Ransomed Dreams (5 page)

She pressed her forehead onto the cool glass. “Help me find the man who killed my family. Father. Please help me put him in jail.” Jake nudged her hand with his nose and she stroked his warm fur.

Nothing would bring them back. But justice had to provide some comfort, some sense of closure to the entire nightmare. If that man were locked behind bars, he could never destroy anyone else’s family.

That had to count for something.

She padded over to her dresser. The leather book, placed there last evening, drew her. She flicked on an antique lamp and held the book close to her heart.

The clock flashed 1 a.m. Monday morning. Gracie sat on the bed and pulled the comforter to her waist. Jake settled back down to sleep at her feet. She fingered the worn leather Bible Mark had given her on their fifth wedding anniversary. Flipping through the highlighted passages, her eyes settled on Jeremiah 31:3: “I have loved you with an everlasting love.”

She wanted to pray that if God loved her. He’d help her on her quest. But years of Sunday school and listening to her parents share truth about God reminded her that a prayer like that wasn’t a guarantee He’d act.

Still, she had a good cause. Justice. And starting tomorrow, she’d force the police to reopen the investigation. After all, she had remembered a partial license plate and the man’s features a little more.

Even if it was just a dream, her counselor had alluded to the fact that her subconscious mind might reveal more information when she wasn’t trying so hard to remember. And it had happened. Now this information could make all the difference.

Gwinnett County’s police headquarters didn’t impress her Tuesday afternoon.

Neither was the poker-faced officer on duty impressed with her demand to see a detective. Gracie looked around the small waiting room and shifted in the stiff blue plastic chair. Huge portraits of past chiefs dotted the otherwise bare room. People filed up to the large glass windows to lodge complaints, pay fines, and request accident reports.

No one paid her much mind.

“Mrs. Lang?” A man with huge shoulders and biceps worthy of Arnold Schwarzenegger held open a thick gray door. “I’m Detective Calhoun. If you’ll come this way, we can discuss your case.”

Finally.

Of course she would have waited far longer to be seen.

They sat in a busy office with tiny cubicles. No privacy. Lots of noise. “I’d like to reopen the investigation of my family’s death.”

Detective Calhoun’s blank stare did nothing for her confidence, but she pressed on and explained the details of the accident.

Gracie sucked in a deep breath. She wouldn’t cry in front of this stoic officer. She had to hold herself together. But the scene was as vivid as yesterday’s nightmare. Unshed tears stung her eyes.

“Mrs. Lang, I’m sure this is difficult for you to recall. But maybe this isn’t the best course of action either.” The detective lowered his voice. “Have you gone to counseling, ma’am? That might help a great deal.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Or both. She did neither, merely returned his gaze and waited. He wasn’t getting rid of her that easy.

“What I mean is, there’s really little we can do with the few
leads we had two years ago. The officers heading that investigation are no longer in the Accident Investigation Unit, and the paint chips and physical description didn’t yield the hoped-for results.”

“So my calling ahead nailed the coffin for reopening this case?”

Detective Calhoun chuckled. “No, ma’am. I just like to know what I’m dealing with before I meet with a citizen so I can maximize our time together.”

“I have a license plate number.”

The detective’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. “That might get us somewhere.”

“It’s MVB. And the truck was an older black Ford with a two-door cab.”

The officer’s pencil stopped midscribble. “That’s only a partial plate, Mrs. Lang. Did you stumble across a forgotten note where you’d written it down years ago?”

Her face grew hot. “No. I remembered the license plate from a dream just the other day.”

To his credit, the middle-aged detective didn’t burst out laughing. His face provided a study for the best card player, though. “We’ll do what we can with this information.”

“How soon do you expect to call?” Clasping her hands in a tight ball did nothing to still their wobbling. She had to walk out of here with some shred of dignity. Even if all of her summer plans were gone with one five-minute meeting.

“I’ll run the plate today and see if we get anything. But it could be up to a week before I can call. Evidence trails take time.” He looked down at a thick file on his desk. “Can I reach you at your parents’ number, or do you have a cell phone?”

“My parents’ phone would be best.” She stood and shook the man’s hand. A picture of the detective with two little girls caught her eye.

His brown eyes softened as he followed her gaze. “Mrs. Lang, please consider talking to someone about your grief. You had a
beautiful family and lost a lot in their accident. But you’re still alive. Don’t throw that away.”

She swallowed hard and forced a smile. “Thank you for your concern, Detective. I look forward to hearing from you soon.” Southern pleasantries and a stiff upper lip came in handy at times.

Even if she felt anything but pleasant. Or stiff. She felt like a wrung-out dishrag.

Blinking against the late afternoon sun, she found her red Jeep in the parking lot. Turning right out of the parking lot, she passed the jail and followed the stream of cars onto Highway 316. Thirty years of living in Atlanta made driving on autopilot simple. But when she pulled into the driveway of the home she’d shared with Mark Richard Lang, everything inside of her melted.

Detective Calhoun’s words tumbled around her pulsing headache.
Maybe I should see a counselor again
.

No. She’d done that for a year, and progressing past the paralyzing grief had been good. The appointments ended just before her move to DC. A move the counselor felt was a positive step. But it was more than that. Her Christian counselor broached the topic of forgiveness, and she couldn’t go there. Didn’t want to let go of the fight for justice. Or the fire that burned stronger than tears.

The year in DC had served to gain her some perspective and strength. She wouldn’t terrorize the kind detective who was just doing his job. But she wouldn’t give up either.

She had a killer to catch.

“Uh, ma’am, you okay?” A tall teenager with dreadlocks stood next to her Jeep. His dark eyes were full of questions and concern.

Grabbing a Kleenex, she dried her face. “Is this your home?”

“For ’bout a year now. My mama bought it for a steal from this nice old couple.” He shifted a football from left to right and back again.

“Those were my parents.”

The football stopped. “You lived here?” He looked back toward the front door. “You, um, want to come in? My mom keeps the place spotless.”

She smiled at the polite teen. “No. But thank you. I’d better go.”

With a slight shrug and a nod, he disappeared into the backyard—past the rosebush she’d received for her first Mother’s Day gift. Into the same backyard Elizabeth and Joshua learned to walk in. Where they got their first skinned knees and played for hours in a blow-up pool.

Photographic memories tumbled one after the other as she turned the scrapbook pages of her mommy heart. She put the Jeep in reverse.

A car’s engine startled her as she backed out onto the quiet cul-de-sac. She hadn’t noticed any cars at home as she drove in. A silver four-door disappeared before she could catch a glimpse of an old neighbor. Maybe it was better that way.

She drove out of the neighborhood, alone again.

It still seemed strange that the only car she heard had appeared and disappeared just as she was leaving. Especially when the neighborhood pool she passed at the subdivision entrance had been overrun with kids, and all the houses on her way in were void of life.

“Overactive imagination,” she whispered to her silent Jeep. Mr. Jennings would get a kick out of her current state of paranoia and the conspiracy theories she’d created. Over their lunch breaks, the old security guard often said she needed to apply at the CIA.

Fat chance of that. She couldn’t even get local police to take her seriously.

But she kept checking her rearview mirror the entire drive home.

Just in case.

W
eeks passed with no phone calls.

Just like they had over two years ago.

Gracie tucked her favorite childhood story.
Anne of Green Gables
, back into the bookcase and then headed downstairs. Even with the air conditioners running full force, the hundred-plus degree temperature outside seeped into her parents’ home.

But the oppressive July heat wouldn’t deter her parents from celebrating the country’s birthday. Growing up military, the sense of patriotism ran deep in her Thompson blood. As it had in the Lang family So many little things she missed.

Like heated debates with Mark about government reform and domestic policy. He’d tease her parents and her with military reduction suggestions, only to laugh at her daddy’s red-faced reply. For seven years, her father had fallen for Mark’s riling every time.

Maybe it was a man thing.

Down the long stairwell she followed the scent of coffee and cinnamon rolls to her father’s mouthwatering breakfast spread. Fresh fruit, bagels with cream cheese, and gooey pastries filled the table.

To be in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Thompson was to see hospitality in action, right down to the watermelon placemats and summer-themed china. With matching cloth napkins, of course.

Her father hummed the “Star-Spangled Banner” as he bent his strong six-foot frame over the sink of dirty pots and pans,
his salt-and-pepper hair in perfect place as he worked.

“You tryin’ to make me look like a whale?” She picked at a warm roll and licked thick white icing from her fingers. Leaning against the breakfast bar, she let the gooey treat perk her up.

Her father’s dark brown
eyes
twinkled as he turned toward her, laughing. “No, princess, I’m not. But your mother thinks you still have some room to grow.”

“Where is Mom?” She looked around the expansive oak and white kitchen and into the adjoining family room.

“With your big lug of a lapdog.”

“Jake’s good company. And I take him out for exercise. Three times a week in the morning and to the park on Saturdays.”

Daddy stepped away from the sink and wrapped her in a warm hug. “Didn’t mean that as criticism, honey.”

She relaxed in her father’s strong arms. “Sorry, Daddy. I thought Mr. Perkins’s amazing job offer and Leah already being in DC would make the move easier. But now my boss’s backhanded remarks on everything from my punctuality to my grading routine keep me on edge. Guess I forgot I’m home.”

“You could move back. Stay with us till you find a new house. Your mother would love it.” He pulled back and looked her square in the face. “Me too. I’d love to have my reading buddy and debate partner back for good.”

Her eyes watered. “I can’t. Daddy Everything I see reminds me of Mark and my babies. The pull of the past is too strong here.”

Her mom and a worn-out Jake slid into the kitchen. Her daily five-mile trek must have done him in for the day Jake collapsed on his pallet with a low huff while Mom stood on tiptoes and kissed her husband on the lips. Then she took a seat at the breakfast stool next to Gracie.

“I’m wonderin’ if that ‘guy magnet’ car your sister insisted we give you has anything to do with your staying up North.”

Her father grinned. “No diggin’ for clues, Marianne.”

Mom tidied up her silver hair and straightened her red and
white running clothes. “Oh, all right.” She held her head up in mock regality. “Do you. Miss All Grown Up and not dishing to your mother any longer, have a boyfriend you’d like to tell us about?”

Gracie giggled. “No.”

“No, you don’t have a boyfriend or no, you don’t want to tell?”

Her father winked. “She’s starting to sound like Beth, don’t you think?”

Her mom huffed. “I’m fixin’ to call Beth and let her drag it out of you.”

Gracie pulled her mom into a hug. “I love you and your nosing around my life. But there’s really nothing to tell dating-wise.” Gracie stepped back and tugged her robe belt tighter. “But I do need to change before we go shopping and out to the big Patriotic Pops celebration tonight.”

Poor Jake stayed sound asleep on his pallet, not even bothering to check her movements as she headed upstairs.

Her stuffed animals tucked into the bookcase sent her thoughts trailing back to Hope Ridge. She actually missed the kids already. Ideas for next year’s lesson plans with James Kessler made her smile. If everyone thought she should date again, maybe his handsome father would follow up on that spark of interest she was sure she’d seen in his eyes.

And felt in her full-of-butterflies stomach.

She dressed in a flash and then grabbed the cordless phone. “Hey little sister. Do you have a minute to chat?” Gracie held her breath; they hadn’t talked since her birthday.