“Ready?”
“All set.”
Dianne locked her front door and the two women, dressed in sweatpants and pullovers, headed off for their weekly ritual.
Jayne and Dianne had first met five years ago in the Wegmans parking lot where they struck up a friendly conversation. That meeting evolved into a friendship. Since then, Dianne and Jayne would set out weekly for a one-hour walk, even in Buffalo winters, varying their course depending on the weather, enjoying the serenity of the early morning. With the exception of a lone jogger or dog walker, they encountered few other people. As always, they used the time to catch up on each other’s lives.
“Jeff’s getting audited,” Dianne said of her husband’s auto parts business.
“Ouch,” Dianne said.
“The accountant’s not worried. She said everything’s in order.”
“Fingers crossed,” Jayne said.
“Any word on Della?”
“Yes! She was accepted at Columbia and offered a scholarship!”
“Wow! Congratulations!”
“She’s not sure she wants to go.”
“Why?”
“She wants to start a pet grooming business.”
“Maybe she’s nervous about leaving home.”
“We’re going to talk about it this weekend. Let’s go through the park.”
The sun had risen.
Dawn washed over Noble Haven’s western side as they left it, entering Bluebird Park. They followed a trail twisting through the forest, birdsong echoing in the still air. Moving deeper into the park, they enjoyed the rush of the stream that wove through the forest, punctuated with wooden footbridges.
“Did you see the news about that woman from Trailside Grove?” Jayne said.
“Yes, it’s awful. Do they know what happened?”
“I don’t think so.”
They neared the park’s western edge, which was bordered with a timeworn chain-link fence, overrun with brush and sagging in places. The fence separated the park from the expanse of forest that divided it from Ripplewood Creek.
Far off, part of the expanse spilled into the eastern side of Ripplewood, running parallel to Ripple Valley Boulevard, where the fence was in better shape, and the entrance gates were still secured with locks.
Jayne and Dianne were uncertain about the exact history of the expanse, which locals called Blueripple Woods. Going back, some said it was first federal property used for marshaling forces during the civil war. Then it was transferred to the state as timber stands; then passed to the county, which had used it to store park benches, tables, playground equipment, and other supplies years ago.
These days, it was largely neglected, not used in any official capacity, allowed to return to its natural state of dense forest. It held some mystery because it was laced with paths once used by the Union Army and old, dirt service lanes once used by public works trucks, now shrouded in overgrowth.
It was inviting to teens, to hikers, birdwatchers, and nature lovers, like Jayne, who loved the wildflowers that flourished there. She indicated a downed section of the chain-link fence, offering them access.
“Want to go through Blueripple today?” Jayne asked.
“I don’t know,” Dianne said. “They haven’t found that missing woman.”
“Oh, they must’ve searched in here,” Jayne said, reaching into her pocket, pulling out a pocket-size stun gun. Then she touched the panic alarm in the band wrapped around Dianne’s upper arm. “Besides, we’re together, we’re equipped, and it’s brighter now.”
“I’m not sure.” Dianne stared at the thick, waiting woods.
“I’ll protect you,” Jayne said. “Come on, it’s been a while since we’ve gone in there. It’s so pretty. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“All right.”
They stepped carefully through the fallen fence, disappearing into the dense forest. Soon, they found the path they were familiar with, one that looped the area for under a half mile, before returning them to Bluebird Park.
The sun had climbed, and they’d progressed for some twenty minutes. At times, branches and scrub tugged and slapped at them, but the way the light filtered through the trees was their reward. It gave the forest a celestial aura.
“Look.” Jayne, an amateur expert in local flora, pointed. “There’s buckbean, and over there we have some goldthread.”
“Pretty.”
Jayne took out her phone to get some pictures, then they moved on.
“Oh no.” Dianne halted. “I broke a lace. Hold on.”
Dianne bent over to fix her shoe.
“Oh.” Jayne reached for her camera. “There’s some mayflowers. Oh—and dewdrops over there.”
The flowers were on the shoulder of a narrow earthen road. As Jayne got closer to them, she froze, her gaze traveling beyond the shoulder of the road, to the edge of the bush.
Her lace fixed, Dianne stood.
Puzzled by Jayne, rooted to the ground, she went to her.
“What is it?” Dianne said.
Jayne raised her arm and pointed.
Dianne said, “Oh my God!”
Thirteen
Buffalo, New York, Trailside Grove, Blueripple Woods
Before Al Clayton got to the job site, before Jayne Hicks and Dianne Carr walked into Blueripple Woods, Greg drove mile after mile, through Trailside Grove, through Ripplewood Creek, down every street, alley, and service lane, searching the night for Jenn.
With every house and building he passed, his heart raced as he ran through scenarios: Did her car break down? Did she have a medical situation, or get disoriented with amnesia or something and drive away? Was she carjacked? Abducted?
Was she murdered?
Oh God. Jenn, where are you?
Greg was not a religious person. He’d turned away from his faith after God took his mother but now, as he confronted the awful, relentless fear he might never see Jenn again, he prayed.
He prayed as he guided his pickup out of his suburb, into the rural area on this side of Buffalo. For what reason, he was unclear, only that he was drawn here by his unyielding need to find his wife.
Greg knew these paved country roads, navigating them as they climbed, cutting and turning through forests and pastures of farmland. The Ford’s headlights reached into the darkness as he came to a lonely plateau on a hilltop, a sweeping curve with a view of the city lights below.