Lost and Found Read online

  A September Day and Shadow Thriller

  LOST AND FOUND

  Book One

  AMY SHOJAI

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Second Print Edition, February 2017

  Furry Muse Publishing

  Print ISBN 978-1-944423-17-9

  eBook ISBN 978-1-944423-18-6

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author or Furry Muse Publishing except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  First Published by Cool Gus Publishing

  First Printing, September 2012

  COPYRIGHT © Amy Shojai, 2012

  PUBLISHING

  P.O. Box 1904

  Sherman TX 75091

  (903)814-4319

  [email protected]

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  HIDE AND SEEK: Prologue

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Chapter 1

  LINDA BIRCH RACED OUT the back door into the snow. “Help, somebody help me!” She slipped and fell, struggled to her feet and left pink handprints when she levered herself upright.

  The butcher knife had left a three-inch gash in her calf. Her stomach burned and she held her left hand hard against the stab wound in her side.

  The screen door banged open. Benny stumbled down the slick steps.

  She sobbed, held bloody palms toward her son. “Stop! Please!” Linda ignored the cold on her bare legs. Her bright pink Snuggie dragged through the snow.

  Benny didn’t mean it. His expression remained as serene and blank as the snow that blanketed the lawn. He drew his right thumb along the blade and stared at the red line that appeared. He repeated the gesture with his left thumb and crimson splattered onto the snow like the petals of a wind-shattered rose.

  “No, stop, honey. Don’t hurt yourself.” Linda stumbled toward her sixteen-year-old son, her fuzzy slippers clotted with ice and clumsy on her feet. She stopped when Benny regarded her for the briefest moment.

  Linda saw that glint of recognition, a connection, before his focus evaporated. Her eyes welled. She’d had the real Benny for such a short time before the money disappeared. But she had no choice, she couldn’t pay more. Insurance denied experimental trials. Savings had lasted less than a year. They were monsters to hold a child’s health for ransom.

  Benny sliced his other hand. Linda ignored her own injuries. “Let me have the knife, Benny.” She kept her words quiet, authoritative, despite the pain that made her tremble.

  Her beautiful baby boy’s five-foot-ten-inch height dwarfed her dumpy body. Snow whirled overhead and made her dizzy when she looked up. She grabbed Benny’s arm to keep from falling.

  “No!” He screamed. The knife lashed out and just missed Linda’s cheek. She fell to her knees.

  He slashed the air above her head, playing target practice with individual flakes as Linda huddled before him. She prayed the tantrum would pass so she could get him back inside before they both caught pneumonia. She coughed. Spat blood onto the snow. How could that be?

  Linda pulled her hand from the warm wetness on the front of her Snuggie. It had been barely a scratch, she was sure. Benny had had his share of tantrums. He’d scared her with the knife, so she ran. That made him even more scared, she reasoned, and prompted him to follow her. He’d done so well recently, and even had a job at the local Piggly Wiggly bagging groceries.

  She waited until he stopped waving the knife to hold out her hand. She didn’t think her legs would support her, and Linda reminded herself to start that diet soon. Maybe the New Year’s resolution would stick this time. “Help Momma up, Benny.”

  “Momma?” Benny stared at her and at the splatters around them. He stuck one hand in his pocket before he stepped directly into the blood spill. His shoes polka-dotted the ground. He tilted his head to see better and deliberately created stamp-art with his feet. Benny held eye contact for ten seconds this time before breaking to stare at his shoes. He paddled in the blood again.

  Linda held out her hand again. Spoke words devoid of emotion, matter-of-fact. “Sweetie, let’s not make more of a mess. Give your Momma a little boost up, honey.”

  His left hand moved inside his pocket. She could hear the click of shiny pennies under his busy fingers. Repetitive motions—spinning, rocking, twirling; what the experts called stimming—offered a focus that helped relieve stress. But Benny hadn’t twirled, spun or rocked for over six weeks. He made direct eye contact, even let her touch him briefly—and touched her in return without prompting. He spoke. He made sense. They communicated. The butterfly had broken free, a true miracle.

  Benny knelt down in the snow next to Linda. “Sorry, Momma. Sorry,” he said. And then he stabbed her until she stopped moving.

  Chapter 2

  SEPTEMBER DAY SLOSHED another half cup of coffee into the giant #1-Bitch mug, and glared out the frosty breakfast nook windows. North Texas didn’t get snow. That’s why she’d moved back home—well, one of several reasons. She shivered, relishing the warmth of the beverage, and toasted the storm with a curse. “Damn false advertising.” Her cat Macy meowed agreement.

  The blizzard drove icy wind through cracks in the antique windows and made the just-in-case candles on the dark countertop sputter. She pulled the fuzzy bathrobe closer around her neck. Normally the kitchen’s stained glass spilled peacock-bright color into the kitchen. Not today, though. The reinforced security grills on the windows and dark clouds outside transformed the room’s slate floor, bright countertops and brushed-steel appliances into a grim cell.

  Overhead lights flickered on, off and back on again. They’d done that for the past hour. Crap. More stuff for the contractors to fix. One candle guttered in the draft, and September mentally added window caulk to her list. She prayed the electricity wouldn’t go out, since the backup generator in the garage would take finagling to find, let alone to start.

  She added a dollop of flavored cream to her cup, and replaced the lid that kept Macy’
s paws at bay. The longhair sable and white cat sat like a furry centerpiece on the rose-patterned glass table. He mewed in frustration when September set her covered mug next to the muffin saucer he’d already licked clean. A white paw patted the cup’s lid.

  September plopped into one of four wrought iron chairs, and pulled the mug out of the cat’s reach. “Nope, I know where you put your feet.”

  Macy paced. His tail dry-painted September’s cheek and wove in and out of her long wavy mane. Green slanted eyes, coffee-dark hair, hidden claws and enigmatic smile—she’d been told more than once that she and the cat matched in both personality and looks. Mom wanted her to dye the white skunk streak at her left temple, but September couldn’t be bothered, not anymore. In Mom’s high-falutin’ social circles of perfectly coifed dowagers it served as a thumb-your-nose warning to keep strangers at bay.

  She gave the cat’s elevator-butt pose a final pat, and opened the DayMinder. Macy made a disgusted mffft sound, gathered himself and vaulted to the top the fridge. “Sure, go ahead and sulk. You’re wired enough without caffeine.”

  Outside, gusts flailed the November blooms of the Belinda’s Rose against the window beside the new steel door. At least the cold couldn’t sneak through that barrier. In fact, the temperature change had shifted the door frame so much that it took an enormous effort to latch. That was fine with her. If it was hard to latch, the door offered even more security.

  The weather not only derailed her schedule, the cold hurt like a bastard. September wrapped both hands around the mug. Her fingernails had already turned blue-white, and she couldn’t feel her toes despite insulated ski socks and slippers. Not even flannel PJs, long underwear and a thick robe proved adequate against the weather.

  She checked the thermostat for the third time—68 degrees—to save money, for crying out loud. “Screw it.” Some old habits she could afford to break. She cranked the dial to 78, blessing the contractors for the gas-fueled furnace and hot water tanks.

  Her DayMinder was choked with appointments, notes, and prompts. She’d entered most of them on her new phone, currently charging on the counter, but preferred the old-fangled paper version. “Busy is good. Except on snowy days.”

  Hell, she didn’t want to risk the roads in this weather either. But she could damage control other deadlines she’d have to miss. She’d already left a message with the lawyers postponing the deposition on the dog bite case since she couldn’t evaluate the dogs at the shelter until the weather settled. But fast talk and a good phone connection might allow her to keep other appointments. September dialed, sticking her free hand beneath her armpit to warm her fingers.

  “WZPP, you’ve reached ZAP105 FM Radio, giving you the best easy-listening 24/7, how may I direct your call?”

  “Hey, Anita, it’s September. Could you—”

  “Feels more like December.”

  September rolled her eyes. “Ha ha, funny lady, never heard that before. C’mon, it’s cold and I’m in a pissy mood. Could you cut the jokes for once?”

  “I’ve been here all night, still wondering how to get home, so my bad mood trumps yours, kiddo.” Anita paused to blow her nose. “You want to talk to Humphrey, I guess. I’ll connect.”

  Before she could say another word, September was plunged into the station’s easy-listening hell. The thirty seconds lasted a lifetime before Humphrey’s Jolly-Green-Giant voice broke in.

  “ZAP, this is Humphrey Fish.”

  “It’s me, September. I can’t make it to the station. We’ll have to do a phoner for the Pet Peeves program today.” Before he could protest, she added a sweetener. “I’ll do it for free. And there’ll be a bunch of calls today with everything shut down, so the sponsors won’t care.” Macy chirruped, and dove off his favorite perch to wind around her ankles.

  “Did you bring this sucky weather with you?” Humphrey didn’t soften his sarcasm. September imagined him bouncing up and down, a human beach ball with legs. “I thought Hoosiers drove in snow nine months out of the year, and now you’re afraid of a little flurry?”

  “There’s a reason I moved.” Let him think the move was only about the weather, she thought, swallowing a slug of the strong coffee. “Have you snuck outside your little glass box lately? It’s the freakin’ ice age out there.”

  Humphrey snorted. “Never took you for a weenie, September.”

  If only he knew. “I know how to drive. It’s the local amateurs that scare the crappiocca out of me. Texans hit the gas to get out of it quicker.” Macy mewed his agreement and patted her leg.

  Humphrey’s exasperation made him sound like a weasel on steroids. “C’mon, in-studio was part of the deal. And you’ve only been here once. Have something against leaving home, do you?” He paused. “Can we hurry this up? There’s a live promo in thirty seconds.”

  September bit back a retort. She could leave the house anytime she wanted. It wasn’t as if she lived in fear, not at all. She’d moved home to be closer to family. But when the Chicago habit of looking over her shoulder had been broken in South Bend, look what had happened.

  She mentally shook herself. Once her hands and feet adjusted, she’d better tolerate the cold, and could run over to the radio station as promised. Besides, the Reynaud’s episodes never lasted for long. And she wanted the radio platform. Her breath quickened at the thought of leaving the house. She hated driving on snow, that was why—but she told herself anything worthwhile came with hurdles.

  “Okay. I’ll get there. Just let me get caffeinated first. Oh, and put the state police on speed dial, ready to have them thaw me out of a drift come next May.” She heard him snort back a chuckle and her shoulders relaxed. She wouldn’t have to leave the house.

  “Okay, okay already, you win. But call in five minutes before. No, make that ten minutes before air. Use a landline. Cell phones are shit on air. We’ll run with an expanded Pet Peeves, and double-up on the calls. I’ll promo between now and then to get email questions to start us off. Frog-on-a-stick, gotta run.”

  The sudden dead air ended the conversation. The ten-minute weekly pet advice show got the word out better than paid ads, although the tiny stipend Humphrey called a paycheck barely covered the cost of caffeine. Her pet behavior consulting business included advice by phone, although in-person training was ideal, and the radio show and her regular column in the local paper drove more than enough clients to her subscription-only pet advice website.

  Besides, she didn’t need much, and never would again. Chris had seen to that. She took a shuddering breath. Just a random thought bushwhacked her emotions. Christopher Day was supposed to have been part of her dreams, THEIR dreams.

  September chugged half of the too-sweet coffee. She cradled the oversize mug, treasured for more than the warmth. Chris had bought it for her at a dog show. They’d often exchanged crap gifts for no reason, just to make each other smile. It was his last gift.

  She set the mug down with a clunk. Macy grumbled and pressed his forehead against her socks. She stooped to smooth his fur, and her tight throat relaxed. “Thanks, buddy, but I’m fine. Later we’ll play laser tag, okay?”

  The cat reacted to the “play” word, and leaped onto the wrap-around counter that edged three-quarters of the kitchen proper. He trotted to the corner cupboard next to the fridge, and pawed open the door. Macy scrabbled inside, his plume tail drawing figures in the air, and backed out dragging the stuffed mouse toy by one ear. He pushed the toy to the edge of the counter, dropping Mickey at her feet, and meowed with expectation.

  She waved one finger at the cat. He sat up and begged. “If you want it, then speak, Macy.” When he meowed on cue, she tossed the toy across the room. “Kill it, kill it!” Macy raced after it, grappled the toy, fell on his side and bunny-kicked Mickey into submission.

  September gulped another slug of coffee and checked her watch. Time enough for a hot shower before the radio show. Before she’d shuffled halfway across the kitchen, the phone chirruped. September hurried to grab the phone
where it charged on the countertop before Macy decided to attack it like his toy.

  September glanced at the display, sighed, and answered. “Hello, Mom.”

  “Holy catfish, we’ve already got six inches and it’s still dumping everywhere! What’s the weather like there?”

  “I live seven miles away from you. What do you think?” The overhead lights remained a bright, steady glow. “I’ve got a generator in the garage if it gets worse, but so far the heat and lights are good.” She watched Macy grab his Mickey and stash it back into his favorite cupboard.

  “But you still have drywall to do. Doesn’t the weather have to be good for drywall work?” She hesitated before rushing on. “I know you wanted the housewarming on Thanksgiving, dear. Maybe next year instead.”

  “Not a housewarming. We’ve been over this. I’m having the whole family here for Thanksgiving.” Macy left the cupboard and returned to paw September’s leg, one claw snagging the fabric. She bent to unhook the nail. “There’s two weeks to get it done, Mom.”

  “We could gather at your brother’s, or even one of the girls’.”

  “Mom, stop.” She bit her lip, and struggled to keep her temper in check.

  “I’ll make some calls, honey. Don’t you worry a bit.”

  “I said no.” September took a breath. “Look, Mom, let me do this. I need to do this. It’ll be fine.” She’d only been back in Heartland for a few months, but it didn’t take long to remember why she’d left home and stayed away for ten years. “I’ve got everything planned. The kitchen’s finished, plumbing and electrical passed inspection, and the security system works great. Remember, I told you and Dad the password when I gave you the extra keys?” She kept talking when her mother would have interrupted. “Dining room furniture will be here next week.” She noticed the candles dripping wax on the new granite countertop, and blew them out. “Macy’s pet gates work just as well for kids.”

  “Don’t be stubborn and spoil the holiday for everyone.”

  The doorbell bonged, followed by immediate pounding that made September’s pulse thrum. “Mom, someone’s at the door. Don’t worry, Thanksgiving will be great. For once, just trust me.”