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One Hundred Seven
All she ever wanted was to be a mommy. To have a passel of kids to love and take care of. She remembered the day she’d brought Piper home from the hospital, dressed in a pink dress with that big purple bow around the soft strands of blond hair. Her tiny fingers curling around hers. The low suckling noise she’d made when she latched on and fed from her breast.
Then all her firsts. Her first smile. The day she’d rolled over in her crib. The moment she’d learned to crawl and pull up. The glorious day she’d taken her first step.
Then her first birthday with the smash cake and balloons and presents and she and Silas smiling and laughing as Piper dug her fists into the white frosting then smeared it on her cheeks.
But she’d only had her for six years. Then she’d been robbed of her precious baby.
She wrung her hands together, pacing by the fire, biting her tongue to keep from screaming. How dare Ava run away when she’d given her a nice home to live in and a beautiful family?
How dare she run out in this storm where something bad could happen to her?
Outside, the rain slammed the roof and cold air seeped through the eaves of the old farmhouse. She heard crying from Becky’s room, then rushed in to check on her.
“I’m cold,” Becky said, her teeth chattering.
“Shh, Mommy’s here,” she mumbled as she sank onto the bed beside Becky. Tenderly, she brushed her dark red bangs from her eyes and laid her hand over her forehead. It felt clammy and hot, and sweat dotted her forehead. Becky made a little mewling sound.
Worry formed a lump in her throat. Becky had been given her insulin regularly. But she definitely had a fever, maybe an infection.
She patted the little girl’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” Rushing into the kitchen, she grabbed some children’s painkillers and a damp washcloth and hurried back.
“Here, honey, take this. It’ll help with your fever.” She slipped her hand beneath Becky’s head, then lifted her enough for the child to swallow the medication and a sip of water. Then Becky sank back beneath the covers, her face pale.
She rocked back in fear. Becky had to be all right. So did Ava. Hadn’t her husband found her yet?
She sat for what seemed like forever, watching until Becky eased into a deep sleep, then she heard a noise in the kitchen. Tucking the covers over the child, she hurried into the kitchen and saw her husband carrying Ava inside.
The girl was soaking wet and crying, and she ran to her. But Ava curled away from her and into her husband’s chest.
Rage shot through her. How could Ava choose him over her when he was a child-killer?
One Hundred Eight
Black Gum Avenue
Tuesday, December 24
The tea kettle on the stove whistled shrilly, blending with the bitter gusts of wind pummeling Jan Hornsby’s house. The sleet had sounded like golf balls banging the roof last night, but it wasn’t the weather that had kept her tossing and beating her pillow.
Today was Christmas Eve. Every year she and Becky got up early and made waffles with strawberries dipped in powdered sugar, then baked a batch of sugar cookies to leave out for Santa. Before they finished, flour dusted everything in sight and sprinkles speckled the table and floor. With Becky’s diabetes, she had to watch Becky’s sugar intake. But she could handle one cookie every now and then if she managed her diet and insulin.
For the millionth time, mind-numbing pain gripped her, clutching at her with icy fingers.
Where was her precious little girl? Was she safe? Had those horrid people on the news sold her to someone else?
She checked her phone again, but there was no message or call from Priscilla. Nerves skittering through her, she had a feeling something was wrong. She dialed Priscilla’s number again, but it went straight to voicemail.
Grief welled inside her as she glanced at Becky’s picture, and she flipped on the morning news. First up was the weather report predicting the sleet might be turning to snow by nightfall.
Then Angelica Gomez reporting the latest on the other missing girl’s case. And then the anchor moved on to the next story: “Yesterday a young woman was found injured at Hangman’s Dome and transported to Bluff County Hospital. Police have identified her as thirty-three year-old Priscilla Wilkinson. At this time, they are treating the accident as suspicious and are asking for anyone with information about the young woman to please call the police.”
Panic roared in Jan’s ears.Suspicious accident.
It was suspicious, Jan thought. Priscilla had called that sheriff in Bluff County, but he’d blown her off. They’d talked about going to the reporter.
And now Priscilla was in the hospital.
