Full Tilt

17

Tilley, Alberta

Kate drove toward the horizon undaunted.

The Trans-Canada Highway east from Calgary cut across gentle hills that soon flattened for as far as she could see. Still smarting from her meeting with the RCMP, she was now counting on the people of Southern Alberta to help her.

“Certainly, we’ll talk to you,” Eileen Ingram had told her earlier when Kate had called. Eileen and her husband, Norbert, were the current owners of the Maes’ house.

Two hours after leaving Calgary, Kate had reached Brooks, a small prairie city known for agriculture, gas, oil and meat processing. Staying on the Trans-Canada, she passed the Grand Horizon Plaza.

The truck stop where Tara Dawn Mae was last seen fifteen years ago.

Kate continued east to the hamlet of Tilley then followed a ribbon of highway south for another fifteen minutes or so before coming to the remote property amid the eternal rolling treeless plain. It was a modest two-story frame house, set back from the road. Gravel crunched under her tires when she rolled along the driveway to the house. Two women and a man stepped onto the porch to greet her.

“I’m Eileen, this is my husband, Norbert, and this is our neighbor, Sheri Young. She used to babysit Tara Dawn for Fiona and Barton.”

“You made good time,” Norbert said as Kate shook everyone’s hand, noticing that Norbert held an unlit pipe.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

The house smelled of soap and fresh soil. They led her to the kitchen and a table covered with a checkered tablecloth. Everyone sat while Eileen made tea and coffee, then set down a plate of cookies.

“Eileen told us about your accident in BC, when you were a child.” Norbert looked into the bowl of his unlit pipe. “What a terrible thing.”

“You really think that Tara Dawn’s disappearance is connected to your sister’s case?” Sheri spooned sugar into her coffee.

“Yes, a lot of new factors have surfaced with a recent murder and suicide in New York State.”

“What sort of factors?” Eileen passed Kate a mug.

Kate gave them an account of what was found at the Rampart site and how, along with dates, it all aligned with Vanessa and Tara Dawn’s cases.

“That sounds unsettling, for sure,” Eileen said.

“Could be there’s something to it.” Norbert nodded.

“I’m not sure how much we can help, though,” Eileen said. “We never knew the Mae family. We’re from Manitoba and bought this place ten years ago this spring after Norbert retired from the railroad. Sheri knew the family better than anyone.”

“I did,” Sheri said. “What would you like to know?”

“Tell me what you can about the Maes, about Tara Dawn’s adoption and her disappearance.”

“Well…” Sheri reached back over the years. “Barton and Fiona didn’t mix with other people. They were private, deeply devout. You only saw them at church, or at the store. They just worked on their farm. Then Fiona had a baby, a girl, but she died after a year.”

“What happened?”

“Nobody in town really knew. One day we saw the ambulance and the Mountie cars out at the place. Later, it got around that their baby had died. My mom figured it was SIDS or some sickness. Then my dad said there was a rumor that Barton had dropped her. But no one knew the truth.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Oh, that was over twenty-two, twenty-three years, back. Anyway, they both took it hard, as you can imagine. People saw even less of them. It was like Barton and Fiona were haunted by it. Then two or three years later, they started coming to church with Tara Dawn, who was about five or six. At first people thought she was a niece who was visiting. Then it got around that Tara Dawn was their adopted daughter.”

Kate showed Sheri a picture of Vanessa on her cell phone.

“Did she look like that?”

Sheri studied the photo for a few seconds.

“It was a long time ago, but I’d say she looked a lot like that.”

“Tell me more about her.”

“Eventually, we’d heard that Tara was adopted from a distant relative in the United States and that was that. Not too long after, my mom said that Fiona asked if I would babysit occasionally. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes Barton and Fiona would go to Hanna, or Medicine Hat, for some deal on a tractor, or something. I don’t know why they didn’t take Tara with them, but I liked watching her.”

“What was she like?”

“Very quiet, shy. I remember one time I tried asking her about where she used to live, what had happened, and all she did was cry. I gave her a hug then we went to the barn to play with the kittens. That cheered her up. But I felt so bad I never asked her about that kind of thing again, because she didn’t want to talk about it. Some days I would look across the field from our place and see Tara playing by herself with her dog. She looked lonely but she seemed happy. She always smiled at me and said hi if I saw her with Fiona in the store.

“Then, a few years later, she was stolen away at the truck stop. Oh, it was horrible. The whole town was shocked. I never saw so many police cars. They had dogs, helicopters, searchers, roadblocks. It was in all the news. People prayed in the churches for a miracle, for a happy ending. Reporters came from everywhere. It was a big story, but as time went by, things seemed to slow down and it wasn’t in the news as much.

“Barton and Fiona were devastated. Nobody saw them…they stopped coming to church. They were like ghosts. About a year after Tara Dawn went missing, Barton’s tractor rolled on him. He was in a coma for a week before he died. A year or so after that, two women from the church went to check on Fiona and found her dead in her bedroom. She’d overdosed on sleeping pills.”

Eileen passed tissues to Sheri, who dabbed her eyes.

“There were some anniversary stories about Tara Dawn’s disappearance, but her story faded until it was practically forgotten. Of course, the place went up for sale,” Sheri said.

“We knew the history,” Norbert said. “So did a lot of other people, but they weren’t interested, so we bought at a good price and parceled some of the land to rent.”

Eileen looked pensively out the window at the expanse of flat land. “Every morning when I get up I say a little prayer to their memory.” She turned back to Kate. “We can show you Tara’s room, if you like?”

Kate gripped the banister and the stairs creaked as she climbed them behind Eileen, with Sheri and Norbert behind them. A double bed and mirrored dresser took up most of the room, which smelled of pine and moth balls. White-on-white-striped paper covered the walls.

A curtained window opened to the eternal sky.

Kate traced her fingers along the frame envisioning Tara Dawn-or Vanessa-standing in this very spot searching the horizon.

So alone.

“We use it as a guest room when our son and his kids come to visit,” Eileen said. “I redid the walls, and the furniture is ours. I’m sorry, there’s nothing here from the Maes. It all got auctioned.”

As Kate’s eyes swept the room, Norbert, who was leaning against the doorway, stood as if a memory had prodded him to attention.

“Wait, we still got those trunks from Doug Clovis’s son.”

“What trunks?”

“Last year, Eileen. You were in Calgary that day.” Norbert turned to Kate. “Doug Clovis sold his auction business and his son found two trunks in their warehouse left over from the Mae auction. They were supposed to go to charity but they dropped them here. I said, might as well leave them here. Our son could go through them first.” Norbert pointed somewhere with his pipe. “They’re in the barn if you want to look.”

The barn was a rusting metal Quonset hut some distance behind the house. The old building had been subdivided into pens and stalls that had once been used for livestock.

“We don’t keep any animals. We use it for storage,” Norbert said.

The air was still strong, stale and musty. Dust swirled in the light, shooting through the line of ceiling vents. They went to an area holding a small tractor, wheelbarrows and other equipment. Norbert pulled back a heavy canvas tarp, sending dust mites spinning as he revealed two time-worn, flat-top steamer trunks. They were dark green with leather handles and hinges that creaked as he opened them.

Each trunk was jammed with clothes, cardboard boxes and various items. Kate, Eileen and Sheri sifted through plaid work shirts, jeans, socks, women’s clothes, underwear, coats, boots, shoes, hats, scarves, gloves and mittens.

Eileen covered her mouth with her hand when she found baby items, bibs, shoes, little jumpers.

They came across plates wrapped in newspapers, a tea set, a lamp, candleholders and a clock.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Sheri held up a framed picture of a tropical sunset.

“I don’t know.” Kate set aside a shoe box of papers, mostly invoices. “Adoption records, any evidence that might connect Tara to my sister.”

“Look.” Eileen held up a photo album, opened it and pointed to a color photo of a woman with a baby. “Me and Charlotte” was written under it.

“That’s Fiona with her baby daughter,” Sheri said.

The album pages crackled as Eileen turned to more photos: Barton next to his tractor, Barton fixing a truck, Barton laughing with Charlotte on his knee.

Those pictures were followed by album pages of nothing. Eileen kept flipping the crackling pages until new photos appeared. “Our Miracle, Tara Dawn” was written under the first picture.

Kate felt the air rush from her gut.

She spasmed as a cadenza of sound shrieked through her mind, burning across years of loss, years of guilt, years of senseless hopes and prayers. Years of never believing, yet refusing to not believe; years of battling every reason to abandon the irrational, unable to let go.

“Are you all right, Kate?” Eileen touched her shoulder.

“That’s my sister, Vanessa!”

“You’re sure?” Eileen passed the album to her so she could take a closer look.

“Yes!” Kate flipped pages, her voice breaking. “I don’t understand how she could’ve got here.” Kate came to a shot of girl showing a timid smile. She was wearing a necklace.

Tenderly Kate ran her fingertips over the picture.

I found you! I found you!

Fighting her tears, her hand shaking, Kate reached for her phone and quickly cued up a photograph of her necklace, the matching one she’d shared with Detective Brennan in Rampart.

“See, it has the same guardian angel charm, see? It’s the necklace our mother gave to each of us!”

“Oh, my God, it is!” Sheri said.

“This is a helluva thing!” Norbert was shaking his head. “Just a helluva thing!”

At that moment the light on Kate’s phone flashed and it rang.

“Kate Page.”

“Hi, Kate, this is Carmen Pearson in Calgary. I’m a private investigator. I do volunteer work for the Children’s Searchlight Network. They gave me your number.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Fred Byfield said I should call you directly if I came across anything that might help you in Alberta.”

“Yes, okay.”

“I’ve located Elliott Searle and he’s agreed to talk to you about Tara Dawn Mae’s case.”

“Elliott Searle? Who’s he?”

Sheri’s eyes widened with recognition as Carmen answered, “He’s a retired RCMP inspector. Kate, he’s the Mountie who headed the investigation into Tara Dawn’s disappearance.”