Perilous (7 page)

Chapter 14

Jaci rolled over on the soft couch, gradually coming out of a sleepy haze. Reality descended upon her with a cold somberness and she sat up, plunging her feet onto the wooden floor. A hand touched her arm, and she turned to see Sara lying on the floor next to her.

“It’s okay. We’re safe here,” Sara said.

Where was here? Jaci took in the large sitting room, the wood-paneled walls, and the old piano. The house creaked from footsteps on the floor above them.

“We’re in the cabin,” said Sara.

“Where’s Amanda?”

“Shh.” Sara pressed a finger to her lips and pointed at Amanda, who slept on a pink quilt in front of a cast-iron wood stove. “She quit throwing up a few hours ago.”

“Are we safe?”

“I’ve been exploring. There’s no electricity here, no phone lines, no cars, and they don’t speak English.”

Jaci smiled and lay back on the couch, pulling the blankets up to her chin. Nobody knew they were here. “How long have you been awake?”

Sara shrugged. “An hour. Want to see the house?”

Jaci kicked off the blankets. “Sure.” She glanced around the single room, taking in the carpet rug and the single-pane windows.

She tried to remember the night before. The old man and the old woman helping them inside, the man taking Amanda into another room, and the woman getting blankets for them.

“Where are the old people?”

Sara pointed up a narrow staircase. “I think their room is upstairs.”

She led Jaci into the front room. A table and piano decorated it. The wooden piano sat against the wall, three candles on top of closed keys.

“The parlor.” Sara waved her hand around. A lantern hung unlit on the wall. “No lights anywhere.”

She pulled Jaci over to a window. “Look out there.” She pointed at a wooden shack in the trees. “An outhouse.”

A gasping groan carried from the other room, and the two girls hurried back.

Amanda sat up, head in her hands, wavy auburn hair falling over her face. Her head shot up when Sara’s foot creaked a floorboard. Relief flooded her bloodshot eyes. “There you are.”

Footsteps sounded on the ceiling above them, and then heavy steps descended. The three girls watched the stairwell.

The man appeared first, tall and thin, eyes sunken in his head, lips formed into a grim line. Without looking at them, he clomped across the room in his big black boots and out the front door.

The woman came next. She wore a large pink dress. Tying an apron around her waist, she stopped, touched Amanda’s forehead, gave a nod, and padded into another room.

“How do you feel, Amanda?” asked Sara.

The girl shook her head, her skin pasty white. “Not great. But better. At least the dry heaves have stopped.”

“I’ll see if I can get you some water,” Jaci said.

She wandered into the kitchen, where cool air drifted in from an open window. She stepped up to the woman who tossed oil and flour together in a bowl.

She cleared her throat and touched the woman’s hand.

The woman stopped making dough and looked at her.

“Hi.” Jaci licked her lips and patted her chest. “I’m Jaci. Jaci.”

The woman nodded and pushed a strand of gray hair back into her bun, leaving a streak of flour on her forehead. “Silvet.”

“Can I have water?” Jaci mimed drinking from a cup. “Water?”

Silvet opened a cupboard door and pulled out a wooden cup, putting it down on the counter with a clunk.

Jaci hesitated. Was she supposed to just take it?

Silvet went back to her dough.

Jaci picked up the cup and looked for the fridge. None, of course. No faucet either. Now what?

The woman noticed. With a sigh, she took Jaci’s hand and led her outside. She pointed to a stone structure several yards from the house, then went back inside.

Jaci stared at the rafter with a rope and a bucket hanging from it. A well. She should have known.

After two days, Amanda was better but still nauseous and unable to eat. She did, however, keep water down.

Jaci helped Silvet drape a sheet over the clothesline. Sara stood at another line, hanging dresses and long johns.

Sara hadn’t spoken much since the first day they had arrived. And Silvet responded in grunts, if anything.

Silvet left the wooden bucket of wet clothes between the two lines and marched back into the house.

Jaci paused, hand poised to secure another sheet.

Sara blinked, pushing a strand of hair out of her face. The wind blew it back again. “Is she done out here?”

Jaci watched the back door, but the woman didn’t reappear. She gave a shrug and finished pinning up the sheet. “Looks like it.”

“Humph.” Lately, Sara seemed like a taut rubber band, ready to snap at any moment.

The wind picked up and Jaci shivered. “Maybe it’ll rain again.”

It had rained every night since they arrived. The cabin rattled with the thick drops, wind blowing hard enough to shake the rafters.

A movement near the pumpkin patch flashed through Jaci’s peripheral vision. She stiffened.

“What?” Sara said, eyes on her.

“I thought I saw something.” Jaci dropped to the ground, using the clothes bucket as a shield. Sara followed her lead, her face ashen.

Jaci crept forward, heart pounding. Was she imagining it? Or had someone come out of the woods and hidden in the pumpkin patch? She crouched, clinging to the brown grape vines and peering through the posts.

The dirt crunched behind her and Sara screamed. Jaci grabbed a rock and whirled around, ready to pummel someone to death.

Sara sat with her hands clamped over her mouth, her face red. Next to her stood the old man, stooping to pick up the bucket of wet clothes. He frowned at Sara.

Jaci let out a short laugh and dropped her rock. The old man. Why did he sneak up like that on them?

He took the bucket to another clothesline and began hanging up the clothes, ignoring the girls.

Sara pushed herself to her feet, tears pooling in her hazel eyes. “Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.” She turned around and ran for the house.

By the fifth day, Amanda was eating again.

Jaci brought water into the kitchen and lit a candle. If the water was hot enough and she scrubbed really hard, the food came off the dishes easily, and even faster than in a dishwasher. Almost therapeutic.

Sara came in with a sigh, putting a lantern on the counter and picking up a towel and a dish. “We’ve got to get out of here.” She dried the dish and put it away.

Jaci handed her another one. “We’ll leave soon. We haven’t been here that long.”

“He’s going to find us, Jaci. We’ve got to go.”

“But he doesn’t know about this cabin.”

Sara let the plate drop into the cabinet with a clink. “He’ll find it.”

“Maybe he doesn’t care anymore.” Jaci stared into her reflection in the bowl she washed. Her almond-shaped brown eyes stared back at her, unblinking.

Sara snorted. “Yeah, right. Silvet doesn’t care if we stay or leave. We’re helping out around the house. That’s all that matters.”

“At least we know her name,” Jaci tried to joke, but it fell flat. They knew nothing about the old couple except for their names.

“They don’t talk. Not even to each other. It’s like they’re telepathic or something.”

The flame in the oil lamp flickered, and Jaci pulled her hands out of the hot water to extend the wick.

The man spent all day working his crops, the woman doing tasks around the house. Jaci wondered if the Canadian government knew these people existed, if anyone knew they existed.

“We leave tomorrow,” said Sara. “We can’t stay.”

Jaci wasn’t ready to go. She felt safe here. She needed more time to prepare for what was ahead. She racked her mind, trying to find a reason. One more day. Just one more day.

Sara threw the towel on the counter. “I’m going to bed. Tomorrow will be busy.” She walked away.

Sara was right. They had to keep moving. They couldn’t stay here forever. But the uncertainty of being out in the world again frightened Jaci.

September 24

Shelley, Idaho

Carl squinted against the bright sunlight coming from the eastern side of the graveyard. A few colorful leaves drifted around the hole in the ground, indicating that fall was close behind.

It looked like the whole town of Shelley had shown up for the funeral. Carl swallowed and worked hard to keep his face straight.

The preacher finished up his words and closed his Bible. Someone said a prayer. Carl watched them lower the white casket into the ground. A young, beautiful girl lay in there, cut off before her time was done.

Beside him Kristin wiped her eyes. Mrs. Nichols gathered her younger children around her and sobbed.

A line formed to pay their respects to the Nichols family. Carl waited his turn. He had news from his trip to Canada that he hoped would be some sort of condolence.

Kristin touched his arm. “I’ll wait at the car.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

The line dwindled down. He put on his best business face and approached the Nichols family.

Mr. Nichols saw him first. “Detective Hamilton.” He reached out and clasped Carl’s arm. “Thank you for coming.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Nichols said, her blue eyes shining like sapphires.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t find her before this happened.” Carl took it personally every time they lost someone. Especially a kid.

Mr. Nichols inclined his head. “So are we.”

“I’ll be leaving for Canada in the afternoon. The Alberta flier had a Montreal phone number.”

“Do you think the other girls are still alive?”

“If they are, we’ll find them. The flier was printed less than a week ago. Obviously they have escaped. At this point they could be running, or someone may have turned them in. Hopefully Montreal will have some answers for me.” He looked toward the car, where Kristin waited for him.

Mr. Nichols nodded. “Please let us know. Good luck.”

“I’ll be in touch.” Carl shook his hand and strode away. He hoped that would be the only funeral he attended.

Chapter 15

The day they left, Silvet came into the room and handed an armload of clothing to Jaci.

“Thank you,” Jaci said. Silvet walked back out.

Jaci turned the clothes over in her hands, examining them. They were well worn, hand-knitted sweaters. Jaci divided them among the shoulder bags Silvet had given them in exchange for the duffel bag. “I guess it’s time to say goodbye.”

Amanda shook her head. “I’ve been saying goodbye all morning. The old man got so sick of me, he locked himself in his room.”

Jaci tossed a bag to each of them. “Silvet’s already put some homemade jerky and bread into each bag. Should last us a few days, at least. One bag has a flashlight and a compass and another one has matches and candles.”

“That was nice of her,” Sara said. “Where did they find a flashlight and compass?”

“Beats me. Probably some camper left it behind. The flashlight works, but the batteries won’t last long.” Jaci took a deep breath. “All right. Let’s go.”

The girls filed out the front door. The old woman stood waiting on the deck. She turned her cheek to receive a kiss from each girl, then watched them walk down the porch.

Her hand raised in a wave, her mouth moving inaudibly. She went back into the house. The old man didn’t even come out.

The girls followed a rough, two-lane road for most of the day. They watched for cars, but few passed. When the road turned west, they left it to continue their southward journey.

As much as they tried to ration the food, that first day they ate all the bread and jerky from two of the bags.

The next day they reached what Jaci assumed was the boundary between Canada and the States—a fence overgrown with trees and bushes.

“Any cameras?” Amanda asked.

They glanced around but didn’t see any guards or cameras. Jaci half expected to be stopped as they slid between two old fence posts.

They made it across without being detained. Anxious to get past the fence, they took off into a run, racing several hundred yards before coming to a stop.

“We made it. We’re in America now!” They laughed and hugged each other.

The forest continued to draw on in front of them, with no end in sight, and finally they trudged silently onward. Nightfall came, and they were still in the forest.

All of their food was gone. Jaci’s stomach twisted in hunger, so violently that she thought she would gag. And it was cold. She pulled Silvet’s pink sweater out of her bag and yanked it over her head.

“I saw a movie once where a homeless man put newspapers and leaves in his clothes,” Amanda said. “At night. For insulation.”

“Worth a try.” Sara scooped up dried leaves and stuffed them down her shirt.

Jaci grabbed her own handful. “I guess we’re stopping, huh?”

No one answered. Jaci took that for a yes. She lay down and wrapped her arms around herself, burying her head under arms.

September 26

Montreal, Canada

“Can’t you at least tell me who printed this ad?” Carl tried hard to keep the frustration from his voice. He had visited five police stations in the past two days, all proving as unhelpful as this one.

He had a horrible craving for one of those giant, arm-sized whole dill pickles. His mouth puckered in anticipation.

The officer peered at him from under the rim of his red cap. “We don’t keep a record of ads printed in the newspaper.” His thick French accent dripped with sarcasm. “Did you try the newspaper office?”

Carl bit back a retort. Nobody at the Toronto Sun had been able to give him any information. The address they had on file was bogus; the name equally so.

Carl was reluctant to call the phone number on the ad and risk tipping his presence to The Hand.

“What about Officer Fayande? Is he here? He was listed on the ad, and the online directory said he works in this department.”

The man stiffened ever so slightly. “I don’t know the name.”

Red flag. “Let me speak with your superior.” Carl pulled himself up to his full height, trying to appear imposing. He didn’t have any power or jurisdiction here, and the Montreal officer knew it.

The man stepped into a glass-enclosed office. Carl took the opportunity to lean over the desk. He didn’t touch anything, but his eyes flicked over the papers.

There had to be something. If the phone number was from Montreal, The Hand lived close by. Or at least had a hide-out close by.

Not that he expected The Hand to be making waves here. No, of course not. This was home. He would want a safe haven. And privacy.

Carl straightened. Maybe he was in the wrong place. Maybe he should be checking with the department of land and agriculture instead of the police station.

A noise behind him made him turn. The officer stood by the door to the glass office. “The chief will see you now.”

Carl stepped away from the desk, giving his best innocent expression. “Thank you.” He entered the chief’s office, pulling the door closed behind him.

The man behind the desk leaned back in his chair, putting his fingers together and raising an eyebrow. One corner of his mouth curled upward. “I am Chief Pierre. How can I help you?”

Carl pulled out his badge and slapped it down in front of the man. “I’m Detective Hamilton, from the Idaho Falls police department. Two weeks ago, these four girls went missing.”

He slapped down the picture of all four girls. “Last week, the Toronto Sun printed this flier.” He slapped down the flier with pictures of the three surviving girls.

“I have reason to believe that their kidnapper lives here in Montreal. Why can’t I get any information?”

The man kept his steely gray eyes on Carl, not even looking at the pictures. “I don’t know what you expect us to do. I haven’t seen the girls. We didn’t print the flier.”

“But you saw the flier!” Carl slammed his fist down. “You knew those were the girls. Did you start a search for them to counteract this ransom?”

Pierre’s lips pulled down in a sneer. “I do not follow the U.S. news enough to know that those were the girls. Nor did I pay much attention to the flier. I hadn’t seen any girls, after all.”

“What about this man?” Carl pointed to the name under the flier. “Officer Fayande is the contact on the flier. May I speak to him?”

If Carl hadn’t been watching for it, he might not have noticed the brief conflict in the chief’s eyes. “He is away on business.”

So Fayande
did
work here. “Is this number on the flier his phone number?”

“I will have him call you as soon as he returns.” The words came out hostile.

Carl straightened up slowly. Pierre’s attitude wasn’t making sense. He should be apologetic, sympathetic, helpful. Instead he was—condescending and defensive.
He’s covering something.

Carl kept his face neutral. If the man knew that he suspected, any chances of finding answers would slip away.

“Thank you for your time.” Carl pulled back the pictures and his badge.

Pierre’s face relaxed. “Good luck on your search.”

“Same to you.” Carl ducked out of the office. The pieces were here. He just had to put them together.

He stepped outside into the busy sidewalk, moving out of the way of pedestrians. He walked to a bus stop and waited.

The girls had been here one week ago. Had someone called and turned them in? Or had they made it out of town? And if so, where would they go?

To the States, of course. They would make a beeline for the U.S.

He could call the number listed on the flier, but not from his cell phone. He didn’t know if he would be calling Officer Fayande or The Hand. Even though it was restricted, the number could be traced.

What were the police hiding? What did they know?

The bus arrived, and he climbed on. He hoped he would have better luck with the RCMP.