Melissa Foster - Chasing Amanda

Twenty Four

Weekend mornings always felt like mini-vacations to Molly. No matter how great of a running morning it might appear to be, her body wanted to lie around a little longer, move a little more slowly, and welcome the morning more gracefully. The sun peeked through the curtains in a streak across Cole’s body which was stretched across the bed. She curled around him, feeling as safe and warm as any secret she’d ever held. She suddenly realized how soundly she’d slept. The turmoil of the night before crept into her mind, trying to settle there, but was met with resistance—resistance of wanting a few moments’ peace without the invasion of real life.

Cole reached around her, drawing her closer, and moving his upper body over hers, his handsome face looking down at her, his eyes smiling, hair tousled.

“Hi, stranger,” he said, brushing her wavy bangs off of her forehead.

“Morning,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and lifting herself up to kiss his cheek.

“What time did you get in last night?” he asked, running his index finger down her right shoulder, sending goose bumps down the length of her arm.

“I don’t know,” she said, trying to keep focused on their conversation and not the warm sensation growing beneath her skin. “Late.”

“Mmm.” He gently kissed her forehead, her eyes, and then her cheeks.

Molly lay with her eyes closed, thinking of the feel of Cole’s whiskers tickling her skin, when the sound of the ringing phone slashed through the moment. Cole stretched across her chest, reaching for the phone.

“Hello?” Cole said with a strained voice. He moved off of Molly, handing her the phone as if it were a dirty diaper. “For you. Mike Moeler.” Cole reached for his book.

“Hello?”

“Molly? Mike. Thanks for the call last night.”

Molly rested her head on Cole’s shoulder. Cole tensed. “You won’t say anything to Edie, will you?” The pit of her stomach hurt when she thought of her betrayal. “We’ll talk about that later. They put another officer in charge, Officer Rozutto. He wants to meet you.” “Why did they do that?” “We get moved around based on other cases that come up. Rozutto’s a fine detective. Can you meet us? Now?” Molly heard the urgency in his voice, “Of course.” She sat up and turned to Cole with a look of apology. He rolled his eyes. “Panera Bread? Half hour okay?” Mike asked. Molly agreed, and hung up the phone. Cole shifted his gaze above his book. “Well?” he asked in a disappointed tone.

Molly snuggled closer to him. “I know this really stinks,” she laid her head on his shoulder, “but I have to meet them. The detective wants to talk to me.”

“Do you want me to come with you—wherever it is that you’re going…with Mike.” Mike’s name held a quip of annoyance.

Molly turned to face him. “First of all, Mike is Sergeant Moeler, a cop, and second of all, no, I’ll be fine, but thank you.” She put her arm across his chest. “Uh-huh,” Cole said flatly. “Cole,” she said, trying to rein in her anxiety over the pending meeting and her ailing marriage, “how can I make it up to you?” “That’s a good question,” he said and looked back down at his book.

Molly shook the outstretched hand of Sal Rozutto, his olive skin and thick dark hair as stereotypically Italian as his name.

“My pleasure,” he said with a voice smooth as butter and thick with culture. His demeanor was friendly, yet keenly in charge. “I appreciate your meeting with us. It’s people like you that are in tune , shall we say, with things that help to solve these cases.” The smile remained on his lips even as he spoke.

Molly lifted her eyebrows, “Well, I don’t know how in tune I am with it, but I’m glad to help.”

“It’s my understanding,” he said a little quieter, moving closer to her, “that you are very in tune with the issues surrounding this case, that you have seen things.” The way he said it, quiet, like an inside secret between the two of them, touched Molly. She liked this man. “That is very beneficial to us, Mrs. Tanner.”

He must have noticed the surprise in Molly’s eyes, because he added quickly, “We don’t often use...seers, but, in a case like this, where time is of the essence and a life hangs in the wings,” he paused, thoughtfully, “in a case where we need every available lead to pan out before we lose a child, well, such a case may deem it appropriate, if the…seer…appears to be a safe and sane individual.” “But Officer Brown said—” “Let me worry about Officer Brown,” Sal said. “I don’t know what you’ve been told.” “I’ve been told enough to know that you know what you’re talking about.” He glanced at Mike.

Molly took a deep breath and felt a blush warm her cheeks. Validation . “Well,” Molly began, “I’m not sure what I can tell you. I mean, the things I’ve seen,” she leaned forward, spoke a little softer, and hoped the other patrons would not overhear their conversation, “they haven’t really been that clear, you know?”

“I don’t know, but I do understand that this is how these things work. Have you kept a record of any of it?”

“A record?” Molly gave a little laugh and told them about her journal, “But I can tell you what I’ve seen. I’ve got most of it right here.” She pointed to her head. Sal nodded. Molly was torn between trust and deceit, “Sal, I have no trouble talking about it, but I want to make sure of something first.” Mike looked at her questioningly.

“Officer Brown basically said I was a suspect. If that’s why you’re talking with me, I want to know up front. I don’t play games, and I won’t be party to any, either. If I’m a suspect, come out and tell me, and I’ll get a lawyer, and then we can talk,” she spoke confidently, almost defiantly.

“I didn’t realize that Officer Brown thought you were a suspect.” He looked at Mike.

Mike chimed in, “Don’t look at me. He never directly conveyed that to me.”

“Regardless,” Sal interrupted, “right now, you are not considered a suspect. You have my word on that, but obviously someone wants to convey things to you, whether it’s someone who is involved or knows who might be.”

“The notes,” Mike said.

“I’m interested in what you know that might help us find Tracey—and hopefully find her alive and quickly.”

“Okay, good.” Molly surveyed the surrounding booths, making sure that there was no one she knew within earshot. She stared out the window, trying to figure out how, or what, to tell them.

“Molly,” Sal touched her arm, “are you okay?”

She sighed, “I’m fine. It’s just that…well....sometimes, it’s not easy describing visions. There are many parts to them, some that will make no sense at all, others that, in the end, will have nothing do to with the vision itself.” She squeezed lemon into her water and added a little Sweet ’n Low, making lemonade. Mike and Sal watched with questioning eyes. “ This is my caffeine,” she smiled.

Molly steeled herself for disbelief, then she began to describe the images she’d seen of a man being beaten, the three men hovering above him, the pain and the overpowering sadness that she’d felt. She stopped several times to collect her thoughts and figure out how to describe the depth of what she’d felt, the horrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach returning. Mike and Sal’s slack jaws and incredulous looks made Molly feel as if she were speaking obscenities. Her voice faded to a near whisper.

At Mike’s urging, she went on to describe the apple candy taste, which brought saliva to her mouth as she spoke. She detailed the cold, dark, cavernous holes and passageways that she’d seen, the image of Tracey and the dark-haired woman on their knees, praying in front of many candles, and the peaceful feeling that Tracey emitted, the sheer lack of fear that Molly had recently felt coming from her, the strange calm which had seemed out of place and, somehow, wrong.