The woman complied, and Mariam responded.
“She said it would have to be the front door,” Susan relayed. “She was working in the garden by the back door the entire time she was outside.”
“We’ll start there. Why don’t you bring the pillowcase out and we’ll meet you in front?” Mark said.
Logan furrowed his brow. “Won’t my scent confuse Sherlock if I touch it?”
Mark smiled. “He’s smarter than that. Once I let him sniff you, he’ll know you’re not the person he’s tracking and home in on your niece’s scent.”
“Got it. Give me three minutes.”
Logan took the back porch steps two at a time, retrieved the pillowcase, and rejoined the group in front. Mark had unwound the long leash, and the dog was nosing around the area.
“Hang on to that for a minute.” Mark reined in the dog and put the harness on him. “Okay. Set it on the ground and let Sherlock sniff you.”
He did so, then backed off.
Sherlock gave the case his full attention.
Within seconds, the dog touched his nose to the cotton rectangle, laid down beside it, and made eye contact with Mark.
“We’re set.” Mark hooked the leash to the harness, and gave Sherlock a treat. “As I understand it, the adjacent lavender farm has been thoroughly searched, and you have a team on the beach. So while your niece has been to those places, there’s no reason for us to track in that area. Correct?”
“Yes.” Lexie pulled out her phone. “Any other direction, however, is fair game.”
“Got it. Sherlock—search now.”
The dog didn’t wait for a second invitation.
He was off like a shot, nose to the ground, barreling straight down the driveway, tugging at the long tracking line.
“Susan—tell Mariam to wait here. Thomma and I are going to follow the handler.”
Once the woman complied, Logan ended the call and set off at a jog after Mark, Thomma on his heels.
Lexie was ahead of them, staying a dozen yards behind the man and dog.
Sherlock paused at the bottom of the driveway to sniff the entire area, then started around the hedge toward Jeannette’s.
At a command from Mark, he sniffed some more . . . and took off down the road that led to 101, staying on the shoulder.
Yes!
He had the trail!
Logan’s spirits took an uptick.
Since he’d never walked this direction with Molly, Sherlock had to be picking up the route the girls had taken after they’d left the house together.
And despite the fact they’d been gone close to six hours, how far could they get with a suitcase and backpack in tow? Yes, teams had searched this area—but it was possible the girls had made it a short distance past the farthest grid that had been combed.
Wherever they were, though, Sherlock would find them.
Unless the dog somehow lost their trail.
Not likely, based on everything he’d ever read about bloodhounds—but a terrifying possibility nonetheless, regardless how remote.
In the distance, a rumble of thunder reverberated through the air, and a chilly breeze sent a shiver rippling through him.
Stormy weather appeared to be in store.
And as the small group followed the dog into the deepening dusk, Logan prayed that Molly and Elisa had taken refuge somewhere safe and warm and dry.
Molly wiped her nose on her sleeve and sniffled.
It was getting really cold . . . and her socks were wet from crossing the creek . . . and the sandwiches were soggy ’cause Elisa had dropped them in the water . . . and it was getting dark . . . and they were lost.
A tear rolled down her cheek.
If only she could go home.
But home was with Nana—and Nana was gone.
A rumble of thunder shook the ground.
“I s-scared, Molly.” Elisa took her hand and moved closer in the shadowy space.
“Me too.”
“We go home?”
Molly peered through a crack in the wooden slats and held tight to her blankie. “I don’t know where home is.”
“We ask?”
She couldn’t do that.
Nana and Uncle Logan always said never talk to strangers—and everyone was a stranger.
But there wasn’t anyone around here anyway. Nobody lived in this old shed they’d found in the woods.
Another tear trailed down her cheek.
“You said you wanted to run away too.” Molly sniffed. Elisa didn’t always know all the words she said, but her friend usually understood her.
“I want my Teta.” She hugged her Raggedy Ann doll.
“What about your papa?”
Elisa bit her lower lip. “He be mad.”
Uncle Logan would be too. Running away was naughty.
Maybe, if they did go back, he wouldn’t want her anymore. Nobody liked naughty children.
What if he sent her to an orphan’s home, like the one on that TV show she’d seen, where you had to eat something called gruel for breakfast and sweep floors all day, like Cinderella?
Molly hiccupped a sob.
Uncle Logan wouldn’t do that—would he? He’d always been nice to her. Bought her ribbons, took her to the beach . . . gotten Toby for her. He’d gone to tea at ’Nette’s with her too.
Maybe after he got done being mad, he’d let her stay, even though he hadn’t wanted her in the beginning.
She shivered and wrapped her blankie around her fingers. It would be warmer in the pretty bedroom with the fairy princess bedspread at Uncle Logan’s house. Sleeping there was nice. And it was fun playing on the swing set he’d just put up in the backyard.
Besides, if they left for always, she’d never see Toby or ’Nette or Mrs. Shabo again.
Or Uncle Logan either.
All at once, her stomach felt funny. Kind of like it had after they told her Nana had gone to heaven.
Except . . . Uncle Logan wasn’t in heaven.
He might go, though—like Nana . . . and her daddy . . . and Button.
If that happened, she’d have to live in an orphan’s home.
She wadded up her blankie and squeezed it tight.
But not everybody went to heaven right away. The boys and girls at that place Uncle Logan had taken her to during the day in the big city had mommies and daddies. They weren’t orphans.
Maybe Uncle Logan would be her uncle for a long time before he went to heaven. Maybe until she was a grown-up.
“Molly?” Elisa sounded like she was going to cry again.
“Yes?”
“I miss my Teta.”
She kind of missed Uncle Logan too. He was even better at reading bedtime stories than Nana, especially when he used funny voices for some of the people.
And that night he’d laid down with her when he was sad and lonesome had made her feel special. Like she was important to him.
Molly frowned.
Would he be sad if she was gone?
Would he be more lonesome than before?
Maybe he was used to her now. Maybe he needed her to help him be happy.
Maybe . . . maybe he even loved her.
“Molly.” A shiver ran through Elisa. “I cold.”
“Me too.”
A crack of thunder boomed through the night, and she cringed as rain began to beat against the roof.
“We go home.” Elisa edged closer. It wasn’t a question anymore.