Lily: An Abigail Stone Mystery

By Charlotte Lewis

One rainy Sunday morning 4-year old Lily Waters was kidnapped from the front door of her family church. Her mother sings with the choir and had come to church earlier leaving Lily and her step-father to come later. By the time they came to church it was pouring down rain. Lily did not want to be carried in and begged to be dropped off at the front door like the old ladies who didnt want to get too wet running in from the parking lot. She never made it into the church.
There were no clues. No stranger had been seen inside or outside the church. A thorough search of the neighborhood provided nothing. Lilys step-father was questioned but dismissed as to fault. A ransom note was never received. Lily seemed to have vanished into thin air.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483640983

Charlotte Lewis

Charlotte Lewis, a retired accountant, lives in Southeast Kansas. Charlotte graduated from University of Southern California with a major in elementary education and a minor in music. Since retirement, she has self-published several novels and has published in Reminisce Magazine, Chicken Soup for the Soul, Hackathon Short Stories, Readers Digest Online, and Mused – an online journal. There's more to learn at charlottelewisonline.com

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Lily

An Abigail Stone Mystery

Charlotte Lewis

Copyright © 2013 by Charlotte Lewis.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 05/15/2013

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

In memory

Richard A. Reay

1938-2011

CHAPTER ONE

As have been so many other Sundays since I moved to Vancouver, the morning was overcast. And today the air was heavy with the promise of rain. The feeling was suffocating—I was surprised I couldn’t see the air as well as feel it. The weather here is often unpredictable, especially early in the day. A dreary gray morning does not necessarily mean the day is going to be dark and dismal. But, somehow, I knew that today was going to be rainy, and cloudy and definitely dark.

Regardless of the weather, I wasn’t ready to get up. That feeling is predictable. Getting old changes habits sometimes. I used to jump out of bed before 6am—no prompting, just up. But today I didn’t really want to get up but, knowing I had things to do, I got up at 6:30 to plod around the kitchen; feeding the cats, taking my vitamins, grousing in general. Some days I believe I must have taken a special course in grousing in high school or college as I am very good at it. The older I get, the easier it is to grouse. Or so it seems.

By 8:05 the skies had opened and rain was falling at a pretty steady rate. I backed the car out of the garage surprised at how wet everything had become in just a few minutes. The distance to church is very short. Short enough that I walk it when the weather is dry. This morning the water was running in furious little streams along the curbs. I wouldn’t be able to jump the span—the water was swift and looked deep at the corners. It was a very heavy downpour. Quite often rain starts like this and calms within minutes—not today. The rain didn’t let up at all during the five block drive to church. If anything, it came down even harder as I drove.

The church parking lot was full and no spaces closest to the church were empty. I parked in the third row and ran as quickly as my old lady legs would take me. Even with an umbrella overhead, most of me was wet by the time I reached the church door. It’s times like this that I wonder how much it would cost to erect an enclosed parking structure and run a canopy to the door. Probably too much. But I am sure every older woman in the congregation would make a special offering for covered parking.

Once inside I could hear the rain beating a steady rhythm on the vaulted roof. I checked my mail box in the narthex for notices and announcements before accepting a service bulletin from an usher. The rain stopped at about the same time as the first hymn ended. There is an open garden to the west of the sanctuary and it was thoroughly drenched. Even the floor to ceiling windows enclosing the garden were spattered. Normally the small overhang prevents that. Not today. The bushes sparkled with raindrops; the flowers seemed more vibrant than usual. The colors popped through the crystal like residue of the rain.

There was no rain for the remainder of the service but the beauty of the wet garden was still fresh and uplifting. I paused at the end of the row I had been seated in to take in the beauty of the garden. I was ready to leave the sanctuary when I remembered I had not picked up the new quarterly devotion booklet. The information center in the narthex was nearly empty. I got the devotional and headed to the fellowship area for coffee.

The south door of the narthex was standing open. It usually is open between services to make entry easier and more welcoming. There are many elderly congregants who have to wrestle with the heavy doors to open them as they are solid wood—floor to ceiling. The soft glow of the overhead lights shone out into the darkness of the overcast. With no warning, the rain returned. I hesitated leaving the area as I watched several cars stop at the end of the walkway to drop off people so they could run for the cover of the church. The distance between the sidewalk and the door is much, much shorter than from the parking lot to the church. Most of the rain runners were older women.

Once I had the devotional in hand, and had stopped my people watching, I headed for a cup of coffee. The people arriving at church now are coming for Sunday School classes. Most of the people from first service will integrate into those classes. I’m not to that point yet at this church so I just stop, have coffee, and go home. I looked around for a table where I could sit to enjoy my coffee and review the weekly announcements. As luck would have it, I found one that also overlooked the garden. I dawdled a few more minutes than I usually would—looking at the flowers.

As I prepared to leave there was a small disturbance by the outer door leading to the parking lot. I stepped back a few paces hoping that the people would realize they were blocking the exit. A young woman was clutching the sleeve of her husband’s jacket and, not quite screaming, she questioned him as to the whereabouts of her daughter.

What do you mean, you dropped her at the front entrance? It’s pouring down rain. How could you do that?

You know Lily doesn’t like to be carried and she insisted she could run fast and get inside the church and not get too wet. It made sense to me. There were two or three other cars that had pulled up to the curb to drop off passengers. I figure if the old ladies can do it, so could Lily. So I dropped her off and parked in the lot. I figured she’d be with you here. She said she’d find Mommy by the coffee pots.

I recognized the couple only because they had been married immediately following first service the second Sunday I had attended here. The bride’s first husband, the father of the child, had been killed in Afghanistan more than a year before that. The groom had been the father’s best friend and had kept in touch with the young widow. It was a win-win situation—everyone’s opinion. The child’s father had been raised in the Vancouver area but no longer had family here. Or, apparently anywhere. At least, that’s what the old ladies’ gossip says. They tsk’d, tsk’d over the fact that the poor wife had no one close to lean on… that her husband had no family left to care. And her own family was so far away. Poor girl.

She was from a small town in Oregon. Her family was quite supportive of this new marriage. They had turned out in full force for the ceremony but apparently weren’t close enough to really be of any day-to-day help. Or so said the gossip. Frankly, I haven’t found any place in Oregon that is so far away I couldn’t come to Vancouver in an afternoon. Well, maybe Klamath Falls would be too far to come and go in a day. I had to dig out my state map to locate the towns I heard mentioned that morning as I’d never heard of them before. Jefferson, Scio, Silverton. They are south of Salem so maybe a 75 mile one way trip from any of them. The bride’s entire family came to the wedding. Most of the congregation stayed before going to their usual Sunday classes. But at that point, I didn’t know visitor from member. (Still don’t really.) And apparently the bride’s mother has five or six sisters. I do know there were a lot of people who witnessed the short ceremony.

This morning she (Heather Thaker) came to church for the early service—she sings in the choir and the choir was singing in first service. On those Sundays the choir sings in first service, he (David Thaker) and her daughter (Lily Waters) arrive in time for Sunday School and to attend the second service. Lily is four years old and the family enjoys the casualness of the second service. Heather and David apparently have had this arrangement in place for any time the choir sings in first service. Normally they walk to church but the rainy morning dictated that David would drive today.

The ruckus was getting a bit loud and I heard David say again, I dropped her at the south door of the narthex. It was pouring down rain and Lily wanted to go in the front door. I couldn’t see any problem with that. There were several other people running from cars to the narthex door. You know Lily insists she’s too big for me to carry and the parking lot is always full of puddles. Exactly what do you think I should have done? I don’t know how many times he repeated this litany but it appeared she wasn’t listening.

Heather’s voice got a bit more shrill. And a bit louder. Apparently she had a few ideas as to what he should have done. And her voice was becoming less and less socially acceptable. The pastor had been heading to his class but when he heard the raised voices, he came immediately to the couple. What’s wrong, Heather?

Oh, Pastor, I can’t find Lily. David dropped her at the front door. But she isn’t here. We always meet in the fellowship area before Sunday School when I sing in first service.

Did you check her Sunday School class? Perhaps she ran into one of her friends and they just went to class without waiting for you.

Heather admitted she had not checked the child’s Sunday School room. David said that he would go do that right then. He left the area and the pastor steered Heather out of the way of the outer door. I was sure that the child had done just what the pastor suggested—gone to class without thinking. As I recall, four-year olds tend to do those sorts of things.

I gathered up my things and ran out into the rain. It was still pouring down—even harder than when I arrived at church. My umbrella wasn’t too effective. I hadn’t completely dried out from the earlier run into church so now I was really soaked.

Once I was home the newspapers kept me occupied and I didn’t think about the Thakers or Lily the rest of the day.

The rain continued throughout the day but calmed to a light mist by dinner time. The front lawn was awash with leaves from the trees behind the house. Some paper trash had blown in during the gustier periods and was caught against plants and bushes. I went to bed knowing I would have to spend some time in the yard on Monday morning.

CHAPTER TWO

Monday morning was not bright and sunny but it wasn’t raining either. The air didn’t feel heavy and I was sure the gloom would wear off before noon. I put on my old shoes, garden gloves and a warm jacket and went to work in the yard.

It never ceases to amaze me how rain brings up weeds faster than flowers. I raked all the trash into a pile and had just begun to weed the sidewalk border when a Vancouver Police car pulled to a stop at the curb in front of my house.

The police car didn’t alarm me as one or more patrol cars park in front of my house when the officers are going down the alley to a triplex that evidently houses people of interest to them. This happens on a fairly regular basis so I didn’t approach the car or offer greetings. The officer seemed to be leafing through a pad before he opened the door and got out.

However, this officer wasn’t going down the alley. He stepped on the curb and started up my sidewalk. That got my attention. I stood erect. Good morning. Can I help you?

The officer took a notebook out of his pocket. Mrs. Abigail Stone?

Yes. What the heck? Gardening is not a crime in Vancouver. At least, not to my knowledge. I mentally ran down everything I’ve done in the past week—I am sure none of them are against the law.

You are a member of the Grand Avenue Church?

No, but I do attend there.

He wrote something in his notebook. I hope not being a member will not be held against me somewhere along the line. He still hadn’t stated the purpose of his visit. I waited with a trowel in my hand. I suppose I should have laid it down but this couldn’t possibly take long.

And you attended yesterday?

Yes, I did.

You attended the 8:15am service there?

Yes, I did.

But you didn’t sign the register as having attended, did you?

What? The church is sending out police officers now if you don’t register your attendance? I didn’t voice this out loud, deciding that would not be the answer he wanted. No, I seldom ever do. Why?

We’re trying to locate everyone who was at the church at approximately 9:15am. Were you at the church at that time?

Yes. Service ended about that time. I was in the narthex obtaining a copy of the quarterly devotional.

How long were you in the narthex after the service?

Maybe five minutes. Then I went to the fellowship hall and had coffee and a sticky bun. Maybe I shouldn’t be volunteering information. I still don’t know what he wants.

How long were you in the fellowship hall?

I’m not sure. I believe I left about 9:40—give or take five minutes. So maybe 20 minutes. Why?

Do you recall seeing Lily Waters during that time?

I shook my head. I don’t believe so.

You do know who Lily Waters is, don’t you? The way he asked the question irked me. As though I would answer him without really having a clue of whom he was speaking.

Yes, she’s a young child who attends second service with her mother and step-father.

Well, Lily has disappeared. We’re trying to determine who may have seen her at church.

Suddenly the brain kicked into gear. Oh, her mother was having a tizzy fit in the fellowship hall when I left because she couldn’t find Lily. Her step-father said he’d dropped her off at the front door. I watched several people being dropped off but I don’t remember seeing Lily. I may have left the narthex before then as I don’t recall seeing his vehicle either.

Who else do you recall being in the narthex at the time you saw people being dropped off?

There were two ushers, the choir director had just come down from the loft, and a group of three elderly ladies whom I don’t know by name—but they’re long-time members. I believe they were the only people in the narthex when I was there. Oh, but wait, there were several people who came in after being dropped off in the rain. I don’t know or recall who they were. None of them spoke to me. Oh, and the attendant, or whatever they call her, in the Calm Room.

The Calm Room? What is that? He scribbled madly on his little loose leaf pad.

I believe most churches call it a cry room but Grand Avenue has decided to call it a calm room because hopefully a crying child will calm down if taken out of the sanctuary to the calm room.

Oh, I see. Do you know any of these people by name? Those you saw in the narthex.

"I’m fairly new there. I am sure the ushers were listed in the service bulletin and there’s only one choir director