Page 45 of The Witch's Orchard
“Indeed. We simply don’t have the space.”
She passes the paper to me.
“Thank you,” I say, and fold the paper in half, slip it into my bag. “I appreciate it. Can you tell me what you remember about the day Jessica was taken?”
After a short hesitation she says, “It’s not much. It seemed like a regular day. It’s not until so much later that you realize… any small thing could’ve been something. I know I unlocked the church that morning.Elva Stringer came right after me. I remember because she offered to make coffee for the meeting. Others were coming in and talking and we were all setting up for the meeting and then Mandy Hoyle burst in, screaming, saying that her little girl was gone.”
“What happened next?”
“Well, someone offered to call the sheriff’s office. I don’t remember who. And one of the other ladies volunteered to help her look. Soon, we were all searching. When the sheriff came, we looked through all the cars. We all thought she’d just wandered off.”
“Even with the doll?”
She shakes her head.
“The doll wasn’t found until later,” she says. “Sitting at the bottom of the slide. No one thought much of it. We’d all seen applehead dolls before. We figured another child held left it behind the day before. It wasn’t until Olivia Jacobs that…”
She looks down at the desk for a moment and then says, “I hope that you find her. The Hoyle girl. It breaks my heart what happened to Molly. The whole family… It breaks my heart. Bob and I have prayed for them ever since.”
It’s a small statement. But a big one for her. Where her husband is seemingly affable and open, Rebecca is tightly wound, drawn, inward-looking. And yet there is something, if not honest, then at least earnest about this small, clear-eyed woman.
“How long have you and Brother Bob been married?” I ask.
“Oh,” she says, straightening, as if she had expected a different question. “Since ’78.”
“So, after he left the Army?”
“That’s right,” she says, confirming my assumption. She starts to say more but then eases off, shifts her weight, clasps her hands in front of her. I know I won’t be getting anything else out of her. Not here, not today.
“Okay,” I say. “Call if you think of anything. I’m going to be sticking around town for a while.”
She nods, silently, and I leave the room and maneuver past a couple ofsweaty kids and out to the parking lot. When I get to the car, I take out my phone and call Leo’s number. As I expected, I get his voicemail.
“Hey,” I say. “I don’t know if you’ve still got contacts in the Army these days or what, but if you do, could you help me find out about a Bob or… maybe Robert Ziegler? Probably served in the seventies. Thanks.”
I open the list of names and go down them, calling every number Rebecca’s provided. Beside a few of them, she’s written “Deceased,” so I don’t call those. It’s a reminder that it’s been ten years and people pass away or leave town.
For most of them, I get a woman who politely answers my call and then politely tells me she remembers very little about the day Jessica was taken. Their recollections are very similar to Rebecca’s. They arrived at the church to plan activities for Vacation Bible School and then Mandy burst in, screaming. They all recall looking for the girl. Some remember the sheriff checking their cars.
I ask about the church picnic from which Olivia Jacobs was taken, if they were there, what they remember. Those who were there remember Olivia’s mom, Kathleen, screaming. They remember looking under all the tables, in all the cars, in the park bathrooms. One remembers how good Mrs. Lawrence’s potato salad was and how sad it is that she’s dead now. One tries to turn the tables and pump me for information about Molly’s death.
“Was she really half eaten by crows?” she asks. “The whole town’s talking about it.”
I hang up.
I leave a few voicemails, a message with a granddaughter.
Toward the bottom of the list is Deena Drake’s name and the word “Piano” beside it. I call her and she answers on the second ring, a violin sonata playing in the background, which she turns off. I ask her about whether she was at the church the day Jessica was taken.
“Yes,” she says. “I wanted to practice my piece for the following Sunday—the piano at First Baptist is a little different from my own and I always like to hear the pieces on the instrument beforehand.”
“Were you there when Mandy realized Jessica was gone?”
“Yes,” she says. “We all looked for her. I helped the sheriff look through the cars. We checked everyone’s.”
“Even yours?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. “Of course.”
