Chapter
1
News
at Six
Clisty Sinclair froze
as she stared into the monitor. It can’t
be her. It’s been too long.
The television camera zoomed
in as Clisty’s eyes filled with tears. Shaken, she was numb to the fact that viewers
were watching her relive a terrible memory.
The news director’s expression
widened. “Go on!” she mouthed.
Clisty felt nine years old
again, frantically grabbing her friend’s hand. But, in the desperate tug-of-war
with evil, the muscular man won and dragged her friend away.
She composed herself. “Help
police find the witness visible on the ATM’s surveillance camera,” she reported.
“Call 555-2020. Let’s roll that again.” Clisty stopped breathing as she watched
the jerky video. A huge figure in dark clothes ran from the bank, nearly knocking
down a disheveled woman. The woman paid no attention to him, but focused on the
ATM. At the surveillance camera, she looked directly into it with guarded,
anxious eyes.
“Those eyes,” Clisty murmured.
Dan Drummond, the senior
anchor, waited as Clisty remained silent. Finally Drummond intervened. “Well,
that’s the news from the Fort. WFT-TV ... Fort Wayne, Indiana. More news at
eleven.”
“Good show, people.”
Rebecca Landers waved her arms in the air. “Everything all right?” she asked Clisty.
“Sure Becca.” But, she
muttered, “It can’t be her.”
“Who?” Becca jerked the
headset from her ears and handed it to her assistant. “Here, George, stow these
until eleven, please.”
“No one. Just my
imagination,” Clisty whispered then changed the subject. “Maybe they’ll find
that witness in time for the eleven o’clock news.”
“Maybe, but that’s only
four hours from now. It could happen, if she walks into police headquarters by
herself,” Becca answered. “What happened up there?”
“Nothing,” she brushed the
question off.
“Don’t forget the
envelope for Clisty.” George put the headset on the desk. “I’m going to run
out. I’ll be back.”
“What envelope?” Clisty
asked as she stood up slowly.
“Fellow said his name
was Phil and left it for you,” George called over his shoulder.
“You’re slowing down.
Are you okay? I’ll call a stand-in.”
“No, Becca, don’t do
that. I don’t want someone else to look good. I still have to prove myself.”
She had risen from intern, to fill-in, to junior-anchor in record time. “I
don’t want anyone to think they made a mistake in hiring me.”
“Okay, but you need to
talk about it.”
“Hello there, news
lady,” a tall man in blue jeans and tan long-sleeve V-neck tee said as he
waited just outside the studio glass.
“Jake?” Clisty couldn’t
believe it was Detective Davis. Out of navy blue suit, dress shirt and tie, she
hardly recognized him.
He grinned warmly. “I
was changing from my work clothes and had your six o’clock newscast on.” He
bent down and studied her face. “Miss Sinclair, you had an unusual reaction
when you were reporting on the bank robbery. What happened? What’s going on?”
Clisty looked away.
“Nothing.”
He touched her shoulder
and reassured her; his usual prickly pear manner softened. “I’m not
interrogating you. I’m just asking.”
The warmth of his hand
was something she hadn’t expected. This was the same old Jake Davis as the edgy
detective she had encountered at other crime scenes, why did he suddenly rattle
her so? She knew she had to slow down to get some professional distance between
them. “I have to sort this out in my own mind first, Detective. Maybe I’ll call
the police station tomorrow.”
“Maybe?” he asked with
a twinkly.
Overwhelmed by what she
had seen in the video, now even the mere presence of Jake Davis confused her. Gripped
by double-edged tension, she felt like she couldn’t breathe as tears gathered
in her eyes and began to roll down her cheeks. This time she looked away from
the man she had pleasantly bumped into at several remote news cast and she
closed her eyes.
Jake didn’t hesitate.
He put his arms around her, enclosing her in his embrace and didn’t let go.
Her heart raced, first
because she knew she saw Faith, second because … of Jake. His new unfiltered
approach thrilled her; she felt safe. Finally, after a wonderful but awkward
span of seconds, Clisty reluctantly pulled away from his warmth and fixed her
eyes on the floor. “I have to leave, Jake. “I’ll figure this out and call the
station tomorrow.”
“Be sure to ask for me
if you think of anything,” he said softly, stroking her shoulder. “With this
bank robbery thing, I’m going back to the precinct for a while now.”
“Okay, and yes, I’ll
ask for you,” she promised. As tears flooded her eyes, a tissue from her pocket
saved her makeup. Why was she reacting so strangely to this man? She didn’t
want to look at him and didn’t want to look away. When their eyes met, a new
feeling flooded in. Minutes before, despair filled her as she remembered the
horrible day when someone kidnapped Faith. Now, the warmth of hope rushed in
and bolstered her spirits again.
She had to control all
those emotions, the same as she controlled everything, until she could figure
it all out. She turned, cleared her voice and changed the subject. “Becca, George
said you have a letter for me?” Clisty asked.
Rebecca withdrew the message
from her hip pocket. “Here ya go. Hope I didn’t wrinkle it.”
Clisty pushed dark
blond hair from her forehead and studied the envelope. The handwriting looked
familiar and yet not. “There’s a pot of coffee at my apartment. Can you run out
with me for a while? I think I’d better eat something. I’m shaking.”
“Sure. We have nothing
until eleven.”
•
• • • •
“Looks
like you painted last weekend,” Becca observed as she walked around Clisty’s
living room. “It’s still white though isn’t it?”
“No. It’s cream,”
Clisty insisted.
“Cream?” Becca said with a wry smile. “Maybe
off-white ... but, not cream.” She studied the pictures clustered above the
sofa. “The girl on the right looks like you.” The gangly girl in the photo had skinned
knees that stuck out below pale blue summer shorts. Play equipment in the
background revealed an active child.
“It is me,” Clisty agreed. She placed the envelope
on the shiny black coffee table. “I’ll get us some coffee and yogurt.” She
walked over to the open kitchen.
“That’s great. It’s Jason’s poker night. He’ll stop at
the drive-through.” She glanced back at the picture, then around Clisty’s
space. “I’m surprised you hung that picture in a room with white walls.” Becca
raised her eyebrows. “Sorry, cream walls, white area rug.” She looked down. “I
know I was right that time, cream sofa and side chairs, and end tables with
absolutely nothing on them, no tchotchkes, nothing.” She looked again at the
fireplace. “I take that back. There’s a little angel on the mantle.”
“That’s my prayer
angel. At church, Grandma picked my angel and I got hers that Christmas before
she and Grandpa moved to Florida.” She smiled defiantly. “Besides, no-clutter
settles the mind and makes my space manageable.”
“You don’t strike me as
a control freak.”
“I’m not.” Clisty removed her shoes, sat cross-legged
on the sofa and pealed the lid from the raspberry yogurt. She put it on the saucer.
Becca watched and did the same, except for the leg
position. “You could fool me,” she mused as she glanced around the spotless
room. “You take minimalism to an extreme not often seen.”
“It’s just my home that has to be sterile.” She
scooped out a spoonful of the creamy treat. “Don’t laugh. I don’t know why, but
my house must be stripped of all clutter.”
“You know ... one person’s clutter ...” Becca sighed
as she sipped the hot coffee. She sat the cup on its saucer and glanced at the
envelope.
“Has it grown larger
than the room?” Clisty teased as she watched Becca’s expression.
“I don’t know why
you’re not interested in what’s inside!”
“Oh
okay,” she chuckled softly. “But, it was fun for a few minutes. I watched your
curiosity rise to hyperventilation level.”
“Open it!” Becca
yelled.
“All
right, all right,” Clisty drew out slowly. Once opened, the envelope appeared
to be empty. She shook it and a square piece of plastic fell out. Pent-up grief
crossed her face. She frantically snatched up the piece from the polished
floor.
“What is it?”
“It’s a four-leaf clover, sealed between clear
contact-paper.” She held the piece between her index finger and thumb. “My
mother lines her closet shelves with clear contact.”
“But Clisty,” Becca stared at her. “What does it
mean? You recognize it. I can tell.”
Clisty gently lifted the photo from the wall. “The
other sweet child is Faith Sterling. She was my dearest friend. We investigated
everywhere together. Mom’s only rule was to be home by suppertime. We kept the
treasures we found in our clubhouse.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s gone.”
“Did they move?”
“Her
parents still live over on Oak Street.” Clisty sank back on the thick, sofa
pillows. “She’s ... gone.”
“She died?”
Clisty
tried to shut out the terrible pictures in her mind. Suddenly, her eyes widened.
She glanced at the mantle clock. “It’s seven-thirty. There’s time.” She waved
the clover back and forth in anxious hands. “I have to see Jake.”
“Jake? Jake ... your
cop ... Jake?”
“No ... yes. No, he’s not my cop.” She jumped up. “I found this four-leaf clover while we
played. We took it home and sealed it between the contact-paper. I wrote the
date on it with Magic Marker and gave it to Faith. She put it in her pocket. I
told you. We were nine years old.” Clisty paced. “We started to play Monopoly then
sat on the floor and watched TV.” When her eyes filled with tears, she pulled another
tissue from her pocket.
“No,” Becca grabbed a fresh Kleenex from a box on
the bottom shelf of the side table and handed it to her. “You’re still in camera-makeup.
Now, slow down, breathe, and tell me what happened.”
Clisty blotted her tears with the tissue. “Mom had
gone to the grocery. We started watching TV before we put our game away.” She
sniffed and tried to clear her throat.
“Then what?”
“Someone ... a big man in a sweaty shirt ... I can
still smell him ... stormed into our house.” She cringed as terrible mental
images invaded her pleasant childhood memories.
“The man had a heavy beard and yellow teeth,” she
shuddered. “He grabbed us both by the wrist and dragged us toward the door.”
Clisty’s voice drifted to a whisper while a horror-film played in her head. “I
broke free, grasped Faith’s hand and tried to pull her back; but, he was too
big. I slipped on the Monopoly board and slid on a few cards and game pieces. With
a thud, I fell to the floor but quickly scrambled to my feet, ran into the
bathroom and locked the door. I heard the man snort something like, ‘I got what
I came for,’ and stormed out the door with Faith.”
“Oh, Clisty, how
horrible! Where did they find her?”
“They didn’t,” she whispered. “She just vanished. It’s
been eighteen years. Her family has never given up,” Clisty choked on her
tears. “I tried to save her.” With a raspy voice she added, “With Grandma’s
angel at our house and my angel on her kitchen windowsill, Grandma prayed for me
every day.” She closed her eyes and slipped back into dark, frightening memories.
“I know the prayers helped.”
“Clisty, you were a child.”
”I know. But, Becca, that witness in the surveillance
video on the news at six ... those eyes ... that was Faith. I’m positive of
it.” She looked at the clover in her hand and shouted, “This four-leaf clover
proves she’s alive! She sent it to me so I would look for her. Becca, I know
where she is!”
