The Stillwater Girls(56)

“So what’s the next step?” Brant asks.

May looks at us as she answers him. “Next step would be to run their DNA results through the database of the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children and see if we can’t get a hit. Right now they’re in the process of running DNA tests on some hair strands they found in the cabin that they think belong to the youngest girl. We’ve also been in contact with the families of missing children in the area, trying to see if we can make any connections.”

Nicolette turns to us, reaching across our laps and patting our hands. “I’m so sorry, girls. I know this must be devastating for you.”

“Sage,” I say, nudging her until she lifts her gaze to mine. “I don’t care what some stupid test says. We’re still sisters.”

Sage offers the tiniest hint of a smile before burying her head into my shoulder all over again. I hold her tighter, as if the harder I squeeze, the more she’ll know I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll never let her go.

“Do you think . . .” I begin to ask before the words get stuck. “Do you think Mama kidnapped us?”

The word is strange and unfamiliar on my tongue, and I didn’t know the meaning of it until I started reading that book earlier today.

May shrugs, hesitating. “I don’t know the answer to that, Wren. At least not yet.”

“There’s a chance you were legally adopted,” Sharon says, studying us as if she expects a big reaction. “But there’s also a chance you weren’t . . . and in that case, you might have family looking for you—family that’ve been looking for you for a very long time.”

“Two . . . separate . . . families.” My words are whisper soft, but heavy nonetheless.

“One thing at a time, though,” Brant says.

“Exactly,” Sharon says, sandwiching the palms of her hands together in a silent, gentle clap. “So . . . for now, girls, I just need to know when you want to pay your last respects to your mother.”

If it were up to me, it’d be never.

Mama was a liar. And more than likely a thief of the worst kind.

How could Mama, a woman who once cried for days when a mountain lion ran off with one of our newborn goats, steal someone else’s child?

I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, but that isn’t possible now. She isn’t here to explain what she did or why she did it. All that’s left is a mess of unanswered questions.

I always did find it a little odd the way Mama left to meet The Man one night and came home with a wagon full of supplies and a crying baby wrapped in a blanket made of some bright pink plush material I’d never seen before. At the time, I wasn’t quite ten, and I knew nothing about how human babies were born. I was just excited to have a real, live doll to dress and change and feed, and when Mama said she was our new baby sister and she was staying with us forever, I had no reason to question her.

Years later, I tried looking up “pregnancy and childbirth” in one of Mama’s medical books, but the section was gone—like it had been ripped clean out. It took a solid year for me to get the courage to ask Mama where babies come from. She was shucking corn by the garden shed, her hands covered in yellow silks and her brow slicked in sweat. She glanced up at me and smiled before saying, “They’re a gift, Wren—a gift from God. And gifts come in all sorts of packages. That’s the only thing you need to know.”

Sage lifts her head from my shoulder. “Can we see her?”

“I’m sorry. No. You won’t be able to see her,” May says. “Unfortunately, she’d been exposed to the elements for quite a while.”

“For how long?” I ask.

“At least a couple of months, if not longer,” she says. “I’d have to pull up the coroner’s report.”

“What happened to her?” My question attracts glances from everyone in the room, Sage included, but I have to know.

The deputy clears her throat. “Blunt force trauma to the head.”

“What . . . what does that mean?” I ask, looking to Brant, then to Nicolette, then to Deputy May.

Brant begins to speak, but Deputy May cuts him off. “That’s what we say when someone hits another person in the head with an object.”

Sage winces. I try to keep a picture from forming in my mind.

“So someone killed her shortly after she left us.” My words are mumbled as I try to piece this together. “Someone killed Mama and took Evie.” I rise, needing air, needing space. “Evie was sick when they left. So sick. Oh, God.”

I plaster my hand over my forehead and squeeze my eyes, trying not to picture the worst. Evie needed medical attention, and if Mama never got her to a doctor . . . who knows what became of her?

“Like I said,” May tells me, “we won’t stop looking until we find her.”





CHAPTER 40

NICOLETTE

I sit with the girls after Deputy May and Sharon Gable leave. Wren’s expression is unreadable, her clear eyes frozen as she stares at the floor. I’d give anything to know what’s going through her mind right now, if only so I could help her. Sage hasn’t stopped weeping, her sweet face buried in her hands. Brant hasn’t said a word, though he left for a moment to retrieve a box of tissues from the other room.