Sunshine and the Shadowmaster

by Christine Rimmer

  They found Oggie sitting in his easy chair at his daughter’s house where he lived now.

  “Come in, come in!” The old coot laid it on thick. “What can I do for you, son?” he asked Jack, who evidently really was his son. Jack had that Jones look about him; there was no mistaking it.

  “We want to ask you some questions about Mark Drury,” Jack said.

  “‘Course you do. Fire away.”

  Jack asked the same questions he’d asked Marnie: if Oggie had seen or heard from the boy since the previous winter.

  “No, son. Can’t say as I have. Can’t say as I have. But this here situation is no surprise to me, I gotta say.”

  “Why not?” Jack asked.

  Oggie didn’t hesitate to elaborate. “Simple. That boy can’t communicate with his father. He needs Attention. Capital A. So he’s finally gone and done something that will get him what he needs.” He snorted and turned his beady eyes on Lucas. “You caught on yet that you ain’t doin’ a father’s job too well, Lucas Drury?”

  Jack frowned at his father. “Back off, Dad.”

  “It’s all right, Jack,” Lucas said. He looked at Oggie. “Quit running us in circles, old man. Tell me. Where is my son?”

  “Lucas, I’ll ask the questions,” Jack said, then turned to Oggie. “Where is Mark, Dad?”

  “Can’t rightly say as I know.”

  “What’s that mean, Dad? You don’t know—or you can’t say what you know?”

  Oggie snorted and muttered for a minute, then confessed, “All right. I don’t know. But if I did, I’m not so sure I’d tell you.”

  “Are you telling us the truth, Dad?”

  “Hell, yes. I ain’t no liar.”

  “Dad.”

  “Okay, okay. Gimme a bible to swear on or somethin’. My answer ain’t gonna change.”

  “Has Mark written to you or spoken to you since last winter?”

  “Didn’t I already say no to that?”

  “If he contacts you, Dad, I expect you to tell us right away.”

  “Sure you do,” the old geezer chortled.

  Lucas found he respected Jack Roper more by the moment as the deputy calmly asked, “Will you let us know right away, Dad?”

  “Aw, hell. Sure. You know I will. Now you two want a beer or somethin’? I think there’s a couple a lights in the fridge. You know my gal, Delilah. She won’t stock nothin’ but lights.”

  Jack said thank-you anyway, but they had to go.

  * * *

  They talked to Kenny Riggins next. It was more of the same. Kenny swore he hadn’t seen or heard from Mark. Kenny, at least, was respectful of both Deputy Jack Roper and Lucas. But then, Kenny wasn’t a Jones.

  “I’d like to look at the letters you got from Marnie,” Lucas said after they’d left the Riggins house.

  Jack said he’d go over them by that afternoon. And then Lucas could have them—as long as he made sure to return them to Marnie after he’d read them.

  Lucas promised he would, then asked, “What next?” He knew he’d go insane if he couldn’t be doing something about finding Mark.

  Jack gave him an understanding look. “Come on over to my place. We’ll find you some other clothes. Then you can join one of the search teams.”

  Chapter Four

  By the time Heather tied on her apron that day, there was only one thing on everyone’s mind at Lily’s Café: the disappearance of the Shadowmaster’s son.

  And in a tiny town like North Magdalene, if a subject was on everyone’s mind, then what everyone did was gossip about it—in depth and in public. Few stopped to consider that Mark was Heather’s nephew and that thoughtless words about the boy might distress her. Mark was public property now. And besides, Heather had been born into the Jones Gang, the most notorious and talked-about family for miles around. So no one felt too guilty about discussing Mark in front of her. They reasoned that she certainly ought to be accustomed to hearing gossip about her loved ones by this time.

  And they were right. Heather was accustomed to hearing endless tales about the people she loved. Too bad being used to it didn’t make it any easier to take.

  Still, she did what she had to do. She kept her mind on her work and did her best to ignore all the talk. She succeeded pretty well, too.

  But then, in midafternoon, Nellie Anderson and Linda Lou Beardsly, two of the town’s most respected citizens, slid into a booth at the back.

  Nellie and Linda Lou put in identical orders: turkey salad sandwiches and ice tea. Nellie pointed out, as she always did, “Not too much ice, Sunshine, dear. I like a good, strong glass of tea.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Anderson,” Heather said, just as she always did. She turned to put the order up on the wheel.

  And behind her, it began.

  Nellie announced in a whisper loud enough to be heard two counties away, “I keep thinking about it. It’s so awful. And it’s all a complete mystery, evidently. No one has a clue where that boy has gone.”

  Heather turned from hooking the order in the window to see Linda Lou’s head start bobbing up and down. “I heard that the volunteer fire crew is out in force already. And they’ve brought in the helicopters. I declare. One of them flew over my place so close I could count the fillings in the pilot’s teeth. Took five years off my life. Paisley Parker says they’re even going to be calling in some dog teams from the California Rescue Dog Association.”

  “Yes,” Nellie confirmed sagely. “It’s all terribly overwhelming. All of it.” She leaned closer to Linda Lou. “Did you meet that boy last winter?”

  “I did. And he seemed such a nice, polite boy, too—even if he did associate with that miniature hooligan, Marnie Jones.”

  “I know,” Nellie said. “That boy is a puzzle any way you look at him. As you said, he is a nice boy. And I can’t help asking myself, how is that possible—considering his father and all?”

  Heather, who had their teas ready, marched up to the booth and plunked them down. “Two ice teas,” she said, trying to inject enough disapproval into the words that the two ladies would lower their voices, at least.

  “Thank you, dear,” Nellie said, then turned right back to Linda Lou and intoned, “Blood, in most cases, will tell.”

  Heather knew there wasn’t much else she could do, short of coming right out and asking the ladies to pipe down. And doing such a thing, in the end, would probably cause more trouble than it would cure. So Heather returned to the counter and left them to their scandalmongering.

  In the booth, Linda Lou was still nodding. Heather thought it was surprising that her head didn’t break off. “Yes, and I swear, when you think about it, is it really so astonishing that the boy’s run away? I mean, as you just said, considering his father. Oh, I do declare, anyone who writes stories like that can’t be normal, now can he?”

  “Oh, well, now,” Nellie said. “I hate to make judgments on those books of Lucas Drury’s. After all, I’ve never read one.”

  Heather couldn’t believe her ears. The day Nellie Anderson hesitated to make a judgment was a red-letter day indeed.

  But if Nellie was hesitating to pass judgment here, Linda Lou wasn’t. She jumped right in. “Those books are bad.” She was whispering now, too. Like Nellie’s whisper, Linda Lou’s could be heard through steel walls. “I tell you. Bad. And I’m one who knows. I have read them all.”

  Nellie was appalled. “No.”

  Linda Lou hung her head. “Yes.”

  “Oh, Linda Lou. I can’t believe my own ears. I remember you told me you read the first one he wrote, and I understood that. You’ve always been a reader, and it’s only fair to give even the most questionable forms of literature one chance. But I assumed that after one book, you’d have had quite enough.”

  “Yes. So did I. But they’re like drugs, those stories of his. You read one, and you know it’s bad for you. But can you make yourself stop reading? No, you cannot.”

  “Oh, Linda Lou.”

  “I know, I know. There’s
no excuse. I did what I did.”

  “Well, it’s not your fault if you can’t help yourself.”

  “Oh, Nellie. You are so sensitive...”

  “Well, I like to think I understand the human heart.”

  “And you do understand,” Linda Lou concurred. “You understand utterly.... But back to that poor Drury child.”

  “Yes.” Nellie rubbed her pointed chin, ruminating. “As we’ve both said, the signs were all there. His father writes those horrible books. And then, of course, there was Lucas Drury’s childhood.”

  Linda Lou shook her head instead of bobbing it. “Exactly. A horror story in itself.”

  Nellie was ready with all the gory details that everyone in town had heard a million times. “Stabbing his own father like that when he was only seven years old. Though, the good Lord knows, Rory Drury had it coming. Not only a drunk and a womanizer, but a wife beater, too. Bless that poor woman’s heart.”

  For once, Linda Lou was a little lost. “What woman?”

  “Norma. Remember? Lucas Drury’s mother, Norma. Passed away herself just a few years back.”

  Linda Lou took a sip of her tea. “Oh, yes, of course.”

  “And at least that poor woman got her chance for a bit of happiness in the end, after Rory finally died of liver failure.”

  “And though it may sound shocking,” Linda Lou declared, “I have to say I agree with you that no one could fault Lucas Drury for stabbing his own father—under the circumstances, I mean.”

  “Yes, he was only trying to protect his dear mother, after all,” Nellie said. “And yet, something like that’s got to damage a person.”

  “Absolutely. And it did, we know it did. One only has to read those awful books.”

  And don’t forget that assault and battery scandal.”

  “Yes, yes. Of course.”

  “Lucas Drury was a grown man by then. Fully responsible for his own actions.”

  “Too true, too true. The way I heard it, his ex-wife, the boy’s mother, got him out of that one.”

  “She certainly did. Some fancy lady lawyer from Arizona. Notice the ex before the word wife. They’re divorced, of course. I’m sure Lucas Drury isn’t the kind to stick in there and make a marriage work.”

  “No, of course not, not with his past.”

  “And now he’s rich as sin.”

  “Money made from writing those awful books.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What is the world coming to?”

  “I don’t know. I simply do not know....” Nellie looked up, smiling. “Ah, here’s Sunshine with our sandwiches. A little mayo on the side, please?”

  It was like that all day.

  Heather kept working, kept doing her best to tune out the gossip, but by the time she finally went home at six, she was ready to throw the next tale-teller into Lily’s deep-fat fryer. And worse than all the awful rumor-spreading and the in-depth dissection of Lucas’s life, there was no real news about Mark.

  Periodically, someone from one of the search crews or the sheriff’s office would come in for a sandwich or a cold drink and Heather would pump them for any information they could give her. But there simply wasn’t a clue. By the end of the day, the sheriff’s deputies had turned the town upside-down, interviewed everyone who lived there and looked through every unoccupied structure. They’d beat the bushes as far as the river on the west and Harleyville Diggins to the east, with three Forest Service helicopters circling out in a radius of twenty miles from the center of town. All to no avail.

  And the only responses to the all-points bulletin were from the news media, wanting to know more. By the end of the day, a half-dozen reporters from all over the state had come into Lily’s to ask questions about Lucas Drury’s missing son.

  So Heather went home tired, discouraged and sick at heart. Tawny stayed by the phone while Heather drew a bath. She soaked in it for a long time. The water helped ease her tiredness, but the heartsickness she felt was something that only Mark’s safe reappearance could wash away.

  After the bath, Heather tied up her hair in a ponytail, pulled on a big T-shirt and an old pair of shorts and went down to press a few dollars into Tawny’s hand and send her on home. She’d just opened the refrigerator and was staring at the brightness inside, trying to decide if she felt up to barbecuing some chicken, when the doorbell rang.

  She knew it would be Lucas. She ran into the front room and pulled back the door to find him standing there in the fading light of day.

  His clothes were different. He now wore faded jeans and a dark T-shirt, as well as sturdy lace-up hiking boots, the kind of clothing suitable for scouring the woods and fields in search of a missing ten-year-old boy.

  “It’s getting dark,” he said. “So they suspended the search. We start in again tomorrow, at daybreak.”

  “Any news?”

  He shook his head. “Listen. I won’t keep you. I just came to ask if I could take those letters Mark wrote you. I’d like to read them, if you don’t mind.”

  Heather stared at him. He was acting so careful, so polite. It wasn’t his style at all. And it hurt, to see him this way. It deepened her feeling of heartsickness.

  She knew what this new behavior meant. He was careful. His son was missing. The world had spun out of his control. He had to tread carefully now.

  Heather forced a smile for him and tried her best to sound offhand and casual. “Don’t just stand there. Come on in.” She stepped back from the doorway.

  He didn’t move. “No. I have to get over to the motel. I want to see about getting a room.”

  In her mind, Heather pictured the lumpy beds and depressing decor of North Magdalene’s one motel. It seemed a very grim place to have to stay at an already difficult time.

  “So if you could just get the letters...” Lucas went on.

  “No way,” she said quietly.

  He looked at her, his jaw tightening. But he was a desperate man, desperate enough to ask in a rough whisper, “Please. I...haven’t handled any of this right with Mark. I’m beginning to see that now. And I need to read the letters he wrote. I need to understand what was in his mind and what he was feeling.”

  She realized he’d misunderstood her. “Oh, Lucas,” she said, her voice as torn as his. “I didn’t mean the letters. Of course you can read the letters.”

  “Then what?”

  “I meant no way are you staying at the motel.”

  “Why?”

  She couldn’t believe he didn’t know. “You are family, Lucas. You grew up in this house. Do you honestly think I would let you stay anywhere else?”

  He looked at her very strangely, she thought. She wondered what in the world he might be thinking. But then all he said was what people always say when they’re trying to be polite. “I...really don’t want to put you out.”

  “You’re staying with me,” she said. “I don’t want to hear any more about it. Now get whatever you need from your car and come inside.”

  * * *

  Heather gave Lucas the same room Mark had slept in. He asked for a shower and she told him where she kept the fresh towels in the downstairs bathroom. While he cleaned up, Heather put the chicken on the gas grill outside, stuck two potatoes in the microwave and prepared a green salad.

  Lucas called Mark’s mother, Candace Levertov, in Phoenix as soon as he was finished in the bathroom. Heather was setting the table as he spoke to his ex-wife.

  When he hung up, Heather turned to him and asked, “Is she okay?”

  He nodded. “Candace is a very tough lady.”

  “I have another extra bedroom, you know. So when she gets here, she can come right to the house and get comfortable.”

  Lucas actually smiled at that. “Slow down. She’s not on a plane yet.”

  “When will she be here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh,” Heather said, as if she understood. But she didn’t understand. Not at all. If she had been in Candace Levertov’s pos
ition—

  Heather cut off the thought. She wasn’t in the other woman’s position. And she had no right to make judgments on the way Mark’s mother had decided to deal with this situation.

  “She’s on a major case right now,” Lucas said from behind Heather. “And it’s going to take her a little while to clear her calendar.”

  “I understand,” Heather said. She carefully folded two paper napkins into triangles and tucked them under the lips of the plates, then set the forks on the napkins, and put the knives and spoons where they belonged.

  “Listen, Heather...”

  She turned to look over her shoulder at him. “Hmm?”

  “You don’t have an answering machine. If I’m going to stay here, I’d like to get one by tomorrow, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course. That would be a good idea.”

  “In fact, I think I’ll call my housekeeper. Have her bring me the answering machine, some clothes and a few other things, including fresh clothes for Mark, too. That way, when we find him, he’ll have clean things to wear.”

  She didn’t miss the subtle stress he’d put on the word when, as if he were secretly thinking if, and had stopped himself from saying it at the last minute.

  “Is that okay with you?” he asked.

  “That’s fine. Whatever you think.”

  “Good. Do you think Tawny would be willing to baby-sit the phone during the day until this is over?”

  “I’m sure she would.”

  “Of course, I’ll pay her. And I know this is going to result in a mammoth phone bill. So before I leave, I’ll be sure to—”

  “Lucas. Please. We’ll work it all out. Now come on, sit down. Eat your dinner.”

  He did as she told him. The meal was silent and quick.

  When it was over, Heather called Tawny, who agreed to take care of the phone for as long as they needed her. Then Lucas made a few more calls, including the one to his housekeeper, who promised to be there by the next afternoon with everything Lucas required. As Heather was putting the last dish into the dishwasher, Lucas asked for the letters again.