Chapter Eighteen

“I’m coming with you to your parents’,” Tammy said. It wasn’t a question.

“You don’t have to do that.” He dug his keys out from his jeans pocket. Was there anything else he needed to do before he left?

“I want to come,” she said.

“What about the fireworks photos?”

“Russ can take them. I want to be with you. And your parents.”

He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

He thought she understood what he was saying. After Valerie had disappeared, Vince had been left alone, his parents distracted by grief. It became a point of pride to get through things alone. Not having to do that anymore was a special gift.

They started walking toward his car. “Dad said the fire is out and most of the damage is to one upstairs bedroom,” he said. “The rest of the house is okay except for smoke damage. He and Mom are waiting for the fire department to give them the green light to go inside.”

“Do they have any idea what started it?” Tammy asked.

“Dad didn’t say. The house is at least as old as I am. Maybe there was a fault in the electrical wiring?”

They didn’t say much on the drive to Junction. Vince gripped the steering wheel and forced himself to keep within ten miles of the speed limit, willing the time to pass more quickly. His dad had said there wasn’t a lot of damage, but what did that mean? Would his parents be able to remain in the house, or did they need somewhere else to stay? Was the fire an accident or deliberate? And why was all this happening now?

A lone fire truck sat at the curb when they arrived. A firefighter and a Junction police officer met them at the end of the drive, where Vince’s parents also waited. “We’re confident the fire is out,” the firefighter said. “But call if you see any more smoke or flames.”

“I don’t understand,” Mr. Shepherd said. “How did the fire start?”

The police officer introduced himself as Sergeant Fisk. “Where were you today, Mr. Shepherd?” he asked.

“We were in Eagle Mountain, visiting our son and attending the Fourth of July celebration,” Dad said.

“Does anyone else live in the house besides you and your wife?”

“No.”

“Do you know of anyone who might want to harm you and your wife or your home?”

“No. What are you talking about? Are you saying the fire was deliberately set?”

“The blaze started in the upstairs back bedroom,” Fisk said. “Whose bedroom is that?”

“No one’s,” Dad said.

“That was our daughter, Valerie’s, room,” Mom said, her voice strained.

“Where is your daughter now?” Sergeant Fisk asked.

Her face crumpled and tears slid down her cheeks. Dad pulled her close. “Our daughter disappeared fifteen years ago,” he said. “We don’t know where she is.”

Fisk looked back toward the house. From this angle, it appeared undamaged. “Did someone set the fire intentionally?” Vince asked.

“It looks that way,” Fisk said. He turned back to Vince. “You’re the son?”

“Yes. I’m Vince Shepherd.”

The officer turned to Tammy. “And you are?”

“Tammy Patterson. I’m Vince’s friend.”

“You two were in Eagle Mountain this morning also?”

“Yes,” Vince said. “Tammy was taking photographs for the paper, and I worked a fundraising booth for the local search and rescue group. How did the fire start?”

The firefighter spoke. “Someone piled a bunch of papers—pages torn from books, from the looks of things—and set the fire in the middle of the bed. The neighbor whose backyard adjoins this one saw the smoke and called 911.” He turned to Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd. “You can return to the house, but don’t go into that bedroom. You’ll need to have a restoration company see about cleaning it up. There’s a lot of smoke damage, and we can’t be sure there isn’t structural damage from the flames.”

Mom moaned, and Dad tightened his arm around her. “Did anyone see somebody near the house this morning?” he asked.

“We spoke with the neighbors,” Fisk said. “No one remembers anything unusual. Have any of you noticed anything out of the ordinary recently?”

“No,” Dad said. Mom shook her head.

Vince felt Tammy tense beside him, but he said nothing.

They waited until the firefighter and Sergeant Fisk had left before they went into the house. Vince smelled smoke when they entered, but the scent wasn’t as strong as he had expected. He followed his mother and father up the stairs, Tammy behind him. The closer they walked to the bedroom, the more intense the odor of smoke.

They halted outside the bedroom. His dad pushed open the door to reveal the smoke and soot-blackened remains of a little girl’s bedroom. Parts of the pink comforter on the bed were still intact, though the center was a black hole. Half a dozen books lay scattered at the foot of the bed, some splayed with spines showing, others with charred pages. Black outlines showed where flames had charred the walls, and everything was sodden.

Mom turned away, sobbing, and fled past them down the hall. Vince started to go after her, but his dad took hold of his arm. “Let her go,” he said. “She needs a little time alone.” He closed the door, and the three of them returned to the living room.

“Why didn’t you tell the police about the notes Vince and I have received, and the messages left on Vince’s and my vehicles?” Tammy asked.

“Those things happened in Eagle Mountain,” Dad said. “We don’t know that they have anything to do with us.”

“Except the person who wrote the notes signed them with a V and implied they were Valerie.” Tammy’s voice was gentle but insistent.

Dad sat heavily on the sofa. “Why would Valerie destroy her own room?” he asked. “And those notes—why would she blame any of us for what happened to her?”

Vince sat in an armchair facing the sofa. Tammy perched on the arm of the chair. “Why didn’t you and Mom ever have Valerie declared dead?” he asked. He had never voiced the question before, not wanting to cause his parents more pain. But he wondered if they knew something he didn’t.

“We considered it,” Dad said. “But we didn’t want to give up hope.”

“Did anything happen to give you hope?” Tammy asked.

He didn’t answer. Vince cleared his throat. “You mentioned seeing a young woman in a casino who looked like Valerie.”

Dad sighed, his gaze focused on the rug. “There were two phone calls, years apart. Once, the person—a female—just said, ‘Help.’ Another time all she said was ‘Dad?’ and then hung up before I could answer. I’m sure they were just people being cruel, but we always wondered, what if they really were Valerie?”

Vince’s stomach rolled, and he feared he might be sick. Rescue work had schooled him to be strong when faced with others’ pain, but broken limbs and gashed heads were nothing compared to seeing his father tortured this way.

“You must have tried to find her over the years,” Tammy said.

“We did. We hired private detectives twice, but they never came up with anything. They tried to find the camper that was in the mountains the day we were but never found a trace of him either.”

“I didn’t know that,” Vince said. “About the detectives, I mean.”

Dad glanced at him. “You had your own life to lead,” he said. “We didn’t want to burden you with our concerns.”

“What will you do now?” Tammy asked.

“We’ll get someone in to fix the house.” He looked at Vince again. “And before you ask, no, we won’t move. Your mother, especially, would never leave this place.”

“Because Valerie might come home.” Tammy’s voice was scarcely above a whisper, but it was loud in the still room.

“Yes. When you have children of your own one day, you’ll understand. We can never give up hope. No matter how much it hurts.”

When would the hurting stop? Vince wondered. Sure, the pain of grief and the memory of a smiling little girl who had once been part of their lives would always be part of them. But this new pain, of a wound constantly reopened, when would that end? How could he make it end?

Fifteen years ago.

“W E ’ RE GOING TO need to give you a new name.”

She looked up at the man who stood over her. The man with the friendly smile who had brought her to this place—a place she didn’t know. The smile frightened her now, though she didn’t know why. He hadn’t done anything to hurt her. “Can you think of a name you would like to go by now?” he asked.

“Why do I have to have a new name?” she asked. “Why can’t I go home?”

The man—he had told her his name was Paul—squatted down so he could look at her directly. He had dark eyes. They looked all black, like a cartoon character’s. They had frightened her at first, but she was getting used to them. “I explained this already,” he said. “Your mom and dad didn’t want you anymore. They were going to leave you up there in the mountains to die, until I agreed to take you instead.”

“Why didn’t they want me?” Her heart beat so fast it hurt at the idea. “They said they loved me.”

“They were liars.” He shrugged. “People are, sometimes. You’ll learn that as you get older. They thought they’d be happier with just one kid, and they decided to keep your brother because he’s a boy. Some people feel that way. But I don’t.” He reached out and gently stroked her head. “I always wanted a little girl like you.”

She began to cry. He let her. They sat like that for a long time, him stroking her hair. “It’s going to be all right,” he said. “You can help me with my work.”

She sniffed and tried to control her tears. She didn’t like the way crying felt. If she helped him, maybe he would let her talk to her parents. If she talked to them, she could get them to take her back. Whatever she had done to upset them, she could make up for it. She just had to convince Paul to let her see them again. “What kind of work?” she asked.

“People give me money to invest,” he said. “You’ll be good at persuading them to give me the money. You’re a pretty child, and people will like you. Sometimes I’ll ask you to talk to people while I take things they don’t need anymore. Things we can use. You’re smart. I could tell that just by watching you there at the camp.”

“I got all As on my last report card,” she said.

“I knew you were smart,” he said. “I’m good at reading people. I’ll teach you how to read them too. The two of us will make a fine team.” He stood at last. “We’ll be good together. You’ll see. After a while you won’t even think about your old family anymore.”

I’ll never forget my family , she thought. And that had turned out to be true. But over the years, she saw them differently. She saw them the way Paul saw them. It was an ugly view, but then, much of life was ugly. Paul had taught her that. She had learned a great deal from him. She had learned that a smart, daring person could get whatever she wanted from people who weren’t as smart—money, admiration, sex.

Revenge.