Declan fitted a fishing lure into the slingshot and pulled as hard as he could before letting go. The lure whistled at furious velocity across the lake. He did it again and again until all the lures were gone then sat down on the dock. The cry of a nearby Loon startled him. What was he doing here? He was tired of not being able to provide his own answers. Natasha called from the cottage.
“Decky? Where are you?”
“Coming.”
Declan scrambled to his feet and set back up the path to the cottage. Tomorrow, he told himself, tomorrow things would become clearer.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Elizabeth went white with shock as Joan told her the news. Icy fingers of fear crawled along her veins. A man claiming to be their father had abducted her children. With trembling hands she dialed the police and gave them every scrap of information she could think of.
Eleanor Springfield accompanied police officers Rigby and Lee to her darkened school. She gave them photos, supplied by Elizabeth, of people permitted to pick up Jack and Camille. The two officers then called on nurse Suzanne Marcos at home. She confirmed that the man who picked up the children matched the photo provided by their mother, although he was thinner. She added that the children seemed excited to see him and called him ‘daddy’.
According to Miss Springfield, Declan Thomas was dead. Suzanne Marcos couldn’t understand why the photo of a dead man had been provided but she hadn’t been in the country long enough to fully comprehend its customs.
Officer Rigby, father of two teenaged daughters, remembered their anguish when news of Declan Thomas’s death was announced in the media. Heavily suspicious of people and their motives, Rigby wondered whether this latest development was in fact a kidnapping. It could be a publicity stunt to boost sales of Declan Thomas’s music. Still, here was a situation in which two children were missing. It had to be taken seriously.
Sighing heavily, Rigby and his partner drove to Palmerston Avenue, parking their cruiser in front of the massive brick duplex owned by Elizabeth and Effie. He pressed the doorbell and waited. A large woman in a flowing caftan answered the door.
“Elizabeth Harding?” inquired Rigby.
“No, I’m a friend. I live upstairs. She’s in here.”
Effie led the officers into a spacious living room where Elizabeth, wrapped in a blanket, sat motionless on a couch. She looked at the police through swollen eyelids.
“Did you find them?” she demanded. “Have you found Jack and Camille?”
Officer Rigby laid a photo on the table in front of her.
“According to the school M’aam, it was this man here. It was the children’s father Declan Thomas who picked them up, although I believe he’s reportedly dead. Can you explain it?”
Elizabeth looked at the photo in dismay then back at the police.
“If I could explain it then you wouldn’t be here.”
“The children apparently recognized him.”
“They’re just kids. They must’ve been mistaken. It could have been anyone, someone who looked like their father. I tell you my children have been kidnapped; you’ve got to find them. Please.” She broke down in heaving sobs.
Officer Rigby glanced around the house. From the number of empty bottles of Veuve Cliquot, he surmised there’d been a party.
Effie sat beside Elizabeth, hugging her and handing her tissues.
“I’m just curious Ms. Harding,” said Rigby, “why would you supply a photo of a dead man to the school?”
“Oh for God’s sake. It was to prevent someone from saying he was the twins father. It was to prevent an imposter taking them but that’s exactly what’s happened,” wailed Elizabeth, “an imposter has kidnapped my children.”
“There was a lot of news when Mr. Thomas disappeared,” said Rigby, “killed in a helicopter crash off Scotland if I recall.”
“His body was never found,” sobbed Elizabeth. As the words crossed her lips a shattering thought occurred to her.
“Are you saying…do you think…?”
Officer Lee finished her sentence: “He could still be alive.”
Elizabeth shook her head, choking out her words
“Impossible. Scottish Coast Guard, divers, dogs, police all turned up nothing.”
“Do you have a death certificate?” inquired Officer Lee.
Elizabeth shook her head.
“It takes longer to get one when there’s no body.”
Elizabeth’s brain was reeling.
“Put out an amber alert for Jack and Camille. I insist. My children are in danger.”
Officer Rigby glanced at his partner.
“We only do that if children have vanished. It’s not meant for parental abduction.”
“Parental abduction?” screamed Elizabeth in disbelief. "How could a dead man abduct them? Tell me, how?”
“There was a third person,” said Rigby, “a Joan Thomas was authorized to pick them up. Who and where is she?”
“Here I am,” said Joan walking into the room. “I’m the children’s grandmother.”
“Is it possible Declan Thomas had a twin?” asked Officer Lee.
“No officer,” said Joan. “Declan was definitely an only child.”
Elizabeth stared at the photograph of Declan, scarcely believing what she’d just heard. These officers seemed to believe Declan was alive? It was sheer lunacy.
“It’s some kind of cruel trick,” said Elizabeth, balling up a sodden tissue and taking another from Effie. She blew her nose.
“You gave permission for this man, the father, if it is the father, to take them,” said Rigby.
“And what if it isn’t him?” Elizabeth felt a rush of rage. “What if it’s someone who just looked like him? What if he’s taken them out of the country?” Elizabeth felt she was on the verge of smashing something.
“If it’s a kidnapping, they’ll want money,” said Rigby.
“They?” said Elizabeth.“Why are you saying they?”
“Just a figure of speech M’aam.”
“So you’re not going to do anything?” said Elizabeth through gritted teeth “Nothing at all?”
Rigby snapped his notebook closed and looked at Lee. He couldn’t wait to finish his shift and get home to a cold beer.
“There’s probably a reasonable explanation,” said Rigby. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.” People watch too much television, he thought. “Stay calm M’aam. Something should turn up in the next twenty-four hours. We’ll see ourselves out.”
“So I’m just supposed to sit here and wait?”
“Twenty-four hours M’aam. We’ll be in touch. Chances are you’ll hear something. If you do, here’s my card. Let us know.”
Elizabeth gazed at Effie in disbelief.
“Oh God Effie. What am I going to do? Jack said he wasn’t feeling well. I should have kept them home. I was being selfish. I wanted them to be away so we could have our party. It’s all my fault.”
Elizabeth broke down again, sobbing on Effie’s shoulder.
“Shh, shh,” comforted Effie putting her arms around Elizabeth. “You weren’t to know. You’re a good mother Elizabeth.”
“I’m not. I’m the worst mother in the world. And now they’re gone. My babies are gone. Who’s taken them Effie, and why?”
“Natasha,” said Joan, turning white as the blood drained from her face.
“What? What do you mean Natasha?” cried Elizabeth.
“Natasha, the crazy one. I saw her at the school. She came up behind me when I was picking up the twins a couple of weeks ago,” said Joan.
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you,” said Joan.
“Worry me? Worry me? That evil bitch knows where my children are and you don’t want to worry me?” Elizabeth’s voice rose to a shriek.
“I’m so sorry,” said Joan starting to cry. “We don’t know she had anything to do with it…although, although…”
“Although what Joan?
Tell me what you know.”
“She said she was going to Scotland,” said Joan in a whisper, “to see where Declan died.”
“I don’t believe it. This is insane.”
Elizabeth flung off her blanket.
“She’d be out of jail by now,” said Elizabeth flying to her computer. “Her last name’s Khomeini. Her father is some big deal in the car business.”
After a few minutes, Elizabeth had Khaleed Khomeini’s phone number. It went to voice mail. Elizabeth called the number Rigby had left her to report information on Natasha. There was nothing to do but endure the agony of waiting, with every nerve fraying by the second. It was a long and sleepless night.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Khaleed Khomeini returned home from the Middle East late Saturday afternoon to find ten messages from Elizabeth. He called her right away.
“Natasha just returned from Scotland,” he told Elizabeth. “She went to see where some singer passed away. Now she has taken one of my cars and gone to see friends.”
“Where? Mr. Khomeini? Where might she have gone?” pleaded Elizabeth.
“I do not know all her friends. I suppose she could be anywhere,” he said.
“Let’s say she didn’t go to see friends. Let’s say she wanted to hide somewhere. Where do you think she might go?” said Elizabeth.
“Hide? Why would my daughter want to hide? She is becoming a doctor,” said Khaleed.
“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean hide. I meant if she wanted to get away.”
“Why is it so important for you to get in touch with her? You sound very worried.”
Elizabeth thought fast.
“It’s for a magazine. We need her to be on the cover…urgently. She’s got the look we need.”
“Natasha would be liking that very much.” He paused and thought for a second. “Well I suppose she might go to our cottage.” Khaleed glanced to a key rack. “Yes, I see the key is gone.”
“Where is the cottage Mr. Khomeini , and how do I get there?”
“Why didn’t you mention the kids?” asked Effie after Elizabeth hung up.
“No point,” said Elizabeth. “She’s either got them or she hasn’t. I didn’t want to alarm him. I mean, who knows? Maybe Mr. Khomeini is somehow involved.”
“What about the person who looks like Declan?” cried Joan.
“As far as I know Declan is dead so I’ve got no idea,” said Elizabeth. She felt sick.
“I gather you’re going to this cottage,” said Effie. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“Or me?” asked Joan.
“No, stay here,” said Elizabeth, "the police might come round with some information.”
“What if they need to speak with you?” asked Joan.
“They can call my cell and leave a message,” said Elizabeth. “I’ll call them back when I’m not driving.”
“Where is this place?” asked Effie. “If it’s remote there might not be cell service.”
Elizabeth scribbled the address down on a piece of paper.
“What if you go all the way up there and the place is empty?” asked Joan.
“Then I’ll turn around and come back. It’s better than sitting here feeling useless.”
Elizabeth dressed for the country in hiking boots, jeans, a thick sweater, down vest, gloves and scarf.
“Good luck,” they said to her. “Take care.”
Elizabeth hoped to hell she wouldn’t need luck, that most capricious of mistresses.
Inching through congested traffic Elizabeth wanted to scream with frustration. She turned on the radio to distract herself. Wouldn’t you know she’d hear Declan singing a song he’d written for her. The words sent a shiver through her body. They seemed like a message. Was it just coincidence or was the universe telling her something? Declan’s words washed over her.
“I could cry into forever.
When I think about losing you
We’re a long way from tomorrow
Don’t colour my sunshine blue.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Byron called Joan several times and left messages. Finally, he went around to her house and knocked on the door without getting a response. As a last resort he decided to go back to Elizabeth’s to see if she knew whether Joan was okay or not. Joan opened the door as Effie was leaving.
“I’ll be upstairs if you need me Joan. Let me know if you hear anything,” said Effie.
“Of course,” said Joan. She turned to Byron, her voice quavering.
“I’m sorry Byron. We’re in a bit of a crisis mode right now. If you’ve come to see Elizabeth, she’s not here.”
“I was coming to see Elizabeth but only to find out what happened to you. What crisis?” he asked in concern.
Part of Joan wanted to send him away. But standing in the doorway looking so energetically masculine, so strong and dependable made her want to melt into his arms.
“Come in,” she sighed. “I’ll tell you what’s happened. It’s a disaster.”
Fifteen minutes later, Byron had heard the whole story.
He pulled out his cell phone.
“Who are you calling?” asked Joan.
“Head of the Ontario Provincial Police. Those baseball seats we sat in? They’re his.” Byron spoke into his phone.
“Hi Deborah. It’s Byron Sparks here. Put me through to Jerry will you?”
After Byron had finished explaining the situation and given the address of the cottage he rang off.
“Jerry’s on it. He’s a good man.,” said Byron. “I think it’s better to play it safe. That woman, Natasha? She could be extremely dangerous.”
Joan nodded. “Yes, you’re right. Thank you.”
“So now tell me,” said Byron leaning forward and resting his elbows on splayed knees. “What happened to you last night? Suddenly you were gone.”
Joan was embarrassed. There was no point in lying. She might as well tell the truth.
“I saw you with Elizabeth, outside the bathroom.”
“So,” said Byron. “What of it?”
“Look,” said Joan, “Elizabeth is a very attractive woman so I completely understand if…”
Byron looked incredulous then laughed.
“Me? Elizabeth? You must be joking. We only just met.”
Joan felt irritated by his amusement.
“For someone you just met, you seemed pretty comfortable touching her neck,” she said.
“What?” said Byron. He thought back to the gesture. That’s right, he had touched Elizabeth’s neck and Joan must have seen him. “We met before. Once,” said Byron. “You remember the photo of the woman’s neck at my exhibition?” Byron watched Joan’s face closely, waiting for her to make the connection. He added, “I thought I knew Elizabeth from somewhere. It fell into place when I recognized her scar. I’d just been telling her I couldn’t put my finger on where I’d met her so it seemed funny to touch the scar once I recognized it. The photo is quite famous now.”
“So how…where did you meet?” asked Joan.
“By sheer chance at a coffee shop some four years ago. Her scar was fresh and visible. I approached her to sit for me. There’s nothing more to it than that.”
Joan thought back to Byron’s show at the gallery. She did remember the photograph. She felt foolish.
“Byron, I’m sorry,” she said miserably. “I’ve got everything wrong. I should’ve told Elizabeth the moment I set eyes on Natasha. And now…” Tears overwhelmed her.
Byron got up from his armchair and sat beside Joan on the couch. He put his arm around her and offered her a white handkerchief with his initials on it.
“Shh, shh, it’ll be alright. There’s no proof of anything right now.”
“Poor Jack. Poor Camille,” sobbed Joan. “I’m such a stupid woman.”
“You did what you thought was best,” said Byron. “If Natasha has somehow taken the kids, she’s in big trouble. The police will find her.”
“But what about
the man? Who was the man who picked them up? The children knew him. They called him daddy.”
Joan stared at Byron through tears. Her lip trembled.
“Is it possible?”
“Is what possible?” asked Byron running his index finger gently down Joan’s cheek.
“Is it possible my son is still alive?”
“Believe me,” said Byron. “Anything and everything is possible.”
***
Despite Jack acting up at breakfast, Natasha thought their first day together as a family had been a good one. Jack had reverted to babyish talk and thrown several spoonfuls of scrambled egg onto the floor. Under different circumstances Natasha would have yelled at him, or smacked him, but she’d kept it together. She smiled sweetly and cleaned up the mess without complaint. An attempt to ruffle Jack’s hair was met with a resounding ‘No’ as he pulled away from her touch. Camille, on the other hand, had become docile. She made no protest when Natasha pulled her onto her lap allowing Natasha to braid her fine red hair. Camille had sucked her thumb the whole time. Girls, thought Natasha, are a whole lot better than boys.
In the afternoon, Declan had taken the children to look for minnows. It was too cold to go in the water but Jack and Camille lay on the dock trailing a bucket trying to catch the tiny fish. Declan thought they seemed subdued and rather listless but put it down to the medication Natasha had been giving them.
Natasha watched the happy scene at the dock from the front window of the cottage. This is what people mean by domestic bliss. She ran her hands over her stomach. She could imagine adding another baby to their family; a girl, definitely a girl, a smaller version of herself. And this one would be hers, hers and Decky’s.
Rooting around in an old woodshed beside the cottage, Declan discovered a dartboard. He set it up on a log at the back of the cottage and used it as target practice for his slingshot. Natasha was amazed by his accuracy. Jack and Camille both wanted to try so hours were spent looking for the perfect piece of wood to construct a child’s slingshot.
Declan found some elastic and made each of the children their own tool. By the end of the day, the children seemed only too ready for bed. Natasha half-heartedly offered to tell them a story but Jack insisted that Declan do it. The only story Declan could recall was ‘Jack and the Beanstalk.’ Jack was delighted with a story that had his name in it. When Declan came to the part about the ogre at the top of the beanstalk Jack seemed frightened. He huddled beneath the bedclothes.
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