Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
Friday morning
Sara Turner loves dogs, horses and chocolate cookies. She’s an honor roll student in the 5 th grade. She loves reading Amish YA stories but can tell you everything you ever wanted to know about the history of the Lady Vols and goes to their home games with her best friend “M" as often as she can. She’s a normal 10-year-old girl who is about to turn eleven on Christmas Eve.
But Sara Turner has been missing for almost two weeks. Her place at the dinner table is empty. Her seat at her school is empty. Her new soccer shoes are still in the box, unused. No one has reported seeing her or heard anything about her or from her. Her friends and family miss her terribly and are afraid for her safety and well-being. Please, if you know anything please contact KPD and ask for Special Crimes. All her family and friends want for Christmas is for Sara to come home, safe and sound. Please help her family and friends find her.
“Damn, that’s good.” Patrick looked up from reading out loud Danni’s story for Excelsior on his phone . “Talk about wringing blood from a stone. How long did you stay up writing this?” It was the most he’d said all morning.
“Past midnight,” Danni said stifling a yawn, “But I actually wrote two pieces. “One more fact based, to show the stats for missing kids in Tennessee over the past twenty years, the percentage found vs those still missing, and that took longer. This one, not so long. I just hope Stanley’s granddaughter likes it and I think it will get people’s attention to not forget Sara. At least I hope so.”
“After hearing that, I’d want to go out and start looking for her immediately,” Kristopher called from the front seat.
“Are you going to park in the State Street Garage?” Danni asked. Beside her, Patrick was quiet again, but the coiled tension rolled off him like a hunting animal lying in wait for its prey, ready to spring when necessary. It was the waiting tension of a man about to go into battle and Danni wondered how many battles he’d fought, risking injury, his own life and maybe even losing friends.
And now you’re fighting a battle to protect me . Why did you join Brotherhood Protectors, Patrick Danton? Have you not earned the right to live in peace?
“Not a good idea,” Kristopher said. “Too many attacks happen in parking garages. You’d think they’d be safe places, but too often they’re not.”
“Where then?” Patrick asked. “We want to have the shortest distance possible to get to The Main Place and back.”
“And we do,” Kristopher agreed. He slowed the car, and another one pulled out of a spot across from the escalator that would take them to Gay Street and then a short walk to The Main Place. After the car was gone, Kristopher eased into the vacant spot. “Here we are.”
“Who was that?” Danni asked as Patrick opened the door and helped her out to the street.
The sergeant’s smile in the rear-view mirror was enigmatic. “A fellow BP who just happens to be in town and owes me a favor. Go on. I’ll be behind you but don’t look for me.”
They took the escalator that led up to the side street, crossed Gay Street and completed their walk to The Main place in minutes. The Main Place, one of downtown Knoxville’s ‘jewels’ for people to gather and dine, feast on live music and shop. The day was crisp-cold, but the sun was out and bright. Booths offering goods of all kinds lined the walks in front of the brightly decorated store windows and she wished this was just a normal Friday spent shopping with friends.
But nothing had felt normal since Sara vanished and Leo had been murdered–was it really just this past Monday?– and Danni wondered for a moment if anything would ever feel normal again. Not until Sara was home again.
Pushing back that thought, she asked, “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Patrick’s continuing silence so unlike the easy, relaxed temperament she thought she was coming to know.
But then again, just how much did she know about him? Other than him being an Army veteran, a Blue Mountain fanatic and tidy-kitchen freak, she knew nothing.
It is,” he agreed. His slightly narrowed gaze searched the area around them but his pace was steady and calm and she was glad to have him beside her.
She glanced at him. “Do you see Kristopher anywhere?”
“No, and you won’t. In that dark coat and hat he’s wearing, he’s going to blend in so well, he might as well be invisible. Until you need him, that is.
“That’s good,” Danni said cautiously, trying to think of a safe topic that would engage him. His cautious watching was beginning to make her apprehensive. “From those diary pages Mrs. M. sent us, I think Sara has a crush on Silas, but her description makes him sound like he’s in high school.”
He stopped and stared at her, his mouth pulled tight and narrow. “I know we talked about it last night, but let’s go over what we’re here to do.
“Alright.” Even as tall as she was, Danni had to tilt her head back to look at him.
“We’re going to find Silas as quickly as possible and then we’re going back to the Safehouse, understand? No lingering, no shopping, just find and talk to the boy, and then we leave. Got that?”
“No ‘dawdling’?” she teased, hoping to ease him into a better mood.
“No, listen to me, Danni. Two attacks on you in less in a week.” His sudden grip on her wrist was so tight, she winced. “I shouldn’t have taken that call from Hank or let you stop to buy those flowers–”
“Wait a minute.” She pulled back. “Is this why you’ve been as cranky as a bear with a sore paw all morning? Are you blaming yourself for that vendor outside St. Nicholas’ trying to attack me? You’re the one who got hurt!”
“And it never would have happened if I hadn’t–”
“Stop,” Danni ordered in her own rare flash of temper. “Stop right now. If there’s blame, then it’s on both of us. You needed to take that call from Hank Patterson. He’s your boss. And yeah, it was silly of me to stop to buy flowers for the table, but I wanted it to look nice since you’re creating these great meals. That attack was not your fault, period. So, stop blaming yourself or I’m gonna punch you in the nose just when it’s starting to look better. And if we don’t start moving again, we’re both gonna be targets, even if Kristopher is around here somewhere. He may move like a panther when he needs to, but even he can’t move fast enough to stop a bullet. Are you ‘packing’?”
He nodded silently, eyes saucer wide.
“Me too,” Danni declared. “Cleaned my little S and W the other day just like my daddy taught me. No more blaming yourself for that attack anymore or for anything else. Are you good with that?”
His low chuckle was almost as warming as his toe-curling smile, speeding Danni’s heart rate into a furious tap dance. Oh dear, she thought. Oh dear.
“OK,” he agreed. “But let’s agree you’re not going to leave my side for a minute when we’re in public. If you need to go to the ladies’ room, I’m checking it out first, okay?”
“Okay,” Danni agreed.
“Right then,” he said. “Let’s go ask the vendor over there selling hot pretzels if he knows Silas and how to find his booth.”
“Sounds good.” Danni took his offered arm. At the pretzel booth, they purchased a big one with a cup of mustard to share and ask about Silas. The vendor pointed at a large booth at the other end of the square. It was topped by a bright red sign proclaiming it Lapp’s Groceries and Fine Hats.
They walked quickly but not so fast to draw attention to themselves and give them time to enjoy the still warm pretzel.
“Among your many culinary talents, do you know how to bake pretzels?” Danni asked, dipping her last piece into the slightly hot mustard. Dijon with a bit of garlic, she decided.
“No,” her companion replied. “Bread, biscuits, even croissants if I have a lot of time. But not pretzels.”
“Croissants?” Danni darted a glance at him. “I’m impressed.” Now I’m learning something about you!
“I spent a summer between my junior and senior year of college at La Varenne Cooking School in Paris studying baking,” he shared. “Pretzels weren’t included in the curriculum.”
The image of the tall, broad-shouldered Army veteran wearing an apron and chef’s hat, pounding bread dough made her smile. “An oversight you must see that they correct one day,” she said.
“Bien sur. Of course,” he said, affecting what sounded like a very fine French accent. “Hold up.”
“What?” Danni froze in place. “What’s wrong?”
“You have mustard on your nose.” He produced a handkerchief and Danni held very still while he blotted the spot. This close she could smell soap and the scent of the mustard. A scent she would savor for a long time.
“There.” He put away the handkerchief but remained standing right before her. “That’s better.”
“You remembered your handkerchief,” she whispered, not wanting this moment to end, while praying they weren’t being sighted by a sniper. ‘Death by Pretzel.’ Sounds like a cozy mystery.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I did.”
“I think I remember Anne telling me that BP members either always have handkerchiefs with them or don’t,” she continued, unwilling to break the spell he’d unknowingly woven around them.
He leaned down and for one delicious, heady moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. “They give us a set of twelve when we complete our training,” he whispered. “There’s no excuse not to have one handy.”
“Nice,” she whispered back, daring to brush the pretzel crumbs from his shoulders. “Shouldn’t we be going?”
“Right,” he agreed, and took her arm again.
At the Lapp’s booth, a woman in white kapp covering her hair was showing a woman quilts and an assortment of knitted shawls. Beside her, a tall, blonde boy wearing a straw hat that was not quite a boater and looked to be around sixteen was selling a variety of things. Several people were ahead of them, and Danni felt Patrick’s air of apprehension return. Under her gloved hand, his arm muscles were coiled again and from beneath lowered eyelids, his gaze searched the area around them.
At last, the boy was free and from beneath his straw hat, he smiled and said, “Good morning. Welcome to Lapp’s. How may I help you?”
“Are you Silas?” Danni asked, releasing Patrick’s arm.
A wary expression replaced the boy’s smile. “Yes ma’am. I’m Silas Lapp. Is something wrong?”
Reaching into her purse for her phone, Danni took it out and began to scroll through her photos. “My goddaughter Sara Turner recently made a payment on a straw hat for her grandfather.” She chose a photo of her and Sara together and held it out to him. “Do you remember her?”
The boy’s solemn expression remained in place. “Yes, I do,” he said. “Sara Turner? She’s the little girl who’s missing?”
“You remember her?” Patrick repeated. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, sir,” Silas said. “I’ve been reading about her in the newspapers because she bought the hat right before she vanished. She came with an older woman. Was that her grandmother?”
“Her housekeeper,” Danni corrected, locating the photo of the receipt and showing it to him. “Did anything unusual happen when they were here?”
Silas shook his head. “Not while they were here. I helped her pick out a hat that she thought her grandfather would like and when she told me she’d saved her allowance to buy it, I let her make a partial payment, something we don’t usually do because these are very fine and expensive hats.”
“I can see that,” Patrick commented, and his posture relaxed. “Danni, show him another picture of Sara. Maybe one with Mrs. M.?”
She scrolled through the photos and found one of Sara and her housekeeper standing together near the Suffragette Statue at The Main Place. Silas stared at it for only a second before saying, “Yes, that’s them.”
“Have you seen her since then?” Danni could not keep the pleading note from her voice. “Down here?”
“No, ma’am, but if I had I would have called the police straight away because I knew she was missing,” Silas said. “She and her housekeeper were very polite when we talked.”
“Forgive the question,” Danni began, “but are you Amish? Sara is fascinated by their culture, and she wrote about you in her diary, calling you ‘the almost Amish boy.’ That’s how we found you.”
Silas’ smile returned. “No, we’re Mennonites. We follow some of the old ways like simplicity in dress and living but we use modern technology like phones and computers. Sara seemed disappointed when I told her my grandmother–”he pointed to the woman–“didn’t come here in horse and buggy.”
His gentle humor relaxed some of the tension in Danni’s shoulders and she returned his smile. “If I give you my phone number and you hear anything about her, would you call or text me, please?”
“Of course.” Silas handed her a paper napkin and then a pen from a jar. She scribbled her number and handed the things back to him. “Thank you, Silas.”
“Anything to help, Mrs.-?”
“Blake,” she blurted as heat flamed her cheeks and Silas looked at Patrick.
“Patrick,” her protector said, smiling broadly as he offered the boy his hand.
“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Blake, if I hear anything about Sara, I will certainly call you,” Silas promised. “Anything to help.”
Danni wheeled about, half dragging a coughing Patrick with her. It was only after they were well away from the Lapp booth that he released his howl of laughter. The furious scowl turning down Danni’s pretty mouth only made him laugh harder.
“What’s so funny?” she grumbled.
“You tell me, Mrs. Blake,” he teased. “You sure are cute when you’re embarrassed.”
She held up a gloved fist. “Keep this up and I’m going to clobber your poor swollen nose,” she threatened again. “Then you won’t be able to smell anything, not even your precious Blue Mountain.”
“Oh yeah?” He put his arms around her waist. “You and whose army?”
“We need to go.” Kristopher’s stealthy appearing so surprised them that Patrick pulled Danni closer and had his weapon half-way out of pocket before recognizing his new colleague’s voice.
“Damn, you’re good,” Patrick told him as Danni stepped back. “Never saw or heard you coming. You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you. What’s up?”
“Did you find Silas?”
“Yes. Danni released a sigh of disappointment. “Sara made a partial payment on a hat for her grandfather the Friday before she vanished, but that’s all. I suppose we could have sent plain-clothes police to talk to Silas Lapp after all. Has something happened?”
“Yeah. Another–”
“Excuse me. Mr. and Mrs. Blake?”
They turned to find Silas Lapp jogging toward them. Upon seeing them, his worried expression changed to a smile of relief. He stopped and raised his hat. “I was hoping to find you before you left,” he said, handing Danni a large white bag stamped with a giant red L.
“What is this?” she asked. “I didn’t buy anything.”
“I know,” he said. “My grandmother insisted we give you this with our prayers and good wishes for Sara’s safe return.”
When all she could do was stare at him, Patrick reached into the bag and took out a large hat box. Inside was a copy of the straw hat that Silas wore, except this one had an orange and white hat band around the crown while Silas’ was unadorned.
“Sara said her grandfather enjoyed UT sports and asked if we could put the headband on it,” Silas explained as Danni continued to stare at him. “She must love him very much to use her allowance. It will make a nice Christmas present.”
To her horror, Danni began to cry. Even more horrifying was Patrick taking her into his arms.
“It’s alright,” she heard Patrick tell an open-mouthed Silas Lapp. “She’s just terribly worried about Sara. Thank you for your kindness.”
“Yes sir.” Silas tipped his hat and made a hasty retreat.
“Sorry,” Danni gasped, stepping back. “I really need to get a grip on this crying thing. But the thought of Sara using her money to buy that skunk Ed Turner any kind of gift–”
“Even if he’s a skunk, it’s still her right to spend her allowance on him,” Patrick told her, returning the hat to the box and the box to the sack. “Kristopher, what was it you wanted to tell us?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Blake?” Kristopher’s gaze darted between them. “Did I miss something?”
“Wait a minute,” Danni sniffed, taking out her beeping phone. “It’s Stanley at Excelsior. He says he needs to see me asap about this morning’s story. I’m sorry, Kristopher. What were you saying?”
“Only what I just heard at a news kiosk,” Kristopher replied. “A ten-year-old girl from Maryville has been reported missing.”