Where Shadows Meet(36)

She didn’t look at him but rushed on. “I was pregnant, and Reece wasn’t happy about it. About two weeks before the baby was due, he shoved me down the stairs. I just remember pain and coming in and out of consciousness. When I finally woke up, he told me the baby girl had died.”

Matt found it hard to get his mind around what she was saying. A shiver of fear tickled his spine. “And now he’s saying the baby didn’t die? That this child is that baby?”

She nodded. “I left him as soon as I found out. I thought that was the end of it until I got this picture last week. I want to find my daughter,” she said with a stubborn tilt to her chin.

No way. Maybe Reece had seen a picture of Caitlin and recognized the resemblance, then chosen to use it. It was impossible her daughter was his baby girl. “When was this?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Five years ago. April fourteenth.”

The day before Analise had found a tiny bundle on their front porch. Horror stopped his tongue. He wouldn’t believe it. He swallowed hard and managed to feign indifference. “And you believe him? Maybe he’s just yanking your chain.”

She nodded. “He might be trying to hurt me. He says if I come back to him, I can have her back. He says he’s raising her Amish up in Shipshewana, but this little girl is dressed Englisch. So it’s hard to believe what he’s telling me.”

Matt forced himself to breathe, to act naturally. He couldn’t let on how upset he was. At least he knew it was all a lie. “I think he’s bluffing.” He knew he should tell her, but he had to know more first. His child’s future hung in the balance.

Tears hung on her lashes. “He called me yesterday, and I heard her voice. She sounded darling.”

Reece had taped Caitlin’s voice? Maybe Gina wasn’t overreacting and someone had been following her. Maybe Reece had seen Caitlin and realized how much she looked like Hannah. He might have seen this as a way of getting to her.

Matt had to gain some time, figure out what to do. No one was taking his daughter. “You think he’s in town?”

“I’m sure of it. He sent me this picture to flush me out so he could find me.”

“I’ll try to find him, talk to him.”

She shook her head. “He’s crafty. He won’t tell you anything. But can we look for the child?”

“What makes you think she’s in Indiana?” He was total slime to try to confuse her.

“See here?” She handed the picture back to him. “There’s a covered bridge in the background.”

He peered at the picture. She was right. He remembered the picnic by the bridge, too, just a month ago on an unusually warm April day. “That doesn’t say for sure it’s here. There are covered bridges in other places.”

“Yes, but look at the name on the bridge. It’s the one by my—my cousin’s house, the Narrows Bridge. So we need to start here.”

By some miracle, he kept his voice steady. “There’s no crime yet. I’m not sure what you expect me to do.”

“Isn’t it a crime to steal a baby from her mother?” Her voice rose. “How about murdering a child?”

“You don’t know this little girl is even yours. And did you ever press charges against Reece?” He didn’t even have to wait for her to shake her head. Of course she didn’t. She’d simply walked away from him like so many battered wives without making him pay for what he’d done. “So we have no proof of anything.”

“Then what do I do?”

“I’ll find Reece and talk to him.” He waved the picture in the air. “But I think you’re chasing a dream. This little girl probably just has red hair.” He had to believe it for his own sanity, to keep panic from sweeping him away.

“I understand that. But I have to do something. I have to find her, discover the truth for myself.”

He nodded. “I’ll keep you posted. Give me your cell phone number.” As she dug for a pen and paper, he glanced at the photo again. His blood ran cold at the thought that Reece had been watching his baby. The man had to be somewhere nearby, and Matt would find him, force him to tell the truth. Force him to go away and leave them all alone.





ELEVEN


“Take a look at the Amish Bars Quilt. Less is more in the quilt and in the Amish way of life. They’re able to escape the plague of materialism sweeping the country.”

—HANNAH SCHWARTZ,

IN The Amish Faith Through Their Quilts

Angie had the radio turned up and was singing along when Hannah got back to the car. Perspiration trickled along the back of her neck, and her pulse still raced from the effort to convince Matt to help her. If she’d had anywhere else to turn, she wouldn’t have gone to him.

The smile on Angie’s face faltered when she saw Hannah. “It didn’t go well?”

“That man could make a bishop swear.” Hannah slammed the door behind her and fastened her seat belt as Angie laughed. “He’s going to look around, but he’s still looking at our community for the murderer. Just like he did when my family died. One of us was his first assumption. I thought he might have learned something, grown up some.”

Angie started the car and pulled into the line of traffic. “Don’t you watch CSI? It’s generally someone close to the victim. He’s just following standard procedure.”