TROY PULLED THE TRUCK UP next to the red Jeep. On his way to Stratton Pond, he’d stopped by the office and told the captain about his encounter with the Herberts. Well, everything but the slingshots. He’d face the humiliation of that busted headlight later, when he wrote up his formal report.
“So Wayne Herbert might well be our victim, after all,” said Thrasher. “Of course we’ll have to wait for DNA analysis to confirm. Good work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“The AMBER Alert has attracted a couple of good leads,” said Thrasher. “A Canadian bird-watcher named Rufus Flanigan reported seeing a teenage girl hiking in the woods with an infant who looked a lot like the missing baby girl. He claimed to have seen the two—whom he assumed were mother and child—walking through the forest many times over the past few weeks. Another witness, Mabel Hennessy from Burlington, gave a young female hitchhiker and a baby fitting the description a ride out of town from a gas station not far from the hospital to about a mile north of a convenience store in East Dorset.”
“That’s on my way.”
“Right.” Thrasher paused. “Your new girlfriend lives right near there.”
“Sir?”
“Mercy Carr.”
The captain believed that the best game wardens were happily married game wardens and he was always quick to encourage Troy to forget about his estranged wife and move on. But he couldn’t seriously be suggesting that Troy get involved with Mercy Carr.
“She’s, uh, a little young, sir,” he said, remembering that summer long ago.
Thrasher raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“When I was in high school, she was just a kid.”
“High school is over. And she’s all grown-up now. As you are meant to be.”
Troy wondered if high school was ever really over. Especially when you lived in the same small town all your life. As he had, apart from his time in the military—another community with long memories.
“She’s a decorated war veteran. With a real dog.”
“Sir?”
“You know, a real dog. Not one of those pip-squeaks some women carry around in their purse.”
“True. That Malinois is a real dog.”
“And from that dopey look on your face, I figure she must be pretty easy on the eyes.”
Troy could feel his face redden even as he tried for a poker face.
“Courage, beauty, real dog.” The captain laughed as he ticked off Mercy’s fine qualities. “What more could a man want?”
Troy didn’t answer what he hoped was another one of his boss’s rhetorical questions. The captain was fond of rhetorical questions.
Thrasher checked his watch. “The morning’s nearly gone. Better get on to East Dorset now. Start with Mercy Carr.”
“I’ll check her out.”
“Good for you.”
Of course that’s not what he meant at all. But then, Thrasher knew that.
Which is how he found himself here with Susie Bear at the Mercy Carr residence. The well maintained if rustic cabin sat on a sweet piece of property in the middle of a sunny clearing that nestled up against the forest. To its right was a big barn. He could hear the rushing of a stream somewhere nearby—and the yowling of Elvis inside the house.
They strode up the stone path through the front yard, a generously landscaped garden planted in deer-resistant perennials—lavender, heather, and rosemary, daisies and black-eyed Susans, bee balm and butterfly weed and coneflowers—that reminded him of his grandmother Maeve’s garden. Susie Bear sailed past him to the generous front porch that ran the width of the cabin, barking in return.
In the middle of the flower beds in midsummer bloom stood a tall pole flying the American flag at half mast. He stopped in front of it and saluted.
“I’m coming,” he told the impatient dog waiting for him, black tail whomping away in anticipation. But before he could knock on the bright orange door, it opened. Just by a couple of inches, revealing two noses—one pale and small and freckled, the other long and furry and black and wet. Elvis pushed by his leg to greet Susie Bear snout to snout. He doubted Mercy Carr would like him to follow suit.
“Hi,” she said.
“Good morning. I’m sorry if I woke you.” Although she looked wide awake to him.
“Can you give me just a minute?”
“Sure.”
Mercy disappeared behind the door, but Elvis shot out onto the porch before it closed behind her. The shepherd greeted Susie Bear with a snort and a butt sniff. She returned the compliment. The dogs played like old friends, ducking and rolling and chasing each other. They exchanged short yelps and then raced off together for the barn, Susie Bear in the lead. She started to bark, her trademark “I’ve found something, now where’s my treat?” howl that always heralded a good find. Elvis joined in, aggressive intruder–alert mode kicking in, barking like the world was coming to an end.
Troy looked at the closed door in front of him, shrugged, and jogged after the dogs, wondering what had them so fired up. Maybe there was a baby hiding in the barn.
He skidded to a stop just as Susie Bear began to paw at the handle on the side door of the barn. A simple wooden latch she’d figure out in no time. If she didn’t destroy it first.
“Down!” he ordered.
Susie Bear shook her pumpkin head at him, but she did drop back away from the door. She did not stop barking. Neither did Elvis.
He heard footfalls behind him and turned to see Mercy running toward him. She was wearing black yoga pants and an army T-shirt. Her pale skin shone and her blue eyes regarded him with interest. She looked as bright and cheerful as one of her daisies. Until she frowned at him.
“What are you doing down here?” She seemed confused.
“What’s in the barn?”
* * *
“WE NEED TO talk. Come on up to the house.”
“What’s in the barn?” Troy repeated. “The dogs are alerting like crazy.”
“There’s nothing in there.” She shrugged. “Tools, hay, snowmobile, firewood, the usual.”
Nothing that his dog would consider worthy of a treat.
“Horses?” Susie Bear loved horses.
“No, but there are a few stalls and a tack room.” She spoke loudly to be heard over the bellowing. Between the two dogs, it sounded like a kennel on fire. “Let’s go back up to the house. I need to show you something.”
“I’m going into that barn.” He didn’t know why she was trying to keep him out of there.
“Fine.” Mercy sighed and opened the side door. “But it’s a waste of time.”
Susie Bear shot into the barn, Elvis on her heels. The Newfie mutt barreled through the middle of the large, two-story space, ignoring the scattering of mice. She was definitely onto something worthy of a treat.
Mercy hung back as he marched after the dogs into the tack room. Susie Bear lay on the hay-strewn floor, her nose within an inch of a pink baby blanket.
“Good girl.” Troy pulled a peanut butter and honey doggie treat from his inside jacket pocket—Susie Bear’s favorite reward, saved for her best finds—and tossed it to her. He gave Elvis one, too.
He turned to Mercy. “We had some movement on the AMBER Alert. A girl was seen with a baby matching the description of our Baby Doe. We think she hitched a ride with a woman named Mabel Hennessy, who reportedly dropped them off just west of here.” He held out the blanket. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you, but you’re not listening.”
She gave him a look he’d seen before, on his estranged wife Madeline’s face, the look that always preceded his surrender. But Mercy Carr was not his wife and this was professional, not personal. Surrender was not an option.
“‘What we’ve got here is failure to communicate,’” he quoted.
“Cool Hand Luke.” She smiled. “So you’re listening now.”
“I’m listening now.” At least she got the reference, which was more than he could say for Madeline.
Mercy looked down at the dogs. “I found the baby and her mother in the barn this morning. Well, Elvis found them.” She raised her head and looked him straight in the eye. “I was going to call you right after I got them something to eat.”
“Right.”
“They were hungry and exhausted.” Mercy leaned toward him.
He ignored this entreaty. “When was this?”
“About twenty, thirty minutes ago.”
“And now?”
“They’re in the house. I was going to let you in, I was just reassuring her that you were, you know, good people. But when I came back to the door you were down here.”
“Let’s go.” He whistled for Susie Bear and headed out of the barn. Mercy and Elvis kept up with them.
“Look, she’s just a kid. A scared kid.”
“Maybe.” Troy kept walking. “But she did leave her baby alone in the woods.”
“She had a good reason. She loves that child. You’ll see.”
She let them all into the cabin. Once inside, he stepped aside and allowed her to lead him into the great room, a towering space with a Vermont stone fireplace and the most impressive wall of books he’d ever seen outside of a library. Mrs. Horgan would have approved.
The living room was separated from the open-style kitchen by an antique oak dining table and chairs. Beyond was an island topped with reclaimed wood and three steel bar stools.
But no baby. And no mother.
“She was right here, right here with the baby, I swear.” Mercy looked around the room. “Amy,” she called. “Come on out, everything’s fine.”
They searched the rest of the small house—an exceedingly neat master bedroom in blue and white, a small yellow guest room furnished with two twin iron beds, a spotless all-white bathroom, and an odd workout room equipped with only a heavy bag and boxing gloves, a yoga mat and meditation pillow, and a small altar with candles and Buddhas and family photos. Mercy Carr, he was beginning to realize, was a complicated woman. And, as the captain said, all grown-up now.
“I think it’s safe to say that they’re not in the house,” she said.
“I got that.” Troy spotted a copy of A Midsummer’s Night Dream on the table. A yellow scrap of paper stuck out of its pages.
“Amy likes Shakespeare.”
He retrieved the paper by the upper right corner with the tips of his fingers. The note read, “Thanks for breakfast,” in a loopy handwriting. He handed it to Mercy.
“So she’s gone.” She shook her head. “I thought I was getting somewhere with her. She was confiding in me. I guess she just panicked when you pulled up. She’s afraid of law enforcement.”
They walked back to the great room. Rain was falling now, and the skies were gray outside the big windows that ran along the back of the cabin.
“I’m sorry. I was going to text you.”
“When?”
“Right before you showed up. Really.”
“Look, I understand,” Troy said. “But you interfered with an ongoing investigation and failed to report on an AMBER Alert.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“This is not your investigation. You’re a civilian now.”
“And you’re a game warden. It’s not your investigation, either.”
“We’re working with the sheriff and the state police on this.”
“I shouldn’t have said that. I apologize.” Her face flushed so deeply that he couldn’t help but believe her.
“Apology accepted.” She wasn’t the first person to point that out to him and she wouldn’t be the last.
“I thought I could help her. She needs help.” She told him about the child’s possessive father and Amy’s abusive stepfather.
“We’ve only got her word for that,” he said.
“She’s telling the truth.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I was a cop, too. I’ve got the same built-in bullshit detector you do.”
“Susie Bear and I will find her. We’ll start with the woods.”
“We’ll come with you.”
“You’ve done quite enough for one day.” Troy’s cell phone beeped. A text from Thrasher: Missing boater on Stratton Pond. “I’ve got to go.”
“What are you going to do? Amy and Helena are in trouble.”
“Do you think the baby is safe with her?”
“Yes. She’s a good mother. The question is, are the two of them safe from the boyfriend? Or the stepfather?”
“We can’t help her unless she files a complaint.” Troy texted the captain back, and told him they were on their way.
“But if she comes in, what will Child Protective Services do? Amy’s only eighteen. A kid with a baby.”
“She’s an adult in the eyes of the law. And we don’t know for sure who the custodial parent is.” Troy knew that CPS was overworked and understaffed and that if Amy Walker was indeed the custodial parent, odds were that she would not be charged with kidnapping. She could possibly be charged with child endangerment. But even if he reported it now, CPS wouldn’t get to her case for weeks. Certainly it wouldn’t happen over the long holiday weekend.
“Yes, but she’s got nowhere to go. She doesn’t want to go home. And she doesn’t want to go back to the baby’s father, either.” Mercy gave him a pleading look that only the strongest man would be able to resist. “Don’t call CPS. I can find her.”
Troy hesitated. By law he had twenty-four hours to report suspicion of child endangerment to the proper authorities. So technically he would not be breaking the law if he waited a few hours.
“Please.”
“I’ll think about it.” He whistled for Susie Bear and she leaped to his side. He hurried out of the cabin with the dog and went straight to his truck. He could hear Mercy and Elvis on their heels.
“Goodbye,” she yelled after him.
Troy waved his hand without looking back. He hustled Susie Bear into the Ford F-150, slamming the door in his haste. They had a missing boater to find and a murder to solve.
And the day had barely begun.