Dancing Up the Ladder

by Loy Holder

  Trembling, with tears streaming down her face, Liz let Doug lead her to the airport security office. Mike found them and handed Liz a cup of water and some napkins. Liz stopped crying and drank some water. She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and made eye contact with Doug. “OK. What do you need to know?”

  “We got a match on the fingerprints we collected from Mrs. James’s house, and we believe Ron Harmon is the individual who kidnapped your children”—

  “I was afraid of that,” Liz interrupted. “Ron’s crazy.” She gulped down more water and held onto the cup to steady her hands.

  “We know who we’re looking for,” Doug continued, “but we still have to find Mr. Harmon and the children. Tell me about Ron. Where do you think he’d go to hide out?”

  She took another drink and scowled. “Ron’s a drunk and can’t control his temper. I’ve filed for divorce and he hasn’t accepted it. I have a restraining order against him because he’s mean and dangerous. You need to talk to his friend, Joe Mahoney. Ron’s been staying with Joe since he got out of jail.”

  “You have an address or phone number for Mr. Mahoney?”

  Liz dug through her purse, found her address book, and glanced at Doug. “You got a pen?”

  “Pen and paper.” Mike held up his notebook and wrote down the information as Liz dictated. Doug asked questions about Ron, the children, her work locations, hours, and phone numbers, while Mike continued taking notes.

  “That’s about it for now, Mrs. Harmon. You’re working at the Jet tonight?”

  “Yes. Please call me the minute you know anything.”

  “Sure, but be patient. This could take a while.” The deputies stood to leave, and Doug touched her shoulder. “We’ll do everything we can to find Mr. Harmon and bring the children home safe.”

  Her eyes moistened with fresh tears. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. You look tired. Get some rest.”

  She watched them walk out of the security office and disappear into the airport. Despair and exhaustion settled over her, killing her ability to reason. She fumbled through her purse for some aspirin and took two with the rest of the water Mike had given her. She leaned back in the chair and let the tears come.

  After a while, the tears subsided, and the aspirin kicked in, but it was an effort to move. She slowly gathered her things and headed for her car.

  The bright sun assaulted her red, swollen eyes as she walked through the airport parking lot and found her car. She put her sunglasses on before she started the engine. I wonder how Josie and Frank are doing. I’ll check on them before I go home.

  When she pulled up in front of the James cottage, Josie ran out of the house wailing, “Liz, something awful has happened. Oh dear God…the children.” Josie was hysterical.

  Liz shut off the engine, flew out of the car, and grabbed Josie in a hug, rocking her back and forth, comforting her. “I know all about it, Josie, I know. Please stop crying. It wasn’t your fault.” Loosening her grip on Josie, she looked into her eyes. “Two deputies met me at the plane and told me everything.” Liz gently squeezed Josie’s hand and asked, “You got any coffee?”

  Wiping her tears away with her hand, Josie gave a tentative smile. “Come on in. I just made some sandwiches and coffee.”

  “That’s sounds wonderful.” Liz followed Josie into the house.

  Frank was sitting at the table when they walked into the kitchen. He looked worried as he glanced at her. “I’m so sorry for those precious children. But don’t you worry. Those deputies are going to find them, you’ll see.”

  “That’s my prayer, Frank,” Liz said as she sat beside him.

  Josie brought a plate of sandwiches and coffee to the table and joined Liz and Frank. “Eat first Liz, and then tell me what the deputies said.”

  She felt Josie staring at her as she bit into a sandwich. Josie shook her head. “You look awful. Did you get any sleep last night?”

  “Only a couple of hours.” After another bite, Liz set her sandwich down on the plate and shook her head. “I can’t finish this.”

  “That’s OK. Tell us what the deputies said.”

  Liz took a sip of coffee and told them everything. When she was finished, she said, “Oh, I gave them the Jet phone number so they could call me tonight, if they need to.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Josie shook her head. “You shouldn’t go to work tonight. What if the deputies find the children later this evening and want you to come pick them up? The children will have been through God knows what, and they’ll need their mother, not a babysitter.” Josie’s face went beet red with anger.

  Frank frowned. “I agree with Josie, Liz. You need to put those kids first.” Frank didn’t usually sound so stern and cross.

  “Look, I love my children more than anything.” Liz rubbed her forehead and brushed her hair from her eyes. “If the deputy calls me, of course I’ll leave work and pick them up. Sam will cover for me. She knows how to count cash and close up the place. Besides, if I stay home, I’ll go nuts.”

  Liz stood from the table. Josie and Frank stood with her, and she hugged them both. “I’m doing the right thing. Please, trust me on this.”

  Once inside her house, Liz put her things in the closet and was instantly overcome with emotion again. Her tears flowed. Her heart was being ripped from her chest. She knelt on Blanche’s crocheted rug beside her bed and prayed.

  * * *

  Chapter twenty-seven

  It was just after midnight when Ron turned off Folsom-Auburn Road and parked the truck in the Beal’s Point parking lot. He’d had a few swigs of Jack Daniels on the way and he was ready to kick back and relax. He stashed the fifth back under the seat, and glanced at his son. “Come on, let’s find a spot.” He stepped out of the truck and walked to the truck bed for a beer.

  After he opened the beer, he went back to the passenger side of the cab and glared at the boy. “Unbelievable. Ronnie, you look just like your mother; same ugly frown.” Ron hated that look. He shook his head and barked, “Get out of the truck, son. Let’s go.”

  Ronnie pointed at his sister and didn’t move. “Her, too?” She was still sleeping with her head resting in his lap.

  “No, let her sleep.” Ron took a few steps away from the truck but didn’t hear Ronnie get out. He wheeled around and growled, “What’re you waiting for?”

  Ronnie’s small voice had an insolent tone. “I’m coming.” He eased Regina’s head off his lap, climbed out of the truck, and followed Ron.

  A full moon played hide-and-seek with the scattered clouds as Ron walked in the sand. It was cold and breezy. The gentle waves lapped against the sandy shore of the lake. Ron was irritated. “This is already too much work,” he muttered as he kicked a pebble that appeared in his path. All he wanted to do was set up the tent, get the kids settled, and have some quiet time of his own. Ronnie’s a pain in the ass. Is it too much to ask for just a little time to relax?

  He stopped at a campsite near the edge of the lake. He stood with one hand on his hip and gazed around. He used his empty beer bottle as a pointer. “How about this spot? There’s a picnic table, and we got a fire pit over there.”

  “It’s good, Dad.” Ronnie nodded. Ron tossed the beer bottle on the ground. “OK, you wait here.”

  “Why?” Ronnie whined, frowning.

  Ron grabbed Ronnie and shook him hard, his thumbs cutting into Ronnie’s small shoulders. “No more questions. Just do what I tell ya.” Ron had a buzz by now and was just wanting to crash on the sand and star-gaze. Frustrated and losing his patience, he ran his hands through his dark hair and headed back to the truck.

  Now he had to deal with Regina, as if Ronnie wasn’t bad enough. He was in no hurry to haul camping equipment to the campsite. He took his time as he sauntered back to the truck, savoring the thought of Liz soon discovering that her kids were missing. Thirsty for another drink, he stepped up his pace.

  When he reached the truck, he fumbled under his sea
t for the Jack Daniels. Yep, both bottles were there. He grabbed the half-empty one and took a shot. “Ahh,” he murmured. It warmed his throat and made him feel powerful yet calm. He breathed in the damp night air, put both bottles of Jack in the cooler, and began unloading the truck.

  The racket he made woke Regina, and she called out, “Daddy?”

  He heard her voice and hollered, “Just a minute, Regina.” He shook his head and muttered, “Damn, here we go.” He reached into the cooler, took a swallow of Jack, put the bottle back, closed the lid, and walked to the cab, “What?” he asked as he opened the door.

  Regina held up her right foot. “See, Daddy? No slippy.”

  “What the fuck?” Ron whispered, rubbing his forehead. “Where is it, Regina?”

  She shrugged her shoulders, and her blue eyes widened.

  Ron’s jaw grew tense as he frowned. “Well, you’ll have to go without it. Come on, get out of the truck.”

  “No, I can’t.” Regina’s lip quivered. He opened the door, removed her remaining slipper, lifted Regina to the ground, and said, “Yes, you can. Here, carry this bag of stuff.” He handed her a paper sack, threw a large canvas bag full of lightweight gear over his shoulder, and grabbed the handle of the cooler with his free hand. He cursed the weight of the cooler as he dragged it through the sand. He ignored Regina’s tears and her quiet moans as she followed him, barefoot, over sharp rocks and debris.

  When they got to the campsite, Ronnie hopped off the bench. “Dad, I have to go pee.”

  Ron grabbed the bag from Regina and pulled out a roll of toilet paper. He handed it to Ronnie, saying, “Just in case,” and pointed to a cluster of trees a short way from the campsite at the base of a slight hill.

  “But, Dad, it’s nighttime.” Ronnie looked up at his dad, his lip trembling.

  Ron growled at his son, slurring his words, “Jesus, Ronnie, don’t be a pussy. I gotta set up the tent. Get going.”

  The boy stood, staring at his dad and holding the toilet paper, not moving. Ron lunged at Ronnie and said, snarling, “What’s wrong with you?”

  Ronnie looked up at his dad with tears in his eyes. “I’m scared.”

  Ron’s hand was ready to strike the boy. “Take off right now, or I’ll give you a reason to be scared.”

  Regina turned to follow her brother, but Ron yelled at her, “Stay here, Regina. Go sit on the picnic bench until I tell you to get up.”

  “I’m cold—I want Mommy,” Regina sputtered. She climbed up on the bench and began to cry as she put the table between herself and her father.

  From the cooler, Ron pulled out an eight-ounce plastic cup, a beer, and a bottle of Jack Daniels. He eyed his daughter as she sobbed, shook, and hiccupped, and he yelled into her face, “Shut the fuck up, you little bitch!”

  She stopped crying, frozen in place. He needed another good shot to deal with these bratty kids. It was obvious that Liz was a poor disciplinarian. First, he poured a couple of shots of Jack into the cup, filled it with beer, and drank it down, and then he tackled the tent. He needed to settle the kids down in the tent before he could relax.

  When Ronnie came back, Ron ordered both kids to get into the tent and promised he would bring them some peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches before they went to sleep. The tent was only big enough for two adults, so when Ron crawled inside with their sandwiches, it was a tight fit. He sat upright and cross-legged. The children were silent while they ate.

  The fifth of Jack he’d brought into the tent was almost empty. He took a drink and began to tell them a story. He had more than a buzz now, and he struggled to pronounce each word of the story. Every once in a while, he would pause, take another drink, and break into hysterical laughter. He’d punch Ronnie hard on the shoulder—“Get it?”—and then continue with the story. Finally, Ron realized that the children weren’t chuckling at his “funny” story. He reached for the Jack, finished it off, and threw the empty bottle on the blanket. He could almost taste the bitter anger he felt as he leaned toward his kids. “Why aren’t you laughing, you dumb asses? Some party this is.”

  Ronnie glanced sideways at his sister and yelled, “It’s not funny, Dad, and you’re drunk. We want to go home.”

  “Listen, you little bastard.” Ron glared at his son and hissed in a low voice, “I know your mother tells you I’m a no-good drunk, but she shakes her bare ass in front of men for a living like a bitch in heat.” He paused and shook his fist in the air for emphasis. “That’s a hell of a lot worse than my drinking, so she has no business talking shit about me. Hell no! I’m not taking you home.”

  “But Dad,” asked Ronnie, his eyes filling with tears, “You mean ‘never’?”

  Regina yelled, “I want Mommy!” She started to whimper.

  Ron shook his head and mumbled, “Hell, I need some air.” He turned from the children and crawled out of the tent on his hands and knees. Once outside, he removed his boots and socks, somehow managed to stand up, and stumbled to the cooler for the other fifth of Jack Daniels. With the bottle nested securely in the crook of one arm, he staggered down the shoreline.

  He ignored his children’s screams, begging him to come back and take them home. The familiar voices in his head stole his attention, fueling his hatred for Liz. She’d left his bed, turned his children against him, and destroyed his life. He had nothing but the booze to comfort him. As he wandered farther along the beach, he’d stop at the water’s edge for a moment and take another swig, trying to drown the demons. Finally, about two miles from the campsite, he collapsed face down on the wet sand, and his demons were still.

  * * *

  Chapter twenty-eight

  Liz woke from a short nap. Ow! My stomach hurts. Damn, it’s time to get up, but I don’t want to move. She lingered, listening to a dog barking and neighborhood children playing until the burning below her sternum drove her from the bed to the medicine cabinet for an antacid. The pain in her stomach was nothing compared to the emotional pain from the thunderous quiet in the house, with no little footsteps or voices.

  Liz washed her face, dressed, and went into the kitchen. Soup was all her stomach could handle. She left the stove to glance out the window, got distracted by a skunk in the field, and turned to find the soup boiling over. Liz swore and dashed to turn off the burner. Cleaning off the stove made her late. Irritated and no longer hungry, she threw out the burned soup, put the dishes in the sink, and drove to the Jet.

  When she walked into the Jet, she saw Bill sitting at the bar. He looked up when he saw her come in. She started to walk by him without saying hello. “Hey you,” he said, touching her arm and grinning.

  Liz tried to smile. “I’m late.”

  His eyebrows went up. “How come? Everything OK?”

  “No.” Liz shook her head. “Can we talk later?”

  “Sure. I’ll come back after work.” He scowled. “Something’s wrong; I can sense it.”

  “I’ll say,” she said with a frown. She squeezed his arm as he stood to leave. When he walked through the door, she peeked into the kitchen. Sam was making a large pepperoni. “Hey,” Liz said, as she walked in. “I need to talk to you for a second.”

  Sam had her back to Liz and said, “Sure, just let me put this pizza in the oven.” When she turned to face Liz, she gasped, “Whoa, you look awful. What’s up?”

  “I may need to leave early. Could you cover for me, and close up?”

  “Yeah, but why?”

  Liz shook her head and frowned. “Not sure yet.” Liz left Sam scratching her head and went to the women’s lounge to change. Liz had stopped confiding in Sam because she had an opinion about everything.

  Although the dinner-shift crowd was thinning, the place was full of regular customers gathered at the three tables nearest the stage. She punched several of her fast favorites into the jukebox, and smiled at her appreciative audience from the stage. Their enthusiasm rejuvenated her, and she lost herself in the beat of the music.

  Just before eleven, while Sam w
as in the kitchen, Liz was behind the bar washing pitchers when the phone rang. Liz’s heart jumped to her throat. She grabbed the phone, saying, “The Jet, Liz speaking.”

  “Mrs. Harmon?”

  “Yes.” Her pulse raced. The voice sounded like Doug Forrester, the deputy sheriff. “Did you find my children?” Liz blurted out, breathing hard into the phone. Sam came out of the kitchen and stared at her.

  “Not yet. I was just calling to give you an update. We’ve got information from Mr. Mahoney, and we’ve sent a fresh team of deputies to look for Mr. Harmon and the children.”

  “Where?” Liz shouted into the phone, aware that Sam stood close by, listening.

  “We don’t have anything yet, but we’re close. We’ll call you when we know something definite. Will you be home later?”

  “I’ll be home by two thirty.”

  “Good. We’ll be in touch.” Deputy Forrester hung up.

  Liz stared into space, holding the receiver in midair, and whispered, “Ronnie and Regina, where are you?”

  Sam took the receiver from Liz’s frozen hand and hung up the phone. “OK, so your kids are missing. What happened?”

  “Ron took my kids.” Liz shook her head, her words slow and hesitant. “I’m too upset to talk. I need to keep working.”

  After midnight, Liz was behind the bar washing glasses when Bill came back. “Hi there,” he said as he leaned over the bar to get her attention. When she looked up, her lips toyed with a smile. She set the last clean glass down, and the hint of a smile faded as she asked, “Can I get you a beer?”

  “No, come sit and talk to me.” He patted the barstool next to him, and she was drawn to the tender, caring look on his face. She came out from behind the bar, heard laughter, and saw that Sam and the remaining customers were playing pool in the back room. It was safe for her and Bill to have a private moment.

  Her eyes filled with tears as she settled onto the barstool beside him. He took a napkin from the bar and gently swiped at a streak of wandering mascara on her cheek. She met his gaze and whispered, “My worst nightmare is happening,” and she told him everything.