Knock Out (3 page)

Ethan Merriweather felt hopelessness sweeping over him like a tsunami. It didn’t help that the sky was blacker than the bottom of a cauldron tonight—no moon, no stars, only drooping, bloated clouds pressing down on the thick-treed hills like so many black hats.

His grandpa would have poked his arm and told him he was sounding like a long-haired poet again. His grandpa would have said it with a sort of Scottish lilt in his heavily accented voice, a spoken song, Ethan had always thought, one of his thick, white eyebrows arched higher than any eyebrow Ethan had ever seen.

He’d practiced for hours in front of a mirror but never achieved his grandfather’s lift.

He knew it was time to call it a day. Or a night.

Where are you?

Ethan’s cell screamed out “Blood on Your Hands,”

a grinding death- metal rock ringtone that spiked his brain better than a double espresso. He picked it up and said right off, his heart speeding up a bit, “Tell me she’s been found.”

“Sorry, Sheriff, still no sign of her,” said Ox, his senior deputy. “I called to tell you the three rangers from Thunder Ridge district are ready to call it quits for the night, said they can’t do anything more now that it’s dark.”

“Yeah, they’re right. I’ll call Faydeen, have her round everybody else up, tell them to go home. We’ll pick it up tomorrow morning. How you feeling, Ox?”

“I’m hunkered down beside you in a swamp of worry, Sheriff. Even my evening infusion of Turkish tar didn’t hold me up long.”

Ethan said, “There’s lots of room in my swamp, so welcome aboard. See you in the morning.”

“You going to go home too, Sheriff?”

“Yeah, to feed the critters, then I’ve got to see Mrs.

Backman in town, let her know what we’re doing. I’m nearly finished driving the perimeter of the wilderness.”
Again.
“Damnation, where is she, Ox?

We’ve covered all the roads, the rangers have checked and rechecked the trails and campsites without a sign of her, and no one’s seen hide nor hair of her in or out of town. Nothing more to do until it’s light again. Go home to Belle, Ox.”

“Yeah, my sweetheart and I deserve big steaks, then we’ll have a nice run in the woods.”

Three more miles, Ethan thought as he punched off his cell, and he’d hit Rural Route 10, a winding two-lane country road that would take him to Highway 41, and back into Titusville.

Titus Hitch Wilderness.
He’d grown up here, knew every inch of the four thousand and fifty-four acres.

He’d climbed the highest peak, called Titus Punch, many times and fished since he was four years old alongside his grandpa in the Sweet Onion River that flowed below the Appalachian Trail. He’d eaten tuna-salad sandwiches on Sod Drummer’s Ridge, a jagged, toothy line of rocks that cut the wilderness in half, and painted the endless stretches of tree-carpeted hills in every season. He’d explored the treacherous gullies, like knife gashes made by pissed-off giants, his grandpa had said, spent nights in almost all the caves.

He’d even run through it in hundred-mile

ultramarathons every year until a torn ACL, nearly rehabbed now, had brought him down on the last one the year before.

Hut none of his knowledge had helped. His

birthplace, his sanctuary, had turned a deaf ear. He felt itchy and cold, and the creep of fear for the single little girl. At night the trees and hills seemed to draw in around you here, smothering all light, like the devil closing his black fist.

He hadn’t found one seven-year-old little girl, missing since this morning. He didn’t want to let the thought in, but he couldn’t help it. She could be lying somewhere hurt, unable to call for help, or even dead.

Someone could have lured her away, maybe even killed her, buried her, or left her for the animals.

He hated it.

He punched in the sheriff’s office number and got Faydeen. She sounded tired, and no wonder, but he knew she’d make sure every searcher was thanked and asked to start up again in the morning. He started to call Gerald’s Loft, the B-&-B where the mother and child had been staying, but disconnected. No, better to tell her everything in person. He had some questions for her.

Ethan had seen her and the little girl around Titusville for the past week—summer visitors, he’d been told when Mavis had introduced them in the checkout line in Blinker’s Market a couple of days ago.

She hadn’t met his eyes. She’d backed her cart away.

For some reason he couldn’t figure, she didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Because he was a man? Or because he was the sheriff? A short vacation, that’s all he’d gotten out of her. He realized he didn’t really know a thing about her, since he’d been so anxious to get on the road and find the child. She’d handed him a photo, not meeting his eyes. “I was taking a nap.

Autumn was playing with her dolls—the three princesses, she calls them. I only slept for an hour, not more, I’m sure of that.” He heard fear and soul-rotting guilt in her voice.

“When I woke up and called her, she didn’t answer. She wasn’t here.” Her voice hitched, and she abruptly rose and began pacing the small sitting room.

“She simply wasn’t here in the room, she wasn’t playing in the hallway. I ran downstairs to Mrs. Daily, and she hadn’t seen her, but of course she’s in and out all the time. She and I went out to ask everyone, but no one had seen her.” She still didn’t meet his eyes, and why was that? He couldn’t help wondering. “When we couldn’t find her, I came to you.”

“You should have come to me immediately,” Ethan said, angry with her because she’d wasted valuable time. She shook her head, still not looking at him. He thought about black bears and bobcats and the four-thousand-plus acres of wilderness, dense with oak, hickory, maple, and pine trees, all clustered close together. He thought about the ditches and gullies and the Sweet Onion River, deep enough to drown an adult, and he thought of one little girl, alone and lost, and turned it off. It wouldn’t help. She said then,

“Autumn’s sick. She hasn’t had her pill today. She’ll be fine, but she does need the medication. Today and tomorrow.” And she shut her mouth, shook her head.

He wanted to ask her exactly what was wrong with her daughter, but he saw tears sheen her eyes, her hands clenching and unclenching, and didn’t push it. He asked other questions, but she couldn’t tell him anything useful. Or she wouldn’t; he really didn’t know which it was.

It was time to get serious with her.

Of course the little girl didn’t have to be in the wilderness. She could be anywhere, but he didn’t think so, or someone would have spotted her. They’d searched every building and house in Titusville. No sign of her. And that left the wilderness. She had to have a pill today and one tomorrow. He wished he’d asked Mrs. Backman what was wrong with her.

Had she wandered off? And that brought him back to whether someone had lured her away.

She’s dead.

No, he couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow himself to think that yet. Not yet.

It was hot during the day, but now at nearly nine o’clock at night, when summer darkness finally hit, the temperature began its nightly drop to the forties. It was getting colder by the minute. Ethan turned on the Rubicon’s heater, felt the rush of hot air on his face.

When he pulled into the driveway of his 1940s bungalow, tucked into a mess of pine trees a half-mile outside Titusville, the first things he heard were Lula’s and Mackie’s loud, desperate meows punctuated by Big Louie’s ear-piercing bark.

He loaded up the cats’ food bowls while both of them weaved frantically between his legs, talking nonstop. He fed his patient Big Louie, then took him for a quick walk. Then, just eight and a half minutes after he’d arrived, he drove into Titusville to report to Autumn’s mom that they hadn’t found her daughter yet. He had to get more information out of her, like what was wrong with Autumn, and where her

damned husband was.

He hated it.

4

EVERY LIGHT AT Gerald’s Loft was on. It had quickly become the search center, where Ox had patiently handed out assignments, gathered reports, and called Ethan periodically.

Inside, Ethan saw Gerald Ransom and Mrs. Daily, brother and sister, refilling the giant coffee urn, laying out heaps of Oreos donated by Mavis at Blinker’s Market. There were still a good two dozen people wandering around the Victorian entry hall with its dark paneled walls and florid red cabbage-rose wallpaper, and in the sitting room across from the reception area, loaded with so many knickknacks that Ethan’s mom always said dancing on water might be easier than dusting that room without breaking anything.

Pete Elders of Elders Outdoor Gear spotted him, and slowly everyone turned to him, many of the faces lived-in, seamed, and weathered, all with the same expression—hope. Conversation died.

Ethan simply shook his head and saw their

collective hope dissolve. He thought the air felt suddenly heavier. He searched the group but didn’t see her.

“Where is Mrs. Backman?” he asked Mrs. Daily, a large-boned, buxom woman, formidable in her man’s tie and black suit. She dwarfed her brother Gerald.

“I sent her upstairs, Sheriff, before she passed out on the floor. The girl’s a mess. No wonder. I tried to feed her, but she threw up. She was out searching until Tommy Larkin hauled her back here.”

He turned to the group. “Thank you very much for all your hard work today. Whoever can make it, we’ll begin the search again tomorrow morning.”

“Coffee’s here and free,” Mrs. Daily called out, saw her tightfisted brother start to shake his head, and stared him down.

Ethan turned to walk to the stairs, then said over his shoulder, “We’ll find her.”

He heard Cork Thomas, owner of the Bountiful Wine Shop, say, “To answer your question, Dolly, I haven’t seen Autumn in three, four years. She was just a toddler the last time she visited Tollie, cute as a button. Tollie carted her around everywhere right on his shoulders. She’s gotten big, and so bright she is.

Those eyes of hers look right into your soul. She’s smart. Surely she wouldn’t have climbed into Nome stranger’s car. Damnation, where the blazes is she?”

“What a shame Tollie’s out of town until next Tuesday,” said Tuber Willis, owner of the local nursery and a tulip fanatic.

“It wouldn’t have happened if Tollie’d been here, that’s for sure,” Pete Elders said.

Ethan stood stock-still. He couldn’t believe this.

Everyone knew Mrs. Backman and her daughter except him? What was Tollie Tolbert to her? Why hadn’t anyone said anything?
Well, duh, maybe for the
simple reason they assumed you already knew everything
they did, being you were born and raised here. They forgot
you’ve been back for only a little more than three years.
And gone for a whole lot longer before that, back for only short visits. Fact was, though—and he frowned— Mrs.

Backman had given him the distinct impression this was her first time in Titusville. Had she out-and-out lied or simply tiptoed to the line? And why?

He heard low-voiced conversations pick up as he climbed the wooden stairs with its center strip of Berber carpeting.

Her door opened before he got to it. Joanna Backman looked pale as a quarter moon that had finally cleared the mountains, her eyes bruised-looking and swollen from crying, as if she was waiting to hear the worst. Her gaze held not a flicker of hope. Her hands were fists at her sides.

“Mrs. Backman,” he said, walking up to her. “We haven’t found Autumn yet, but we will, you’ve got to believe that. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” she said, her voice a dead monotone, and took a step back into her room. She continued to walk backward, away from him. When her knees hit the bed, she sat down, her head lowered. He walked over to her, looked down at the top of her head. Her hair was a dull, dark brown with a thick hank hanging along the side of her cheek, the rest pulled back in a straggly ponytail. She wore old jeans and a wrinkled white shirt, and her long, narrow feet were bare. She was tall and looked thin.
Well, no wonder.

He said, “Listen to me, you’ve got to keep optimistic. I will find her. Now, I know you’ve given this a lot of thought today.” He paused a moment, considered his words. “What more can you tell me that would help us find your daughter, Mrs. Backman?”

“Nothing, Sheriff, nothing. I’ve told you everything I know.”

His cop antennae blasted red at the crackling lie, but he’d been well trained and kept his voice calm. “I see. I guess we’ll just have to shirt at the beginning, then. Talk to me, Mrs. Backman.”

Her head whipped up. “Just what do you think I haven’t told you about Autumn?”

He pulled the big paisley wing chair toward the bed and sat down. He said patiently, “You told me Autumn is ill, that she had to have one pill a day for a week. That leaves today and tomorrow. What will happen if she doesn’t get the full dosage?”

“The ear infection won’t be completely knocked out, I suppose, but in terms of symptoms, maybe she’d have headaches again, ear-aches, and a high fever.”

She shrugged. “I really don’t know. It’s never been an issue before.”

She looked over at him, met his eyes a moment. He saw despair and something more, something buried deep, something that scared the crap out of her.

“I’m told you’re always with Autumn. Think. Did you see anyone who perhaps looked too interested in her?”

“No.”

“Everyone says she’s very outgoing, friendly, really cute.”

“Yes, that’s true,” she said, and began twisting her hands together.

Ethan left his chair, came down on his knee in front of her. “Look at me.”

Slowly she raised her head, and he looked into eyes bluer than the sky in the middle of summer. “I can think of one very big thing you neglected to tell me.”

She became Lot’s wife, didn’t move a single muscle, didn’t blink.

“It appears that everyone but me knows you and knows Autumn. Why did you imply to me that this was your first time visiting Titusville?”

She had the gall to shrug. He wanted to jerk her up and shake her. “I didn’t tell you because it wouldn’t have helped. Besides, it’s none of your business.”