Endings by Linda Richards (portable ebook reader .TXT) 📗

Arden agrees. “Ashley would never just go off by herself. She knows better.”

“I’m guessing the police will be calling you,” Jenn says. “I gave them your number.”

Arden nods, but we all know the drill. It will be form: eliminating all possibilities. Did the child’s father take her? Some other relative? Was it Arden herself ? And they’ll hope that. And we’ll hope that, too. Because any of those things is better than what we suspect.

“So the air-conditioning went, you said. Someone came to fix it. What was the repairperson driving?”

“I didn’t look,” Jenn says, sounding sheepish. “He just came in and we were so glad to see him. It was so hot. The kids were whining and stuff.”

“When did it stop working?”

“The air-conditioning? Just this morning.” She stops and looks at me fully, her face full of thunder. Like a cloud. “Wait. You think maybe this wasn’t a coincidence?”

I shrug. I don’t know what to think. “It’s possible, I guess. What did he look like? The guy that came?”

“Maybe six feet. Heavyset. Not fat, you know. But he was a big guy. Hipster beard. Ball cap.”

I try not to say what immediately comes to mind. Saying instead, “He looked like a lot of people.”

“Exactly.”

So there is an obvious conclusion, but I don’t want to go there, not without eliminating every other possibility.

“Is it all right if I have a look around outside?”

Jenn nods that it’s okay. “I’m sure you won’t find anything. Like I said, we looked everywhere. The cops looked, too. But, yeah: you’re welcome to have a poke around. And I’ll ask Loret if she saw what he was driving. I’m pretty sure he was already here when she arrived today.”

I start to head outside, and Arden looks like she’s not sure what to do with herself. In the end, she tramps down into the garden after me. I ignore her. I just want to focus my senses on what is all around me. I’m sure that Ashley is not here, but I want to look anyway.

And, of course, once in the garden, there is nothing, really, to see. The yard itself is a currently empty outdoor play area, fenced off as though for small dogs, which is quite sufficient for keeping little kids corralled. In addition to a well-used jungle gym and a swing set, there is a playhouse. Empty. And many of the kinds of nooks and crannies kids love to play hide-and-seek in. We check them. They are empty, as well.

“Ashley,” I hear Arden say at one point. It is not a shout, more like a plaintive statement of fact. Like she just wanted to put the name into the air. “Ashley.”

I check the fence for holes, or other places a small child might have crawled under or climbed out. Nothing. Valley de Oro Day Care had done a good job on the fencing. There is no way they would have lost any kids this way, which probably leaves only one other possibility and it’s not a good one.

“Arden, you stay here, okay? I’m going to take a drive around the area.”

I start towards the car, but she follows me.

“No,” she says firmly when I indicate she should stay behind. “You have something in mind. I can see it on your face. I’m coming with you.”

One look tells me I won’t be able to dissuade her. And I realize maybe I don’t fully want to. Maybe a part of me understands that, as far as stakes go, hers are the highest. And what am I asking her to do? Sit at the day care and wring her hands?

“Okay,” I tell her. “But you have to do everything I tell you, all right?”

Arden gets into the passenger seat of the rental car without another word. She is nearly beside herself with fear and grief. It has a metallic smell. But I am the best game in town, at least from where she is sitting. We both understand this.

Just as we’re about to pull out, Jenn puts her head out the door.

“You coming back?” she asks Arden, but I answer.

“Yeah. We’re just going to explore.”

“Okay. Well, see you in a while,” she starts to retreat, then catches herself. “Oh, Loret says she saw the vehicle, but it’s not very helpful.”

She has our complete attention now.

“She said it was a white van. Some kind of lettering on the side. She doesn’t remember what it said.”

And she’s right, as far as vehicle descriptions go, there’s not much less helpful. How many white vans on every road, in every community? I’d hoped for an identifier, but this isn’t that. I feel myself sag in disappointment as I start the car.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“WHERE ARE WE going?” Arden asks as I point the rental out of the driveway. It is a valid question. I just really have no idea. Or maybe I do, but that idea is not yet fully formed.

“I’m just going to look around at first,” I say honestly. “I did some research before I got here. But I don’t know the area at all.”

“There’s a park not far from here. Might be worth a peek.”

“Show me,” I say.

Arriba Park is a ten-minute run from the day care, further down Highway 46. There’s not much to it. A stand of trees, a dog park, a baseball diamond. A single glance at the parking lot tells us we’ve struck out. The thing about a purely urban setting: it is both easier and more difficult to go to ground. In a small town, it is possible to keep your eyes out for a certain vehicle or a distinctive type of person, unlike in a city, where every street might be bristling with people and white vans. But in the country, there are barns and forests and other natural landscapes; places to hide. Atwater is the needle, the countryside the haystack. We roll on.

We take a run through the sweet and tiny hamlet at the northernmost point of the county. A sign swings