almost nonexistent. Although Sam’s aunt had come a long way in her spiritual walk since I’d known her, the subject of Pat Taylor was “sorer than a boil on a pig’s behind,” as she would say. I’d even dragged both of them to a meeting with our pastor, Marcus Jensen. He’d done a great job of explaining forgiveness and how we had no right to withhold it from anyone after God had sacrificed so much to forgive us. For a while, I thought he had them. But when we walked out of his office, the Goodriches were right back where they started. It confused me some since they were both such kind, forgiving people in every other area. This was simply one stronghold they protected with ferocity. Meanwhile, Pat just kept trying. If he ever decided to give up and move on, I wouldn’t blame him. But instead he’d dug his heels in, determined to ride it out. In truth, he was as stubborn as his son, although in my eyes, he was in the right while Sam stood with both cowboy boots planted squarely in the wrong.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone walk up to our table. I turned to find Bill Eberly smiling at me. “Glad to see you back, Gracie.”
“Thanks, Bill,” I said, returning his smile. “It’s good to be back.”
Bill is a nice-looking man with an easygoing manner. His brown hair is sprinkled with gray, and his dark-green eyes almost always twinkle with humor. His road hadn’t been an easy one since the death of his wife, Edith. Not long after her passing, his two grown children moved away, leaving him alone and grieving.
“So how did Hannah enjoy her art classes?” he asked.
“She did very well. The instructor thinks she’s quite talented.” I congratulated myself on sidestepping the Hannah-fought-tooth-and-nail-not-to-return-to-Harmony issue. But my mouthy fiancé wasn’t quite as clever.
“Yeah, she didn’t want to come back,” he offered. “Grace had to practically drag her home.”
I shot Sam a look that made his eyes widen. Men. They have no clue when it comes to discretion.
“Wow,” Bill said. “This certainly isn’t a good time for young women to be where they shouldn’t be. Have you two heard that another girl is missing? This one from Emporia?”
“I caught something about it on the news last night,” I said.
Bill looked around and then stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I have a nephew who works for a newspaper in Topeka. He says the police think all three girls might have been kidnapped by the same man. They’re trying to keep that away from the media, though, so they don’t spook the guy. You know, in case the women are still alive. If the kidnapper thinks the authorities are closing in on him, the police are afraid he might harm them.” He shook his head. “We need to pray for those poor girls and their families.”
“But why do they think the cases are connected?” I asked. “I mean, maybe these girls took off on their own.”
Bill shrugged. “My nephew has a friend on the police department.” He lowered his voice again. I had to strain to hear him. “Please don’t repeat this. My nephew’s friend told him it was off the record, but in one of the situations in Topeka, someone saw the girl being picked up in a red truck. And in Emporia, there were truck tracks on the dirt road where that young woman disappeared.”
“What about the other girl in Topeka?” Sam said.
“She was out walking and never came home,” Bill said. “No one reported seeing her get into a truck, but all the girls look so similar.”
“That’s not much to go on,” Sam said, frowning. “Lots of people in rural areas have trucks. Someone sees one red truck, and there are tracks from a truck at a second location?” He shook his head. “Doesn’t make sense. Why would the police think these situations are connected based on flimsy evidence like that?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe they have something else that links the missing girls together.” He grunted. “My nephew isn’t