Moon Dance Page 33

  Sooner or later, she sighed as she pushed the message button on her answering machine, she would have to find that just right place or settle for something less than ideal. Or move her new dance studio out of O'Hearn, which she did not want to do, for a number of very good reasons.

  Starting with you, she said to the voice on the answering machine.

  "Georgia, hi. It's about noon. I was just wondering how you made out with the realtor this morning, and I wanted to let you know that I got a call back from the architect I contacted last week. He can meet with me at the barn on Saturday. I told him to come in the afternoon, so that we won't disturb your dance class. We'll talk about all that later, I'll give you call when I get home tonight." Matt paused, and she could almost see that sweet half smile of his. "I miss you. A lot. I think maybe I'll have to drive down there on Wednesday and show you just how much…"

  Grinning, Georgia saved the message to replay again later, then went upstairs to change into her old clothes. Whistling, she pulled on a pair of faded olive green shorts and a tank top, then wound her hair atop her head before heading out to the field to check her garden. She called Spam several times before the pig appeared, waddling from around the far side of the house, to trail behind Georgia like a faithful pup.

  The sun was full overhead of the garden, which was doing quite nicely. The pepper and green bean plants had filled out, the vines—cantaloupe and zucchini—seemed daily to be spreading several feet in all directions, and the tomatoes were covered with small green buds that promised bushels of fruit before the summer had ended. Georgia walked the neat rows, bending down here and there to pull an unwanted weed or to investigate a blossom or a bug. Everything was thriving, and it gave her great satisfaction.

  "I'll have to remember to speak to Matt about fencing against the deer," she said aloud, and Spam, who was busy rooting in a pile of leaves behind the barn, looked up momentarily at the sound of her voice before returning to her foraging.

  Georgia plunged her hands into the pockets of her shorts and grinned with satisfaction. She'd done a good job here, and she mentally patted herself on the back with pride as she admired her handiwork. Her crones, whom she had come to think of as Agatha, Bertha, Clara, Dora, Edna, and Freda, stood proudly at strategic points around the garden, their house dresses swaying in the occasional breeze. The sight of them brought a smile to her face, and she always made a point of addressing them before she left their company.

  "You ladies need gloves," she told them. "White gloves. I'm sure I can find them someplace. No, no, no need to thank me. Consider it a reward for keeping those bothersome birds from the garden. Thanks to you ladies, the carrot seeds grew. Just look at how many have sprouted and sent up those lacy shoots! And I think your presence here has even discouraged the groundhogs and the bunnies. No, ladies, the white gloves are definitely on me."

  There was no need to water since it had rained during the night. The storm had been brief but intense, the thunder rattling the old house and wakening her with a start. But Matt had awoken, too, and by the time the storm had passed, they had found ways to reduce the thunder to little more than background music.

  "I miss you, too, Matt," she said softly, her eyes fixed on the wishing tree. "Wednesday can't come soon enough."

  She headed back to the house, having decided that the garden needed none of her attention this afternoon. She would spent the rest of the day dancing, setting into movement the joyful recollection of the hours she had spent in Matt's arms, the longing to be with him, the wonder of discovering her love for him.

  With the warmer weather, dancing on the second floor of the barn was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. It hadn't been so bad early in the morning, before the sun had risen too far in the sky and heated things up, but Georgia was finding that later in the day, the air was stuffy and humid and still. There was no cross-ventilation, and years of storing grain and hay had left traces of dust behind that even her careful scrubbing had failed to eliminate. Georgia frowned, trying to imagine what it would be like in July or August when temperatures as well as humidity soared into the nineties. Maybe being forced to look for other quarters was actually a blessing in disguise.

  "You're going to need air conditioning in the barn," she told Matt when he called early in the evening. "It's going to be hot as hell in another month. I'm wondering how many more weeks I can run classes before I have to call it off till I find another location. But if you're planning on using that second floor space, it will definitely need air."

  "It's going to need heat, too," Matt replied, "so I guess that can all be done at the same time. The architect said he can refer me to a good contractor who will go over the specifications with me and draw up an estimate for me to take to the bank when I go in to apply for the construction loan. I shudder to think what all this will cost."

  "Oh, but it will be worth it. It will be yours."

  "It'll take me forever to pay back the loan."

  "But it will be paid off eventually. And you'll be living here, at Pumpkin Hill, exactly the way you always dreamed of doing."

  "Well, not exactly the way I dreamed."

  "Oh? What's changed?"

  "I never realized how incomplete that dream was, until I met you. I never knew how full life could be. Now the clinic is only part of something bigger. It's still a major part of my future, to be sure, but it isn't everything. Being with you, there at Pumpkin Hill, that's everything."

  "My dreams are different now, too," she whispered, "but so much lovelier…"

  Funny, she thought later after she'd had a late dinner and drained the last sip of tea from her cup, how things turn out. I came to Pumpkin Hill looking for nothing more than a few months of peace and country air, and just look at all I've found.

  A rustle from the back porch drew her attention to the screen door. Spam was peeking into the kitchen, longing written all over her snout. Georgia laughed out loud, then set the cup on the counter before opening the door.

  "Are you confused because it's not yet dark, Spammy? The longer hours of daylight must puzzle you," Georgia muttered as she picked up the pig and walked down the steps with Spam in her arms.

  Setting the pig down on the grass, Georgia happily inhaled the scent of early summer. The flower bed that ran along the side of the house spilled over with delicate blue columbine and fat buds of daisies not quite ready to bloom. Deep red roses climbed a trellis next to the back door, and tall hollyhocks grew like weeds along the foundation of the house. She realized she was humming, and it occurred to her at that minute that she had never been happier in her life. Somehow it had all come together for her, and she had found pieces of her life she hadn't even realized were missing. Smiling, she turned back to the house, wondering what happy surprise tomorrow might hold.

  Georgia's all's-right-with-the-world feeling had started to fade by ten o'clock that evening, when she left yet another message on Laura's answering machine, the third of the day. Having discussed Laura's situation with Matt the night before and decided that she would attempt to talk to Laura about Gary, Georgia was anxious to get in touch with her. One ignored message generally meant that Laura hadn't gotten around to calling her back, but three unreturned calls meant avoidance to Georgia. It being a school night, Laura would be home to put Ally to bed. As far as Georgia was concerned, Laura was choosing not to return the call, not to respond to Georgia's suggestion that they meet for lunch the next day.

  "Well, if you think that not calling me back will keep me away, you are mistaken." Georgia muttered as she went up the steps to bed. "I'll call you at seven tomorrow morning, and if I have to call back every hour, on the hour, until I catch up with you, I will. But if you think that your family is going to sit by and watch you throw your life away for the sake of some crazy man you don't even like, then you are crazier than he is…"

  It was seven-ten when Georgia called Laura's private line at the inn the next morning. When she heard the answering machine pick up, she frowned and hung up
the phone. Tapping the toes of one foot impatiently, she dialed the main number for the inn. Jody answered on the third ring.

  "Jody, hi. It's Georgia. I'm looking for Laura. Is she around?"

  Hesitantly, as if choosing her words carefully, Jody replied, "Laura doesn't seem to be here."

  "What does that mean?" When Jody did not respond, Georgia asked, "Jody, is something wrong?"

  "I'm not really sure…"

  "Was there something early at school today? Maybe one of those parent breakfasts?"

  "Ally and I are having breakfast together this morning. She's right here with me."

  Georgia paused, as the significance set in.

  "Laura always makes Ally's breakfast."

  "That's right." Jody said, forcing calm to avoid frightening the child. "She does."

  "Ally hasn't seen her mother this morning." Georgia said flatly.

  "That appears to be the case."

  "Jody, you know Tucker Moreland…"

  "Of course."

  "Maybe they went out to watch the sun rise." Georgia's mind raced, seeking any logical explanation for her sister's disappearance. "Maybe they lost track of the time…"

  "Tucker's in the dining room having breakfast with Gordon."

  Georgia fought back a rise of panic.

  "Jody, I'm going to give you my number here. Will you give it to Tucker and ask him to call me right back?"

  "Sure."

  Georgia waited for Jody to find a pencil and paper to write down the phone number at Pumpkin Hill.

  "Tell him I'm waiting by the phone."

  "Consider it done."

  "And Ally…?"

  "Is fine for now. I'm getting her ready for school."

  "Go tell Tucker."

  "I'm on my way."

  Georgia paced waiting for the phone to ring, trying to think of a reasonable explanation. There was none. Laura would not—would never—go off and leave her daughter. Not ever. Not for any reason.

  The phone rang and Georgia jumped in spite of the fact that she was standing next to it in anticipation.

  "I'm sorry to bother you," she began, unaware that her words were tumbling out rapidly, "and it's probably nothing, but I was wondering if you had seen Laura."

  "Not since last night," he told her. "We sat on the front porch and talked for a while after Ally went to sleep."

  "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to pry, but when did…"

  "She went in around midnight."

  "Tucker, I hate to impose on you, but would you mind walking down to the beach and just see if Laura is there?"

  "Georgia, what's the problem?"

  "Laura wasn't in her apartment to get Ally dressed for school today, and she isn't there for breakfast. She never misses breakfast with her. It doesn't appear that she's any place in the inn, so I thought maybe…" Georgia had been doing a fairly good job of fighting her anxiety up until this point, but her composure finally began to crack. Her voice quivered as she added, "I'm feeling really uneasy."

  "I'll call you back." He hung up the phone and walked out the front door and down the steps, his eyes scanning from side to side as he went toward the beach. Georgia was right, of course. Laura never would leave Ally, even in an emergency, without telling her that she'd be gone and arranging for someone else to be with her.

  Georgia was right to feel uneasy. Suddenly, Tucker was feeling uneasy, too.

  He stood at the top of the wooden steps, his hands shading his eyes, and looked up the beach in both directions. Nothing. From an inside jacket pocket he pulled what looked like a miniature pair of binoculars and held them to his eyes. Though very small, the range of the glasses was extensive. There was no sign of Laura as far as he could see. A small worm of fear began to twist within him, and he broke into a jog as he hurried back to the inn, where Ally was standing in the front doorway, waiting for her mother to walk her to school.

  "Tucker, have you seen my mommy?" Ally asked with a six-year-old's impatience. "I'm waiting for her to take me to school."

  "No, I haven't seen her. I'll bet she went out for an early morning jog and forgot about the time."

  "My mommy hates to run."

  "Well, then, maybe she took a long walk. It sure is a beautiful morning."

  "Sometimes she likes to go watch the sun come up." Ally said hopefully.

  "Then that's probably just what she did."

  "She always comes back before breakfast. She's always here when I have to go to school."

  "Oh, I'll bet she just lost track of the time today. Maybe the sunrise was extra pretty this morning," Tucker said, wishing it was true.

  "I have to go to school." Ally looked up at him, concern in her face. "Someone has to take me."

  "I could walk with you this morning."

  Ally looked anxiously in the direction of the beach.

  "Look, how 'bout if I walk you to school, then when I get back, I'll walk on down to the beach to see if your mom is there."

  "When you find her on the beach, will you tell her to bring milk and ice cream money to school for me? Before lunch time?"

  "How much do you need?" he asked.

  "Four quarters and two dimes."

  Tucker dug into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of change. Holding his hand open, he said, "Let's see if you can count out what you need all by yourself."

  She took two dimes and four quarters, thanked him, and relieved that lunch had been taken care of, said, "Now we can walk to school."

  He held out his hand and she took it, and they walked to the first corner, which they crossed on cue from the crossing guard. At the next corner they turned right for a block to the elementary school. When they reached the front walk, Ally stopped and said, "Mommy usually leaves me here. See, there's Mr. McAfee. He's the school guard."

  "Do you need anything else?" Tucker asked as he knelt down in front of her.

  "Just a kiss," she grinned, offering her cheek, which he kissed softly.

  "Thank you," she took off up the sidewalk, turning once to wave and call to him, "When you find my mommy, don't forget to tell her that she should not be walking late in the morning."

  "I'll do that," he nodded, thinking that if he did find Laura right now, that's the least he'd say.

  When he found her, he corrected himself as he hurried back to the inn. There was no doubt but that he would. He hadn't spent a lifetime looking for her, only to have her disappear now.

  Once back at the Bishop's Inn, Tucker let himself unobtrusively into Laura's apartment and walked through the neat, quiet rooms, looking for something out of place. He went into her bedroom and stood in the doorway, taking in the scene before him. The bed was only mildly rumpled on one side, the pillows stacked as if the occupant had leaned against them to read, and indeed, the bedside table held a stack of books. He walked closer. Laura's reading glasses were folded on the cover of a paperback novel that lay face down on the table.

  Across the room, a dresser drawer stood open a few inches. Tucker peered into the deep drawer where sweaters were folded and stacked one upon the other in four piles. Three of the piles held four sweaters each. The fourth pile held only three.

  He went next into the bathroom, where a nightshirt made a rumpled pile on top of the wicker clothes hamper. He returned to the bedroom and looked around, then back into the bathroom where he lifted the lid of the hamper. It held the long sleeved T-shirt she'd worn the night before, but not the jeans. Her bathrobe hung on the back of the door, and her slippers were under one side of the bed. He opened her closet door. The Nike walking shoes she wore frequently were missing.

  "Laura, talk to me," he said aloud to the empty room. "Show me who was here, so that I can find you…"

  His eyes searched the scene for something. There had to be something—but it was as if she had been plucked from her bed and abducted into thin air. He had all but come to the conclusion that there were no clues to be found when he noticed the open Bible pushed partly under the bed. Hesitating only for a second,
he knelt down and scanning the page—the Book of Matthew—found that a section near the bottom of the page had been torn out. He lifted the book and found the scrap of paper concealed under it.

  I am a man under authority, having soldiers under me: and I say to this man, Go, and he goeth; and to another, Come, and he cometh: and to my servant, Do this, and he doeth it.

  Is it possible that Laura's abductor had given her time to read her Bible before spiriting her away, and had she used that time, however brief, to seek words that might provide a clue as to whom her abductor might be?

  The back of Tucker's neck began to prickle as he read and reread the marked passage, all his well-trained instincts on full alert.

  twenty-four

  Georgia paced relentlessly waiting for Matt to arrive, replaying the phone call from Tucker over and over in her head.

  "It appears that Laura disappeared sometime after she went into the inn around midnight. She'd apparently had time to change her clothes and get into bed, read for however long before whomever her visitor was, arrived. There was a book on the table with her eyeglasses, and the bed was only mildly disturbed—blankets turned back, the pillows stacked up against the headboard—-as if she'd gotten into it and had time to do some reading, but maybe hadn't slept in it."

  "The police…"

  "…have been called. They don't seem to think that she's been missing long enough for them to be involved," he had said tersely.

  "And you?" she had asked.

  "I think it's been plenty long enough."