a few other local political ones, including a fancy poster to reelect Reese Owens, still mayor here after all these years. She’d tried to prepare herself for the fact that she was going to see people who reminded her of the past. But Gabe was the worst and she’d do everything possible to avoid him if she could.
Selling the family house she’d recently inherited was her immediate goal or she wouldn’t have come back at all, especially at this time of year. But the day care center she wanted to buy would go to someone else if she didn’t get some money fast. Her life’s desire was to purchase the Sunshine and Smiles Center for preschool kids in Jackson, Michigan, where she’d worked for years. She planned to live upstairs and redo a lot of the space downstairs where she would teach and protect her young charges. The timing was doubly right since her renters in Cold Creek, her cousin Lee and his family, were moving out. Her mother had wanted to sell their house years ago, but it had no fields attached, and people hesitated to buy a place where a tragedy had happened. They had managed to rent it though, and were relieved that their cousins could live there for a while.
“Wow, four traffic lights uptown instead of one,” she said aloud, thumping a fist on the steering wheel while she was stopped at the first light near the gas station. She needed a fill-up, but it looked pretty busy right now and she wasn’t ready to run into familiar faces. “Like Gracie said, this place is so much bigger!” It felt comforting to talk to herself, as if she had someone with her, someone who really cared what happened.
Of course, she still had two sisters who cared about her, though Char and Kate were understandably upset that their mother had left the house only to her. On her deathbed Mom had said she owed Tess something for what had happened.
The Cold Creek Community Church they used to attend was at this end of the commercial district. She saw they had put on an addition. Piles of pumpkins adorned its lawn with a donation bucket out front for people to leave some money. Even in Jackson, you’d never seen something like that. Please Make Your Own Change, the hand-printed sign read. How she’d like to make a lot of changes in her life, banish the nightmares and the fear.
When the light turned green, Tess drove slowly to read the store signs. The doctor’s office was still there but with a new name stenciled on the window, not Dr. Marvin, who had tended to her immediately after her kidnapping. The tiny storefront library they used to visit between times the bookmobile stopped by was still crammed between the hardware store and the bank. On the other side of Main Street she saw the Kwik Shop, where they used to buy groceries. She’d brought milk and juice—and two bottles of wine—in her big cooler. She also had cereal, bread, peanut butter and jam, so she wouldn’t have to stop anywhere, at least right now.
Cold Creek had seemed huge when she left at age six, but she knew that was just because everything seemed big to little kids. Still, from the keep-your-chin-up phone calls from Lee’s wife, Gracie, over the past few years, Tess had heard all about the recent growth of the town and its influx of wealthy retirees and weekenders.
She wasn’t sure how people would react to her return. Although eighteen years had passed since she’d set foot here, would people still stare and whisper? They might not recognize her at first, but how quickly would word get around? They might give her those looks so full of curiosity and pity it made her feel ashamed, despite the fact that her mother, Dr. Marvin, that investigator Agent Reingold and the sheriff had said over and over that what happened wasn’t her fault.
But was it her fault? After all, she’d run into the back cornfield and tried to hide when Gabe, their teenage next-door neighbor and the sheriff’s son, had told her to cut it out and called her a crazy tomboy. That was where and when it all began. And maybe Gabe was right, because she’d felt a little crazy ever since.
In the space where the sheriff’s office had been, she saw a gift shop, Creekside Gifts, its windows decorated with Halloween costumes, wooden black cats and corn shocks. Farther on beyond the tiny town square, a brick sheriff’s office had been built next to a new volunteer fire department. The American flag and the Ohio state flag flew from a big pole between the two buildings. A police vehicle with Sheriff emblazoned on the side was parked in the small lot, but she saw no one around. Rod McCord had been sheriff when she lived in Cold Creek and his son, Gabe, held that position now.
He would be thirty-one now, because he was thirteen when her family left town. Gracie said Gabe had bought his parents’ house, directly across the roadside cornfield from the Lockwood homestead she now owned, so they’d be neighbors, just like when they were children.
The third traffic light turned red and she came to a stop again. Gracie had told her about “the great divide,” but now she saw it for herself. The west side of town belonged to the outsiders, the new folks who had invaded and kept pretty much separate from the townies, except on market day. Well, what did she care? Tess told herself as she frowned at a new restaurant, a tearoom, some shops—and an English pub, no less, in rural Falls County.
Her stomach clenched as she turned onto hilly Valley View Road. “You can do this, Tess,” she said.
But as she drove down the two-lane road lined with tall, thick cornfields, she wasn’t so sure. Especially when she passed the McCord place as the sun began to set atop the darkening Appalachian foothills and her family’s old farmhouse crept into view. It seemed to leap at her. Even with the car windows up and the doors locked, she was certain she could feel the cornstalks clutching at her, rustling, whispering. She suddenly recalled being told to be quiet or the ears of corn would hear her. Who had said that? Mom or Dad?
“You’re fine,” she told herself. “You’ll be just fine.”
But she sat stock-still in the car at the bottom of the gravel driveway with the motor running until Gracie burst from the front door of the house and windmilled her arm to wave her in.
* * *
Falls County sheriff Gabe McCord left his cruiser about twenty yards outside the tall wooden gate of the Hear Ye Commune and walked closer. The place gave him the creeps, but the thirteen families of what he’d call a far-out religious sect had broken no laws and kept pretty much to themselves except on Saturdays when they had a big table of their produce at the farmers’ market.
He’d received a complaint from Marian Bell that someone had seen a child at the Hear Ye market stall who resembled her lost daughter, Amanda, so he had to check it out. Gabe’s theory was that the girl had been snatched by her father and taken abroad when the Bell marriage broke up, but Peter Bell had been impossible to trace. Amanda’s disappearance didn’t fit the pattern of the child kidnappings that had haunted his father and now him, but he was following all leads, desperate for any break in the long-standing case.
Although no one had disappeared on his watch, he still got heartburn over it in more ways than one. Worse, he was convinced his father had suffered two heart attacks running himself into the ground over the abductions. The so-called cold case of Cold Creek was always on the front burner for Gabe.
“Lee, how you doing?” Gabe greeted his former neighbor as he was walking across the grassy ground outside the fenced compound of meeting house, family buildings, school, gardens and workshops. Lee Lockwood was holding a forked willow branch straight out while pacing the grassy knoll. “Looking for water—or buried treasure?” Gabe asked. Most folks in the area knew Lee was a water dowser, which some in the area called a water witcher, as if it was evil or demonic.
“Oh, hi, Sheriff. Didn’t see you coming. Usually we got guards out. You know, greeters who watch for strangers or gawkers. Got a lot of kids here to protect, including my two, now. And I really get into dowsing when I do it. Yeah, looking for water. Don’t you go believing that buried treasure stuff you hear, nor the old wives’ tales about locating ancient graves with a dowsing branch
