Page 3 of Christmas Past
The FBI was conducting their own investigation. At his request. With only a couple of part time deputies on his staff, he didn’t have anywhere near the manpower they needed. Technically, his job now was to assist, but Chad had never been the type of guy who sat back and let others do his work for him. He was cooperating with them fully. He and his men were at their disposal. But he had never been a man who would just sit back and wait while others did the work.
He was going to find that little girl.
And bring her home alive.
Chapter 2
Leaving soap production for a time when she could be certain she’d be fully focused and not screw it up, especially since it was such a big batch, Bella stored her supplies in their appropriate cupboard and pulled out the dried herbs she’d harvested in September. She had pounds and pounds of them. A summer’s worth of work, seven days a week. Planting, weeding, harvesting. It would last her through January.
And to see her through the rest of the winter, she had a greenhouse set up out in the laundry room. Even with that she’d sell out before the next harvest.
Hah! Her mother had thought she couldn’t make it on her own. She'd said as much when Bella had left the fold. And the elder Potter still thought her youngest daughter needed the ‘family.’ Oh, she hadn’t signed the note that had been left, unaddressed, unstamped, even un-enveloped, inside Bella’s mailbox. But the Christmas paper it had been written on…and the message… ‘You have no Christmas decorations. Without family, you’re losing yourspirit.’…was clearly her mother. Trying to guilt her into coming back to the family ‘business’ of lying to people, giving them false hope, all to make a buck.
Bella’s lack of Christmas decorations was quite deliberate. She was done with preying on people’s need to believe what they couldn’t see just to give them hope. She was going to make her money honestly. Or starve trying.
Her stash of jarred sage was sold out, so with mortar and pestle in hand, she poured dried herb, and crushed it to go into jars. No measuring or cooking required. Just grind. Clutch and grind.
She had to call the sheriff.
She shook her head at the thought. Poured more dried sage into the mortar. Ground it fine.
The sheriff thought she was an idiot.
Turn and push. Turn and push.
She was pretty sure most of the town thought her a kook – at best. They – along with people from all over the United States – bought her product, but steered clear of her, otherwise.
Or maybe it was that she steered clear of them. Being alone suited her.
And she had to call the sheriff. She knew it. Fought the urge.
When her mortar held ground sage up to the line she knew from experience would fill a jar, she reached for her funnel and a case of jars. Set, poured, capped.
And began again.
Her chest tightened. Probably from clutching the pestle too tightly. Putting too much oomph in her grind. She loosened her grip. And could hardly breathe.
Butterflies swarmed in her stomach. Hit by a wave of nausea so intense she made a run for the bathroom, Bella slid down to the ice cold floor by the toilet and counted tiles. They were small – nothing like anyone would put in a modern home. Black and white. Some cracked. At least twelve to a foot.
She had to call the sheriff.
~*~
Standing outside the closed theater, Chad knocked, blew warm air on his fingers, and waited. He wasn’t a praying man. Didn’t believe in anything that couldn’t be proved. But as much as he hoped that little Camille Posey hadn’t been taken by someone who meant her harm, he hoped with equal fervency that she hadn’t wandered off on her own.
Not in this weather.
Stan was alone in the theater. The kid cleaned up before opening each day. Chad knocked again. If the boy was running the vacuum he wouldn’t have heard…
His phone rang. Chad had it off his belt and flipped open in one move. He didn’t recognize the number. Except to see that it was local.
“Hello?” Standing under the movie theater overhang, he could see his breath.
“Sheriff?”
“Yes, who is this?” More importantly, did the woman know something about Camille?
“It’s Bella Potter…”
