“Mother?” A young man wearing jeans and a hunting vest came out of the house, giving Clare a cursory glance before focusing on Margaret again. “Everything okay?”
“Fine, Daniel. Go inside and help your sister with the bread.”
“I was going hunting.”
“Daniel?” Margaret’s voice hardened and her son’s head lowered. He retreated inside the house, the scent of fresh bread wafting to them as he closed the door.
“You don’t have any children here,” Clare said.
“What?”
“Kids. Lots of people in the prime of their lives, but no kids.”
Margaret fixed her with another stare and shrugged. “They’re drawn by the word of God. If they choose to bring life into the world, that’s between them and the Almighty.”
Steven Parson walked up to them, a genial smile creasing his features. “Are you a believer, Clare?” Her head snapped around, a little too quickly, she realized afterward. Parson seemed to enjoy the reaction. “Faith is a beautiful thing. We’ve found it here in the solitude of nature.”
“I’m glad,” Clare said.
“The sheriff said this man you’re searching for is wanted in regard to a kidnapping?”
“He’s a person of interest, yes.”
Parson sobered. “Very serious. To take someone’s freedom is one of the greatest sins. Free will is the ultimate gift, the power to decide one’s fate. To choose a path and follow it to its end is true beauty.”
Her mouth was dry and her heart had sped up. “I agree.”
Parson smiled once more. “Good. That’s good.”
She nearly jumped when a hand brushed her shoulder. “I think we’re through here,” Hughes said, stopping beside her. “Unless you have anything else, Clare?”
“No.”
“It was a privilege to meet you and a joy to have you visit,” Parson said.
“We appreciate your cooperation,” Hughes said. “And please call if you see anyone who looks like Mr. Rainier.”
“Of course.”
They began heading toward their vehicles and Clare had to force herself not to look back. Would she see eyes at every window, watching their retreat, or just the Parsons—a couple of Godly folk overseeing their flock, friendly and waving their goodbyes?
As she approached the passenger side door of the SUV she slowed, catching sight of something on the driveway. The gravel was disturbed, like a hand or shoe had shuffled through, scuffing the top layer of dirt. But beneath the sweeping marks was something else. Faint squares, all interconnected in a line.
A hopscotch grid.
Clare froze, her hand on the vehicle’s door. She hesitated for a half second before climbing into the vehicle. Hughes backed the SUV up and turned around, guiding them out the way they’d come.
“There was a hopscotch pattern in the driveway back there,” she said as they crested the rise and coasted down the other side toward the dirt road. “Someone tried to hide it by scuffing the gravel around.”
Hughes scowled. “Hopscotch?”
She nodded. “As in the kids’ game. Did you see any children? Any toys? Any kids’ clothing hanging on the lines?”
“No. But that doesn’t mean much, does it?” She waited, staring at the side of the sheriff’s head until he looked at her. “They’re a religious sect, who knows what they get up to out there? Maybe they toss a rock and say the rosary while they hop on one leg.”
“Or they’re hiding a child or children. I think we need a search warrant and a team to go out there.”
“Listen, let’s hold up a minute. Now I know I’m the one who called you and brought you in on all this, but there’s a line. Those people haven’t done anything illegal, and secondly we were just out there and they let us look wherever we wanted.” Clare glanced out the window. Hughes sighed and after a moment continued in a softer tone. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through having all of this past business stirred up, but we can’t go chasing after people we’ve got no cause to. It’s harassment. Did you notice anything out of sorts?”
She wanted to say yes, that Parson and his wife had given her the same sense of unease as the twisted man had back home. Like they recognized her, knew her, even though today was the first time she’d ever laid eyes on them. Instead she said nothing and watched the scenery flow by outside her window.
They rode in silence the rest of the way back to city hall. Clare’s simmering frustration and anger had cooled some by the time they pulled into a parking lot and she turned to Hughes as he shut the SUV off. “You didn’t feel that out there while we were talking to them?” Hughes merely watched her. “They’re hiding something.”
“Whether or not I caught the drift that everything wasn’t completely on the level, I’ve got no more cause to pester them anymore. Until I do, that avenue is closed.” He punctuated the statement by climbing out of the vehicle.
Clare did the same, walking slowly to her car. As she passed Deputy Wilt’s transport he stepped forward, wringing his hands in front of him. “Say, Dr. Murdock, I’m really sorry about what I said back there. It was stupid dark humor stuff. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know. It’s okay.” He nodded awkwardly and headed toward the doorway where Hughes was waiting. Clare made it to her car and stopped, her fingers resting on the door handle as something Hughes said came back to her. She turned, calling out to him as he was about to disappear inside the building. “Sheriff, you said they hadn’t done anything wrong, but what exactly was the complaint about them concerning?”
Hughes paused, his fingers drumming on the doorjamb. “The neighbor called in to say they woke him up from a dead sleep. He said they were singing at the top of their lungs in the middle of the night.”
Chapter Nineteen
She drove past her hotel by accident, eyes unfocused, mind a thousand miles away.
When Clare U-turned on the empty street and glided into the lot, she parked taking up two spaces before noticing. She sat with the engine running, thoughts matching its rpms.
Singing. Parson’s group had been singing in the middle of the night, just like her father had made them do. Rain or snow, it didn’t matter. If and when the urge had struck him, he’d rousted the children out of bed, hurrying them outside into whatever weather awaited. They’d lined up beneath his orders and fevered gaze, the rest of the refuge gathered behind him—a weary-eyed congregation of witnesses—and then he would call out the name of a hymn.
And they would sing in the dark.
She recalled how frightened she’d been. Of what she hadn’t been able to say then and couldn’t now. It had something to do with how the group had watched them, entranced and swaying, a vacancy in their faces that couldn’t be attributed to the early hour. But it had also been how the night felt the longer they sang. How it had seemed to grow darker. To close in around them until it was like they no longer stood in the middle of their camp, but somewhere else, somewhere subterranean, their voices carrying no farther than the edge of the group watching them.