The Mommy Quest

by Lori Handeland

  The more Tim thought about it, the more likely it seemed the social worker had come to school to collect him and make him go back to foster care. Not that he’d ever been in foster care, but he’d heard about it. He wasn’t goin’ there.

  “Uh-uh,” Tim muttered.

  Mrs. Benedict glanced up and Tim ducked. If she saw him, he’d never get away.

  Tim inched behind the security desk, then slid down the fifth-grade hallway, through the door and onto the playground, where he slipped into the cornfield that lined the teachers’ parking lot and disappeared.

  “ALLISON MCCAFERTY.” The social worker held out her hand.

  Stella, who had dealt with her share of social workers, was surprised at the woman’s youth and manner. She was stiff and formal, with more shadows in her eyes than her age warranted.

  What had she seen that had put them there? And had she seen it here?

  “Stella O’Connell.” She gave Ms. McCaferty’s slim, icy hand a brisk shake. “What can I do for you?”

  “Can you tell me about Tim Luchetti?”

  “Great kid. He belongs with the Luchettis.”

  McCaferty frowned. “I just came from a home visit. There was a pig in his room.”

  “That would be Wilbur.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “You knew?”

  “Sure.”

  “You approve of barn animals in a child’s bedroom?”

  “This is a farming community. There are barn animals everywhere.”

  “That can’t be sanitary.”

  “Kids are resilient, and a little dirt never hurt anyone.”

  “His father appeared hungover and he reeked of cigarettes.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Dean.”

  “Dean?”

  Stella shrugged. “We went to school together.”

  “You’re from here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, I assumed—” She glanced at Stella’s mint-green suit jacket. “I thought you’d transferred.”

  The words “though I can’t understand why” were left unsaid.

  Stella might have thought the same thing herself a few weeks ago, but now she found the attitude annoying. Her shoulders tightened. “I worked in L.A.”

  “Really?” Ms. McCaferty brightened minutely. “I was in Chicago until recently.”

  Which might have something to do with the shadows in her eyes.

  “Why did you leave?” Stella asked.

  Ms. McCaferty’s expression immediately dimmed. “Why did you?”

  Answering a question with a question—one of Stella’s pet peeves.

  “Is there a reason behind your questions?” Her voice went stiff and cool. “Perhaps an explanation as to why my background in L.A. has anything to do with Tim?”

  The social worker didn’t appear offended at Stella’s words or tone. In her business she no doubt heard worse every day.

  “I was going to ask for your recommendation about the Luchetti case,” she said. “If you’re nuts, I don’t want it.”

  “If I was nuts, I doubt I’d be the principal of Gainsville Elementary.”

  “Never can tell.”

  Since Stella knew the woman could find out what had happened easily enough on her own, she told the truth.

  “I was attacked by a student. Had a problem working in that venue, so I was advised to take some time away. I came home and now I’m filling in.”

  “You’re a substitute?”

  “For the moment.”

  Though more and more lately she’d started to think of this job as hers.

  “Your turn,” Stella said.

  Ms. McCaferty, who was rooting in her briefcase, glanced up. “I’m sorry?”

  “I told you why I left L.A. Why did you ditch Chicago?”

  The woman withdrew a folder with a tab that read Luchetti. “Everything was too much—too much work, too much sadness, too much…bad.”

  “You don’t find that here?”

  “I’ve only been here a month, but I’m hoping.” She opened her file with an anal little snap. “Now, I saw a foot-shaped bruise on Tim’s ribs.”

  “Football.”

  Ms. McCaferty lifted her gaze. “You knew about that, too, and you didn’t report it?”

  “I saw it happen. It was a common sports injury, nothing more.”

  “The child seems to have an inordinate amount of scrapes and bruises.”

  “He’s a farm kid. They all do.” Stella took a deep breath. “When I first got here I thought the same thing, but I was wrong. People like you and I, we’ve seen so much crap, we start to see a problem even when one isn’t there.”

  “Mmm.” Ms. McCaferty didn’t sound convinced.

  “You know Tim has ADHD.”

  “Him and three-quarters of my caseload.”

  “He’s impulsive.”

  Ms. McCaferty picked what appeared to be a Cheerio out of her hair. “Goes without saying.”

  The social worker’s bangs were stiff with something that had dried all white and flaky—kind of looked like milk.

  “What did you do?” Stella asked.

  “I said Dean Luchetti wasn’t his dad.” The woman frowned at the Cheerio. “Tim dumped his breakfast on my head.”

  Stella thought of Jeremy Janquist. “You got off lucky.”

  “How is he doing in school?” Ms. McCaferty asked. “May I see his file?”

  “Do you have to?”

  Ms. McCaferty didn’t bother to answer. Stella retrieved the file.

  Several minutes passed while the social worker’s gaze wandered over the list of offenses. “Doesn’t seem like he’s adjusting well to me.”

  “He did those things on purpose.”

  “I didn’t think his fist met another child’s stomach by accident.”

  “Actually you’d be surprised—” Stella broke off at the social worker’s get-back-to-the-point glare. “My theory is that Tim was trying to get sent to the office because he thought I needed help in this job. So he was trying to help me adjust, rather than not adjusting himself.”

  “Compassion is good,” the woman said. “His grades are adequate. Improving, even.”

  “And he hasn’t been in the office for several weeks.” Ms. McCaferty handed Stella the file. “That’s encouraging.”

  “Tim is adjusting well, and he’s bonded with this family. It would be a tragedy to take him away.”

  “You think Dean Luchetti is good father material?”

  “The best.”

  “What about the bars, the dates, the drinking and the smoking?”

  “He quit smoking, has even attempted to quit swearing for Tim’s sake. I’ve never seen him in a bar.”

  She didn’t mention that she had seen him on a date. That was hardly relevant.

  “I had a report that he’s been in bars nearly every night, with different women each time.”

  Stella had no right to be disappointed, but she was. Before a more disturbing thought hit her.

  “Who gave you a report like that?”

  “Anonymous tip.”

  Stella had a feeling she knew who “anonymous” was. She was going to wring her father’s neck.

  “In my professional opinion,” she said, “Tim and Dean belong together.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Dean understands Tim’s issues since he has ADHD himself. He handles Tim better than any parent of an ADHD child that I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen quite a few.”

  “Yes, but doesn’t every child deserve a mother?”

  “That’s what those dates are about,” Stella said. “Tim’s been setting Dean up in hopes of finding one.”

  “His father said as much.” Ms. McCaferty’s face softened. “That’s cute.”

  Stella didn’t think so, but she kept her mouth shut.

  “You think he’ll get married for the sake of the child?”

  Stella frowned. “Should he?”

  “Judges do look more favorably on two-parent
adoptions.”

  The idea of Dean marrying for Tim bothered Stella. Of course, the idea of him marrying for love was even more disturbing.

  “If a judge takes Tim away from Dean he’ll be making the mistake of his career. In all my years as an administrator I’ve never seen a man more capable of being a father.”

  Ms. McCaferty opened her mouth to comment, but Stella barreled onward. “Do you know how Dean found out he had ADHD?”

  “No”

  “He took all the tests along with the boy so Tim wouldn’t be afraid. No one could understand Tim better.”

  Ms. McCaferty nodded and made a notation on the file.

  “And as for the lack of a mother,” Stella continued, “there isn’t any lack. He has a wonderful grandmother who lives on the same property. She had six kids in seven years and not one of them is a serial killer.”

  “Impressive,” Ms. McCaferty said dryly. “And she’s not insane herself?”

  “Not lately,” Stella muttered.

  “Still, a grandmother isn’t a mother.”

  “He has aunts coming out of his ears. Uncles. Cousins. There’s no lack of love on that farm, no lack of female influence in that family.”

  “Then why is Tim searching for a mother?”

  “He’s been teased at school. Not having a mom, especially around here—” Stella spread her hands wide. “This isn’t the big city. Moms rarely take off and never come back. They don’t leave their kids in alleys. They don’t name their children Rat.”

  Since Ms. McCaferty was listening, Stella kept talking. “Tim deserves a break, and I think he’s found one at last.”

  The social worker nodded thoughtfully. “I think you’re right.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  STELLA STOOD. “It’s been great meeting you.”

  Ms. McCaferty remained where she was. “I’d like to talk to Tim.”

  Stella sat back down. “Now?”

  “I would have talked to him at the house, but I had hair issues.”

  “Oh! Well, I can call him down here, but not for too long.”

  “That’s fine.”

  Stella pressed her intercom. “Laura, can you have Mrs. Neville send Tim Luchetti to the office?”

  “I’m sure that won’t be a problem since she’s done it a hundred times before,” Laura muttered.

  Stella yanked her finger off the button and smiled wanly at Ms. McCaferty. “He should be right down.”

  Her intercom buzzed and Stella nearly fell off her chair. “Stella, we’ve got a problem,” Laura said.

  “We always do.”

  The social worker gave her an odd glance, and Stella realized she’d actually sounded happy about it. She couldn’t help herself. Stella was a problem solver. She liked fixing things, and fixing kids, or at least their day-to-day troubles, was what she liked to do most of all.

  “Tim was sent to the office,” Laura continued.

  “I know.”

  “I mean about half an hour ago, but he never arrived. Security didn’t see him. I didn’t see him. Stella?” Laura took a deep breath, and because Stella had gotten to know her so well over the past few weeks, she sensed rather than heard Laura’s panic. “No one’s seen him.”

  “Lock down,” Stella snapped. “No one in, no one out. We’ll go room to room. Call the police.”

  “All right. Do you want me to call Dean?”

  “No.” Stella sighed. “I will.”

  DEAN HADN’T BEEN ABLE to sit still after the social worker left. He paced, cursed, then called his sister.

  “Relax,” she said. “They need a lot more than that to take the kid away.”

  “She thought I kicked him.”

  “You have witnesses who can say you didn’t.”

  “It’s just insulting.”

  “They’re paid to be suspicious, Dean. We want them to be. Isn’t it better that they question the innocent rather than allow the guilty to go free?”

  “You’re such a lawyer,” Dean muttered.

  “Lucky for you that I am.”

  His sister’s words reassured Dean a little, but not enough to allow him to remain inside doing nothing. He fired up his tractor, planning to spread manure on the empty fields. The task might not be pretty, but it was necessary. Following the winter snows, the spring rains, the fields would be rich and ready to plant.

  As soon as the engine hummed, the dogs began to bark. They wanted to go along, and since they wouldn’t shut up unless they could, Dean left the tractor idling and released six dogs and one pig, which appeared to think it was a dog, from behind the fence.

  Dean stared at Wilbur, then threw up his hands. Once the pig had bonded to the dog, there wasn’t much he could do about it. Brian had a sheep named Ba that thought it was a rottweiler. No amount of explanations to the contrary had changed her mind. Ba guarded the house and the people in it. The ewe was darn good at it.

  An hour later, Dean’s mother appeared at the edge of the field. She lifted her hand, so he stopped the tractor and got off.

  “School called,” she announced when he was still twenty feet away. “Tim’s gone.”

  Dean stared at his mother; his mind groping for meaning in her words, finding none. “Gone where?”

  “No one knows. He was there, then he wasn’t. Stella wants you to—”

  Dean didn’t wait to hear what Stella wanted. He ran.

  He must have broken every traffic law in Gainsville; he didn’t remember. The panic in his chest made it hard to breathe; the lack of air made it hard to think.

  When he arrived at the school Dean understood why he hadn’t been pulled over for speeding. Every emergency vehicle in town was parked in front. There couldn’t be an officer left on patrol to pull him over.

  He parked in a loading zone and jumped out, frowning at the ambulance in front of him. Had Tim been hurt? Was he lying inside the ambulance right now? Was he conscious? Was he alive? Dean stepped toward the vehicle and someone called his name.

  Stella hurried over and took his hand. The gesture seemed the most natural one in the world, and Dean held on tight.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I told your mother—”

  “That he was missing, but—” Dean waved his hand at the ambulance, the fire truck, the police cars. “What the hell?”

  “As I understand it, volunteer emergency services roll out all the equipment for a 911 call.”

  “They do?” He had no idea since, thankfully, he’d never had occasion to make one. Yet.

  “So I’m told.”

  “The fire department and paramedics are volunteer,” Dean said, “but what’s the police department’s excuse?”

  “Boredom?” Stella shrugged. “We can use the help.”

  “No sign of him?”

  “Sorry.” Stella squeezed his hand, then released it. Dean barely managed to keep from clinging. “No.”

  “What happened?” he repeated.

  “As near as I can figure, he was sent to the office—”

  “Again?”

  “Spitball.” She shrugged. “I think he saw Ms. McCaferty—”

  Dean stiffened. “She’s here? Why?”

  “It’s common procedure for social workers to come to the school, Dean.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. Anyway, when I called down to Tim’s class so she could talk to him, I found out he’d never made it to the office.”

  “You searched the school?”

  “Top to bottom.”

  Dean’s fingers curled into his palms. “He strolled right out the front door?”

  A dad thought his kid was safe at school, but he wasn’t. In a modern world, no one was safe anywhere. Dean hated that.

  Stella’s lips tightened. “Not the front door. That one we watch.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Not watched.”

  “You ever hear of locking things?”

  “Dean, I do know what I’m doing, and even
if I didn’t, this school has been running smoothly for sixty years.”

  “Ever lost a kid before?”

  “About two or three a year I’m told.”

  Dean’s eyes widened. “How come I never heard about it?”

  “Because we always get them back.”

  “Always?”

  She met his gaze. “Yes.”

  He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked away. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You gave your son to my care, and now he’s missing. I’d be a little testy, too. As for the doors—they’re all locked, but to keep people on the outside from coming in. We can’t lock them so no one can get out.”

  “Why not?”

  Considering the amount and ages of the kids, he was surprised they didn’t have a mass exodus daily.

  “Can you imagine if we had to run around unlocking every door so we could escape a fire? Or a school shooting?”

  Dean winced. “Oh.”

  He hadn’t thought that out. He was so scared Tim had disappeared forever and he’d never get him back that Dean could barely concentrate.

  “He knows how to travel,” Dean murmured. “That’s how he got here in the first place.”

  Actually Tim had arrived with Rayne, Aaron’s daughter, who’d been thirteen at the time. But Tim wasn’t the dimmest bulb in the box. He remembered everything.

  “The police checked the bus stop,” Stella said. “He could hitchhike.”

  Stella frowned. “If anyone from the area picked him up, wouldn’t they bring him right back?”

  “It’s the people who aren’t from the area that I’m worried about.”

  “Doesn’t he know better than to hitchhike?”

  “I’ve told him, but he’s not like the other kids. Tim thinks he’s seen it all, and he has seen too much. He isn’t scared to be on his own.” Dean took a deep breath. The kid wasn’t scared of anything.

  “You should talk to the police chief,” Stella said. “He’s organizing a search.”

  Dean choked. “A search?”

  Television images from every missing-child case flashed through his mind. Hundreds of people walking through fields or swamps or forests. As the hours turned into days, their faces becoming grimmer.

  “We have to do something,” Stella said. “We can’t just leave him out there. Wherever there is.”