For thirty minutes, I fought tears and terror, knowing I had to stay focused. Thinking was my only weapon to battle the emotional roller-coaster I was riding.
I tried to create a narrative of what I’d heard at the fire ring. There were two conclusions I could reach. First, Jane’s loyalty is rooted inside Ray’s camp. Second, Lillian’s trip to Gatlinburg had been a setup. It was a scheme to get her away from Boaz and into harm’s way. This was confirmed by Jane and Mandy, the preacher man trailing along, creating what they believed was an impenetrable web of secrecy and distortion given all the car renting and swapping they had done. I knew Ray was behind it all. He had the most to lose, a half-billion dollars and a share of Rylan’s future profits. And this didn’t include the freedom he stood to lose if Lillian and I had our way.
***
I drove another couple of miles and saw the Hammondville/Valley Head exit. This was the area where they found the bodies of Buddy and Billy James. Although I couldn’t prove it, my gut told me Ray was their killer. He had to be. I wondered if greaser Alex Mandy had helped. If I’d heard correctly, this was the area Jane’s Impala was parked, waiting on preacher man’s return from Gatlinburg. I fought the urge to exit and explore.
My iPhone rang. It was Connor. At the police station, I had asked Micaden to call him. “Hello.”
“How are you making it?” I could hear the sincerity in his voice.
“I’m a basket case. I assume Micaden filled you in?”
“Yep. I have a feeling your intuition is right.” I could hear chatter and the rattling of plates in the background.
“Why?” Connor had learned something.
“I just left Sylvia Mandy’s house. Alex wasn’t there.”
“Surprise.” The man was in route from Gatlinburg to Valley Head. “I know you asked about his whereabouts.”
“I did. In fact, I believe she was telling me the truth.”
“Uh?” I could visualize a spouse not being totally open.
“What she believed to be the truth. She said he had preached the first service of a revival in Knoxville and wouldn’t be home until Thursday.”
“So, Mandy’s bullshitting her and she’s totally in the dark?” I couldn’t help but think of Rachel and all her secrets. “What about a cell number?”
“She gave it to me, but he won’t answer.” I heard a server ask Connor for his order. “Hold on Lee, I’m at the Huddle House.” While waiting, Kyla called. I let it go to voicemail. After ordering enough food for three people, Connor returned. “After I eat, I’m headed to Ted King’s house. The bastard denied everything when I called him an hour ago. He’s not getting off that easy.”
“I’d appreciate you keeping me updated.”
“I will. Promise.” I heard a familiar voice asking if he could join Connor. “Hey Lee, I have to go.”
“Okay, talk later.” I ended the call and concluded the voice was that of Officer D. Wilson.
I wanted to call Sylvia Mandy myself and ask her the name of the Knoxville church where her husband was preaching a revival, but I knew that was a lie and a dead end. Instead, I returned Kyla’s call.
***
“Hey brother. How are you?”
“Devastated. Destroyed. Dying. All these things and worse if I don’t find Lillian.” It was far worse than when Rachel killed herself. I loved her, but not like Lillian. The difference was intimacy. And the fact Lillian wanted to live and be together forever.
“I’m so sorry you’re going through this. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever experienced, and I cannot imagine what it’s doing to you.” Kyla was serious, but that didn’t ease my pain.
“What have you learned?” As I was at Harding Hillside scrambling to leave for Gatlinburg, I’d shared with Kyla the night’s details, and asked her to go on the offensive, including a visit to the hospital. I knew it was a long shot, but I needed to know how Jane would respond to my accusations that she was a liar and responsible for Lillian’s disappearance.
“Ray’s critical. The hospital airlifted him to UAB. Jane’s in recovery after shoulder surgery. Something about blood vessel damage.”
“So, the bitch is going to live?” I was certain Jane and Ray had plotted the pilfering of his safe and the disappearance of everything she’d discovered.
“Seems that way. A nurse told me I should be able to see her at daylight.” I heard the hospital’s intercom in the background, something about needing housekeeping in the E.R.
“You see any police or deputies?”
“No, not since Ray took off.” Kyla paused. “Lee, here’s something that might be helpful. I’m not sure.”
“What?” Traffic in Chattanooga was terrible even though it was the middle of the night.
“After I arrived, Jane was in the E.R. and attracting a ton of nurses and doctors. I went to see Audrey Creely, you know, my neighbor. She’s been in ICU for several days. After my visit, I asked an ICU nurse if she knew when Stella would return. Her response surprised me.”
“How so?”
“I could tell by the nurse’s tone, short and nippy, she and Stella weren’t the best of friends.”
“Tell me what she said.”
“‘Thankfully, never.’ Her words.”
“What did that mean? Did you ask?”
“Well, of course. Just listen.”
“Just give it to me. Don’t turn this into a script.”
“According to Deidre, Stella’s last day was Friday. She’d worked out her two-week notice. Deidre says there’s a man in the picture. Here’s another quote, ‘Stella seems to ignore two key questions, the man is married, and he’s a preacher.’”
“Deidre said that, exactly?”
“Yes, and, she added a third problem.”
“What’s that?”
“The man said they would travel, and she wouldn’t have to work. Apparently, Deidre has some personal experience with one or more of these issues.”
“Thanks sis, that’s helpful. It probably explains why Stella isn’t returning my calls.” My question of whether she’s involved with Lillian’s disappearance is answered. Or so it seems.
“Lee, I’ve got to go. There’s a police officer, a D. Wilson, wanting to ask me some questions. Keep me posted. Please?”
“I will and you too.”
I fell into a funk as the miles rolled by. I tried at least ten radio stations to dissipate my anger, fear, and depression. Nothing seemed to help.
It was four-thirty AM when I drove into the Day’s Inn. I had made it in four hours, despite a half-hour nap at the Tennessee Welcome Center and slow traffic in Chattanooga.
***
It took less than five minutes to fail my first mission. The desk clerk rejected my request to see Room 239, saying it was a crime scene and off-limits. I didn’t like being told no, so I thanked the thick-glassed woman and retraced my steps to the front doors. At the last minute, I caught sight of the restrooms in the far corner. After pretending for as long as I could, I exited and slinked my way to the stairwell. The clerk never looked away from her computer monitor. On the second floor, I failed just as much. There was a police officer standing in the hallway in front of the entrance to Room 239. He wouldn’t answer the simplest of questions, so I went to find his boss.
During my three-mile drive to the police station, I recalled last night’s call to Micaden and how much I appreciated his availability and willingness to help, even considering his near discourteous nature. Besides suggesting he call Connor Ford, Micaden had promised to call the Gatlinburg Police Department and pave my way. Hopefully to find some genuine answers.
Braden Rickles was the police chief, middle-aged, tall, thin, and sporting a handlebar mustachio. He greeted me personally and welcomed me back to his office without delay. Not thinking, and certainly inconsiderate on my part, I complained about what I’d experienced at the Day’s Inn. The chief apologized for my trouble and revealed that I should have called, and he would have provided clearance. The reason was that the County’s crime scene investigators had already come and gone. Rickles explained: when he received the call from Micaden, he realized the urgency of the situation and decided to take charge of the investigation.
The first thing he’d done was to activate what he called his ‘48-hour plan.’ This was the Gatlinburg P.D.’s procedure in handling missing persons. Rickles directed officers to follow the alleged victim’s (Lillian’s) path while she’d been in Gatlinburg. I was glad I had shared these locations with Micaden. The officers had gone to the Day’s Inn, The Peddler Steakhouse, both the lower and upper parts of Ober Gatlinburg, and the Starbuck’s coffee shop. They had requested security camera footage and were attempting to interview every employee who was on duty during the time Lillian would have been present at their location. Although I didn’t know if Lillian had gone there, I’d also shared with Micaden what I’d heard at the campfire about Laurel Point Resort.
The only thing remotely relevant so far was footage provided by The Peddler Steakhouse. Rickles was quick to respond affirmatively when I asked if I could watch it. He modeled the behavior of a man who was trying his best to put himself in my shoes.
The clip was clear, and from the best angle I could have wanted. Lillian and Stella (I assume it was her but all I could see was the back of her head) sat at a small four-place table along a row of large windows at, what I figured from a brochure Chief Rickles provided, the back of the restaurant. Outside was a beautiful creek running parallel to the row of windows.
For an hour I was alone with my dear Lillian, Rickles having to respond to several officer phone calls. It didn’t appear there was a lot of conversation between the two women. After the server delivered their food, they ate in silence. Stella chewed her food while she stared at the fast-flowing creek.
At 7:44 PM Lillian laid aside her fork, stood, and walked away. I assume to go to the restroom. It was 7:55 before she returned, and she wasn’t alone. Lillian took her seat. The man, dressed in a black overcoat with matching hat, stood to Lillian’s right and Stella’s left. I couldn’t see his face, but in his two-minute presence, I thought I glimpsed a pair of eyeglasses. At 7:58 PM, Stella and the unidentified man exited, leaving Lillian alone. She removed and activated her cell from a bag on the chair beside her. She read for thirty seconds and then sent one, maybe two, texts. It was 8:03 when she moved out of the camera’s view.
Chief Rickles must have been watching me through the one-way glass. He entered and answered my unstated question. They did not capture Lillian on any other camera at The Peddler from 7:30 to 8:30 pm. Although an officer was now reviewing footage of all the places I believed Lillian to have visited, I didn’t expect any good news. If that’s what I would call it.
At 7:15, Chief Rickles suggested I get some rest. I think I would have stayed for an infinite number of hours just to be near Lillian. I’d watched the thirty-minute clip four times. Along with Rickles, but in separate cars, I left for the Day’s Inn with the deeply troubling feeling that I would never see Lillian again.
During my return drive to the hotel, I made my umpteenth attempt to reach Stella by phone. Again, she didn’t answer. This was troubling. Either someone had kidnapped her like Lillian, or she was part of the criminal conspiracy. I doubted if it was anything as innocent and trivial as “my phone battery died.”
The same officer was standing outside Room 239. This time he smiled and stepped aside, relaying he’d spoken with Chief Rickles. He even said, “take your time and, I’m sorry you’re going through this.”
I walked into the small foyer. The bathroom was to my right but what caught my attention was an open suitcase on a low-slung chest of drawers next to a TV across from the room’s second queen-size bed. This one perfectly made up. At first glance, I knew this was Lillian’s suitcase unless Stella had an identical one.
It took five seconds to find out it was Lillian’s. I knew her clothes. And I now knew someone else had rummaged through them since they were tossed about. I removed each piece and laid them on what I assumed was Lillian’s bed. The other one had the bed spread turned down with a rumbled pillow. I assumed that was Stella’s.
Halfway through my suitcase search, I realized there was nothing else in the room. No suitcase for Stella. I walked to the bathroom and found Lillian’s flowery makeup bag she had purchased from Amazon in anticipation of our trip to New Haven.
After a thorough search, I returned to Lillian’s suitcase and realized the Crime Scene team had gone through every item in the room. My mind was in slow gear. I was not thinking sharp and crisp like I normally do. I continued removing Lillian’s clothing and was about to refold and return the items.
That’s when I noticed the message Lillian had left me. At the bottom of the suitcase was her redbird broach, the one I’d given her in high school. I knew she took extraordinary care of what she claimed was her most prized possession.
All I could see in my mind’s eye was someone had abducted her from this room, or something had spooked her into believing she was being followed, or that she was otherwise in fear for her life. She had removed the redbird and tossed it into her suitcase. The Crime Scene person’s pilfering or my own had caused it to tumble to the bottom of Lillian’s suitcase.
I spent a wasted fifteen minutes inspecting every nook and cranny before returning to the front desk and securing a room for myself. I didn’t want to go to sleep, but my body was screaming for rest. And that’s what I did for twelve hours until I awoke at 3:30 AM Tuesday morning hungry as a bear.
***
I quickly showered and dressed. I called the front desk to ask about the hotel’s continental breakfast and was told it started at 6:30. My stomach reminded me that was too long to wait. Since I really didn’t want to drive anywhere, I sat at the small table next to the balcony and did a Google search on my iPhone to find the nearest restaurant open at this early hour.
I soon learned my best option was the Bearskin Lodge. It’s to the right of The Peddler Steakhouse which is directly across from the Day’s Inn. I clicked on the link. A full breakfast buffet started at 5:00 AM. Surely, I could wait an hour. After reviewing a gallery of photos, I decided to walk across the street and sit in one of the rocking chairs outside the Lodge’s entrance.
My direct path to the chairs was diagonally across the left quadrant of The Peddler’s parking lot. I couldn’t help but stare at the front entrance and imagine what had happened to Lillian. After completing her meal, she returned to her room at the Day’s Inn. How else would her Red Bird wind up in her suitcase?
My too-long view of The Peddler’s front entrance caused me to nearly trip as I walked into a narrow band of shrubbery separating the two parking lots. When I regained my balance, I heard a bird flitting about a large bush I guessed was Rhododendron or Mountain Laurel. It started singing. I stopped and spotted it, now higher in a nearby tree. Of all things, it was a redbird, a male, beautifully red and making music in two to three second bursts. It sounded like it was saying “cheer, cheer, cheer,” or “birdie, birdie, birdie.” I imagined this might be a code to warn its nearby mates.
I continued to walk, alternating my gaze between my feet for stability and upwards toward the redbird. After three additional steps, I was in the Lodge’s parking lot. The redbird flew higher to the tiptop corner of a large dormer on the right side of the Lodge’s fifth floor. I stopped, kept staring for several seconds, and froze in place. There was a security camera beneath the eve where the beautiful redbird was sitting. Its view had to include most of the The Peddler’s parking lot. Instantly, I knew my mission.
The Pencil Driven Life 