“Well,” said Ellen, finally. “It looks like we’ve already been sidestepped,” she eyed Gracie then Jacob keenly. “I’ll go along with this scheme if—and only if—Ruthanne and I can do our part. We’ll be fine above ground for a couple of weeks. But we will be there during the day.”
“But—” Gracie started up.
“No ‘buts’.” Ruthanne stood. “Ellen is right. We will be very careful. Ellen and I want to be part of,”—she hesitated—“how do they say it? Part of the action?”
“Yes. Part of the action,” joined Ellen, a bit more pleasant that she intended. “It appears we have a lot to do before our new guests arrive.” She rose, straightened her jacket, and glanced briefly at her Eli, who hadn’t moved, other than his finger twirling. She indicated toward him with a slight rise in her chin.
Ruthanne nodded her agreement also. She and Ellen would work out the shift details later—their story of how their Aunt Gracie needed them for a brief time.
As they began to shuffle toward the door, Eli put in his final question; one which he knew would cause the room to ice up like vapor in a freezer. “And what about Jimmy?” His words came as a spray of noxious gas. This single question had wanted to find its way to the tongue of everyone present, but like a coiled snake, had been held at bay. Now it was out . . . and everyone felt the sting of it. All eyes looked to the one individual in the room who could return his query: Gracie.
Eli felt the impact of what he had released, and quickly acted to tame it. “I mean . . . I’m sure Gracie has thought this through. And we all stand behind her. It’s just that . . .” he broke into a gasp. “Gracie. How on earth were you planning to explain this to Jimmy. He will go ballistic, and that is putting it mildly.”
Gracie’s penetrating gaze remained drilled to the floor. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, her gaze drew up, and she looked surprisingly strong and confident. “I suppose you will just have to leave Jimmy to me. I alone will deal with my son on this matter.” And that was it.
Blank eyes passed from one to the other of them. That was it? That was the answer to the question of the year? They had expected a little more substance, more explanation—an idea, a plan, a lie for heaven sake—to a question of such magnitude. “The children will be here in two days,” she added coolly. Then she turned and gave Hank a nod. “Let’s go.” And the room emptied.
—
The Staples lived nearly thirty miles northeast of the Bartons. It wasn’t too far, once you hit I-15. But to Jessie, it seemed like forever. She worried, only slightly—as she drove along dressed up like a pizza wearing way too much black makeup—about being discovered back at the Bartons. But the odds were pretty much in her favor—they rarely checked in on her once she had gone to her room for the night. And besides, they would never have expected her to escape via the roof . . . then the tree . . . then the flip-flop down . . . gads! Jessie couldn’t hardly believe she had done it! As headlights zoomed past her and red signaling lights crisscrossed her view, Jessie felt a sense of empowerment. She could really do this! Her plan, although pretty cut-and-dry, had to be followed like a recipe—one thing after another. And for it to turn out successful, she couldn’t screw up the sequence, or skip a step. The fact was, she wanted to avoid as much trouble with the law as possible. Juvenile Detention was not a place she wanted to visit any time soon . . . hence the borrowed car. And, she wasn’t about to break into the Staples home to get Sam—although on her last attempt, she had actually considered it. No, if all went to plan, her brother would be leaving the Staple’s house of his own will, right through the front door. There could be no accusations of auto-theft or breaking and entering . . . hmm, she suddenly mused. I wonder about voluntary kidnapping? Was there such a thing? Should have googled that one, she thought.
Jessie felt a sudden touch of apprehension trickle down her spine. No! Don’t dwell on the negative! She scolded herself, pushing down just a bit more on the accelerator. Yes, she would concentrate on what was ahead. She would focus on getting herself and Sam to old Joe Hopkins place without getting caught.
Joe Hopkins had been a retired school bus driver who had worked part-time with her father when they lived in California. He was as kindly a man as she had ever known, and was the closest thing to a grandfather she ever had. Every summer, her father had taken her and Sam fishing for a week at Joe’s homestead—a little old dilapidated cabin which sat quietly tucked away in the foothills of the Palomar Mountains, alongside white poplar groves and pine. It was not a well-known location. Just a hand full of hikers and even less vehicles would likely have come across it. Jessie was counting on this . . . and her memory of the camouflaged spot. There had been a spring which crossed the back section, and a generator for power—hopefully both were still there. But the best thing about the little rustic plot—other than being secluded—was that it was only about forty-five minutes from several rural towns.
When old Joe died—just months before her parents, as she now thought about it—her father had told her that Joe had one sister, and that she lived in Austria. It will be years before anyone does anything with that old place . . . her father had said, and she remembered his words. Well, Jessie mused, that old place is about to come alive again. It’s going to harbor a couple of runaways.
Jessie had enough money for about six months of food, clothing and supplies—at least that’s what the internet had said. She had obtained the money just days before at a tremendous sacrifice—she sold her mother’s rings. She had no choice. She needed the money. And besides, Jessie knew, beyond all doubt, that if her mother were alive, she’d condone her actions. It wasn’t a lot of money but it would last long enough for her and Sam to stay off radar for a while.
In a couple of years, Jessie would be eighteen, and hopefully would have a job. Then she could hire herself a good lawyer, bunker down and weather out the legal mayhem. But all that aside . . . what really mattered now was that she and Sam would be together. That single fact was the driving force for everything she had done.
Jessie made the drive in good time—especially considering her stop to grab a couple of large, hot pepperoni pizzas—and soon found herself turning onto the Staple’s street. The neighborhood was quite nice, actually. The houses more modern, the yards well kept—the Staples didn’t seem to fit this urban template—a rogue wildflower in a bed of pansies perhaps? She slowed, then spotted the number above the garage. “Whoa,” she whispered. It was a nice, multistory, brick home. Did she get the number wrong? Jessie considered this until she saw the stenciled words: The Staples in fancy bold lettering above an elaborate brick-lined mailbox.
“This is it,” she breathed, and again fought back a tinge of queasiness. Her hands were sweaty as she took them off the steering wheel. Don’t screw up! You can do this for Sam! she told herself. She took a deep breath and popped a large wad of gum in her mouth. She caked on more blood-red lipstick and took another hit of hot pink spray into her black bangs—which already looked absolutely horrid as they protruded out from under her Peppi’s Pizza hat. “Excellent!” she whispered, taking one more glance in the rear view mirror. She then grabbed the two pizzas and headed toward the front door.
Jessie knew from her previous dealings with the family that Mr. Staples would be at work. Again, part of the plan. That way, she’d only have to deal with the dingy, Mrs. Staples.
Jessie’s finger was shaking as she pushed the doorbell. Almost immediately, she heard the thumping of feet. The porch light flicked on and the door swung open. It was one of the kids. “Uh . . . hi. Does Sam Goodwin live here?” Jessie spat out between exaggerated chews on her gum.
The young girl, who was probably about the same age as Sam, was in pajamas and bare feet. The child stood for a bit as though a dumb mute, eyeing first the pizza box, then Jessie . . . over and over again! What? Was she a pigeon? Jessie was about to repeat the question when the girl suddenly bellowed out, “Mom! Door!”
Jessie jumped slightly. Good set of lungs
for one so small. Then the child simply bolted, leaving Jessie standing alone in front of an opened doorway. And what good manners, Jessie amended. The steps Jessie heard next were that of an adult, and her heart started to beat hard in her chest, so hard she could feel the pressure of it. Then the woman was at the door. It was Mrs. Staples alright.
“Yes, what is it,” the woman barked, short and irritable.
Yikes! thought Jessie. Makeup please! Makeup! Her face was awful. She put Cruella de Vil to shame! Her eyes were too close together and surrounded by more wrinkles than an overweight Shar Pei! Her hair was—
“Who ordered those!”
Jessie startled. It was now or never. Time to turn on whatever acting skills she could pull out of her hat . . . and not the Peppi’s Pizza hat! “Uh . . . yeah, I’m getting to that,” she chomped. “These are delicious Peppi’s Pizzas for Sam Goodwin,” she droned as though a memorized spill. “The school was supposed to send home a notice,” she accented.
“What notice.” Mrs. Staples scowled, her eyes narrowing—would they collide!
“Uh . . . hel’low. From the elementary school?” Jessie mangled, reaching to pick at something in her teeth. Was she getting lost in the part? “Mr. Dolton, the principle?”—she had googled that little tidbit of info—“Ya, well. He arranged for these pizzas as awards for some kind of citizenship thingy . . . Sam Goodwin was on the list.”
Staples glared again at the pizzas.
“Look lady. They’re free, but their heavy. You don’t have to take’um.”
“Hmm,” the crone grunted. “Sam didn’t say anything to me about this.”
Jessie shrugged, irritably.
Then, just as things looked as though they might fall apart, the woman actually grinned. It was forced and certainly didn’t help that hideous face one bit, but at least it was a slight up-turn of the lower lip. “I suppose if they’re free.” She reached to take the boxes, but Jessie stepped slightly back.
“Sorry. Rules say we have to give them directly to the student. I have a paper in the car he needs to sign.”
Again her brows furrowed, and the teeny-tiny grin vanished. “Why.”
“It’s to prevent any of us employees from taking the pizzas ourselves and claiming we delivered them—not that I would do that. But Carl? He’s a scunge-bag. I just know he would. He’s a real—”
“Fine,” she growled. “I’ll get Sam.”
Jessie knew she had to act fast. She had baited the hook, but now she needed Mrs. Staples to take the pizzas. She knew that if the lady was juggling a couple of hot pizzas—while simultaneously trying to keep a bunch of barking kids at bay—she probably wouldn’t be following Sam back to the door, at least not right away. It was a long shot, but Jessie’s plan was depending on it.
“Uh . . . on second thought, these pizzas are kind of heavy. Just take them now cause I’m about to drop them.” Jessie didn’t wait for a response. She pushed the two boxes at the woman. “Have the kid come to the door. I’ll grab the receipt from the car and have him sign it right here.”
Mrs. Staples instinctively reached, and with an annoyed, “fine,” took the pizzas, just as Jessie had hoped. Then without further conversation, she abruptly bellowed out: “Sam! Door!” Then the scary woman stomped off without another word, leaving Jessie at a very opened doorway. It was perfect!
Now Jessie’s heart really raced. It was not from fear, but from pure adrenaline. This was actually going to work! Again, she heard footsteps, and in another instant, appeared the person she most wanted to see in all the world. “Sam!” she whispered with as much excitement as she dared.
Sam was still dressed in school clothes, not pajamas—thank heavens—and he had his shoes on. What luck! thought Jessie. He had a strange, reserved look on his face, however, and not one of familiarity.
Who is this weird-looking girl at the door and what could she possibly want with me?
“Sam!” Jessie whispered again. “Come with me. Hurry!”
“Huh?” he said stepping back and squinting up his nose. He didn’t recognize her!
Jessie didn’t have time for this! She reached up and yanked off the hat and wig. “It’s me you dolt! Come on!” There was an instant infusion of joy which swept across his face.
“Jessie!” he cried out, taming the excitement in his voice. His eyes were wide and full of life, his newfound smile beaming.
“Ssh,” she gestured. “Come on little brother. We are out of here!”
In another instant they were across the yard and in the idling car, then gone; leaving the street, neighborhood, and the Staples just about as Jessie had found them—plus two pizzas, minus one kid.
Chapter 30:
Teresa Henington’s cell phone went off like a bomb. The ringtone was actually mild, but at 1:00 A.M. in the morning, a songbird would have sounded like a trumpet! She shot out of bed, clawed at the air for a moment, then tried to catch up with reality . . . which took a while. Who was calling her at this hour!
Charles, the cat—still sprawled out like a rug—just gave her an annoyed glance. How dare she wake him up.
But when the phone rang again, Teresa leaped from dreamland . . . Charles bolted to the floor.
“Hello?” she garbled.
“Teresa. It’s Sara. Sorry about the late hour, but we have a situation.”
A situation? At this hour it better be an emergency! It was her supervisor, Sara Hampton, from the agency: the Utah Division of Child and Family Services. But she never called her at home? Teresa reached for her lamp, felt for the glass base and groped for the switch.
Suddenly something tipped.
There was a cold, wet sensation. Teresa gasped. It wasn’t the lamp’s base she’d grabbed hold of but a half glass of water! She lunged to rescue her paperback but instead knocked a nearly full bowl of popcorn—popped that evening to help get her through chapters twenty-one and twenty-two—onto the floor. “Crap!” she hollered.
Charles jetted from the room.
“I said I was sorry about the late hour,” came the surprised voice over the receiver.
“Oh no. No . . . sorry. I just spilled something. I’m just . . . I guess I’m still waking up.” She tossed the empty bowl back to the floor and sat, conquered, on the bed. Sara obviously needed her full attention. “So what’s up, Sara?”
“Good. You’re back with me. Well, I need you to head downtown, to the,”—a hesitation—“police station on Main Street in Salt Lake City.”
The words bounced off Teresa like tiny foam balls. Yeah, she was still half asleep. “Say again?”
“I know, I know,” the woman cackled back into the receiver, “it does sound bad. Just hear me out. You remember that file I gave you week before last; the one on those two kids—parents killed in an accident—oh what were their names . . .”
“You mean the file on Jessie and Sam Goodwin?”
“Yes! Good girl. I knew you would remember,” she sniffed annoyingly into the phone.
“But I thought my involvement wasn’t to start until next week? I thought they were assigned to Diane until then.”
“Change of plans.”
Uh-huh. And here it comes, thought Teresa. Any trouble and the assignment shifts to the new girl. “Is there an issue?”
“Oh yes! Yes there is! Turns out that the woman who called you . . . what was her name?”
“You mean Gracie Reitman?”
“Yes! That’s the woman. The one you said was odd . . . who claimed to be the children’s only living relative.”
“Yes. I remember.”
“Turns out she is related! Can you believe it! And there’s more! Oh, my word! There’s so much more!”
“But you said Diane was—”
“I know what I said. But now things have changed. We need to move ahead on this now, Teresa. I’ve already contacted Diane. She is going to meet you at the police station in one hour—”
“One hour!”
“Sacrifice, Teresa. That’s all pa
rt of the job. Diane will transfer all material she has on these two kids, to you. It’s a mess over there! I received a phone call from a Sergeant Bench. It seems that the girl, Jackie—”
“You mean, Jessie,” Teresa corrected.
“Yes. Jessie. That’s what I said. Anyway. She up and ran away from the Bartons—good family, Bartons—and took her little brother, Steve, with her!”
“Sam.”
“Yes. Sam. Didn’t I say, Sam? She nabbed the boy right out from under the nose of Shirley Staples—not such a great family, but stalwarts, and as predictable as they come.”
It’s the middle of the night for heaven sakes! thought Teresa. Quit rambling and get to the point!
Sara broke, gulped air and picked right up again: “I guess the two of them were headed for California. Fortunately Mrs. Staples—the woman is a bit odd, but she’s as attentive as a sheepdog—called the police. Luckily, they caught them just outside the city! This is really getting out of hand, Teresa. Neither the Bartons nor the Staples will have the kids back! They have had it! And there may even be charges filed against the girl, Jackie . . .”
Teresa sighed. It’s Jessie!
“. . . for kidnapping! Kidnapping!”
That did sound rather severe, Teresa realized. “Okay Sara. Tell me what you need me to do. Tell me, exactly.”
“I need you to contact this Reitman woman, ASAP! You are the only one who has spoken with her, and who has her contact information. Update her on what has happened and see if she is still interested in taking these two kids. We certainly don’t have a solution, and probably never will have, which will be acceptable for both of them. This Gracie Reitman is all we have right now.” Sara paused to clear her throat. “This is your baby now. Head down to the station and see what you can do. They’ll probably want to keep the girl in custody, but the boy can be released to our people immediately. Follow protocol, Teresa, but do what you can.”
“I’ll do my—”
“And keep me in the loop!” Sara’s phone clicked off.
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