Taking in Dorothy’s ominous suggestion, Kate regarded her friend for just a moment. She took out her own keys and found the spare one to Mrs. Ginmoor’s house. The old woman had given it to her in the event something happened while the boys were in her house.
Kate led Dorothy through the familiar rooms, quiet except for the droning noise of the furnace below and the hum of the refrigerator.
“We’d better check every room,” Dorothy said. “If she’s hurt somewhere . . .”
Or dead . . .
A thorough investigation proved the house was empty.
“She’s just out for the morning,” Dorothy said.
“No, I don’t think so,” Kate said. “Something’s wrong. I’m telling you, Dorothy, Mrs. Ginmoor was crazy about our children. It just doesn’t make sense that she’d have neglected them.”
They were in the kitchen now, a small room of glimmering tile and cheerful yellow appliances. All signs of the exploded pie had been removed, though a faintly acrid smell still hung in the air.
“I think I’ve found something, Kate,” Dorothy said. She had crossed toward a counter, near the wall phone.
Mrs. Ginmoor had left a phone book open on her counter, to the Yellow Pages listings for travel agents. Kate moaned a little and pointed to the notes scribbled hastily in the margins.
“ABQ. TWA. Flight 200.”
“ABQ?” Dorothy repeated. “Short for Albuquerque?”
“Where Danny went to find Laura,” Kate said, disbelieving. “Why would Mrs. Ginmoor be there, too? How could she know?”
She stopped herself, her mind a boiling kettle of questions.
“Kate, I think your sweet old Mrs. Ginmoor was working for these LaMane people,” Dorothy said.
Kate shook her head. “No. She loved our children.”
“It’s too much of a coincidence that she’s in Albuquerque, too,” Dorothy said. “Kate, I knew nothing of this until a few minutes ago. So I can be objective. Listen and think—you needed a sitter when you arrived in Massachusetts because both you and Danny worked. Along comes Mrs. Ginmoor, who conveniently agrees to stay even after Laura disappeared, thinking you’d need help. And who had no reason to leave because soon after you gave birth to Chris. But convenient for whom?”
“Mrs. Ginmoor was a godsend,” Kate protested lamely. It couldn’t be true.
“It wasn’t God who sent her,” Dorothy said. “She was planted with your family, Kate, to keep an eye on you. I wouldn’t be surprised if she arranged the details of Laura’s kidnapping. And she stayed on to be certain you never got too suspicious.”
“It’s so crazy,” Kate said. “I never told her about Laura appearing to . . .” She let out a cry. “Oh, my God, the pictures!”
Her fingers squeezed Dorothy’s arm like a talon as she told about the pictures she had had altered to look like Laura might today.
“She must have reported it,” Kate said. “And when the boys were alone with her in this house, she arranged to have them hurt. That witch! I’ll kill her when I find her. When I think that I left my babies alone with her!”
“Kate, she must be after them now,” Dorothy said. “I don’t know why she was called down there, but it may be that Laura will remember her, even subconsciously. Your daughter may trust her enough to go anywhere with her.”
Kate looked at the phone. “I’ve got to call Danny! But how? I don’t even know where he is. Last we spoke, he was at the airport.”
“Then, let’s get back to your house,” Dorothy said. “We’ll wait for him to call us. And as hard as you can, Kate, send Laura a warning to stay away from Mrs. Ginmoor.”
52
“THE CORNDOGS ARE A BUCK FIFTY EACH,” THE MAN at the concession stand said, looking down from his perch at three grimy faces. “Drinks are seventy-five cents.”
Jenny, Tommy, and Michael gathered in a circle and emptied their pockets and bags of all the coins they could find. In their haste to run away, none of them had taken the time to bring very much money.
“Three dollars and ten cents,” Tommy sneered. “We could split up two dogs, I guess.”
“I’m thirsty,” Jenny said. “Walking in that hot sun—”
Both boys shushed her.
“We can find water somewhere,” Michael suggested. “But we can’t move on without energy from food. Those snacks we brought, they aren’t enough. I say we go for the corndogs.”
Jenny felt a tap on her shoulder and swung abruptly. An elderly woman was gazing at her with sad eyes, her face so kindly that Jenny was speechless for a moment. There was something about her, something strangely familiar. An alarm went off in the little girl’s mind, warning her that this might be someone from the center. But in the few moments she studied the woman’s face in silence, she realized she hadn’t seen her at LaMane. Still, she felt as if she knew her, as if she had met her long ago.
“I couldn’t help overhearing,” the woman said. “I’d be happy to treat you children.”
Tommy shook his heard, his expression grim. “No way, lady. We don’t talk to strangers.”
“But—”
The woman’s words were cut off when Jenny pulled Tommy a little farther away. Michael stepped over with them.
“We could use the help,” she said.
“Are you nuts?” Tommy asked. “What if she’s with Adams?”
“She isn’t,” Jenny said. “I’d know it if she was. And if you two boys would open up your minds, you’d know it, too. She’s just a nice old lady who wants to help us.”
Jenny didn’t report the strange familiarity she’d felt.
“Buying those dogs is gonna wipe us out,” Michael said. “We can’t go anywhere without money, Tommy.”
“It isn’t like we’re going to leave the fair with her,” Jenny added. “Tommy, just let her buy us the food. It’ll give us time to find out if she really is a nice person. And if she is, she can help us.”
“We don’t need help,” Tommy growled.
“Don’t be a jerk,” Michael said. “How long do you think we’re gonna last, three kids alone?”
Jenny and Michael turned back toward the old woman, who was already holding a box with three corndogs and three sodas. Ravenous, even Tommy accepted the food, which disappeared in minutes.
“My, but you’re very hungry, aren’t you?” the old woman said. “And filthy, too. Where have you been that you got so dirty? Where are your parents?”
The children exchanged glances.
“We—we ran away,” Michael said quickly. He felt Jenny and Tommy’s astonished gazes, but he went on. “Last night, we decided to try to camp out in the mountains. It was terrible. Really cold.”
“And we kept hearing growling noises,” Jenny put in, though she didn’t quite understand Michael’s game. She only knew he was smart enough not to get them into more trouble.
“You poor things,” the old woman said. “But your parents must be terribly worried. No matter what the reason you ran away, you must let them know you’re safe. If we could find a phone . . .”
Michael shook his head. “No! See, my dad was gonna work with one of the balloonists today. But this place is so big and there are so many people, I just can’t find him.”
The old woman smiled. “You leave that to me. How about a balloon ride? You’d be so far up you could see the entire grounds.”
Jenny and Michael nodded eagerly. Tommy held back, still not trusting the woman. But Michael leaned and whispered to him, “We won’t find my father, of course. But we will be able to tell if anyone from the center is here.”
Tommy finally nodded, understanding what Michael had been up to all along. All three children followed the kindly old woman until she found the shortest line, leading to a balloon decorated with alternate panels of red and white. She pulled a small, beaded wallet from her black handbag. Jenny and the boys went agape at the sight of two crisp hundred-dollar bills.
“Wow,” Tommy cried. “What’s that for?”
&nbs
p; The old woman smiled at him. “For the ride, of course. You don’t think these balloonists work for nothing?”
“But it’s too much,” Jenny protested. “You can’t spend money like that on us. We don’t even know you.”
Oh, but you do remember me, Laura. Don’t you know my face? Think back, think long back . . .
Jenny froze, staring at the old woman. Where had the thoughts come from? Why had she heard the name “Laura,” the same name the woman with glasses and brown hair used?
“What—what’s your name?”
“Mrs. Mira,” the woman said.
Nothing familiar about that. And nothing in the woman’s expression revealed that the strange message had come from her own mind. Jenny was more confused than ever. But before she could ask another question, they found themselves at the beginning of the line.
Mrs. Mira paid the ticket man and climbed into the wicker gondola with the three children. “We’re looking for someone,” she said. “One of the other balloonists.”
“What’s his name?” the man asked, readying the balloon for another trip.
Mrs. Mira looked at the children.
“Ralph Colpan,” Michael said, able to think only of his father’s name.
“Haven’t met him,” the aeronaut said, busy working the controls at the dashboard. “I know most everyone here. I’ve been into aerostation for ten years.”
“Aerostation?” Michael echoed.
“A fancy word for ballooning,” the man said with a smile.
The slack in the tether line was released and the variometer began to measure in feet per second the balloon’s lazy climb toward the sky. Tommy and Jenny clung to the padded leather edges of the huge basket, gazing in awe at the bright colors around them. Jenny pushed back the hair that had been blown into her face by the wind. Soon, the noise of the burner sending heat up into the throat of the balloon drowned out the sounds of the people below. Jenny clung to the side, afraid the basket would shake in the wind, but she was surprised at how sturdy it felt.
“How come it isn’t jiggly?” she asked the balloonist, who wore a name tag that said he was called Max.
“The cables hanging down from the balloon are very strong,” Max replied, “and they provide a remarkably stable base. Do you know, movie-makers can get steadier air shots from a balloon than from a plane or helicopter?”
Michael could see for himself that the gondola was sturdy, and he knew a strong tether line held them anchored to the ground below. But his fear of heights kept him from going to the edge. He sat on one of the large, lightweight fuel tanks stored at one end of the gondola. The higher up they went, the more he was reminded of the watch tower at the center. If anything happened, it would be a long fall.
“I can’t see anyone’s face very well,” Jenny said. “How will we find Mr. Colpan?”
“Lots of people want a good look around,” the balloonist said, speaking loudly over the roar of the burner. He opened a door under the control panel and pulled out a pair of binoculars. “Try these.”
“Neat,” Jenny cried.
“Let me look,” Tommy insisted.
“You should really take turns, children,” Mrs. Mira said.
Michael looked at the binoculars. He wanted them, too, wanted the illusion of being closer to the ground. But he was frozen, terrified to go too close to the edge of the balloon carriage. He couldn’t move a muscle.
“You go first, Jen,” Tommy said. Mrs. Mira was nice, he decided. If she wanted to bring them back to the LaMane Center, she wouldn’t be bothering to spend so much time and money on a ride.
Jenny put the binoculars to her eyes and scanned the crowds below. None of the faces looked familiar, she saw to her relief. If Dr. Adams was still looking for them, he hadn’t gotten this far. She decided to ask the boys to leave as soon as the balloon landed again. They obviously had a head start on their adversaries.
“I don’t see him,” Jenny said.
Tommy realized this was her way of telling him there was no one familiar below. He looked for himself and saw this was true. But when he tried to hand Michael the binoculars, he saw that his friend was sitting stiffly on a fuel tank, as white as a ghost.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
Michael shook his head with small, jerky movements.
The balloonist smiled.
“Didn’t realize how high up we go, did you?” Max asked. “Don’t worry, I haven’t had an accident yet, and I don’t intend to start now. We’ll be descending in a moment and you’ll be on good old terra firma before you know it.”
Mrs. Mira opened her purse again. “We aren’t going anywhere,” she said.
“What’re you talking about, ma’am?”
The balloonist’s cry of protest and Jenny’s scream were both drowned out by the roar of the burner overhead. No one below could know the drama taking place hundreds of feet in the air. The man at the end of the tether rope saw the basket above jerk a little, and he swore under his breath at the ornery kids who were shaking it. He couldn’t know that Mrs. Mira had pulled a hypodermic needle from her purse and had jabbed the balloonist in the neck with it. Max fell to the floor of the basket in a heap. Mrs. Mira picked up his walkie-talkie and threw it over the edge.
“Why did you do that?” Jenny asked.
“I told you we shouldn’t have trusted her,” Tommy cried. He leaned over the edge of the carriage. “Help! Help!”
But Mrs. Mira jerked him back quickly before his words could travel to the ground below.
“You trusted me, Laura,” Mrs. Mira said.
Jenny backed up a step, bumping into Michael. She felt his hand take hers and squeeze it tightly.
“Why—why did you call me that? My name is Jenny Segal.”
“Your real name is Laura Emerson.”
She knows the thoughts that have been in my mind. She’s saying the same things as that other woman.
“Don’t you remember me, dear?” Mrs. Mira said. “It’s been a long time, I know, since I last saw you. You were waving good-bye to me from the ferry on Great Gull Bay.”
Jenny shook her head. Great Gull Bay? Ferry?
“Oh, I’m certain they’ve erased much of your memory, sweetheart,” Mrs. Mira said. “But if you dig back into that amazing brain of yours, you’ll find my face. A younger face, of course. Six years younger. I was your nanny, Laura. I took care of you until the center was ready for you.”
“You’re nuts,” Tommy growled. “Her name isn’t Laura. You’re working for Dr. Adams and you just want to get Jenny upset so she can’t read your mind and learn what you’re really up to.”
The old woman smiled. “No need to read my mind. My real name is Mrs. Ginmoor. Ring a bell yet, Laura?”
“My name is Jenny,” the little girl protested weakly. There was something so comfortable to her about the name “Laura.” The more she heard it applied to her, the more it began to fit. Like a shoe worn until it almost molded to the shape of the foot. And there was something equally familiar about Mrs. Ginmoor, an even stronger feeling than the one Jenny had sensed when she first saw her in front of the concession stand.
No! Stay away from her. Stay away.
The voice cut so sharply into Jenny’s mind that she squeezed her eyes shut. She envisioned the younger woman with brown hair and glasses. The woman was shaking her head like crazy, her fingers entwined as if in beseechment. Jenny realized she was being sent a warning, and she tried hard to send her own thoughts back.
Who is she?
Someone who once cared for you, but someone who will hurt you now. Get away from her!
I can’t. We’re up in a balloon. What do I do?
“What do I do?” Jenny spoke the words aloud without realizing it.
“No,” Mrs. Ginmoor cried. “I won’t allow it. You can’t talk with Kate.”
Jenny felt something strike her hard across the face, and she tumbled to the floor, against the prone form of the balloonist. She opened her eyes to see M
rs. Ginmoor’s arm drawn back and Tommy jumping on the woman. As if possessed by supernatural strength, she shoved Tommy to the floor, too, and turned to challenge Michael. The red-haired boy had leapt to his feet, but now he stood frozen.
“I came all the way from Massachusetts because Dr. Adams called me here,” she said. “He knew where you children were heading and he needed someone you didn’t know to finish his work. Well, it isn’t exactly that you don’t know me, Laura. You remembered enough of me subconsciously to trust me. And now I’ve got all three of you trapped. Won’t Dr. Adams be proud of me when he learns I’ve got you? That I’ve prevented you from revealing the truth about his experiments?”
“Ex-periments?” Michael whispered in a choking voice. He thought of the files in his backpack.
Tommy flew at the woman, knocking her to the ground. “You aren’t going to kill us,” he roared. “We aren’t going to die.”
Mrs. Ginmoor laughed maniacally, kicking him away from her. She reached into her purse yet again and pulled out a glimmering kitchen knife. Jenny screamed as the woman headed toward her . . .
But Mrs. Ginmoor did not thrust the knife toward the child. Instead, she began to cut away at the knot of the tether rope.
Down below, the balloonist’s partner saw the basket jerking crazily again. The next people in line were complaining about the wait, and he realized this group had been up there an unusually long time. Maybe something was wrong . . .
He picked up the walkie-talkie, which allowed him to communicate with his partner.
“Max? Max, Neal here. Come in, please.”
Nothing but static.
“Max?” the man’s voice was more urgent now. He was about to call his partner again when a young boy on line pointed skyward with a shout.
The balloon had broken free!
Everyone on the ground gazed upward in amazement as the wind carried the balloon off. It seemed to be moving lazily, but Neal knew it was moving with unusual speed. And heading straight toward another one. If a crash ripped the gore seams open . . .
Hear the Children Calling Page 28