Melissa Foster - Chasing Amanda

The great blow-off , Molly thought.

“Mrs. Tanner, I want you to clearly understand that this does not mean that you are off my radar screen. Like I said, I don’t know about all of this vision stuff. Also, what happened with Rodney Lett remains as it was. I do not doubt what the officers in charge did, or how they handled that investigation. If you claim to have visions, that reflects on your abilities, not his.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “I remain constant in my support for the investigation of Kate Plummer. The case is closed.”

Molly turned to leave, but when she reached the door, she put her hand on the doorknob and said, “I know she’s alive. I can feel it.”

Officer Brown rose from the table and looked evenly at Molly. “Mrs. Tanner, if you have a solid lead, something other than a vision ,” he said the word sarcastically, “you can call me directly.” He handed her a business card.

Molly walked into the depressing hallway and swiftly came to the realization that she was once again on her own. A stocky, brown-haired man walked out of the neighboring office and leaned against the door, arms crossed, his eyes trained on Molly. Officer Brown appeared in the doorway and nodded at the other man. Molly hurried toward the exit, hearing Officer Brown’s hushed voice behind her, “Keep your eye on that one.”

Molly was anxious for her morning run and desperately needed to clear her head, but as she neared White Ground Road, she hesitated. After the morning she’d had, she wasn’t up to taking a chance on another vision hitting her. Instead, she parked along the road that crossed the lake. She focused on her upcoming run and vowed not to think about Officer Brown. She tied her van key to her shoelace, secured her iPod armband, and began to stretch.

The sun warmed her face as she ran across the bridge, heading toward the gated entrance to the Perkinson driveway. She tried not to look toward the house but couldn’t stop herself. Despite her firm resolve to ignore it, her feet carried her past the rusty black mailbox, around the metal gate, and up the overgrown driveway.

She reached the top of the hill quickly and scanned the yard. She veered into the woods, following a metal clanking sound that rang out from the rear of the house. Her heart jumped at the glimpse of someone disappearing around the far side of the house. Molly sprinted to the front of the house, Cole’s warnings whispered to her, chilling her bare arms. She ducked behind a bush just in time to see Hannah and Pastor Lett coming around the corner. Molly crouched as low as she was able, hoping the leaves beneath her wouldn’t give her away.

The house loomed behind them like a blind sentry, the windows boarded up like two eye patches. Hannah walked up the front steps and tried the door, touching the heavy metal lock, and turned back toward the front yard. Pastor Lett motioned to Hannah. Molly watched from the bushes. Crouching further down, a twig snapped beneath her feet. Hannah’s head snapped in Molly’s direction, and she moved toward her. Pastor Lett reached out and touched Hannah’s arm, saying something Molly could not hear. Molly closed her eyes, hoping she hadn’t been spotted. When she opened them, they were nowhere in sight.

After waiting in the bushes for what felt like hours, Molly snuck back down through the woods and decided to visit Pastor Lett and lay it all out on the table. She was going to get to the bottom of the situation one way or the other. Surely Pastor Lett would have a good explanation for the lights in the cellar. Molly trusted Pastor Lett, didn’t she? Yes, she decided, she did. She drove the short distance to the church and pulled into the empty parking lot. Newton’s minivan pulled in along side Molly’s car. Molly waved. Newton climbed out of the van, “Molly. How are you?” “Great, thanks. Just looking for Pastor Lett.” “She’s not coming in today.” Newton replied.

“Oh,” Molly looked perplexed. “I just saw her,” she caught her mistake, “earlier. I saw her earlier today. Just thought I might catch her here.”

A skinny, old black man walked out of the cemetery and toward Newton and Molly. His army jacket was zipped to his neckline, and he had a woolen hat pulled tight over his head, though the weather didn’t call for such warmth. He moved slowly past them, as if each step took great effort, and Molly cringed at the odor that followed. “Hello, ma’am. Mr. Carr,” the man said in a raspy voice. “Good day, Walter,” Newton said. Molly turned and watched him walking across the parking lot toward the road. His jeans dragged along the asphalt with each step. Newton whispered to her, “You know Walter?” Molly shook her head, guiltily feeling like a gossip.

“Walter Meeks. Seventy years he’s lived here. Thirty of it right off of Peachtree Road. He, um, he’s always kept to himself. Had a wife and child—a girl. Doesn’t drive, you know, afraid of cars.”

“Why?” Molly asked.

“Not really sure why, just is. Walked to and from work each day when he worked for the mines. Came home one day and his, uh, his house was burned to the ground.” “How awful.” “Some people thought it was arson, but they never figured it out. His wife left him right after that. Took the child with her.” “That poor man. He lost his house and his family?” Molly followed Newton as he walked toward the cemetery.

“She just up and disappeared. When the house burned down, they went to his aunt’s house for the night. In the morning, she and the girl were gone.” Newton was uncharacteristically forthcoming with Walter’s background. Molly paid full attention. “He was married to a white girl. Their daughter was, um, light skinned, too—dark hair, prettiest little thing.” He stopped walking, and stared into the cemetery, thinking. “If I recall, his house burned down in the late sixties, somewhere ’round there. A real shame. His wife was a loner, too. She was real sick.” Newton shook his head. “Her father passed away from an asbestos-related cancer, meso-something-or-other, and she was exposed as a little girl.” Newton put his hands in his pocket, then pulled them out again, fidgeting. “Said she could cure anything herself. Some said she was into voodoo, witchery, that type of thing. Not sure I believed it, though. Surely never saw any of it.” He looked at Molly and said, “Sorry. Too much information, I know.”

“And all this time I thought that he was just some old guy that never made anything of himself. Now I feel badly,” Molly said, always amazed at the font of information that was Newton Carr.

“Well, he wasn’t the brightest tool in the shed, that’s for sure, but he was dependable. Yes, ma’am, the mining company was really unhappy when he left. He worked for them for over twenty years. Had a big party for him, in fact, right in the field across from the gravel lot, behind that cornfield.” He pointed to a field on a hill behind the church.

They walked silently through the graveyard, and Molly realized that Newton knew far more than just the history of Boyds.

“You know about the quarry, right, Molly?” Newton asked, clearly changing the subject.

Molly was oddly relieved. “Well, I know there was a community battle to keep it out of Boyds, and that it ended when a local resident bought the property.”

The simplification of the story brought a smirk to Newton’s face. He asked Molly if she’d like to walk with him through the cemetery, where he was headed to check on the upkeep of the graves. She anxiously agreed. “That property there,” Newton pointed toward the fields, and then in the direction of the railroad tracks. “The mining company that was trying to put the quarry in? They used to own all this land. The tunnels were over there,” he pointed, again, to the fields. “Until, uh, Martin Chambers scooped it up.”