Max continued, “We needed to formulate our own strategy with our own people that will allow us to find our son. The press releases are a big part of who we are and what we do. We are going to use that to our advantage, take opportunities every chance we get, despite your … uh, advice, shall we say, to the contrary.”
Maybe my restraint was ingrained after the hours I had spent in Sister Maria’s office, waiting to be scolded about mussing my hair, ripping my pinafore uniform, and being disciplined for my unladylike behavior, after scuffling on the playground. Actions certainly do have consequences. And right about now, I wouldn’t mind being called unladylike.
Max concluded, “With all due respect, Agent Pierce, your advice is bad. We have given you ample time to find little Max.”
Streeter looked at his watch—9:43 a.m.
“Sixteen and a half hours? That’s ample time?”
“It’s nearly twenty-one hours since little Max went missing, in fact. The first twenty-four are the most critical. And you have come up with nothing, am I right?”
“Sixteen hours thirty minutes since the FBI has been involved. Twenty-one hours since little Max was taken. Four and a half hours lost because you and the airlines decided not to involve the authorities,” Streeter responded. I leveled my gaze on Max.
“You see, my original strategy was to call in the best from the Bureau to find my son. But if this is all the best can do, well then …”
Streeter said, “You requested Agent Bergen. Three weeks out of Quantico.”
I didn’t take it personally. Streeter was making a point. But it didn’t make me want to pummel Max any less, the arrogant prick.
Melissa glared at Max. “I knew it. You liar. You told me she was the best. What else have you been lying to me about?”
Max paused, staring directly into Streeter Pierce’s unwavering eyes. “I thought maybe Agent Bergen would have amounted to something by now. She was the most determined in the litter. But I was wrong,” Max replied. The contempt he held for me was obvious; although, I found it amusing that there might be a veiled compliment hidden in all the shit he was spewing. Until he added, “More like the most pigheaded. You are a mess, Liv. You look like you’ve been in a back-alley brawl. And lost.”
I couldn’t argue there. The scratches on my face were healing, but a few bruises had surfaced since yesterday and I wasn’t looking very sophisticated wearing a man’s suit pants and rag wool sweater. But I wasn’t about to take the bait. I was just too smart for that. I grinned, knowing this would be an unexpectedly maddening response to all his barbs.
Streeter held his gaze with Max and warned, “Keep this professional, Williams.”
“Oh, Agent Pierce. Don’t you understand?” I asked, uncrossing my arms and leaning back. “This is Max being ‘professional.’ Dominance through intimidation. And not only am I not the least bit intimidated, but I also find it quite amusing.”
Melissa scoffed. I saw the flicker of anger in Max’s eyes before he said, “Be amused. But I didn’t become as successful as I am without backup plans or by assuming someone else could do the job that I wanted done. My son’s too important to me for that. So, I implemented my backup and called for a press conference while you made me wait. Now, I am in control.”
Just as I was afraid I had disappointed Streeter with my interjection—something he might view as getting too personal or emotional—Streeter rose to his feet and placed his massive hands on the flimsy, plastic folding table, thick fingers splayed. He leaned close to Max, who sat comfortably in his chair on the other side. Max appeared amused. Streeter’s eyes fixed fiercely on Max. I wouldn’t want to be Max. Streeter’s voice was steady and commanding as he spoke. “You may have a strategy, Mr. Williams, but we have a job to do. That job is to find your son and bring him back unharmed, if at all possible. We do this for a living, and whether you two like it, we will continue to do our jobs, despite your efforts to the contrary. Do you understand me?”
“Perfectly,” Max answered through his flashy smile.
“I understand your frustration and can only imagine your impatience. But you need to understand this. It’s been less than twenty-four hours. We’ve been working around the clock. We request your continued assistance to find your son and to approach this situation with a unified strategy. Without that, there is no reason for me to keep your names from sailing to the top of our suspect list where they belong.” Streeter leaned closer to Max, who stared back at him with an impish grin. Softly yet sternly, Streeter growled, “In the future we will not be making any more requests. Instead, we will give orders. And if either of you deliberately goes against the orders of the FBI again, we will consider it obstruction of justice. Which is a felony. Do you understand me now, Mr. Williams?”
Max’s grin faded. “Don’t threaten me, Agent Pierce. You’re not even lead investigator. Agent Bergen is.”
“Wrong. I am. I don’t care who you know. Oh, and it’s not a threat. It’s a promise. And I keep my promises.”
The flicker of anger I’d seen earlier in Melissa’s eyes had grown into a raging wildfire. “Where is he, Max? Did they take little Max for the money? They did, didn’t they?” Melissa asked Max.
“Missy, darling, how would I know?”
“You’re the one surrounding yourself with a bunch of crooks and thieves.”
“Unlike Aldo?”
“Aldo’s not a thief.”
“This is not my fault, Missy. You can’t blame me for this one.”
She stood up and turned on her three-inch, canary-yellow heels and slammed her fists on her waist, staring down at him. “I can and I will. My lawyer said that Christmas was my holiday and that meant little Max should have been with me no later than Christmas Eve morning. So it is most certainly your fault.”
Max said, “It’s not my fault if some lunatic snatched our son. And I’ve never dealt with a kidnapper before. But what we have to do is quit ripping each other apart and focus. I can only assume that whoever did this wants money. Why else would they want a kid?”
I added, “He’s right. You have to work together on this. It might be the difference between little Max coming home alive and …”
“And what? What? Do you think he’s dead?” Her pleading eyes were fixated on me.
When I didn’t answer, Melissa shuddered, her bare, sculpted shoulders twitching, before she sat back down, wrapping herself in her thick, white fur coat and warning, “Okay. I’ll cooperate. I’ll try to stay focused on what’s best for little Max. But if anything really has happened to that kid, I’m going to sue your ass for everything you have.”
Max grinned. “You already did, dear. Don’t you remember all the depositions we’ve given, visions of alimony plums growing bigger with every harsh word? And then who do you think will be paying for those sunny excursions to Papeete? Aldo?”
“I hate you,” she hissed.
“That’s not what you told me last night, dear.”
“I was crazy with grief.”
So they had reunited.
“You hate that even Aldo can’t afford you. Now, why don’t you be a good girl and start preparing yourself to be the distraught and grieving mother, rather than the bitter, greedy ex.”
Turning to me, Melissa said, “See what I have to live with?”
I was just glad it wasn’t Ida who was asking me that.
CHAPTER 38
Noah
MOM LIFTED ME INTO her arms and carried me upstairs to take a quick nap before lunch. The excitement from Christmas morning was exhausting.
I felt my hair brush against the doorframe of my room, and my legs involuntarily stiffen the more I focused on relaxing. Mom could barely maneuver me. I focused hard to relax. But the excitement of the morning—unwrapping presents, eating so much candy, listening to Christmas music—made it nearly impossible for me to relax my body. Plus every time I thought about the missing boy’s laugh, I’d start laughing again, which made it almost impossible to relax. It seemed
the more I tried, the worse it got.
My mom walked sideways through the door and dropped me on the bed.
I should have fallen right to sleep, since I had hardly gotten any last night. But I didn’t. I daydreamed for a time about when this would end. When diapers became a thing of the past. When I could go to the bathroom by myself. When I didn’t get embarrassed in a crowd, just because I had to go but couldn’t get myself to the bathroom or have the privacy for pooping, like most people. I didn’t like that I needed my mom or dad to notice, to act, and to change my mess.
Worse, I never saw an end to my dependence.
I decided I shouldn’t be thinking about this on Christmas. So I started thinking about the missing backpack and the fifth grader named Clint from our school, the kid the adults refused to speak about. It was all hush-hush, leaving us kids to make up stories about him having his leg eaten by a bear. I tried to remember if he liked playing with cars and eating Milky Ways. And at some point, I started talking out loud. I forgot that my mom had turned the monitor back on, and I suddenly realized she’d know I wasn’t napping and would come get me.
I was right.
I heard her soft footsteps on the stairs and my door open. “You just don’t want to miss a thing today, do you?”
She was right. I didn’t.
Mom carried me back down into the kitchen where my wheelchair waited like a faithful steed. I heard Uncle Michael say that once. I thought it sounded funny. Especially when he told me a steed was a horse. I’ve always wanted to ride a horse. The swing that Santa brought me makes me feel like I’m in a saddle riding a horse, or walking on the moon. I love it! That’s another reason I should be exhausted and take a long nap, but I don’t want to.
Mom buckled my harness and belt, placed my feet in the stirrups, and washed her hands. I heard her ask Emma, “Where’s your dad?”
Emma shrugged. “He was here a minute ago.”
The front door opened and closed quickly. I knew who it was before I heard my dad’s voice call, “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!”
Emma stomped out and said, “Dad, that is getting so old.”
“But don’t I look like Santa?” He pointed to the snow that crusted his dark beard and eyebrows. He patted his large stomach. “And I’ve worked hard on this belly, put away a lot of groceries to try to convince you.”
“I’m not,” Emma sassed.
Mom called back, “Thanks for putting the breakfast dishes in the sink for me.”
Dad came in, shivering. “That was Emma, not me.”
Feeling Dad muss my hair, I grinned, arching my back in my excitement. I heard Dad kiss Mom and say, “The thermometer in my car said it’s three below zero out there. Maybe you should put long johns on Noah, a couple of extra layers today, just in case.” He removed his gloves and stocking cap before bending to kiss me on the cheek.
I smiled.
“Your appetite’s been good today. You didn’t eat a very good dinner last night. That’s not like you. Are you getting sick or something?”
I forced my smile to disappear. I wasn’t sick.
“No?” Dad asked as he removed his topcoat. “Then you just didn’t like the Christmas Eve dinner that Mom fixed for us?”
I froze my face, wishing I could say, Not it at all. Mom’s a great cook.
“Where were you?” Emma said as she sprinted into the kitchen, curly red pigtails bobbing by her ears. She jumped into Dad’s arms and he dropped all of his winter clothing.
“Outside shoveling Mrs. Parrent’s driveway and sidewalks.” Kissing her and blowing raspberries on her neck, he paused only long enough to ask, “Miss me, Princess?”
Emma giggled.
As Dad put Emma down, Mom said, “Emma, will you please pour a glass of water for Noah?”
“Okay, Mom, but after that can we please, please, please go outside to play? Please?”
I lifted my eyes, in case Mom was wondering if I wanted to go, too. And I smiled.
“We’ll see. Maybe after lunch. It’s so cold. You’ll both have to dress in a bunch of layers, if you do.”
I squealed, wanting to go outside, too.
I heard Dad scoop up all his winter clothes and store them in the closet by the front door. After he kicked off his snow boots, he came back in and sat in the living room with Emma. I thought they’d forgotten about me until I felt Mom release my wheelchair brakes and push me out of the kitchen into the living room through all the scattered toys, boxes, and wrapping paper.
“Auntie Elizabeth is coming later this afternoon to take you two ice skating and then for a sleepover.”
Emma hollered, “Yippee! You didn’t tell us that. Thank you, Mommy. It’s the best Christmas ever.”
“So do you still want to play outside? If so you’ll have to head out soon so you’ll be ready to go when she and Uncle Michael get here.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Noah, we’re going to Uncle Michael and Auntie Elizabeth’s house. We’re going skating and to Fizziegoobers.”
“I never said anything about Fizziegoobers,” Mom said.
“I know, but Auntie Elizabeth always takes us there for dinner.”
“It’s Christmas. It’s probably closed. Even pizza joints get a day off sometime, Em. Auntie Elizabeth said she’s taking you skating at the outdoor ice rink and then taking you to her house in Louisville for macaroni and cheese.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Emma sang.
I smiled. Mac and cheese was one of my favorites.
“Go get your long johns on first, then redress and put your snow clothes on and I’ll bring Noah out in a minute. Stay in the backyard.”
Emma was gone.
Mom started tugging off my shoes and stripped me bare. She pulled on two layers of long johns, my heavy sweats, and two pairs of socks before putting my heavy socks and my snow boots on me. Then, she started dressing me in my snow clothes.
Dad said, “Emma told me that Noah saw a kid next door at the neighbor’s. That true, Noah?”
I smiled, not knowing Emma had told Dad already.
“She told you that? When?” Mom asked, pausing just as she lifted my left foot to fill a boot.
I could feel the fuzz of its lining against my toe through the sock.
“About five minutes before I stepped outside to shovel,” Dad explained. “I didn’t see any visitors. Or any little boot prints in the snow. I assume she meant Mr. Flicker and not Mr. Andrews.”
“Jason Fletcher,” my mom sighed. “And she told me that, too, but I told her to quit making up stories like that.”
“Like what? About Fletcher?”
“About make-believe friends. She’s getting too old for that. I mean, I know she’s not too old to play pretend, but to believe so strongly in her imaginary friends … it might cause rumors to get started about others.”
“Like Mr. Fletcher?” Dad asked.
I strained against the clothes she was layering on me, angry that she wasn’t looking at my face. So I could tell her the truth, that there was a child next door. That Emma wasn’t playing with another imaginary friend.
But she pretended I wasn’t there and kept talking to Dad. “He’s pretty private. No one around here knows much about him. I heard he was into photography or something. The one-hour-developer kind of store. He’s not very friendly though. And I told Emma that involving Noah and Mr. Fletcher in her make-believe world wasn’t right and could lead to trouble.”
“Noah, did you and Emma come up with this story?”
I raised my eyes and smiled. I saw the child. Last night and this morning.
Mom noticed. “See? They made it up. And now Emma’s got Noah in the middle of it.”
My smile faded. What did I do? I meant to answer Dad that Emma and I started that story and that I actually saw a child, not that we made up the story as pretend. By miscommunicating my “yes” with Dad, I’d already gotten Emma in enough trouble for the day.
Dad said, “Why would Emma do that?”
I figured I better let this one go for now. Besides, I was about to go outside and had a mystery to think about. I wanted to sit in the fresh air and puzzle through the case of the missing backpack. And maybe I’d see a mountain lion.
“Maybe she was trying to get him in trouble. We call him Mr. Creepy,” Mom admitted to Dad.
“Mr. Creepy? That’s not nice.”
He was kind of creepy. He kept his distance from me, but I assumed it was because the man was uncomfortable with me having cerebral palsy. Or being in a wheelchair. If I could talk, I’d tell him it isn’t contagious. Then I’d laugh.
“Yeah, when I was in our driveway shoveling, I saw Fletcher walk by the front window and close the curtains. I don’t think he saw me sneaking some peeks in there, but who knows. Why do you suppose Noah’s saying he saw a kid?”
Because I did! Those are the words I shouted in my head, but only “Errrggh” came out of my mouth.
“Well, like I told Noah, he was probably mistaken, probably saw a shadow or Emma’s reflection in his window. But let’s not encourage Emma with her delusions of imaginary friends that involve others,” Mom replied, wrapping a heavy winter coat around my body. “Or rumors will start spreading like wildfire.”
But it’s not a rumor if I saw the child over there, is it?
My mom pulled gloves on my hands, then mittens; she put a stocking cap on my head and bumped me down the stairs in my wheelchair. Dad must have followed, because I heard the basement door open to the backyard and felt the cold air rush in on my face.
“Well, maybe we need to set up some play dates for Emma tomorrow or later this week with kids from her school. At nine, Emma really should be growing out of this imaginary world of hers,” Dad said. “Before it gets out of hand.”
It already had. And I was sorry I ever mentioned it.
“I bet Em would like that.”
I just wanted to go outside before I missed the mountain lions sneaking around in our backyard. And if I did see one, I certainly wouldn’t let Emma tell Mom or Dad. They’d never believe us.
Or maybe I’d just look for bears. Maybe I could ask one of them if they knew what happened to Clint, the kid who might be the owner of the missing backpack.
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