She slowly walked inland, following their chatter and searching for telltale movements high up in the tree canopy, but she also studied the ground. Monkey sign, or as she and Mary called it, “monkey poo,” indicated she was in the right area.
The chattering stopped.
After she checked a fallen log for snakes and bugs, she sat down to wait. Sometimes, the quiet meant they’d moved on, but other times, it meant they were watching.
She tried to ignore the twitchy feel of unknown eyes studying her by taking slow, deep breaths. Within two minutes, her damp shirt stuck to her skin, so she pulled it away and flapped the fabric to create a breeze. She remembered the way Josh’s appreciative glance had run over her this morning, just as she’d run hers over him. The way his uniform shirt hugged his torso had made her throat go dry. But it was more than his looks that turned her from intelligent, well-spoken researcher into stammering idiot. His slow, thorough perusal made her acutely aware of herself as a woman, and that flustered her. She’d never been the pretty one. She was the smart one, the one voted “most likely to be in the library on a Friday night” by her classmates.
He never seemed to notice her social awkwardness, though, engaging her in flirty conversation and sending her a lazy, dimpled smile that always made heat wash over her body.
Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?
The monkeys started chattering again, and seconds later, she heard a noise behind her. She jumped to her feet, spun around.
It took a few beats to recognize what sounded like teenage voices, male and female. She caught a flash of movement and started in that direction. Maybe they could tell her about any nearby campsites.
“Excuse me! Hello?”
Instead of stopping, they took off into the trees. Hadn’t they heard her? Delilah ran faster, trying to keep them in sight. Another glimpse and she spotted two mountain bikes. “Wait!”
The girl sent a quick glance over her shoulder as she followed the young man. Late teens, she’d been wearing a long cotton dress, her hair in a braid down her back, similar to what Delilah had worn as a child.
When they disappeared, Delilah slowed to a stop, defeated. But then she saw their tire tracks and smiled. She could follow a trail like that blindfolded. They were probably camping in the area, and given the girl’s dress, she’d bet money they knew her family. She wasn’t sure they’d say anything about the Atwoods, but as this was the first lead she’d found, she set out to track them down.
The scent of a smoldering campfire made her quicken her steps as a wave of memories crashed over her. She was close.
She ran into the small clearing and stopped short, surprised there was no one there. She didn’t see any bicycle tracks, either, so the teens must have veered off earlier and she’d missed it. So much for her great tracking skills.
Pushing her disappointment aside, she looked around. Someone had been here recently. Her eyes caught the small grooves high up on two tree trunks, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. They looked just like the ones her father carved to secure Mama’s laundry line.
Don’t jump to conclusions.
She backed up, and the ground beneath her right heel gave way. Arms flailing, she lunged forward and landed on all fours. She stayed that way for a moment, breath heaving, before she carefully climbed to her feet and studied the leaves and branches that had camouflaged a deep hole in the ground. Dread and elation warred inside her as the truth dawned. Above her was a tall tree, the kind her father always used to raise their tarp-covered food overnight to keep it safe from foraging animals. The pit below—the one she’d almost fallen into—was designed to net another meal when an unwary critter followed the scent and found itself trapped in the hole.
She’d found her family’s campsite. They hadn’t left the area.
The smoldering embers meant they’d abandoned this site in a hurry, though. Otherwise, her father would have smothered the fire more thoroughly. He’d never risk starting a forest fire.
Delilah stepped closer and crouched down. Something poked out of the dirt and ashes at the fire’s edge. She studied it, and her heart almost stopped.
No. That couldn’t be. Could it?
She grabbed a branch and used it to poke at the object, then dragged it to the edge of the fire ring. Her hand shook when she reached down and then held it up with two fingers, blinking rapidly, convinced her eyes were deceiving her.
Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears as she ran her fingers over the charred remains of a homemade doll. The brown fabric dress was mostly intact, as was the soot-covered cloth face. Embroidered eyes stared at her like childhood memories and tried to yank her back in time, but she pushed them aside.
Focus. Make sure.
She swallowed hard and slowly turned the doll over. There, on the back of the neck, was a small heart, embroidered in red thread. It was identical to the one Mama had embroidered on Delilah’s doll. She’d later added one to Mary’s, saying it was a kiss from their Mama. Memories of Mary playing with both dolls, setting them side by side for a tea party, flashed through Delilah’s mind. This belonged to her sister. There was no question.
Time stood still and then shot backward before it flipped her world upside down with a speed that made her dizzy.
Her father had burned Mary’s doll.
Dear Sweet Jesus. It’s happening again.
Delilah turned her head and threw up, heaving until there was nothing left in her stomach.
She wiped the back of a trembling hand over her mouth, then pulled a plastic bag from her backpack and carefully placed the doll inside.
With a last look around, she ran back to her kayak, feet pounding in time to her heart, and paddled back to Tanner’s Outpost as fast as she could. She needed her truck.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, hands clutching the steering wheel, Delilah sped through the forest, the truck fishtailing and her mind spinning. She finally looked around and realized she’d blindly headed toward the campsite where she’d last seen her family eight years ago. Her heart still knew these woods, knew the trees and abandoned cabins and all the various landmarks that guided those who lived off the grid and under the radar. She’d checked here once before and found nothing, but maybe now, they’d come back.
She stopped a half mile before she reached the campsite and tucked her truck behind a clump of scrub palm. She went the rest of the way on foot, dodging sandy spots that would leave footprints. The closer she got, the faster her heart pounded. The anger she’d locked in a sturdy metal box roared up and threatened to choke her. How could her father do the same thing to Mary that he’d done to her? She stopped, hands on her knees as she breathed deeply to steady herself. If she didn’t handle this right, she’d never get Mary out of there. Control your emotions and you control the situation.