Piece of My Heart (Under Suspicion #7) - Mary Higgins Clark Page 0,94
rings, she passed a woman around her age working on a fence at the side of the road. Behind her, two miniature goats frolicked in the open field. Her heart hurt, imagining Johnny crying out from the passenger seat: “Mama, look at the baby goats. Can we stop and say hello? Please, please?”
Laurie’s outgoing message pulled her back to reality.
“Hey, Laurie. I’ve called a few times, and it kept going straight to voicemail. It’s ringing now, at least. Hopefully that means your plane has landed. A Detective Eddie Miller called me from East Hampton. He works with Detective Langland and told me where to meet the FBI. I assume you and Leo have the same info. I don’t want to jinx it, but it feels like this is actually going to work. Say a little prayer, okay?”
Marcy pulled her car to a stop at the sight of a rickety green mailbox with peeling paint, the house number she was looking for barely legible on the side of the box. Beyond the four-by-four holding up the mailbox, she made out tire tracks of dirt imprinted in what was otherwise an untended lot of overgrown grass and weeds.
She saw no sign of the FBI or other law enforcement, but recalled the assurances of Detective Miller: The lots out there are several acres, and they say the area is wooded, near the state park. I’m told the address you’re looking for is an adjacent lot, marked by a mailbox out front, then you turn left down a long dirt road.
This was no time to hesitate. Johnny had spent nine days in captivity. The least she could do was drive through unfamiliar land to be there for him, waiting, once he was free.
She took a deep breath as she made the turn, feeling truly hopeful for the first time since Johnny disappeared.
Chapter 63
Daniel Turner drove the quarter mile from his driveway to a dirt road leading into the seven-acre corner lot behind his own property. The main entrance, to which he had directed Marcy Buckley, corresponded to the street address on the town’s survey. He was taking the back road in, but eventually, he and Mrs. Buckley’s paths would intersect.
He had bought this parcel three years earlier from the Garney family, who had eight sons, only four of whom moved out of the family home after becoming adults. The remaining sons hosted parties four nights out of the week and raced dirt bikes around the property by day—the louder the better from all indications. Even when Daniel had been a Harley fan, he had never approved of bikers who intentionally made as much noise as possible. And after the settlement from the accident, his first priority had been to find a remote and quiet respite from society. When it became clear that the Garney boys were going to interfere with those plans, he struck a deal that the parents could not refuse, buying the property only to tear down the house and add to his vacant land.
He cut the engine next to a small pond on the property, before a cluster of trees he’d need to hike through to reach the cleared land where the ramshackle house had once stood. Next to him in the passenger seat, Johnny reached for the clasp of his seatbelt.
“You should stay here,” Daniel said.
“By myself?”
He sensed fear in his son’s voice. He never wanted his son to be afraid again. “Not to worry. This is an extra property I own. I just need to check on something real quick before we head for the beach.” He had decided that keeping Danny in the car was the safest plan. He had no idea how long it would be before the FBI arrived.
Still, after he retrieved his gun from the duffel bag in the trunk, he made a point to be sure that Danny saw him holding it, just in case. “It’s for my safety while I check out the property,” he added.
He noticed that Danny slumped lower into his seat. He was such a good boy. And Danny had been compliant to a T. He trusted him not to run away while he was gone.
He walked away with a satisfied smile. They’d be off to a fresh start in no time.
Chapter 64
The clerk at the rental car counter at the Salisbury Regional Airport handed Laurie a form in triplicate with a ballpoint pen. “I just need you to cross the t’s and dot the i’s,” she reported cheerfully, as