The room seemed darker than before. If nothing happened by the time I counted to one hundred, I planned to start yelling again.
“One, two, three, four …”
As I counted, I thought about the door-opener. It wasn’t Doughboy. Even in that poor light, his faint silhouette was taller and his voice was different. Younger. And minus the foreign accent. Straight Bayfield country drawl, in fact.
“ … twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six …”
My bindings were still a mystery to me. When the door opened, I had been so intent on looking at the opener, I hadn’t noticed what was compressing me. All I could make out in the dim light was a long tube extending from my neck into darkness.
“ … forty-four, forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven …”
A rug.
I was rolled up in a rug—just like the ones I’d seen delivered by that boat!
“ … sixty, sixty-one …”—or was it seventy? I’d lost count.
No wonder I couldn’t move. I tried a shrug. My left shoulder rose about half an inch. Same on the right. I tried to wiggle my toes. My big toe quivered and died. God, my throat was dry. I was about to let out another yell when the door flew open. A figure paused, silhouetted in the doorway. Shorter and rounder than the first.
“I hope you have my water,” I snapped.
For answer, the figure walked toward me. He was carrying something. A bucket. I could just make out two black-currant eyes imbedded in a pasty face before the freezing water hit me. I gagged and spluttered. The worst part was not having my hands free to wipe the water from my eyes and nose. Like a dog, I shook my head from side to side, trying to get rid of as much water as possible. By the time I was breathing normally, Milac was gone. The room was dark again. And still. Not one of my companions had reacted to this assault. It was as if they were dead—or afraid they would be, if they came to my aid.
The only good that came from this incident was that some of the water actually did make it down my throat. It felt a little less parched. The bad part was, contact with all that water had increased my urge to pee. Soon I would be adding to the stench that already surrounded me.
CHAPTER 38
The door was flung open. Four men came in quickly. Before I could speak or yell, a rag was stuffed in my mouth and a scarf tied over my eyes. I felt myself rise in the air and move forward, still in a horizontal position. There was a name for this, wasn’t there? Levitation? I was dimly aware of someone rousing the remaining occupants of the room as the door closed behind me.
I was carried down two flights of wooden stairs. Fifteen steps, I counted, to the first landing. Then fifteen more. At the bottom, I was turned in to what must have been a narrow hallway, because I was tilted almost upright to make the turn. I think I was moving down the hall toward the back of the house. I heard a door open and felt the brush of cooler air on the exposed part of my face. Once outside, I was unceremoniously dumped onto a cart and trundled down a rough incline. The fishy smell of the marsh reached me and I knew we were nearing the river. I had the answer to one question: Where was I? I had been imprisoned in the Wistar house. We stopped with a jolt. Men’s voices. Some words exchanged that I couldn’t make out. The slap of water against wood. Levitation again, ending in a bruising bump. My destination was not to be stationary. It rocked and swayed under my back. The boat dipped twice in succession, as if from some weight. Two men stepping into the boat, one after the other? The creak of oarlocks. (No motor?) The breeze on my face increased as we moved off. The only good thing about my swaddling clothes was they would keep me from freezing to death, on this night that was growing colder and colder. Again, the presence of water all around me was having an unfortunate effect. If I had an accident, I fervently hoped the carpet that bound me was a priceless Saruk.
I tried to call up some of my father’s words of wisdom.
“There’s no free lunch.” Not useful.
“Too many cooks spoil the broth.” Inappropriate, unless my captors were cannibals.
“Mind over matter.” Better.
“A rolling carpet gathers no moss.” Ha.
“He who laughs last, laughs best.” Since I could barely breathe let alone laugh, this was no help.
I lay awhile, letting my mind go blank, feeling the river rocking under my back. I was sorry about the blindfold. One always likes to check out one’s captain and crew before setting sail. But I was even more sorry about the gag. There were a number of things I wanted to say.
“The race is always won in the last lap.” The phrase leapt into my head. Not original with Dad, but one of his favorites—and certainly applicable. (Churchill was one of Dad’s heroes.) Like the seasoned runner, I decided to conserve my energy for that final spurt. Closing my eyes, I waited for what would happen next.
CHAPTER 39
As soon as the alarm clock went off, Paul reached for the phone and dialed the motel. Jack answered, his voice blurred with sleep.
“Did she come in?”
“What? Who? No.”
“Maybe you were in dreamland,” Paul snapped. “Call her room.” He twisted and untwisted the phone cord while he waited.
“No answer,” Jack said.
Ignoring the breakfast Maggie had laid out for him, Paul pulled on his jacket, cap, and gloves.
“Be careful driving,” Maggie warned.
As he drove his pickup to the motel, Paul tried to calm himself. Maybe she had had a date and decided to stay all night with a boyfriend. What a fool he’d look. As Maggie said, Jo was a grown woman. And young people today were so much freer. God, when he thought of his courtship with Maggie he had to laugh. She had been a virgin—and so had he. He had thought he’d concealed his innocence pretty well until Maggie said, “Where’s the instruction manual?”
Pulling into his parking space, he scanned the lot for the motorcycle. Nowhere in sight. No accident had been reported either, he hastily reminded himself. He had been flattered when Jo had asked if she could put his home telephone number in her wallet for emergencies. But he had never expected there would be one.
Jack was packing up his things.
“Did she say anything else? About where she was headed?” Paul couldn’t help asking.
Jack looked up. “I told you, she said she had a big date. Then she winked.” He gave a sly smile.
That was the first he’d heard of the wink. But that could mean anything. That she really had a big date, or she was pulling Jack’s leg. He hung up his jacket and took his place at the desk. He began running up some figures on the adding machine.
“Anything else?” Jack asked.
“No.”
He hesitated. “You really worried?”
“Go home and get some sleep.”
On his way to the door, Jack turned. “Maybe I should hang around.”
“Beat it.”
Jack left.
CHAPTER 40
“Hey, Mac. Take a look at this.”
The guard left his post at the end of the room full of whirring machines. The operators, intent on their work, did not look up.
“See the buzzards?” He directed the guard’s gaze out the window at the field where two large birds hovered above the head of a scarecrow. “Soon one of them will land,” he laughed, “and bingo! One less goddam foreigner!”
“What did he do?” The guard asked cautiously.
“Stole my cell phone and tried to call home.” He scowled. “Stupid bastard!”
The guard drew his breath in sharply. A buzzard had landed on the shoulder of the scarecrow.
“Ha!” The supervisor slapped the guard on the back. “Now we’ll have some fun. Gotta see this. Time for a break. A lunch break.” He laughed again and drew the reluctant guard closer to the window.
CHAPTER 41
At 11:30 Maggie arrived with Paul’s lunch. She looked concerned but she didn’t say anything. Thank God she wasn’t the kind of wife who burbled things like, “Don’t worry” or “I’m sure e
verything will be all right.”
As Paul picked at his lunch, he tried to recall everything he could about Jo. Her arrival in that funny outfit—a chic suit with sneakers and a backpack. The way she had come to the rescue of that woman on her first night … Suddenly he knew Jo was in serious trouble. She would never leave her cell phone uncovered voluntarily, date or no date. He opened the backdoor to his office, the one that led to the working parts of the motel—the laundry, the kitchen, and a small workshop. “Maggie!” he shouted.
“She’s in the laundry, Mr. Nelson.” Marie looked up from the sheets she was folding. “Want me to get her?”
“No. I’ll go.” He pushed past her.
Maggie came out of the laundry bearing a pile of white towels smelling of Tide. “Is she back?”
“No.” He looked around furtively and spoke in a low voice. “Remember that couple that was here a few months ago?”
“What couple?” She looked exasperated. Hundreds of couples had been here a few months ago.
“The one with the sick wife that Jo treated.”
“Oh, yes.” She nodded.
“Put those towels down, for God’s sake.”
Carefully Maggie laid the towels on a chair. “What’s all this leading to, Paul?” She had her hands on her hips. A bad sign.
“They skipped without paying.”
“So what’s new?”
“It upset Jo. She thought she should go after them.”
Maggie smiled at the righteous indignation of youth. “If I could count the number of times people had skipped …”
“I know, I know, but she meant well. And she ran into them again at Mike’s garage. They drove in for gas while she was picking up her tire. When they saw Jo, they took off.”
“Did they recognize her?”
“Why else would they take off?”
“Then what?”
“One day Jo took a tour of the nuclear plant. She wanted to know how it worked, she told me, so she wouldn’t be afraid of it.”
“Sounds sensible.”
“But when she came back, she was all in an uproar. Said she’d seen the husband half of the couple. He was working as a security guard at the plant.”
Maggie frowned. “How strange.”
“Strange, my foot. It all fits together now.”
Maggie was thoughtful. “You mean you think he recognized Jo on the tour?”
“Sure. Why else would he quit?”
“Quit?”
“Yeah. Up and left the same day with no notice. Swiped his personnel file, too.”
“So what’s your point? Do you think he kidnapped her?”
When put that way, it did sound ridiculous. He shrugged.
“Mr. Nelson?” Marie called. “You have a customer here.”
Maggie grabbed her towels and fled.
Later, when Maggie came to relieve her husband at the desk, she said, “she’s still not here! Paul, we have to call Jo’s father.”
“Oh, God.” Paul moaned.
“I’ll call him. Do we know his number?”
“No, but I know his name. Joseph Banks. And he lives in Queens.” He prepared to leave. “I hate to stick you with this …”
“Never mind.” Maggie dialed Information with no more fuss than if she were calling the laundry to report a missing shirt—one of the reasons he had married her.
Less than ten minutes later, Paul was back.
“He’s going to try to get a plane to Philadelphia tonight,” Maggie told him, “and rent a car. I gave him directions.”
“Was he … ?”
“What do you think? But he seemed in control.” After a minute, she said, “We better tell Tom, too.”
“Canby?”
She nodded.
“What’s he got to do with this?” He was startled by a twinge of jealousy.
“I think he’d like to know.”
“But the first time I saw them together was at our house on Thanksgiving. And they hardly spoke. I didn’t think they took to each other at all. They aren’t dating, are they?” He ran out of steam.
“No. That’s not his way,” she said firmly. “But … he’s fallen for her.”
“What?”
“Calm down, Paul.”
Obediently, he shut his mouth. From long experience, he knew that in matters of this sort his wife was usually right.
“Of course, he doesn’t know it yet,” she added.
“Will you call him?” Paul asked finally.
“No—I think you can handle that.”
“Thanks.” He grunted.
Maggie looked fondly after her husband’s retreating back.
CHAPTER 42
Paul took off in his truck. He would have gone crazy if he had had to sit around the motel another minute. But he felt guilty. He should make that call. He pulled into Mike’s garage.
“Any news of the doc?” Mike’s worried face appeared at the window.
Paul shook his head. While Mike filled his tank he went over to the pay phone to call Tom. No answer. Relieved, he went back to his car. He hated to be the bearer of bad tidings. He’d rather Maggie do it.
When he had paid for his gas, he looked over at the pay phone. A bunch of teenagers had taken it over. They’d be there for hours. Well, he’d tried. He drove off, heading nowhere in particular.
Polly had been trying Jo’s number all day. She had important news. Becca wasn’t in school and the school secretary had no record of Becca’s aunt calling to say she was sick. No one answered the phone at Becca’s house. Polly hung up. She would try Jo again later.
The Lobster Trap was closed for the winter, except for the small lunch counter that was kept open all year round for the especially hardy sailors and fishermen. Fred Taney, the owner, was chewing the fat with one of those fishermen when his son, Clyde, burst in the door.
“Hey, Dad, did you rent a boat yesterday?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“It’s still out.”
“I know. She said she’d probably be out all day.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s only four.”
“Okay. Will you take care of it? I’ve gotta to get home.”
“Whatsa matter, wifey’s orders?”
Clyde glared at his father and slammed the door.
Fred and the old fisherman shared a grin. Neither of them had ever let their wives tell them when to be home.
“Your girlfriend was in here yesterday.” Sally slapped a glass of water, some silverware, and a napkin in front of Tom.
He glanced up.
“She put away a man-sized breakfast,” the waitress said.
“Well … she’s a big girl.”
“You like ’em big?” She had a glint in her eye. Sally was solid, but pint-sized.
“I like ’em any way.” He grinned. “Where’s my dinner?” He made as if to slap her backside.
With a laugh, she scurried away.
In Bayfield you had to play the macho game or they’d think you were queer.
Tom left the diner with Jo still on his mind. He decided to drop by the motel on the off chance he might bump into her. When he walked in, Maggie was at the desk.
“Hi, beautiful.”
She glanced up with a frown.
“Something wrong?”
“Jo’s missing.”
He stared.
“She didn’t come home last night. She hasn’t been back all day.”
He remained quite still. “Did she tell anyone where she was going?”
“She told Jack she had a big date and not to wait up.” The expression on Tom’s face made her add quickly, “But I’m sure she was pulling his leg.”
“Have you asked everyone?”
“Everyone I could think of.”
“What about her cell phone?”
“She doesn’t answer it.”
“And her emergency calls?”
“Nine-one-one’s taking them.”
He chewed on his lip. “She took her bi
ke?”
“It’s not in its usual place.”
“Where is Paul?”
“Out looking for her. He’s half-crazy.”
He slapped the desk. “I’ll take a look around.”
“Go ahead. But if she doesn’t turn up by nine o’clock, I’m calling the police.”
Tom checked the clock over the desk: 7:25.
CHAPTER 43
It took Tom less than five minutes to get to the road leading past the Wistar house. (It had taken fifteen minutes when he was with Jo.) He had the presence of mind to pull off the road a good hundred feet before he reached the house and shut off the motor. Silently he slid from tree to tree toward the house. Even though it was a cloudy night, the roof and chimneys were faintly outlined against the sky. No crack of light came from the house. No smoke. And no sign of any vehicles. Clinging to the brick wall, he made his way around the side of the house to the back. Nothing there.
After circling the house, he concluded it was the vacant, boarded-up property it appeared to be. Like so many other houses in the area, it had been abandoned upon the death of the owners, with no living descendents to claim it, and was simply awaiting the erosion of time—or the quicker, more humane death of the bulldozer. He made his way back to his pickup. He had been so sure he would find her here. As he slid behind the steering wheel, he had no idea where to look next.
When he had rushed out, he had had nothing in mind but a driving desire to rescue his … his what? His slight acquaintance? A young woman doctor with whom he had spent a few hours and exchanged a few words? Oh, hell, it was his humanitarian duty to find her. She was a doctor. A lot of time and money had gone into her education. He owed it to the human race to see that she lived to practice her profession.
Scarecrow Page 15