Chapter Fifteen
"We need to talk to Duane," I said again, but Mitch was busy scolding his sister, and Nick didn’t contribute his support.
"Why the hell did you mention murders to the Reverend?" Mitch asked June.
June folded her arms across her chest. "Because I’m sick of you all tiptoeing around with your photos. Someone murdered Nick’s mother. Why not start with that?"
Nick ran a hand through his hair, clearly uneasy. "Because I’m not about to throw around the word murder and shut people down. You want them to talk, right?"
I also found Nick’s reluctance to ask about his mother puzzling, but I agreed with him.
Going around asking about a murder that had been ruled accidental manslaughter with no witnesses and no suspects felt as risky as walking a tightrope over a pit of vipers, especially knowing the killer could still be local.
Before anyone could speak again, Nick patted his pockets and said, "I think I dropped the keys in the church. I’ll be right back."
June and Mitchell were still bickering, so I followed him, keeping the buddy system in mind but mostly trying to get away from Mitch before I lost my temper. Someone had to act like an adult.
We walked back to the church, and as we opened the door, I recognized the muffled tread of someone trying to tiptoe.
I peered up. The little boy—the one the Reverend claimed wasn’t there—was fiddling with something by the altar.
The door creaked closed, and he scrambled to his feet, his small body instinctively shrinking away from view as he darted behind the altar.
"Wait, please!" I called out as he fled and gestured for Nick to stay back, not wanting to scare the little boy any more.
I stepped closer, slowly and carefully. The kid looked to be about seven or eight, with skinny limbs and unruly hair. His nails were long and caked with dirt, and his oversized clothes fluttered around him like sails. There was a faint scent of grime and neglect in the air.
"Hi," he said, pausing before me, his eyes wide with a mixture of hesitant interest and caution, like a stray animal sizing up a stranger—curious but ready to bolt.
"Hey, I’m Nellie." I crouched to his level. "What’s your name?"
"Sammy." He smiled timidly, then corrected himself with a hint of bravado. "Sam."
I kept my distance, not wanting to scare him further. "We didn’t mean to scare you, Sam," I said. "But I wanted to ask you a few questions."
The boy shot a look behind me at Nick, feet shifting. I could tell he was unsure about Nick’s presence.
"This is my friend, Nick," I said. "He can stay over there or leave if you want him to."
Sammy looked at Nick again, his big blue eyes taking in every detail. "He can stay."
"We saw you at the cemetery today, Sam."
He edged away, gaze darting towards the door, as if searching for an escape.
"You didn’t do anything wrong," I said, holding up my hands. "We wanted to ask you about it, if that’s okay."
Sam blinked slowly, still wary. "Okay."
Questioning a child without his parents present didn’t sit well with me. It was too reminiscent of how the police had treated me, and now we were putting a little kid through the same ordeal. But our intentions were different. We were seeking truth, not just closing a case.
"We found some things there," I continued, pulling out the photo from my pocket. "It’s a friend of mine. Did you know him?"
The kid shook his head.
"Did you take this photo from a grave? It’s okay if you did. Really."
Sammy mumbled, "I guess so."
I smiled, trying to put him at ease. "You’ve got a nice arrangement there in the woods."
Sammy kept quiet, waiting to see where I was going with this.
"It’s really cool," Nick said, coming to stand beside me. He squatted down to our level. He moved so quietly, I hadn’t even noticed him approaching. "Is it something you came up with?"
Sam’s lower lip jutted out. "Yeah, why?"
Nick held up his hands, mirroring my earlier gesture. "Just curious. What’s it for?"
"I dunno," Sam shrugged. "Just playin’, I guess."
"Have you seen anything like this anywhere else? I mean, besides the cemetery?"
I immediately understood what Nick was hinting at. Just like he had with Sammy’s secret spot, calling it a playground, he was now suggesting the playground mirrored someone else’s creation. And yet, I still couldn’t make sense of it.
Sam’s shoulders rose and fell with a dismissive shrug. I needed to figure out how to steer the conversation and keep him talking.
"I’m sorry I took the photo," I said. "Can I keep it for a little bit? I promise I’ll give it back once I find my friend. Is that okay?"
Sam kicked the carpet lightly. "I s’pose."
Nick moved to sit on the floor, legs folded. And just like that, the space felt more relaxed. He asked, "So, Sammy, you come here often? I mean, to this church?"
The boy bobbed his head. "Sometimes."
Nick read my face, and I knew he was thinking the same thing. If Sammy had been here regularly, the church staff would have known him. The Reverend must have known him.
I tried to build on the conversation. "You must have some friends here, huh?"
He shrugged again. "I guess so."
Nick pressed on. "And Reverend Carver, is he your friend too?"
The kid picked at his thumb nails. "He’s alright."
"But he doesn’t know about your secret place, does he?" Nick said. "It’s okay. We won’t tell him."
Sam shook his head and looked down, avoiding eye contact with Nick. But then he lifted his eyes to mine.
"You’re not in any trouble," I added, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
We had made contact with the boy, and now I had to tread carefully to avoid spooking him.
He saw something, even if he didn’t fully understand it.
If he was willing to share more, we could build on the details.
Nick took the lead, and I didn’t mind. His tone and mannerisms were unexpectedly gentle, mirroring my own approach.
"So, can you tell us a little more about your secret place?" he asked. "It looks like a lot of work. Did you do it all by yourself, or did someone help you?"
Sam’s face brightened. "I did it myself."
"So, no one else knows about it?"
"Just you, I reckon." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
"And how long have you had it?"
The boy paused, thinking. "A year, maybe."
Nick studied Sammy, his expression a careful balance of patience and urgency. "And you came up with it all on your own?"
The boy’s face twitched, his expression sliding into something noncommittal. He needed more prompting. Nick, apparently, agreed.
"Or perhaps you saw someone else do something like that?"
Sammy’s lips tightened, his discomfort evident.
Nick leaned in, softening his tone. "You’re not in trouble. We just need your help to find our friends."
Sammy’s voice dropped to a whisper. "I don’t exactly know where it was."
I strained to hear, hanging on his every word. Nick’s brow furrowed, and his voice came out too upbeat, as if trying to keep things light. "Where what was?"
Sammy’s voice barely broke the silence. "It was like... a place in the woods. There were eyes on trees."
My heart hammered in my chest. All I wanted to do was scream, "Tell us more! Tell us about the trees with eyes!" But I bit my tongue, forcing out another smile instead.
Nick continued, "And you don’t know where it was?"
Sammy shook his head. "My daddy got mad at me, and I got outta the truck and ran off. And then I was there."
"And what happened?"
Sammy’s eyes dropped. "I dunno."
"Did something scare you there?"
The silence was palpable. Now, we were treading on very dangerous territory. Fear gripped the kid, just as it gripped Duane, the same haunted look in his eyes. One wrong word, and Sammy could slip away.
"It’s okay, Sammy. You don’t have to be afraid. We won’t tell anybody," Nick promised and looked at me for reassurance to continue. I tapped my fingers against an invisible watch. Wrap it up, I mouthed. And Nick knew what to ask.
"Last few questions, I promise." Nick cupped his chin in his hand, offering nonchalance. "Were there other people at this place when you went there?"
Sam nodded, but that was all we could get out of him. Nick tried pushing, asking if Sammy knew any of these people, but the boy insisted he didn’t.
"How did you find your way home?" I asked.
Sammy shrugged. "I dunno. I waited till mornin’ and then just kept walkin’ till I hit the road."
"Do you mind looking at photos of our friends to see if you recognize any of them? Maybe they were there in the woods?"
The boy hesitated briefly, neither confirming nor denying. I sensed he was desperate for the conversation to end.
I pulled out my phone and began swiping through photos, searching for the one I had of Amanda, when the door slammed shut behind us.
"What are you still doing here?" Reverend Carver’s voice boomed.
We jumped to our feet. "We were just—" I glanced back at Sammy, but he was gone, having bolted the moment he spotted the Reverend. "—leaving."
The Reverend said nothing, just crossed his arms over his chest and stood there as we made our way out. The door thudded shut, and the lock’s bolt slid home, sealing us out.
"Did you find them?" June asked, rushing to meet us. To our blank expressions, she added, "The keys?"
"Oh. No." My stomach turned. I’d completely forgotten.
"I’ve got them," Nick said, jingling the keys. "Must’ve not checked my pockets properly. Nell, want to take the wheel?"
I drove through the streets of the small town, unsure where we were headed. We brought the siblings up to speed on our conversation with Sammy. Mitchell, distracted from his earlier embarrassment at the cemetery, slipped back into his usual commanding posture.
"So, you’re saying there’s something out in those woods that spooked this kid into building this weird shrine?" he asked.
"And there’s more," I said, "We think it’s where Amanda went, too. The boy said the exact same thing as Duane did—trees with eyes."
Mitchell took a deep, heavy breath. "Alright... I feel like we’re getting somewhere, but it’s still not adding up."
"It’ll make sense once we talk to Duane again!"
But Mitchell vetoed the idea. "No."
"What? Why?"
"It’s getting late, and we’ve put in a long day."
June rolled her eyes at him, as if saying "No kidding" to Mitchell.
"Yeah, but—"
"Duane’s got a firearm and a drinking problem. And trust me, I’ve seen my share of guys like that. We should fall back to the hotel, grab some food, and reassess our situation. Then we can come up with a solid plan for tomorrow."
"But—"
"I agree, he’s probably hiding something. But going there now just doesn’t make sense. We need to regroup and come up with a plan if we’re going to find Amanda." He looked at my face, which said it all, then quickly added, "And Lucas."
I turned to Nick, expecting him to back me up, but to my surprise, he remained neutral.
"We might not get another chance to talk to him," I pleaded. "He was pretty agitated when we met him, and I got the sense he was spooked, too."
Mitchell folded his arms. He wasn’t going to budge on this. "I’ve never met a drunk who’s sober on the weekend. We’ll have better luck tomorrow."
I could have screamed when Nick gave that poor excuse his silent approval.
With only a couple of days left before I faced my mother’s scathing criticism in Ohio, my anger and frustration were simmering just below the surface.
Mitch’s condescending attitude was adding fuel to the fire.
Who was he to tell me what to do? His military experience and tough-guy act no longer impressed me, not after a few days with him, and especially not after today.
I knew he was just as lost as I was, but he was too proud to admit it.
I was convinced that’s why he’d shut me down. He was buying himself time.
Lucas, obsessed with football, would often geek out over various strategies when I’d join him in watching games.
He loved explaining things, and I, head over heels in love, indulged him and pretended to be interested.
He told me about situations where a receiver has to make a play when the quarterback is scrambling and throws the ball up for grabs, and the receiver must ditch the original play and make something happen on their own.
That’s how I felt, like I needed to seize the initiative.
Facts were up in the air, dangling before us like carrots ripe for the taking, and yet we were hesitating.
It was time to take matters into my own hands and do what I thought was right.