Gathering Shadows (20 page)

“No,” Reuben said. “As I told you on the phone, it's important. There are some things we've kept from you. Things you need to know.” He pointed toward the couch. “Have a seat. This could take a while.”

Paul glared at him. “So you've been lying to me?”

“Not lying, really. After we explain, I hope you'll understand why we kept quiet.”

Paul glared at him. “If we weren't friends—”

“I know. You'd throw me to the floor, slap handcuffs on me, and haul me off to jail forthwith.”

Paul's annoyed expression relaxed a bit, and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Hardly,” he said. “I was thinking more of walking out on you.”

“Just give us a few minutes. I think you'll change your mind.”

“Does it have anything to do with August Metzger's death?”

“Good question. I wish I had the answer.”

Paul walked slowly toward the couch, his reluctance showing in every step he took. After he sat down, I poured him a cup of coffee and put the cream and sugar within his reach. As he picked up his cup, I had to wonder if this was a mistake. Ryan was so close. The voice from my dreams echoed in my head. Would I finally be able to answer his calls for help, or would this decision send him out of my reach forever?

“So that's what's going on,” Reuben said. “Everything we know.”

Paul sat silently through Reuben's detailed recounting of Ryan's disappearance, my discovery of a picture that led me to believe he might be in Sanctuary, and everything that had taken place after that. When Reuben finished, Paul just stared at him. What was he thinking? Did he believe us?

“I'm trying to understand this,” he said finally, “but it's difficult.” He turned his eyes to me. “Why didn't you just contact us when you got here? We could have investigated immediately and saved everyone all this upheaval.”

“Because I wasn't certain the boy in that picture was Ryan. It was just a photograph. Not enough to go on. My family lived for years under a microscope. Opening that up again for no reason . . . I couldn't take that chance. I had to be sure.”

“After Wynter arrived,” Reuben said, “and realized the kind of town Sanctuary is, she didn't want to bring us unwanted attention. As you're aware, we have some residents who don't need the media to show up here.”

“If Elijah Fisher really is Ryan Erwin,” Paul said solemnly, “there may not be any way to stop that.”

“But why?” I asked. “The case is cold. No one cares about it anymore. Isn't there a way we can just settle things quietly?”

Paul shook his head. “I don't think so. I can't cover up something like this.”

“Even if it has nothing to do with August's death?” Dad said.

“I'm not so sure that's true,” Paul replied slowly.

Reuben carefully studied his friend. “What do you mean? Do you have reason to suspect otherwise?”

Paul leaned against the back of the couch, his features tense. “Look, the file full of papers we found in August's room contained copies of newspaper articles. Some of them had to do with the abduction of babies from Missouri hospitals.” He locked his gaze on me. “Others had to do with the kidnapping of your brother, Miss Evans.”

I was stunned by this revelation. August had kept my real name in his billfold, but it hadn't occurred to me that it was associated with Ryan.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I just don't understand.”

“I don't either,” Paul said firmly. “Is there something else you aren't telling me?”

My father and I looked at each other. I saw the warning in his expression. Before I could say anything, Reuben spoke up.

“Someone sent the same clippings to Wynter while she was here—the ones about the babies, I mean.”

Paul frowned. “Why? Why was August interested in these cases? Is that what got him killed?”

The three of us stared at him silently. What could we tell him? What
truths
should be avoided?

“Look, Deputy,” my dad said quietly. “I don't want to drag up things that aren't important to this situation.”

“If you want me to help you, you need to tell me everything you know,” Paul said. “If it doesn't pertain to the case, I'll keep it to myself.”

“If you want complete honesty from us,” I said, “we want the same thing from you.”

Paul raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“What was it in August's papers that made you think I had something to do with his death?”

Paul leaned forward and picked up his coffee cup. It was obvious he was stalling. After a couple of sips, he set it down again.

“For crying out loud, Paul,” Reuben said with exasperation. “I promised Wynter and her father that you would listen and help us. Wynter's not a criminal. She's an innocent person who lost her only sibling as a child. She's a victim, Paul. Can't you see that?”

Reuben's passionate pleading seemed to have an effect. Paul sighed and relaxed back against the couch. “I don't know you, Wynter, but I know Reuben. And I trust him.” He studied me for a moment. “I'll be as candid as I can, but you must understand that I'm in a rather difficult position. I work for the sheriff, and he's tough. If I say or do something to impede the investigation of a murder, I could get into big trouble.”

“We would never ask you to do that,” Reuben said. “You should know me better than that.”

Paul nodded. “I do.”

“Please, Paul,” I said, “tell me why you thought I was involved with August's murder.”

He sighed deeply and ran his hand through his dark hair. “August Metzger lived in a small room he rented from a couple
I don't think you've met. The Andersons live about four blocks away from The Oil Lamp. He had very little in earthly possessions, but underneath a floorboard, we found a box with papers, the ones I mentioned. We also discovered his journal. In that journal, your name was mentioned several times. Most of the entries are just your name, along with dates. Some passages don't make sense. Must be some kind of shorthand only August understood. But the day before he went missing, he wrote ‘
In fear for my life. Wynter Evans
must know the truth.'
”

I gasped. “Know the truth about what?”

Paul shook his head. “That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? He obviously thought you knew something, and because of it, his life was in danger.”

“Wait a minute,” my father interjected. “What if he was saying that his life was in danger, and he wanted to
tell
her the truth about something?”

Paul nodded. “That occurred to me.”

“Look, Paul,” I said. “I can't explain August's notes, but I need you to find Elijah before I lose him for good. And without red lights and sirens, please. We can't allow the Fishers to get spooked.”

I breathed a sigh of relief when he nodded in agreement. “We'll tread carefully. I don't want to accuse them of something they didn't do. Nor do I want them to disappear if they do have your brother. There are a lot of small rural towns in Missouri. A few are like Sanctuary—private and closed off. Getting lost in one of them is easier than you might think.”

“Then how do we proceed?” Reuben asked.

Paul frowned at him. “You don't. I do. I'll visit Samuel Fisher myself. I'm sure he knows where his brother is. Maybe the threat of becoming involved in a kidnapping case will convince him to
tell me the truth.” He pulled a small notebook from one pocket and a pen from another one. “Reuben, who are Nathan and Anna Fisher close to in Sanctuary?”

Reuben rattled off several names. The only ones I recognized were Jacob Troyer, the pastor of Sanctuary Mennonite Church, and Sarah Miller, the teacher at the small private school.

“Why don't you meet me in the morning about nine?” Paul said. “We'll talk to these folks. Then, unless we have the information we need, I'll drive over to Nathan's place.” He nodded at me. “We'll find Elijah, Wynter. He can't be that far away.”

“Thank you. Does this mean you don't suspect me anymore?”

Paul rewarded me with a half smile. “You're off the hook . . . for now. Just remember that I have to go wherever the clues take me. I have no other choice.”

“I understand, but I can assure you that I had nothing to do with August's death.”

“I'm pretty sure you didn't, but the best way we can keep you out of this is to find his killer. And some motive would be helpful. Right now, I have no idea why anyone would want to murder this man. He might have been a conspiracy nut, but he seemed perfectly harmless to me.” Paul stood up. “I've got to get going. It's been an unusually long day. I suggest you all get some sleep.” He pointed at Reuben. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“Sounds good.” Reuben got to his feet. “I'll walk you to your car.”

“Wait a minute, Paul,” I said. “I need to ask you a question.”

“And what's that?”

“You said August had a journal.”

“That's right.”

“Did he have a distinctive way of forming the letter
T
?”

Paul frowned as he considered my question. “As a matter of fact, he did. The top line was extra long. Extended across the rest of the word.”

I nodded. “The person who sent the newspaper articles wrote the same way.” I reached into my pocket and took out the note I'd kept with me so it wouldn't disappear along with our other clues. I handed it to Paul. “You might want to compare this note to the handwriting in the journal.”

Paul took the paper I offered him. “I will. Thanks.”

Dad and I said good-bye to Paul. As soon as he and Reuben were outside, I turned to my father. “I hope this was the right thing to do.”

“We had no choice. We've got to do everything possible to bring Ryan home.”

“At least we can be certain August sent the articles to me
and
the note to you.”

“Well, it certainly sounds like it,” Dad said, “but we can't be completely sure until Paul compares the handwriting.”

“I guess, but I'm already convinced. Paul confirmed August had copies of the newspaper articles, so at least we can put that question to rest.”

Dad shook his head. “Of course that only brings up an even more important question. Why did he send these things? Are they related in some way?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “You know, Paul seemed to realize we weren't telling him everything.”

“Honestly, Emily, I really don't see that what happened at that hospital so many years ago has anything to do with this situation.”

“It might not, but this isn't the time to protect ourselves.”

My father didn't respond, just stared into his coffee cup.

“Dad, why would August have news reports about Ryan's abduction? Could he—”

“Be Mac?” My father sighed. “Believe me, it crossed my mind, but I don't think so.”

“Why? You never met him.”

“Paul said he rented a small room from some family in Sanctuary. Money was important to Mac. He blackmailed me for years, and I'm fairly sure I wasn't the only one. I sincerely doubt someone like Mac would end up in a little rented room in a small Mennonite town. Doesn't make sense. Besides, didn't you say August was a cook in a local restaurant?”

I nodded.

“Mac was a low-down blackmailer, but he seemed intelligent. He never did anything to give himself away. Never made a false step. His vocabulary was extensive. He certainly didn't appear to be the kind of person who would be happy with a job like that. And as far as the note, why would Mac send it? He wouldn't want us to find Ryan. I think this August person may have accidently stumbled across something that got him killed.”

“That makes sense.”

Dad gave a sigh. “Look, if we decide there's a good reason for me to tell Deputy Gleason about your birth and what I did, I will. If it would help us find Ryan, I'd crawl over broken glass. But until we know it's necessary, I'd rather keep that to myself.”

“You know, it's possible once we find out the truth, we may also discover Mac's real identity.”

Dad nodded. “But I doubt it.” He shook his head. “I still don't believe he had anything to do with Ryan's disappearance. Never did.”

“I don't think we can rule it out though.”

My father's face turned crimson with anger. “What will it
take to get you to let this go? Mac had nothing to do with your brother!”

“You don't have to yell at me.”

“I-I'm sorry. It's just—”

“If Mac was involved, you'll blame yourself.”

Dad gazed at me with tears in his eyes. “Of course I will. If I'd told the police about Mac when Ryan was abducted, maybe we would have found him.”

I got up and went over to the couch, putting my hand on my father's arm. “Dad, the police told you it was Burroughs who took Ryan. There wasn't any reason for you not to believe them. You didn't do anything wrong. Let yourself off the hook.”

He put his hand over mine. “I'm afraid there are a lot of things I'm
on the hook
for, honey. Honestly, I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself for all the mistakes I've made.”

“I understand that you believed you were doing a good thing the night I was born, even if you didn't do it the right way. I thought about what you said about Mom too. You're right. Her past history might have made it impossible for you to adopt me.”

“I knew she would be a wonderful mother. Her . . . problems had nothing to do with being able to love you and take care of you. If they had, I wouldn't have made the decision I did. Wouldn't have put either one of you in that situation.”

“To be honest, I don't know what I would have done in your position.” I paused and took a deep breath. “But I know your heart was in the right place. You and Mom always made me feel loved and accepted.”

“Except when I started drinking. With everything else I did wrong, that's the one thing I regret the most. I let the pressure overwhelm me. I let all of you down.”