The Taking Of Carly Bradford. Ramona Richards

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СКАЧАТЬ them in a proper evidence bag. If, in fact, they are evidence, I don’t want to leave them in the car overnight nor in a plastic bag.”

      “You know you’ll have to call Jack and Nancy about this before you do any forensic work on them.”

      “I know. Can’t spend the money on forensics unless we know for sure. We’ve already been through this too many times.”

      A beat of silence passed before Fletcher spoke again. “You want me there?”

      Absolutely! You think I want to do this by myself once again? Look into those faces, offer them some kind of false hope again? “No. Thanks, though. I need to do it.”

      “If you change your mind, let me know.”

      Tyler hung up, following in silence as the cars turned into the long drive leading to Jackson’s Retreat. He carried Dee from the car into a guest bedroom in the retreat’s lodge house, then stood back awkwardly as Maggie took on the role of Dee’s caregiver. Normally the writers stayed in individual cabins on the property, but this way Dee would be close to Maggie and Fletcher, who would guard her as if she were a queen.

      Maggie still bustled about the virtually unconscious Dee as he eased out of the room and returned to his cruiser. The ten-minute drive to the police station felt much longer, with his mind occupied by the innocent eyes of Carly Bradford and the wounded face of Dee Kelley. He gave the sandals to Wayne to log in for evidence, then headed home.

      An odd sense of resignation settled around Tyler as he drove to his small house not far from downtown and let go of any idea that the sandals belonged to Carly. They couldn’t. That style had been quite popular for young girls this spring, and they had already received a dozen or more false “sightings” of the shoes. This was just one more. But, of all the people to find another pair of “Carly’s shoes,” did it have to be Dee Kelley, with her wounded mother’s soul? He couldn’t imagine what was going through her mind and heart right now.

      Help her, Lord. Tyler’s silent prayer came automatically to him. She’s already been through way too much.

      He also hoped that this “attack” was more than Dee’s imagination, that it didn’t mean Dee was about to spiral viciously backward into her old life. She’s come so far since being here, Father. Don’t let her go backward in her healing. She’s going to need Your help.

      Everyone in Mercer seemed to know Dee’s heart-crushing story, of how she’d lost her husband and son in a devastating car crash and the three-year depression that followed. He’d heard different versions from a variety of townspeople, including Laurie at the café and a couple of shop owners. As usual, small towns and personal secrets weren’t a good mix. Yet knowing it had led the locals to embrace this newcomer in a way they seldom did. Of course, it helped that they’d discovered Dee to be one of the most gracious people they’d ever met.

      He sighed as he turned on to his street, his mind flipping back to the day he’d met her, not long after she’d arrived in Mercer. Tyler and Fletcher had grown close over the past couple of years, and he often ate dinner with the MacAllisters and the writers at the retreat. One day, a few months ago, Dee had joined them. She’d been polite but reserved, and had spent most of the meal watching birds whisk to and fro at the feeders on the back deck of the lodge.

      Tyler, on the other hand, spent the time watching her, drawn in even more when Fletcher had recounted her full story to him later that evening. The two of them had retreated to the basement game room of the lodge with hot cups of coffee to discuss cases and long days on the job. Then, when Tyler’s increasingly curious questions about the new writer started to amuse Fletcher, he switched the subject to Dee. Fletcher’s tale captured both Tyler’s imagination…and a bit of his heart.

      Fletcher explained that Dee had seldom left her small Southern town before the accident. “She did, however, spend a lot of time on the Internet, which is where she met Aaron.” Aaron Jackson, a best-selling novelist, had started Jackson’s Retreat as his literary legacy, and he’d sung its praises to Dee when they had met during a writers’ conference. An immediate connection had sprung up between them, and they found a lasting friendship in their common beliefs. Aaron and Dee had e-mailed almost every day, sharing stories and problems.

      Aaron had also been one of the few out-of-town friends to come to the funeral of her husband and son three years ago, following the car accident that had destroyed Dee’s world. Aaron had even remained several days afterward, holding her and letting her sob and rage at someone other than her parents and God.

      Aaron’s murder a year later had been the last straw for Dee’s already fragile mind, and she had descended into a darkness she thought endless. A darkness completely devoid of hope, faith, and love. Devoid of God.

      Her mother, however, remembered Aaron’s retreat and found some of the correspondence on Dee’s computer. Her parents, conspiring with Maggie, had put Dee on a plane.

      Tyler had scowled at Fletcher. “Why am I just meeting her now?”

      Fletcher sipped his coffee. “Because she’s just now emerging from her cabin. She’s not done much except stare at the walls.”

      The first month at the retreat had been more darkness, with Dee lying for hours on the bed in her cabin. Maggie, with a new baby on her hip, had gone to the cabin every morning, opened the blinds and windows, turned on the lights and ceiling fan, and booted up Dee’s computer. Maggie had returned in the evening with Fletcher to insist Dee join the group for dinner. Dee had initially refused, and Fletcher and Maggie had stayed with her, eating dinner in her cabin and forcing her to talk to them. They learned the more intimate details of Dee’s life, during those first days, when Dee began to share her words with them, long before she started coming to the lodge for dinner.

      Slow therapy, but it worked. Listening to other writers around the large dining table had finally engaged Dee in challenging conversation, and, eventually, had inspired her to sit at the computer, if only to stare at the blank screen. Six weeks later, she started to write. A journal, at first, then essays, two of which she sold to parents’ magazines. Those first paychecks buoyed her in a way she had not expected, letting a tiny glimmer of hope into her mind and heart. Tyler had met her as that glimmer of hope had begun to grow. Yet, the one thing still missing in her life was God. She had not reopened her heart to Him at all.

      The bump that edged the entrance to his drive yanked Tyler back to the present, and he now prayed silently that God would make sure Dee held on to that hope. “She needs You more than ever, Lord, even if she doesn’t think she does,” he whispered, as he pulled into the drive at the side of the house and let the car roll to a halt in front of a garage near the back of the property.

      Well, it was supposed to be a garage, but the building had never held a car as long as Tyler could remember. The previous owner had been on his way to an assisted living facility when he sold the house, and had left the garage stuffed with all the yard tools Tyler would ever need, plus some he didn’t even recognize.

      The owner also left Tyler a dog, which now stood peering at him from the back porch, her front half outside the pet door, looking calm. The back half, however, gyrated so violently that the pet door bounced up and down on her back. Patty, a supremely obedient peekapoo named for the New England Patriots’ mascot, always waited for permission to welcome him home, but she jiggled, wagged, and whimpered until she seemed ready to split apart at the seams if he didn’t give it.

      Tyler couldn’t help but grin. He got out of the car, and Patty’s increased excitement made the entire back door vibrate in its frame. He clucked his tongue and patted his thigh, and Patty launched herself off the porch, СКАЧАТЬ