A Haunting Dream (A Missing Pieces Mystery) (11 page)

“Nothing. We aren’t naming anything. We’re just keeping it until the little girl comes home, right?”

“That’s right. And I hope that will be soon.”

He shook his head. “I hope so too, honey. I only worked one kidnapping case in my whole career. It was the wife of a millionaire who lived in Nags Head. They say every hour the victim is missing makes the chances of finding them that much lower. We never found that woman from Nags Head. I don’t like to think what might be happening to that little girl out there all alone.”

Neither did I—but it was all I
could
think about.

I got ready for bed and started to pull back the comforter—only to find the kitten lying on it.

“Oh? You don’t want to sleep in the box now?” I asked him.

He flexed his claws on my pillow and settled in a little deeper. I managed to get in around him and tried to settle down for the night. My mind wouldn’t let me.

Where could she be?

Perhaps the dark, silent place I’d sensed in my last vision was a cave near the water. But as far as I knew, there were no caves around Duck.

It could be a leaky basement, I thought, punching my pillow and rolling over. There were plenty of those in the area—storm cellars and root cellars as well. Too many possibilities to count.

I finally fell asleep and found myself at Harris Teeter again.

There was no sign of a blue BMW in the parking lot, at least not from my vantage point. Only the burgundy Lincoln was there.

Had Chuck brought Betsy with him to meet someone here this late at night?

No—even though I’d seen her here with the Lincoln—I knew from touching the doll I’d found that she’d been taken from the house. Why do I keep seeing her here?

Betsy was standing in the parking lot, holding her doll. She was crying. “My daddy is dead. I want my mommy. Please let me call my mommy.”

I looked around as carefully as I could. There was no one else with us. The car. The doll. The girl. That was it. Not even dead Chuck—thankfully.

“Can you help me?” she asked, staring right at me.

“Your mom is here in Duck.” There was no point in pretending she couldn’t see me. I’d have to worry about why and how later. “We don’t know where you are. Do you know? Do you know who took you?”

“A man. He drives this car.”

“Where did he take you?”

“I don’t know. I-I fell asleep. I woke up and it was dark. I don’t know.” She started crying again.

“It’s okay.” I tried to comfort her. “We’re going to find you.”

“Am I dead like my daddy? Is that why I can’t come home?” The horror on her face broke my heart. I wanted to hold her and bring her back to her mother.

“We’ll find you,” I promised, hoping I was right. “Can you show me the place again where they’re keeping you?”

Instantly, it was completely dark. The sound of dripping water along with the smell of mold, dirt and maybe rotten garbage filled my senses.

“Don’t stand up,” she whispered. “It’s very small in here. You might hit your head like I did.”

I’d thought I already
was
standing, but at Betsy’s words, I realized I was lying in a shallow indentation in the ground.

I screamed—and found myself back in my bed.

The kitten hissed at me as I threw back the comforter and reached for the phone. Then he curled up on my lap.

The other end of the line rang repeatedly before it was finally picked up.

“Hello?” Chris Slayton asked in an uncertain tone. Probably not used to getting many phone calls in the middle of the night.

“Chris? It’s Dae.”

“Mayor?”

“That’s right. Do you have a map or chart that shows all the houses in Duck that have basements? What about commercial property?”

“I-I don’t know. I could look—”

“Great! Let’s do it right away.”

“Now?”

“There’s no time like the present, Chris. I’ll meet you at town hall in ten minutes.”

Chapter 13

W
e huddled over the maps together in the meeting
room at town hall. The first map had been drawn up by a group of engineers at the request of a dozen Duck residents who’d worked tirelessly toward the town’s incorporation. They’d wanted to prevent several big-box stores from opening and destroying everything we loved about our community. This map had been the first serious step toward that goal.

In addition to including all of Duck’s geographic features, the mapmakers had done their best to show every existing house lot in Duck, so we’d have a model to work with as the town grew. They’d used a map legend to indicate whether each house was raised on stilts—a common style for beachfront homes—or had a basement.

A newer map, created just two years ago, left out some of the details from that first map, such as the basements and even Rodgers Pond. James Millford’s old shed, which he claimed his great-grandfather built a hundred years ago, wasn’t on it either. His grandfather ran a popular rye whiskey still out of it for fifty years. Gramps had told me stories about that place.

“Which one do you want to use?” Chris asked, yawning. “For property values, the new one is better.”

“I think the old map would be better in this case.” I told him briefly about Betsy and my desire to find her. He deserved some information—poor man, out at this time, still in his pajamas.

“You’re right.” He traced the old map with his finger. “How are you going to check all those basements for her?”

“I’m not going to check all of them—not if you’ll help. If I check some of them and you check some, it won’t be so bad. We could get the guys from public works to help too. It could work.”

He looked skeptical. “Shouldn’t we call the police? People might not like it.”

I knew he meant Mad Dog. I probably should’ve stopped right then. There wasn’t much Mad Dog could do to me, but he could cause Chris to lose his job.

But I’d come this far in my effort to find Betsy; I couldn’t give up now. I knew I couldn’t do it alone, though, and that law enforcement wouldn’t be on my side. After Anne threw her hat in the ring to find Betsy, I didn’t blame them. Anne was more experienced.

But I knew Duck better.

“I can’t explain why right now, but it’s not a good time to call the police. And if we tell people we’re looking for something important—like the ancient riverbeds you were telling me about when the geological team was here last year—that might be just the trick to get them to let us explore their basement. No one, who isn’t hiding something, wants the foundation on their house to shift because it’s sitting in an ancient riverbed, do they?”

“No. Of course not.” He smiled. “You know that would be a lie, Mayor.”

“Yes, it would. But it would be a lie that might save a little girl’s life. If someone refuses to let us look at their basement, we can assume they have something to hide. That might be the time to call in the police. And I won’t blame you if you don’t want to do it. It’s up to you.”

“I know. And I’d like to help.”

By seven
A.M.
, we were ready to start. Chris and I had gone home to put on old clothes and wading boots. Our three public works guys were onboard. We all had flyers explaining that we were checking for sliding foundations due to ancient riverbeds.

It
kind of
made sense when I looked at it on paper. Most people probably wouldn’t question it—or understand it—for that matter. I hoped it was enough to get the job done.

We divided the map of Duck between us. That gave each of us about twenty-five houses to check. These were homes that had been here a while, not renters that were used only in the summer. We’d get to them later. My plan was to check all the basements first. If we didn’t find Betsy, I’d figure out a way to search all the root and storm cellars. I knew there were a lot of those—like the one under the Blue Whale Inn.

“Okay. Everyone keep in touch. If you suspect anything, call the police. Don’t try to apprehend anyone by yourself. Whoever has this little girl is probably armed and definitely dangerous.”

Everyone nodded when I finished my little pep talk. I hoped I wasn’t sending anyone into harm’s way. I wanted desperately to find Betsy. This seemed like a good plan. All we needed was a little energy and a little ingenuity.

And a lot of brass.

It was cool and foggy outside with a chance of rain, according to the radio. I hoped the weatherman was wrong. Not that nice weather would make this any easier. I just didn’t want it to be any harder on the public works guys, or Chris, than it had to be.

My first house was Elmore Dickie’s. He used to run the skee ball place when it was just skee ball and pool tables. Now it was Game World and had more sophisticated amusements. Carter Hatley had replaced the pool tables and skee ball with video games. Kids used to stand around smoking when I was growing up. Now they stood around texting on their cell phones.

I explained to Mr. Dickie why I was there and what I was looking for. Of course he trusted me and led me downstairs to his basement. I thought it was a waste of time—Mr. Dickie probably wasn’t holding Betsy prisoner in his basement. But he was an elderly man who had a lot of relatives who came to stay with him. One of them could be involved with taking Betsy and Mr. Dickie might not even know about it.

“You know, I was talking to my son-in-law about the new town hall. How does that geothermal stuff work anyway? Does it send hot water gushing up through the pipes?” Mr. Dickie asked.

I didn’t know much about geothermal anything, so I answered his questions as briefly as I could, and then I referred him to Chris. “He’ll be able to tell you all about it.”

We were down in his cramped, damp basement. It had the same smell as the place in my visions with Betsy. But other than some mildewed old life preservers and other water-sport equipment, the area was empty.

I shined my flashlight along the edges of the floor anyway. Millions of dead bugs were pushed into the corners.
Ugh
. “No. I think you’re safe, Mr. Dickie. I don’t see any sign of your foundation sliding.”

He looked at me with the same incredulous expression he’d used when I was a kid and told him that I’d lost my quarter in a game. That look had made me turn in all the quarters I’d ever found left behind in the skee ball games. “No offense, Your Honor, but that seems like a quick inspection for such a big problem.”

I rattled off statistics and figures, explaining how I could tell right away that the foundation was fine. I stared matter-of-factly back at him, wondering if he’d buy it.

He shrugged and took a puff from his cigar. “Okay. Just wondering. Everything is so fast these days. Nothing takes any time at all.”

I shook his hand. He promised to vote for me. We parted on friendly terms. But once I was outside, I had to stop and catch my breath. This had seemed like a good idea at two
A.M
. Now, in the bright sunlight, I realized I was risking a lot to do this. Chris and the public works guys were risking even more.

If anyone else found out about it, the consequences would be bad.

I finally got myself together by drinking a double-shot mocha latte at the coffee shop. I saw Kevin and Ann sitting in a corner, looking at a map that was probably of Duck. It hurt to see their heads bent so close together. Ann reached up and absently stroked the side of his hair. I turned away.

I hoped they wouldn’t see me, but no such luck. “Dae!” Kevin called my name when I was halfway to the door. “I’d like to talk to you a minute.”

I tried to think of something to say, something airy, an excuse to leave right away. There were important things afoot in Duck. I needed to be somewhere else.

But I couldn’t think of a single excuse. My tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth as I stood there in my big rubber boots.

Kevin was coming my way. Ann stayed at the table. The door to the coffee shop opened and Chris came in. He was holding an old sign that looked like it had been out in the water for a while, all messed up and falling apart.

“Mayor, I found this out in the park next to the pier,” he said. “I thought public works cleaned up in that area yesterday.”

I seized his lead like a lifeline. “You are absolutely right. I’m going to get right on it. Sorry, Kevin. I hope whatever you have to say will wait until later.”

Kevin frowned, and I thought he might not agree to wait. Then he relented. “Fine. We’ll talk later, Dae. But we
really
need to talk.”

His last few words were spoken in a quiet but meaningful tone. His mouth was tight, and his more-gray-than-blue eyes were intent on mine.

I smiled and nodded, then walked quickly out of the shop. I didn’t even care that it was pouring rain.

Chris nodded and dropped the sign into a Dumpster. “I really
did
find it in the street.”

“Thanks. I feel kind of stupid.
Everyone
knows.”

“You’re right.
Everyone
knows.” He grinned. “But sometimes that’s a good thing. I know what you’re going through, Mayor. I’ve been there myself. How’s your basement search going?”

I told him of my visit with Mr. Dickie.

“If I can make a suggestion.” He pulled out one of the maps from town hall. “I think we’re wasting our time on the people we know. I guess one of them
could
be a kidnapper, but it’s probably an outsider, if it’s anyone. Maybe we should concentrate on rental places. We have twenty-five hundred newer rental houses here in Duck. But not many people build houses with basements anymore. Maybe it could be one of the older houses that’s rented out by the owner.”

It was a good suggestion. I wished I’d thought of it. But the important thing was that someone had. I didn’t want to go through another visit with an old Duck resident like Mr. Dickie, if I could help it.

Chris and I reviewed the list of the houses with basements, circled the ones we knew were rentals and divided them between us. He called the public works guys with a few addresses too. We’d have to go back to the town clerk’s office to look up the houses we weren’t sure about, but we decided we’d wait to do that until we finished inspecting the ones we already had.

I could have called Nancy at town hall and asked for help, but I knew she wouldn’t agree to be part of the search—unless I was more explicit about why the police weren’t involved. She had a thing about not getting herself, or anyone else, in trouble. I wouldn’t have asked her unless I was willing to call Chief Michaels at the same time.

I knocked at the first door on the new list. A big, tough-looking man with dark hair and a tattoo across his forehead answered. He was young—maybe in his late twenties. I had never seen him before.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. I’m from the town of Duck, and I’m checking basements for problems.” I handed him the flyer. “It won’t take more than a few minutes.”

He glanced at the flyer, then handed it back to me. “There’s no basement here, love,” he said in a cool British accent. “Maybe you should try the next house.”

“Maybe you haven’t been down there yet.” I smiled. “But our records show that there’s a basement here. Believe me, it won’t take that long to look at it.”

“No.” He slammed the door in my face.

I knocked again and rang the doorbell. This time, a young woman with very black hair and a lot of eye makeup answered. “Yes?”

I gave her my speech. “I’m sorry to bother you, but we need to check these foundations. It’s part of a government survey. You know how it is.”

“Sure.” She sucked hard on a lollipop. “But we don’t have a basement. An upstairs—but not a basement. Sorry.”

Could this be the place?
They were certainly reluctant to let me in. I checked the address on my list against the one on the house.

The woman had already closed the door. I knocked on it—again—unsure when I should call the police. I really needed to have something substantial before I told the chief what I’d been doing. I hoped Chris and the other guys weren’t having the same problem.

“Are you crazy?” The man with the tattoo emerged again, much angrier this time. “What’s it gonna take to get rid of you?”

From behind him, the woman’s voice called out, “Give her some money. Civil servants are always underpaid and looking for bribes.”