Suddenly there was a strange roaring in her ears. She was being dragged through the corn, then carried away from her house but closer to the noise. Dizzy, crazy, couldn’t think, trying to stay awake because the scarecrow was going to feed her to the other, bigger monster. She knew it was in the field, big and green with a voice like the waterfall. It would chop her to pieces and eat her up like corn, but she was too scared to cry....

“Welcome home,” Miss Etta said as Tess fought to thrust away the waking nightmare. The librarian brushed her hands together after hanging the poster and hurried to her desk to pump hand sanitizer on her hands from a big plastic bottle. Tess walked toward the front door and managed to wave to Miss Etta, who called out after her, “Remember, my dear, I’d be happy to give you a temporary library card if you aren’t staying long.”

On the sidewalk, Tess stopped to steady herself and breathe in the crisp autumn air. She’d been afraid Cold Creek would magnify her day or night bad dreams. If only she could get the broken, terrifying memories out, maybe they’d all go away! Meanwhile, she knew she had to stay busy, had to stay on task.

She decided to hit the barbershop and Hair Port beauty salon to leave posters. Then she’d visit the new part of town, even try the firehouse and police station, maybe drive out to Lake Azure just to look around. She liked the idea of some things being changed or new here, not like the parts of town that looked the same way as the year, the month, the very day she was taken. Tomorrow—the anniversary of her kidnapping—would be a tough day.

3

“Of course we want to cooperate with the outside authorities, but please run that by me again before I say yay or nay about parading our young maidens before you, Sheriff McCord,” Brice Monson insisted. He had agreed to meet with Gabe that morning in the deserted common room of the largest building in the Hear Ye compound. Monson raised one eyebrow as he examined the photo Gabe showed him.

Gabe had to admit that “Bright Star” Monson’s looks alone could make someone think he was from another world. The man was pale with hair either bleached or prematurely white, and eyes the hue of water. His face was gaunt and his torso thin as though he lived on alien food in this area of homegrown goods. He always wore loose-fitting, draped outfits that reminded Gabe of something a swami would wear—or was that a guru? It was hard to tell the man’s age. His long hair was pulled straight back in a ponytail, which accentuated the shape of his skull. He wore a strip of leather tied around his forehead as if a dark halo had slipped.

“You’re aware, Mr. Monson, of the abductions of two—possibly three—young girls from the area. The most recent loss was of a six-year-old, and that photo of a child in your group greatly resembles her. I’m accusing no one of anything and I realize blonde girls that age can look somewhat alike, but the mother of the missing child is adamant that I look into this, which I’m sure you understand.”

“But all our young maidens are with families,” Monson said, handing the photo back. “I assure you, if someone in our flock had taken such a girl, we would be smitten with confusion and rebuke because we had forsaken the light. But yes, to comfort that mother’s heart, we will allow you to step into the room where that child is, maiden Lorna Rogers. There are two other daughters, if you would like to meet with the parents or their other girls.”

It suddenly seemed like such a wild-goose chase that Gabe almost backed off. But since he thought some sort of mind-control game was going on with the clever, charismatic Monson, he followed him into what looked like an old-fashioned schoolroom at the back of the building. About a dozen girls of the approximate age he’d requested were weaving baskets into which their adult mentors—craft teachers?—were placing bouquets of bloodred bittersweet boughs.

“For our market booth uptown on Saturday,” Monson whispered. Darned if the guy’s voice didn’t make Gabe think of the serpent whispering to Eve in the garden. Did he command control of this place by talking in that low voice instead of yelling?

Once the teachers caught sight of them, they and their young charges stood and bowed slightly to Monson, because Gabe knew it sure wasn’t to him. The girls were all dressed in similar navy blue or brown dresses and reminded him of reruns of Little House on the Prairie. All had long hair pulled straight back from their faces with black cords similar to the one around Monson’s forehead.

“Please, return to your games,” Monson intoned with a single sweep of his right arm. The girls, without a grin or giggle, settled back to their tasks.

Games? Gabe thought. Right away he spotted the girl Marian Bell had been so riled up about. She did resemble Amanda Bell, but, this close, he noticed differences right away. Lorna Rogers was shorter and had not one freckle, while the Bell girl’s nose and cheeks were dusted with them. Still, driven by his need to turn over every rock, he approached the child and the others with her.

“Is that weaving hard to do, Lorna?” he asked.

Her eyes widened as she looked up. She stared at his uniform, especially his badge.

“No, sir,” she replied quietly, still not looking him in the eyes. “It’s lots of fun, and I want to make more baskets for the walnuts too.”

Aside from her distinct freckles, Amanda Bell had green eyes and an obvious lisp. This girl had neither. Gabe nodded and stepped back, realizing Monson had sidled over to hear what was being said. Did everyone whisper around here?

“Thank you for your time and patience,” he told Monson as he started out of the room. “Sorry to have bothered you and the maidens.”

“I’ll see you clear out,” Monson said, and Gabe noted the double meaning of that.

At least he’d learned some things today. Lee and Grace Lockwood were crazier than he thought for coming here to live, letting their boy and girl be part of this. And though Lorna was not Amanda, he definitely didn’t trust Brice Monson.

* * *

Tess drove around Lake Azure, where the Lockwoods used to picnic and play as kids, when they were a family. The wildness of it seemed tamed now with manicured lawns and earth-hued condos set back in landscaped plantings of trees and late-flowering foliage. None of the residences looked the same, some two-story, some ranch, some A-frame. Part of the lake was cordoned off for swimming and paddleboats. Canoes were pulled up on two man-made sand beaches edging the green water. A large, two-story lodge stood at the center of it all. This was a Cold Creek community?

Feeling she didn’t belong there, she drove back into town. She’d already wandered along the new part of Main Street, reading the handwritten menu on the Little Italy Restaurant sign, peeking in Miss Marple’s Tearoom and the Lion’s Head Pub. She’d gone inside the pub because she could see a bulletin board, where she put up one of her posters. That board was a twin to the dartboard that was just inside the door.

“Want a pint or a shandy, luv?” came a very British male voice from inside. “Fish-and-chips be ready straightaway!”

That all sounded good, but she made an excuse and went back outside. No one recognized her at the fire department. The dispatcher was alone since it was all volunteer, but he said the only postings allowed were for duty shifts and schedules. She knew she’d be allowed to put a poster up at the sheriff’s office, so she headed next door. Despite the fact that it wasn’t in the same place and, no doubt, had different people from those who had staffed it years before, her feet began to drag.

She found herself both hoping and dreading that Gabe would be there. Her stomach did a weird little flip-flop at the thought of him.