20
Sheena
It wasn ’ t just someone screaming.
I knew that voice. Dad.
Letting the second page of the note fall beside the first on the kitchen floor, I ran down the hall and out the front door in time to see Dad charge into the neighbor ’ s door. “ Help,” he bellowed, “ I need help, somebody help, please!” He tore through the hedge beside the Forneys’ walkway and started banging on their front door.
He sounded so distraught that for just a second, I looked around wildly and shrank back to the porch. The words in my head from the typed ransom note blared like a foghorn above the sound of Dad ’ s hollering. Your every movement is being watched. Had Dad seen something? Was there someone watching us right now?
“ Dad!” I called, jogging after him onto the sidewalk. “ Dad, please come back, it ’ s all right.”
Lies. Nothing was all right. The lives of ten children, two of them mine, were suddenly in my hands. I ’ d thought nothing could get worse than hearing that they were missing. But this was worse.
Ignoring me, he gave up pounding on the Forneys’ door and moved with shocking speed toward the Andersons’ house.
The street was empty, except for a silver sedan driving toward us. It pulled over and I recognized Mr. Heller from two houses down when he jumped out of the car. He shot me a sympathetic look beneath his bushy gray brows and jogged toward Dad, who had nearly tripped on a garden hose in the Andersons’ yard as he darted toward their front door. “ Ron, hey! It ’ s me, Chez Heller. What ’ s going on?”
“ I need help, need backup,” Dad gasped, turning around and stumbling toward him with his hands above his head, like he was surrendering.
Chez turned to look at me, pity written all over his face.
Movement in my peripheral vision caught my eye, and I realized it was the Andersons’ blinds. Someone, probably terrified, was peeking out at us. Shame and sadness and panic and desperation swelled so big in my chest, I thought I might pass out in the neat-cut grass.
But what Dad had said to me in the car earlier pounded in my head on repeat. Wrong crisis, right words.
I didn ’ t get to fall apart right now. Sage and Bonnie needed me. Dad needed me. I couldn ’ t let them down, even if I had no earthly idea what the hell I was supposed to do.
“ I ’ m here to help, it ’ s all right,” Chez was saying. “ Look, Sheena is right over there.” Chez pointed at me, and Dad whipped around to verify.
Dad ’ s pale face, freckles popping dark, sagged with confusion and a hint of relief. He lowered his hands and looked from me to Chez.
“ What in the Sam Hill …”
I hurried toward him, seizing the break in the chaos. “ Thanks, Chez. We ’ re okay, aren ’ t we, Dad? Today ’ s been a tough day.”
Chez opened his mouth like he wanted to say more. Like maybe he ’ d heard about what had happened and remembered I had two little girls. Surely the kidnapping must have hit the news by now.
The police officer in the parking lot had said there were eight other kids on that daycare bus, with Sage and Bonnie. There were other families reeling tonight in Sunset Springs, all of us hit at once like shrapnel from an explosion.
“ I ’ m sorry,” Chez said gently, those furry gray eyebrows bunched together in a deep furrow. “ Do you need anything …” I could feel him searching for my name.
“ Sheena,” I choked out, mind zipping back to the ransom note on my kitchen floor. Do not speak to ANYONE.
I had to get Dad back inside the house now. Then I had to figure out what to do next. “ Thanks for your help, Chez,” I said brusquely. “ Come on, Dad, let ’ s go inside.”
To my relief, Dad let me take him by the arm and we walked back to the house without another word.
The two sheets of printer paper lay on the ground where they ’ d fallen.
The pizza box sat open on the kitchen counter.
Karen mewled in delight and trotted toward Dad. “ I ’ m not hungry yet,” he mumbled, scooping her up and heading for the den. “ I ’ m gonna take a nap with the cat.”
“ Okay, Dad,” I choked out gratefully as he walked away.
When I heard the bed springs creak in the other room, I knelt and picked up the note, using my sleeve this time.
I already knew I wouldn ’ t go to the police. Not yet. I wasn ’ t going to be stupid about potential evidence either, though.
I could already imagine the outrage from neighbors—even other parents of the missing children—calling me stupid, reckless, selfish. But I couldn ’ t stop imagining what Dad ’ s expression would look like if he read that note. He wouldn ’ t rush to call the police—even though he ’ d proudly worn that blue uniform for more than thirty years.
People think that if you ’ re in uniform, you ’ ve got all the answers. They need to believe that, makes them feel safe—but that doesn ’ t always make it true. Trust your gut, Sheen, he ’ d say, if his mind was sharp.
And right now, my gut told me that if I ignored that note, I did so at Sage and Bonnie ’ s peril.
I wanted so badly to call someone, anyone, who could help me figure out what to do. Even Jacob—if I knew how to contact him. Bonnie and Sage were still his daughters. Surely he ’ d want to help me if he knew what was going on.
Do not speak to ANYONE.
No. I couldn ’ t even call Jacob. I blinked hard, sick with fear, and tried to think. Move. Do something. You ’ re the only one who can help them. They’re counting on you. They ’ re terrified. What if they ’ re hurt? Hurry, for the love of God, hurry.
Moving on pure adrenaline, keeping one ear tuned to the bedroom for any indication that Dad was on the move again, I tucked the envelope and pages of the note into a gallon freezer bag and put it in the mostly useless tiny cabinet above my stove range where I kept Dad ’ s medication.
Then I stared at the pizza box, unsure what to do with it. I couldn ’ t throw it away. What if there were fingerprints or evidence there? Yeah, it had come from Speedwagon ’ s delivery, but I had no idea who else might have touched it. Could you get fingerprints from a box?
I frowned. I couldn ’ t keep it in the house. Not with Dad around.
My heart squeezed painfully.
I suddenly knew what I had to do.
Shoving aside random containers in the refrigerator to make plenty of room, I carefully slid the box onto the bottom shelf for safekeeping.
Then, moving faster, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and stood in the far corner of the living room where the blinds were closed, ignoring the flurry of texts that had come through for a few minutes longer.
I sank down against the wall and listened to the full message Debbie from Cherished Hearts had left me. Then I redialed the number.
When her cheerful voice picked up on the second ring, “ Cherished Hearts Memory Care, this is Debbie,” I squeezed my eyes shut and got the words out as fast as I could before they were choked out by tears.
“ Hi, Debbie. It ’ s Sheena Halverson calling you back.” My voice broke, but I pushed to say what I needed to say. “ I know it ’ s late, but you said you had an opening. And I really need somewhere to take my dad tonight.”