Chapter Seven

“Slow down, Mitch. I can hardly understand you, you’re talking so fast.” Tammy juggled her phone and the salad she had been carrying to her kitchen table when her brother called Saturday evening.

“I met this great girl— woman. Her name is Elisabeth. She came into my office looking for a rental, and we hit it off. We had drinks afterwards, and we’re going to have dinner tomorrow night.”

Tammy sat at the table. Her brother wasn’t normally this effusive. In fact, he rarely talked about the women he dated. “Wow, she must be special,” she said.

“I think so.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I hope you’ll meet her soon.”

“You said she was looking for a rental. Is she new in town?”

“She’s here for several months, but I’m hoping to talk her into staying longer.”

“Where is she from?”

“Somewhere in the Midwest, I think. We didn’t talk about that.”

“What did you talk about?”

He laughed. “She asked a lot about me, and about Eagle Mountain. But she told me a few things about herself. She said her father just died and left her some money, so she’s taking the opportunity to see more of the country. And she likes to hike—we talked about checking out a few of the local trails while she’s here.”

“It sounds like the two of you really clicked.”

“We did. I’ve never met anyone who is so easy to talk to. I tried to talk her into having dinner with me tonight too, but she said she had things she needed to do. I thought at first maybe I had come on too strong, but then she said she’d love to go out with me tomorrow night, so that was a relief.”

“I’ll look forward to meeting her.” She took a bite of salad and chewed, angling away from the phone as Mitch told her more about the wonderful Elisabeth.

Her phone beeped, and she checked the screen. “I have to go, Mitch,” she said. “I have another call coming in, and I need to take it.”

“A breaking news story for the paper?” he asked.

“Someone connected with an article that I need to talk to.” Not a complete lie.

“All right, then. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Have fun tomorrow night.” She ended the call and answered the incoming one. “Hey, Vince,” she said.

“Do you still have that note that was supposedly from Valerie?” he asked.

“I think so. Why?”

“Because I got a postcard today.” His voice broke, and the silence that followed made her think he was struggling to pull himself together.

“Vince, are you all right?” she asked.

“The postcard—it had something on it only Valerie, or someone who knew us, would know about,” he said.

She sat up straighter. “Do you think Valerie sent my note and your postcard?”

“I don’t know what to think. I mean, if she is alive, why not just pick up the phone and call? Or come to see me in person?”

“Have your parents heard anything? It seems like she would want to contact them too.”

“If they have, they haven’t told me about it. And I’m too afraid to call and upset them. What if this is just another scam?”

“Maybe you should contact the sheriff’s office,” she said.

“Maybe. Before I do that, could you come over, and bring the note you received? Or I could come there. I thought we could compare the signature and decide if it’s the same person.”

“The note is at the newspaper office,” she said. “Why don’t you meet me there?”

“Great. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

She ended the call, then sat for a moment, her salad untouched. The reporter side of her was intrigued by the turn this story was taking. But she hadn’t missed the pain in Vince’s voice. She wanted to protect her friend while still getting to the bottom of what could be major news.

V INCE WAITED ON the sidewalk outside the newspaper office. A few people passed on their way to the pizza place at the end of the block, but otherwise this part of town was quiet. The sun had set, but it wasn’t yet full dark. The silhouettes of the mountains above town stood out against the gray sky. The tops of those peaks were miles away, yet they looked almost close enough to touch.

He slipped off his backpack and felt in the side pocket, where he had tucked the postcard. His sister couldn’t have sent it, could she? Why now, after so many years? And why be so vague?

A blue Subaru zipped around the corner and pulled to the curb in front of Vince. Tammy got out. She looked harried, her cheeks flushed, her blouse half-untucked and her hair a little mussed. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” she said.

“Not long.” He waited behind her while she unlocked the door, then tapped a code into the alarm keypad beside it.

“Come on back here to my desk.” She moved through the office, flipping light switches as she went, until she reached a large desk crowded with a desktop computer and stacks of notebooks and loose sheets of paper. “The letter is in the file here,” she said, and pulled open a bottom desk drawer. She rummaged among the contents of the drawer, then stood, waving a piece of paper. “I never throw anything away,” she said. “As you can tell by the state of my desk.”

She sank into the desk chair, and Vince sat in a straight-backed wooden chair across from her. She set the letter on the desk between them and smoothed out the folds. “Could I see the postcard you received?” she asked.

He opened the backpack and handed the card to her. She smiled as she studied the cartoon on the front, then turned it over to read the message on the back. “‘Vince the Viking’?” she asked.

He grimaced. “The summer before Valerie disappeared—when we were both nine—we took a family trip to the Upper Peninsula to visit my dad’s brother, Ricky. On the way, we stopped at every tourist attraction my dad could find—windmills and arrowhead collections and little museums.” He nodded to the postcard. “And Valhalla-Land.”

Tammy’s smile vanished and her eyebrows drew together. “It would be a wild coincidence for someone who didn’t know about that trip to send this to you out of the blue.”

“I think so,” he said. “And it’s not just Valhalla-Land. After the trip, Valerie and I called each other ‘Vince the Viking’ and ‘Valerie the Viking’ for weeks afterwards. No one else would know that. I mean, my mom and dad would, if they even remember. And maybe Uncle Ricky. But they wouldn’t pretend to be Valerie.”

Tammy turned the postcard over. “This is postmarked in Junction, but it could have been mailed here in town. All our mail is routed through the Junction office. But that’s a long way from Valhalla-Land.”

“Whoever sent it must have brought it with them,” he said.

“Could you order something like this online?” Tammy asked.

“Even if you could, you would have to know its significance to me and Valerie.” He sat back, legs stretched out in front of him. “I’d forgotten all about that little pit stop on a long-ago vacation until I saw that card.”

She laid the card beside the letter on the desk and leaned over to study it more closely. “It’s signed the same way as my note—just the single V,” she said.

“I thought so too. But if it’s Valerie, why not sign her whole name?”

“Do you think your parents still have a sample of her handwriting?”

“Probably. But she was ten. A person’s handwriting changes as they get older, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” She sat back. “Do you think you should contact your parents? I’m sure if we go to the sheriff’s department with these notes, they’ll want to talk to your parents as well.”

Vince blew out a breath. “I don’t want to upset them, but better me than a call from a sheriff’s deputy.” He took out his phone.

His mother answered on the second ring. “Hello, Vince,” she said, cheerful. Glad to hear from him.

“Hi, Mom. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No, I’m just sitting here trying to read this book that isn’t all that interesting. It’s for my book club, and it’s supposed to be a big bestseller, but I must not be the intended audience.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No, he had a meeting. Do you want me to ask him to call you tomorrow, or can I help you with something?”

He took a deep breath. He saw no way to ease into the subject. “Have you gotten any letters from someone claiming to be Valerie?” he asked.

“You mean recently?”

“Yes.”

“No, dear. Years ago we received a couple of letters that were vague and rambling. We showed them to someone from the Center for Missing and Exploited Children. They told us they were almost certainly a scam. Other parents had received similar letters.”

“I didn’t know,” he said.

“You were still young. We didn’t see any reason to involve you. Why are you asking about this now?”

He glanced across the desk at Tammy. She was watching him intently. “I got a postcard from someone who sounded like they could be Valerie,” he said. “It was just signed with the letter V.”

“Oh my. I’m sure it’s because of the article in the paper. It was a good article, of course, but this kind of attention seems to bring out the worst in people. What did the postcard say?”

He picked up the card. “Do you remember that summer we went to Uncle Ricky’s place?”

“The summer you were nine. That was a fun trip.”

“We stopped at a place called Valhalla-Land. With a bunch of Viking stuff.”

“Oh my, yes. So kitschy. But you kids loved it.”

“Valerie and I called each other Vikings for weeks after that.”

His mom laughed. “I’d forgotten about that, but you did. Vince the Viking and Valerie the Viking. But what made you remember that?”

“This postcard has a picture of Valhalla-Land. And on the back, it says ‘Hello to Vince the Viking.’”

His mother drew in her breath sharply but said nothing.

“Mom! Are you okay?”

“I’m... I’m fine. Just a little surprised. It’s such an odd thing to write. And how would anyone know about that?”

“I don’t know. The reporter who wrote the story for the paper, Tammy Patterson, received a note too. Hers was more generic. All about how she got things wrong in her story and ‘You were sold a bunch of lies.’ She and I think we should show these to the sheriff, just in case someone is trying to scam us. But I wanted to talk to you first.”

“Yes, you should show them to the sheriff,” she said. “Not that it will do any good. No one ever caught any of the other people who tried to swindle us. There are some evil people in this world who will take advantage of a family’s grief.”

“Tomorrow we’ll talk to Sheriff Walker or one of his deputies,” Vince said. “I’ll let you know what they say.”

“I’ll tell your father when he gets in. It’s odd. And upsetting. What if this really is Valerie, reaching out to us after all these years?”

“Why send teasing notes?” he asked. “Why not just show up and say, ‘Here I am’?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a kind of game. Valerie did always like games and teasing. The day she disappeared, we thought she was hiding from us, playing a joke.”

“If she’s alive, she’s twenty-five,” Vince said. “Too old for silly games.”

“I don’t know what to think,” his mom said.

“I’ll let you know what the sheriff says.”

They said good-night, and he ended the call. He felt worse than ever.

“Do you want me to go with you to the sheriff’s department tomorrow?” Tammy asked.

“They’ll want to talk to you too.” He looked around the room, at the silent computers and framed front pages of past issues of the Eagle Mountain Examiner . “Are you going to write about this for the paper?”

He couldn’t read her expression. Was that hurt in her eyes? “Not unless something comes of it that’s newsworthy,” she said.

“What would that be?”

“I don’t know. If they catch someone trying to scam you.”

“Or if Valerie actually is alive and well.”

“People do show up sometimes,” Tammy said. “There was a case last year where a woman had been living in Europe with her kidnapper for years. I’m not trying to get your hopes up,” she hastened to add. “I’m just saying that’s one possibility.”

“Yeah. I guess we’ll find out.” He stood. “Thanks for meeting with me. I’ll let you know in the morning when I can go with you to the sheriff. I need to check my work schedule.”

He left the building. She followed, locking up behind them. “Do you want to go for a drink?” she asked. “Or coffee?”

“No. I need to go home.”

“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She hesitated, then patted his arm. “I’m sorry my article pulled this person—whoever they are—out of the woodwork. Especially if it’s someone who wants to hurt you.”

“It’s not your fault. And maybe it is Valerie.” He didn’t believe that, but it was something positive to cling to, at least for a little while. Over the years, he had thought about what it might be like to see his sister again, but after so long it was hard to picture her as anything but the rambunctious ten-year-old she had been. A grown Valerie would be a stranger to him. She would still be his sister—his twin. But they would have lost so much of their shared history. Would she even be someone he liked? Worse—would she like him, or what he had become in her absence?

Ten years ago

“I LEFT DINNER for you in the refrigerator. Leave the plate covered and heat it in the microwave for three minutes.” Mom fussed about the kitchen, wiping down the counter and putting stray glasses and silverware in the dishwasher as she talked. “If you need anything, call the Wilsons next door for help. Don’t open the door to strangers. And don’t stay up too late watching TV. You know you have school tomorrow.”

“Mom, I know how to look after myself. I’m not some little kid,” Vince protested. At fifteen, he towered over his five-foot, two-inch mom, and was the same height as his dad. Any day now, he’d probably start shaving.

“I know, dear.” His mom stilled, looking as if she wasn’t happy about this news. “I just want you to be careful. I couldn’t cope if anything happened to you.”

Inwardly, Vince cringed, though he tried not to show how much he resented statements like this. He got it—his parents had lost one child and were terrified of losing another. They were hyperprotective of him, so much so that even leaving him alone for a few hours while they enjoyed a rare evening out with friends was a big deal. But none of his friends had as many rules and curfews as he did. It wasn’t fair. But the one time he had tried to point this out, his mother had gotten all teary and said it wasn’t fair that Valerie disappeared and they never knew what happened to her. After that, he gave up trying to reason with his parents and settled for breaking their rules whenever he could. Tonight, for instance, his friend Jackson Greenway was coming over. Their plan was to smoke a joint and watch a porn video Jackson had stolen from his older brother Parker, who was nineteen and had his own condo. They were going to order pizza and maybe call these sisters Jackson had met. His parents would be horrified if they knew any of this, which was kind of the point.

He hugged his mom. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll be safe here. You and Dad have a good time.”

She gave him a wobbly smile and patted his back. “You’re a fine son,” she said. “Your father and I are so proud of you. You know that, don’t you?”

He had done a lot to make his parents proud. He made good grades and was a top player on a regional youth lacrosse team. When he did break the rules, he made sure not to get caught, and he had never gotten into serious trouble. It didn’t make up for Valerie being gone, but it was something.

He waved from the front door as they pulled out of the driveway, then slipped out his phone and called Jackson to tell him the coast was clear.

Twenty minutes later, Jackson’s mother’s Camry eased down the street, the throbbing bass from the stereo rattling the windows. Six months older than Vince, Jackson had his driver’s license, and his parents let him borrow his mother’s car whenever he wanted, as long as he topped off the gas tank.

Jackson—taller even than Vince, with long, thin arms and legs and blond hair past his shoulders—parked at the curb, then exited the car with the pizza box in one hand and a DVD and a bag of weed in the other. “Are we ready to party?” he asked.

“Ready.” Vince held the door open wide. “We have the place to ourselves for at least four hours.”

“Sweet!” Jackson breezed in and set the pizza on the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. “And look what I got to go with our pizza.” He fished in the pockets of his baggy cargo shorts and pulled out two cans of beer. “I snagged them from the garage refrigerator on my way out. My dad will never miss them.”

“Let me grab some plates for the pizza,” Vince said. “I’m starving.”

They had popped the tops on the beer and were digging into their first slices of pizza when the Shepherd’s house phone rang.

“Don’t answer it,” Jackson said. “It’s probably just some phone solicitor or a politician asking for your vote.”

“I have to answer it,” Vince said. “It might be my mom, with some last-minute instruction about dinner or something.” He moved to the phone on the kitchen wall and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hello? Vince, is that you?”

A cold shiver raced up his spine. “Hello?” he said. “Who is this?” His mind played tricks on him sometimes. He would be in a crowded hallway at school and would think he’d heard Valerie’s voice, only to turn around and discover it was someone else. Once, after a lacrosse game, he had followed a teenage girl all the way to the parking lot because something about how she looked from the back was so familiar. Then she had turned around and spotted him, and he had to pretend he was merely retrieving something from his car.

“It’s Valerie. Don’t you remember me?” The person on the other end of the line began to sob. “I need you to help me, Vince.”

“Where are you?” he asked. Then: “Who are you, really?”

The line went dead. Vince stared at the receiver in his hand.

“Dude, your face went all white,” Jackson said. “You’re not going to faint, are you?”

“How do you call back the last number you talked to?” he asked.

“Star-six-nine.” Jackson’s chair scraped loudly against the floor as he shoved it back and stood. “What’s going on? Who was that on the phone?”

“I don’t know.” He punched in *69 and waited while the phone rang. And rang. And rang. After ten rings, he hung up.

Jackson was standing beside him now. “You don’t look so hot,” he said. “Who was that calling?”

“She said she was Valerie.”

Jackson’s eyes widened. “Your dead sister?”

“We don’t know for sure she’s dead, but yeah. She knew my name, and she said she was Valerie.”

“Did it sound like her? What you remember?”

“It did.” But was that because it was her, or because he wanted it to be her? “I think you’d better go,” he said. “I need to call my parents.”

He thought Jackson would argue, but instead, he patted Vince’s back. “I can stay here if you want. You can tell your folks you called me for moral support. We’ll hide the beer and stuff before they get home.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be okay by myself.”

Jackson gathered up the beer and pizza, the pot and the DVD, and said goodbye. When he was gone, Vince braced himself and called his dad’s cell phone. “I had a call just now,” he said. “From someone claiming to be Valerie. She said she needed help, and she started crying. It sounded real.” A sob broke free on the last word. He couldn’t help it.

“We’ll be right there,” his dad said.

His parents came home right away. Vince had pulled himself together by the time they arrived, but he could tell his mom had been crying. Her eyes were red and puffy, and when she hugged him, she held on too tightly, for a little too long.

He told them about the call, and they contacted the local police and the FBI agent who had worked with them when Valerie first went missing. The cops arrived, then two FBI agents. They matched the number from the call to a pay phone in Nebraska, then said the pay phone had been vandalized, probably before that call was made, though they couldn’t be sure.

They never heard from the caller again, and everyone agreed it had likely been a scam. But for months afterward, Vince replayed the call in his head. Valerie’s voice, begging him to help her.