A Father's Quest (17 page)

“The fact is I have been praying about this problem for weeks. Cheryl stopped taking her meds, insisting, instead, that I cure her. With my powers,” he added, wiggling his fingers as if to prove the digits were simply ordinary fingers. “We’ve all tried to reach her, but none of us is clinically trained to handle this sort of mental-health issue. Surely you know what I’m talking about.”

Jonas knew exactly what the man was saying, but he wasn’t going to admit to it until he saw Cheryl and made certain she and Birdie were safe. “Where are they?”

“I have no idea. Things have been a little hectic around here. My most trusted friend and right-hand man told me this morning he was leaving…and taking the woman I believed was my soul mate with him.” His admission sounded hollow with pain.

Jonas and Remy looked at each other. The truck and fifth-wheel they’d watch leave, Jonas assumed.

“Cheryl was here for that, I think.” His brow wrinkled. “But, quite honestly, I don’t remember seeing your daughter. She’s pretty hard to miss with her bright-colored hair.”

“Could your driver have taken her?”

“You mean, Ziggy? No. I sent him after supplies.”

“And he’s not back yet?”

Thom looked resigned. “He’s an ex-tweaker. Drugs are a powerful demon. Zig does the best he can. He’ll be back. He knows he has a home here. But he definitely didn’t take Birdie.” He reached for a small, cheap phone and fiddled with it a moment. “I’ll show you how I know. This is a picture I took last night around the fire. It’s time-stamped.”

Jonas checked out the image and passed it to Remy. His daughter was sitting on Cheryl’s lap, front and center. Everyone smiled for the camera but Birdie. “She doesn’t look happy.”

“No. She hates it here. Always has. She looks at me as though I’m the Antichrist.” His gaze shifted from Remy to Jonas. “Sort of the way you’re looking at me now. Is there something else you think I’ve done?”

“Try murder.”

The man’s eyes opened wide. “
Murder?
Me? You may well be as delusional as your ex-wife.”

Jonas started to move past Remy’s chair but she stopped him. “Jonas works for an insurance company, Thom. According to his files, you’ve been the recipient of several life-insurance policies.”

“Six,” Jonas volunteered.

“Oh,” Thom said, sitting back in his chair. He held up one hand to count, his lips murmuring a name for each finger. “You’re right. The GoodFriends have lost six of our brethren. By God’s design, of course. Not mine.”

A flat denial didn’t prove anything to Jonas. He planned to dig deeper into the man’s file once he was safely home with Birdie. He was about to say so when the man looked at Remy, his head cocked thoughtfully.

“You’re a very brave young woman. You came here to meet me regardless of the fact that your friend thinks I’m some kind of serial killer. I’m impressed. But I hope you’ll believe me, Remy, when I tell you that five of the souls who passed on to God’s great beyond were beloved elders of our congregation.

“Catherine was eighty-six. She went to sleep one night and didn’t wake up in the morning. Judd was a veteran of the Second World War. He’d lived with a piece of shrapnel lodged in his spine for nearly sixty years. His release came as a gift. Do you want the other names?”

“You said five,” Jonas answered. “What about the sixth?”

Brother Thom reached for his Bible. “Tommy.” He rubbed the binding of the book against his cheek, his gaze unfocused. “You’re right, Jonas. I killed him. How did you guess? I paid one of my followers to say he was at fault. I convinced myself that was in the best interest of the GoodFriends.” He looked at Jonas, his anguish clearly visible. “I endorsed the check your company issued over to Tommy’s mother immediately. She still ran away, got high, stole a car and told the police that I was running a cult that preyed on women and children. I spent half our building fund defending my so-called reputation. But, after a while, I decided why bother? Nothing—not even prayer—has lessened the guilt I feel from backing over my own son.”

Jonas knew the man was telling the truth. The hollow emptiness in his voice was matched by the look of pure agony in his eyes.

“Is that why you don’t drive?” Remy asked.

“Yes. I can’t. My hands begin to shake and I suffer what I assume is a panic attack every time I try to get behind the wheel.” He looked at Jonas. “My personal cross to bear.”

“Tell me where my daughter is.”

Goodson shrugged. “Birdie stays as far away from me as possible.”

“Why?”

“Children see what adults often miss. I figure she can see the truth—that I am dead inside, my soul withered and corroded.”

“She called me on a cell phone a few days ago. I heard you shout at her.”

Thom shook his head. “I don’t recall that. It could have been Ziggy. Or the man who just left. Tempers have run high around here lately. It’s not easy to watch everything you’ve worked for slide into a great abyss lined with the open hands of greedy bankers.”

The exterior door suddenly slammed, making Remy jump. Footsteps rushed toward them and a woman burst into the room, crying, “Thom, you have to help me. I can’t find Birdie. She’s lost. My little girl is lost.”

Mommy needed help. The kind her daddy always got for her. Daddy would know what to do. And since Birdie spoke to him on the phone, she’d been thinking about how to reach him. She would walk to town—there was one nearby. She knew, because she’d heard Thom tell someone that Ziggy—the skinny, nervous man Birdie tried to avoid—had taken the other car for supplies.

She wasn’t sure where this town was, but she remembered her daddy telling her once that train tracks linked the country together like a big quilt. If she followed the tracks, she’d find a town eventually, she figured.

But she’d been walking a long time and the rails were clogged with weeds, and the boards that separated them were rotten in places and hard to walk on. And the sun was hot. And she was thirsty.

She looked around, trying to decide what to do. Would Mommy be looking for her? She didn’t want to make her mother scared. But, no, Birdie decided. When Mommy’s head got fuzzy inside and she started making that sound, it usually meant she would stay in bed for days.

So, Birdie could rest for a little while, then start walking again. The tracks were high, so Birdie didn’t worry about gators or snakes getting her. She could even walk at night if she had to. Not that she wanted to do that. She wanted to find the town and call her daddy. But, first, she’d hide somewhere safe.

An interesting tree caught her eye. Two trees, actually, that were so close together they sorta grew up connecting with each other, but near the base of their trunks was a hole. Bunnies might have lived there once. Maybe something bigger. It looked empty now. That’s all Birdie cared about.

She took off the light jacket she’d tied around her waist and spread it out in the little nook. If she could see the tree hole then so could other people, she figured, so she dragged a broken limb that had fallen to the ground nearby closer to the opening before crawling into her spot.

The tightly woven branches of the dead limb hid her well, she decided. Well enough that she could close her eyes and sleep. For a few minutes.

“I’ve been looking for you and Birdie ever since I got back from Iraq,” he shouted. “What do you think—I’d let you run off with my kid without a care?”

“You left us first,” Cheryl cried, coming at him with fists raised. “You shouldn’t have gone, Jonas. You knew I wasn’t well. This isn’t my fault. Birdie wanted to go home, but I told her you’d be mad. I was afraid you’d never let me see her again.”

Jonas’s handsome face was contorted with contempt and fury. “You got that right, lady.”

Cheryl seemed to crumple on the spot. She probably would have fallen if Brother Thom hadn’t rushed to her side. “People, please, put your hostility aside until we locate your little girl.”

He helped Cheryl to a chair, then went down on one knee so he could look her in the eyes. “Why do you think she’s missing, Cheryl? When did you last see her? Have you looked in the motor home? Could she be playing hide-and-seek? You know how she likes to do that.”

Cheryl let out a thin wail. “I didn’t feel well last night.” She put her hands up to cover her ears. “All the yelling and people leaving…it was too much. I took some pills. The ones you wanted me to take. Maybe more than I should have. I don’t remember.”

“Cheryl,” Jonas said sharply, walking closer to where his ex-wife sat. “Where was Birdie when you decided to get stoned on prescription meds?”

Cheryl’s face scrunched. “Stop yelling. I didn’t mean to sleep so long. She was right beside me when I went to bed. But…but…when I woke up, she wasn’t there.”

Cheryl clasped one of Thom’s hands, as if in prayer, and leaned closer. “I thought she was having breakfast. Or telling David goodbye. I didn’t think she might be missing. She’s never run away before.”

Remy and Jonas looked at each other.

“What makes you think she’s run off, Cheryl?” he asked.

“Because she took your paperclip, Jonas.”

Jonas shook his head in confusion. “My paperclip? What the hell are you talking about?”

Cheryl shrunk, almost as if she wanted to disappear, but she answered, her tone flat. “I told her we were going to make a new life with Thom and the GoodFriends, so we needed to leave all traces of our old life behind. The last letter you sent had a picture of you attached with a paperclip. She wanted to bring your picture but I wouldn’t let her. So…” She looked down. “When I found it one day, clipped to her undershirt right above her heart, I—I took it away. I put it in my Bible. And now it’s gone.” She let out a thin wail and collapsed.

Thom got to his feet, one hand resting on the sobbing woman’s back. He looked at Jonas. “It was a hectic morning. I don’t remember seeing Brigitte anywhere. We’re on thirty-five acres here. The nearest town is sixteen miles away and it’s mostly swamp between here and the road. If she did leave the compound, she could be in big trouble. You’re an investigator, what do you suggest?”

Jonas pulled out his phone. “Call 9-1-1, then get the rest of your people together. We’ll do a sweep through the buildings and the motor home first. That will save time when then search parties get here.”

Brother Thom took the phone and stepped onto the landing to make the call.

“What can I do?” Remy asked.

Cheryl, who had been rocking side to side and wringing her hands, looking every bit the madwoman Jonas had accused her of being, suddenly shot to her feet. “Wait a minute,” she exclaimed, pointing a long, bony finger Remy’s way. “I know you. You’re Jonas’s old girlfriend. The psychic.” Her eyes went wide with panic. “Oh, my God. You’re here because you find dead people, don’t you? No. Go away. My Birdie is not dead. She’s not dead,” Cheryl shrieked, launching herself at Remy.

Jonas caught her from behind, pulling her in the opposite direction. Remy’s pulse exploded from the adrenaline coursing through her system. She staggered back a step, sending a tower of boxes tumbling.

Brother Thom rushed in. He handed Jonas his phone. “They’re on their way.” Then, he took Cheryl by the arm. “Calm yourself, Cheryl. No on believes Brigitte is dead. Remy came here to see me. Come on, now. We need to organize the others.”

Remy’s heart was pounding. She felt as though the world was spinning out of control and she was somehow to blame.

Jonas hurried to her side. “Are you okay? Sorry about that. Volatility is a side effect of her meds. It usually levels out after she’s been on them for a while. That’s one of the reasons you’re not supposed to arbitrarily start and stop.”

She was a little surprised that he bothered to offer an excuse for his ex-wife’s actions, but she pushed the thought away. “I’m fine. What can I do?”

“The topo map. I need to see the bigger picture.”

She hurried to keep up with him as they crossed the wide, open square. She hadn’t noticed earlier but the roadway was littered with quarter-size chunks of brick and rock, probably hauled away from the demolition of other buildings.

The sun had come out and the steamy heat seemed to weigh her down like a damp blanket. Suddenly a cold shiver passed down her spine, making her come to an abrupt stop. Déjà vu? Or something else?

“Jonas, I remember being here in my dream last night. We were looking for something. I walked and walked until I couldn’t take another step.”

He spun round to face her. “Were you looking for Birdie?”

“I don’t know. But I saw my mother. She was sitting on a flat spot where two trees twisted together. They formed a sort of heart shape. She looked beautiful. Rested and happy. I remember starting to cry, and she said, ‘Don’t fret, child. Hearts heal.’”

“Hearts heal.
Does the symbolism mean anything?” he asked. “Something that might help us find Birdie?”

She put a hand to her temple. A sudden pain made it hard to think. “I don’t know. I need an aspirin.”

While Jonas spread the maps they’d printed off the computer on the hood of his car, Remy found a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers in her purse and retrieved a bottle of water from the backseat. She cracked open the lid and sat to swallow the pills.

The black leather was warm, the headrest soft. She closed her eyes a moment to catch her breath. She wouldn’t be any help if she couldn’t focus, and so much had happened that morning, she wasn’t sure she’d ever make sense of it all. The most upsetting part was realizing Jonas had jumped to the worst conclusion possible about her half brother with limited information. He’d reacted impulsively in the past, too…running away to Europe with his mother, cutting off all memories of his father after the man committed suicide, believing her mother’s lie without making any effort to prove or disprove it.

Yes, she’d bought that lie, too, and she could even excuse their naivety given their age and inclination to trust anyone in authority. But could she love and respect someone who rushed to judgment without considering all sides of the story?

He’d begged her to help him find his daughter—not because he trusted in lucid dreaming but because he trusted her. But all he really knew of her was the girl he’d once loved—and left without a backward look.

The sound of a siren cut into her thoughts. She knew she needed to stand up, open the trunk and find a more practical pair of shoes so she could join the search, but she didn’t move. Sleep pulled her eyes closed tighter.

Where are you, Birdie? Why did you run away?

“To find my daddy,” a voice in her head answered.

Of course. Her mother was ill. The GoodFriends were falling apart. The only person she could count on was her father. And how would someone Birdie’s age go about finding her father?

Remy pictured Birdie walking to the road to hitch a ride, but immediately crossed the idea off the list of possibilities. Birdie was a smart kid. She’d know better than to get in a car with a stranger.

A phone.

She’d try to find a phone to call him.

And the fastest way to find a phone would be to find a town.

Her eyes blinked open. The loading dock with the faded sign that had led her here was directly across from where Jonas’s car was parked. The loading dock that, at one time, served to link this bustling community to the world at large.

She jumped to her feet, holding tight to the open door while her equilibrium settled. Two police cruisers roared into the plaza, sending a dust cloud mushrooming into the still air. Coughing and sputtering, Remy tried to reach Jonas before he jogged away to greet the officers.

“The train tracks, Jonas. If we follow…”

“In a minute, Rem. I have a grid search laid out. Let me talk to these guys. I’ll be right back.”

Maps over dreams. Grid over hunches. The facts, ma’am, stick to the facts.

Why should she expect anyone else to believe in her if she didn’t trust herself?

She popped the lever for the trunk and dug out the pair of sneakers she’d packed on a whim. After grabbing her sun hat and an extra bottle of water, she walked to the elevated loading dock. She paused in the shade of the crumbling structure to survey the chaos unfolding in the plaza. More vehicles with flashing lights had arrived. Men—in and out of uniform—huddled around Jonas, who was barking orders like the good commander he was. Brother Thom was busy shepherding his flock in a contained search of the existing buildings.

No one appeared to notice when she gave a mock salute and stepped to the rusty steel tracks. Right? Or left? She closed her eyes and let an answer form in her thoughts.

Right.

“Right it is,” she murmured softly, heading away from the cluster of buildings.

She hadn’t walked along a railroad track since she and Jessie were kids. They’d always loved hopping from board to board, lining up rocks and pennies for the slow-moving freight trains to run over.

Unfortunately, she decided a short while later, the spacing of the crumbling ties were not so accommodating to an adult’s stride. She was huffing and puffing and cursing under her breath by the time she’d traveled half a mile.

Bending over to catch her breath, she looked between her legs at where she’d come from. The blue sky looked funny upside down. A kid would probably love this view—and be able to spot a dozen different images in the white, puffy clouds.

She decided to take a break and sat crossed-legged between the rails. If she listened hard, she could hear shouts in the distance. The search party. They’d brought dogs along, she decided.

She hoped the howls didn’t scare Birdie.

Birdie. Where are you, little girl?

Remy removed her hat and used the hem of her white blouse to wipe the sweat from her eyes. Her mascara left an odd blotch that almost looked like a heart. A heart.

She looked up, her pulse quickening. “Birdie,” she called.

She didn’t hear an answer, but a thicket of dried limbs moved near the trunk of a tree. No. Twin trees growing from a shared based, their branches united to create a sort of heart shape. “Birdie,” Remy cried, nearly tripping over her feet as she clamored down the weed-choked levy of the railroad bed.

She yanked the limb aside, ignoring the thorns that pierced her skin and left long red gashes on her hands. She didn’t feel a thing because a second later a head with long red braids tentatively emerged from the hollowed-out base of the tree.

“Birdie,” Remy cried. “Are you okay, sweetheart? I’m Remy. I’m a friend of your daddy’s. He’s close by. With your mommy. Everybody is looking for you, Birdie. Can I help you out of there?”

The child shook her head as if offended by the suggestion. Independent, even in her obvious fear. She wiggled free of the small space and stood, brushing dirt and twigs from her clothes. She was dressed in jeans and very grubby sneakers. Her T-shirt was faded and torn in spots—an obvious hand-me-down.

“Are you hurt?” Remy asked.

Birdie shook her head, making her braids bounce. “You’re the one bleeding.”

Remy looked down. “Oh,” she said, making a face. “I am.” She turned and sat on the level spot at the crux of the twin trees. She pulled a tissue from her bag and wet it with water from her bottle.

“Can I have a drink?” Birdie asked.

“Of course. Have the bottle.”

She dabbed at the bloody streaks on her hand. Shallow scratches. Nothing to worry about. She looked up a moment later to see Birdie staring at her.

“I know you.”

“You do?”

Birdie nodded. “I saw you in my dream one time. You made me not so afraid.”

Remy didn’t know what to say—what Jonas would want her to say. Fortunately, she didn’t have to answer because a second later, two men in uniforms crashed through the thick underbrush to emerge a few feet away from them.

Birdie didn’t hesitate for a second. She launched herself into Remy’s arms. Remy hugged her tight and closed her eyes, marveling at the rightness of the feeling. When she opened her eyes, she caught a faint glimmer of a figure she couldn’t quite make out. But a voice in her head said, “Mama.”