Missing on Main Street Read online

  “No one’s here.” Thad double-checked the locks on the main doors. He turned the heater to low, switched on the emergency lights, and escorted his wife to their vehicle. “I’ve got no idea what happened. I would say you imagined it all. You know with the big building, spooky corners, and creaky eaves? But then there’s the driver.” Kat held tightly to Thad’s hand all the way home. “Is there any way you could’ve butt-dialed for a ride?”

  Kat shrugged. Her adrenaline faded, and all she could manifest was her bed. It was four am. Thaddeus would go back to work at nine. The kids would be home at lunch, and both adults still needed to shower, before sleep. Perhaps she dreamt the entire episode.

  CHAPTER 14

  Extra money at Christmas was nonexistent. Though Flora’s goal was to instill intrinsic gratitude in her children, she loved blessing them with carefully selected presents. Their family never matched the gift extravaganza of other families they knew. Still, they were happy with their traditions.

  Each member received, one gift to wear, one to read, one to play, and one wished for item. Kevin and Flora stuck with this philosophy. It kept rooms tidy, hearts less entitled, and their checkbook in balance.

  Although Flora took on odd jobs, Christmas was tighter than ever. She scheduled the deep cleaning of the B.F.F. building for Wednesdays. The focus point, of the morning, was the baptismal. During the summer, her kids loved to help her with this job. But mid-December was much chillier than mid-June. Toes went numb minutes upon entry. She left them out of the wintertime cleanings.

  The office staff was already on half days for Christmas and didn’t come to work until after lunch. That made the building eerie. To shake off her nerves, Flora set up a playlist of instrumental Christmas jazz to pep up her routine.

  Before hitting play, a rustling in the kitchen startled her. She ignored it though goosebumps defied her bravery. The building wasn’t new and often creaked with its own aches and pains. They always alarmed her, but the thought of investigating them, alone, horrified her. Without a friend in tow, she was content continuing her cleaning schedule but kept her phone closer than normal.

  Flora waded into the waters in an old pair of gym shorts and a rash guard. Her towel and robe waited just out of reach, to rescue her from the chill. The front door to the sanctuary creaked and slammed, letting in a frosty shot of wind. Flora shivered and shrieked. “Who’s there?” When no one answered, she snagged her gloves and the pool broom. Just as she got into a rhythm, the door repeated its shutter and slam. The air was colder than before, and Flora sneezed.

  “God bless you.” Flora’s scream was silenced as she slipped under the water’s crust. She wheezed upon resurfacing. Pastor Dean peeped over the edge of the baptismal. “I thought you weren’t in.”

  The pastor struggled to remain unmoved though amusement flickered across his smile. “No, I’ve been here for a while.” She explained as he handed her a towel and offered to grab her cup of coffee. She declined the coffee and wrapped the towel around her hair. Going outside with wet hair, in Honey Pot, in winter, could mean losing a few strands due to freezing.

  “I just came from my office to see if you need help opening the supply room. But I see you’ve got it. You’re already to work.”

  “I’ve been here nearly an hour.”

  “You didn’t just come in. I thought I heard the doors open and close. But I didn’t hear your kids, so I decided to check it out.”

  “I’m alone today, but I heard the door too. I thought it was just the building acting its age.”

  Flora pulled herself up the steps and wrapped her shoulders in her robe. Pastor Dean frowned. Flora’s goose flesh returned but not as a reaction to the cold air hitting water droplets.

  “Well, I’ll look around, but you’re probably right.” Pastor Dean retreated, leaving Flora to dry off.

  The water felt strange on Flora’s tan legs. It started to dry out her skin. It also smelled. Flora hoped the smell wasn’t due to tile cleaner. She was allergic to most kinds of soap. Being immersed in a harsh detergent was definitely not soothing to her skin or good for her hair.

  Gathering up her dry clothes, she retreated to the baptismal prep room. Robes, shower caps, feminine products, and fresh towels stocked the shelves. Flora tugged the changing curtain closed and dried off. Pulling a t-shirt over damp skin always started a wrestling match of will against fabric. She stumbled into the wall before claiming victory.

  A tiny baby shampoo package lie smashed beneath her. She bent to pick it up and knocked down a jar of hairbrushes, creating another chore for herself.

  “I didn’t find anything.” Pastor Dean called down the corridor as Flora gathered her purse. He came to his office doorway to continue the conversation. “I’m glad you finished the baptismal today. The smell of bleach was driving my sinuses crazy. But I guess you need to let it sit a bit before you scrub.”

  Flora never used bleach, not even at home. She had specially designed cleaners and cloths she used, to avoid harsh chemicals. “If you’re on your way out, could you do me a favor?” Pastor Dean rubbed his eyebrows, clearly suffering from a headache.

  “Of course,” Flora responded dazed, sniffing her arm for hints of chlorine.

  “There’s been a cat lurking outside my window. It’s been crying. It’s about to make me looney.”

  “Got it. I’ll see what I can find.”

  Flora drove her truck, its heater blasting, slowly around the parameter. It was too cold to walk the outside of the building, especially with damp hair. Her search produced nothing. Maybe a cat got inside the attic. That would definitely explain the weird noises.

  After an additional thirty minutes of searching, with not even a paw print of proof, Flora decided to give Pastor Dean the news. His headache woes would remain a mystery, and she was going to head home. She hoped for a pleasant drive, a steamy shower, and a mug of earl gray.

  ✽✽✽

  Lydia slept until nine am. To be any help to anyone, she needed solid rest. She rolled over and switched on her silenced phone. There was one missed call, from Kat, ridiculously early that morning. Downstairs, she checked her message machine. “What could Kat be freaking out about at 2 am,” she thought. After executing the required steps, the message played gravelly and low.

  “Lydia, it’s Ivy. Please, I need help. Please. I’m...” The call ended with a clatter and an anguished gasp.

  “Oh, dear Jesus, please!” Lydia prayed violently.

  She dialed up Gus in a panic and relayed the message to him. He calmed her with the promise of his quick arrival, and she hung up. Lydia flung on jeans, a t-shirt, and her winter wrap. Her clothes were chilly from the morning air. Lydia was ready, just as the lights from Gus’ car lit up her driveway.

  Though he would object, most likely in loud adamant tones, she planned to refuse his request to stay put. Being ready to go would help her in her mission.

  Gus listened to the message and then called the Millers. He rang Thaddeus, just in case Kat or her phone was in danger and needed to keep quiet. He didn’t think they were, but Lydia insisted. Gus knew the woman well. He knew she would not stop when she had a serious intuition about something. Since Ethan was away, it was much easier to do what Lydia asked than fight her.

  Gus called the Hive Bed and Breakfast. “Yes, Thad, this is Gus. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, just working. How can I help you?”

  “Is Kat at home?”

  “She should be. We had quite the wild night, last night.”

  “What kind of wild night?” Gus nodded as he listened. Lydia paced.

  Thaddeus explained Kat’s trek to the church building, the mystery driver, and the outgoing call on Kat’s phone. He told Gus how the couple completed a quick search of the building and found nothing. “Does Kat have her phone now?”

  “As far as I know. What’s going on, Gus?”

  “Not sure. Call Kat, will you? Tell her to meet Lydia and me at the B.F.F. Do you think Pastor Dean is ther
e yet?”

  “Probably.”

  “Thanks. I’m sure Lydia or Kat will fill you in later.”

  “No doubt.”

  ✽✽✽

  Flora was busy picking ice off of her windshield when Deputy Gus blazed up the drive with Lydia in his passenger seat. Warmth would have to wait.

  She sat beside Lydia in the kitchen as Pastor Dean and Gus talked in the pastor’s office. Dean explained the noises he’d heard in the building, but nothing abnormal had happened since the stolen water well jar. Gus nodded and took notes.

  He then searched the building with Pastor Dean trailing behind him. Nothing appeared unusual until they reached the attic. The door was locked or jammed. Pastor Dean could not find the key.

  Kat walked up behind them, startling the men. “Thad and I had it open last night. There was nothing to see.”

  “Did you lock it behind you,” Gus asked.

  “I’m not sure. I was exhausted. We probably did. But I’m telling you, it was the same old dusty boxes.”

  Gus shrugged. “Okay,” he clapped his hands and started down the hall. “Keep searching for your key. But I think, whoever was here must’ve left.”

  The deputy left the women gathered around the coffee machine.

  “It’s creepy to think someone else used my phone while I was in the other room. Worse, it might have been Ivy, and something nefarious was going on.” Kat polished off the last of her coffee.

  “There’s no proof that anybody was here, at all. Do either of you know how to hack into someone else’s phone,” Flora asked.

  “Yeah, Flora, in my career in the underground, I often bugged and cloned church lady cell phones.” Morning Kat was a grumpy Kat. She caught her attitude after uttering the words and apologized.

  “It’s fine. I was only being hopeful.” Flora smoothed a stray gray strand from her face. “I’ve got to get home. Kevin’s got the kids, but I needed to be back an hour ago.” She stood up and stretched her spine, with a pop and a crack. Scrubbing the building was a pain, literally.

  Lydia washed the used mugs and coffeepot and put them away. The strong smell of chlorine fizzed up from the faucet. “I didn’t think you used bleach,” she tossed back at Flora.

  Flora straightened her purse strap and wandered closer to Lydia. “I don’t. But you smell it, too, don’t you?”

  “Yes. It’s really strong.”

  “I smelled it over by the baptismal,” Flora said.

  “So, it can’t be the water department flushing the lines?”

  Lydia investigated the baptismal. There was nothing but an out of place chemical smell.

  “Hear that?” Flora asked. The wrestling cat sound reoccurred and was quickly cut off. “Pastor Dean said that’s been happening all morning. I searched the building, but couldn’t find even a fluff of cat hair.”

  All three ladies shrugged, confused, before saying goodbye. Flora got in her car and drove Lydia home before retreating to her shower and tea.

  CHAPTER 15

  Nighttime in Honey Pot, near Christmas, was a fantasy of lights and ribbons. The Christmas tree in the town circle glimmered and twinkled. They changed the color of the lights, from year to year. For the season, the town council voted on blue and silver Christmas decorations. Their shimmery sparkle enhanced the frosty magic of Main Street.

  Lydia drove through town in silence, soaking in the scenery. She had spent an hour emailing Ethan with the town happenings and getting him up to speed on her search for Ivy. Lydia figured it was better to tell him herself than to have him come home and find out from Kevin or Thad. Or worse, Gus.

  The girls were clued into her quest, and both kept their eyes peeled. However, other than Flora’s bathroom encounter and Kat’s split-second spotting neither had seen Ivy Hooper.

  The church parking lot was empty except for Kat’s minivan. The main participants would show up in an hour and the attendees in two. By 7pm most of the town would flood into the B.F.F. to celebrate together. Flora always commented that Christmastime in Honey Pot was a tiny taste of Heaven. Lydia agreed.

  She exited her husband’s truck and hit the lock key twice. She secured her purse snuggly on her shoulder and tugged her coat about her. Kat met her at the door, panting and waving her arms.

  Not again. Lydia was sure her friend was having another pageant induced panic attack. But no, the woman was holding the water well jar. “You found it!” No wonder she was yelling. $1,500, once missing, was rare to find. Kat shook her head, speechless. “What’s wrong?”

  “Come. Look.” Kat wheezed and staggered back into the sanctuary. “Shut and lock the door behind you,” She called over her shoulder. Lydia obeyed. She followed Kat up onto the stage and right into the middle of the stable.

  “I found the jar, right up front.” Kat pointed to a pew. “And then I found that.” Her index finger shivered as she extended it toward the form of a newborn baby, tucked firmly in the prop manger. “Tell me, I haven’t lost my mind.”

  Lydia lowered herself to her knees. She reached out and gently laid a hand on the infant’s chest. It rose and fell beneath her palm. She smiled and brushed a thin spiral of hair puffing from the top of the baby’s head. “It’s real. There’s a baby in the manger.” Kat toppled off the stage, banging her bad foot on the hump of a wise man’s pressed wood camel cut out.

  ✽✽✽

  Dr. Lawrence took Kat to his office to x-ray the re-damaged appendage. Thad called the Honey Pot phone tree leader, Mrs. Mitra, ensuring the news spread quickly. The Christmas pageant was canceled. Bailey Family Fellowship was a crime scene and off-limits for the evening.

  Flora inspected the baby and proclaimed it less than a week old. “It still has its umbilical cord.” She stated upon first look. Then she jumped on her cell and called Mrs. Hurley.

  Deputy Gus was methodical but out of his element without Ethan. He took detailed photos and notes but knew little about his next steps.

  Mr. Mike refused to take in the baby. His youth center didn’t have resources for a newborn. Next on the list was Lydia, wife of the sheriff, already background checked, and on the Honey Pot safe drop list. She had the privilege of taking the baby home.

  Lydia nestled the infant to her neck. The baby girl curled into her warmth and rooted for skin. Lydia was smitten. Flora rushed the nursery closet and removed a box she put there previously. Equipped with a second-hand car seat and sling, Lydia drove home.

  Following her, a crowd of cars made an impromptu procession to her driveway. They watched as she carried the little one inside. Then one car, at a time, they peeled away from the parade and went home.

  “Only in Honey Pot,” Lydia whispered to the baby.

  The infant stirred and whimpered. The time to eat was now, but there was nothing to feed the sweet thing. Flora was taking care of the baby groceries. Lydia hoped she did so quickly and without distraction. In the meantime, Lydia took to her feet, pacing and humming.

  “I’m here,” Flora chimed, disturbing the scene. She hurried to the kitchen and set down an enormous bag of supplies. “I didn’t bother to bag this one.” She passed a warm bottle to Lydia, who tested its temperature and offered it to the baby. It took a few desperate minutes of confusion before the tiny lady latched and suckled. The soft slurping noises were musical and magical, drawing the full attention of the women in the room.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Mrs. Hurley has way too much milk for her baby. She’s been bagging extra supplies for weeks. This bottle was pumped not fifteen minutes ago.” Lydia was pleased with the selfless offering of mother’s milk. “You’ve got enough in the freezer to last you a week. You remember how to heat it?” Flora peeped over Lydia’s shoulder to watch the baby eat.

  “In the microwave?” Flora gagged at Lydia’s blatant ignorance. “I’m joking. Don’t panic.”

  “That joke was Kat’s style.” Flora settled into the couch beside Lydia as Kat sneaked in the front door. Her hobble had doubled, and he
r crutches were back in play.

  “What’s my style?”

  The ladies waved her off. “What are you doing here?” Lydia asked. “You should be home and knocked out on pain medication.”

  “In a little while.” Kat planted herself on Lydia’s free side and rested her friend’s working elbow on her leg. “You’ll get a cramp if you don’t prop up that arm.”

  “Thanks.” Lydia had forgotten about nursing and its unique set of supplies.

  “They’re calling her the Honey Pot Christmas Baby,” Kat said. Flora and Lydia both clicked their tongues in disgust. “Creative, I know. But seriously, what should we call her?”

  Lydia cleared her throat. “Listen, ladies, we can love this little girl, but she’s not ours. Her mommy is out there, and she’ll be back for her. I’m not sure it’s wise to name her.”

  “She’s not a wild cat.” Flora brushed the baby’s cheek with her pinkie. “She deserves a name. We know it’s not permanent. Let’s call her Honey.”

  “No way,” Kat protested. In her past, she watched too many movies with Honeys in them. Movies, she was certain, Lydia and Flora never allowed on their screens. This baby would not bear a title after one of them. “How about Bea?”

  “Like Honey Bee?”

  “If you’d like,” Kat suggested. Bea was close enough to baby; it didn’t risk intimacy but was still a respectable handle.

  “Okay, Bea. But just for now.” The ladies watched the baby eat and drift back to sleep. Like lifeguards on Red Bull scanning a kiddie pool, all three women observed the little one’s every move. Each fell in love with the bundled Bea.

  ✽✽✽

  Thaddeus greeted his hobbling wife with a warm hug. He also had a small plate of treats and pain pills waiting on the kitchen countertop. Kat welcomed his concern and babying. In prior weeks, she’d openly scoffed and shunned such sweetness. Now, humbled and heartsick, she dropped her feeble barriers and soaked in the support.

  The family huddled on their homey couch wrapped in electric blankets and fluffy pajamas. Kat selected a family favorite Christmas movie and made her seasonal popcorn with cinnamon and sugar sprinkles. Sam and Jess dove into family time eager for the Holiday to begin. Finally, mom was home and ready to celebrate.