The Mortal Groove (29 page)

“She just stood there and seethed. The Mr. stormed out. Didn't come back until late, as I understand it. The cook told me he had dinner sent up to one of the guest bedrooms, so I expect that's where he spent the night. But while he was gone, the Mrs. called a barrister. I didn't hear what she said to him, but I'll bet you anything she wants to see what's what financially before she files for divorce.”

Cordelia's heart couldn't help but sing with jubilation. If her sister's marriage was coming apart, maybe she'd see the light, realize she couldn't handle Hattie on her own, and bring her back to Cordelia where she belonged. Cordelia felt sorry for Radley, of course, but it had been his choice to marry a woman
who'd already divorced half a dozen other men. Caveat emptor, thought Cordelia. Caveat emptor in spades.

“Good work,” said Cordelia. “Keep listening.”

“Oh, I will. The Mrs. is traveling tomorrow to Italy for a month, leaving the child and husband behind.”

“A month!”

“She says she needs time to clear her head.”

“What's to clear?” said Cordelia. “It's empty.”

“The Mr.'s set up a number of appointments with potential nannies tomorrow. I don't think much will happen until the Mrs. gets back, but you never know.”

“Bravo, Ms. Stark. Excellent work. Keep me posted.”

“Will do. Over and out.”

 

 

P
eter met Nolan the next day for a late lunch at a burger joint in East Orange. On the way to the Fairfield Inn the night before, he'd asked Nolan to drop him off at a car rental place. He'd begun to form a plan he hoped would work. Over fries and bacon cheeseburgers, they talked about Mia.

“I couldn't figure out from that file if she has a hearing problem, or she's retarded in some way.” Peter gazed down at his lunch. Normally, he could eat a burger for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Today the sight of it made his stomach lurch.

“That's because it wasn't clear.” Nolan took a sip of his Dr Pepper.

“I don't understand why her caseworker doesn't visit that house more often.”

“Could be a lot of things,” said Nolan, taking another bite and chewing thoughtfully. “Like you said, Child Protective Services is overwhelmed. But I also know from experience that there's
lots of ways people can play the system, if they want to dodge a visit. Hell, I even knew a guy back in the Twin Cities who paid off someone in the child protection office to let him know when the caseworker was scheduled. That way he could make sure everyone was out of the house.”

Peter watched Nolan eat for a few seconds, then said, “What if I took her?”

“You mean, what if you kidnapped her? It's illegal.”

“Yeah, but what if I did it anyway?”

“I could lose my license if I advised you—”

“Yeah, sure, but man to man. What would you do?”

Nolan finished chewing, dropped the half-eaten burger on his plate, and stared at Peter hard. “If she was my kid, she'd be gone from that hellhole before anybody missed her.”

Peter nodded, pulled his Mountain Dew in front of him. “But I can't just grab her against her will.”

“No, son, you can't.”

He thought about it while Nolan resumed eating. “Look, let's say that Mia somehow gets to Minnesota.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How hard would it be to get her a fake ID?”

“Not hard.”

“Could you help me?”

“Hell, no.”

“But, I mean, do you know anyone who could?”

“I know lots of people, Peter. Not all of them are upright citizens.”

“What about adoption papers? Could those be faked so that it would look like Sigrid and I adopted her-—legally?”

“Anything can be faked.”

“And you have lots of friends.”

“Not friends, per se. Acquaintances.” He wiped his hands on a napkin, then leaned into the table. “Listen, I can't tell you to break the law, but I'll be more than happy to look the other way.

After paying the tab, they walked out to their cars. Nolan did a double take when he glanced at Peter's Ford Taurus. “What's that in your backseat?”

Peter opened the door. A curly little black poodle jumped out. “Meet Teacake.”

“God,” said Nolan, squatting down as the dog jumped into his arms and licked his face. “Where'd you get him?”

“Her. I went to a bunch of shelters this morning. I needed to find a small dog that was superfriendly.”

Nolan looked up at him. “Brilliant, kid. I can tell you and Jane are related.”

“Thanks, but I've just read a bunch of stuff on how perverts lure kids into cars.”

Nolan stood up and handed the dog back. “Hell of a sick world.” He tapped a cigarette out of a package of Winstons and lit up. “Okay, follow me to the school. I'll show you the route she takes home. From there, you're on your own.”

“Wish me luck?”

“All the luck in the world.”

 

While Peter waited in his car, he called Sigrid. She was at work, which meant she might be in a counseling session. He'd phoned her last night from the motel room, lied about where he was and what he was doing. At one point, he almost broke down and told her the truth. But as much as he wanted to talk it all over with her, tell her that he'd found Margaret and explain what he planned to do today, as much as he craved her approval, this
wasn't something he could drop on her over the phone, He hadn't slept much last night. He hated all this sneaking around and couldn't wait for it to be over.

The receptionist at the Heritage Family & Health Services told him that Sigrid was unavailable and asked if she could take a message. Peter's hands were sweating, his mouth was dry, and he felt like he was about to throw up. If he could just hear his wife's voice, he knew it would help settle him down, but even though it felt like an emergency to him, he couldn't say that to the receptionist. He thanked her, told her he'd call Sigrid later, and then turned off his cell phone and stuffed it in the glove compartment.

Teacake was sleeping in the passenger's seat. Peter had bought her a new collar and leash. Checking his watch, he cracked the door and pushed it all the way open with his foot. “Come on, girl. It's time.” He led the dog around to the back of the car. Opening the trunk, he removed the sketchbook and black magic marker he'd prepared last night. He glanced over at Nolan's Crown Vic parked across the street. That was all. Just the glance. No indication that he knew who was sitting behind the wheel.

And then he walked. Up and down the block. Teacake didn't tug too much at the leash. She seemed happy just to be out of the car. And then he saw her. She'd just turned the corner, walking fast. He would have known her anywhere. She was a mini-Sigrid. Platinum blond hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Small for her age. Beautiful beyond words. She had on frayed jeans, black shoes, a beat-up red backpack over a striped shirt. Her clothing looked worn, maybe even a little dirty. Her eyes were fastened on the sidewalk. She didn't look up.

Peter quickly turned, began walking in the same direction,
only he walked more slowly, let her catch up. When he could feel her just behind him, he let go of the leash. Teacake charged ahead.

“No,” he yelled. “Come back here!” He turned and saw that Mia was watching. He knew she probably couldn't hear him, but he motioned for her to help him catch the dog.

She hesitated, then took the bait. They both took off after the dog, chased her half a block before Peter finally jumped on the end of the leash, ending Teacake's getaway. He smiled at Mia, gave her a thumbs-up.

Mia held her hand out for the dog to sniff, then crouched down and began to pet her.

Peter squatted down next to her. “Thanks for your help.” He smiled.

She didn't respond. She didn't even look at him.

He removed the sketch pad from under his arm, flipped to the first page, then uncapped the Sharpie and wrote, “Thanks!”

Mia looked at it, then looked up at him.

He wrote, “Do you like dogs?”

She gave a shy nod.

Next he wrote, “My name is Peter. The dog is Teacake. I think she likes you.”

She was clearly delighted by Teacake's enthusiasm. The dog was all over her, licking her hands and face, jumping up and putting her paws on her chest.

Peter sat down with his back against a tree and let them play for a few minutes. The two of them seemed to be made for each other. “Can you hear me, Mia?” he asked when her back was turned.

She made no response.

With the leash, he pulled Teacake closer to him, and Mia moved right along with her.

Peter flipped to a clean page in the sketchbook. “Mia,” he wrote, “will you stay and talk to me for a minute?”

This time, she looked at him more closely. She didn't seem frightened, but a wariness crept into her eyes.

“I'm a friend of your mom's, ” he wrote. “Your
real
mom. She loves you very much, but could not find you. Her name is Sigrid and she wants to see you.”

Mia read the words. She didn't look at Peter this time, but she didn't move away.

Peter handed her the pen, nodded for her to write something. Anything.

“Where does she live?” Mia wrote. She handed back the pen.

“Your real mom lives in Minnesota. Do you know where that is?” Mia nodded.

“I know you ran away from your house. Does that mean you are not happy there?”

Teacake turned on her back so that Mia could scratch her stomach. The dog's presence seemed to normalize what was anything but normal.

“Not
happy,” wrote Mia, underlining the word “not” three times.

“Will you let me help you?” Peter wrote. “I want to take you to see your mom. She's sad because she misses you so much. Will you help make her happy again?” He could feel her uncertainty, but there was something else, too. He tried to read her expression, but she was too good at covering up her emotions. “Teacake will come with us to keep us company,” he wrote. “I promise to take very good care of you and Teacake.”

She stood up and backed away.

Peter's heart stopped. He was sure she was going to bolt. If she did, that was the end of it.

Teacake struggled at the end of the leash. Peter let it go and Mia crouched low again so that Teacake could jump into her arms. At that moment, Peter realized it was the dog who was doing the negotiating.

Mia petted her, scratched her back, nuzzled her nose into her fur.

It was now or never. This was the moment. He stood up, held out his hand.

She stared up at him with a look of such blistering intensity that it nearly knocked him flat. But he didn't flinch. His arm remained outstretched.

And then the miracle happened. She didn't take his hand, but she stood up with the dog in her arms.

Peter got the message. She would go with him. It was the wrong thing to do, for all the wrong reasons, but Peter silently said a prayer of thanks. God willing, he would make it all right.

 

 

T
hree days later, on Monday morning, Jane was sitting at the breakfast table in Cordelia's kitchen, eating a bowl of oatmeal and reading the latest
Time Magazine,
when her cell phone went off. She pulled it out of the pocket of her brown cords and looked at the caller ID.

“Peter, hi!” she said, getting up to put the dirty dish in the sink. “Are you back?”

“Yeah,” he said, sounding rushed. She could hear street noise in the background. “I need to see you, Janey. Right away.”

“Actually, I'm staying at Cordelia's loft for a few days. Long story. I could meet you at the club.”

“I'd rather come there. I'm not far away.”

“Sure. But first, tell me what's up? Were you really in Chicago?”

“I'll explain everything when I get there.”

Jane finished dressing while she waited. She buzzed her brother in a few minutes later, then stood in the outer hallway
waiting for the freight elevator to lumber up from the first floor. When the door opened and Peter pushed back the wooden hoist-away gate, she could see that he wasn't alone. Not only did he have a small dog with him, but he also had a blond-haired girl.