“Sounds great. Have you always liked hunting?”
“Yeah. Eight years old, I remember going out with my old man.” Ernie was looking in her direction but his eyes were focused far away, somewhere back in those woods. “He died when I was in Nam.”
“I’m sorry,” said Olivia.
“They sent me home. I was a short-timer already, only twenty-three days to go. Right out of the jungle into the cold here. Thanksgiving time, you know? Christ.” He glanced at her, at the dining-room arch, at the dog, finally settled on the carpet at his feet. “Thanksgiving. What a farce. Giving thanks—” His face crinkled suddenly in a grimace and Olivia realized he was fighting tears. She tensed. Soothe him somehow. He was unpredictable enough already. Try the weather.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “Must have been a jolt, summer to winter like that.”
He recovered himself, his dark eyes dull again. “Fucking Army,” he said. “Buddy dies, they send you back into action next day. No real funeral, no investigation, nothing. Just some damn-fool chaplain bullshitting about how he didn’t die in vain. Crap. And they pin medals on the assholes that ordered them into the wrong place.”
That frown on his face again. Olivia said hastily, “Yeah, the Army must be pretty unfeeling.”
He seemed amused. “Not at all. Civilian stateside dies, it’s oh dearie me, young fella, why don’t you go home early, have some turkey. Crazy business.”
“Yeah. Crazy business,” she agreed cautiously. The stateside civilian had been his dad, after all. But in the tight comradeship of war, a buddy’s death would be more immediate, more threatening. If her own dad died she knew she would grieve for years. But Dale’s death had left her not so much with sorrow as with an urgent sense of unfinished business, of validating his life and her own by carrying on his projects, by avenging his death.
And boy had she ever muffed it.
Ernie was looking glumly out the window down the driveway. The rain was definitely letting up, she saw, the darkest of the clouds scudding away. The people on the TV were shrieking in their small low-volume voices, clapping their hands. Someone must have won one of the all-American prizes.
Okay. Be logical. The best chance for escape was for Ernie’s boss to tell him to let her go. But she needed a backup plan. The truck, she decided. Try to get the truck keys. And padding. People who trained attack dogs wore padding against the fangs. Maybe she could snatch up the slipcover as she left. Bundle herself thickly. But all these plans required getting the rifle as well as the truck keys.
And he might have another rifle. Hunters usually did.
Ernie stirred restlessly. To keep him occupied until the mysterious boss rang back, she sought desperately for a safe topic of conversation. “Does your mother like Florida?”
“Oh, yeah.” He looked back out the window. “She’s got a sister there. And we weren’t getting along too well, her and me. She thought I was drinking too much.” He snorted. “But if I didn’t drink she thought I yelled too much.”
“Well,” said Olivia. Couldn’t respond to that. She returned to the earlier topic. “I’m glad she likes Florida. I was there once, just on vacation. The ocean is great. The beach.”
“Yeah. The beach is all right. Even in Nam the beach was great.”
“Yeah. I like beaches. I was just over at Bethany Beach, uh, yesterday.” Could that be right? Was it really only twenty-four hours ago that they’d been playing volleyball, splashing in the sea?
“Haven’t been there. Rehoboth, once.” He wasn’t paying much attention to this dumb conversation either, glancing back and forth from the window to the archway where the phone lurked.
Sergeant Rock bounced to his feet, quivering, as the phone shrilled at last. Ernie hoisted the rifle to his shoulder and strode toward the arch. He didn’t forget to tell Sergeant Rock, “Watch ’em.”
“Hello?” Olivia heard him say. “Yeah. Oh, hi, Mitch… Okay. I’m doing okay.” There was a pause. Was this Mitch the one he was waiting for? Why wasn’t Ernie saying anything about her? He said, “Okay, I get the idea. Why all the buildup? … Yeah, okay, I know you won’t… Oh, Christ!” A thump of Ernie’s boots. Sarge’s ears twitched. “You didn’t… yeah, yeah, okay, I know you won’t. They don’t have my name? Well, don’t tell the fuckers anything! I’ll get back to you, okay?”
The receiver slammed down and Ernie bounded into the room, fury twisting his bearded face. “You little shit!” he screamed. It was the most terrible voice Olivia had ever heard. “You called the cops on me!”
“No, no, I didn’t!” she exclaimed, cringing.
“Shut up!” He smacked her across the jaw. A fantail of pain flared from her cheek through her skull.
“No! I didn’t! Someone else did!” she sobbed. She’d crumpled sideways, burying her face in the sofa, arms over her head, waiting for the fists, the fangs, the bullets.
“Someone else? Down, Sarge. Like who else?”
There was something salty in her mouth but she forced herself to think through the haze of pain. This Mitch had told him something about cops. Who could have told the cops? Nick or Maggie or Jerry? The bartender? But the cops didn’t know Ernie Grant’s name, it appeared. Nick or Maggie or Jerry or the bartender would have told the name. So who else was there? “The sister?” she gasped into the sofa cushion. “Maybe Corky Lewis’s sister?”
“Jesus. Jesus, that’s it.” Ernie stepped back a pace. “Mitch said they were asking about him. Asking about his friends. Must have been the sister.”
A web of pain still pulsed around Olivia’s skull, a net around her brain. The saltiness in her mouth was blood. She could see it on the slipcover. She was aware of her every breath, air pulled across the dusty cabbage-rose slipcover into her nostrils and lungs, forcing her rib cage to move as her chest expanded and then deflated. She hoped the movement of her breathing wouldn’t set him off again. She could see his jeans from the corner of her eye, a glimpse past her own arm that was still arched to protect her head. He seemed to be staring out at the driveway. A few feet beyond him the dog sat watching him alertly for clues about what he wanted.
She was watching him the same way.
It was sinking in at last that she would never get away. Take away the dog and the rifle and he still could hurt her. He could keep her here forever.
She could die here.
If only she knew what he wanted!
He turned toward her. “Hey. You okay?” He sounded surprised.
What did he want her to say? She swallowed the blood in her mouth and mumbled “I guess so” into the cushion. She quailed again, waiting for the blow.
“Okay, here, I’ll help you sit up.” He took her hand, tugged her gently to a sitting position. A fleck of hope sparked alive, deep in her mind. He was being nice!
She said, “Thank you.”
“Here. Have a cookie.” He thrust the bag of Pecan Crisps toward her.
She ran the tip of her tongue along the inside of her throbbing cheek. The blood was coming from there, where he’d smashed her flesh against her teeth. But if that’s what he wanted—“Thank you,” Olivia said again, and bit into the cookie.
16
“Josie disappeared? When?” Holly demanded.
Nick, a weight of pity in his lumpy face, said, “Hour and a half ago, about. We drove them all over here. Donna broke down when she saw the house and we shooed the three girls into the bedroom so we could talk to Donna in the living room. She was worried about the future, about all that had to be done, and we helped her make a list of insurance people and so forth. After a while we saw the girls all troop across the dining room to the kitchen for a glass of water. The younger two went back and we didn’t think anything of it, we were busy with Donna. But then when we finally got her settled down and went back to check on the girls, Josie was gone.”
“An hour and a half.”
“Yes. Tina said she looked around the kitchen and muttered ‘Nazgul’ and then ran out through the gara
ge.”
“You called her friends?”
“Yes. She’s not there. We also called the grandparents.”
“The ones in Richmond?” The image of that angry old man lingered. But he was talking about disowning them, not snatching them.
Nick nodded. “Yes. And they’re both there, in Richmond.” Nick’s sad brown eyes moved to Donna again where she stood red-eyed and disheveled by the garage door, nodding without conviction at Maggie. “The trouble is, Donna’s convinced herself that they’ve hired someone. That it’s a kidnapping.”
Kidnapping. Holly strode over to Donna and Maggie. “Nobody’s got Josie,” Maggie was saying. “She’ll be back.”
“But Dale’s parents! And the man—the one who hit Dale with the lamp—”
“No, no, it’s not that. Josie’s just sad and—” Maggie broke off as Holly joined them.
Holly said, “Hello, Mrs. Colby. I understand Josie is gone?”
Donna began to sob again. Maggie glared at Holly and said, “She’ll be back soon.”
Holly ignored her. “Mrs. Colby, why do you think someone has her?”
Donna, choking on her sobs, gasped, “Dale’s parents want them! And there’s the man—he got in, he hit Dale—and now Josie—”
“Did you see him?” Holly asked patiently.
“No. But he gets through locked doors—”
Whoopee. She’d seen this state before, FNG’s whimpering for their mamas the first time they heard incoming. Still, you gotta try to get through, Schreiner. “He doesn’t get through locked doors, Mrs. Colby. We’ll find out how he did it,” she said soothingly.
Donna stared at her, unseeing. “Someone hit Dale. Why? All that blood—And now Josie—”
“We’ll find out.” Give up, Schreiner, no hope for answers here. Stress and terror had cut the lines of Donna’s logic. Maybe Josie really had run off like a little fool and would be back soon. That would be nice. But it was all too possible that Donna’s hunch was right. Maybe the child’s grandfather wanted to take control. Or worse yet, maybe the girl had noticed something about the murder, and the murderer knew.
Maggie was watching them, teeth against her lower lip, the occasional gusts of damp wind rippling across her blue dress. Holly asked her, “Was there a message? A note, maybe, or a phone call?”
“No. Nothing.”
Donna was shaking again. “They’ll take them away!” she sobbed, stumbling toward the street.
“Mrs. Colby!” Holly called harshly. “Listen. If you want Josie back, you have to help!”
“Help?” Donna quieted a little and turned back.
“The best thing would be if you stayed right here in case there’s a message. You should be here in case Josie or anyone else calls, to find out what they want.”
“That’s right. Josie will need you, Donna,” Maggie agreed.
“I’ll call in to alert the patrol cars,” Holly said reassuringly. “We’ll check Richmond too and have her back soon. Your job is to wait for a message.”
“Wait for a message.” Donna drew a shuddering breath. “Yes. I’m sorry, I’m so—”
“Of course you are,” Maggie soothed. “Here’s Nick. He’ll wait with you, okay?”
“Yes—thanks—” She accepted his burly arm, and together they moved toward the front door.
Holly was halfway back to the car, preparing to radio for a search for Josie, when Maggie laid a hand on her arm. “Look,” she said, “Josie will be back soon. Don’t bug the kid.”
Holly halted. “You know where she is?”
“I know she’s a little girl with a lot of grief.” Maggie was taller than Holly, her eyes intense as blue flame.
Holly didn’t budge. “She could still be kidnapped.”
“If so she’s long gone. There’s no sense looking around here unless there’s a message. You’ve probably got a lot of other things to do.”
“Hey, look, get off my back!” Holly spun away toward the car. What an asshole Maggie could be. “I’ll decide what’s relevant in this investigation.”
The hand was on her arm again, soft but insistent. “Of course you will. I’m sorry. But Josie will be back. So you might as well work on other stuff.”
Holly shook off Maggie’s hand but stopped again. Why was Maggie so insistent? Suddenly sure, Holly said, “You know where Josie is.”
“No comment.”
Lugano in New York had said this woman knew something about a kidnapping there. Holly asked, “Why the hell don’t you just tell me so we can get on with this?”
The blue eyes were sad. “You want to know why not?”
“Yeah!” Holly braced herself for a con.
But Maggie’s voice was gentle and true. “Because Josie is very young and she’s trying to cope with death. She doesn’t need to talk to someone who hasn’t coped yet herself.”
“What do you mean?” White rage licked at the roots of Holly’s mind. “I’ve coped! Anyway, that’s all over! I’m the best damn cop around here!”
“Yeah, you probably are,” Maggie agreed readily. “But it’s not really over for you, is it? You’re running from it every minute.”
Angry denial flamed and died to ashes before she could speak. Admit it, Schreiner, Mitch is right. It’s phony forgetting, isn’t it, when the thing comes snuffling back with every passing chopper, with every glimpse of red dust? But that didn’t change things now, on this case. She said, “So what? I’m still a cop. A good cop. And you damn well better cooperate.”
“I am cooperating. But right now Josie needs a friend, not a cop.”
“We’re trained to find missing people,” said Holly stiffly.
Maggie shook her black curls in exasperation. “Aren’t you listening? I know you’re trained! I’m not knocking your brains or your ability. But we’re talking about a child. And so far I’ve seen two Schreiners. I’ve seen a cold, competent detective who goes quietly and efficiently for the facts. And I’ve seen a bitter woman full of rage.”
“I’m a vet, so you think I’m wacko!”
“No! I just—” Maggie paused, searching Holly’s face. “Look, what’s all this about wacko? Or last night, that stuff about spitting on you? You think I hate vets? Because of the peace movement. Is that what bugs you about me?”
“It’s not bugging me. It’s a fact of life. Like rain or termites.”
“Yeah. Well, look, number one, I’m married to a vet.”
“Not a filthy Nam vet,” Holly snapped.
“Number two, it was the war I was against. Not you.”
“Don’t give me that shit! I got back from Nam, went into a coffeehouse stupidly wearing my uniform. Hey, says this girl, this total stranger, how many kids did you help kill?”
Pain sparked in the depths of the blue eyes. “That wasn’t fair.”
Damn civilian. If she wanted to dredge up monsters, let her look at them too. Holly said in a cool voice, “Wasn’t it? First few months I was there I knew something was wrong with the damn war. But I saw the Montagnard families shot up by the Cong and told myself we were there for the kids. To make a better life for innocent kids. Then one day some ten-year-old shoeshine boy lobbed a grenade into my friend’s Jeep. And I’m supposed to stand smiling by? There was no innocence in that phony war. Everyone who touched it became filthy.”
“Yeah.”
“I cheered when I heard someone shot that kid.” She glared at Maggie. “I cheered! Florence Nightingale here cheered!”
Maggie’s gaze dropped. In a moment she said in a low voice, “Yes. I might cheer too.”
“Yeah! Everyone did. John Wayne himself would cheer.”
“John Wayne,” said Maggie thoughtfully. “Florence Nightingale. Innocent children. All those dear old ideals—Vietnam killed them for you too.”
“Vietnam and you idiot protestors!”
“Come off it! We were saying the same thing you’re saying! We were saying this war had nothing to do with American ideals! We were saying, okay, the
Commies are bad but the other side is no better so what are we fighting for?”
“You were saying you didn’t care that people were dying there!”
“For God’s sake, that’s exactly what we cared about! You think I would’ve wasted a minute protesting a war if they used squirt guns?”
Holly shook her head stubbornly. “You don’t know what it was like. It was, hey, you went through hell when your country asked? Well, now you’re scum!”
“And for us protesters it was, hey, you believe in democracy and free speech and government by the consent of the governed? Well, you’re Commie scum!” Maggie pushed long fingers through her curls, black as crows’ feathers in the damp breeze, and her glare softened. “God. You’re right, you know. The war made us all filthy. The GI’s, the protesters, the ten-year-old with a grenade. Made us all scum.’’
Holly met her grieving eyes and for an instant trembled with the sorrow of it all. She turned away, pressed a hand to her temple. What the hell did all this have to do with Dale Colby, with Josie? She said, “Let’s get on with things, okay? I want the truth about Josie.”
Maggie sounded weary too. “First I want to know if there’s some other problem. Liv and Nick protested too. But you don’t blow up around them. Is there something else about me?”
Holly gave a little bark of a laugh. It sounded harsh to her. “You don’t want to know.”
“I want the truth, even if I don’t like it.”
No, babe, you don’t want the truth. No one in Disney World wants the truth. Holly said, “This is all beside the point. We’re trying to find a little girl, who may be kidnapped.”
“We’re trying to find out if we two can work on the same team or not. Look, you’re asking for truth from me. How about some from you?”
“You want truth? It’s not likeM*A*S*H.”
“So be it. I just want to know what else is between us.”
All right, civilian, you asked for it. Holly gestured at Maggie’s swollen middle. “They brought this Montagnard woman in one day. Pregnant. She’d run into the Cong. Hurt bad. We did a Caesarean. Little boy, almost full-term. Healthy except for one thing. He had a frag wound in his chest. We tried—tried so hard—” Holly stared dry-eyed at her shoes. The tiny beat repeating in her mind.Ten, eleven, twelve. And then no more. “He wasn’t scum. He was innocent,” she said thickly. “That baby.”
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