A look of pain crosses her face. She takes a moment to drink coffee and gather her thoughts. “Jason and I were over there after the break-in, putting things back together, painting walls, and what not. Randy was four. We had the front door open. Jason was in the back of the house. Randy was right there at the entryway. He’d just thrown a giant temper tantrum and was in time out. I ran to the bathroom, and when I came back, he was gone.” She swallows. “Just like that. Gone.”

  The pain on her face transitions to a strange look, almost like she’s insulted. “Jason wanted to blame me. Said I wasn’t keeping a good enough watch. But I was, I promise you that. I was only gone a minute, maybe not even that.”

  I nod. “Believe me, I know.”

  “The same person who took Randy took your brother. It’s been twenty-five years, but I know it.” Her voice distorts with fresh emotion. She looks away, her face deteriorating as she works hard to compose herself. “Christ.” She grabs a tissue from a nearby canister and presses it into her eyes. “I thought I’d wore this reaction out. Every day we looked for him. The whole town did. We put up a reward. But nothing.”

  With the tissue now crumbled in her hand, she gazes at me through unblinking eyes. “Nothing. And now twenty-five years later, it’s happening again.”

  Nervous energy has me wanting to pace, but my body stays where it is. Twenty-five years cycles my brain. Carl Keller wasn’t even born yet. There’s no way he could’ve taken this woman’s son.

  “To this day, no one can tell me what happened. No one saw anything. I don’t know if Randy is dead or alive.” Nancy stares me in the eyes. “This isn’t a coincidence. You said there was a station wagon covered in bumper stickers, driven by a man named Carl Keller? Have the police searched his place?”

  “Yes, they held him for a while, questioned him too, but then released him.”

  Her eyes become steely. “How old is this Carl Keller?”

  “Twenty-one.” Yet I agree, this isn’t a coincidence.

  “Are you sure he was driving that station wagon?”

  I hesitate because no, I’m not sure. I found Carl in it later, but I’m not sure he was in it when the boys approached it. The windows were too dark.

  “I’ll never accept my boy is gone,” she says. “Poof. Gone. Nothing happened. No one took him. Just gone. Here one minute and not the next.”

  A quiet moment goes by. She releases a breath, shaking her head and standing. She holds her back straight, unforgiving, but her voice quivers when she says, “Unfortunately, I can’t help you. I can’t go through this again. I know how precious time is. You should go.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I place my mug on a coaster and I stand. “I appreciate you talking with me.”

  She sees me out, standing on the front porch as I walk to Grandpa’s truck. “I know that truck. Did you say your last name is Brach?”

  “Yes.”

  She lets out a chuckle that holds no humor. “Your grandfather and my dad hated each other. They were even in a fistfight once out in front of that rental house.”

  “A fistfight about what?”

  “My dad caught your grandfather carrying on with some married woman.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Oh, it happened. Every time your grandfather saw my dad, he got more and more pissed about the whole thing. He didn’t like Dad knowing his dirty little secret. Your grandfather was a mean man. He yelled at me one time because I was trimming that pass-through that connects the two neighborhoods. ‘That’s my job!’ he yelled. ‘Get away from there!’ I mean, I was so shocked, I ran. Granted, he’d been drinking, but still. Yeah, but no one messed with him because he was the sheriff. He got away with way too much. Especially with your grandmother.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Dad said he was nasty to her. Used to grab her and push her around. Used to cuss at her and threaten her. She locked him out one time and he sat in that truck with his rifle, seething. He didn’t back down until my dad called the cops for help. Dad was truly scared your grandfather was going to shoot your grandmother. Soon after that’s when she took off and left your poor mom all alone with your grandfather. But what really gets me is that when Randy went missing, your grandfather did nothing.”

  From the McMillan house, I drive from Virginia back into Tennessee. I try to focus on this new information about Randy McMillan, but all I can think of is the last part of our conversation. Nancy has to be wrong. Grandpa was a good and kind, strong and fearless man. He never would have had an affair with another man’s wife. And he certainly was not abusive to my grandmother.

  I try dialing Mom, but she doesn’t pick up.

  It’s around two in the afternoon when I pull into the rear of the studio. I find Carl in the same place he was in hours ago.

  “Hello,” he says.

  The one-word greeting makes my teeth grind.

  “Who are you working with?” I demand.

  Silence.

  I charge over to the corner where I left his battery-powered lantern and I hurl it at him. It hits his head and bounces off.

  “Why won’t you talk?”

  Carl Keller stares at me.

  That goddamn blank gaze of his makes me lose it. I grab the lantern and I attack.

  I slug him in the chest, the shoulder, the neck, the knee-cap, the thigh, the foot, the arm, the back, the head… “WHY WON’T YOU TALK?” I keep hitting his duct taped body over and over again, until sweat flings from my brow.

  Breathing heavy, I brace my foot in the center of his chest. I stare down at his swollen jaw, puffy eyes, and the fresh blood trickling from a slit I just made in his eyebrow. His thick glasses lay broken and off to the side.

  “Nell?”

  I whirl around to see Grace hovering in the door, her face hard but uncertain. She looks at the lantern I’m holding and then down to Carl. I start to say something, and she silences me with a shake of the head.

  I look back down at Carl to see him now regarding me with even more blankness than before.

  Holding the now broken lantern up, I say, “I’ll keep using this, I swear.”

  Silence.

  “You are making me do this. Just tell us what you know, and I’ll stop.”

  Silence.

  “Talk.”

  Silence.

  Grace moves to intercede. With a furious scream, I stalk past her out of the room.

  In the exterior area, I hammer the wall with my fist. Grace closes the door between us and Carl. She watches me.

  “It’s like he doesn’t even realize what’s happening,” she quietly says.

  “That’s what he wants. He’s covering for someone. He’s putting on an act.”

  “Act or not, it’s not working.”

  “He’s not feeling the pain. It’s the damn duct tape,” I snap. “I should’ve never secured him like that. We need to take it all off and tie him up another way. Then he’ll feel what I’m doing to him.”

  “Are you hearing yourself?”

  With a sigh, I face her. “Then we’ll try something else. I’ll drag his grandmother in here, if need be.”

  “No, you will not. You do that and this is over.” She points a finger at me. “I will tell Sheriff Owens what we’ve done. You will not bring his grandmother here. Now, follow me. You need to see what’s going on back at home.”

  EIGHT

  Tuesday, 3 p.m.

  My neighborhood is alive with activity. News crews line the curbs, neighbors and others mill about outside in the cold, flowers and miscellaneous gifts gather in my yard. Through the trees, I see the same thing going on around Grace’s house.

  I park the truck behind a news van and Grace parks behind me. Together we walk past a reporter talking into a camera.

  “Three days have passed since Tyler Brach and Luca Yeager were last seen by their families,” the reporter says. “The two boys, both age six, are believed to have left the Brach’s home en route to the Yeager’s home. They then disappeared without a trace. Police are asking that anyone with information please call the twenty-four-hour tip line.”

  The reporter keeps talking. Grace spies Matthew standing in my yard. She heads straight toward him, walking right into his open arms.

  “Hi.” He kisses her cheek. “Where have you two been?”

  Grace doesn’t answer.

  “We were together,” I say, coming up next to them. “Driving around. Looking for the boys.”

  Grace clings to Matthew.

  “You okay?” he mumbles.

  “No, I’m not. I feel sick. Where’s my mom?”

  “Inside with Jill.” With his arm around Grace, he turns her toward Grandpa’s house. “Let’s get you warmed up. When was the last time you ate?”

  While he walks her to our front door, I turn around, scanning the crowd. Somber faces look back at me as if waiting for me to speak. I don’t recognize any of them.

  I exhale, and my breath fogs the air.

  One by one the neighbors turn away, going back in their homes or pretending to do something outside so they can continue lurking.

  A tall figure moves down the center of the road, walking at a quick clip. He wears a gray hoodie, cinched up. As he passes our yard, he surreptitiously glances over, long enough for me to make out a bearded face. He hangs a left at the next house, before taking the cut through that leads over into Grace’s neighborhood.

  I follow.

  When I come out the other side, I analyze the scene of people, seeing the tall man cross in front of the house with the "For Sale" sign. He stops in the exact location where the station wagon was parked, and he turns.

  Our eyes lock.

  He runs.

  “Stop!” I yell.

  The tall man pushes past an elderly couple, weaves through garbage cans sitting at the curb, and shoves through a plastic holiday decoration with deer and a sleigh.

  Heads turn.

  “Stop that man!” I yell.

  No one moves. I break into a run.

  He sprints between two homes. A confused woman watches me dash after him. The man leaps a ditch separating the backyard from a line of trees. I lose sight of him when he ducks into the foliage. I clear the ditch, scramble through the branches, and see him running across the road into another neighborhood.

  I chase him.

  He veers off, racing up a hilly yard, and disappears behind a house. My feet hit the incline and I dig in, running in his path. I round the rear of the home to find an empty backyard.

  A dog barks.

  I swerve around. A chain-link fence separates this yard from the next. At the far end, a guard dog growls, low and rumbly.

  The dog notices me and charges. He comes up short against the fence, snapping and snarling through the gaps in the wire. There’s no way the man could have made it across that yard without being bit.

  I survey the area, breathing heavily. I don’t know where he went. I look up to a tree house ten or so feet in the air. It’s hard to tell from here, but he could be up in that.

  Big rocks line the base of the tree. I grab one for a weapon and holding it ready, I climb.

  “What are you doing? I’m calling the cops,” a man says. “Get down from there.”

  I stop climbing, now just a few rungs away from the opening. Over my shoulder and standing on his back porch is an elderly man holding a phone.

  “Good, call the cops,” I tell him. “Because there is a man in your treehouse, and he has something to do with my missing brother.”

  The old man hesitates, only a second, before punching nine-one-one into his phone.

  A shadow shifts. I look up right as a boot hits me square in the face. I lose hold and fall from the rungs to land on my back in the yard. All the air leaves my lungs. Above me, the mystery man grabs a rope and swings out beyond me. He lands solidly on two feet and runs.

  I scramble up. My vision blurs. I sway.

  I try to run after him and stumble instead.

  He keeps going, darting between homes, crossing yards, and climbing fences.

  “Stop!” I yell, but it comes out more of a rasp. I make it to the curb and I throw up.

  In the distance a siren echoes. A horn blasts.

  Struggling to catch my breath, my surroundings warp in and out.

  Suddenly, the elderly man is in front of me. “You were right. There was someone in my treehouse.”

  Sheriff Owens frowns at me as the ambulance tech double-checks my nose isn’t broken. The old man who called nine-one-one hovers nearby.

  “Bearded face, wide-set eyes, and mid-thirties to maybe forty,” Owens clarifies.

  “Yes.” I wince when the tech slides cotton into my nostril.

  “You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?” the tech asks.

  “I’m sure.” I stand. “We done?”

  The tech nods.

  Owens looks between me and the elderly man. “If I get a sketch artist, can you two recreate his face?”

  The elderly man nods.

  “I want to check on Mom,” I say. “Can I meet you at the police station?”

  His eyes narrow, but Owens nods.

  I walk off, not giving him a chance to argue.

  A reporter found her way here and is currently talking into the camera, “Breaking news. A person of interest in the case of the missing boys was seen running through this neighborhood an hour ago…”

  Minutes later I walk into my home to find Mom sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, watching the reporter I just walked past.

  “Where’s Olivia and Grace?” I ask.

  “They went home,” Mom mumbles.

  “I’m heading to the police station to give a description.”

  She doesn’t respond.

  I want to ask her about Grandpa and the things Nancy McMillan said, but now is not the time. Instead, I kiss her head. I’m about to leave when she says, “Did they do it together? This man and Carl Keller?”

  “Yes, I think so. Carl had help from someone older. Someone who has done it before. This has to be the man.”

  She looks at me through bleary eyes. “What do you mean done it before?”

  “Twenty-five years ago, another boy went missing from that house with the ‘For Sale’ sign. That man I chased would’ve been a teenager then but could have done it. Carl looked me right in the eye and said, ‘They only cried once.’ Carl knows where they are at, Mom. He knows this man.”

  She tries to swallow that, but it doesn’t seem to go down.

  Darkly, she considers me. “What exactly do you do when you leave here?”

  “I’m doing everything I can to find Tyler.”

  I wait for her to respond, but she doesn’t. When I’m out of the house and in Grandpa’s truck, I glance up to see her watching me.

  NINE

  Tuesday, 7 p.m.

  The sketch artist shows Sheriff Owens the description the elderly man and I gave her—the bearded face, wide-set eyes, and dark hair—it’s a good rendering.

  Owens hands it off to a young guy in uniform who gives me the side-eye. It’s the same cop from earlier. “Get that circulating as soon as possible,” Owens says.

  With a nod, the young cop walks off as I give him the side-eye. Owens lets the elderly man leave, motioning for me to stay right where I am.

  When we’re alone he says, “Apparently, Carl Keller is missing. Monday night he took his grandmother’s dog for a walk and never returned. Donna Keller didn’t tell us, said she didn’t want to get Carl in any more trouble. The only way we found out is one of my guys swung by to get eyes on Carl per his order not to leave the area. That’s almost twenty-four hours he’s unaccounted for. Now we have this tall man you chased up a tree. Tell me, which one do you think I should focus on?”

  I don’t have time for this. “I’d search for the unknown man. You should also look into the name Randy McMillan. Twenty-five years ago he also went missing from the same house.”

  “We’re on the same side, Nell. I want to find your brother just as much as you want me to find him. You’ve got to stop playing detective.”

  “I’m not playing at anything.” I stand up. “Are we done?”

  “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Are we done?”

  “Yes.” He sighs. “We’re done.”

  Fact is, he wouldn’t have shit if it wasn’t for me playing detective.

  From the police station, I go to the studio and find Carl asleep in the corner, shivering.

  Kneeling beside him, I push him. “Wake up.”

  His eyes flutter open. He looks up at me with no recognition.

  “Were you the one parked in front of that house? Or was it someone else?”

  Silence.

  I show him a photo of Tyler. “Where is this boy?”

  Carl looks at the picture. His expression tells nothing. But at least his eyes move.

  I show him a photo of Luca. “How about this one?”

  Again, he looks at the picture, then back to me.

  I show him a sketch of the tall man. “I know you’re working with this man. What is his name?”

  Carl’s eyes widen. He knows him.

  “What is his name?” I demand.

  Silence.

  Carl goes back to his trance-like gaze. I stare deep, looking for something, anything, but he’s just a guy lost in his mind. Or doing a hell of a job pretending to be.

  I grab his face, once again showing him the picture of the tall man. “Who is this?”

  Silence.

  With a shove away, I stand up. I pace a circle around Carl, staring down at him. He doesn’t respond to violence. He doesn’t respond to questions. He doesn’t respond to the darkness when I close him in. He hasn’t even asked for food or water.

  The only thing he’s responded to is his grandmother, and now the picture of this unknown man.

  On the way home, I stop at the Dollar Store for a bottle of water. The news plays on the television above the register, showing the tall man’s sketch. Holiday music filters through speakers in the store.

 

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