The Twisted Window (10 page)

"It is going to work!" Brad shouted. "We're almost home!"

He could see the city of Albuquerque looming up ahead of them—the Sunwest Bank Building, the downtown Convention Center, the public library. He could see the roof of his own home shining like a beacon, as though the roof were glass and it were lighted from within. The Jaguar passed them and then changed lanes to block the horse's path, but the giant springs on the animal's legs catapulted it skyward, and when it descended, the car was nowhere in sight.

"We're almost home!" Brad announced to Mindy. "See that building ahead? It's the Holiday Inn!" But, as he spoke, he suddenly realized the motel he was pointing out to her was not the Holiday Inn on the outskirts of Albuquerque, but the one he had passed when driving into Winfield. The building he had thought was the public library was Winfield High School, the bank building was Steak-In-the-Rough, and the house he had identified as his own was actually the Carvers' house on Sweetwater Drive. In the instant it took him to absorb this knowledge, Mindy vanished from his arms, and when he glanced frantically about for her, he saw Gavin standing by the side of the road, his hands extended in a gesture of helpless pleading and his face distorted by tears.

He was blasted into consciousness by the telephone on the bedside table. When he opened his eyes the room was gray with the light of morning, and the pipes in the bathroom were already alive and rattling. Fragments of his dream clung to his brain like wisps of cotton as, still numbed by sleep, he groped for the receiver.

The caller turned out to be the motel manager.

"You got a phone call last night at ten fifteen," he said. "The girl on the desk tried to ring you, but there wasn't any answer. Somebody named Tracy left you a message that she's got something important to tell you. She said for you to come by the school at lunch time."

"By the school at lunchtime," Brad repeated, coming abruptly awake.

He was tempted to return the phone call, but decided against it. If the Stevensons had been upset by the fact that Tracy had not come home for dinner, there was no sense in making things worse by phoning the next morning.

Since B lunch was not until 12:30, he was left with five hours to kill. Too wide awake by this time to go back to sleep, Brad got out of bed, got dressed, and drove over to McDonald's. There he consumed two Egg McMuffins and washed them down with tinny-tasting orange juice. Then he got back in the car and, after driving aimlessly about for a while, found himself turning onto the highway that led to the east side of town.

This time he was able to locate the subdivision easily. He drove down Sweetwater Drive to the twenty-seven hundred block and pulled to a stop on the far side of the street from the Carvers' house, in the exact spot in which he had parked the night before.

In the light the house had a perky appearance that darkness had concealed. The trim along the edge of the roof was Wedgwood blue, and a row of hand painted Mexican tiles spelled out the street number. The yard was small but well kept and bordered by neatly trimmed hedges. The flagstone walkway leading from the sidewalk to the front steps was flanked by beds of hyacinths, daffodils, and tulips.

The garage door was closed, and there was no car parked in the driveway. Even though it was now daylight, the drapes were still drawn across the front window, making it difficult to tell whether anyone was in the house. The morning was bright and sunny, perfect for outdoor activity. If his sister was there, Brad thought, she might be in the back yard.

How ironic it would be if he could restage the kidnap scenario and steal Mindy back in the same way that she had been taken! Secure in the knowledge that the curtained window made seeing out as impossible as seeing in, Brad got out of the car and crossed the street. Following the same route that he had taken the night before, he walked along the side of the house opposite the hedgerow. The obstacles that had presented problems in the darkness was easily avoided in the light of morning. He moved quickly past the line of garbage cans and the woodpile and stepped over the tangled loops of garden hose.

At the corner of the house, he was disappointed to discover that his access to the area at the back was cut off by a chain link fence. On the far side of the metal mesh he could see a swing set and sandbox. There was no one in the yard, although a red tricycle parked by the kitchen door seemed to indicate that Mindy had recently been playing there.

"Are you looking for somebody?"

The voice burst out of nowhere so unexpectedly that his first impulse was to spin on his heel and run. Regaining control with effort, he turned slowly around.

A gray-haired woman was peering at him over the top of the hedge.

"If you haven't figured it out yet, nobody's home," she said.

"I rang the bell," Brad told her, hoping his nervousness was not too apparent. "When nobody answered, I thought I'd look out back and see if they were here."

To his relief, the woman seemed to accept that statement.

"You're Sally's brother, aren't you?" she said with a knowing nod. "I saw your car with the out-of-state license plates. Sally told me you'd moved out here from New Mexico. The way she talked though, I didn't expect you to be so young."

"Doug and Sally had me over last night for dinner," Brad told her. "I think I may have left my wallet. I was hoping my sister would be here and I could get it back from her."

"This is Sally's day to drive the nursery school car pool," the woman informed him. "She ought to be home any time now. If you want to come over to my place, I can give you a cup of coffee while you wait."

"Oh, no thanks," Brad told her hastily. "I've got to be getting on to work. I'll give Sally a call later today and see if I can pick up the wallet this evening."

Hurrying back to his car, he got in and drove off quickly.

The remainder of the morning he spent wandering about the shopping center, which by now seemed almost as familiar as the malls in Albuquerque. Then, at 12:15, he drove over to the high school, parked in the student lot, and waited there until the bell rang to signal the start of B lunch. He then entered the building and joined the flow of teenagers headed for the cafeteria. Once in the door, he bypassed the food line and went straight into the dining area, hoping he could spot Tracy before she attached herself to a group of fellow students.

Almost immediately he heard his name called.

Responding automatically, he turned to see Gina Scarpelli beckoning eagerly to him. She was wearing a purple sweater several sizes too small, and her hair tumbled over her shoulders like a platinum waterfall. A quick survey did not disclose Tracy as one of her table companions.

Brad gave her a casual wave, but, not satisfied with that, she continued to gesture to him to join her. Reluctantly, he gave in and went over to her table.

"So, where have you been?" she asked him by way of greeting. "Have you given up food for Lent? I haven't seen you in the lunchroom for two full days now."

"My schedule got changed," Brad told her. "I don't have B lunch anymore. I'm only here now because I'm trying to locate Tracy."

"You're looking for Tracy?" Gina's lips pursed in an exaggerated pout of disappointment. "Didn't anybody ever tell you blondes have more fun?"

"I've heard that rumor," Brad said, struggling to dredge up the golden grin. It was hard to get his lips to curve into a smile. "It's Tracy, though, who took the Shakespeare course last semester I was hoping she might still have her notes on Macbeth."

"She probably does," Gina said. "She's into theater and stuff like that. Did you know her father was Richard Lloyd, the movie star?"

"Yeah, I heard about that," Brad said. "You wouldn't happen to know where she is, would you? Since you're such good buddies, I thought I'd find the two of you together."

"Tracy and I aren't 'buddies,'" Gina corrected him. "We go around some at school because we share a locker, but the rest of the time we hardly see each other. When she moved here last fall, I tried to get a friendship going, but Tracy made it clear she wasn't interested in being close friends with anybody."

"But you usually do eat together," Brad persisted.

"She skipped lunch today. She said she had to make some phone calls." The tone of her voice changed and grew suddenly brighter. "Don't be a stranger, Brad. Everybody isn't a loner like Tracy. If you get lonesome, remember, we're the only Scarpellis in the phone book."

"I'll keep that in mind," Brad said. "Thanks for reminding me."

He left the cafeteria and immediately started down the hall toward the office. He had almost reached it when Tracy emerged from the doorway. She caught sight of him at the exact moment he saw her, and raised her hand in a gesture of greeting. "I was just trying to call you," she said as they drew abreast of each other. "Did you get the message I left for you at the motel?"

"I got it this morning," Brad said. "I almost phoned you back, but I thought that might not go over too well with your folks."

"You were right about that My aunt's scared you're going to 'make problems' for me." She gave a short, mirthless laugh. "The truth is, she's probably right. I just got finished talking to Sally Carver. She's hired me to baby-sit tomorrow night."

"You did what?" Brad exclaimed, unable to believe his ears.

"I would have called her last night, but I thought it would be safer to wait until Jim Tyler had left for Padre Island. That way the Carvers can't check on how well he knows me."

"But, you told me you wouldn't do it," Brad said in bewilderment. "I didn't think there was anything that would change your mind."

"I didn't either," said Tracy, "but then last night I got a letter. It made me realize all over again how rotten fathers can be."

CHAPTER 10

Doug Carver arrived at the Stevenson house at 6:05 on Friday evening. Tracy, who had been hovering in the second-floor hallway, ready to make a dash down the stairs and out the front door the moment the doorbell rang, was disgruntled to find her aunt positioned in the entrance hall when she reached the foot of the staircase.

"I'm sure that's for me," Tracy said. "It's the people I'm baby-sitting for."

"You're probably right, dear," Aunt Rene responded agreeably. "That's why I came out from the kitchen. I'd like to meet them."

With a sigh of resignation, Tracy opened the door. She was greeted by the sight of the same heavyset man whom she had last seen seated at the dinner table in the Carvers' kitchen. Tonight, garbed for a more formal occasion, he was dressed in a suit and tie, and the collar of his dress shirt was clamped around his thick neck like a vise.

"Hi there," he said. "I'm here to pick up Tracy Lloyd."

"I'm Tracy," Tracy told him. She glanced over at her aunt, who stood waiting to be introduced, as placidly unbudging as a Jell-O pudding stuck in a mold. "This is my aunt, Irene Stevenson."

"Doug Carver, here. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Stevenson." A huge paw was thrust out for Aunt Rene to shake.

"You look awfully familiar, somehow," she said. "You don't happen to live in the East Ridge subdivision, do you?"

"How did you know that?" Doug Carver regarded her with amazement.

"I'm the agent who sold you your house!" Aunt Rene said with a laugh, obviously tickled by his reaction. "As I recall, it was a charming little place with a maple tree in the back. I can even remember the street name—Sweetwater Drive."

"That was back when we were first married!" exclaimed Doug Carver. "With all the people you must meet in your line of work, how can you remember us?"

"Oh, I always remember the newlyweds," Aunt Rene said lightly. "How is your wife? Let me think now—her name was... Susie?"

"Sally," Doug corrected. "We're both of us doing just fine. In fact, tonight we're celebrating our fifth anniversary."

"And Tracy is going to be your sitter. Isn't that something! As I recall, when you bought your house, you weren't planning on a family."

"We got a surprise package," Doug said. "Life sometimes hands you those." He turned to Tracy. "Well, little lady, are you set to go?"

"All set," Tracy said, relieved to have the amenities done with.

"Then we'd better get a move on. We've got a lot planned for tonight, and Sal and I are running on a tight schedule. First we're having dinner at a restaurant with friends, and then we're going to a play at the Community Theater."

Once in the car with the engine running, Doug reached over to turn up the radio, which had burst into violent life with the twist of the ignition key. The drive out to the East Ridge subdivision was made to the accompaniment of country-western music played at top volume. By the time they pulled into the Carvers' driveway, Tracy's ears were numb and her head was throbbing.

Sally Carver was waiting just inside the doorway, looking surprisingly exotic for a Winfield housewife. She was wearing a forest green scoop-necked dress with gold accessories, and her blond hair was arranged high on her head in an intricate French braid.

She greeted Tracy cordially and then turned to her husband. "So you're finally back! What in the world took you so long? I told you we're meeting the Mahrers at a quarter to seven."

"I stopped to visit a minute with Tracy's aunt," Doug said. "Believe it or not, she's the real estate agent who sold us this house."