Carrie walked into the kitchen again, thinking she should check the back porch. She started to turn the dead bolt knob and realized the door—always kept locked—was not locked.
She stood in the open doorway for a moment, glancing around the clearing toward the dense forest. There was a noise that might be a squirrel rustling in leaves. She shut the door quickly, turning the dead bolt.
The small click did nothing to settle her unease. Now all she wanted was to be out and away from this cold, silent house.
She hurried back into the kitchen and hesitated, staring at the desk. Six drawers.
JoAnne had sounded so excited Friday night, and her notes must be here somewhere. Curiosity began to burn again, dulling Carrie’s fear. Okay, she would look, but first...
She went to the hall closet and opened the door slowly. Her thumping heart seemed to be shaking her whole body. She peeked around the door, imagining someone bursting out and knocking her down, but, at the same time, acknowledging this was undoubtedly fantasy, like the mystery novels she read. JoAnne had simply forgotten to turn the back door dead bolt. There was a first time for everything, wasn’t there?
And now the closet door was wide open. Nothing. The interior looked ordinary... normal. But JoAnne’s hiking boots were missing. Her faded jeans, red jacket, and knit cap weren’t there either, so she was dressed in rough outdoor clothing and not for the meeting when she left.
FatCat had lost interest in a nap and was following Carrie closely again. Remembering Mag’s admonition that women living alone should have a dog, Carrie was grateful for even this small presence.
She checked the bedroom closet next. Everything looked normal there too. The door clicked loudly as it shut. Then she bent to look under the bed. Nothing but dust fuzzies.
She really was alone in the house.
Feeling calmer, Carrie returned to the desk. Six drawers. In the center drawer a tray of pencils, pens, paper clips, and other desk equipment faced her. The bottom left drawer held files labeled for household bills, insurance records, and personal information; the drawer above it had phone books and JoAnne’s familiar red address book. Drawers on the right had writing paper, envelopes, a greeting card assortment.
There was a sealed pink envelope on top of the cards. Carrie, whose birthday was later in the month, turned it over. It had her name on it. She turned the envelope face down again and shut the drawer.
The final drawer had nothing in it but old correspondence. No report.
Carrie went back to the living room and sat down to think what to do. FatCat came along, jumped on the arm of the chair, and shoved her head under Carrie’s hand, moving it aside before stepping gently into her lap, where she curled into a ball and began purring.
FatCat’s attention bothered her almost as much as the unlocked door had. The cat always allowed Carrie to pet her, but she’d never before been willing to sit in her lap, no matter how much JoAnne or Carrie coaxed!
After a moment, Carrie began stroking the cat, accepting her friendship while wondering what had caused it. And what now? Take the cat home? Go get more food? Actually, FatCat ate only one bowl of food a day, so she was okay as long as she had plenty of water. There was no need to worry about her again until tomorrow, and surely JoAnne would be back by then.
Surely.
Carrie looked down at the framed photo of a young couple with a baby that was the only ornament on the table beside her. JoAnne’s niece and her family. Susan Burke-Williams lived in Kansas City with her husband and son and, according to JoAnne, was her only living relative. The girl’s mother and dad had been killed in an auto accident a few years ago. JoAnne loved the girl as much as Carrie loved her own son Rob. She had lived near her sister and brother-in-law in Kansas City so she could watch Susan grow up.
Maybe she should call the niece. No, the girl knew the ways of her aunt better than anyone. She’d probably think Carrie was a meddling busybody.
So then there was nothing more she could do here, other than put out plenty of water for the cat. And, even if she was being a busybody, she should think about calling Susan if JoAnne didn’t return soon. How long was too long before it would be right to call?
As usual, indecision made her feel awful. The sensible thing to do, she told herself, would be to simply go home and forget the whole thing. Except for the cat, of course.
Carrie shut her eyes, willed her bouncing thoughts to calm down, then said aloud, “Dear Lord, what shall I do now?”
She often prayed for guidance, but wasn’t usually sure about getting an answer.
Silence. Well, she hadn’t exactly expected to hear a voice anyway. So, go on thinking...
Susan worked at the home office of a national brokerage firm in Kansas City. Henry could probably tell her the company name if she needed to call Susan at work. He was from Kansas City too and might even have a phone book.
She’d never asked if he’d known JoAnne or her family when he lived in Kansas City. Neither he nor JoAnne had mentioned any connection, and they barely spoke when they were together. Besides, JoAnne closed her advertising agency and moved to the Ozarks a dozen years ago, and Henry had only been in the area a little over a year.
Carrie was sitting very still.
Oh! She wouldn’t have to ask Henry or anyone else how to reach Susan. There was JoAnne’s address book—the number would be there. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
Yes, why not? Carrie lifted FatCat gently and put her in the chair seat. Then she went to the desk and took out the dark red book, putting her thumb on the place for “B” names.
The “B” section was blank.
Well, maybe it was under Williams.
No, JoAnne had the address book before Susan was married, and...
“W” was blank.
She flipped the pages quickly. There were no entries in the book at all. Every page was blank.
But she’d
seen
JoAnne use this book many times. Her own number was in it. She’d watched JoAnne write it down four years ago! She had seen this book with writing in it!
Carrie closed the book. It looked right, even a bit rubbed and scratched. Was there another book like it?
FatCat was with her once more, winding slowly around her ankles.
Carrie piled the drawer’s contents on the desktop, looking for another red book, then pushed everything back inside the drawer and checked the rest of the desk again.
Nothing.
The address book that JoAnne had often used while Carrie watched, the mate to the blank one, was missing.
Just like JoAnne.
CHAPTER IV
Carrie locked the front door, put the key under the flower pot, then stood on the porch for a moment, imagining she heard “muwouuu” from behind the door. FatCat had wanted to come with her, no doubt about that. Later... if JoAnne was gone much longer...
But now, it was time to get on with her work. She turned away from the house and started down the path toward home, kicking loose rocks out of the way as she went.
Funny how rocks popped out of the ground. New rocks certainly showed up in her garden each year, no matter how many she cleared away or how much compost she added. Rob and JoAnne both said it was the freeze-thaw cycles that pushed them to the surface.
She preferred Roger’s explanation. He said every Ozarks child knew (because their parents told them) that the sandman planted stone seeds at night, and they grew up into Ozarks rocks. “’N I’m sure that’s true,” he’d added, grinning at Carrie, “because if the sandman’s smart enough to figure out how to get kids to sleep, then he’s sure smart enough to know the Ozarks is a good place to grow rocks.”
“I’ll share your theory with Rob,” she’d said, keeping her face straight—and then was sorry she hadn’t just laughed. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, they sounded pompous, or even like she was making fun of Roger’s humor. He might not understand how much she enjoyed hearing his tall tales, as did her son, a very logical-minded geoscientist at the University of Oklahoma.
But, uncertain how to explain all this to Roger without making things worse, she said no more.
Roger, dear man, hadn’t seemed to take offense.
And, she did tell Rob the story.
“Oh, I’d believe it,” he said, “but I seem to recall you’re the one who once read to me about a flying elephant, and Roger told me his absolutely true stories about whoofenpoofs and booger bears last summer. So... should I question this? What’s
your
advice, Mom?”
Her foot slipped on a rock hidden in the leaves, bouncing her thoughts back to the present. She continued along the path more slowly, kicking some rocks, and picking others up to check for fossils before she tossed them aside.
Rob did believe the stories fossils told.
JoAnne, however, was the one who had taught Carrie to enjoy rubbing her fingers over the waxy chert and to recognize fossils—Crinoidea, Brachiopoda, and Bryozoa—in limestone rocks. JoAnne even made sure she got the names of the fossils right, saying there was no point knowing something if you didn’t know it correctly.
When she’d first come to the Ozarks, Carrie had read about the warm oceans that once covered the area and about the marine life that developed in those oceans during the Paleozoic Era, such a very long time before her own arrival. It all seemed far away and abstract until JoAnne showed her fossils remaining from that earlier life.
Carrie kicked a rock too hard, then stared at the new scar the rock had made on her heavy walking boot.
Drat! Where
was
JoAnne anyway? It was selfish of her to go off and miss the meeting. What had come up that could possibly be more important?
At least there was no need to worry about her being out in the woods after a fall or other trouble. Her truck would still be at the house if she’d gone hiking. And if she was sick or had been in an accident, someone would have called, because they’d put each other’s names on those billfold cards that asked whom to notify in case of emergency.
Well, it was very possible something new and exciting had happened. Everyone’s guess that JoAnne was simply involved in an interesting new project was the most likely explanation.
Ahhh, Carrie thought, forgetting about kicking rocks for the moment. She’s met a tall, handsome stranger... silver hair... tweed cap. He’s a professor, studying... studying something, and JoAnne meets him, and... he says what he’s studying can save the valley, and, well, what a joke on JoAnne, he’s a man!
“Oh, stop it, stop it,” she said aloud, startling herself when her voice mingled with bird calls and the rattle of rocks and twigs under her feet.
Now she really was being ridiculous, though, she thought, kicking another rock hard enough to startle a rabbit out of a brush pile near the path, JoAnne could still have called me.
She quit walking and pushed back her coat sleeve to look at her watch. One o’clock. No more muddling over JoAnne. It was time to get to work on the brochures. She wanted to finish that job and take them to the tourist center before dark. She also planned to go to the big grocery store in Bonny for a few things that the store in Guilford didn’t carry. She’d add cat food to her list, just in case.
Carrie normally didn’t go to the Bonny Tourist Information Center on weekends this time of year. There was always a waiting list of retirees living in the area who were eager to take over. Like all center employees, they enjoyed talking with the tourists and could, with a part-time custodian, manage weekend traffic quite well after the fall color season ended. But there was snow in the forecast for Monday, and Carrie didn’t want to carry boxes from the employee parking area in bad weather. Since she needed to go to the grocery store, she’d planned to leave her brochure boxes off too.
She always had her contact at the Arkansas Department of Parks and Tourism send new brochures to her at home. She liked to read each offering before putting it out in the racks at the center. As she looked at the material, she made a list of things to put on the events calendar and wrote short descriptions of the activities for her tourist consultants. That kind of work was hard to do at the center because it had no private office. The area originally intended for an office had been sacrificed to expand restroom facilities and add baby changing stations.
That was one reason the department didn’t mind if center managers like Carrie did some of their office work at home, as long as tourists were cared for and the centers ran smoothly. That was also one reason Carrie liked her job. She could spend some of her work time sitting in an office that looked out into Ozarks forest, rather than standing at a counter facing trucks and cars.
When she’d first dreamed of moving to the Ozarks, she hadn’t known she’d need to get a job, but after it became clear how little Amos had left her, there was no choice. This job with the state opened up at the right time, and she was so grateful for it that she was more than willing to put in extra hours at home if necessary.
The answering machine light was flashing when Carrie walked in the house, and, thinking JoAnne might have called, she punched the message button before she took off her coat.
“Carrie,” said Evan’s soft voice, “will you be coming to Tulsa soon? I’d like to see you. We can have lunch someplace nice, my treat of course. I’m home all day. Please call me.”
Carrie hooked her coat over a chair at the dining table, made a cup of coffee, and sat down to stare out the window. She didn’t want to talk with Evan. All their conversations since Amos died had been awkward, and now they were pointless. She wanted to be through with Evan Walters and his memories of her husband’s death, but he kept calling, and even her coolness hadn’t stopped him.
Sure, she had private thoughts about Amos, but she hated talking about him, especially with Evan. She hated having to keep on soothing Evan when surely, if anything, it should be the other way around! Too bad the man had never married and didn’t have a wife to talk with. Amos had been his only close friend so far as she knew, and Evan hadn’t mentioned any new friends, since...