Chapter 10

Once outside, Ruth swung around in an attempt to look in as many directions at once as she could. Distant fields of new corn were visible through the beeches. Where was he? She could fight him now. She knew ways to hurt a man that she wished she'd known ten years ago.

Except for the rooks that scattered up at her sudden appearance, the churchyard was empty and quiet. She was alone. So alone. She crouched ready to meet danger.

Slow the breathing. Slow the movements. Be ready.

Sam had a cane. It was one of his affectations of gentrification that griped her. If it had been him in there, why hadn't he answered her? Would he do that to her?

When she broke it off with him, she had watched him grow more desperate to win her back, as if he couldn't stand to lose what he thought was so easily his.

What if it had been her ex-husband in the church? What if he had Annie holed up somewhere as he devised ways to make Ruth pay for the perceived wrongs she had committed against him? The divorce was final; no judge could argue her that. Annie's custody had been the issue. In any other court she would have won the right to keep Annie as far away from him as possible. But not in the family court of the small town where he and his family had arranged the hearing.

For eleven years the noise behind every closed door and the horrible things that crept into her dreams were her ex-husband. He had taken Annie for revenge. It was working. Without her daughter she would die. Now she wished he would show his ugly face so she could get it over with, because now she knew she could kill him.

Backing away from the church door, she turned and crossed the graveyard. Dry bark and leaves crackled under her feet. A few weeks ago, rooks had fought over the best nesting spots in the beech trees, tossing pieces of nesting material at each other. Sticks rained from the trees.

Annie had called it the "Twig Wars."

In the vale below the church, where the thin line of the River Perrin flowed to the sea, sinewy beech limbs reached and twisted together like clasped, skeletal hands. Wind whistled through their fingers.

It was spring. Daffodils bloomed wild. Dark gravestones peppered the yard like misplaced game pieces on green felt. The oldest ones, green with moss, tilted into the ground. Low shrubs cast shadows that danced across the old graves. Flowers marked a new grave. She studied them, and breathed in their potpourri.

Her eyes settled upon a single piece of paper. The familiar handwriting sent a shiver down her back. Brown twine bound the note to a stone vase of fresh-cut daffodils. She stared at the words. They looked the same as she had seen on her doorstep.

A large shadow fell across the paper. She spun around.

"It is you!" Her heart beat double-time. She angled away from him.

"Sam I am." Sam hooked each thumb in a trouser pocket.

"Were you inside the church just now? Did you leave a cane?" She was shaking, fists clenched. She wanted to take him down.

"I don't own a cane."

Why did he lie? She'd seen the cane at his home. "Someone followed me into the church."

"It was not me."

Ruth crossed her arms. She felt sure he was lying. She looked away. She had to be careful.

"Would you feel better if I went in there and looked?" he asked.

"Sure."

Sam disappeared and returned a few minutes later. "No one there. Everything present and accounted for."

"Didn't you see the cane? It was black with a metal handle."

"Nothing."

Challenging him wouldn't do any good. A shudder passed through her. A knot formed in her stomach.

Sam's eyes carried a strange wariness. He put his arms around her. "I don't want you to be scared."

She shrank from his touch. "Sam."

"Ruth."

"Don't." She attempted to push away from him, but he held her tighter.

"You know I love you." He sounded desperate. "You've been putting me off."

She slammed a foot down on his instep.

"Oww!" His grip loosened.

She wrenched away. "We are not a couple. It's over."

Sam glared at her. "I'm sorry you find me so distasteful." His voice was cold.

She kept her gaze steady as she rubbed the sore out of her arms; the muscles quivered. Her heart raced. He'd never been harsh or touched her so cruelly. She hoped for something that would distract his intense gaze. He looked dangerous.

A dark car pulled along the church lane. She almost fell over with relief when she spotted DCI Trewe climbing toward them.

"Just like him to show up now." Sam's lips curled and his face flushed red.

"Fine weather for a walk in the churchyard," Trewe said between catching his breath. His teeth were not quite straight and not quite white, but nonetheless his smile was a nice addition to the otherwise ruthless face. Trewe held out his hand.

Ruth shook it, her hand enveloped in the rough, dry warmth of his comforting grip. She asked, "What made you look here for me?"

"I happened by," Trewe told her.

"So you thought you'd intrude," Sam huffed.

"I certainly hope not," Trewe said.

"Well, you hope in vain."

Ruth stared at Sam. "The police are looking for my daughter."

The afternoon was getting on and thunder rumbled toward them from far across the sea. The timbre of the wind changed and shifted direction, and brought with it the scent of more rain. The sun disappeared and the atmosphere grew heavy as dark clouds surged across the sky.

"Mrs. Butler," Trewe said, staring up at the darkening sky, "I am thankful to have run into you like this. I would like a word."

"Of course."

"Do you need a ride? Looks like rain."

Sam glared.

Ruth nodded, reassured by Trewe's help to get away from Sam. "I'd appreciate it."

"Mr. Ketterman," Trewe said, "would you please drop by my office when you get a chance?"

"When I get a chance." Sam turned and tramped down the slope toward the car park.

Ruth walked with Trewe to his old black car, the hood dented and not quite the same color as the rest of the car's body.

"What've you got there?" Trewe asked.

Ruth had forgotten the piece of paper in her hand. She handed it to him.

"Time heals," he read aloud.

"I recognized it's the same writing as the note left with my flowers. Take me home. There's been another. I left it on the stoop."

After they reached her home, she showed Trewe the vase of flowers with the odd note.

Trewe studied the writing. "'Gofalwch Gofala!' Strange none of the notes are signed."

"I can't even read it." She went to a cabinet and rummaged through the stack of cards she'd received so far. "I've gotten hand-written notes and lots of flower arrangements, as you can see." She made a sweeping gesture. There were fresh flowers in the room, most with stuffed bears or heart-shaped well-wishes. "But then these notes on my doorstep-I can't understand them."

"Have you received any other emails?"

"Not from anyone I don't know."

"Have you received any other communications or things which felt out of place?"

"Everything feels out of place." Ruth went to her computer. Rain gently tapped against the big window, as if asking politely to be let in. "Something happened at the church earlier."

She briefly explained the episode at the church-the strange noises, footprints, and the silver cane. She did not offer her opinion that she thought Sam had showed up a little too conveniently.

"We'll see what we can do." Trewe turned to her. "We've traced the email. The server is a free one available for anonymous users, but we have applied for a court order to examine their records."

Earlier, when Ruth arrived home and before Sally came to spend the night on her couch, she had found an envelope taped to her door. The initial shock of what was inside sent shivers over her. She had carefully taken it from the door and into the house where she burst into tears. She collapsed to the floor and held the thin slip of paper to her heart.

***

Annie Butler came to and felt dizzy as she tried to imagine where she was and what had happened. So, she started with simple things. First, it was still dark, but not so dark this time that she couldn't see a few inches around her face if she lifted the rag away. Second, she was on her back, face-up, more or less, and something was holding her down. What was it? Whatever it was it was soft but resisted any attempt to be pushed away. She needed more air; the stuffiness of breathing her own, old breath pressed in on her. Fighting against the thing made a larger pocket of space for her face. Near her left eye a cloth-bound button dangled from a thread. It wasn't a suit button or a button for a shirt. Some memory buzzed around her head. What was it? Why did this button look familiar? If she could figure out the answer to that, she would know why there was a button hanging by a thread so near her face. It remained a puzzle that kept her mind spinning. She slid her free hand up and batted at the button.

Was the button real? Yes, it was real. And the other real thing was that her head still hurt very much, especially above the brow of her right eye. And there was a pain in her arm, the arm that she couldn't move.

Beyond her cocoon, because that is how she would describe where she was, she heard a soft slithering. A second or two passed when it dawned on her that there could be a monstrous snake nearby. "Let me out!" she screamed, but her voice was muffled in the enclosed space like she was in a deep well. Grunting, pushing, thrashing-the effort sent her skull reeling into pain. Familiar darkness enveloped her, so she went away again.