Maggie Shayne - Kiss Me, Kill Me

“Diana and I want to thank you all for coming out. Our friends and neighbors—you’ve been here every step and we’re grateful. You out-of-towners—I don’t even know what to say. Takin’ time out of your vacations to help us, well, it’s pretty amazing. Thank you.”

He looked at his wife, who stood in the circle of his powerful arm. She had a raccoon look to her, but not from running makeup. The dark circles beneath her eyes were purely stress induced. She was a little stooped, too, but not, Gabe suspected, from osteoporosis.

She said, “We want you to know you’re in our prayers, every last one of you. God bless you.”

Her voice was weak. The group applauded as the couple stepped off their makeshift podium, people touching them, patting them on the arm or shoulder, as they made their way inside the old firehouse, which seemed to have become a command post of sorts.

It was a photographer’s dream of a building, that little old-fashioned firehouse, Gabe noted again, even as his heart went out to the couple who had just entered. He had an eye for beautiful things. Usually it was natural beauty that appealed to him, but not exclusively. He loved beautiful places, and Shadow Falls certainly qualified. But the old-fashioned charm of its buildings and the respect with which they’d been preserved made the place even more attractive to him.

His admiration of the idyllic scenery came to a halt as his group began moving and he heard air brakes hissing from the road behind him. He looked around to see a line of school buses pulling up along the road side. Gabe stuck close to Sam and Sadie as a grim feeling settled over him. The realization hit him that this search might end with something none of them wanted to find.

Once their bus was fully loaded and its door closed, a firefighter stood up in the front.

“Here we go,” Sam muttered.

Gabe glanced over to where Sam sat with Sadie in the seat beside the one he and Ambrose were sharing, and saw him fitting a set of earbuds into place and fiddling with his iPod.

“You should probably pay attention,” Ambrose said.

“He’s heard it a dozen times already,” Sadie told him. “Really. Trust me, it’s okay.”

Ambrose lifted his brows but returned his attention to the man up front, as did Gabe.

“Now that we’re in private, I need to give you the part of the speech I wish I didn’t have to. Kyle’s been gone five days. Now, the weather’s been good, so if he’s out here somewhere and hurt, he might very well still be alive. But we can’t ignore the possibility that we’re looking for a body out there. So you need to make sure you keep that in mind and poke around in the underbrush. Use a branch to prod small bodies of water. Keep an eye out for drop-offs and cliff faces, and check out the bottoms of those. And while it’s unlikely, I also have to advise you to note the location of and report any earth that looks freshly turned. Much as I hate to even think along those lines.” He lowered his head. “Hope for the best but prepare for the worst, as they say. Now let’s go find Kyle and bring him home.”

The bus rumbled into motion, and Gabe understood why Sam hadn’t wanted to listen to that particular speech. It must be hard to be reminded of the worst-case scenario when the subject of the speculation was a friend. Maybe a best friend.

No kid should have to go through this. Not ever.

Gabe settled back in his seat and thought about how the importance of his own search paled in comparison to this one. He pulled out the flyer he’d been given, taking a good long look at Kyle’s smiling face, reading the stats printed below it, including his birthday.

And that reminded him, painfully, that the boy had been born at the right time to be the kid he’d come here to find. Had Kyle actually been missing for a whole lot longer than the last five days?

Rose argued over who would carry her luggage up the outside staircase to the garage apartment but conceded when Carrie jokingly said it was a deal-breaker.

She only had three bags anyway. A large suitcase, a smaller overnight bag that matched it, and her giant quilted handbag. Carrie took the suitcase and the overnight bag, noted the Prada tags dangling from the handles and thought the woman must be loaded. And yet her car was a relic. Sam would know the make, model and what kind of engine powered the thing, but Carrie’s knowledge extended only to recognizing an old car when she saw one. Maybe it was a classic or something.

Not that she cared how much the woman was worth.

Carrie set the luggage on the floor just inside the door and, turning, handed the key to Rose. “It’s all yours. You should have a good cell signal up here, and if you brought a laptop with wireless, it should pick up the signal from the house. Use it all you want.”

“My goodness, free Internet? This room is a real bargain.” Rose smiled, then extracted a notepad and pen from her oversize handbag, quickly scribbled on the top sheet, tore it off and handed it to Carrie. “Here’s my cell number…oh, and I’ll pay in advance for the first week, too—that is, if cash is okay. I can’t believe I remembered everything but my checkbook when I changed handbags for the trip.” She rolled her eyes. “Age does odd things to one’s memory, dear. You’ll see someday.”

“It’s not a problem. I don’t know anyone who would object to cash.”

Smiling, Rose handed her a stack of twenties.

She seemed as delighted with the garage apartment as if it were a room in a five-star hotel. Then again, Carrie had taken pains to make it as homey and comfortable as possible. The cabinets were old-fashioned, slate-blue-painted wood with antique white china knobs. The walls were eggshell, with slate-blue trim to match the cupboards, and the table was fashionably retro red Formica, with vinyl-padded chairs on metal frames. There was a small living area, complete with satellite TV and a floral print love seat, chair and antique-looking coffee table. The bedroom was tiny but had everything it needed, and the adjoining bathroom had been recently modernized.

Carrie scribbled down her cell number for Rose, then looked around, trying to think of anything she might have forgotten, but she was pretty sure she’d covered everything. “If you think you’re all set, then, I’ll head out,” she said.

“I’ll be fine here. I’m a little tired, anyway, so by the time I unpack and get settled in, I’m sure I’ll be ready for a nap. Go on, enjoy your evening.”

“It’s not that kind of an evening,” Carrie said softly.

Rose frowned, her face sincere. “Oh?”

“I’m joining with other volunteers to search the woods for the miss—the runaway boy.”

“You knew the boy, then?”

“Know him. I know him,” Carrie said. “He’s one of my son’s best friends. They met in day care.”

“You’ve lived here that long?”

Carrie nodded. “More than sixteen years now.”

“I’m so sorry, dear. I hope you find him safe and sound. Is there any way I can help?”

“Not tonight, Rose. You’re tired, and I don’t think traipsing through the mountains is what you need tonight.”

The older woman nodded. “Or any night, for that matter.” She rubbed her back. “Arthritis, you know. Still, there must be some way I can help. You’ve been so kind about letting me stay here when you didn’t intend to.” She tilted her head. “I’ll think on it. Maybe by tomorrow I’ll have come up with an idea.”

“That’s sweet of you,” Carrie told her. “I hope to God that by tomorrow it won’t be needed.”

“I hope so, too. With all my heart.” Then, to Carrie’s surprise, Rose hugged her. “Stay strong, dear. Keep on hoping.”