Music to Die For (8 page)

Then she was against the wall of the house, touching the splintery wood with her hands. She moved past the three windows on her side, standing on tiptoe at the edge of each one, peering over the sills. There was no light showing, but, if anyone was inside in the dark, they could surely have seen the shadow of her head in the moonlight. Had Chase thought about that? But no voice or movement challenged her, and there were no sounds anywhere else in the clearing.

She continued on to the corner of the house and looked around, catching a glimpse of Brigid’s skirt as it disappeared past the front corner. She followed, and in another minute they were grouped together by the front steps.

Chase held up a key. “Stay here,” he said.

Quick as a cat, his mother snatched the key out of his hand. “Better me,” she whispered. “Don’t want to risk Dulcey’s daddy.” She stepped out of Chase’s reach and climbed the steps.

The key clicked, and Brigid moved sideways against the wall as she turned the knob and pushed the door open, letting it squeak inward into blank darkness.

Carrie held her breath for seconds that seemed like minutes. Then Brigid Mason stepped around the doorframe and into the house, while the other three hurried up the steps behind her. When they were all through the door, Carrie shut it as quietly as she could.

Tracy’s voice said, “Dulcey?” sounding loud in the silence, and only silence answered her.

“Tracy, go turn on a light,” Chase said, “and tell us how the house’s laid out.”

“Two bedrooms, bathroom on the left. A kitchen, right. We’re in the main room now. There’s no cellar, solid rock under the house. Loft’s above us.”

She switched on a lamp, revealing a large room that was clean, but full of male clutter. Most of the furniture was old and worn, but there were a few newer pieces, including a recliner and a television set.

Carrie drew a quick, involuntary breath. There was also a glass-front case in the room, with a collection of deadly looking knives displayed against its cloth backing.

Tracy noticed what Carrie was looking at and said, “Farel collected ’em,” but she took no time to say more. She was already turning on a light in the kitchen, and Chase and his mother had disappeared in the direction of the bedrooms.

Carrie looked closely at the knife collection, then, seeing a plain wood stairway at the side of the room, she climbed up to take a look. The stairs led to an empty loft with a large rag rug on the floor. In the center of the rug sat a cloth doll with staring button eyes, a child’s plastic tea set, and building blocks stacked in a small wagon pulled by two painted horses. A child was meant to be here. Carrie could imagine what fun a four-year-old would find in this high-up hidey-hole. Maybe Tracy had known what she was talking about, and Farel really hadn’t meant Dulcey any harm.

But now the toys were silent, alone, and arranged way too neatly.

Carrie heard footsteps below and looked over the railing. Chase was back in the room, carrying a blue hair ribbon. Tracy followed him, her face drawn and frightened. “She was here,” was all Chase said.

Tracy spoke, her voice shaky, almost too weak to carry. “I tied that ribbon myself. There were two of them. They match her performance dress.”

“There are toys up here,” Carrie said as she started down the steps, “but I don’t think she had time to play with them.”

“Back door ain’t locked,” Brigid said, appearing from the hall, “but the whole house is empty. Did everyone look in closets, under beds ’n’ such?”

No one spoke, but they were nodding as she went on, holding up a red plastic cylinder. “I found a flashlight.”

Suddenly all of them lifted their heads as they heard the sound of a motor beginning its uphill struggle on the front lane. Chase moved first, switching off the lamp. “This way,” he said as Tracy grabbed Carrie’s hand and pulled her toward the back door, following Chase and Brigid.

Car lights were appearing as the four crossed the clearing and, with the house shielding them from the sight of anyone in the car, crashed into the shelter of the trees. Tracy still had Carrie’s hand, pulling her along as they raced into the woods. As soon as they were hidden by trees and underbrush, they moved in a circle to where they could see the front of the house. The noise of the car stopped as the porch came into their view, and they froze into silence.

“Front door’s still unlocked,” hissed Tracy, turning toward Chase.

“No matter,” whispered Brigid, “back door allus was.”

Carrie paid no attention to them. She was busy watching the man who got out of the car. His face was in shadow, but he was tall, and Carrie had glimpsed a red and white checked shirt when the car’s dome light flashed on. She wondered if anyone else in the group recognized the driver of the car. If they did, no one said anything.

They were very still as the man walked slowly up the steps, and it was easy to hear the thunk of his boots on the boards. He carried a tote bag in his left hand.

A barred owl called, this time a real one, Carrie hoped.

The man reached for the doorknob and, when the door opened easily, hesitated. His right hand went to the back of his waist. He has a gun tucked in his belt, Carrie thought, and saw the glint of moonlight on metal before he disappeared inside the house.

Tracy gasped, and Carrie put out an arm and hugged the young woman against her side. She could feel the warmth of Tracy’s body as the two of them drew together, silent and tense. Brigid’s breath was making short puffs only inches away, and Carrie sensed the electric alertness in Chase’s body, just behind her.

They waited as a flashlight flickered back and forth through the uncurtained windows. What was the man searching for? Carrie wondered if they had missed finding something important.

Suddenly the man’s feet thudded on the boards as, tote bag in hand, he hurried out, leaped over the steps, and catapulted into his car.

Chase’s exclamation, “What th...,” was choked into silence as flickering light, then a roar of flame, beat against the horrified faces of the four watchers. The visitor’s car came to life, turned, and rocketed away from the burning house.

Tracy’s scream was drowned by the noise of the fire as both Brigid and Carrie held her, fighting against her struggle to run toward the house.

“Dulcey’s not in there! No one’s in there! You saw that yourself,” shouted Brigid over the noise of the fire as the three of them huddled around Tracy and began, as one body, to pull her away toward the back lane.

I forgot about fingerprints, Carrie thought as she stumbled through the darkness, but it sure isn’t going to matter now.

They plunged through the woods, half-carrying Tracy, forcing her to move with them. Chase was walking in front of Carrie, and the branches he shoved aside whipped back against her body and face. One cracked across her lips, and she tasted blood.

Even after they reached the lane, Carrie was gasping breath, moving in a black hole of pain and fear for a missing child.

They were almost to the van when she felt Tracy go limp and start to slump. Pulled by Tracy’s weight, Carrie began to topple after her, but at the last moment her arm slid free. Unsupported, Tracy folded silently to the ground and lay there, motionless as a rag doll.

Chase continued on to the van, ignoring all three women. After he had unlocked the doors, his sharp voice ordered, “Get in. Momma, in the front, you— Carrie—in back.”

When the two women were seated, Chase returned for Tracy and, lifting her across the back seat, put her head in Carrie’s lap. He moved slowly, carefully, his eyes shadowed and sorrowful. It’s as if, Carrie thought, he’s grieving for a dead wife rather than carrying a living one.

Tears stung Carrie’s own eyes as she laid her hand on Tracy’s forehead, thinking of the moment in the dressmaker’s shop when the sobbing young woman had said, “I laid my hand on his forehead like Momma would when we were kids.” It was a natural thing to do. Tracy was breathing evenly, strongly, and her temperature felt normal—a good sign.

“Perhaps this is not so bad,” Carrie said, more to herself than to Brigid Mason, who had turned in the front seat and was watching them. “How much is any human supposed to endure? Tracy seems so young, so vulnerable. For now, at least, maybe the nightmare things are shut out.”

Carrie had stood up under some pretty awful human challenges but didn’t know how well she could have made it through this kind of hell. If it had been twenty-five years ago and the missing child was Rob...

She shut her eyes in silent prayer, thinking of God’s tender love for everyone and especially for Dulcey Mason. As Carrie was praying, Chase got in the driver’s seat, and he and his mother began talking in low tones, but Carrie paid no attention to them. She had begun stroking Tracy’s hair and face, speaking the words of the 91
^st
Psalm to her very softly.

She was up to, “For he shall give his angels charge over thee,” when Chase and his mother fell silent.

“I see yer a prayin’ woman,” Brigid said, turning to look at her again. “That’s good, we can sure use the Lord’s he’p about now. I hope He’s watching over Dulcey and she’s not too scared.”

“He
is
with her,” Carrie said and went back to low-voiced repetition of the words that had comforted and helped her so many times.

Tracy stirred, whispered, “Dulcey,” once, then was quiet as Carrie finished: “With long life will I satisfy him, and shew him my salvation.” After a short pause, she returned to the beginning and said again, “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the almighty.” As she spoke, she was aware that Chase had started the van and they were moving.

When the Psalm ended for the second time, Carrie shut her eyes for a moment, then raised her head and looked toward Brigid and Chase.

Keeping her voice as low as possible, she asked, “Shouldn’t we call the fire department? Could the fire spread?”

“Won’t be enough left to save,” Chase said, “’n’ the woods are too damp to catch. Fire truck’ll come anyway. Neighbors across the valley’ll have seen the flames, ’n’ besides, the sheriff’ll be headed this way soon enough.”

Accenting his words, flashing lights appeared around the curve ahead of them. A fire engine and water truck passed, leading a long, winding line of volunteer fire department members in their trucks and cars.

“I hope they don’t think anyone was in that house,” Carrie said. “We could tell them no one was.”

“Why should they take our word?” Chase asked. “’N’ reporting it’d just make trouble for us. They’ll have to search through what’s left anyhow. Besides, they’ll see there’s no car there. Farel’s car’s in the employee parking lot. I saw it myself when we went to the van tonight. I looked through the windows to see if...maybe Dulcey... I didn’t see anything inside except a blanket on the back seat. Car was locked, but the blanket was too flat for Dulcey to be under it.”

“Best keep quiet fer now,” Brigid said. “It’s time we all got some rest. Soon as we’re home, I’ll brew up some of my special feverfew tea. That’ll help. Nothin’ more we can do, ’lest we talk to Sheriff Wylie...”

“
No
,” her son said.

“Well, then...”

Carrie spoke up. “According to the note, the kidnappers will be in touch with you tomorrow evening, most likely to ask for ransom. It sounded like money was all they wanted, unless there’s some other reason you know about?”

Neither Brigid nor Chase said anything, so she went on. “If we haven’t made progress soon, you simply must tell the sheriff about the kidnapping—if he’s the one that would have jurisdiction. He or the police would likely call in the FBI, wouldn’t they? That’d bring us expert help.”

“Sheriff has jurisdiction at the Folk Center grounds,” Chase said.

“But Dulcey was taken from your home.”

“I’m out in Stone County,” Brigid said, “on Harmony Road, north o’town. Besides, I figure Police Chief Bolen only takes the city law job ’cause he likes the uniform, and on account of he’s related to mosta the city council. There’s lots of Bolen kin. ’N’ he’s related to the Teals on his wife’s side, way back at least.”

She snorted, dismissing the police chief.

“Sheriff Wylie, then.” Carrie paused to watch Tracy’s face and quiet breathing for a moment before she asked, “Did either of you get a good enough look at the car or man at Farel’s to identify them?”

Chase and Brigid were both silent.

I’ll bet they saw the man as clearly as I did, Carrie thought, or at least his shirt.

“Don’t know much about cars,” Brigid said finally, “but it was old, wasn’t it? Rattled a lot. Didn’t see any license plate.”

“I saw one,” Carrie said, “but it was smudged with dirt, and there was mud or tape masking the light above it. It wasn’t an Arkansas plate. White and blue, but no red.”

“Missouri, maybe,” Chase said as they started down Mountain View’s main street.

“That’s what I thought.” Carrie wanted to ask if Bobby Lee Logan would be driving a car with a Missouri plate, but decided she should keep some information to herself—for now, at least—so all she said was, “Can you drop me off somewhere near the Folk Center Lodge? I hope it’s not much out of your way. I don’t think I could make it up that hill on foot tonight.”

Chase nodded and turned off on the road they had come down earlier in the evening.

Carrie continued, thinking aloud. “As soon as I can get out tomorrow I’ll try to find Margaret Culpeper, and, whether you tell the sheriff or not, I will tell her I know there’s a child missing. Why would she find it necessary to say anything more about that to me if I don’t tell her how true her prophecy is? It could encourage her to talk to me if she knows a child has been kidnapped.”

“I think she knows already,” replied Brigid as the van turned up the hill toward the Folk Center.

“I wasn’t kidding when I mentioned to be careful there,” Chase said. “Family is quirky...real strange, maybe even dangerous. Lots of rumors around that family for years. People don’t mess with ’em.”