Gathering Shadows (15 page)

“Have you talked to Rae?”

“Yeah, she was at the restaurant. As you can imagine, she's very upset.”

“So what happens now?” I asked.

He sighed. “Well, we called the sheriff. He and his deputies are out there now securing the area.” He offered me a weak smile. “You may have another excuse to stay in Sanctuary. No one is supposed to leave town right now.”

Zac and I exchanged looks. “I still want to go to Nathan's brother's house. Will we be able to do that?”

“I don't know. Let me talk to my deputy sheriff friend, Paul Gleason.”

“Thanks. I'm praying Elijah's really at his uncle's.”

“And if he is?” Zac said. “What will you do?”

“We'll turn around and come back. Until we have more answers, I don't want to make them suspicious.”

Reuben scanned the room. “Where's your dad?”

I explained to him about the call from Zac's friend and my father's decision to go to Jamesport. I was glad he'd left before the sheriff shut down the roads out of town.

“Okay. I'll talk to Paul. Find out when we can get out of here. I promised Rae I'd take her over to the church to see Jonathon. We need to plan a service for August as soon as they release his body. He didn't have any family, so we're it.”

I nodded. “Fine. I've got to call Ed . . . again.” An idea popped into my head. “If I tell him we're near Sanctuary and there's been a murder, he may actually tell me to check it out.”

“You take care of that, and I'll come back when I have more information. If Paul says we can't leave, there's nothing I can do about it, Wynter.”

“Please try to convince him. We can't let the Fishers get away.”

“I understand.” He reached over and grabbed my hand. “I'll do my best. I promise.”

He left just as Esther returned. She came in the door, her usual smile missing.

“Are you all right?” Zac asked.

She nodded. “Losing a friend is sad.”

“I didn't know you and August were close,” I said.

She went over to the chair where Reuben had been just moments before and sat down. “When August came here, years ago, he'd been through a bad divorce. He loved his wife, but she found another man. August's heart was broken. Randi knew him from a restaurant in Festus. She was just getting ready to open her café and still didn't have a cook. She offered him the job, and he accepted. August liked to keep to himself, but he was still part of our community. He came to our church dinners and took part in other social activities—always alone.

“Then he and Rae found each other. Rae's personality made up for his quiet spirit. I think August felt complete around her because she allowed him to be himself. She did the socializing, and he enjoyed the benefits without having to say much. It was a perfect match.” Esther smiled sadly. “Rae will miss him. More than most people could understand.”

“Janet was really upset.”

Esther sighed. “I think Janet and August were kindred spirits. Both of them kept to themselves, and they shared painful pasts.” She stood up. “Have you had lunch?”

I shook my head.

“I'll prepare something.”

“Let me help,” I said.

“Thank you, Wynter, but if you don't mind, I need a little time alone in my kitchen to pray. I hope you understand.”

“Yes, of course.”

Zac and I were silent until she was out of sight.

“So do you still think August was stalking you?” Zac asked.

I sighed deeply. “I don't know. I feel like I'm missing something. Like there's a common thread that links everything together, but I just can't find it.”

“Is August's death part of the pattern?”

I studied him. “I don't know. What do you think?”

“Well, the timing is certainly odd.”

“If August was the one who sent me those newspaper clippings, and now he's dead—”

“Maybe those clippings are more important than we realize. Could they be connected somehow?”

I stared at him for a moment. “It's possible,” I said slowly, my mind trying to sort through all the information from the past several days. “After lunch I'm going through those articles again. Could be I missed something important.”

Zac nodded. “Might be a good idea.”

I noticed how tired he looked. “Are you sure you're doing okay? Do you need to rest awhile?”

“I think I do,” he said, sounding reluctant. “I feel like such a wimp.”

“You have nothing to feel bad about. I'm just happy you're getting stronger.”

“Me too.”

Esther called us and we went into the dining room for lunch. After we'd eaten, I followed Zac up the stairs to his room.

“Take it easy,” I told him as he sat down on his bed. “You'll be back to your ornery self anytime now.”

He snorted. “Trust me. I'm too afraid to stay sick. If Esther
comes after me with that nasty stuff again, I'll jump out the window.”

“Well, the front porch roof is only a few feet below us. The worst damage you can do is to cause yourself a lot of embarrassment.”

“Anything's better than Esther's remedy for food poisoning.”

“Poor baby.”

He smiled wryly at me. “I detect a note of sarcasm in your tone.”

“Oh? I'm sorry. I meant that comment to be dripping with it.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Have you considered leaving the news behind and going into comedy?”

“Maybe tomorrow. I need time to work on my routine.” I smiled at him. “You get some sleep. I'll check on you before dinner.”

“If Reuben gets permission for you to leave town, let me know before you go, okay?”

“I will.”

I closed the door and went to my own room. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out how the kidnapping of babies in Missouri could be connected to the abduction of a young boy in Illinois, but I had to take a look. Someone in Sanctuary sent those clippings because they felt they were important. Was it just a coincidence, or was something more going on?

I closed my door and went to the drawer where I'd put the envelope.

It wasn't there.

I stood staring into my drawer for a while. Frankly, I couldn't believe my eyes. First the fudge. Now the newspaper articles. Hoping Zac had taken the envelope, I went back to his room. Unfortunately, he had no idea where it was.

Hurrying back to my room, I turned on my laptop. It didn't take me long to find the original stories. In the last seven years there had been eight abductions from Missouri hospitals, the last one occurring a little over three years ago. In six of the cases, no one noticed anybody taking the baby. In one instance, a witness saw a woman near the nursery with a large bag. Police wondered if it was used to carry the baby out of the hospital. In another abduction, a new mother noticed a nurse come into the nursery and wheel a baby out, but she wasn't sure which baby was removed. She assumed the nurse was taking the baby to its mother. Surveillance cameras didn't help much. Many people came in and out of the nurseries, but no one appeared suspicious. And cameras near the entrances and exits just showed people carrying suitcases and bags in and out, making it impossible to tell if anyone was hiding a baby.

I sat back and pondered the information. How could seven babies be whisked away from different hospitals without anyone realizing something was wrong? Surely it wasn't that easy. Although I read each story carefully, I couldn't see any connection to my brother's kidnapping. I took the note my father had given me out of my pocket and read it again.

Your son is alive and your daughter is in terrible
danger. There's no time to lose.

It was handwritten and nondescript except for the first letter
t
on the words
terrible, There's, time,
and
to
. The top line was extra long, drawn out almost to the end of the word. But unless we could match the handwriting to someone, it wouldn't help us. It was possible police could take fingerprints from the note or the envelope. Of course, that would mean calling them in, and we weren't ready to do that yet.

I slapped the note down in frustration. Our entire case seemed to be hiding in the shadows. Shadowy clues that didn't make sense. Incidents that seemed ominous. But trying to drag them into the light wasn't working. We had no solid leads. No real evidence.

I looked at the envelope the note had come in. It had been mailed to my father a week before Zac and I arrived in Sanctuary. Whoever sent it knew we were coming. A new and frightening thought popped into my head, making it hard to catch my breath.

A sudden knock on the door startled me. I got up and opened it. Reuben stood there.

“We've been given permission to leave town, as long as we return by this evening,” he said.

“Great.” I motioned him inside and shut the door. “Reuben,
whoever sent this note to my dad mailed it about a week before we got here.”

He frowned. “You contacted Martha two weeks before you left St. Louis. She obviously spread the word all over town.”

“But, Reuben, how would this person know about my dad? To find him they'd not only have to know about
my
past, they'd also have to know my real name. I've gone to great lengths to hide it. How could anyone in Sanctuary have that kind of information?”

The stunned look on his face revealed his understanding of the implications. “You're right.”

“Unless the weird things that have been happening aren't about Sanctuary at all. They're about me—and my brother.”

He stared at the letter in my hand. “We shouldn't jump to conclusions.”

I sighed heavily. “But that's all we have. Unsubstantiated conclusions. I think we need to focus on Elijah. He may be the key to everything.”

Reuben shrugged. “I don't know.”

“Look, I know you love this town, but you have to face the facts. Something's not right here.”

“Do you think Ryan's kidnapper lives in Sanctuary?”

“I'm beginning to wonder about that. But who sent me those clippings? The kidnapper wouldn't do it. He doesn't want to draw attention to himself.” I rubbed my forehead. “And how are those kidnappings connected to Ryan?”

“Look, although I can't prove it, I'm certain Nathan and Anna Fisher had nothing to do with taking Ryan. They would never kidnap a child.”

“You might be right. From what Zac's detective friend says, the Fishers were living in Jamesport when Ryan was taken. If
that's true, they couldn't have done it. I have to wonder if they know who did, though.” I sighed. “Let's get going. We're just spinning our wheels. If Elijah is the key, we need to find out the truth about him.” I jumped up, grabbed the letter, and slid it back into the envelope. “We're taking this with us.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm not letting it out of my sight. The clippings are gone.”

Reuben's mouth dropped open. “Gone, as in someone took them?”

“I'm sure I put them in the dresser drawer. When I came upstairs to my room, they were missing.” I picked up a light jacket, since a quick look out the window showed more clouds moving in. Springtime in Missouri was volatile, to say the least.

“If Elijah's not at his uncle's—”

“We'll have a talk with your friend Paul.” I put my hand on his arm. “I don't want to put anyone at risk, Reuben. A man's dead. It might not have anything to do with what's going on, but if it does and we don't say anything . . .”

“I know, and I agree.” Reuben put his hand over mine. “We'll find the truth, Wynter. I want you to know you're not alone.”

“I do know that. You and Zac have been so helpful. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“Zac is a good friend,” he said, his voice husky. “But I hope I'm becoming more than a friend.”

“I know chasing after my brother hasn't given us time to explore our feelings. I'm sorry.”

He put his finger on my lips. “Don't apologize. Your commitment to your brother is one of the things I love about you.”
He took his finger from my lips and gently brushed away a strand of hair that had escaped from my braid. “Please don't push me away, Wynter. No matter what happens. I know you've been hurt.”

“I'm trying, Reuben. I really am.”

He took my hand off his arm and kissed my fingers. “Good. Now, Samuel's farm isn't far away, but we should get on the road. Depending on what we find, we might want to spend a little time there.”

I nodded. “Let's go.”

I stopped by Zac's room. He was sound asleep. We told Esther we were leaving and headed out of town. Reuben's truck was nicer inside than I'd expected. When we got out on the main road, the storm Dad had been concerned about hit us with its full force. I was grateful we hadn't taken my little Prius. Reuben's huge vehicle was up to the challenge of heavy rain and gusty winds.

We didn't talk much on the way to Samuel's house. Trying to be heard above the sound of the rain, the wind, and the windshield wipers seemed to take too much effort. I appreciated having time to think about what might happen at Samuel Fisher's house. If Elijah was there, the plan was to leave. We'd know where he was and that his parents weren't trying to hide him. If he wasn't there, we'd contact Paul Gleason, tell him our story, and ask for his help.

Gradually, over the sound of the rain, another noise grew in intensity. I checked the side mirror and saw a truck coming toward us faster than anyone should be driving in these kinds of conditions.

“That guy's going too fast,” I said loudly, trying to be heard above the noise. “You'd better slow down or pull over.”

Reuben glanced in his rearview mirror. “Some people shouldn't be allowed to drive.” He let up on the gas pedal, rolled down his window, and motioned for the other driver to pass. But instead of going around us, he drew up closer. Reuben motioned once again, his arm getting soaked by rain. No response. He pulled his arm inside and closed the window. “What's wrong with this guy?”

Without any warning, the truck rammed us.

“Hold on,” Reuben yelled.

I looked over toward the side of the road. After a line of trees, the ground dropped sharply. Missouri was full of hills, and we were driving next to a dangerous slope. Before I could warn Reuben, the black truck pulled up next to us, sideswiping us. I tried to see the driver, but the windows were tinted, and I couldn't see inside the cab.

Reuben's face was white as his truck began to spin out of control, getting closer and closer to the edge of the ravine. As we headed toward certain disaster, the other truck sped up and took off, leaving only a trail of water and gravel from the road. Before we went flying off the edge and down into the ravine, Reuben suddenly turned the steering wheel the other way, bringing us to a stop just inches from the edge.

“Are you okay?” he asked shakily.

“I-I'm fine. That guy tried to run us off the road.” I shook my head in disbelief. “He did that on purpose.”

“Yes, he did. Wait here.”

Reuben got out of the truck and walked around his vehicle. I noticed his door creaked when he opened it. I watched him, trembling with emotion.

“We could have been killed,” I said when he got back in the truck.

“Maybe that was the idea.” He pulled on his door. It closed but didn't appear to latch securely. “The truck's banged up, but I can still drive it.”

“Why would someone do that?”

Reuben shook his head, and his hands clasped the steering wheel with so much pressure, his knuckles were white. “I have no idea.”

“Did you see his license plate?”

“No. I was too busy trying to stay alive.”

We sat in silence for several moments, just listening to the sound of the rain on the truck's roof.

“We have to assume it had nothing to do with—”

He snorted. “Yes, I know. Just add it to the list of things that have nothing to do with anything else.” He turned toward me, his expression taut, his eyes narrowed. “After we leave Samuel's, we're definitely talking to Paul. We could have been badly hurt, Wynter. Or worse.”

I nodded. A tear of frustration fell from my eye, and I quickly wiped it away.

“Don't worry. Paul's not an idiot. I'm confident he won't let the Fishers take Elijah away where we can't find him. I should have insisted we contact Paul before now.”

“With what? Conjecture? Innuendo?”

“Well, I hope our trip to Samuel's will finally change that.” He leaned toward me and put his hand on my cheek. “I'm so grateful you're okay. If anything had happened to you . . .”

“I know. I feel the same way about you, Reuben.”

“Good.” He took his hand back, put the truck in gear, and started driving.

It took us about forty-five minutes to reach Samuel's farm. Reuben pulled over to the side of the road as soon as the
farmhouse came into view. The house was large, white, and old. There was a barn and several outbuildings on the property. A modern tractor sat next to several other pieces of machinery. Two black buggies without horses were parked a few yards away. I assumed the horses were inside the barn, out of the rain.

“Modern equipment
and
buggies?” I said.

“Many conservative Mennonites have modern farm equipment,” Reuben said. “They need it to take care of their crops. This situation is a little different though. Naomi Fisher is conservative, but Samuel left the church several years ago after a disagreement with Pastor Troyer. Nathan is worried about his brother. Believes he's backslidden.”

“Just because he doesn't go to church?”

“I'm not sure. Nathan seems genuinely concerned though.”

“Does one of those buggies belong to Nathan?”

“No. I'm sorry, Wynter.”

“How can you tell?” I asked, unable to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

“The top of Nathan's buggy is gray. Those are black.”

I grabbed his arm. “We need to get closer. Maybe Nathan parked on the other side of the house.”

Reuben didn't answer, but he put the truck back in gear and began driving slowly up the dirt road. I kept my eyes peeled, hoping to see a buggy with a gray top, but as we passed the other side of the house, no other buggy was visible.

“Maybe it's parked behind the house,” I said, letting go of his arm. “Can we—”

“If we get any closer, they could see us,” Reuben said. “I don't want to alert them. If Samuel warns his brother . . .”

The rain began to pound harder on the roof of the truck. Frustration overwhelmed me. “I don't care anymore,” I said.
We were so close. I just couldn't go back without some answers.

“Wynter, we can't . . .”

The rest of Reuben's words were lost behind the sound of thunder as I opened the door of the truck and began to run toward the farmhouse.