You could call the police. But . . . He stared at the photo on the computer screen, Pastor’s voice shouting in his mind. Don’t trust the police. Don’t trust the government. Trust only me.
But Pastor had lied about so many things. Desperation warred with indecision. Anonymous letter, he thought. If I can’t find Mercy, I’ll write that letter.
‘Can you find her address or phone number?’ he asked.
Edie squared her shoulders. ‘I’m not really good with this stuff, but let me see what else I can find.’
‘Thank you.’ Amos forced himself to sit back and let Edie work her magic.
Please let me find Mercy. Please don’t let me be too late.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Edie muttered. She gave Amos an unreadable look. ‘Don’t read this article. It’s Internet trash. Like the National Enquirer back in the eighties. Lots of lies and half-truths. Don’t even bother with it.’
Amos didn’t have a chance to read it, because Edie made it disappear. A new article opened and the older woman relaxed a little.
‘This one’s better,’ she pronounced. ‘Some twerpy little jerk published a very unflattering exposé on your daughter. But he retracted it and now wants to help other . . . well, other people.’
Amos frowned, stuck on the first part of her statement. ‘What did his unflattering exposé say?’
Edie leaned around the screen to look at Abigail, who had stopped reading and was watching them with open curiosity.
‘Stuff that nobody needs to know,’ Edie replied. ‘Little pitchers, Amos.’
‘All right,’ he said. He’d find out later. ‘Do you know how I can find her?’
‘Well, the first article, the one about that program from last week, it said that she lives in New Orleans.’
‘Which is very far,’ he said, disappointed.
‘True, but as of four days ago, she was in California. In Sacramento. Which happens to be where Daisy Dawson lives. I bet your son Gideon lives there too, or spends a lot of time there, at the very least. The author of this retraction also lives in Sacramento. I’d say that’s where you need to go.’
‘All right.’ Amos picked up his backpack, but Edie stayed him with a light touch to his arm.
‘Hold your horses, Papa Bear,’ she said mildly. ‘Before you go charging out of here, maybe we can find out exactly where in Sacramento you need to go.’
Amos sagged back into his chair, feeling foolish. ‘You’re right, of course.’
Edie patted his arm. ‘Give me a minute or two.’ She turned her attention to Abigail. ‘You finished that book already?’
Abigail nodded, worry in her eyes. ‘I did. Papa, are you well?’
Amos made himself smile. ‘I am. Maybe we can find another book.’ Rising, he reached for her hand. ‘Ready, Abi-girl?’
‘Yes, Papa,’ she said obediently, but her worry remained.
He led Abigail back to the shelf from which Edie had taken the Ramona book. ‘There are more books about Ramona,’ he said. ‘I remember from when I was a little boy.’ He pulled all the Ramona books from the shelf and took them back to the computer table. ‘I’m not sure which one comes next.’
‘I can help with that,’ the librarian said with a smile. ‘I’m Miss Millie. I’m Miss Edie’s friend. What’s your name, little darling?’ she asked.
‘Abigail,’ his daughter answered very shyly.
‘Well, Abigail, I love it when kids come to the library, and I love these books. Let’s go sit over here in these comfy chairs, okay?’
Amos nodded gratefully when Abigail looked up for permission. ‘I’ll be right over there with Miss Edie,’ he promised. ‘I won’t leave, I promise.’
‘I asked her to help you,’ Edie said when he’d returned to the computer table. ‘I have to leave soon, but I don’t want to just desert you two. Millie and I have been friends for years and she’s way better at this computer stuff than I am.’
‘You seem to be doing very well,’ Amos said, meaning it.
Edie shrugged. ‘I do my best. I asked Millie how I can get information from Jeffrey Bunker, the guy who wrote the most recent article. It was just posted an hour ago.’ She pointed to a time stamp at the top of the article. ‘See?’
Amos did see. He also saw that the article’s author was discussing survivors of sexual assault.
Amos had been only nineteen when he’d entered Eden, but he knew what those words meant. That Mercy had been included with ‘other survivors of sexual assault’ made his rage begin to bubble again. But he held it back because Edie was still talking.
‘Millie suggested I open a new email account and send Bunker an email on your behalf. So can I use your name?’
Amos nodded numbly. ‘An email account? What’s that?’
Edie sighed. ‘Oh boy. It’s a way to send messages to people over the Internet.’
Amos had too many questions. But top of his list was how to find Mercy, so he nodded to Edie. ‘Yes, use my name. Amos Terrill. Two r’s and two l’s.’
Edie began typing and Amos didn’t try to follow everything she did. Finally she stopped typing. ‘This is what I wrote. “Dear Ms Dawson and Mr Bunker, I’m representing a man named Amos Terrill, who claims to be the father of Mercy Callahan and Gideon Reynolds”.’ She looked over at him. ‘Sorry to use “claims”.’
‘It’s okay,’ Amos said. ‘Whatever you need to do so that I can talk to her.’
‘“Please reply to this email address if you can help Mr Terrill contact either Miss Callahan or Agent Reynolds. You can also reach him through this number”.’ She glanced up at him. ‘That’s the library’s main line.’
‘How long will it take?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said apologetically. ‘But I have to leave for my shift at the grocery store. Millie will be able to log in to this account, and I’ll leave this page open in case Bunker replies. See this circle with an arrow? You click that to refresh. That means it goes and checks for new mail. If someone replies, you just click on it to read what they wrote. Once your session time is up, Millie can log me out.’
‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’
She smiled at him. ‘Like I said, if my daughter or grandkids were in trouble, I’d hope someone would help them.’ She gave him a piece of paper, folded in half. ‘This is my phone number. I can’t use my phone while I’m working, but I’ll check my messages. Millie can help you get in touch with me if you have problems. Please let me know what happens.’