The Mommy Quest

by Lori Handeland

  “Where’s the chief?”

  “My office.”

  Dean followed Stella inside. He figured the school would be in chaos, but it wasn’t. The kids were still in their classes. The teachers were still teaching. He had to give Stella credit. She did seem to know what she was doing.

  Stella’s office, however, was far from calm. The small area was packed with people. Save one.

  “Where’s McCaferty?” Dean asked.

  “She left right after the police arrived.”

  Gone to tattle, most likely. This was not going to look good to the judge. Of course, they weren’t going to need a judge if they couldn’t find his son.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man in a tan uniform glanced up from the map he’d been studying at Stella’s desk. “You the father?”

  The previous police chief had retired last year, and Dean had had no reason to meet the new one. He’d have preferred not to have a reason now.

  Stepping forward, Dean held out his hand. “Dean Luchetti.”

  “Cameron Kelly.” The chief’s grasp was firm; he shook once and got down to business. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the area yet. How about you?”

  “Like the back of my hand.”

  “Great. That’ll help. You have any idea where your son might have gone?”

  “None.”

  “Friends?”

  “Not really.”

  Kelly glanced up. “No friends?”

  “Tim’s new here, too.”

  A flicker of confusion passed over the man’s face. “But you said—”

  “Tim came to Gainsville from Las Vegas a few years back. I’m adopting him.”

  “You think he might head back there?”

  “Who knows?”

  “Ms. O’Connell had us check the bus stop, straight off.” He glanced at her. “Which was a good call.”

  She smiled. Dean frowned. The two of them were awfully chummy. The surge of jealousy was completely out of place—both because she was Dean’s friend and because he needed to worry about his son, not Stella’s sweet smile at another man.

  The chief flicked on his shoulder mike. “All units keep an eye out for an eight-year-old boy who could be hitchhiking out of town. Check the side roads, as well as the highway.”

  The new chief was sharp.

  “We’ll have to fan out from here,” he continued. “Ms. O’Connell said he was probably upset, so he might hide, not answer us if we call. We need to look in hidey-hole-type places. Know any?”

  “Yeah,” Dean answered.

  He and his brothers had hidden from their mother often enough.

  “You can lead one party. I’ll use this—” the chief folded the plot map “—and take another. We’d really benefit from one more person who’s familiar with the area.”

  “That’d be me.”

  Dean’s breath rushed out in relief. “Dad.”

  “Son.” John nodded to the room at large.

  Dean was so glad to see his dad he nearly broke down and slobbered on him. In a crisis, there was no one better than John Luchetti. Calm, certain, the rock upon which the Luchetti family was built, he also knew Gainsville and the surrounding area better than anyone.

  Dean craned his neck. “Where’s Mom?”

  “Holding down the fort. We thought Tim might wander home eventually.”

  “Not if he knows Mom’s waiting for him,” Dean grumbled.

  As a kid Dean had run off a few times, as had all of his brothers. They’d never gone far; they’d always come back. And Eleanor had always been waiting for them. She’d never once slaughtered the fatted calf or treated them like prodigal children. She’d usually grounded them for life and, depending on their age, swatted them on the butt.

  “Relax,” his dad said. “She’ll be so glad to see him, she’ll probably smother him with kisses and bake him a cake.”

  “Pod person,” Dean muttered.

  “Got that right,” John answered.

  “Mr. Luchetti.” The chief came out from behind Stella’s desk to shake John’s hand. “Glad to meet you, though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”

  “Let’s find the boy, then no one has to be sorry.” John Luchetti always cut to the heart of the matter. When Dean had been a kid, the trait embarrassed him. Lately, Dean appreciated it more and more.

  The searchers were divided into three groups. As they headed out, John put his arm around Dean’s shoulders and murmured, “We’ll find him.”

  For the first time in a long time, Dean leaned on his father. For the first time in a long time, he needed the comfort and strength only his father could give.

  STELLA WATCHED DEAN stride off with several men from town and a single deputy. She wanted to go with him, but she had to stay in her office.

  Some of the younger children were upset by all the commotion, and she wouldn’t put it past a few of the older ones to make a break for it themselves. Not to mention all the parents who’d started calling the instant they’d heard the news through the amazing powers of the Gainsville grapevine.

  She had hopes they’d find Tim nearby and bring him back to school for the afternoon, but those hopes went unrealized. As the day wore on the emergency vehicles left. The searchers made their headquarters at the police station, which only made Stella more nervous.

  She didn’t hear from Dean, but she didn’t expect to. She wasn’t his wife; she was the woman who’d lost his son.

  “You need to quit sighing.” Laura was at the door. “I can hear you out here.”

  “Sorry. It’s just—” Stella lifted her hands, then lowered them.

  “I know. He’s so little and cute. But I think Tim is a lot tougher than he looks. He’ll be all right.” Laura smiled. “There’s someone here to see you.”

  “Another parent?”

  “Kind of.”

  “What’s a ‘kind of’ parent?”

  “Yours,” Laura said, and backed away to let Stella’s dad come in.

  “Hear you’ve got trouble,” he said, by way of greeting.

  “Come to fire me?”

  “No. The job offer still stands, as far as I know.”

  “Then to what do I owe the honor?”

  “Your mother wants you to move home.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, I asked.” He turned toward the door.

  “Why did you do it, Father?”

  He turned back. “What is it you think I did?”

  “Called social services about Tim.”

  “Is that what this brouhaha is all about? The orphan?”

  Stella pursed her lips, then decided not to bother correcting him. What good would it do?

  “In a way. I think Tim freaked out when he saw the social worker at school.”

  “Then he must have something to hide.”

  Stella snorted. “What does an eight-year-old have to hide?”

  “Amazingly nothing from what I could gather.”

  “You did do something!”

  “I checked into his background.”

  Stella wanted to throw a fit, then throw him out, but she also wanted to know. “What did you find?”

  “Not one thing. It’s as if the child dropped from the sky. There’s never been a single report of anyone looking for a boy that matches his description.”

  “How strange,” Stella murmured.

  “I thought so. But if Luchetti wants him, he’s got him. No one else seems to care.”

  His brow wrinkled, as if he found the idea as disturbing as Stella did, but that couldn’t be right. Her father had no compassion—especially for anyone named Luchetti.

  “If you didn’t sic social services on Dean, who did?”

  “I doubt the social services department needs anyone to remind them they have a job to do.”

  “An anonymous source called and said Dean was hanging out in bars every night.”

  “Is he? I’m not surprised.”

  Stella ignored the barb. �
��So you didn’t try and have Tim taken away from Dean?”

  “Why would I do that when I’d prefer it if the two of them are wound up in each other and not in you?”

  “Me?”

  “From what I hear, the child is in your office every day.”

  “So?”

  “And the man is dating everyone he can find in an attempt to get over you.”

  “What?”

  No one knew about her and Dean in this town. Did they?

  “That’s my theory,” her father said. “Maybe one of Luchetti’s new girlfriends called social services.”

  “Why on earth would anyone do that?”

  “To get rid of the child.” He peered at her closely. “Ready-made families aren’t all like The Brady Bunch.”

  “No kidding,” Stella muttered.

  Could her father be right? Amazingly, his idea had merit.

  “What I don’t understand,” her father continued, “is if Luchetti really cared about you, why was he so easy to scare off?”

  Stella experienced a sudden chill, even though her office was always too hot. “What did you do?”

  Her father appeared genuinely surprised. “He never told you? Interesting.”

  “You tell me,” she gritted out between her teeth. “Now.”

  “I did nothing any father wouldn’t do.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “He was eighteen. You weren’t.”

  For an instant Stella couldn’t figure out what he was talking about. Then it struck her with the force of a baseball to the forehead. She even jerked back as if she’d been hit.

  “You didn’t!”

  “Statutory rape is a serious offense.”

  No wonder Dean had broken up with her so abruptly and so painfully.

  “Get out,” she said.

  “Stella, I—”

  “Father, if you don’t go now, I’m going to say things I might regret, though I doubt it. You’ve interfered in my life for the very last time.”

  Something in her voice or her face must have convinced him she was serious, because he went, and he shut the door behind him.

  Good. She needed to think.

  She could hardly blame Dean for dumping her. Although if he’d waited a few months, the issue would have been moot.

  Stella gave a short laugh. As if they could have kept their hands off each other back then, even if it meant jail. She was having a hard time remembering why she should keep her hands off him now.

  Why was that again?

  Stella shook her head. They were adults, not foolish kids ruled by their glands. She’d had her heart broken by Dean Luchetti once, and once had been quite enough for a single lifetime.

  What really disturbed Stella was that Dean hadn’t told her what her father had done. Not then and not now.

  She wanted to ask him why, but she was afraid he’d tell her that she hadn’t been worth the trouble. And how dumb was it to be upset that Dean hadn’t cared enough to get thrown into jail over her? He’d been eighteen and threatened by the most powerful man in town with a charge that, however moronic, would have stuck. Of course he’d caved. He should have.

  In truth, the knowledge of her father’s actions only solidified what Dean had told her on that long-ago night. He didn’t love her. He’d only wanted her. For true love, they could have worked something out. For just sex?

  Why bother?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  NIGHT SPREAD ACROSS the land. From east to west, shadows crept. The birds stopped singing as the crickets rubbed their legs together.

  Tim was so lonely he would have cried if he weren’t almost a man. He was so hungry, he’d have eaten a cricket if the very idea didn’t make him want to hurl.

  He’d eaten garbage in Vegas, but that was people garbage, not bugs. Big difference.

  He was about ready to eat garbage again, except he didn’t want to go near a house. In Vegas he’d been able to disappear just by moving to a different neighborhood. In Gainsville, everyone knew him on sight, and from the sounds of the shouts all day, they were all looking for him.

  He was afraid to come out of his hiding place. His dad had never laid a hand on him, but he might this time.

  Every instinct was tellin’ Tim he should leave Gainsville, catch a bus from the next town over, or maybe even two, head to a big city where they’d never be able to catch him.

  But if he couldn’t be with Dean, if he couldn’t be a Luchetti, he didn’t even want to be. So why run?

  He wished he’d thought about that this morning. Now he wasn’t quite sure how to go back.

  No one would ever find him here. His uncle Bobby had told him about this place, and his uncle Bobby was king of the covert.

  Everyone needs a hidey-hole, Tim. You just never know.

  The only person Tim had ever brought to the hiding place was Zsa-Zsa, and there was no way she would tell. She mostly said “No!” to everything.

  Uncle Bobby was in a sand country, something that ended in stan. Tim doubted anyone would be able to call him on the phone and ask him about his hiding place, even if they’d thought to, so Tim was safe here.

  For now.

  WHEN SCHOOL WAS DONE, Stella couldn’t go home.

  Since the idea of sitting in her silent apartment was unbearable, she sat in her lonely office and tried to work.

  At six she called the police chief, at seven the Luchetti farm. There was still no word. Stella wasn’t hungry; she wasn’t tired. She kept working.

  About eight she heard a noise. Figuring it was the janitor, she ignored the sound, until it came again. Then she remembered: the janitor only stayed until seven-thirty when he drove to the middle school and spent the second half of his shift there.

  If they had no second-shift security at Gainsville Elementary and the janitor was gone…maybe Tim was back.

  Stella jumped to her feet and headed through the darkened outer office and into the shadowy halls. There she experienced her first sense of unease. Maybe she shouldn’t investigate alone.

  Except no one else was here, and she didn’t want Tim to run off before she found him. The prospect of calling Dean and telling him she’d found his son, safe and sound, pushed her forward, down one shadowy corridor after another.

  She glanced inside the door of every classroom, but she didn’t detect a single movement. Was she imagining things?

  The scuff of a shoe made Stella still, then listen. Someone stood just around the next corner, waiting in the second-grade hallway, listening for her as she was listening for him.

  Stella took one step backward and stopped.

  I will not be afraid for the rest of my life.

  The words drifted through her mind and strengthened her resolve. She could not continue to be terrified of the dark, of shadows, of the unknown. But she wasn’t stupid, either.

  Stella ducked into the nearest classroom, felt around in the utility closet, filtering through the playground items until she found what she needed.

  Her fingers closed around cool metal, and she slid back into the hall. When in doubt, a baseball bat could be very empowering.

  “Who’s there?” she called, proud of her steady, firm voice.

  She lifted her arms, tightened her hands. A shadow lengthened, grew and took the shape of a man.

  Stella could barely breathe her heart pounded so hard. But instead of allowing the fear to overtake her, she fought against it, refusing to run.

  “Don’t move,” she said.

  The man stopped and slowly lifted his hands into the air, as if she held a gun. “You plan to play ball with my head?”

  “Dean.”

  Stella deflated—all the air rushed out, her arms were suddenly too wobbly to hold up the bat. Her heart beat even faster, and she was tempted to sit, right on the floor.

  “What are you doing here?” Stella demanded. “I nearly smacked you in the teeth.”

  He came closer, and she caught that scent that was uniquely his—fresh gr
ass, summer sun, man— before he gently pried the bat from her fingers.

  “I thought Tim might have doubled back. Best place to hide is a place that’s already been searched.”

  “Where’d you learn that?”

  “Bobby Luchetti, super-secret soldier school.”

  “Really? And does Tim know this, too?”

  “Tim was number one in the class. He and Bobby are buddies.”

  An idea entered Stella’s head with a near audible pop. “Did Bobby have a hiding place when he was a kid?”

  “I’m sure he did, but he never told me.” Dean took Stella’s arm and led her toward the front of the school. “When we were kids, most of my brothers were usually hiding from me.”

  “Why?”

  “I was a pain in the ass.”

  “No!” she said in mock surprise.

  His smile was a shadow of the one she adored. They needed to find that child—for everyone’s sake.

  “Why are you here?” he asked.

  “There’s always work to do.”

  “No play?”

  “Not much. And not tonight. I would have liked to help search, but you were already out, and I don’t remember the area well enough to go on my own.”

  Dean paused in the lobby. The light from her office shone just brightly enough so she could see his face. He was tired, and he was scared. He was also the most handsome man she knew, probably because she loved him so much.

  Unthinkingly Stella lifted her hand and cupped Dean’s cheek. “You’ll find him,” she whispered.

  “God, I hope so.” He tilted his head, increasing the pressure of his face against her palm.

  He captured her hand and in a quick, surprising movement placed a kiss to the center. She shuddered with a reaction she tried to disguise. Now was not the time. She wasn’t certain there would ever be a time for them again.

  “Sooner or later, you’ll have to tell me.”

  “What?” Startled, she fixed her gaze on his.

  “Jumping at shadows. Carrying around baseball bats. Dark places. Small spaces.”

  “I told you I had a problem working.”

  “There’s more to it than that.”

  He was too damn intuitive. Always had been.

  “The things I’ve been imagining, Stella,” he murmured. “You’re giving me nightmares.”