“I told you she’s not here.” Betty stood in the doorway with her arms crossed over her sagging body. Her uncombed hair stuck out from her headscarf like straw. All she needed to be a witch was a pointy hat and a wart on her nose.
As they tromped back downstairs to the kitchen, Jonathan wished for the thousandth time that his daddy had taken him along when he ran away. He didn’t remember much about Harvey Westberg—he’d been only four when his daddy left—but anything would be better than living under Betty’s thumb.
“When did you discover she’d escaped?” he asked her.
“Just now. When I went upstairs to mop. I came straight to tell you.”
Old biddy. Mopping at the crack of dawn. Still, if she hadn’t, Jonathan wouldn’t know his future bride was missing.
“She can’t be far. She’s helpless as a kitten.”
“You’ve got it wrong. As usual. Helpless girls don’t know how to pick a lock.”
“Why would she leave with a storm coming?”
“Use your head, dummy.”
“That little whack I gave her at supper was nothing more than a love pat.”
“Idiot! If I hadn’t pulled you off her last night after you sneaked back up here, she’d be filing rape charges. She’s probably heading to the authorities right now to name you for attempted rape and kidnapping.”
“She wouldn’t do that. She loves me!”
“She loves Frankie, you fool. Have you told her you’re her pathetic little Facebook friend?” He scratched his head. “I thought not. Get some clothes on and get out there and take care of her.”
Betty pulled out a frying pan and threw in some bacon, going about her day like she hadn’t just pronounced a death sentence on Jonathan’s bride.
He saw his entire future crumbling. He’d spent months searching social media for somebody like Kate and then grooming her on Facebook. She was perfect wife material, smart and generous hearted and sweet tempered. A simple girl. She didn’t spend all her time sharing every detail of her life on social media like some of them. That was one of the reasons he’d targeted her.
Her posts and photos were rare, a few shots of having pizza with friends, a cute picture of her with the family pet, a picture of her hiking with her dad. Kate was the kind of girl who’d take naturally to the simple life—living in the woods, cooking his meals, washing his clothes and meeting his every need. He’d even imagined the babies they’d have together, chubby little cherubs with his intelligence and good looks and her sweet, pliable nature.
Maybe he could change Betty’s mind.
“She’s not like the others. Kate’s kind and sensible. I can bring her back, and you can talk her into seeing what a good life she’ll have with us. She’ll learn to love it here. I know she will.”
“How long do you think you can keep that little college girl happy in the backwoods?”
“She loves nature. She’s said so in her posts. Sweet little thing tags along behind her daddy all the time.”
“Are you insane? Do you know who her mother is?”
“Some mealy-mouthed housewife who loves dogs. Kate doesn’t talk about her much on social media.”
“She’s a search and rescue handler, you fool!”
“How do you know?”
“I did an online search last night after I dragged your sorry self out of her room. You really hit the jackpot this time! If Maggie Carter finds that girl alive to tell her story, she’s going to hunt you down like an animal. We’ll both spend the rest of our lives behind bars.”
Jonathan could feel the blood draining from his face. Betty was right. The old battle ax was always right.
“I don’t know which direction to hunt for her.”
“When I went out this morning to get the paper, I saw tracks going off toward the trail in the woods. Looks like she’s heading toward that abandoned trading post. Nothing out there but wilderness.”
Jonathan glanced toward the window. The sun was barely up and it would be freezing cold out there. He’d have to take a leak at least once before he got to that old wilderness trading post. He despised the idea of watching his own bodily fluids turning to icicles. And who was to say she’d be there anyway?
“That helpless little thing won’t survive the wilderness. And even if she does, the storm’s going to get her.”
“That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.” Betty stomped to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. “Get out there and take care of her the way you did the others.”
He stormed back to his room and jerked on his clothes. But he had no intention of following orders. He didn’t care what the old biddy said. Kate was different. And he was a grown man. He ought to be able to make his own decisions. If the old witch wasn’t careful, he’d leave her just like his daddy had.
He grabbed his bow and quiver of arrows then climbed on his snowmobile and waved at her standing in the doorway, watching. Always watching.
“Take care of her. You hear me, Jonathan?”
“I will.”
No sense arguing with the old fool. He’d learned a long time ago he could never win a war of words with Betty.
He headed into the woods and stayed on the trail till he rounded a corner out of her sight. Then he veered north in the direction of the truck stop. Kate wouldn’t get far on foot in the snow, especially without her winter coat.
He’d have some breakfast then figure out what he was going to do with his future bride once he found her. One thing was for sure; he wouldn’t take her back to the farmhouse where Betty would have her nose stuck into his business.
Chapter Eight
7:45 a.m.
Joe’s first glimpse of his daughter’s wrecked car made him sick again. He turned from Maggie and sucked in the frigid air. No matter what the state of his crumbling marriage, he had to be strong for her while she worked with Jefferson, strong for his daughter.
“Maggie. Joe.” Detective Roger Dillard strode toward them as they approached the wreckage, his bushy black hair pushing his cap upward so it sat on his head like a mushroom. His face was filled with concern. He’d known Kate since she was baby. He and his wife Claire were like second parents to her. “We’ve found her phone.”
“Where?” Hope surged through Joe.
“At a truck stop in Toronto.”
He glanced at his wife. Maggie was struggling with the same mixed emotions he had, despair, fear and a Herculean effort to cling to any shred of good news.
“What about Kate?” Maggie asked.
“She’s not there. The trucker swears he never saw any girls fitting her description. He also swears he doesn’t know how the phone got into his truck.”
“Do you believe that?” Joe didn’t. “My daughter’s phone didn’t get into his truck all by itself.”
“The authorities in Toronto believe he’s telling the truth. They did a thorough search of his truck and found no trace of Kate except for her cell phone.”
“Just because the trucker didn’t have my daughter…” Maggie choked up and turned away to control herself.