Drawn Into Darkness(65)
Chad was starting to look upset. “Amy?”
With considerable effort she managed a single word. “Boggled,” she whispered.
“Huh?”
“You’re doing okay, son,” Ned interposed. Lounging deep in the sofa, he spoke to Chad with the soothing wisdom of age. “At least she hasn’t hit you yet. Most women would if you offered to take them camping for a second honeymoon.”
True. To Amy, camping was pretty much housework redoubled, plus stinking fish to clean, but minus electricity and furniture.
“Oh!” Chad now looked more anxious than upset. “Amy, you call it. Where would you like to go?”
The hell of it was, she didn’t know. She couldn’t seem to imagine anything past staying at home, waiting for news of Justin. And her mouth still wasn’t working right.
“No rush.” Ned stretched, got up, and to Amy’s surprise gathered the glassware and dishes they had used and headed for the kitchen sink. Over his shoulder he called, “It’s not like you have to go tonight, or tomorrow for that matter.” He left the room.
Amy managed another word. “Money?”
Chad burst out, “I’ve been stupid, complaining about money. Family is more important than money.”
“Your job—”
“Our marriage is way more important.”
“Justin?”
“Dad will man the Web site and the phones. Amy,” Chad said plaintively, “before Kyle and Kayla come charging in here from school, could you at least tell me whether you want to—”
“Yes.” Suddenly she could speak in complete sentences. “Yes, honey, of course I do.”
• • •
Quinn spilled out the other contents of Mom’s purse, which included a checkbook, a red Sharpie marker, a small flashlight shaped like Eeyore, some novelty pens, car keys, another key on a Hello Kitty ring, some wadded tissue, and her cell phone, which was turned off. Quinn said, “Mom never turns her phone off.”
Forrest said, “I know.”
Neither of their voices, Quinn noticed, was quite steady. He turned the phone on and checked the history. Mom’s last phone calls were to him and his brother nearly a week before.
Wordlessly he passed the phone to Forrest, who looked at the data bleakly. Quinn started piling Mom’s stuff back into the handbag. Forrest did likewise.
The shadows of the blue shack felt weighty now, ominous. Quinn wanted to say, “Let’s look around,” but fear of what they might find kept him silent. Beckoning his brother to follow, he set off. They checked out the small kitchen, then the small, dark bathroom with the two-by-fours blocking the window, then a bedroom neatly stacked with masculine clothing but clotted with masculine odors, and then the other bedroom, which they found oddly vacant except for an old-fashioned bed with a post at each corner, probably meant to support a canopy that wasn’t there. And on the bed, nothing but a bare mattress and some shackles.
Ropes and handcuffs.
Fastened to the four posts of the bed.
Quinn stood and stared, unthinkable speculations knocking at doors in his mind that he would far rather have kept closed.
Almost as if in answer, Forrest burst out, “This is not for fun and games. There’s urine on the mattress. And blood.”
Quinn said, “It’s definitely time to call the cops.”
With business cards in hand for reference, Quinn phoned the Maypop County Sheriff’s Office, asked for the deputy with whom he and Forrest had filed a Missing Persons report a few hours earlier, and was told he was in the field, unavailable. He left a message asking the deputy to call back, urgent. Next he tried the Maypop Borough Police and was told the officer handling his case had gone off duty. Again he left a callback message, urgent. Only the state police remained. Three strikes and he would be out. His hand shook as he pressed the tiny numbers on his cell phone. After asking for the trooper who was supposed to be his contact, he endured country music while he was put on hold. He had started drumming paradiddles on the wall to counteract the music when at last it stopped and the cop came on the line.
“Trooper Willet here.”
“Yes. This is Quinn Leppo. We—”
“Who?”
“Quinn Leppo. My brother and I talked to you about our mother earlier today. We found her purse.”
“She left her purse at home?”
“No. We found it in the neighbor’s house, along with—”
“The neighbor’s house?”
“The only place near hers. There’s a bed in here—”
“What neighbor? Name?”
“We don’t know! We’re asking you to investigate whoever it is. The bed—”