Willow Pond

by Carol Tibaldi

  “A woman came to see me a couple of months ago. Just before I found out about the big C.”

  “Who was it?”

  “You know who I’m talking about.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Sure you do. Think about it.”

  It took a matter of seconds for him to realize who Dan Molloy was talking about. But was he telling the truth? He couldn’t believe she was the kidnapper. No, it had to be someone else.

  “Virginia Kingsley?”

  Molloy just smiled.

  ***

  A terrible thunderstorm knocked out power in Manhattan on the West Side the night before. By ten o’clock the next morning, when Wilson pulled up in front of Bacchanal, it still hadn’t been restored. He wondered if anyone would be there and was surprised when a young man came to the door.

  The detective pushed past him and headed for Virginia’s office, but when he turned around the young man was still right behind him. Wilson ignored him and knocked on Virginia’s door, waiting for her to respond.

  “Let me in, Miss Kingsley. I’m not going away.”

  She flung the door open. “Wilson. Are you here to waste more of my time?”

  He strode past her, into her office, and sat on the sofa. “I think you’ll find what I have to say very interesting.” They glared at each other. “Close the door,” he said.

  Virginia crossed her arms over her chest. “I should throw you the hell out of here.”

  “You know where that’ll land you.”

  Harry Davis came to the door and she spoke privately with him. She patted his hand and he walked away, tossing Wilson a backward glance filled with warning as he went. A few minutes later Harry returned and sat in a chair right outside her door.

  “Everyone sure is protective of you around here.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  He smirked. “It’s like you’re one big, happy family.”

  “Tell me what you’re doing here, Wilson. By any chance are you still investigating my nephew’s kidnapping?”

  “Sure am.”

  “You haven’t told me why you’re here.” She chuckled. “A bit of socializing, perhaps?”

  Wilson puffed on his cigar. “Is the name Dan Molloy familiar to you?”

  “Nope.”

  “You never went to see him in Sing Sing?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Never told him you know who kidnapped Todd?”

  She shook her head. “If I knew that I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you. I’d be out trying to find him.”

  “Been out of town a lot lately, haven’t you?”

  “Keeping tabs on me, Detective? I’ve always liked to travel. I’m not doing it any more now than I usually do.”

  Wilson scratched his chin, skeptical. “Why would Molloy lie about this? He has nothing to gain.”

  “How can you be sure of that?”

  “I am. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  It had taken time to become accustomed to using another name, but once she did, the transition from Nancy Evans to Maggie Pierce was much easier than anything else going on in her life.

  In late July, she drove down a narrow road in Vandalia, Ohio with the radio on and the little boy sitting next to her, humming along with the music. He was such a good-natured child. Maggie was so tired of driving and being on the road. All she wanted to do was lay her head on a soft pillow and sleep for days.

  While they idled at a stoplight, waiting for it to change, a couple of hobos shuffled into the street and knocked on her door. She waved them away. She didn’t have a dime to spare. One of them stared in the window at the child beside her, looking puzzled. As soon as the light changed, she sped away. Everywhere she went, suspicious people watched her. She had to find a way to disguise the little boy’s appearance.

  Despite all the problems he presented, he was a delightful baby. He was sweet and loving, and she’d come to think of him as her own. He snuggled up to her while she read him a story or sang him a lullaby, and she realized even at his young age he understood her feelings. When he’d started calling her Mommy, it had filled her with love. She hoped he was young enough to forget he’d once had another mother.

  At first, keeping food in their stomachs and a roof over their heads was almost impossible. She drove from town to town in upstate New York, searching for somewhere to go. Most of the time they lived in the car, which was hard on the child, and as a result he was cranky much of the time. She tried her best to comfort him, but most of the time he’d turn away from her and cry himself to sleep. Watching him broke her heart.

  Occasionally she found a room for them where no one stared and they’d stay a few days, but never longer. Over time she began to wonder if anyone really was suspicious or if it was all her imagination. When she found an inn in Falmouth, Maine that she liked, she decided to look for work around there. But when she returned and was told a tall, dark-haired woman had been looking for her, she knew she couldn’t let her guard down. They’d hit the road again and alternated living in the car with crashing in rooms in out-of-the-way places.

  One morning they passed the border into Ohio and she knew she had to find a way for them to settle, at least temporarily. If she got a job and changed his appearance, no one would take much notice of either him or her. There was no way she could settle here for good because she had other plans, but in order for those plans to work out she needed to save some money.

  When she reached Vandalia, Ohio, she knew it was the right place. Remembering the incident with the two hobos, she drove a short distance until she saw a sign for an employment agency. She parked the car and locked it, then went inside a brick building and was told to fill out an application. Less than ten minutes later a tiny woman in a dark blue dress called Maggie into her office.

  “I’ll take any job you have available.”

  The woman sniffed and shook her head as she looked over the papers in her file. “There isn’t much. All I have right now is a job cleaning offices from seven-thirty in the evening until three in the morning.”

  Taking that job would mean the little boy would be alone for those hours and that frightened her. But what choice did she have? The money was almost gone. If she took this job, they might be able to stop running.

  “I’ll take it.”

  “Do you have any experience? You list experience as a salesgirl, not a cleaning woman.”

  “What woman doesn’t know how to vacuum and dust and mop? I was seven years old when my mum got sick and I took over running the house until she got better, which wasn’t for two years.”

  The woman nodded. “You can start tomorrow.” She wrote an address on a piece of paper and handed it to Maggie. “You and another girl will be responsible for cleaning all twenty offices in this building. I wrote down the name of your supervisor and you are to report to her at six o’clock tomorrow evening.”

  Maggie beamed and extended her hand. “You have no idea what this means to me. Thank you.”

  She found rooms at Vandalia Boarding House, which was within walking distance of her job. Their accommodations consisted of two rooms, a combination sitting room and kitchen, plus a large bedroom and full bath. The kitchen had a drop leaf table, hot plate and icebox. It suited her needs just fine. Apart from the nosiness of the owner, Mary Flay, she dared to hope her luck might be changing.

  After a few days she settled into a routine. Even though she’d only slept a few hours, she forced herself to get up at seven in the morning and feed the child breakfast: cereal and fruit. Then she’d let him play until eleven o’clock, when she’d put him down for a nap and take one herself. At one in the afternoon they ate a big lunch, and afterwards she kept him as active as possible so he’d be ready for his bath, a quick dinner and bed by quarter to seven. By the time she left for work, he was always fast asleep.

  One evening, just as she was leaving, she heard a knock on the door. Maggie didn’t answer it i
n the hopes whoever it was would go away, but the knocking persisted. When she eventually opened the door to leave, she found Mary Flay standing there with her hands on her hips. Her expression was always haughty. That annoyed Maggie. Mary kind of reminded her of a stork, all skinny with legs almost up to her neck.

  “On your way to work, Maggie?”

  “Yes, and I’m late. I need to hurry.”

  Maggie headed down the stairs and Mary followed her. Another boarder, a middle-aged man, smiled at them and walked into the main sitting room where he joined some of the other boarders. They were playing checkers and listening to the radio.

  “Maggie, I came upstairs to ask why you never join us for dinner and to insist you join us on Sunday. It’s at six promptly and I’m serving lamb stew, everyone’s favorite. Believe me, you won’t be disappointed. Can I count on you?”

  Mary was quite a busybody. Maggie didn’t like people who thought everyone else’s business was theirs. She also didn’t like lamb stew. It made her think of some of the nauseating concoctions her mother had passed off as food.

  “I eat early so I can shower and get ready for work.”

  “At least you can join us on the weekends.”

  Maggie closed the door behind her before Mary could get another word out.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Erich was just tugging on his jacket, ready to leave for work, when he heard a ferocious knocking on his apartment door. He tugged the door open and found himself face to face with three men, all of whom he knew to be members of the gang of bootleggers he had been trying to infiltrate. He stood frozen for a moment, not knowing what to do. He was entirely aware they could just kill him right then and there.

  The men pushed into the room and the youngest of the three kicked the door shut. The other two shoved Erich toward the sofa, and when he landed on it one of the men practically sat on top of him. In the next instant Erich flinched, feeling the cold pressure of a gun to his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard, certain he was about to die.

  Then the pressure was gone. Erich’s eyes popped open and slid to the right. The gun now sat patiently on the couch between him and the bootlegger.

  “Hans Kohl or Erich Muller?” the bootlegger demanded.

  Erich didn’t answer, and the bootlegger sneered his displeasure. “Did you really think we wouldn’t find out who you were?” The man chuckled. It was a low, nerve-wracking sound. “You know something? It just so happens who you are is gonna save your life.”

  Erich glanced up. The other two bootleggers were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking the coffee he’d just prepared. They were watching him and chuckling. He had never felt more inept in his whole life.

  “I don’t understand,” he managed, hoping he hadn’t said the wrong thing.

  “You don’t understand?” one of the men asked. He looked like the oldest of the three. He was stockier, with more gray around the temples. “Let’s see if I can explain it to you. It would be so easy for us to take you for a one way ride and get things over with. Do you know what that means?”

  Erich nodded, then realized he was no longer quite as frightened as he had been. Maybe it was because the three men who now surrounded him looked angry, but not murderous. Or maybe it was because the whole situation was nuts, just like Dan and Peter had said. Whatever the reason, Erich had to follow this thing through to the end. To do that, he couldn’t show any fear.

  “I’ve heard about those kinds of car rides. To be honest, I’d rather skip that,” Erich said. “I really have to get to work so …”

  “You may be late,” the bootlegger with the gun said. “But I got a feeling you’ll come up with a good excuse. Remember what I said before about who you are being the one thing that saved your life? Well, here’s the thing. You’re also going to save your girlfriend’s life and get the cops off our backs.”

  “Laura?” Erich asked, feeling suddenly sick. “Is she in danger?”

  “She will be unless you do what we ask you to do.”

  Erich glanced from one bootlegger to the other, wondering whether he had ever seen any of them before. He had met others in Montauk and at the Canoe Place Inn, but no. These three hadn’t been there.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  The man chuckled. “This isn’t something we want you to do. This is something you will do.”

  “What if it’s something I don’t think is a good idea?”

  This time all three men laughed. “You’ll do it anyway. If you don’t, well, it’s sad to think of something so beautiful as dead. So sad.”

  A chill spread like ice through Erich’s body. “What do I have to do?”

  “We want you to get the cops off our trail. We didn’t kidnap your girlfriend’s kid, and you’re a bigger fool than you seem if you think we did. We don’t kidnap babies for ransom, and we ain’t got no idea who did. We want you to put the heat on someone else. Virginia Kingsley would be a good choice. Everyone thinks she was involved anyway.” The man narrowed his eyes and put his face right in Erich’s so he couldn’t avoid his hard stare. “So, Hans Erich, you have seventy-two hours to get the article in the paper and on the newsstands. If you don’t, you won’t get an opportunity to kiss your girlfriend goodbye.”

  When Erich walked into the newsroom of the Herald Tribune an hour later, he headed right into Daniel Spencer’s office and told him everything that had happened.

  “I told you you’d never get away with that crazy plan,” Spencer said. “So did Bergen.”

  Erich glared at him. “Did you hear what I said? They threatened Laura. All I want to know is if they’ll run the article. Well?”

  Spencer tapped his pencil on the desk, thinking. “We can’t run anything if you out and out say she’s guilty. The best you can do is hint at it.”

  “What if that doesn’t satisfy those bastards? They’ll kill Laura. I have no doubt about that. And it’ll be my fault.” He slammed the back of one hand against his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. “How the hell could I have been such an idiot?”

  Spencer got up from his desk and gripped Erich’s shoulder with one hand. “Just make sure you don’t say she kidnapped the boy. You can say anything else you want, just not that. When you’re done, bring it to me and we’ll go over so it can be in tomorrow morning’s edition.”

  Erich worked almost the entire day on the article. Every word had to be perfect. This was Laura’s life on the line. He rewrote it a dozen times until he was convinced he had it just right, and even then he wasn’t satisfied. When he was done, or as close to done as he’d ever be, he laid his work on Daniel Spencer’s desk. Spencer stopped what he was doing, flicked one acknowledging eyebrow at Erich, then began to read.

  “Did I go too far?” Erich asked.

  Spencer shook his head, studying the paper. “No. Almost, but you skirted around things enough I don’t think she can sue. However, I still think before we run this, you’d better get her side of the story.”

  “You know who we’re dealing with. She’s going to threaten us again.”

  “We can handle threats as long as she doesn’t take any action.”

  Erich grabbed his jacket and laid it over one arm. “She might not want any more bad publicity, but Wilson’s certain she knows something. I’ve been trying to think of a way to get her to talk. I guess this is it.”

  Twenty minutes later the door to Bacchanal was opened by a tall, distinguished-looking man who resembled a banker more than a hoodlum. Virginia Kingsley attracted all types of people.

  The man extended his hand. “Good day, Mr. Muller. I’m Harry Davis. What can I do for you?”

  Erich kept his hands at his sides. “I need a few minutes of her time.”

  “Not possible right now. She asked me to be of assistance to you.”

  “You’re a lot more refined than most of the guys in her organization.”

  “And you’re a lot less polite than most of the people who believe they need to see her.” Des
pite his words, Harry smiled, and his manner continued to be mild and confident. “Now how may I help you?”

  “Five minutes of her time, that’s all.”

  “Mr. Muller, I dislike repeating myself.”

  “Suit yourself.” Erich handed him a copy of the article. “This will be in the morning edition of the Herald Tribune. She has one hour to call if she has a problem with it. We go to press at six-thirty.”

  Harry scanned the article. “She isn’t going to be too happy about this.”

  “Keeping Virginia Kingsley happy is your job, not mine.”

  ***

  By the time Erich arrived, Laura had dinner almost ready. He offered to help, but she’d already sliced the mushrooms and had the butcher cut the beef into strips for beef stroganoff, leaving him little to do.

  When she went into the bedroom to freshen up he followed her. He took the hairbrush from her and began to brush her hair. “Your hair’s like spun gold. So beautiful.”

  He put his lips to her neck and she closed he eyes but whispered, “Please don’t.” Their lovemaking filled her with such joy - and such guilt.

  “How long has it been since we’ve seen each other?”

  “It feels like forever.”

  They ate dinner and cleared the table together, and she washed while he dried. She enjoyed doing little things with him and knew he felt the same way. Phillip had never enjoyed little things like washing dishes. He’d said it was beneath him, and even after they’d separated he’d wanted to hire a maid for her. Every time he’d brought the subject up she’d cut him off because she knew he was trying to control her.

  When Erich went to put something in the trash, he spotted an old bouquet of roses. “Where did those come from?”

  She’d forgotten to put the flowers in the garbage can outside. You’re a damn fool, she thought to herself. But she couldn’t lie.

  “They’re from Phillip.”

  He scowled. “Why did he send them to you?”