The drive to the Peale home revealed a small-scale, picturesque town surrounded by mountains. Its valley location made for short days covered in a soft layer of darkness at a quarter of seven in the morning. Crisp air carried a hint of wood smoke. Bright lights beamed from the windows of bite-sized buildings.

Faye’s directions were simple. The only distraction was the hallucination of a beat-up light blue 1989 F-150 racing past. Dormant overgrowth enveloped the picket fence and small porch, adding wildness to the otherwise quaint and organized town. 

A battered tricycle lay abandoned on its side next to the walkway. I carefully righted it and ascended the two steps leading to the front door.

Lorna Peale greeted me in a form-fitting knit nightgown, the color of ripe wheat. Her musky scent evoked damp soil after a summer rain. Her curves were as inviting as the sway of amber waves. 

I stated my business. She told me Faye had phoned. 

She led me inside, hint of cedar and pine lingering in her wake, conjuring images of a forest at dawn. A fragrance so vivid I could almost imagine the crunch of fallen leaves with a cool breeze rustling branches.

She glided through an entryway lit with golden sconces and scented with the inviting aromas of vanilla and cinnamon. These mingled pleasantly with the tempting bouquet of cedarwood and pine from Lorna’s perfume. Colorful depictions of family and nature adorned the walls, many completed in a child’s hand. A plush runner covered the hardwood floor, and a vase of fresh flowers added a burst of color. Its contrast with the dormant front lawn and their dire circumstances induced a sensation of vertigo.   

We entered an overfull living room. The Rockbrake twins abruptly unfurled from the couch like two elementals. They moved with a hint of seduction and peril. For a brief second, it felt like entering a bordello, steeped in tawdry yearnings. It was a disturbing idea that I cast off immediately.

“Connor,” Renée said in a breathless whisper.

With a simple nod to my sister, who had grown noticeably thinner, and a glance toward her stick figure of a lover, I followed Lorna into Kayla’s bedroom. Renée and Vicky trailed behind like wraiths.

Lorna snapped on a lamp. Dust mites scattered at the flood of light. The odor of flowers and fresh grass overpowered the mother’s sensual perfume. 

The room was well-organized. Immaculate. Stuffed animals arranged neatly by size. A row of Matchbox vehicles lined the windowsill in order of utility. Books sat on a nearby shelf, neatly arranged by size and title, series and category. A small potted plant added a touch of greenery to the presentation. In the center of the room, an easel sported a half-finished pastel picture of a meadow, with brushes, crayons and markers meticulously placed and at the ready.  

“Very orderly for a kid,” I said. 

A small mahogany desk, resplendent with various trinkets and stationery, occupied the space next to the easel. Even the rug had its locus, perfectly centered under a cozy child-sized armchair with a pile of magazines neatly stacked on its side table. Every inch of the room exuded an air of precision and thoughtfulness. The taught blanket on her small bed rivaled mine from Air Force basic training.

Lorna stepped next to me, her warm shoulder touching mine. “Springtime is Kayla’s favorite.” Her tone was flat as she gestured to the brightly colored posters of flowers and birds on the walls. A delicate mobile of paper butterflies dangled from the ceiling light. “Kayla throws open the curtains to let in the sounds of chirping birds and warm sunlight every morning. She hums along and pins a flower in her hair. She loves flowers.” Her vocalization sounded like that of a bored museum guide, oddly missing traces of enthusiasm or parental expectations.

I chose not to mention that we were deep into fall with snow already capping the nearby mountaintops. 

Tucked in a corner next to the window was a child’s chalkboard. Pastels dominated the dark background. Flowers with pink petals and green stems. Blue scribbles of grass. Center stage, a clunky purple animal whose head out-proportioned its body by half. The swirl of rainbow between the eyes telegraphed its species.

“Unique horn.” I spoke without thinking.

“Yes,” Lorna agreed, lacking humor. “It is.”

I squinted at this strikingly vivacious mother, who in the presence of her missing child’s precocious panache showed no emotion.

She stared blank-eyed at the drawing.

My attention shifted to the bookshelf with its menagerie of stuffed animals aligned along the top. Many of the spines were thin, gold-gilded picture books. My daughter, Penelope, had dozens of these. One familiar volume altered the uniformity. The Boy Scout Handbook. Beside it stood a group of thin hardbacks.

I kneeled to inspect them. National Geographic Travel Guides. At least twenty, every dustcover frayed at the edges.

“Hand-me downs,” Lorna stated. “She never tires of them. A lot of words I don’t know. Places that don’t make sense to me.” Her voice had gained no inflection. “Always wanted me to read one at bedtime.”

Vicky piped in. “Dad bought them. He poured over them when I was a kid, showing me pictures, telling me how we would go there, see the Taj Mahal or the Pyramids of Giza. Said they were better than reading storybooks.”

“He gave them to Kayla?” I asked.

“Guess he got tired of dreaming about those places,” Vicky said, her tone as brittle as sagebrush.

“Kay could just about read them herself,” Lorna said. “I’d skip over some boring part about the Great Wall of China and she’d make me go back, read it again.”

“Smart kid,” I offered.

“Too smart for her own good,” Vicky added.

Lorna’s demeanor sharpened. “Watch your tongue, young lady.”

“She took off with Dad, didn’t she? Without telling a soul.”

“You don’t know that.” Lorna scowled at the chalkboard.

“She’s done it before,” Vicky said with force. “Didn’t you tell her not to just flake off whenever he gets a whim?”

“Kayla knows better,” Lorna defended in her flat tone. “She’d say.”

“Are we talking about the same kid?” Vicky’s pitch arced upward. “How many times did we chase around the woods after her, out on an adventure, trying some new technique she learned in that stupid Boy Scout book?” She took a breath. “When we do find her, that’s what she’ll be up to, camped out in a lean-to next to a fire she made with sticks and kindling.”

“Get off it, Vic.” Lorna came alive with a glare turned on her elder daughter. “Ain’t the time nor the place for jealousy.” She turned to me. “Kayla’s a handful, no question. Overly curious, talks back, a willful child that one. But she would not take off with Aidan without saying something to me.”

“Unless you weren’t around to tell,” Vicky accused.

I cut in. “When did anyone see Kayla last?”

They both pouted at the question, but recognized it was more important than their quarrel.

“We were at a party when she disappeared,” Renée said. “Vicky and me. We stayed at a hotel after.”

“The Wilderness Club,” Vicky added.

“I put her to bed at the usual,” Lorna said. “Derek stopped after work and we watched a movie on the TV. Nary a peep from Kayla.” She hung her head. “I slept late the next morning. Kay always rouses me by six-thirty. Woke at seven forty-five. She was gone. Bed made. Took nothin’ but her teddy bear.” The mother in her barked a small cry.

“It’s a koala, Mother. She’s told you a thousand times.”

“A bear’s a bear ain’t it?” Tears brimmed the older woman’s eyelids.

The stuffed animal shelf contained several species of fluff. She had a yellow duck, a Beanie Baby teddy, a blue moose, a gray elephant, a Trix rabbit, Lamb Chop, and Jocko The Monkey in mohair with jointed head and limbs and spooky-looking glass eyes.

“Isn’t this a koala?” I picked up the item in question.

“That one came from her uncle. She has another one that’s always with her.”

I tucked it into its identified space with care.

“She wouldn’t just take off with her father?” I asked. “No chance of that?”

“There’s always a chance,” Lorna said louder than necessary. “He might have convinced her not to wake me. Aidan’s delusions ruined our life. He’s a true believer. If he abducted Kayla—”

“He could do that,” Renée interjected. “Crazy, that’s true. But he charms Kayla.”

“Bastard,” Vicky said, fists clenched. Hatred of her father gobbled up any sibling rivalry.

“We’ll find her, Vic,” Renée said, using the soothing tone of a platoon leader calming a trigger-happy machine-gunner. There was more to this story. Harsh family history buried so deep, years of exhumation might not uncover it. The women’s body language wasn’t providing answers to get me closer to those secrets. My sister was privy and it would be smart to ask her questions without the Peale family chorus behind her.

Also, why call an outsider? Vicky didn’t like me, and I found it hard to believe that Renée convinced her on character. Where were the local police? 

I left those questions for later, refocusing on the child. “What might Kayla do if backed into a corner?” My shoulders tightened, anticipating a barrage of indignation.

Lorna’s eyes sparked with something I couldn’t read. She paced beside the desk, fingers nervously tapping the surface. “Pitch a fit. She’s a fighter. I’m surprised he didn’t bring her back already,” she muttered under her breath, her body jittery with worry. “Game night last night. Kayla hates to miss game night.” She let out a heavy sigh.

“Would her Dad listen if she raised an objection?”

“Had to bring her back last time he had her during game night,” Vicky said, rejoining the cause. “Mostly, she’s okay around him. Better than me. Or Mom.” She tossed a grimace at Lorna. “Kay plays along with his crazy ideas, so they don’t fight.”

“You believe her father is hiding her?” A raised eyebrow and a subtle shift in posture feigned skepticism. 

“Of course,” Vicky spouted. “He does this. Loses his mind on some big idea and forgets he has Kayla with him.”

“The local cops don’t help?”

“They claim it’s a family squabble,” Lorna said. “They tell me, ‘He’ll bring her around. No use stirring up a mess.’ It’s like they’re afraid of him.”

“Do they have reason to be?” I asked. “Will he put up any kind of a fight about my poking into it?”

“I think they’re just tired of the feud,” Renée said. 

The Peales laughed dryly in unison. “He’s got a reputation for winding folks up,” Lorna said. “Gets under your skin. Make you think he can read your mind.”

“Is he violent?”

Lorna peered at the ceiling, searching her memory. “I never saw him hit nobody.” 

“Does he own a gun?”

“Ha!” Vicky chucked her head back with the exclamation. “He is the poster boy for gun-control.” She snorted. “Is he violent? He’s nuts and we don’t know what goes on in his head. Maybe it gets violent inside his mind. We don’t know.”

“What’s the custody agreement? Any legal issues I should know before I stomp into his yard?”

“No legal issues at all. We’re still married.” Lorna gave me a direct stare, a challenge to judge her.

“A conversation with the local cops is a smart move. I’ll do that first.” I paused a beat. “It should keep them off my back while I’m questioning folks.”

“Go ahead. We’ve nothing to hide,” Vicky said.

I keep my mouth shut about absolutes like that.

“So, you’ll find her?” Renée asked.

Could they pay? Their place didn’t suggest they could afford a private investigator, despite Renée’s insistence when I told her I’d come.

That thought lasted a New York second. It didn’t matter—I was here and the Johnny Horton Martin deal had galloped into the sunset.

The thought of losing my baby girl, Penelope, sent shivers down my spine. How could anyone be rational with her child missing? Lorna’s flat affect had to be shock. No doubt I’d be stunned, confused, petrified. 

Then again, she might be lashing out at her husband by keeping their child’s whereabouts hidden. Was this calculated malice—a creative way out of her marriage? Or some perverse form of revenge on the presumably crazy father? 

I picked up the Boy Scout Manual and flipped pages. “You’re probably just overreacting,” I said. “I imagine she’s on an adventure with her daddy.” Reactions say a lot.

Lorna popped off first. “I don’t understand! You think this is nothing?”

Renée burned me with a scalding glare. 

Vicky boiled over. “Argh! That’s just what I expected! You don’t give a crap. You’re just here to talk Renée into coming home. You don’t care about my little sister, locked in some basement or lost in the woods starving to death!”

“Oh my God, Vicky!” Lorna wailed, hands to her face. “Don’t say that. My God, please don’t say that.”

My hands came up with the book as a flag of truce. “All right. I’ll talk to her father.” I gave the tome a shake. “She’s smart. She’s resourceful. We’ll bet on that.”

Renée and Lorna released a collective sigh. Vicky crossed arms over her undernourished chest. “You’d better find her,” she commanded.

I nodded. “I’ll need some money to start.”

Vicky sneered. “Of course you will.”

Renée asked, “How much?”

It crossed my mind to ask for the full twenty-five hundred Renée had promised me. Gauge their commitment to the cause. That might piss my sister off though, and I figured it was too early for that.

“Couple hundred. Food, gas, and enough for a place to stay for a couple of days.”

“I got a hundred. I’ll have to stop at the bank for more,” Lorna said. “Can you pick it up tomorrow?”

Another nod, this time at Lorna.

“He’ll need the rest, Vic,” Renée said with some force.

Vicky sucked a long breath through her nostrils. “I’m waiting for a check to clear but you’ll have the money.”

“You know what you’re doing?” Lorna asked me.

The question was late and out of place. It tickled my neck hairs. “You know someone else who’ll do this?”

Lorna blushed. “I didn’t mean—”

Renée pushed in front of her. “Kayla is a child who needs your help, Connor!”

“Got it,” I said. What I wanted was a background check on the two Peale women. The way their answers avoided commitment, the burning resentment just below the surface with Vicky, and Lorna’s lack of action beyond calling me to fix the problem— they had my hackles on high alert. I filed it under questions for the local cops. 

“I’ve found a horse, a car and a runaway bride,” I told Lorna over my sister’s shoulder. “I can find your little girl.”