Shattered Secrets (18 page)

“In that case, starting tomorrow, I’m going to ask Vic Reingold to move in here too. He has to drive too far to get here fast anyway. Taking turns, with my deputy’s help, we can keep a better eye on you.”

“And I still might remember something, even if I need to be jolted, like seeing that drawing. And those words—the ‘bad girl’ part. I know I was called that and I think it ties to being smacked with that stupid scarecrow.”

Standing, then pulling her to her feet, he put both arms around her. She clung to him hard, her arms around his waist, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. Whatever horrors had happened before or were to come, his tenderness, his touch right now, made all that almost worth it.

19

S
aturday morning, Gabe followed Tess as she drove into town and parked. He went to check in at the station before he walked down to mingle with the crowd at the farmers’ market. Jace Miller was working traffic in the area and making an occasional sweep of the roads farther out, including driving by Dane’s house now and then. Vic was moving his things into Gabe’s, then coming to the market. In the BCI lab van in the police station parking lot, Mike was checking for fingerprints on the paper that had been taped to Gabe’s back door. With all those allies around and in the crowd, Tess almost felt safe.

She was happy that a man from the hardware store had already put in a new kitchen window, changed the locks on her doors and given her the new keys. When Gabe spoke around here, people jumped.

On Main Street, Tess strolled through the rows of tables and booths. They had sprouted overnight while through traffic was diverted a block away. It was quite a sight with autumn bounty piled high. A mix of townsfolk of all ages, some who must be Lake Azure residents and many outsiders who’d driven in for the market, were strolling and buying. Some ate baked goods or apples right on the spot. It seemed everyone was carrying cups or plastic jugs of cider. People walked their dogs while they shopped. Tess was glad to see that kids young enough to be in strollers were pushed by their parents while preschool and elementary kids were kept within close reach. Even in a crowd like this, children needed to be watched. The bustle almost made her forget how wobbly her legs had been yesterday and how much she had slept. Her thoughts were still a little fuzzy at times.

The earthy sights and smells helped her settle down, that was, until she saw the mayor glad-handing everyone who walked past. He’d plunked himself down on a bench that she did not recall being there before. She saw his wife, Lillian, too. What a mismatch they were. She always looked so put-together and stylish, despite the fact that she’d gained weight over the years. Marian Bell was standing over them, talking and gesturing. Tess wondered if Marian sensed they knew something about her child’s disappearance.

Tess walked behind the bench so she wouldn’t have to face them and strolled past tables with pyramids of gold and red apples and piles of squash. The Community Church had a small mountain of pumpkins set up for this event. She smiled when she read the sign. All You Can Carry, $2. Globes of red and white onions, brown and reddish potatoes, even braided garlic, smelled of garden-rich loam from being buried in the ground.

She stopped walking. The movement, the buzz of noise around her, seemed to stop. That thought—buried in the ground—almost triggered a memory in her, but it flew just out of reach. She looked around to see if anyone was watching. Blessedly, no. Everything was normal, busy. It felt so good just to be part of the crowd.

She strolled past a booth that offered late-blooming herbs, another with gleaming glass jars identified by handwritten labels: honey, maple syrup, molasses and sorghum. Several booths offered bakery goods, home-baked pies, donuts, cakes and loaves of bread. She bought some eight-grain bread, then couldn’t wait to get home to eat it, so she tore off a chunk and started chewing.

She took a wide berth around the next table. Sam Jeffers was selling animal pelts he had spread on a table with a few attached to a Peg-Board with a crudely printed sign showing his prices. She found it hard to believe, but he had buyers too.

Tess studied the man’s printing on the sign, but it seemed cruder than that on the stick figure drawing. Still, she walked even faster to get several tables away from him and those pelts.

She saw Dane’s sister, Marva, had a table promoting her tanning salon. It looked as if she was giving out nail files, which Tess could use, but she just wasn’t up to talking to Marva. As soon as Gabe got his warrant, she figured Marva’s friendship as well as Dane’s phony kindness to her would go up in smoke anyway.

To her surprise, Miss Etta had a table with books and magazines spread out on it, though ever so neatly. And she had a huge plastic pump bottle there for browsers—and no doubt, herself—to sanitize their hands.

“Oh, Tess, come over here,” she called, gesturing her closer. “This is just another of my endeavors to make learning part of this community, to get others to read. With some of the folks around here, if they so much as read a newspaper or a store coupon, it makes my day, but those little phones and tablets with picture screens are killing all sorts of real books. Now, most of these are discards, but if I give them away in trade for a new library card—” she leaned forward to tap a pile of temporary, paper ones “—maybe it will make a difference in someone’s life. By the way,” she added, gesturing for Tess to sit in the second chair she had behind the table. “How were those books I loaned you? Help ring any bells?”

“A few. They made me think, if not remember. I can’t stop right now though, Miss Etta. I want to find my cousins if they’re here with the commune people.”

“They are, though I didn’t see their children with them. It’s all business on Saturdays for them to sell things, but how that group makes ends meet beyond those sales is a puzzle, though I heard a rumor they might sell their land for some sort of oil drilling. Their illustrious ruler,” she added with a roll of her eyes, “doesn’t like his subjects holding regular jobs.”

The wiry woman turned away to extend a magazine with a motorcycle on it toward a couple of teenage boys slouching past. She tapped the sign, Free Reads for a Temp Card, and the boys stepped forward to sign up. Not much Miss Etta didn’t think of. It seemed as easy as baiting a hook and fishing.

“You look peaked, Tess. Are you all right?” she asked when the boys drifted off, and the woman quickly pumped gel sanitizer on her hands.

“Just not sleeping like I should yet.”

“Yet? I hope you don’t mean since the tragedy twenty years ago. Well, you just stop by—or I’ll bring the bookmobile past—and you can get a nonfiction book on relaxation techniques. You know, medical research has been proving that everything from weight loss to resistance to illnesses depends on getting a good night’s sleep. On the other hand, dependence on something like sleeping pills can create new problems.”

Tess made her escape when Miss Etta started to talk to two women about scrapbooking. She passed a man selling handmade birdhouses, and then, at the end of the row of vendors, she saw the Hear Ye people behind a series of oilcloth-covered tables.

Looking for Lee and Gracie, she skimmed over those working. Miss Etta had said they were here, but, with the Hear Ye members all having similar clothing and hairstyles, they seemed to blur together.
So much for American individuality,
Tess thought, although the bounty of their offerings was diverse. Beautifully woven baskets were filled with bittersweet, walnuts or wildflowers. Mesh sacks contained walnuts in the shell and there were glass jars of them already shelled. She looked at painted wooden plaques with sayings on them like
It is more blessed to give than to receive.
Tess wondered if that was a hint that people should give them a tip when they purchased something.

“Looking for Lee and Grace?” a voice behind her said.

She turned. Bright Star Monson seemed to have materialized from the crowd.

“Yes, I am.”

“It’s their turn to carry sacks of things to people’s cars, a kindly gesture, going the extra mile. Now, let’s see,” he said, smiling as his eyes went over her, and he tapped an index finger against his chin. “If I ordered a plaque made expressly for you, it would say something like
For the Lord has called you like a woman forsaken and grieved in spirit.
And should you continue to feel that way, Tess Lockwood, you will always have a place with your cousins and with all the brothers and sisters of our flock.”

She stood mute for a moment. Not only because he’d dared to think she would ever join them but because he’d spoken about a woman forsaken and grieved. Could he read her so well in the little time she’d been near him? Had Lee or Gracie told him much about her?

This man gave her the chills. If Dane Thompson or Reese Owens did not pan out as suspects, Bright Star Monson should be number three on Gabe’s list, just for the bad vibe he gave off.

“I’ll look for them later,” she said, eager to get away from him. “I hope you have a good day selling things.”

“Always,” he intoned as she turned and walked away. In the crowd, she nearly bumped into Vic Reingold, who took her elbow and steered her along.

“I was keeping an eye on the mayor and him,” Vic told her. “I can tell Monson bugs you. Is it because of the here and now, or does he ring any bells?”

“If he does, they’re not conscious ones,” she said, remembering how Miss Etta had used the same phrase about ringing bells a few minutes ago. “No one really rings my bell, and that’s my problem.”

“And ours too,” he said. “Gabe’s around here somewhere—everywhere, actually, he’s good at mingling—but I don’t think he’d mind if I got you off your feet for a while, after your bad experience Thursday night. How about the English pub while we get something to eat and drink—no booze for you. You, my girl, are on the wine wagon.”

She forced a little smile. “All right. I was hoping to talk to my cousins, but it would be just like Bright Star to have hidden them from me. I’m still tired after what happened—being drugged, I mean,” she said, wondering if he knew she’d spent that night at Gabe’s house.

The man was chewing on a toothpick, which he spit out into a trash can as they walked past the police station toward the pub. If Vic thought he was going to get something out of her, she was hoping to turn the tables on him.

* * *

“Of course I’ll be at the prayer vigil for Sandy at the church tomorrow night,” Gabe told Pastor Snell. “Deputy Miller and I will be glad to provide security too. And my prayer is we’ll have Sandy back by then. I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Pastor.”

“Of course. If I can help with anything...”

“Tess Lockwood only recalled recently that after she returned from her kidnap ordeal, her mother got her some sort of counseling through your church. Would you know who spent time with her?”

“If I recall, it was Melanie Parkinson, not a child psychiatrist but she had a psychology background. Unfortunately she moved to Columbus a good time ago when her husband took a job there. I’m afraid I’ve lost contact with the Parkinsons, but I can inquire if others who knew her still have ties.”

“I’d really appreciate that. And as soon as possible.”

“I understand time is of the essence, if this ties at all to getting Sandy back—maybe the other girls—the way we were blessed to have Teresa returned. I’ll try to locate Melanie as soon as I can and get back to you.”

When they parted, Gabe walked through the cars parked in the church lot and spotted Grace and Lee Lockwood. He had no intention of telling them what sort of harassment Tess had suffered lately, but he did want to ask them who might have had keys to her house. As he got closer, he saw they were loading sacks of produce into an SUV for someone who looked like an outsider. He waited a row of cars over until the SUV drove out and Grace and Lee walked back his way.

“Hey,” Gabe said, greeting them. “How are things going at the Hear Ye tables today?”

“Great,” Grace said with a tentative smile. She immediately looked toward Lee rather than saying more. She used to be quite a talker, he recalled.

When Lee only nodded and started in about the beautiful autumn weather, Gabe directed the conversation where he wanted it to go. “Listen, I told Tess for safety’s sake when she sold the house she’d have to tell the buyers to get all the locks rekeyed. But for now, do either of you still have keys you could give her, or does anyone else have them? She’ll need some extras if she decides to use a Realtor so she can get back home to Michigan.”

“Oh, dear,” Grace said. “If she’s having trouble selling, I hope she doesn’t leave early. I...I know she feels she hasn’t had enough time with us, the children, especially. We probably do have an extra key, just in case she needed me again to clean, or whatever. I know I lost one once, but we had another one made. Lee must still have his.”

“I think I threw it away when we left. After all, you gave her your set of keys. As for someone else—don’t think so,” Lee said.

Gabe sensed he wasn’t going to get any further than that with them. And he wasn’t sure he believed them. They were edging back toward the market, so he strolled along. He wondered if one of them had been asked to give a key to Monson. If so, they’d protect him at any price—maybe even before worrying about Tess’s safety.

“I see Brice Monson’s here himself today,” Gabe said, still trying to sound conversational. “I never figured someone who chose the name Bright Star would be an early-morning person, unless he’s the Hollywood kind of star instead of the night one.”

Grace giggled until Lee glared at her. “He’s someone who is available at any time if we have questions or need guidance. He prays and watches over us day or night,” Lee said.

“But he takes his night walks alone when he prays for us all,” Grace put in, and this time Lee nodded.

“Walks down by the creek?” Gabe asked, his mind spinning with possibilities of Monson taking walks at night. The Lockwood house was only about four miles down the road, fewer with cut-throughs across the fields.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lee admitted. “No one goes but him, under the stars, communing with the Great Star whose name he bears. We’ve got to get back now, Sheriff. Good to see you. Come on over to our tables and buy something.”

They scurried off. Gabe leaned against a tree, thinking that if Dane didn’t pan out, weirdo Brice “Bright Star” Monson deserved to be in a dead heat with Reese Owens for the next suspect. Tess said she’d heard a young girl scream at the compound, but where could Monson be stashing kidnap victims? Where could anyone be kept hidden in this tight-knit area, even if there were lots of hills and hollers and abandoned buildings? He’d been checking such places over the years, around and around, until he was dizzy with it all. He couldn’t even find that damn floating meth lab.