Deadly Thyme by R.L. Nolen

duck. He’d have to speak softly, as noises seemed to carry through the caravan’s walls. “And he’s never said anything to you about his new-found wealth?”
    “Never.” The tragic look that overcame his face under other circumstances might look comical. “I ’d like to know, too. Our chief inspector seems to be a chap with worries.”
    “Odd. Very odd.”
    “DCI Trewe is certainly more on edge about the missing girl than anythin’, though.”
    “How on edge?”
    “He said, and I’ll quote, ‘the girl’s American. The implications! International scandal. The newspapers. Bad for business, worse than the foot and mouth ever was in ’01.’ At least, that’s what I remember he said. But … it was the way he went on.”
    “A coldhearted beast.”
    Perstow shook his head, “Oh no! I wouldn’t say it like that. But I’ve never heard him quite as bad, sar. He’s desperate, pulled in a profiler. The profiler said that there is a forty-four percent chance the child will be dead in the first hour, and the best chance of bringing her back alive is within the first three hours. The way our Chief Inspector went on … Where’s the mercy in him, I ask meself. It was as if there was something else botherin’ him.”
    Like nine hundred thousand somethings, Jon thought. “Keep me informed, as you are able. It is imperative you let no one know about me. I’m your cousin, on holiday, remember. And your wife must play along. She will, right?”
    “Don ’t worry.”
    “I must concentrate on DCI Trewe , not a missing girl investigation. Hopefully, she’ll show up with a good story and nothing amiss.” Jon didn’t believe it for a moment. The man in the dark car would not have been barreling out of the village quite so fast if there had been nothing to hide. He set his cup down with a definitive thud. “In the event the girl’s body is found, the police will saturate this place. I’ll have to make my presence known. If it comes to that, it would be expeditious to drop my investigation momentarily. Meanwhile, I’ll send the footage in an anonymous package to DCI Trewe. I can’t help but think it is the proper thing that he get it.”
    “I ’ll follow your lead, sar.” Perstow nodded, eyes averted, as if he was well aware of his standing and didn’t want to step beyond his bounds by getting chatty with a DI.
    Jon had taken an immediate liking to the fellow but wondered about him a little. He seemed too nice to be true. The heaviness of an impending storm added to the burden he carried inside himself. He hoped against hope the girl would be found soon.
    Outside, the storm pounced, but inside the caravan, Jon and Perstow sat hunched, intently viewing the archived footage from the beach. Blue-white light from the monitor flashed across their faces and danced shadows around the caravan. Outside, the wind moaned and shoved against the tiny abode.
    From the upper corn er of one of the live monitors—one automatically controlled by computer at the monitoring station so any motion had it zooming or panning and focusing on minute detail—a large black dog darted into view, stopped, stared toward the camera, turned and took off.
     

     
    Monday, daybreak
     
    Rain and hail bulleted across Ruth ’s front window and the glass was rattled by inconstant wind. In those first few seconds of awareness Ruth wondered why she wasn’t in her own bed, why she was sleeping in her big easy chair. Then came the heart-stopping memory of Dot’s voice asking, “Where’s Annie?”
    Movement under a blanket on her couch caused Ruth to sit straight up. “Annie!” she whispered, heart beating wildly. Sally’s curly red hair spilled from under the blanket. Ruth fell back, hope dashed. Dear Lord Jesus, bring her back and I’ll be a better Christian. I promise.
    She must have drifted into sleep again , because when a knocking woke her, the window was a dull rectangle. Here it was, another day, and no Annie to get up for school.