The Stranger's Sin

Why not? Kelly thought, and ordered a bowl of fudge ripple ice cream. She found a table at the back of the store, shrugged off the backpack and sat down, digging into the ice cream with a plastic spoon while people laughed and talked all around her.

It didn’t dawn on her how hungry she was until she swallowed the first mouthful. The last thing she’d eaten was a package of cheese crackers from a vending machine. When had that been? This morning? Last night?

She truly didn’t remember. Driving her own car to Indigo Springs had seemed too risky, so the Tuesday morning after her Monday arraignment she’d set out for the bus station. Using cash she’d withdrawn from her modest savings account, she’d taken a series of buses. What would have been a five-hour trip had stretched to eighteen, with Kelly trying to catch snatches of sleep during the long night of transfers and layovers.

It occurred to her that by covering her tracks she was acting like a guilty woman. At the very least, she’d violated the terms of her bail, but she didn’t see how the authorities would know she was gone until she failed to show up for her preliminary hearing, whenever that was. Spencer Yates, if he suspected she’d left the state, should be bound by attorney-client privilege not to tell.

In any event, she couldn’t go back to Wenona until she found Amanda, and that might take a while. Nobody who’d seen the sketch had inspired even a glimmer of hope, with the exception of the construction worker with the great smile.

It turned out he hadn’t recognized Amanda, either, which wasn’t surprising. He’d been supervising the construction of a new wing of town hall, his attention divided between a crew putting up drywall and a desperate woman shoving a sketch at him.

She gazed down at her bowl, stunned that it was already empty. Weariness set in from her nearly sleepless night, weighing down her very bones. She needed to summon the energy to pick up the backpack she’d stuffed full of clothes and leave the ice-cream shop. She had only a few more businesses to canvas. Once she did, she’d have to tax her tired brain to come up with a new strategy.

She supposed she could make copies of the sketch and hand them out on the street, but she’d have to include contact information, something she was reluctant to do because she couldn’t shake the feeling the authorities would be looking for her.

The jingling of the bell on the door announcing the arrival of a new customer added to the general hubbub. Kelly looked up, expecting more tourists in search of an afternoon snack.

A tall man in a policeman’s uniform entered the shop. He ignored the ice-cream counter, his gaze sweeping the shop and zeroing in on Kelly. The breath in her chest froze, as cold as the ice cream she’d just eaten. She told herself to remain calm, and reminded herself she’d only left Wenona yesterday. The law couldn’t possibly have found her already. Even her attorney couldn’t be sure she was gone.

The cop played havoc with her rationale, striding directly for her. Her heart stampeded, and she felt like she might pass out.

The penalty for violating the conditions of bail was an immediate return to jail. She imagined herself behind bars, heard the sound of a cell door slamming shut, felt the weight of panic crushing her chest.

He stopped at her table and loomed over her, blotting out her view of everything but him. “I need to talk to you.”

Battling her growing dread, she tipped her chin, fervently reminding herself she was innocent. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The corners of the cop’s mouth dipped slightly. “I didn’t say you did.”

“Then why…” She stopped in midquestion, belatedly realizing his uniform of a short-sleeved khaki shirt and dark pants was decidedly different than those worn by the New York policemen who’d arrested her. “You’re not a cop, are you?”

“No,” he said.

She squinted, making out the words on his silver badge. Wildlife Conservation Officer it read. Another term for forest ranger.

Relief saturated her limbs, making them weak. Her brain started to function with more clarity. Even in the unlikely event the cops in New York knew she’d left the state, this was Pennsylvania. If this man had been a cop, he wouldn’t be on the lookout for her.

“Would it matter if I was a cop?” He had an aggressively masculine face with a square jaw, lean cheeks and an outdoorsman’s tan. Short, thick brown hair, lightened by the sun, sprang back from a widow’s peak above assessing brown eyes. She guessed he wasn’t yet thirty.

“No. No. Of course not.” She bit her lip to stop from issuing another denial. She tried to smile but felt her lips quiver. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

He gestured to the sketch on the tabletop. “That,” he said. “Can I sit down?”

“Yes, of course.” She felt like she was on a roller coaster, having survived one plunge only to be ascending another incline, praying this one wasn’t too tall to climb. She turned the sketch around so that it faced him. “Do you know her?”

He picked up the paper, his expression giving away nothing. She wondered who had told him about the sketch. Her guess was the construction worker, who’d probably known more than he was telling.

“I might,” he said. “What’s her name?”

“Amanda Smith.”

He gave no indication he recognized the name. “Why are you looking for her?”

“I have something she’d want back.” She unzipped an outer pocket of her backpack and pulled out a necklace. Fake gemstones of jade, lapis and ruby hung from a thick gold herringbone chain that looked just like fourteen-karat gold. “It’s costume jewelry, but it’s vintage. This one’s exceptionally pretty.”

“Did she give it to you?” he asked.

“Oh, no. I don’t know her nearly well enough for that. In fact, I don’t know her at all.” She was letting his direct gaze disconcert her, and as a result she was almost babbling. She made herself stop.

“Then how did you know to come to Indigo Springs?” he asked.

She regrouped, calling to mind the story she’d concocted on the bus. “She mentioned the town after we shared a table at a really crowded coffee shop. After she left, I found the necklace. The clasp is broken.”

Only the last part was true. She’d found the necklace in the kidnapped baby’s carrier and theorized the baby had tugged it loose. She wasn’t sure whether the necklace belonged to Amanda or the kidnapped baby’s mother, but it provided a convenient cover story.

“Where was this coffee shop?” the forest ranger asked.

The other people who’d heard the story had taken it at face value, asking few follow-up questions. She groped for an answer that would be general enough.

“Upstate New York.”

“Really?” He put down the sketch, rested his forearms on the table and leaned forward, his eyes still fastened on hers. “So you drove all the way to Pennsylvania from upstate New York to return a piece of costume jewelry?”

Stated that way, her story sounded ridiculous and unbelievable. She clasped her hands, feeling sweat on her palms. She made sure to meet his eyes so he wouldn’t know for certain that she was lying. “Oh, no. I happened to be passing through.”

“With a sketch?”

She bit her lower lip so the truth wouldn’t come tumbling out. Her intuition told her the forest ranger could be trusted, but her instincts had failed her in a catastrophic way when she’d run across Amanda and the baby. It wasn’t difficult to understood why the cops had a hard time believing she’d agreed to babysit for a stranger.

This man was as much an unknown as Amanda had been. She didn’t need to justify herself. Kelly tapped the sketch with her index finger. “Do you know her or don’t you?”

“Not as a brunette, as a redhead.” He straightened but kept watching her just as closely. “I have some photos of her I can show you.”

Adrenaline coursed through Kelly. It made sense that a woman who kidnapped a child might also disguise her appearance. She couldn’t keep the eagerness from her voice. “Where is she now?”

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be sitting here,” he said.

A static-filled voice suddenly came over his two-way radio. He pulled the device from his belt, uttering a quick, “Excuse me. I have to take this.”

The man at the other end of the line said something about a black bear rooting through garbage at a campsite. The forest ranger listened, nodding, frustration chasing across his features. He signed off.

“We’ll have to continue this later,” he said. “Are you staying in town?”

Now that she’d stumbled across a lead, she would be. “Yes. When can you meet me?”

He glanced at the clock on the wall, which showed it was already past three. “How about seven o’clock? My place. I’ll show you those photos.”

He reached into his wallet, pulled out a card and handed it to her. Chase Bradford. Pennsylvania Game Commission. “That’s my home address and telephone number. Do you have a card? A number where I can reach you?”