The Greatest Gift (2 page)

Connie thanked several people as she stood outside her brother Michael’s house. “I’m not sure when we will get together again,” she said, exhausted. “We’ve done this a while now and I’m sure everyone needs a day or two to rest.” She gave them a tired wave. “I appreciate so many of you joining me on the searches.”

Connie turned and went inside, never losing stride as she stopped at her niece’s bedroom. The quiet and stillness flooded her mind with horrific scenarios at what might have happened to her brother and his daughter.

She poked the door with her index finger and peeked inside. The creaking sound echoed through the empty house. Connie walked past a dresser, touching a picture of herself holding Elizabeth when she was a toddler.
Where are you, my sweet niece?

The little stuffed Pikachu she gave Elizabeth nearly fifteen years ago sat on top of her pillow. She patted it on the head as if expecting a response. Picking it up, she sat on the bed and held it against her face. She breathed deeply and could smell Elizabeth’s scent.

“Are you safe?” she said, lifting her head. “Did your dad find you? Is he safe, Elizabeth?” The silence of the house shouted back at her. “Why haven’t either of you called?”

She placed Pikachu back down on the pillow, keeping her hand on top of the stuffed animal’s head, and sat motionless, gazing around the room. The walls were filled with movie stars, music icons and pictures of Jerusalem. Connie stood and walked around the room a couple of times, mentally absorbing each one. She rubbed the top of Elizabeth’s desk each time she passed it.

Connie went back to the dresser and stared at the picture, wondering what year it was.
Was that the time I took her to the circus? Or was it for Disney on Ice?
She stepped back and sighed. She knew she just had to try to do something to help. “Well, I wouldn’t be much of an aunt if I didn’t look again to see if there are any notes or clues.”
Maybe Michael doesn’t need me but would he even ask me for help if he did? No. He wouldn’t. He’s stubborn. Just like me. Well, too bad.

She pulled open the top drawer and began dumping out papers. Maybe something was overlooked the last time they did this. Elizabeth could have left a note behind that hadn’t been found yet. Connie couldn’t help but wonder if the FBI guys had come across anything while they were here.
Maybe they missed som
e
thing. It’s possible. They’re human. They’re not God’s gift to inve
s
tigating.

Connie kept tossing papers to the bed after examining them. She shook her head as she came upon a poem entitled, “Why Are We Here?”
Wow. Very deep for a teenager. I wonder if Michael knows about this poem. I thought he was the goofball with the rel
i
gious stuff.
She folded the sheet and tucked it into her pocket.

After she finished searching the top drawer, she opened the next one, removed several t-shirts and stuck her hand deep into the dark corners. Nothing. She did the same for the third and fourth drawers, throwing the items on top of the bed.

When she was done, Connie backpedaled and sat on top of the clothes. She rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms and legs. She had no idea what to do or where to go looking for them. Connie considered whether she needed to buy a gun. Perhaps they’d been kidnapped. Michael surely had some enemies. It occurred to her that he might be broke – might have gambled his money away. Maybe he owed some mobsters a lot of money. She thought of every possible doomsday scenario – the absurd and not so crazy possibilities.

She had to get a grip. Michael might be a lot of things, but one thing he wasn’t was a gambler.
He is always watching sports though
. She took a deep breath and consciously tried to relax. She had to stop jumping to conclusions. The FBI was involved and looking.
But I still can’t just sit around here.

Connie left the room and went down the hallway and into Michael’s bedroom.
Sorry, bro. I’ve got to do this. I just can’t do nothing and hope you’re going to give me a call whether you’re safe or not. You would do the same for me.
She opened every drawer and looked in every corner but found nothing.
Those FBI guys are good.

She stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed, hands covering her face.
I don’t know how to help you, Michael. I hope we have enough of a relationship that you would call me if you were safe. Or you wouldn’t have so much pride that you wouldn’t call me for help.

“I can’t sit here all day and worry,” she said out loud, standing and giving a defiant look to the mirror. She began to put away some papers and saw a letter tucked inside a small envelope.
What is this?
She unfolded it. “A love letter? I wonder if it’s to that Leah woman.”

She dug deeper into the drawer, pulling out a small black Bible. It read “1969.”

“Is this my Bible?” she whispered. She fingered through several pages and then looked at the inscription on the inside of the back cover. “The day me and Con became friends. April, 1969.”

“I can’t believe he’s had it all these years.” She looked at the mirror above the dresser. “Where are you, bro?”

She sat in silence for a few more moments until her cell phone rang. She dropped the letter on top of the dresser and ran downstairs to the kitchen. She grabbed it off the counter. “It’s me,” the voice on the other end said.

“Who’s me?”

“Who do you think? Susan.”

“Tell me you have news. Did they find Michael? Elizabeth?”

“No. But we have to do something. Any thoughts?”

“Well, what can we do? The FBI is looking for them. If anyone can find them, they can.”

“Can’t sit around. I have to do something. Pastor Dennis called me and asked if we can meet him in his office.”

Connie hesitated. “Church makes me uncomfortable.”

“Are you coming or not? He said to come as soon as possible.”

Connie paced the hallway.

“Hello?” Susan said. “Are you still there?”

“I’m here. I’m here. See you over there soon.”

Special Agent Hewitt Paul showed his ID and was waved to the stairwell by the policeman sitting behind the front desk. “Second floor. Room two thirteen. She’s a wreck today,” he said to Hewitt. “Not sure which planet she’s orbiting around now.”

Hewitt gave him a military salute. The hallway was short and with only two rooms opening off the corridor.
Stupid hicks. All about appearances, I guess.
 

Allison twitched several times as she sat on a bench in her four-by-six cell. Hewitt put his hand under her chin and pulled out a sheet of paper from his front pocket. “Are you being treated all right here?”

She nodded and brushed some hair out of her eyes.

“I understand you fired your attorney.”

She nodded and stretched out on the bench. “When do I get my meal?”

“I’ll ask when I go back downstairs.”

“I hope it’s something more than bread and water.”

“I’m sure it’ll be something more nutritious.”

She sat up again and folded her hands. “I don’t want meat. I’m becoming a vegetarian. I don’t believe in eating animals.”

“But you do believe in shooting innocent human beings?”

“Michael Stewart is innocent?”

Hewitt sat down next to her. “Everyone is innocent until proven guilty.”

“Even me?”

“Yes.”

“How do I get out of this pigeon hole?”

“By cooperating with me.”

Allison frowned and turned sideways, away from him. “Is Pastor Dennis feeling better?”

“He’s fine. The wound is healing.”

“I’m glad.”

“Why were you trying to kill Michael Stewart?”

“Why do you keep asking this?”

“I’ll keep asking until I get an honest answer.”

“Or the answer you want?”

“Well?”

“I wasn’t trying to kill him. I was just trying to hurt him.”

Hewitt glared. “Look at me.”

Allison turned and faced him.

“I need the honest truth. This is important. The pastor has decided not to press charges. The Suffolk DA is willing to give you time in a comfy mental hospital. You do enough time and show you’re stable, you can have your freedom eventually.”

She nodded. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

“Good. I only have one interest right now – finding Michael and Elizabeth Stewart.”

“You still don’t know where he is?”

“He disappeared within seconds of you shooting him. You were one of the last people to talk to him about the case.”

“I did speak to him about his daughter but I don’t know where he might have gone.” She shook her head. “But I’d bet Susan and Connie know. Those two tramps are up to something. Susan came running down from Massachusetts to be with Michael when his daughter went missing and has been hanging around since. Connie, well, she’s just a nosy, miserable person. She’s been around a lot lately. Strange. The relationship between her and Michael has been cold for a long time.” She looked up at Hewitt. “Go ask Susan and Connie; those two hags would know where he’s gone.”

“The report says you gave a statement that you decided to take a shot at Michael Stewart because he humiliated and embarrassed you. How?”

Allison hesitated and looked away. “You have the report.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

“He lied to me in our interview.”

“You shoot at every person who doesn’t tell you the truth in an interview? And how do you know he was lying?”

Allison stood and walked to the metal cell door. She tried to stick her finger through the tiny keyhole. “Of course not, but his story was so bizarre. He said he traveled to Jerusalem.”

“So?”

She turned around. “At the time of Christ? Come on.”

“Go on.”
This woman has lost her mind. How am I going to get any kind of useful information out of her? What will the boss think if I utilize her as a source? They’ll run me straight to Bellevue along with this nut job.

“Michael said he found a tunnel in the church.”

Oh, yeah, she’s crazy. Wonderful. This is hitting a dead end.

“He said he witnessed Jesus’ death after falling in love with a woman. He said he knows Elizabeth is back there, trapped.”  

“You printed the interview?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I quoted him. I did my job as a reporter.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is another newspaper, our competitor, asked for a response from Michael and he said his quotes were taken out of context. He said he was a believer and nothing more than that.”

This lady needs to take a long rest inside a small room.
“Why would you print that story? Michael is obviously a wacko. Didn’t you realize the ramifications of publishing a story from a religious nut?” Hewitt asked.

“I do now.”

“Didn’t you realize what the response would be? Did you have any other motivation?”

She leaned back against the wall. “Sure, I wanted to embarrass him. Hurt him as much as I could.” She sighed. “Instead, I was humiliated. People laughed at me. Do you know how much I was mocked online? Readers called for my job. I was trending on Twitter.” She paused and let out a big sigh. “They called my editor. The publisher called me into his office and berated me. He asked if I was crazy and wanted me to take a drug test.”

“Did you?”

“No. I couldn’t. Not then. I wasn’t having one of my best weeks.”

Hewitt shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps Michael was playing a joke? You did say in your statement you’ve known him for a while. Were you friends? What sort of relationship did you have?”

“We’re not friends. I was a friend of his wife, Vicki. He treated her horribly, always stressing her out with his dream of being a bestselling author. The guy can’t write. I know what good writing is. And the poor woman never got a break financially. She worked her butt off. While she was paying the bills, he was home sitting around with a career that was going nowhere. I can’t tell you how many nights I spent on the phone with Vicki, consoling her. I heard her anxiety every night. I felt her stress.” She clenched her hands. “He made me so mad.”

“Why did you think it was any of your business to get so bent out of shape over their marriage problems?”

Allison sneered. “It’s what friends do. Don’t you have any friends you would lay your life on the line for?”

“I’m asking the questions here. You haven’t told me anything that can help me find Michael and his daughter. I’ll ask you again – besides this hate you have for the man, do you have any solid leads I can follow? Are there any people I can contact besides the two you mentioned before?”

“I told you I have no idea where they went.” Allison paused. “Does that mean I’m stuck here for a while?”

“I hope you find a good attorney. You’ll likely land in a psych ward for a bit. But I don’t see you there for a long time. Go make a new life for yourself when you’re released.”

She grabbed onto his jacket. “So I should pretend I’m crazy so later on I can get out?”

“Do what you want. You can rot in here for all I care. I need to find the Stewarts one way or another. And you’re not the way for me. I have my boss up my rear and the media making jokes about how a middle-aged man eluded the country’s top law enforcement agency. I’m not in a sweet mood today. Good luck to you. You’ll need it.”

“Can you get me into a place where I won’t have to watch my back? I’d rather spend my time with a bed and TV, away from this place. This town is full of crazies. Wackos. You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

She tugged harder on his dark blue suit, pulling a button loose.

Hewitt yanked her arms away. “You need to get yourself some help.”

“You haven’t lived here like I have,” Allison said. “The pastor and Michael. They know something. I saw them locking the door to his office many times. When I tried to listen, they would stop talking.”

“Step away from me and keep your hands to yourself,” he said. “Maybe your information can make more sense. Whose office are we talking about?”

“The pastor’s.”

“What were they doing in there?”

“They were reading this black book.”

He took a few steps toward the door. “The Bible? No surprise … ”

“No. Not the Bible. The book of miracles.”

He waved his arms in the air and walked out.
Book of mir
a
cles. What a waste of time. This woman is not only insane, she’s delusional.