Melissa Foster - Chasing Amanda

Pastor Lett walked nervously past Molly, giving her a brief nod, “Molly.” She shot the Boyds Boys a contemptuous look and walked into the store.

Molly bristled at the brush-off and looked toward Harley. “What’s up with that?”

A knowing look passed between the Boyds Boys. Molly did not like to be ignored. She sat herself down between Harley and Joe, purposely making them uncomfortable. “It’s okay, I can wait,” she said.

Joe, who had probably been somewhat of a lady’s man in his day, with his Gregory Peck good looks and quiet demeanor, cleared his throat, and Harley took another sip of his coffee. Molly didn’t budge.

Pastor Lett walked out of the store, orange juice in hand and a newspaper under her arm. She didn’t look back at the four of them, packed on the bench like sardines. She got in her car, started her engine, and backed out without ever looking up. “Okay, guys, spit it out,” Molly said. Tension thickened the silence between them. “What the heck, Joe?” Joe looked away. “Mac?” Molly said, forcefully. Mac looked down at his boots.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she said, angrily. “Harley?” she caught his gaze and held it, ignoring the twitch that long ago had claimed his left eye.

Harley looked down and fingered the ends of his frayed flannel shirt. He turned his body to face Molly, and said, in barely a whisper, “Kate Plummer. She disappeared about twenty years ago—same way.” He looked at Joe, who scowled at him. Mac let his breath out loud and hard in displeasure, and nodded so slightly that had Molly not been scrutinizing every move, she may have missed it.

“What do you mean, ‘same way’?” she asked.

“She was playing at the preschool playground. You know the one behind the church on White Ground?” he looked down again, and his voice held a hint of anger. “They never found her.”

Molly jumped to her feet, shocked by the news. She looked at the three men, who sat in silence, again avoiding her eyes. Her mind raced with questions. “What happened?”

“She just disappeared,” Harley began.

Mac interrupted, “She lived right here in Boyds, by the old Wade farm.”

“That’s right,” Joe said. “The Plummers were mighty upset,” he shook his head. “They stayed around for about five or six years, hoping she’d come back, or turn up somehow, but they just couldn’t take it, I suppose.” He swirled his coffee in the Styrofoam cup, watching it intently. “Moved away, Missouri, I think, back where the wife’s family was from.” Mac and Harley nodded in confirmation.

Molly paced across the porch—her mind reeled. “How does that happen at such a small playground?” She turned in the direction of the preschool, envisioning the tiny playground, no bigger than a one-car garage.

Harley filled her in. There had been a birthday party with several children playing and a few parents watching over them. “Late September, if my memory serves me correctly.”

Mac confirmed, “Remember, they were late harvesting the corn that year because Ned broke his combine machine, and Harley here had to fill in after he finished Hannah’s fields.”

Harley nodded in affirmation, “Yup, September,” he sipped his coffee. “Anyway, I guess the kids were playing hide and seek, and when they got in their cars to leave, they noticed she was missing.”

“Where were her parents?” Molly asked.

“Mrs. Plummer, Bonnie, she was ill,” Joe said. “Had the cancer, you know? She’d had it for about a year by then. They operated, did some chemo, you know, she was real sick. So Kate was taken care of by neighbors, mostly. Other moms would take her to school, take care of her after school, run her to Girl Scouts, and whatnot. They were a tight-knit group back then, the moms.”

Molly asked about her father, and Harley told her that Paulie had worked two jobs just to make ends meet.

“That type of thing never happened,” Harley’s voice trailed off.

“It never happens anywhere, until it does happen,” Molly was screaming inside, incredulous on the surface.

“Anyway,” Harley began, “they searched, but they ain’t never found no sign of her.” Harley finished his coffee and crushed the Styrofoam cup with his hand.

Mac got off the bench and threw away his cup. He went to the end of the porch and leaned against one of the wooden columns, his back to the others.

Joe kicked his shoes against the concrete and cleared his throat—when Harley looked over, Joe shot him a stern look. Harley shrugged. Molly picked up on the cues. “What?” Her eyes darted from Harley to Joe and back again. Harley drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Well,” he said, “they never found Kate, but they knew who did it.” After a long, uncomfortable pause, Molly prompted, “Well…who did it?” Mac’s words fell fast from his lips. “Pastor Lett’s damned younger brother, Rodney.” Molly was bewildered, “Pastor Lett has a brother? I’ve known her for years and never heard her talk about him.”

“ Had a brother. Rodney,” Mac said. “He died that year, too.”

Molly thought about Pastor Lett, the way she’d hurried past, the look she’d given them. “What happened to him?”

Joe suddenly became enraged, “He knew too much, Molly!” He paced across the porch, muttering under his breath, “Goddamn killer.”

Harley explained that shortly after Kate had gone missing, Rodney had been outside on his front porch when a reporter had stopped by, looking for the pastor. As he spoke, Harley rubbed his hands on his jeans, which appeared permanently stained from that specific move. “He looked right at the reporter and just starts sayin’, ‘She’s in a dark place. She doesn’t hurt.’” Harley sat back down on the bench, as if preparing himself for a tiring story. “Everything seemed to fast forward from that point. The police arrived, reporters, angry residents.” Harley sighed. “They took Rodney to the station, and he told them that Kate was with her mommy, which you know meant that he’d killed her—that he buried her somewhere to go to heaven like her mother eventually would, Bonnie, you know?”

“Well if he was saying all those things, then no wonder the police arrested him, but if he knew where she was, why didn’t they find her?” Molly asked.

“They didn’t have enough evidence to keep his ass in jail. I have no idea how these dumb-ass police work, but they let the son-of-a-bitch go!” Mac threw his cup into the trash and said, “They have a guy telling them that she’s in a dark goddamn place, and they let him go ?”

“But you said he died. How’d he die?” Molly asked.

When the three men remained silent and avoided Molly’s eyes, she pressed for an answer.

Harley lifted his eyes, met her gaze, then turned away. “He was beat to death,” he said quietly. “People don’t take too kindly around here to a little girl being killed, or stolen, or whatever.”

Molly felt light-headed. “If she was alive, then no one could have found her anyway after Rodney was killed. Whoever beat him up should be ashamed. That poor girl never had a chance after that.” Molly’s words were angry, but the tickle down the back of her neck held the truth. There were many times, since Amanda’s death, that she wished she’d had the courage to find her killer—and the strength to do the same thing.

Seven

Tracey kept her arms close to her body to avoid touching the dirt walls. The confined space of the tunnel made her heart race, her breathing hindered. She knew she’d be punished for fighting back the evening before. She couldn’t stop her body from shaking or the tears from pouring silently down her cheeks . The ground was cold and wet under her bare feet. She gritted her teeth together, trying not to let her captor see her cry. Crying girls get punished . Tracey saw candles burning up ahead. Relief flooded through her as she realized that she was not headed toward the bad spot but rather toward her captor’s praying place.