Since You've Been Gone (43 page)

“Rebecca, is that you?” Esther asked.

“Yes. Clay told me Frank didn't look too well after he left Molly's and I decided to meet him out here, just to make sure he's all right.”

“Is he?”

“I haven't found him yet.” She sat down on the chair at the desk. “He has some of your things gathered in a shopping bag by the door, but he must have gone outside to look around.”

“Then I'm glad I caught you. I forgot to tell him to get a fresh bottle of Prinivil. It's in my medicine cabinet.”

“What's Prinivil?”

“Medicine for high blood pressure. Now don't start worrying.”

“All right, I won't, although you never said anything about high blood pressure. I'll put the medicine in the bag for you. How's Molly?”

“Sleeping. Clay said he'd come back this evening and give her another sedative.”

“She'll need it. Esther, I don't think there's much hope.”

Esther was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “Rebecca, there is always hope. Until we find Todd's body, there is
always
hope.”

“I guess,” Rebecca said vacantly, not really believing what Esther said. Esther's faith was so great and her belief would not waver. It hadn't eight years ago when Jonnie disappeared, not until she was faced with the undeniable fact of his lifeless body. And even then, she'd not despaired. She had said Jonnie would live on, his soul saved by a benevolent God.

If only I believed that, Rebecca thought as her eyes strayed to the framed piece of needlepoint hanging above the hall desk. It was excellent work. The writing was in deep rose, the symbol above in dark blue on a pale blue background…

Rebecca rose from her chair and stared at the piece:

Rebecca felt as if all systems in her body had stopped functioning for a few moments. She could not move her gaze from the needlepoint. Old memories stirred. New memories flashed. Finally she became aware of Esther asking, “Rebecca, are you there? Is everything all right?”

“Esther, I'm looking at the needlepoint above the hall desk,” she said slowly. “How long has it been here?”

“The needlepoint?” Esther sounded puzzled. “My mother made that, dear. The glass covering has kept the colors fresh, but it's been hanging there since I was a girl. Sixty years at least. Why?”

“I liked it when I was little, didn't I?”

“Why yes, you did. Funny you should remember that.”

“And someone else liked it, too, didn't they?
Doug
liked it.”

“Yes, Rebecca. He was fascinated with ships. Naturally he was attracted to a picture of an anchor. I explained to both of you that in early Christian drawings, the anchor symbolized salvation and hope. I used to find him staring at it.” She paused. “I've never told this to anyone, but once I found a tattered photograph of Doug's mother. He'd drawn the symbol of the anchor on the back.”

Rebecca's mind flew. The mausoleum. Doug had lived in the Ryan home, knew where all the keys were kept, and was still in and out frequently. And the symbol on Jonnie's plaque, the symbol she'd glanced at in terror and, after years of watching horror movies, immediately decided was an inverted cross. It wasn't. When she thought about it coolly, she remembered that the cross bar had been curved. It was a crude replica of the needlepoint anchor Doug had looked at since he was a child. To him it meant salvation and hope.

“Rebecca, are you all right?” Esther asked insistently. “You sound very strange. I know you're upset about Todd and you want to look after Frank, but maybe you should go home. I can call someone to come get you. Yes, that would be best. You shouldn't drive—”

“I have to go, Esther,” Rebecca said abruptly and hung up.

Frank. She had to find Frank and tell him about Doug. His own son. Why would Doug draw the emblem on Jonnie's plaque—unless he felt guilt for kidnapping and killing Jonnie, whom he'd never liked. And if he'd done it once—

Rebecca grabbed Sean's leash and they dashed through the house and out the back door. She stood for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the light. She had a clear view of the greenhouses, but the doors were shut and there appeared to be no activity. It was Saturday, but apparently Esther had given her staff of two the day off.

“Frank!” Rebecca called. “Frank, where are you?”

Nothing but the sound of birds chirping. What had Clay said? Frank was going to inspect the property, especially the pond. He was probably there now.

She started out at a brisk pace past the greenhouses. Sean seemed to think they were on an adventure and he galloped
along beside her. She stopped and unhooked his leash, knowing he wouldn't stray far on relatively unfamiliar territory.

Without Esther and her small staff around, Whispering Willows seemed almost lonely in spite of the sunshine. She never remembered it seeming so deserted when she was young. But then she'd usually been with Jonnie and Molly. And sometimes Doug. The very thought of his name made her feel cold. Could he really have taken Todd? He'd seemed so concerned, almost frantic all week. But what about last night and his obviously false excuse for not coming with her to the ransom drop? Could his conscience have gotten to him? Or had he suddenly been overcome by panic, by the fear that Rebecca would discover him? After all, he did seem to believe in her ESP.

As Rebecca neared the pond, she saw no sign of Frank. Damn, she thought. Where could he be? Would she have to cover all ten acres to find him? Or had he doubled back and already returned to the house? If so he would see the Thunderbird and surely wait for her.

Rebecca stopped and was wondering whether or not to keep wandering around the grounds or go back to the house when she heard Sean barking. She looked to the right and saw the dog at the door of the old Leland cabin. He sat solidly, barking rhythmically and looking around as if he expected her to show up momentarily.

“I'm over here, Sean!” she called. “Come on, boy.” The dog did not move. “Sean, we're going back now. Come!”

Sean looked back at the door and barked three times. Loudly.

Rebecca took a few steps closer to him. “Sean, no one lives there. There's nothing inside except maybe a couple of mice, and you're not a cat. Now come on.”

Sean would not look at her. He jumped up on his hind legs, scratching at the door and whining. He dropped down again, looked at her, then repeated the action.

“What on earth is wrong with you?” Rebecca called at
the same moment she thought, Frank might have gone in the cabin and passed out. His heart—

She ran toward the cabin. Sean danced in a circle, then leaped at the door again.

Rebecca turned the handle on the door that was always kept locked. It swung inward. Just like the doors on the mausoleum. The association sent a tingle of fear through her. So far unlocked doors had not boded well.

Rebecca stepped inside. “Frank?” Her voice had a hollow sound in the old, musty “cabin. She looked at the floor. No footprints in the dust. No dust. Did Esther actually clean out this place regularly? It did have historical value and Rebecca knew Esther tried to keep up the structural integrity, but to clean it like she did her home? Perhaps her staff was assigned that task.

Sean was darting madly around the small rooms. In a new place he usually showed cautious curiosity. Not today. Something was wrong, which made her even more certain Frank was in here. Perhaps he hadn't answered because he was unconscious.

The cabin had an area Rebecca had always referred to as the kitchen, although cooking was done in the big fireplace in the main room. The “kitchen” had shelves hidden behind rough cabinet doors, a recessed area for a tub that served for washing clothes and once-a-week baths, and storage bins for vegetables. Off the kitchen were three bedrooms, a luxury number for the time the cabin was built. One bedroom was larger than the other two to accommodate the elder Lelands and a cradle or crib depending on the age of the newest Leland. Now all bedrooms were empty, their antique furniture sold long ago. The cabin sported a back door. Rebecca unlocked it and stepped out onto a narrow porch. The land around had little in the way of bushes or trees. Frank was nowhere in sight.

Rebecca walked back into the cabin. Sean was now in the main room again, pawing at the set of shelves built into the corner. Rebecca opened their doors to see dust and a
few dead flies. Sean continued pawing. “There's nothing here, boy. It's time to leave.”

She shut the cabinet doors and started toward the main door of the cabin. Sean suddenly darted in front of her, blocking the door. Then he growled. “What in the world?” Rebecca exclaimed. “You haven't growled at me since the first week I found you.” He came closer, growling. She took a step back and he followed, growling. They continued this routine until she was back at the corner shelves, where Sean again pawed at the doors and barked. And barked. And barked.

And finally Rebecca heard it. A sound so soft she thought she'd imagined it. Just a slight blur of noise. Sean barked again in agitation. “Shhh!” Rebecca hissed. She opened the cabinet doors and tilted her head in between two shelves.

“T-Tramp?”

She jumped.
Tramp?
Could that possibly be what she'd heard? A weak, tiny voice saying
Tramp?
“Todd!” she yelled. “Todd Ryan!”

A sob, rough and weak.

Rebecca went into a frenzy, clawing at the shelves, skinning her hands. Sean leaped and dug at them, too, as if he could paw through the wood. Rebecca pulled at the shelves, wondering if she could loosen them from the wall. Finally she grabbed a corner of the fourth shelf and felt a slight movement. She pulled harder. Another slight movement but with an accompanying creaking sound. She pulled a third time and at last the entire set of shelves swung away from the wall and she looked at rough-hewn planks leading down into darkness. A flashlight lay on the top step. She grabbed it and shone it down the stairs, onto the dirt floor and a small heap under a dirty white blanket.

Rebecca shone the light on the narrow planks and descended carefully. All she needed now was to fall and break her neck. When she reached the bottom, she folded back the blanket. Strawberry blond hair. A pale, pinched face with cracked lips, dripping with sweat. The eyes were closed.

“Todd,” she said softly. “Todd.”

Nothing. Not even the eyelids fluttered. She pushed the wet hair off his burning forehead. “Todd, please try to open your eyes. Please speak.”

The lips parted slightly. “Tramp,” he rasped. “You came like for the baby. Save baby. The rat…”

He trailed off without ever opening his eyes. Dear God, he was so sick, Rebecca thought frantically. His gag had been shredded away by his teeth. He shivered violently beneath the thin blanket in this dreadful, dark hole. One look at his face told her he was on the verge of death. What strength of will he'd found to call out when he heard Sean barking!

Rebecca put the flashlight on the floor. She squatted, placed her arms gently beneath him, and lifted. He groaned pitifully. “I'm sorry baby. I don't mean to hurt you, but I have to get you out of here.”

She began the upward climb, slowly and cautiously. It would be so easy to fall on these flimsy steps that led from a place where the Lelands must have taken shelter from the occasional marauding Indian parties. She'd never known about the hiding place. Esther had no doubt kept it a secret, afraid the children would hurt themselves trying to explore it. But Doug must have discovered it.

Halfway up the steps Rebecca paused. She'd broken into a sweat and her arms were trembling both from Todd's
weight and the strain of trying to place her feet so carefully on the next narrow plank. Sean stood above her, looking down. “Almost there, boy. Please don't come down and get in my way.”

After three deep breaths she started up again. Briefly she looked down at Todd. He was breathing, although he still hadn't opened his eyes. Occasionally he murmured, “Mommy.” Once, “Tramp.” And once, to her surprise, “Becky.”

When she reached the top of the stairs, Sean was gone. Good, she thought. The way is clear. The distance from the top step to the floor of the cabin was greater than between the steps. She took another deep breath, raised her right leg, set her foot firmly on the floor, and heaved herself up into the cabin.

“Thank God,” Rebecca murmured. Then she turned to see Doug standing just inside the doorway of the cabin. She also saw the revolver in his right hand hanging by his side. He looked at her dully, all expression drained from his face, and said flatly, “So you've found him.”

Panic rushed through Rebecca with the speed of an electric shock. Then to her amazement, utter calm descended. She knew this was some atavistic response to extreme danger, some genetically buried knowledge about how to survive.