Lost

He’d done it! Once again he’d made it home without anyone being the wiser about where he’d been and what he’d been doing. And that’s how he planned to keep things.

7

1:15 a.m.

Patrolling Split Creek by day was about as exciting as watching a cow chew her cud; things rarely got more lively at night. Until that message in the high school rest room and Michaele’s call, Jared had begun to believe, as did most of the rest of the community, that they were overprotected. Two cops patrolling the area at night, while Curtis Jarvis manned the station, should have been enough manpower for a town twice their size. Now, who knew? And yet despite his concern, he had to fight against another yawn. He would never make a good vampire. His internal clock was better suited for day work, and his butt and mind were starting to protest this extended time behind the wheel—especially since it was getting him nowhere.

With a deep sigh, he radioed the station for a status report, but Curtis informed him that Eagan and Griggs weren’t having any more success than he was. Next he called the sheriff’s office over in Quitman to get an update and to determine what else they were willing to do at this stage. By the time he once again had both hands on the wheel, he’d reached the southwest perimeters of the community. It was the least likely area for Faith to be—mostly farms, woods and marsh—however, it also had the main access road to Tyler, and Faith was a city girl at heart. Maybe she’d decided to go down there and had had car trouble.

There had been a full moon on Monday, and three-quarters of it was still high in the night sky, but an increase of low clouds kept the terrain pretty much dark. His car’s headlights picked up another pair of eyes in the tall grass on the side of the road, and he warned, “Don’t make my day,” to what he suspected was either a raccoon, small dog or cat. The last thing he wanted was to add to the roadkill count.

The woods abruptly ended to expose two chicken-coop-size houses, neither of which was lit by security lights. Old Mrs. Fahey lived in the shack teetering on cinder blocks, and her widowed daughter Pearl Wascom resided in the one with the screened porch, set farther back from the road. Jared often thought that the two women should move in together and rent the second house to supplement their meager income, but they squabbled too much to stay under the same roof for any length of time. Only their shared commitment to keep Ezekiel Baptist Church across the street polished and ready for any service, as well as the cemetery beside it groomed like a public park, assured any civility between them. What bothered Jared was knowing he could walk up to either house and find the doors and windows unlocked. These were the same two ladies who’d been among the most spooked when Sandy was murdered in her own home. It amazed him how quickly they’d forgotten that, or, more accurately, how they preferred the comfort of living in denial—as had so many in their community.

Continuing, he drove past a few dozen equally isolated residences. With every mile he covered, he willed the radio to relieve him of his growing tension. It didn’t happen, though, and when at last he’d come full circle, he drove past the gas station again.

Buck seemed content to spend the night where he was. Just as well, Jared decided. As much as he didn’t like Michaele being alone at her place, her father would only add to her stress.

Once inside the police station, he headed straight for the coffee machine. He’d barely begun pouring himself a mug full of the potent brew, when Bruce Griggs and Buddy Eagan shuffled in. Bruce, who looked more like a lifeguard than a doting father of two little girls, reported that all he’d come up with was a small domestic disturbance in the trailer park where the Mexicans who worked at area commercial nurseries lived. Buddy, divorced and always a bit edgy, grumbled how his trip hadn’t even yielded that much.

“Bet she’s holed up with one of her instructors getting…tutored.” Smirking, Buddy poured himself a mug of coffee.

“Knock it off,” Bruce replied. “Faith’s a sweet kid. She used to baby-sit our girls, and she was the most responsible sitter we ever had.”

“Hey, my ex’s kid sister went to college down in Austin, and is only a couple years younger than Faith. Some of the stories she told about when she sat kids—”

“That’s enough.” Whatever Faith was or wasn’t, Jared didn’t want anyone discounting the possible seriousness of the situation. He carried his coffee to the city map and studied it again before checking his watch. It was after two o’clock.

Where are you, kid?

“Bruce,” he said to the younger cop, “you take the section I just covered. Buddy, you repeat Bruce’s route, and I’ll go through yours again. Everybody, look a little harder. Pause to check out remote properties. If you see anything suspicious, call for backup, pronto.”

Bruce looked the least thrilled; however, he accepted the assignment as he usually did. He simply finished his coffee, rinsed out the mug and headed for the bathroom. Buddy went to shoot the breeze with Curtis for a moment. Confident the men would be back on the street in minutes, Jared refilled his mug and carried it out to his car.

His was the only vehicle on the road as he worked his way through town. At the corner of Magnolia, he noticed Reverend Dollar’s study light just going off. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed how late the minister worked, but others were up late, too. At the other end of the street, he found Dillon Hancock still at it. Hancock lived in the attic of Last Writes, the bookstore taking up the lower two floors of the sprawling Victorian. Jared’s mood soured somewhat as he passed; the town’s number one rebel and most notorious bachelor had befriended Michaele with ease, and although Jared was fairly confident that it was only a platonic relationship, he was jealous nonetheless.

The last street in the immediate part of downtown was Cedar, and there, at the elegant, contemporary-styled house on the corner, he saw the shadow of Garth Powers moving around in his home office. Jared couldn’t blame the guy for pacing, but hoped he was keeping his mouth shut and hadn’t upset his wife, Jessica.

Once again he turned onto Dogwood. This was the road Faith would have taken to and from school. Soon after driving by his own home, commercial zoning replaced residential property, followed by mini-farms, tracts of five to twenty acres owned by the more successful retailers in town and some commuting professionals out of Tyler. By the time he reached the City Limits sign, the only lights around were from larger farms and ranches. He kept hoping to come across a disabled Firebird around each bend…but it didn’t happen.

A mile beyond the sign, surrounded by solid woods, he had no choice but to cut a sharp U-turn and head back. There was still Big Blackberry Drive and the northeast side of town to check out beyond the Powers place, he told himself, although he knew finding anything there was a long shot. With deepening concern, he reached for his cellular and punched in Michaele’s number.

She answered before the first ring ended. “Yes?”

“I was hoping you’d be napping some.”

“How can I sleep?” she replied. “That call keeps playing over and over in my mind. Have you found anything?”

“I’m afraid not. We’re on our second pass through the area. The sheriff’s office reports things have been quiet for them, too, but in a way that’s good news. They’re able to spare the manpower to pick up wherever we’re leaving off.”

“He has her.”

“You don’t know that. All you know is that someone wants you to think that. They may only be out to play with your mind.”

“They’re doing a good job of it.”

Jared heard the fatigue and the strain in her voice and wished he could go to her, even though he knew she wouldn’t welcome the comfort he wanted to offer. “I checked on Buck. He’s fine.”

“I don’t want to think what he’ll be like when he finds out.”

Jared sympathized. For all the trouble the guy gave Michaele, he’d treated Faith more like an adored puppy.

Past tense? Listen to yourself, Morgan.

“Don’t assume the worst,” he forced himself to say. “For all we know, she met up with some friends and decided to spend the night there.”

“I’ll kill her. I swear, if that’s what happened, I’ll shake her until she’s bald or—”

“Chief! Come in, please.”

Curtis’s usually calm drawl was edged with anxiety, which immediately made Jared cut short his conversation with Michaele. “I’ll get back to you,” he told her, and disconnected before she could ask what was going on. Something told him that she didn’t need to hear what his dispatcher had to say.

He reached for the radio mike. “What’ve you got?”

“A call’s come in from the Fite farm. Old Pete’s found something out there. Sounds like Faith Ramey’s car.”

So a jaunt to Tyler wasn’t out of the picture. “Just the car? No sign of her?”

“Pete didn’t say anything about seeing anyone. All he said was that his dogs went crazy and woke him. When they wouldn’t settle down, he went outside to check around, and as soon as he saw that a strange vehicle was on his property, he ran inside to call it in.”

“Well, did he recognize it?” If it wasn’t too dark, he should have. Like most everyone else, Pete knew Faith.

“I don’t get that impression from what he’s said so far, and I sensed he was too scared to get a closer look.”

“All right, that’s good, too. It’ll keep him from contaminating anything. Have you notified Griggs and Eagan?”

“Yeah, did that first since they’re closer. Eagan’s just arriving, and Griggs is about two minutes behind him.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

8

2:40 a.m.

Reverend George Dollar shut off the lamp and sat in the darkness of his office wanting the absolution, temporary though it was. He had yet to stop shaking, but it was slightly better than when he’d first come in and had almost knocked over the umbrella stand at the back door. Just the thought of the attention that noise could have brought from upstairs triggered a more violent shudder. No, Miriam could not know that he was the biggest sinner in his congregation. Disgusting. Doomed.

How could he have let it happen? He’d been making such progress. Had he grown complacent? Surely not.

He was being tested, he decided with a flash of revelation. Satan had sent a demon, not unlike the two that had taunted Jesus upon entering Gadara. His demon had been informed of his progress, and, like a maggot, had infested his mind and contaminated it until he’d succumbed to a fever. He’d never noticed it coming on because it was natural to feel warm at this time of year. Especially this year.