Dark Storm

by Karen Harper

  “Don’t think like that. Say a prayer and think good things.”

  This time, Claire held the doll’s arm and managed to plant a kiss on Lexi’s cheek. She didn’t try to kiss her back. Surely she wasn’t jealous of the attention she’d given to Jilly.

  “I’ll be right back,” Claire whispered, and made for the door. In the dark hall a man’s form loomed. Despite the fact she knew it was Nick, she startled. What if someone was keeping Darcy prisoner, coming down a dark hall to hurt her? For one moment, she almost felt she had a brain meld with her sister, because something dark was hovering, something terribly wrong.

  “Nick, just a moment,” she whispered, and sprinted to the bathroom.

  When she came out he was there, pulling her into his arms, holding her tight. Ordinarily, it would have made her feel so secure, so very safe. But tonight...

  “I have to go back in with the girls,” she whispered. “Jilly’s finally asleep, but Lexi’s awake and—and regressing. Maybe I should go check on Trey.”

  He spoke low in her ear. “I’ve checked on him several times. He’s the only one around here who is sleeping like a rock. Meanwhile, Steve called a second time from his car. He’s turned the Daytona project over to his under foreman. He’ll be here in a couple of hours. No Darcy in Daytona.”

  She stifled a sniff and held him closer. “Anything new from Ken?”

  “The highway patrol and local police have her license number, vehicle description. Until someone spots her or the car, that’s it for now. He said to sit tight and he’ll call you about going to see Will Warren. He can’t decide whether or not to go with you, but he knows I want him along. And I filled him in on the ploy of checking the domain name of Fly Safe so I can visit that ecology group that may have been hostile to Tara—and someone working for her.”

  She pressed closer to him and nodded. “Maybe you can bring one of your partners up to speed on this court trial so someone else can take over? Nick, we have to find Darcy fast. We have all these dark hours ahead of us, and I’m so scared. We absolutely have to do something now!”

  He held her even tighter. For once, despite all they’d been through, it didn’t help.

  * * *

  Nick was up way before dawn, feeling like he had a hangover when he hadn’t had anything but orange juice and coffee. While Claire quickly showered and dressed, he’d peeked in the girls’ bedroom. Both were asleep, Lexi embracing that doll. He and Claire had checked on Trey off and on despite the baby monitor in the room. When Nick couldn’t sleep, his favorite thing to do was check on Trey in person. And he sure as hell hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, not to mention that Darcy’s disappearance, like Lexi’s once, had triggered all kind of repressed fears for him and Claire. Ah, to have no worries. He hoped his beloved little son would never go through the things his parents and sister had.

  Guessing at when Steve would arrive, Nick went down to the front room and waited for him until he saw headlights slash across the windows. He met him at the door. They were such different personalities that they had only become close lately, not only because of Claire and Darcy’s bond but in sharing dad duties at times. Steve’s son, Drew, was twelve now, and Trey just a toddler, but Nick hoped to learn how to handle Trey from the solid relationship between Steve and his son. Thank God, Drew was not here now, but he’d have to be told about his mother.

  As Steve came to the door Nick held open, they shared a rare hug. Steve had two-day beard stubble on his square-jawed face, and his usually erect posture was slumped.

  “Any word?” he asked.

  “Just assurances from Detective Jensen that they are on it. The girls are asleep upstairs. Let me fix you something to eat, and you can see Jilly when they wake up. Of course they were distraught. No way they could settle down at first, but sleep may help.”

  “I may never sleep again—not till we find her. Got to hit the john. Be right back.”

  Nick locked the door and hustled into the kitchen. He’d scramble eggs and make toast; he could handle that. Juice and coffee were ready. He felt overdressed but he had to look ready for court in—he glanced at his watch—two hours. Steve, of course, was a mess, but Nick understood. He’d been there, done that, when Claire got into something too deep.

  Nick had the eggs in the skillet when Steve reappeared. He’d washed his face. In the kitchen light, his eyes looked even more bloodshot. He sank at the raised counter bar and put his head in his hands.

  “Steve, we’ll find her, get her back. Not only are the local police and highway patrol searching, but Claire and I are going to follow up on a couple of things with the detective’s permission and advice.”

  “I’ll rip this town apart, starting with that butterfly farm. I need to talk to Tara Gerald, find out who might’ve shown up there.”

  Nick jumped at Claire’s hand on his shoulder when he hadn’t heard her come into the kitchen. She hugged Steve and told him, “The police and Nick and I are doing everything we can. We’ll fill you in. But you can’t go charging in like a bull in a—”

  “In a butterfly house,” Steve interrupted. “You know, Claire, you’re the most hopeful evidence we’ll get her back okay. You and Lexi. Both of you have been taken—held against your will—and here you are, in good shape, still strong. But I’m scared to death and she’s probably scared to death, too.”

  Nick saw Claire flinch at the word death—both times. He could tell she almost told Steve that Lexi had gone back in her shell, but she bit her lip and nodded. “It looks like you guys have breakfast under control,” she said. “I’m going to go check on the kids again. I’ll bring Jilly in as soon as she wakes up. Did you tell Drew?”

  “Asked my parents not to tell him right now,” Steve said. “At least he’s out of the news coverage area, because the local media will probably be pests. And if it goes national—told my dad keep him away from the TV and his cell, which might not be so hard at a cabin on a finger lake in upstate New York, I hope. Yeah, before the kids get up, fill me in on the lay of the land, what we can do, besides my seeing Tara Gerald and the detective. I know you two have taken things into your own hands before in a crisis, and that’s what I—we—gotta do.”

  * * *

  Steve carried Jilly into the Florida room and sat down with her in his lap. His emotional reunion with his daughter made Claire cry, but she turned away to give them some privacy and kept feeding Trey in his high chair. Claire overheard Jilly say, “I can help you find Mommy. It’s real scary, but I’m glad Aunt Claire told me so I can help.”

  That made Claire wonder if Steve was wrong not to tell his son. When Drew found out, would it upset him even more that he hadn’t been told and that his little sister—that all of them—knew. She’d have to talk to Steve about that. She wished she could ask Nick.

  He had left for work to try to get a stay for the trial or at least talk to his client to get permission for one of the other partners to step in for a day or two. Ken had called to warn them that Darcy’s disappearance had been picked up by the media from the police desk, but he said that was a good thing. He suggested Steve make a public plea for information and provide the newspaper and TV stations with a recent photo of Darcy. Nick had explained all that to Steve, and he said he’d comply—anything, even the promise of cash for tips, to help get her back. Nick and Claire had told him they’d put up a ten-thousand-dollar reward for information but not to mention the word ransom or they’d attract frauds, as they might, anyway, with phony leads.

  Since Steve wasn’t at home, Claire wondered how long it would be before the media would locate her as Darcy’s next of kin. She’d finished feeding Trey, who had carrots and applesauce all over his face, and had started to wipe him and the high chair tray when Nita bustled in through the back door with “I came back as fast as I could. Not feeling too bad this morning, but this baby, she keeps kicking me black and blue.”

  She clapped her hand over her mouth when she saw Steve holding Jilly. “Oops!” she mouthed. �
��Didn’t know he would be here or the girls up after everything. But you look outside?” she asked, taking Trey from Claire and cuddling him. “It’s why I used my back door key for once. Oh, that must be your brother-in-law’s car in the driveway, but there’s a second one,” she said, lowering her voice, though there was no one to overhear in the kitchen. “And up and down the street—maybe the people out there with the TV antenna truck done traced him, but there’s someone else out there, asked me tell you he wants to come in the back way to find out about your sister. Here, he gave me his card, here somewhere,” she added, fumbling in her pocket while still holding Trey.

  The doorbell rang. Steve and Jilly came into the kitchen holding hands.

  “Nita says there’s a TV truck out front,” Claire told him. “If you want to make a statement, you can use that picture of Darcy in our library—just take it out of the frame. Here, I’ll get it for you. Didn’t take them long to track you down. Wish Nick was still here, but Detective Jensen said your public plea for information might help.”

  She darted into the library for the photo: Darcy smiling the day Claire took close-ups of each of them last Christmas. A decorated tree graced the background, but so what? It was a good, authentic image and maybe the Christmas scene even in August would move someone—if someone was holding her.

  When Claire pulled the picture out of the frame, a rush of tears in her eyes made Darcy’s smile waver as if her lips were trembling. Claire’s were, too.

  “Jilly, you stay here with Aunt Claire and Lexi,” Steve said as he stood at the library door to the hall. “I’m going out to face them, anything to help.”

  She handed him the photograph. He glanced at it, then looked away, frowning. Jilly and Lexi, holding her doll, ran to the front windows to look out.

  “I don’t like all those people on our grass,” Lexi said in her doll voice. “They will take pictures and ask questions. They are very mean.”

  Ignoring that, Steve went outside as Nita came into the library, still holding Trey. “I found his card—that man outside,” she told Claire. “Sorry it took me a minute. Pretty sure he’s not with that bunch out there—another TV truck, too, and two men with cameras. I know that one from Fox News, that is, me and Bronco seen him on TV.”

  Claire didn’t want to be distracted from the action outside as Steve held up his hands for quiet on their front lawn, but she glanced down at the card and gasped.

  Will Warren, Librarian

  Author of Butterfly Love and Lore

  Available Now Wherever Books Are Sold

  {Cherish the Winged World!}

  “You girls stay here with Nita and don’t get too close to the windows,” she said, trying to sound calm but her voice broke. “Nita, this man’s at the back door?”

  “Said he would be waiting. He’s a friend of Darcy’s, sí?”

  Claire nodded, then turned away from the front yard chaos and hurried toward the back of the house.

  5

  “I’m starting to feel like Dorothy in that Wizard of Oz tornado,” Jace told Mitch as they flew out of the calm, sunny eyewall of the storm into fierce winds again. “Lexi made me watch it—twice. Can’t wait to see her again, though I’m going to put the skids on seeing any of her movies more than once. Besides, that Wicked Witch in it still scares her.”

  “Can’t quite picture having kids,” Mitch told him through their headsets. They had been talking on task for hours and had completed their mission—except for getting this big plane and crew home safely. They were both exhausted but still in battle alert mode. After all the new jargon with their scientist crew, it felt good to let down a bit.

  Mitch went on. “Man, I hope the predictions of a busier than usual hurricane season are wrong. What if one hits when Kris and I are supposed to get married?”

  “Don’t even think that, because that would mean one was threatening Naples. We don’t need any kind of chaos there. Thank God things have calmed down after all Lexi’s been through. It will be great to get home for a while between storm duty to peace and quiet and...no damn bumps in the road, not to mention in the air,” he said, though the first blast of turbulence rocked them as if a giant, invisible fist had hit the plane. He leveled them out and flew on.

  * * *

  Claire didn’t see Will Warren at first, so perhaps the crowd in front of the house had scared him away. How long had the poor man been out here waiting—if he was still here?

  She spotted him over by the corner of the yard with the small butterfly garden. Of course that was where he’d be. At least now she wouldn’t have to go looking for him to find out if he knew anything about visitors to the butterfly farm or where Darcy might have gone. Ken Jensen had mentioned it might be good for her to talk to Will without Nick or the police along. Nick hadn’t seemed too pleased about that at first and had requested that he be with her if she spoke to Will, but he would have to understand since the man had come to her. She could be nonthreatening, and she had known Will Warren years ago, though not well. It was Darcy who had taken to him, but Claire and Lexi had also attended many of his library story hours, a second generation enthralled by his children’s tales and variety of voices.

  He turned to face her with a striped tropical blue wave butterfly on his arm. At least, even with the pain and pressure, she remembered which kind that was.

  “Mrs. Markwood,” he said, gently blowing the butterfly off its perch. “I regret I seem to have called at a difficult time. I especially regret what I heard from Tara Gerald this morning.” He frowned. His eyes looked watery. Surely he had not been crying, too. His usually melodic voice seemed scratchy. “Is Darcy still missing, and is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Please come in the house,” she said. “You were wise to come to the back door with the reporters out front.”

  “Like hovering hawks, though I pray they can help. Then it is true? She has disappeared and not returned?”

  Claire nodded as they walked toward the house. Darcy was right to describe him as an “old-fashioned dandy.” He would have looked just right in a bowler hat with a pocket watch vest and a carnation in his buttonhole. He wore a long-sleeved, light blue shirt and jeans, which looked as if they’d been ironed. And a bow tie, his signature piece, she recalled from years ago when she and Darcy were the kids at library story time. And he had come to their house with books for Mother once and stayed to tell them a story in their very own living room.

  “Please have a seat while I check on how things are going,” she said, gesturing toward their seating area in the Florida room. “Darcy’s husband is meeting with the media out in front.”

  He ran his finger under one eye where a tear had puddled. Perhaps something in his own past—someone missing—made him especially moved. The fact he had come to visit rather than just waiting for news seemed most unusual. Perhaps he did know something that could help.

  * * *

  As he headed into his office, loosening his tie before yanking it off, Nick told his secretary, Cheryl, “Now that the news is out—I just called home to learn the newsmongers have descended on our house—I did talk the judge into a two-day delay. Two days, that’s it.” She came right behind him with her notepad. “Mrs. Lacy says she can use the rest. But with the weekend,” he went on, “that’s four days to find Darcy and support Claire and Lexi—Darcy’s family, too.”

  “See, some judges have blood and not ice in their veins.”

  “Yeah,” he said, grabbing his briefcase and slamming it shut. He also tried to shut out the picture he had when she’d mentioned blood. He’d seen too much of it and prayed Darcy wasn’t lying cut or hurt somewhere—or worse.

  “Nick, I do have to tell you one thing before you go,” she said, glancing at her notepad.

  “Someone called about Darcy or our reward for information? I didn’t think that was out yet, so—”

  “No. Not that. I just need a yea or nay about whether you will commit ASAP to interviewing that guy who owns the deep-sea fi
shing boat, ah—Larry Ralston, highly connected in town somehow. The mayor actually called, said to let him know if there was anything he could do to help find Darcy—and he put in a plug for your helping Ralston if he goes to trial. The guy’s connected to a wealthy family, I think, probably contributors to the mayor’s reelection campaign.”

  “Can you stall him until next week? Or can someone else in the firm meet with him?”

  “He—and the mayor—want you.”

  “Larry Ralston is going to be fined big-time or may even face prison time because he netted that protected dolphin—which he denies, right?”

  “Right. The environmental people will be all over this. You always say everyone is innocent until—”

  “Yeah, I know. Listen, he’ll have to wait until next week if he wants me to represent him. Besides, I don’t need the eco-groups down here, at least not the ones who seem like they are foaming at the mouth, to be after me or the firm right now. Maybe give our resident tech genius Heck a call. Have him look into Larry Ralston and whoever he’s tied to, so we know what we’re really dealing with.”

  He locked his case and grabbed his coat and tie. What we’re really dealing with—the words echoed in his head. What—who—were they dealing with for Darcy’s abduction, if that was what it was? Intentional? A random crime of opportunity? Darcy wasn’t an obvious target for an abduction, not well-known, not rich. His stomach churched. He prayed it wasn’t someone trying to get back at Claire or him for something, because they were the ones who’d made enemies in the past. Meanwhile, he had to go check out that Fly Safe pro-butterfly group who had given Tara Gerald flak.

  “Sorry, Nick,” his longtime, faithful secretary and friend said, making him realize he was standing there frozen, lost in thought.

  “Call me if anything turns up, okay?” was all he could manage before his voice snagged. He patted her shoulder on the way out the door.