blue and white pickup truck, and then radioed the station that he was at the scene. The truck was parked directly in front of the sliding glass doors of the store. The engine was running and the front headlights were on. The driver’s side door hung wide open.

  He hurled himself out of his patrol car and ran toward the front of the store, only
to skid to a quick stop just inside the doors.

  There were probably thirty people gathered around Mabel, who was screaming for everybody to stand back and give the girl some air. No-one moved. Unfortunately, even given Mabel’s considerable volume, the sight of a near naked girl covered in blood was far more interesting than any fear of Mabel’s formidable temper.

  Casey pushed himself through the crowd, and squatted beside Mabel. “Has she come to?”

  “She’s moaned a couple of times but that’s about all,” Mabel informed him, patting the girl’s face with a tissue.

  Casey spotted Amanda standing off to one side. “Amanda, run and get a blanket. The rest of you go with Mr. Copper. Mr. Copper, please take everyone to the break room. No one is allowed to leave until we have their statements.”

  Mr. Copper, whose thin stooped body twitched nervously, tried ushering people in the direction of the break room. Since the break room was situated toward the back of the store, no one wanted to move. This was more excitement than anyone of them could ever remember happening in Lepanto.

  Exasperated, Casey glared at the small crowd. “Anyone who is still standing here in thirty seconds will be charged with obstructing justice and disobeying a direct police order.”

  “Well you don’t have to be so mean about it. We just wanted to watch,” an old woman snapped, clutching her purse tightly against her bony chest. She was standing as close as she could, eyeing the blood with morbid fascination.

  Casey recognized his second grade teacher and sighed. “Mrs. Moore, this is police business. You will have to go with Mr. Cooper.”

  She gave a furious grunt and turned toward the back of the store. “Just you wait till I tell your mother how rude you were,” she warned, glaring at Casey.

  He shook his head at his old teacher, and reached for the blanket Amanda had thrust toward him. “Amanda, you need to stay close so the sheriff can talk to you. Mabel,” he said, shaking the blanket out and throwing it over the thin girl, “Will you stay with her until the sheriff gets here? I want to make sure no one touches that truck. We may need to dust it for prints.”