Maddy wondered why she would think that. “I said we’d wait.”
Bonnie shrugged as if to express her lack of faith in such promises.
“Bonnie,” said Maddy, “this is my husband, Doug Blake. Doug, this is Bonnie Lewis. The one I told you about.” She turned to Bonnie. “How’s your husband doing? Did you see him?”
“He’s out cold. He didn’t know I was there.” Bonnie turned to Doug. “Your wife invited us to stay,” she said anxiously, “but if you don’t want us there…”
Doug forced a brief smile. “No, no,” he said. “It’s no problem. Let me just go see if the cab is here.”
Maddy gave the other woman an encouraging smile as Doug went over to the door. “Everything will be all right,” she said.
Bonnie nodded grimly and patted the back of her baby, whose little sobs echoed off the walls of the quiet lobby.
Maddy led the way up the stairs to the bedrooms. She opened the door to the guest room. There were twin beds and a bureau. In the corner was the crib, which Amy had outgrown. Maddy had put it there so that they would be prepared for visits from friends or family who also had young children. Bonnie looked around the room, and for the first time she brightened. “This’ll be great,” she said.
Maddy nodded, feeling pleased at the sight of the pale yellow room with its hooked rug and wildflower quilts. She remembered the day last spring when she and Doug had painted this room. Doug had started out griping that he wished they had the money to hire someone to do it, but in the end it had been fun. They had painted while Amy danced happily around with her doll.
“Maybe we can get a house,” said Bonnie. “If the job works out. Before this we’ve lived in apartments. But now that we have Sean…”
“How long have you been married?” Maddy asked.
Bonnie frowned. “Oh, not too long. A few years. It took me a while to get pregnant. Then when I did, it was easy as pie. I worked up until the week I had him.” She placed the baby into the crib and took off the knitted booties on his feet.
Maddy leaned against the door frame. “Where did you work?” she asked.
“What?” Bonnie asked, turning around. “Oh, at the library. As an assistant.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have any trouble getting a job around here. Seems like they’re always short staffed at the library.”
“I’m not going to go back to work,” she said. “Not now. Terry wants to support us. Once I get this little one off to school, I’ll be able to go back,” she said dreamily. “Terry and I have discussed it and we both feel that it’s important for the mother to be home with her child.”
Maddy smiled and gave her an assessing glance. She wasn’t young, probably mid-thirties, and she was not especially attractive. But she had found herself a husband and she had her first child. Having this baby must have been a dream come true to her. No wonder she wanted to stay home. And it would probably work out fine for them, except for this little nightmare glitch of the breadwinner being in the hospital, minus his spleen.
Bonnie walked over to the bed and began to rummage in the diaper bag. She pulled out a pair of pajamas and set them gently on the bed. “Good thing these weren’t in the suitcase,” she said. She removed a bottle of baby oil, powder, and a plastic soap container.
“I’ll drive you around to the garage tomorrow and we’ll get your bags,” said Maddy.
Bonnie returned to the side of the crib and unsnapped the baby’s little corduroy pants. He began to make fretful noises.
“Maybe you should let him sleep in his clothes,” Maddy suggested, “so you don’t wake him up.”
Bonnie looked up at her indignantly. “And let him go to bed all dirty and sticky like this? I wouldn’t think of it.”
Mind your own business, Maddy reminded herself. Every mother has her own way of doing things. “Well, I’m going to leave you two. I’ll see you at breakfast in the morning.”
“No fruit,” said Bonnie.
“What?” Maddy asked.
“No fruit for breakfast. Sean is allergic to most fruits.”
Maddy smiled. “Well, my Amy won’t touch them anyway. Good night.” Bonnie resumed undressing the baby as Maddy pulled the door shut quietly.
She went down the hall to her bedroom, tiptoeing so as not to wake Doug. As she approached the door, she thought she heard the murmur of his voice. She opened the door and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped, a pained expression on his face.
“Doug, what’s the matter?” she asked. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m all right,” he said.
“Maybe you better take one of those painkillers.”
Doug shook his head.
“That’s why the doctor gave you a prescription.”
“I don’t need it,” he said.
Maddy sighed. “Okay. Whatever you think. I guess I got our guests settled in.” From down the hall the baby’s fussy cry threaded its way to them. Maddy went to the closet and got out her nightgown. “What a night,” she said.
“Maddy…”
Maddy turned and looked at her husband. “What?”
“There’s another little problem…”
Maddy’s heart started to race with apprehension. She held her nightgown up in front of her, as if for protection. “What problem?” Then she frowned. “Who were you talking to on the phone just now?”
“You heard me?” he asked.
“I heard your voice as I was coming in. I didn’t hear what you were saying.”
“Stanley Plank,” he said.
“Who in the world is Stanley Plank?”
Doug sighed. “Our insurance man.”
“Oh, right,” said Maddy. “You told him about the accident.” She shook her head in confusion. “So, what’s the problem?”
“Maddy, look,” said Doug. “You know the last few months have been so crazy. I mean with this court business. And being out of work…”
“Yes,” she said, conscious that she was holding her breath.
“Last month, I was paying the bills and there just wasn’t enough money to go around.”
“Enough money for what?” she said.
“I had to let a few things slide. I had no choice.” He was avoiding her gaze, explaining himself to the carpet by the bed.
“Don’t tell me,” she said. “Not the car insurance.”
“It probably won’t matter,” he said. “It’s a no-fault state.”
Maddy turned away from him, her jaw clenched. “The car insurance, Doug?”
“It was a judgment call,” he said irritably. “Anyway, maybe it’ll all go away…”
Maddy shook her head. She felt numb. “I can’t believe this,” she said. “What could you have been thinking? What if they decide to sue us or something?”
Doug sprang up from the edge of the bed and turned on her, his eyes blazing. “Well, if they do sue us, it’s because you have acted as if we were to blame. Inviting them here…you might as well have admitted it was our fault.”
Maddy’s face reddened, for she knew she had said exactly that to the police.
All of a sudden, they heard a noise in the hallway. Doug looked toward the door. “Who’s there?” he demanded.
Maddy jerked around and saw a shadow on the half-open door of their bedroom. Amy was not home. It could be only one person. She felt her face flush with shame at the thought that their argument might have been overheard.
Doug strode to the door and pulled it open. Bonnie was standing there, holding an empty baby bottle.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“Pardon me,” Bonnie said indignantly. “I only wanted to know if I could get Sean some milk. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Of course,” Maddy said humbly. “Downstairs. In the fridge.”
Bonnie raised her chin and turned away. As she turned, Maddy saw something chilling in her eyes—an unmistakable little glint of satisfaction.
Chapter Seven
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Frank Cameron poured a cup of coffee, and wiped a large hand over his wide, sagging face. He’d spent most of the night at the police station and out on the search with his officers, and his complexion was nearly as gray as his hair. He had come home, managed two hours of sleep on the sofa in the den, and was now getting ready to go back to the station.
Mary Beth sat at the kitchen table, her laptop open beside her plate of dry toast, studying the screen and picking away at the keys with one polished fingernail. She was groomed and coiffed for the office, her makeup flawless, her fitted red suit at once tailored and seductive. Frank remembered when she’d first returned to work. Heather had just started third grade, and Mary Beth had complained that there wasn’t enough for her to do at home. Back then her entire professional wardrobe had consisted of two skirts—one gray and one navy blue—and a couple of cardigan twin sets. Although her transformation had been gradual, he felt as if he had completely missed it—as if one day, the wife he knew had disappeared and been replaced by this sharp-eyed real estate mini-mogul.
“What time did you get in?” Mary Beth asked, her gaze not wavering from the little screen.
“Oh, Jesus, I don’t know. Five. Six.”
“Did you find them?”
“Not yet, Mary Beth,” he said caustically. She did not seem to notice.
Heather shuffled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door.
“Hello, Heather,” Frank said.
“Hi, Dad.” She gave him a brief smile and went back to examining the contents of the refrigerator. Frank thought how strange it was for them to all be in the same room at the same time. Usually he left the house before they got up, and when he got home, Heather was in her room with the door shut and his dinner was in the microwave. Meanwhile Mary Beth would be busy making appointments on her cell phone or logging on to the Internet, to share her grievances with some other frustrated female.
He thought back to the time when Frank junior and Heather were children, and they always seemed to eat together. A lot of nights he had kept them waiting, but still, those had been better days. He gazed at his daughter, who was sitting down with a juice box and a Pop-Tarts on a paper plate. He felt a sudden, overwhelming affection for her, probably because he had spent the night worrying about Rebecca Starnes, who was about the same age as Heather. She looked vulnerable and kind of sweet to him in those baggy overalls she liked to wear. Impulsively he walked over to her and stroked her soft hair.
Mary Beth pushed her chair back from the table and examined her daughter critically. “Heather,” she said, “what in the world inspired you to wear those two items of clothing together?”
Heather looked down at her dull green shirt and her lavender overalls and gazed wearily at her mother. “They look okay,” she said.
Mary Beth shook her head. “They look completely ridiculous, Heather. You wonder why you have no friends.”
Frank sipped his coffee and closed his eyes. He had a sudden image of Sandi Starnes in that ketchup-stained blouse, clutching a photo of her daughter. Promising God any extravagant thing, if only she could just set eyes on Rebecca again. “She looks fine,” he said through clenched teeth.
Mary Beth stood up and walked over to the coffeepot, high heels clicking against the linoleum. “What do you know about it, Frank?” she said.
A knock on the back door precluded his reply. Mary Beth opened the door, prepared to excoriate the person who dared intrude on her family breakfast. But her stiffness vanished at the sight of the two young people in the doorway.
“Karla,” she exclaimed with a broad smile. “What a nice surprise. Come on in.”
Heather blanched when she saw the visitors. Karla Need-ham lived two streets over and was one of the most popular girls at school. She was a cheerleader, had perfect looks, perfect clothes, and a boyfriend. A boyfriend who made Heather swoon every time she thought of him. A boyfriend who was standing in her doorway.
“Who’s your friend?” Mary Beth asked.
“This is Richie Talbot. Hi, Heather.”
Heather gulped down the corner of a Pop-Tart. As she mumbled, “Hi,” some crumbs escaped and sprayed out on the table. Heather had known Karla Needham all her life. As little girls, they had played together. But once they hit fifth grade, Karla had moved on to other things. Not that she wasn’t nice. She always said hi and asked how Heather’s parents were. But that was all. Until now. This morning. This moment. Heather suddenly felt sick to her stomach.
“We were passing by and we thought you might want to walk to school with us,” Karla said pleasantly.
“Why?” asked Heather.
“Heather,” Mary Beth scolded, sensing a golden opportunity for her daughter to be seen, for once, in the right company. “Can’t you be friendly?” Mary Beth turned back to the couple crowded in the doorway. “Heather was just about to leave for school, weren’t you, honey? I’m sure she’d love to walk with you.”
The phone rang. Frank reached over and picked it up, glad for any distraction from his daughter’s discomfiture and his wife’s transparent machinations. He listened for a moment, then nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”
He reached for his keys and wallet on the counter. “I’ve got to go,” he said.
“Did you find that girl and the baby, Chief Cameron?” Karla asked politely.
“Not yet.” Frank sighed. “Maybe this will be the break we need. Excuse me, everyone.” As the door shut behind him, he heard Mary Beth oozing charm to the visitors and ordering Heather to ready herself for the march to school.
“What’s up, Pete?” Frank asked as he banged back the door of the station house.
Pete Millard’s tie hung loose around his open collar, his normally well-groomed hair was disheveled, raked through by nervous fingers. He jerked his head in the direction of the sergeant’s desk. A pudgy woman with steel-rimmed glasses and strawberry blond hair in a messy ponytail, wearing a SUNY warm-up jacket and Reebok running shoes, was looking around the station house disdainfully.
“A witness,” Pete explained.
Frank raised his eyebrows and regarded the woman with interest.
“She says she read about it in the paper this morning,” said Pete.
“What? She doesn’t watch television? It was on the tube all night.”
“She doesn’t own a television,” Pete said. “She made a point of telling me.”
“An intellectual,” Frank snorted.
“Anyway, she’s here now,” said Pete.
“Fine. Let’s talk to her. Bring her down to room one.”
Frank headed down the corridor to one of the interview rooms and turned on the overhead lights. They illuminated every corner of the sickly green room. Frank sat down heavily on one of the molded plastic seats and looked at his watch. Fifteen hours had elapsed since the girl and the baby had been reported missing, and with each passing hour, their prospects grew more ominous.
The door opened, and Pete Millard led the woman into the room. “Chief Cameron, this is Miss Julia Sewell.”
“Miz,” she corrected him.
“Thank you for coming in, Ms. Sewell,” Frank said politely. He knew better than to alienate this alien creature. She appeared to be in her thirties, not a college student, as her jacket might indicate. “Detective Millard says you saw the news of the disappearance of Rebecca Starnes and Justin Wallace in the paper.”
“That’s right,” she said.
“And you recognized them from the pictures?”
“The girl. I saw her yesterday.”
“You saw her by herself?”
“No. She had a baby with her. I couldn’t swear it was the same baby. They all look alike to me.”
“Where did you see them?”
“I was in the park, reading.”
Frank’s heart began to race. “What park was that, Ms. Sewell?”
“Binney Park,” she said. “I was sitting on a bench, near the duck pond. Across from the parking lo
t. I was reading.”
Something was familiar about her, but Frank could not quite put his finger on it. He was just too tired. “What time was this?” he asked, making a note.
“About two o’clock.”
“What were they doing?”
“They were just sitting there. The kid was in a stroller. She was sitting on a bench.”
“Any…anything unusual? Any reason why you noticed them?”
“A man came up to them and started talking to her.” The woman disclosed this news with grim satisfaction.
Frank felt the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. Perverts. I knew it, he thought. What is it with these bastards that makes them need to mess with children? His thoughts strayed to his own daughter and her recent experience with her schoolteacher. Kids weren’t safe anywhere these days. Even in school. “Did you think it was someone she knew?”
The woman squinted and shook her head. “No,” she said. “A stranger.”
“Do you mind my asking how you know that?” Frank asked mildly. He was always wary of witnesses who noticed too much.
“Body language,” she said flatly.
Frank nodded and made a note on the paper in front of him, not satisfied with her answer. Something about her was setting off warning bells in him. Most witnesses who came forward voluntarily were eager, not hostile. They were filled with the pure zeal of the innocent bystander, and they were definitely on the side of the police. “Can you describe the man?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said.
“Height, weight, age?”
The woman exhaled noisily. “I couldn’t tell his exact age. I wasn’t that close to him. I would say in his thirties. Blondish brown hair, medium build.”
An image came to Frank Cameron’s mind of a man who perfectly fit that description. The man who had sat in the courtroom and denied coercing Frank’s teenage daughter into having sex with him. Thirties, sandy hair, medium build. Douglas Blake. Frank’s curiosity suddenly became personal.
“Wearing?”
“Those chino-type pants. And a dark jacket.”
“Color?”
Lost Innocents Page 6