I did it! Now what?
She couldn’t wait to share the news with someone. Swiping through the photos she’d taken, she selected the best one to send to Robert, hoping two bars of reception would be enough to send the message. She deliberated over the words to include in the text. Finally, she typed in the words:I think I found the Suburban that killed Melanie Young.On impulse, she added Ben’s name, creating a group text. She wanted to tell Ben she’d found his daughter, but she hadn’t.
Not yet, anyway. But she was confident this lead would help them find Cassey soon.
She hit send.
As soon as she did, she regretted adding Ben to the message. Would her words be too direct for him? Too painful? She wanted to give him some hope. But was she premature in doing so?
Wishing she could undo what she’d just done, she stepped to the door. She needed to leave and call Robert. She grasped the knob then froze at the sound of a child’s laughter. Turning, she walked to the window and peered through the dirty pane.
A woman with brown hair pushed a toddler-sized child in the plastic baby swing. The child wore a red coat with the hood snug over its head.
Is it Cassey?Amy couldn’t see the child’s hair or eyes from this distance.
The toddler squealed again as the woman—Clara—snatched at her toes.
A fist squeezed Amy’s heart. Ben should be the one pushing his daughter, making her laugh. She ached to march out there and confront the woman, to take the child back to her father, but that could be disastrous.
She’d already pushed the limit on stupid risks today.This was dangerous,she needed to remember that. She’d already been careless in including Ben in her text, she couldn’t afford any more mistakes.
Turning off the flash, she raised her phone to the window, and took a picture. It’d be poor quality at this distance and through the dirty window, but at least she had proof of a child here the same age as Cassey. Now, she needed to leave and call the police.
She’d gripped the door knob a second time, when her cell phone rang. Startled, she jerked it from her pocket and answered it, hoping Clara hadn’t heard it over the child’s laughter.
“Hello,” she whispered.
“Amy!” Ben’s voice filled her ear. He definitely wasn’t whispering. “Where on earth are you?”
“Ben, I’m pretty sure I found the suburban that caused your wife’s accident.” She struggled to keep her voice down amid her excitement.
“What? How?”
Amy didn’t have time to answer his questions fully, but she owed him an explanation. Trying to speak in hushed tones, she walked back toward the window as she talked. “I saw the police report of your wife’s death and Cassey’s disappearance, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. For some reason, the details seemed familiar. When Lance came last week, I remembered some things, and I started putting the pieces together. So, I found Lance’s old drummer’s house. It’s hard to find, because it’s hidden in the trees out on Deer Creek Road. My hunch paid off, and I found the SUV.”
She bit her tongue to keep from telling him she’d found his daughter too.What if the child in the swing isn’t Cassey?
“Amy, I can hardly hear you, and you’re not making sense.”
A vehicle suddenly drove past the barn spraying gravel as it skidded to a stop. She peered toward the front of the house. A man jumped out of a green van. “Clara!”
Amy’s stomach dropped.Eddie.He’d seen her car and knew someone was here.
Would he search for her?
Yes.
Did she dare make a run for it?
No.He’d catch her before she could get to her car.
“Amy?”
She jumped. She’d forgotten she was on the phone with Ben.
“Ben, someone’s coming. I have to go,” she whispered, hopefully loud enough for him to hear. “Don’t call me back, he might hear my phone. Call Robert!” She ended the call, muted the volume, and stuffed her phone down her bra. Hopefully, if it vibrated, Eddie wouldn’t hear it.
Heart racing, she pulled the tarp down over the front end of the Suburban and searched for somewhere to hide. A loft at the back of the barn looked promising, but Amy dismissed it as a possible hiding spot after one glance at the broken rungs on the ladder. Rusty oil drums filled one corner of the barn, and a short stack of old straw bales occupied the other. She approached the straw, intent on hiding behind it, but a scurry of rodents caused her to back away as quickly as she’d approached.
