with being inside the foul-smelling shed. A bucket in the corner was the source of the smell.
When’s the last time Sam used a real toilet?
She dragged a chair outside for Samantha to sit in, and then she and Tessa helped Samantha bundle up. They put on her socks, which were full of holes, and her shoes, which were way too big. No coat was found, so they used every blanket from her bed. Samantha squinted outdoors in the natural light and took deep breaths. Cate did the same; she’d never take fresh air for granted again.
“We need to call your mom,” Cate told her. “You can’t take care of Mickey while you’re in the hospital, so we need a relative to agree to take him. Are you ready?”
Samantha’s chin quivered. “Yes. I might not be able to do anything more than cry, though.”
“I think that would be just fine.”
Cate sent her grandmother a quick text, asking her to go to Marsha Bishop’s home immediately because she shouldn’t be alone for the next few hours.
Jane’s reply was immediate. Why?
We found Sam. She’s alive. She’s about to call Marsha.
HOLY SHIT! Leaving now!
She dialed Marsha’s number.
“Hello, Cate. How are you this morning?” Marsha was unaware of their trek to the mainland to find Travis Underwood. Cate hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up.
“Marsha . . .” Suddenly Cate didn’t know what to say. She stared at Tessa, who nodded encouragingly. “Marsha, I need to tell you something—and it’s a good thing—but first I want to assure you that it is absolutely true. It will sound too good to be true, but it is. Does that make sense? I don’t want you questioning it.”
Marsha was quiet for a moment. “Okay.”
“Samantha is sitting beside me. We found her on the mainland in the city of Blaine. She’s okay, Marsha. We’re bringing her home.” Cate’s voice cracked as her words rushed together. “I’m going to put her on the phone now.” She handed the phone to Sam, whose hand shook as she held it to her ear.
“Mom?” She covered her eyes and lowered her head, and her entire body shook as she sobbed.
Cate crouched beside the chair, putting an arm around Sam’s shoulders. She couldn’t make out Marsha’s words, but the tone was overjoyed and went on and on as Sam cried into the phone.
Tessa’s wet gaze met Cate’s, and happiness warmed her again.
We did it.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Sam repeated a dozen times. “I’ll tell you when you get here. Mom . . . I have a son.”
The voice on the phone grew louder.
“He’s eight. His name is Michael,” she said in a watery voice. “Yes, he’s named after Dad.”
Tessa inhaled sharply, and Cate closed her eyes. Samantha’s father had committed suicide a year after she’d vanished. He’d been thoroughly investigated by the police and tried by public opinion in the media. The loss of his daughter and the condemnation of the public had been too much.
“Cate.”
Henry had returned with Gunderson and a deputy she hadn’t met yet. She stood and followed them a few yards away from Sam’s conversation. “They found the end of the tunnel,” Henry told her in a quiet voice. “Not far from it are fresh tire tracks and some netting covered with branches. He had a vehicle hidden and ready to go.”
“We need to get Sam and Mickey out of here,” Cate told Gunderson. “Is talking to Mickey’s maternal grandmother sufficient to release him to us? I want Sam and Mickey seen at the hospital in Bellingham as soon as possible. We can fly Marsha in to pick him up there.”
Cate made a mental note to have Jane come with Marsha in case she was a little . . . spacey. She knew Jane would take responsibility for the boy and grandmother until Samantha was well enough.
“That’ll do,” Gunderson agreed. He glanced at Sam. Her expression was awestruck as she listened to her mother’s voice. “I’ll talk to the grandmother when they’re done.”
Cate smiled. “It might be a while.”
8
One week later
Cate handed Sam a cup of tea and took a seat in Marsha’s living room recliner. A Christmas tree sat in one corner, and fresh evergreen branches with lights decorated the mantel above the fireplace. Mickey and Marsha had gone to bed an hour ago, but Sam was still wide awake, so Cate stayed with her, fighting back her yawns. Nonstop Christmas music played at a low volume; Sam insisted on it. Travis had refused to provide any source of