A Faithful Daughter

"Ok, yeah. I'll think about it."

True to her word, she didn't say anything else about it. I was touched by her comments, and I really did think about it. Truthfully, there was something I could do. My father would probably call it unhealthy, but he wasn't in my life anymore. It was something that I'd wanted to do but never really had the drive to pursue. Not because I didn't think it was worthwhile but because I didn't think I could make a difference.

I decided to find out what happened to my mother.

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CHAPTER FIVE

Fevered Expeditions

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I didn't think I'd actually find her of course. Not at first. It would distract me though, and maybe put to rest some of the long-lingering questions I had. If I tried everything I could think of and still came up with nothing, then I thought maybe I could set aside such things and move on, a clean break from my family. A fresh start.

The morning after our discussion I'd told Larissa what I was planning on doing. I could tell that she was concerned that maybe my choice of activities was a bit morbid, but she offered to help me any way that she could.

I started after school the following day on my laptop. I would establish the basic details first and see if they lined up with what I remembered. I found that our local paper, which had covered my mother's disappearance extensively, had begun the process of converting their microfiche archives into PDF-searchable format.

It took me hours to read everything and compile my notes. I wrote down what I was reasonably sure of but also what when information seemed to be conflicting or vague. I also noted the names of each and every journalist who'd written about her.

These journalists had done a pretty admirable job for a small-town paper. The cops kept details away from them, but they did their own research. By the time I was done, I had established the following.

My mother was last seen by my father after I had left for school. She was in a good mood (but not unusually so) and had plans to go grocery shopping at some point, but that was it. At some point, she left the house and drove out of town. When she was last seen, at the gas station, it was at eleven am. I'd known about that, of course. What was new to me was both the time frame and the fact that the attendant had mentioned what she was wearing (which was the same as what she had worn at home) and that her minivan looked empty. He had walked past it to change out the trash in the can and glanced inside. He saw no baggage or anything indicating a long trip.

I looked at a map online, understanding that things could have changed, but I traced the route as it winded its way inland. There was no doubt that the obvious destination was the on-ramp to the highway, headed west. That's what the police had assumed, as had the journalists.

The next day I went to the police. I expected to be blown off, honestly. There was only one police station in my town, which was large but not quite a city. What I found was a woman in her late middle age, with extra weight that she carried well, and short, no-nonsense hair.

"What can I do for you, sweetie?"

Her accent put her from farther south than North Carolina, and her smile was genuine. I shook her hand.

"Hi, I'm Allie Smith. Um, I'm looking for information about my mother's disappearance..."

That was as far as I got before she put her hand to her mouth in shock and recognition.

"Oh my! I recognize you now! You were on tv briefly, or your picture was anyway. Ugh, when they thought your father was a killer, they showed your family no respect whatsoever. What can I do?"

"I guess I just wanted to see if there was anything that wasn't in the newspapers at the time. I've done all I can on that front, and there wasn't anything there, really. At least not that I didn't already know."

Her face clouded, obviously conflicted. Then she leaned in conspiratorially and smiled at me. She waved to me to follow her, speaking as she went just above a whisper. She led me back past offices and bullpens, officers and staff doing their daily work. No one really paid us any mind. I noted a familiar name on one of the offices that we passed. Eventually, she led me into a dim room, filled with shelves upon shelves, covered in cardboard file-boxes. She gestured to an empty desk in one corner, and I sat down. Then she disappeared into the stacks and came back with a box, setting in front of me. The front read "Maria Smith née Carducci - Missing Person - 20xx".

"Come on, sweetheart. I can't let you see any evidence, obviously, because we have to maintain that chain of custody. But I know for a fact that there hasn't been any progress on that case in seven years, at least. So what I'm going to do is give you a peek at the file. I doubt that there will be much there, but you never know. In any case, if anyone asks you what you're doing, tell them that I let you in for research on a school project. My name is Rosa, just come get me when you're done."

And then she left me alone. I was stunned at how helpful she'd been. I dug through the box, starting at the beginning. There was so much junk there. So many people were interviewed, suspects and bystanders, but no-one saw anything. It looked like all the major prior sexual, and violent offenders in the county had been interviewed. None could be placed near my mother. I saw a printed record of multiple "Be on Lookout" messages, which had been sent all over the region and eventually the country. Various sightings of similar minivans, but none had been hers.

I dug deeper, and I saw that a large portion was dedicated to my father. I grimaced. I might have been angry at him, maybe even hated him a little at the time, but I was still absolutely sure that he'd never hurt mom. If anything, the way that he'd rejected me was enough to show that. I dug through it, saw nothing but leading questions, and attempts to provoke my father to confess something. And a lot of results of fruitless searches of his car and the house, none of which revealed anything more incriminating than some old porn tapes. I chuckled at that.

I looked up at the clock. Two hours had passed. I sighed and felt lost again for a moment. I'd dug through the box, and while there were things that I wasn't aware of, they all seemed to lead to dead ends. I stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. I wasn't a journalist or a police officer. I was just a young woman, barely more than a child, really, who had alienated her own father. What would I see that they hadn't?

Rather than be distracted, I thought about that for a moment. The police had been all over this file. I suspected that the original detective had been through it several times. The journalists would have loved to have broken the case, too, so it was likely at least the crime beat regulars would have gone out of their way. What did that leave?

It left things that a suspicious, cynical mind wouldn't have thought were important. Stupid details. I dug through the text again, the same things I'd read, this time paying attention to what I'd glossed over before. Also, I considered that being her daughter, I might think like her, too.

She hadn't told dad what she was doing, had she? Damn near everyone, including me from time to time, assumed that she was cheating on him, or that she had some other secret. But I knew a few reasons why I might lie to him. I might do so to keep him from worrying about me. I might do so if I felt that he would judge me for what I was doing. I might also lie if...I was going to surprise him?

It wasn't a big important day...but something occurred to me. A long forgotten memory. Daddy telling mom that she celebrated the strangest things. I thought back to that day. The silly-but-romantic anniversary of their first date that she celebrated with dad every year. They never went anywhere, but they had dinner, just the two of them downstairs and then later I'd hear them kissing and, well, making love, in their room.

What did she like to make for him? Dammit, it was on the tip of my tongue. She made it every year, the same thing. The thing that they'd had at the diner together...

Pork chops! Such a silly thing to try and duplicate, but dad said that they were always the best he'd had every year. He always asked her how she got them so tender, and she'd just smile and never say...

On a whim, I pulled out my laptop an connected to the hotspot on my phone. I zoomed in on the route my mom had taken. I went out, farther than the highway. And there it was a butcher shop. Nothing like that left in the city, but out there, something remained of the old days.

I looked it up online. They had a rudimentary website.

"Franklin's Best Meats - Open Since 1927 - The Best Ribs and Chops - Guaranteed"

The best ribs and chops. Shaking, I disconnected the hotspot and dialed the number.

"Franklin's meats, this is Tom speaking."

Tom sounded big, old, and country, but he also had a gentle way of speaking.

"Hi, um...my name is Allie Smith. This is a long shot, but...my mom disappeared about eight years ago, and I think maybe she might have dropped by your store? Do you...maybe remember if that happened?"

"I remember the case. I'm sorry that you had to go through all that. She didn't drop by," he said, and my heart dropped, but then he went on, "but she was supposed to."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah. She ordered from us a few times every year, nothing major, but we keep good records. Usually big hams and such, and then once or twice some chops. Hang on, let me pull it up here. Got it on the old POS."

I waited, stunned. He came back after a minute.

"Yep, right here. Three pounds of chops and some bacon. Never picked it up. When I heard that she was missing, I called the police over there, but they didn't seem too interested. Sorry."

"What for?"

"Well, I just wish I could have been more help. She was real nice to us."

"You...you were a lot of help. Thank you."

"If you say so. Have a great day, darlin'."

I knew that I was on to something. I felt it. I just didn't know what. I packed everything up, thanked Rosa, and went home. I needed time to think.

* * *

I felt like I was going insane. I printed out the route, blown up, and then marked it up as I ran down ideas and possibilities. Every afternoon I'd take some time to stare at it, make some phone calls, do some searches. But nothing new came up.

There was an absence, though, which was interesting. I remembered that the police had asked for footage from security or traffic cameras all along the route until the interstate. Nothing had picked up anything after the gas station.

So, that gave me an idea. I marked about the point where the file had indicated the next camera would have been. Then I marked the gas station, which was her last known sighting. I made an assumption: whatever had happened to her, did so between those two points. It was, honestly, not that long a stretch, maybe five miles.

I asked Larissa to drive me out there. She agreed, in fact, and she'd helped me make notes on my map a few times and made calls. I don't think she thought it was very healthy, but she was a good friend and supported me. I believe that if I hadn't found anything, I would have been ready to set it aside, at least for a while.

As she drove, I made notes. There were a few places that jumped out at me. One was a place where she could have run off of the road into some trees. They were low southern pines and were big enough to cover a car, but when we stopped and looked there were houses right on the other side. No way a car would have been missed. There was a point where the road divided, and that could cause an accident, but there was nowhere for anyone to disappear to. Then we took the curve.

It was sharp and sudden. I'd been on this road many times before but never considered it. I knew from the view off to the side that just beyond the trees and brush, there was a lake. It would seem like a possible place for my mother have disappeared to, but there was a sturdy guardrail there, and it had been there for as long as I could remember.

We drove back in silence, I was obviously dejected, and Larissa wouldn't push me. I kept thinking about that hard curve. I couldn't get it out of my mind. It was there as I ate with her family, everyone laughing and joking. It was there when I tried to do my homework. It was there when I passed into a fitful sleep.

I dreamed about it, knowing that it was a dream. In my mind's eye, the road was wet, and I was my mother. I drove over the hill and turned my wheel, but nothing happened. Instead of a guard rail...there was nothing. I ran through the brush and plunged into the deep, sinking as I lost consciousness. I woke up, and it was all I could do to keep from screaming.

I looked at my phone. It was three in the morning, and there was no way I was going back to sleep. I got some water from the kitchen and then fired up my laptop. Something in my dream had triggered a memory. There had been storms the night before. Was the road possibly wet there, on that curve? Was there more truth in my dream?

On a hunch, I went back to the PDF archive of the local newspaper. I looked at the previous day first and confirmed that severe storms were predicted. Then I went to the day my mother disappeared. Of course, it had no mention of her, the investigation not having started in earnest yet, but it did talk about damage and accidents caused by the wind and rain. I went to the police blotter, and that's where I found it.

It was brief. A mention of a two-car accident, one of them being a large truck. No one was seriously hurt, but the guardrail took a pounding, and in the wet, loose, soil, was uprooted easily. It would have to be replaced. I flipped forward a day and found a front-page article talking about the city council "commending work crews for the speedy replacement of power lines, transformers, and a destroyed guardrail."

There it was. I saw it clearly in my mind, and a shiver ran down my spine. It would have been so easy to lose control there, with the water from the previous night's storms. The mud on the edge of the road wouldn't stop anything, and she would have gone straight through the concealing brush and into the lake. Repair crews wouldn't be looking for tracks, which could have been lost in the mess anyway. Then the guardrail went back up, and no-one would have been the wiser.

Oh my god.

I sat there, in the dark, stunned. I thought about calling my father right away. Regardless of what was going on with us, he'd want to know. He deserved to know, after all of his devotion. But I couldn't bring myself to, not yet. I didn't want to raise his hopes or depress him unnecessarily.

Patience has never been my strong suit, but I explained what I thought to Larissa as she drove me to school. She supported my theory, but she was on the debate team and challenged me. It was what I expected and wanted from her. In the end, we came up with several reasons why it was unlikely to have happened, but none that outright refuted my new theory.

That afternoon, right after school, we drove out to the curve, got out, and looked into the lake. It wasn't particularly clear, but you could see how it immediately became deeper right off of the shore. Maybe deep enough to hide a minivan.

Seeing that we couldn't do anything there, we went to the police station next. Rosa was there, and she looked up, smiling. She stopped when she saw how serious we were.

"Hey Rosa, do you know if Detective Newcastle is here?"

"I believe so, do you need to see him?"

"We do. Could you tell him it has to do with my mother?"

"I will. He's never given up, not really. I catch him reviewing the file once every few months."

Rosa made a call on an ancient phone system, and then led us back to the office that I'd seen before. She ushered us in and then left, closing the door behind her.

"I remember you," was all the detective said. He was soft-spoken like I remembered from before. My memories of him cast him in a bad light. After all, he was trying to take my Daddy away from me. Now, I could see the lines of care and stress on his face. I could believe that he had never given up.

"I think I might have found my mother, but I can't prove it without your help."

I could tell that Newcastle was skeptical. I was, too, but I laid everything out. The timeline, the lack of cameras, the special order. I showed him the police blotter for the accident and the article about repairing the guardrail the following afternoon. When I was done, he looked at my notes silently. I was sure he would patronize me and usher me out.

"All right," was all he said.

"All right?"

"I mean, I agree. I don't know if she's there, but this is worth checking. It's the best lead I've seen in years. I've got some dive specialists for recovering evidence, and, um, people, from underwater. I'll try to get them out there tomorrow. In the meantime, try not to get your hopes up. If you knew how many times I was almost sure that I'd found your mother...well, it would break your heart, I'm sure. Just give me your contact info, and I'll tell you whatever we do or do not find."

It seemed anti-climatic, but I left my printed notes with the detective, and we went home. I could tell that Larissa's parents were concerned because both of us were quiet and somber. I think that she was a sure as I was that we'd found her, but only time would tell.

Later, after dinner, I decided to take another step. I dialed the number that I had debated on deleting or blocking. Not that he'd tried to contact me, in any case.

"Allie?" his voice sounded shaky, but not upset. Was he happy to hear from me?

"Yes, Daddy, it's me," I said, sighing, "I have some stuff I want to talk about with you. If its all right I'd like to drop by the house tomorrow. I won't take up much of your time."

I was aware that I was using the voice I used when dealing with difficult people. Kind of formal and professional but cold. I felt sad again, for him, and for me.

"Yes, ...of course. I, uh, wanted to talk to you about..."

I cut him off before I started to cry.

"Ok, great, I'll see you then."

And I hung up.

* * *

I thought I'd get a call in the evening, maybe. Instead, my phone started to vibrate in ht last period of the day. Without asking, I stood up and left the room. My teacher was too stunned to stop me, given that I'd never tarnished my good-girl image in my entire high school career to that point.

"Detective?"

"We found her. She's been right there the whole time. I waited until we confirmed it was her van before I called you. We have DNA samples to compare, but that might take a little while longer."

I spoke with him more and was polite. I don't remember what I said, though, or what he said to me. I just know that I said that I would tell my father. I texted him and asked if he would pick me up at school, right away. It was almost over anyway. He was still at work, but to be honest, I really didn't care. I needed to tell him. I needed him.

He arrived almost at the moment school ended. He must have left right after he got off of the phone with me. I'd texted Larissa that he would pick me up, and she told me she'd come to get me if I needed it but wished me well.

My father's Honda pulled up. I looked at him briefly. He looked so much older. Worn. I felt a mixture of guilt and compassion. Had I done this? Was I such a slut that I'd ruined the man that raised and cared for me? I pushed the thought down and got in the car, not meeting his eye.

"Hi, silly girl," he said quietly.

Oh god, how I missed when he called me that. I wanted to melt. I felt useless and helpless.