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  “I’m here,” said Walt.

  “Did you find Amy?”

  “Negative. Kids saw her at the edge of the basketball court, then next thing you know, she’s gone.”

  “It’s Moses. It’s St. Croix.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  She explained how she found the sheriff’s car in the tool shed behind the church. She explained the blood.

  “Jesus Christ,” said Foster. “Now he’s snatching kids? I dunno, Karen.”

  “The guy’s flipped, Walt. One of Roy’s shoes was in the car, soaked in blood. He’s—” She choked up before she could finish the sentence, then swallowed hard. “We have to find St. Croix.”

  “Copy that. We should talk to Buckley. He goes to the church every week.”

  Karen remembered seeing the general store owner speaking all cozy with the pastor on more than one occasion. “I’ll meet you there.”

  She dropped the receiver into the passenger seat and pressed down on the gas pedal. Her cruiser rocketed up the dirt road, fishtailing around turns and spewing out loose rocks in its wake.

  12

  Hank Buckley’s shop was halfway down Main Street and was flanked on both sides by stores that had been closed down for the winter. Large pieces of plywood were drilled over the front windows of those stores and “BACK IN JUNE” had been spray-painted in bright red on all the boards, no doubt with paint from Buckley’s shop. Hank stayed open year-round because, as long as someone was still in Falling Rock, there was always something to buy from the only general store in town.

  Ben drove down Main Street slowly so Annabelle could see it all. He let her take off her seat belt and kneel on her seat so she could see out of the window. The outside temperature that afternoon hovered in the low fifties and Anna’s quick breaths fogged the glass as she looked around.

  When they had arrived in Falling Rock the night before, Ben was unable to see Main Street in detail. The town seemed a lot smaller to him now that it was fully visible. As a child it was his world and was too big to comprehend all at once. The morning after he returned home, the street was simply a small avenue filled with old memories.

  “What’s that, Daddy?” asked Annabelle. Her finger pressed against the glass of her window as she pointed at a passing building.

  “That’s the police station.”

  “It’s got lights on. Everyone else is closed.”

  “They’re always open in case they need to help someone.”

  “Where’s everybody else?”

  “Most people in the city leave for the winter,” Ben said.

  “Why?”

  “Well, it gets cold. A lot of them have houses someplace warm.”

  “They have two houses?” she asked.

  “Some of them, yeah.”

  “But it’s not even that cold outside.” She tilted her head to the side and crouched low in her seat to see the top of a tall building as it slowly drifted past.

  Annabelle had a point. By December the temperature should barely break forty during the day—if that—yet Ben watched the weather reports before they drove to Colorado and the average daily temperature had been hovering in the low fifties for a few days.

  “The people that leave probably visit their families, too,” said Ben.

  Anna smiled. “But our family is coming to see us.”

  “That’s right. Aunt Heidi and Uncle John will be at the house a little later.” He saw Hank Buckley’s shop on the other side of the road. “Oh, hey, here we go.”

  “Here we go!” said Anna.

  She sat back in her seat as Ben turned the Cherokee into one of the empty parking spots in front of the hardware store. He slipped the vehicle into park and, before he could take off his seat belt, Anna was already out the door and standing on the sidewalk in front of the shop. Until several months ago Ben had to walk around to the other side of the Jeep and pick her up because she was too small to jump down to the ground. Now that she was getting taller, he barely had time to turn off the engine before she was out the door and running.

  She went to the big window at the front of the store and craned her neck back to study the tall display. Ben shut his door and thought about locking it, but looked up and down at the empty street and decided there was no point. Falling Rock was not Baltimore, and the thought made Ben smile.

  “Hey, wait for me!” he said as he walked over to the window.

  “Look at all the stuff, Daddy,” she said, smudging her finger against the window to point at the equipment. A yard tool set was on display: rake and shovel for the mister, garden trowel and gloves for the missus. Two old, sun-faded cardboard cutouts of a smiling man and woman stood in the display, their tools strangely clean even after working so hard in the cardboard garden at their feet.

  “Yeah, look at it all,” said Ben. “I bet there’s more inside. Want to go see?”

  “Yeah!” She ran to the front door of the shop and started pulling on the handle. The door was stuck and only budged an inch.

  Ben reached over her and gave the handle a firm tug. The bottom of the door scraped against the sidewalk as it opened. Annabelle ran inside and Ben stepped in after her. He turned around to pull the door shut.

  “Best to leave it open,” said a voice from behind him. “Wouldn’t want people thinkin’ every shop in town is closed.”

  Ben pushed the door open wide and turned around. He remembered Hank Buckley from his childhood. Although the man that stood looking at him from behind the counter was definitely Hank, he seemed a more shriveled, compact version. If Ben wasn’t mistaken, the faded and torn blue baseball cap perched atop Hank’s head was the same one he had been wearing when Ben was a kid. The dirty-but-clean overalls the store owner always wore with pride hung loosely from his hunched frame.

  “Little Ben Howard,” said Hank as he walked around the counter. “Well, I’ll be damned. Oop!” He raised a hand to cover his mouth and looked down one of the three aisles in the store at Annabelle. She was lost in her own world and hadn’t heard a thing.

  “I think you’re alright,” said Ben.

  “I’m used to all these old guys in here, spittin’ and cursin’ like sailors,” said Hank. “Been a while since I had a crumb-cruncher in the aisles.”

  Ben smiled. “How you doin’, Hank?”

  They shook hands firmly and Hank squeezed Ben’s shoulder. “Ben Howard. Geez, son, you got big. Oh, I’m fine, I’m fine. Still runnin’ this sorry excuse for a hardware store. Not much else I can do at my age, you know?”

  “Looks like you’re the only business in town.”

  “Pretty much. Gas station down the way’s still open and of course the sheriff ain’t goin’ nowhere soon. I tell ya, I got a veritable monopoly over this town.”

  “That explains a lot,” said Ben and patted Hank’s round gut.

  “Hey now, don’t get frisky. We don’t know each other that well.”

  Anna ran around the end of one aisle and started her inspection of the next.

  “So that’s your little girl?” asked Hank.

  “That’s her. Hey, Annabelle!” called Ben. She quickly set down the socket wrench she was holding and hurried over to him. “Say hello to Mr. Buckley. He owns this store.”

  She extended her hand. “Hello, Mr. Buckley. I’m Annabelle. This is a great store.”

  Hank took off his cap to reveal a bald scalp with tufts of white hair on each side of his head. He smiled and shook Anna’s hand. “Very nice to meet you, Anna.”

  She let go of Hank’s hand and turned back to Ben. “Can I go now, Daddy?”

  “You can go.” He patted her back and she ran down one of the aisles.

  “So,” said Hank as he straightened up and put his cap back on, “I take it you’re not here just for my wonderful company.”

  “I need a few things for the house.” He turned back and looked at the Cherokee’s shattered windshield; the spiderweb of cracks from where the owl hit the glass emanated from a small h
ole in the center and crawled outward in all directions until their shiny veins touched the frame. “And a new windshield, if you happen to have the exact one I need.”

  Hank frowned. “Can’t help you there, I’m afraid. I can order one for you, but it will take a couple weeks to arrive.”

  “Guess that will have to do,” said Ben.

  “You need supplies for your folks’ house? Place has been empty little over a decade, that right?”

  “That’s about right. The deck is a mess. Holes everywhere. I could use five or six pieces of plywood to lay down until I can work out something better.”

  “What about the house?”

  “Solid as ever. No problems there except a broken window or two.”

  Hank shook his head. “Your daddy, he sure knew how to build ‘em. That other house he put up on Cedar is the only one on the whole damn street that ain’t needed any kind of renovation. Remarkable.” He sighed. “Well, I got some six-by-five plywood over there against the wall, hopefully that should set you up just fine. Dunno what size glass you need…”

  Ben reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a small slip of paper that he had used for writing down measurements. He handed it to Hank.

  “Ah, right. We can do this, no problem.”

  “And some white paint, too, if you have it.”

  “We do indeed. You have someone helping you with this project?”

  “My dad’s brother and his wife are coming to stay for a few days, help us get settled,” said Ben.

  “How about that wife of yours? I bet she’s as pretty as they come, from the looks of your daughter. Ain’t no way that little angel takes after you.”

  Ben’s smile slowly faded. “She passed away last year.”

  “I’m sorry, son. Ain’t no harder thing.” Hank put his hands in his pockets and looked away. Ben watched Anna as she bent down and picked up a screw from the ground. She carefully placed it on a shelf and continued her explorations. “But hey, listen,” said Hank and cleared his throat. “We’ll get you all set up, you hear? That old place will be good as new in no time.” He clapped his hands and walked away briskly.

  Ben walked down the center aisle of the store and stood next to Annabelle. “What are you looking at, cutie-pie?”

  “I found this,” she said, and held up a flat-head screwdriver.

  Ben took it and looked at it closely. “Oh, hey, nice find.” He placed it on the shelf where it belonged. There was a lot of noise from the next aisle as Hank fumbled around with some paint cans. “You need some help over there?” asked Ben.

  “Ow, shit!” said Hank. “I mean shoot, dag-gum. Paint can fell on my good foot.”

  Ben smiled and looked to the front door of the shop just as a woman in uniform hurried inside. She was slim with short, raven black hair.

  “Buckley!” she called. One of her hands rested on the butt of her holstered revolver. “Hey, Hank!”

  The shop owner’s head popped around the end of an aisle. “Yeah? Oh, hey Karen.”

  The woman’s police cruiser was parked haphazardly on the street outside, the driver’s door still open. As Hank walked over to her, another cruiser screeched to a stop next to the first. Ben recognized the man who stepped out of the car as Walt Foster, someone he could have gone the rest of his life without seeing again. He was wearing sunglasses and had kept himself in decent shape over the years; many of the people Ben grew up with and ran into later in life carried around a little extra weight.

  Hank walked over to the woman, hand outstretched in greeting. “What can I do ya for this fine day?”

  She didn’t shake his hand. “You can tell me where I can find the preacher.”

  Hank lowered his hand slowly as he tried to find an answer. “You mean Moses?”

  “Who else would I mean?” She looked over and noticed Ben and Annabelle standing halfway down the center aisle. He rested his hand on his daughter’s shoulder and kept her close by his side.

  “Well, how am I supposed to know?” said Hank. “It ain’t Sunday.”

  Foster walked inside and pulled off his sunglasses. The first person he saw was Ben. He smiled just enough to let Ben know he recognized him, then turned his attention to Hank. “No, it ain’t Sunday. But the way we hear it, you and that preacher been doin’ a lot of talking on other days of the week as well.”

  “Well…” said Hank. He looked back and forth between Walt and Karen. “Yeah, he comes in here sometimes, and we talk.”

  “About what?” asked Walt.

  “Hell, I don’t know. Everything, I suppose. This and that.”

  “This and that,” said Walt.

  “Well, yeah.”

  Karen crossed her arms. “You know why we’re here, Hank?”

  The shop owner shrugged. “You said you need to talk to Moses.”

  “Amy Cooke is missing,” said Karen. “We think Moses might have taken her.”

  “And he killed the sheriff, too,” said Foster.

  “Jesus, Walt,” said Karen, turning away.

  “Sheriff’s dead?” asked Hank. All the life seemed to drain out of him. “Moses couldn’t…he wouldn’t…”

  “Well,” said Walt. “He did.”

  Hank swallowed hard. “I ain’t seen him. I swear.”

  The two deputies stared at the hardware store owner. “We’re forming a search party,” said Karen. “Comb the woods for both of them, Sheriff Mills and the girl. We need all the help we can get.”

  Hank nodded. “I’ll go. Of course I’ll go.”

  “Thank you. Meet us at the school in two hours. Spread the word if you can—as many people as you can find, Hank.” She looked at Ben one more time before turning around and walking out of the store. Foster stood there for a moment, staring at Hank as if he didn’t believe a word he said. He turned his head to the side and spat on the ground. Hank just stood there, unmoving. Walt wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and followed Karen outside.

  Ben grabbed Anna’s hand and walked over to Hank at the front of the store. “You okay?” he asked.

  Hank nodded. “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe that Moses did what they say he did.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Preacher down there in the valley.”

  “That old church is still open?”

  “Oh, yeah. Pastor Moses done a good job keeping it goin’. Now they say he went and killed somebody, maybe two. I just don’t believe it.”

  “Well,” said Ben. “I can come back later for the supplies.”

  “Nonsense, son. Ain’t no trouble. Just go open your truck and we can start hauling the stuff out.”

  Ben nodded and walked outside with Anna. The two deputies were whispering to each other when they saw Ben. Walt stopped and smiled.

  “Well well well,” he said. “Looked what the cat dragged home.”

  “Hey, Walt.” Ben walked over and offered his hand. Walt looked at it, then back up to Ben. He grabbed his hand and shook.

  “Deputy Foster,” said Walt.

  “Deputy. Right.” Walt squeezed Ben’s hand until it became painful. Ben smiled but didn’t let go.

  “This here’s Deputy Raines,” said Walt, nodding toward the woman.

  “Karen,” she said.

  “Ben Howard. Nice to meet you.”

  Walt’s smile broadened to a wild grin and he finally released Ben’s hand. “What brings you back to your old stompin’ grounds, Howard?”

  Ben rested his throbbing hand on Anna’s shoulder. “We’re moving back.”

  Karen knelt down and smiled at Anna. “And what’s your name?”

  “Annabelle Howard,” she said.

  Walt never took his eyes off Ben. “Got tired of big city life, is that it?”

  “Something like that.”

  Karen stood. “We should go, Walt.” She turned to walk to her cruiser but Walt took a step toward Ben.

  “We got a little girl missing. A lot like yours here. Sheriff’s gone too. Probably dead.”<
br />
  “I heard you talking inside. I’m sorry.”

  “I saw your windshield, Howard. Cracked to hell. You hit anyone on your way into town?”

  “That’s enough, Walt,” said Karen.

  Foster squinted at Ben. “Why don’t you come help us look for Amy and the sheriff?”

  Karen pulled on Walt’s arm. “Come on, let’s get going.”

  “What?” said Foster, shrugging her off. “He’s a concerned citizen now. He ain’t just passing through. What do you say, Benji? Only person that knows these woods half as good as me is you.”

  “Is that a compliment, Walt?” asked Ben.

  Foster laughed. “You can take it that way if you want. I’m thinking more about the sheriff and that little girl. The more we got lookin’, the better their chances.”

  Ben looked down at Annabelle and pressed her close to his leg.

  “Well,” said Foster. “You grow some balls in the next two hours, you come help us out at the school.” He turned around and got into his cruiser.

  Ben held Anna’s hand and walked back toward the hardware store. “Let’s go help Mr. Buckley,” he said.

  “Hey, Howard!” shouted Walt. Ben stopped and turned around. “Mt. Hodges. My name’s still on it.” He smiled and casually saluted, then peeled off down Main Street. Deputy Raines backed her car out into the street and followed Foster’s cruiser down the road.

  “Come on, Belle,” said Ben, and led Anna into the hardware store.

  * * *

  Uncle John and Aunt Heidi were already at the house when Ben drove back from the hardware store. Their shiny new RV was parked off to the side and they were both standing on the front porch as if they had been waiting all day. Annabelle was out of the car door in a flash to greet the smiling old man and woman who opened their arms wider the closer she got to them.

  Ben cut the Jeep’s engine as Uncle John—who was far too old to be bending down and lifting anything, let alone energetic children—bent down and scooped up Annabelle after she ran toward him and jumped up in the air. He spun her twice before setting her back down and ruffling her hair. Aunt Heidi knelt down and gave Anna a big hug.