Sunshine and the Shadowmaster (4 page)

L
ily Tibbits yelled for a few minutes when she learned her head waitress was going to be late. But Heather wasn't bothered. She worked hard for Lily—and Lily always yelled when things didn't go her way. Heather waited until Lily had to stop for a breath and then promised to be in as soon as she could.

Heather hung up and called her uncle Jack. He said he'd be right over.

While they waited for Jack, Heather offered Lucas some breakfast. He said he wasn't hungry. And she realized she didn't have much of an appetite, either. So she excused herself to go to her room, where she swiftly changed into the jeans, white shirt and tennis shoes she always wore to work.

The doorbell rang just as Heather finished tying her shoes.

“Hey, Sunshine,” Uncle Jack said when she let him in. Uncle Jack always called her Sunshine. It was the name people had started calling her when she began working part-time at Lily's seven years before, when she was only sixteen. Now she responded to it as readily as she did to Heather.

“Uncle Jack.” She gave him a quick, fond hug. Then she stood back and grabbed his arm. “Come on. Mark's father is in the kitchen.”

They found Lucas sitting at the table staring into his empty coffee cup. He glanced up when Heather led Jack in. The two men exchanged a long look.

Then Jack stuck out his hand. “Lucas, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm Jack Roper.”

Lucas stood and the two men shook hands.

* * *

“Our biggest problem,” Jack said when Heather and Lucas had described the events leading up to Mark's disappearance, “is that if Mark doesn't want to be found, he's going to be working against us all the way. It's one thing to bring out the search and rescue crew when the missing person is lost on a mountain somewhere, praying for rescue—and it's another thing altogether to hunt down a runaway. Also, since Mark has hitchhiked on his own before, it's fully possible that he's taken to the road again. He could be in another state by now.”

Still, Jack promised that everything that could be done would be done. He questioned Lucas and Heather in depth and even read the letters that Mark had sent Heather, though in them he found no clues as to where Mark might be now.

“Someone should be here to answer the phone at all times,” Jack said, “just in case Mark decides to get in touch.”

Since Heather had to work, she called around until she found someone willing to sit by the phone all day. Tawny, who was Heather's Aunt Amy's teenaged sister, arrived ten minutes after Heather called her. Meanwhile, Lucas contacted his house in Monterey and gave instructions that the phone there was never to be left unattended.

Next, Jack took Lucas down to the sheriff's station, where Lucas filled out a missing person's report. Within an hour from the time Jack Roper had arrived at Heather's house, there was an all-points bulletin out on the missing boy.

Jack mobilized the local search and rescue unit and they set to work in teams, looking for signs of Mark in the woods surrounding North Magdalene. Meanwhile, the sheriff's deputies had the job of knocking on doors all over town, branching out from Heather's house, asking anyone and everyone if they had seen Lucas Drury's ten-year-old son.

Heather produced a recent school picture that Mark had sent her. They managed to make a fairly good photocopy of it on the copy machine over at the North Magdalene School, so they could put together a flyer about Mark. The deputies carried copies of the flyer with them, passing them out to everyone they interviewed. And before Heather went in to work, she walked up one side of Main Street and down the other, tacking up a flyer on every available surface.

Sheriff Pangborn assigned Jack the job of personally interviewing Marnie Jones, Kenny Riggins and Oggie Jones, the three people in town most likely to have more information about Mark. Lucas wanted to be there for those interviews.

Jack reluctantly agreed. “All right. But you'll be an observer and that's all.”

Lucas swore that he'd keep his mouth shut.

* * *

They went to see Marnie Jones first.

From a chair in the corner of Regina Jones's big, old-fashioned living room, Lucas studied the girl. She had short-cropped brown hair, blue eyes, a pugnacious nose and a dirt smudge on her cheek. A quick, ruthless intelligence shone in her eyes. And “pint-size hell-raiser” seemed to be written all over her. Lucas's guess was that this girl would be fiercely protective of anyone to whom she'd given her friendship.

He wondered at his quiet, well-behaved son. How strange that he'd have chosen this feisty Jones kid as a pal. But then it struck Lucas: Marnie Jones was exactly the kind of friend he himself would have chosen when he was a boy—had anyone in this gossip-ridden, inbred town been willing to
be
his friend.

Guilt pierced Lucas, twisting deep. Heather had said Marnie and Mark were real buddies. But until today, he'd only been vaguely aware of Mark's friendship with the girl. His sister-in-law, who'd spent two weeks with Mark last winter, seemed to know more about his son than
he
did.

“Marnie, I want you to tell us where Mark is,” Jack Roper instructed.

“I don't
know,
” Marnie replied tightly. “I told you, I haven't seen him since last January.”

Regina Jones, Marnie's stepmother, stood behind the girl. She put her hands on Marnie's shoulders. “You must tell them whatever you know, Marnie. It's very important.”

“It's the God's truth, Gina. Last winter's the last time I saw him. And I don't know where he is or where he went. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Regina looked at Jack. “She's telling the truth. I'm sure of it.”

Lucas, silent in his corner chair, thought so, too. He wrote fiction for a living, after all. And to be good at that, you had to have a handle on body language. Marnie sat with one ankle hooked across the other knee and both hands wrapped around her raised leg. Her chin was stuck out. She looked ready for a fight, if it came to that. But she didn't have that pulled-in, cagey look that would have said she was hiding something. And she didn't look the least bit nervous, either.

No, the signs weren't there. Not a one.

Jack said, “All right, Marnie. Then do you have any idea of where Mark might have gone? Can you think of someone he might have asked to help him?”

The little chin protruded further. “Yeah. Me. He could have asked me. But he didn't.”

“What about where he might have gone?”

“Far away, prob'bly.” The words had escaped her lips before Marnie realized they would only bring on more questions. She ducked her head a little, like a turtle pulling into its shell.

But Jack Roper didn't allow her to retreat. “Why do you think he would go far away?”

“Don't know,” Marnie mumbled, as if by answering out of the side of her mouth, she could make the questions go away.

“Marnie,” Regina Jones said softly.

Marnie glanced up at her stepmother. “Aw, Gina.”

“Tell them all you know, honey.”

Now Marnie shifted uncomfortably, lowering one sneakered foot to the floor and crossing the other one on her knee. She glanced back at her stepmother again. Regina nodded in encouragement.

“It's just...what he said in his letters.”

“What letters?” Lucas demanded. “You have letters from my son?”

“Lucas.” Jack gave a quick shake of his head.

“Sorry,” Lucas muttered.

“Answer the question,” Jack said to Marnie. “Do you have letters from Mark Drury?”

Marnie looked rebellious, but she did nod.

“We need to see them,” Jack said.

Marnie stuck her thumbnail in her mouth and chewed on the cuticle for a moment.

“Marnie.” Regina made the name into a reprimand.

“Oh, all right. I'll get them.” Marnie bounced to her feet and disappeared down a hallway.

She returned a few minutes later carrying a stack of envelopes tied together with fishing line. Jack held out his hand.

Marnie clutched the letters to her chest for a moment, then stuck them out. “I want ‘em back.”

Jack smiled as he took them. “You'll get them.”

“When?”

“Marnie.” Regina was shaking her head.

“I got a right to know. They belong to me.”

“Soon,” Jack promised. “I want a chance to read them carefully, and then I'll return them.”

Nothing was going to stop Lucas from reading those letters, too. He decided the best way to see to that was to ask Marnie if he could look at them. “I'd like to read them, too,” he said quietly.

Marnie turned her blue gaze on him. “They're mine.”

“I know. And I'm asking. Will you let me read them?”

Marnie took her time answering. She looked at Lucas through narrowed eyes, clearly doubtful that he could be trusted. Lucas suppressed a sigh of relief when she ruled in his favor. “All right. You can read them. But I want them back as soon as you're done.”

In another room, a baby began to cry. Regina started to excuse herself. Jack said there was no problem. They could see themselves out.

* * *

They interviewed Oggie Jones next. Lucas had never much cared for the crafty old troublemaker.

It was a local legend that Oggie Jones had stolen his now-deceased wife, Bathsheba, from Lucas's father, Rory, decades ago. Rory had later married Lucas's mother and Lucas had come along. Indirectly, he supposed, Lucas owed his existence to old Oggie Jones.

But Lucas had never managed to muster up any gratitude. For one thing, it was hard to be grateful for the hell on earth that his early childhood had been. And beyond that, Lucas just plain didn't like Oggie's attitude.

The old loudmouth thought he knew it all and had no qualms about telling any and everyone exactly what he knew. And then, when the fool finally shut up, he'd do it with a gleam in his eye that seemed to say he was hoarding secrets too important to share. It irritated Lucas no end to think that his son had befriended this particular old man.

They found Oggie sitting in his easy chair at his daughter's house where he lived now.

“Come in, come in!” The old coot laid it on thick. “What can I do for you, son?” he asked Jack, who evidently really was his son. Jack had that Jones look about him; there was no mistaking it.

“We want to ask you some questions about Mark Drury,” Jack said.

“‘Course you do. Fire away.”

Jack asked the same questions he'd asked Marnie: if Oggie had seen or heard from the boy since the previous winter.

“No, son. Can't say as I have. Can't say as I have. But this here situation is no surprise to me, I gotta say.”

“Why not?” Jack asked.

Oggie didn't hesitate to elaborate. “Simple. That boy can't
communicate
with his father. He needs Attention. Capital
A.
So he's finally gone and done something that will get him what he needs.” He snorted and turned his beady eyes on Lucas. “You caught on yet that you ain't doin' a father's job too well, Lucas Drury?”

Jack frowned at his father. “Back off, Dad.”

“It's all right, Jack,” Lucas said. He looked at Oggie. “Quit running us in circles, old man. Tell me. Where is my son?”

“Lucas, I'll ask the questions,” Jack said, then turned to Oggie. “Where is Mark, Dad?”

“Can't rightly say as I know.”

“What's that mean, Dad? You don't know—or you can't say what you know?”

Oggie snorted and muttered for a minute, then confessed, “All right. I
don't
know. But if I did, I'm not so sure I'd tell you.”

“Are you telling us the truth, Dad?”

“Hell, yes. I ain't no liar.”

“Dad.”

“Okay, okay. Gimme a bible to swear on or somethin'. My answer ain't gonna change.”

“Has Mark written to you or spoken to you since last winter?”

“Didn't I already say no to that?”

“If he contacts you, Dad, I expect you to tell us right away.”

“Sure you do,” the old geezer chortled.

Lucas found he respected Jack Roper more by the moment as the deputy calmly asked, “
Will
you let us know right away, Dad?”

“Aw, hell. Sure. You know I will. Now you two want a beer or somethin'? I think there's a couple a lights in the fridge. You know my gal, Delilah. She won't stock nothin' but lights.”

Jack said thank-you anyway, but they had to go.

* * *

They talked to Kenny Riggins next. It was more of the same. Kenny swore he hadn't seen or heard from Mark. Kenny, at least, was respectful of both Deputy Jack Roper and Lucas. But then, Kenny wasn't a Jones.

“I'd like to look at the letters you got from Marnie,” Lucas said after they'd left the Riggins house.

Jack said he'd go over them by that afternoon. And then Lucas could have them—as long as he made sure to return them to Marnie after he'd read them.

Lucas promised he would, then asked, “What next?” He knew he'd go insane if he couldn't be doing something about finding Mark.

Jack gave him an understanding look. “Come on over to my place. We'll find you some other clothes. Then you can join one of the search teams.”

B
y the time Heather tied on her apron that day, there was only one thing on everyone's mind at Lily's Café: the disappearance of the Shadowmaster's son.

And in a tiny town like North Magdalene, if a subject was on everyone's mind, then what everyone did was gossip about it—in depth and in public. Few stopped to consider that Mark was Heather's nephew and that thoughtless words about the boy might distress her. Mark was public property now. And besides, Heather had been born into the Jones Gang, the most notorious and talked-about family for miles around. So no one felt too guilty about discussing Mark in front of her. They reasoned that she certainly ought to be accustomed to hearing gossip about her loved ones by this time.

And they were right. Heather
was
accustomed to hearing endless tales about the people she loved. Too bad being used to it didn't make it any easier to take.

Still, she did what she had to do. She kept her mind on her work and did her best to ignore all the talk. She succeeded pretty well, too.

But then, in midafternoon, Nellie Anderson and Linda Lou Beardsly, two of the town's most respected citizens, slid into a booth at the back.

Nellie and Linda Lou put in identical orders: turkey salad sandwiches and ice tea. Nellie pointed out, as she always did, “Not too much ice, Sunshine, dear. I like a good, strong glass of tea.”

“Of course, Mrs. Anderson,” Heather said, just as
she
always did. She turned to put the order up on the wheel.

And behind her, it began.

Nellie announced in a whisper loud enough to be heard two counties away, “I keep thinking about it. It's so awful. And it's all a complete mystery, evidently. No one has a clue where that boy has gone.”

Heather turned from hooking the order in the window to see Linda Lou's head start bobbing up and down. “I heard that the volunteer fire crew is out in force already. And they've brought in the helicopters. I declare. One of them flew over my place so close I could count the fillings in the pilot's teeth. Took five years off my life. Paisley Parker says they're even going to be calling in some dog teams from the California Rescue Dog Association.”

“Yes,” Nellie confirmed sagely. “It's all terribly overwhelming. All of it.” She leaned closer to Linda Lou. “Did you meet that boy last winter?”

“I did. And he seemed such a nice, polite boy, too—even if he did associate with that miniature hooligan, Marnie Jones.”

“I know,” Nellie said. “That boy is a puzzle any way you look at him. As you said, he
is
a nice boy. And I can't help asking myself, how is that possible—considering his father and all?”

Heather, who had their teas ready, marched up to the booth and plunked them down. “Two ice teas,” she said, trying to inject enough disapproval into the words that the two ladies would lower their voices, at least.

“Thank you, dear,” Nellie said, then turned right back to Linda Lou and intoned, “Blood, in most cases, will tell.”

Heather knew there wasn't much else she could do, short of coming right out and asking the ladies to pipe down. And doing such a thing, in the end, would probably cause more trouble than it would cure. So Heather returned to the counter and left them to their scandalmongering.

In the booth, Linda Lou was still nodding. Heather thought it was surprising that her head didn't break off. “Yes, and I swear, when you think about it, is it
really
so astonishing that the boy's run away? I mean, as you just said, considering his father. Oh, I do declare, anyone who writes stories like that can't be normal, now can he?”

“Oh, well, now,” Nellie said. “I hate to make judgments on those books of Lucas Drury's. After all, I've never read one.”

Heather couldn't believe her ears. The day Nellie Anderson hesitated to make a judgment was a red-letter day indeed.

But if Nellie was hesitating to pass judgment here, Linda Lou wasn't. She jumped right in. “Those books are bad.” She was whispering now, too. Like Nellie's whisper, Linda Lou's could be heard through steel walls. “I tell you. Bad. And I'm one who knows. I have read them all.”

Nellie was appalled. “No.”

Linda Lou hung her head. “Yes.”

“Oh, Linda Lou. I can't believe my own ears. I remember you told me you read the first one he wrote, and I understood that. You've always been a reader, and it's only fair to give even the most questionable forms of literature one chance. But I assumed that after one book, you'd have had quite enough.”

“Yes. So did I. But they're like drugs, those stories of his. You read one, and you know it's bad for you. But can you make yourself stop reading? No, you cannot.”

“Oh, Linda Lou.”

“I know, I know. There's no excuse. I did what I did.”

“Well, it's not your fault if you can't help yourself.”

“Oh, Nellie. You are so sensitive...”

“Well, I like to think I understand the human heart.”

“And you do understand,” Linda Lou concurred. “You understand utterly.... But back to that poor Drury child.”

“Yes.” Nellie rubbed her pointed chin, ruminating. “As we've both said, the signs were all there. His father writes those horrible books. And then, of course, there was Lucas Drury's childhood.”

Linda Lou shook her head instead of bobbing it. “Exactly. A horror story in itself.”

Nellie was ready with all the gory details that everyone in town had heard a million times. “Stabbing his
own
father like that when he was only seven years old. Though, the good Lord knows, Rory Drury had it coming. Not only a drunk and a womanizer, but a wife beater, too. Bless that poor woman's heart.”

For once, Linda Lou was a little lost. “What woman?”

“Norma. Remember? Lucas Drury's mother, Norma. Passed away herself just a few years back.”

Linda Lou took a sip of her tea. “Oh, yes, of course.”

“And at least that poor woman got her chance for a bit of happiness in the end, after Rory finally died of liver failure.”

“And though it may sound shocking,” Linda Lou declared, “I have to say I agree with you that no one could fault Lucas Drury for stabbing his own father—under the circumstances, I mean.”

“Yes, he was only trying to protect his dear mother, after all,” Nellie said. “And yet, something like that's got to
damage
a person.”

“Absolutely. And it did, we know it did. One only has to read those awful books.”

And don't forget that assault and battery scandal.”

“Yes, yes. Of course.”

“Lucas Drury was a grown man by then. Fully responsible for his own actions.”

“Too true, too true. The way I heard it, his ex-wife, the boy's mother, got him out of that one.”

“She certainly did. Some fancy lady lawyer from Arizona. Notice the
ex
before the word
wife.
They're divorced, of course. I'm sure Lucas Drury isn't the kind to stick in there and make a marriage work.”

“No, of course not, not with his past.”

“And now he's rich as sin.”

“Money made from writing those awful books.”

“Exactly.”

“What is the world coming to?”

“I don't know. I simply do not know....” Nellie looked up, smiling. “Ah, here's Sunshine with our sandwiches. A little mayo on the side, please?”

It was like that all day.

Heather kept working, kept doing her best to tune out the gossip, but by the time she finally went home at six, she was ready to throw the next tale-teller into Lily's deep-fat fryer. And worse than all the awful rumor-spreading and the in-depth dissection of Lucas's life, there was no real news about Mark.

Periodically, someone from one of the search crews or the sheriff's office would come in for a sandwich or a cold drink and Heather would pump them for any information they could give her. But there simply wasn't a clue. By the end of the day, the sheriff's deputies had turned the town upside-down, interviewed everyone who lived there and looked through every unoccupied structure. They'd beat the bushes as far as the river on the west and Harleyville Diggins to the east, with three Forest Service helicopters circling out in a radius of twenty miles from the center of town. All to no avail.

And the only responses to the all-points bulletin were from the news media, wanting to know more. By the end of the day, a half-dozen reporters from all over the state had come into Lily's to ask questions about Lucas Drury's missing son.

So Heather went home tired, discouraged and sick at heart. Tawny stayed by the phone while Heather drew a bath. She soaked in it for a long time. The water helped ease her tiredness, but the heartsickness she felt was something that only Mark's safe reappearance could wash away.

After the bath, Heather tied up her hair in a ponytail, pulled on a big T-shirt and an old pair of shorts and went down to press a few dollars into Tawny's hand and send her on home. She'd just opened the refrigerator and was staring at the brightness inside, trying to decide if she felt up to barbecuing some chicken, when the doorbell rang.

She knew it would be Lucas. She ran into the front room and pulled back the door to find him standing there in the fading light of day.

His clothes were different. He now wore faded jeans and a dark T-shirt, as well as sturdy lace-up hiking boots, the kind of clothing suitable for scouring the woods and fields in search of a missing ten-year-old boy.

“It's getting dark,” he said. “So they suspended the search. We start in again tomorrow, at daybreak.”

“Any news?”

He shook his head. “Listen. I won't keep you. I just came to ask if I could take those letters Mark wrote you. I'd like to read them, if you don't mind.”

Heather stared at him. He was acting so careful, so polite. It wasn't his style at all. And it hurt, to see him this way. It deepened her feeling of heartsickness.

She knew what this new behavior meant. He
was
careful. His son was missing. The world had spun out of his control. He had to tread carefully now.

Heather forced a smile for him and tried her best to sound offhand and casual. “Don't just stand there. Come on in.” She stepped back from the doorway.

He didn't move. “No. I have to get over to the motel. I want to see about getting a room.”

In her mind, Heather pictured the lumpy beds and depressing decor of North Magdalene's one motel. It seemed a very grim place to have to stay at an already difficult time.

“So if you could just get the letters...” Lucas went on.

“No way,” she said quietly.

He looked at her, his jaw tightening. But he was a desperate man, desperate enough to ask in a rough whisper, “Please. I...haven't handled any of this right with Mark. I'm beginning to see that now. And I need to read the letters he wrote. I need to understand what was in his mind and what he was feeling.”

She realized he'd misunderstood her. “Oh, Lucas,” she said, her voice as torn as his. “I didn't mean the letters. Of course you can read the letters.”

“Then what?”

“I meant no way are you staying at the motel.”

“Why?”

She couldn't believe he didn't know. “You are
family,
Lucas. You grew up in this house. Do you honestly think I would let you stay anywhere else?”

He looked at her very strangely, she thought. She wondered what in the world he might be thinking. But then all he said was what people always say when they're trying to be polite. “I...really don't want to put you out.”

“You're staying with me,” she said. “I don't want to hear any more about it. Now get whatever you need from your car and come inside.”

* * *

Heather gave Lucas the same room Mark had slept in. He asked for a shower and she told him where she kept the fresh towels in the downstairs bathroom. While he cleaned up, Heather put the chicken on the gas grill outside, stuck two potatoes in the microwave and prepared a green salad.

Lucas called Mark's mother, Candace Levertov, in Phoenix as soon as he was finished in the bathroom. Heather was setting the table as he spoke to his ex-wife.

When he hung up, Heather turned to him and asked, “Is she okay?”

He nodded. “Candace is a very tough lady.”

“I have another extra bedroom, you know. So when she gets here, she can come right to the house and get comfortable.”

Lucas actually smiled at that. “Slow down. She's not on a plane yet.”

“When will she be here?”

“I don't know.”

“Oh,” Heather said, as if she understood. But she didn't understand. Not at all. If she had been in Candace Levertov's position—

Heather cut off the thought. She
wasn't
in the other woman's position. And she had no right to make judgments on the way Mark's mother had decided to deal with this situation.

“She's on a major case right now,” Lucas said from behind Heather. “And it's going to take her a little while to clear her calendar.”

“I understand,” Heather said. She carefully folded two paper napkins into triangles and tucked them under the lips of the plates, then set the forks on the napkins, and put the knives and spoons where they belonged.

“Listen, Heather...”

She turned to look over her shoulder at him. “Hmm?”

“You don't have an answering machine. If I'm going to stay here, I'd like to get one by tomorrow, if that's all right.”

“Of course. That would be a good idea.”

“In fact, I think I'll call my housekeeper. Have her bring me the answering machine, some clothes and a few other things, including fresh clothes for Mark, too. That way, when we find him, he'll have clean things to wear.”

She didn't miss the subtle stress he'd put on the word
when,
as if he were secretly thinking
if,
and had stopped himself from saying it at the last minute.