Willow Pond (8 page)

“I knew I could count on you, Henry. I'll call you in the morning.”

She went into the library, already stifling hot in the midmorning sun, and sat at her desk. A photograph of Laura and Todd from the Christmas before caught her eye. He was dressed in a ridiculous little Santa Claus suit, and mother and son were laughing into the camera. She picked it up and gazed at it, absently tapping the back of it with one long finger.

“Where are you, little one?”

Setting the picture aside, she picked up her phone and dialed the police commissioner, Tony Jaeger. She was surprised when his deep tenor voice answered the phone.

“Is your secretary napping?” she asked, trying not to sound flirtatious. She hoped this conversation didn’t end the way all their recent conversations had, with his proposing marriage and her gently letting him down. It would be so inappropriate for them to be anything other than lovers.

“She's filing her nails. Listen. What's going on with that crazy family of yours? Everyone's talking about how bad things went last night. I didn’t know Phillip Austin had the guts, him being an actor and all.”

“I'm as surprised as you are. But never mind him. Talk to me about the kidnapper.”

“Well, he was smart enough to wear a disguise, so maybe he knows what he's doing. At least he knows that'll make him difficult to find. Thanks to Austin, he now has quarter of a million bucks. He can go anywhere and do whatever he wants. Only trouble is, no matter where he goes, folks are gonna recognize that baby.”

“You think he’s still holding Todd?”

“The kid's gotta be somewhere. He hasn’t turned up anywhere else.” He hesitated, then added, “Yet.”

She shuddered. “Just thinking about the possibility that something’s happened to him is killing me,” said Virginia. “I can’t imagine what Laura must be going through. I need to know where the kidnapper’s hideout is, and I need to know fast.”

“So do we all, sweetheart. We’re working on it. Both ransom letters were mailed from a post office in Bayside, Queens. I’ve got men searching the area as we speak.”

“Dammit, Tony, he can’t get away with this.” Her voice quivered and she struggled to control it. “I don’t give a damn what we have to do. That little boy – Christ.”

“I hate to hear you like this, Virginia.”

“Does that mean you’ve had a change of heart since yesterday?” she said wryly, recalling the lousy dinner she'd had in the jail cell.

“I heard what that S.O.B. Wilson put you through. I gave him hell this morning. He’ll go easy on you from now on. Otherwise I’ll see to it he’s out of a job.”

“The man is an idiot. He has no idea what he’s doing.”

“Let’s have dinner tonight. You pick the restaurant.”

“Soon, Tony, I promise. Just … please get me the information. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“How long do I have to wait before you make an honest man of me?”

“Oh, Tony. You know damn well I can’t marry you.”

***

The farm was in a middle class residential community in Bayside, Queens. Traditional farmhouses shared the northern sections with generic-looking new tract homes; Tudor style mansions occupied the southern sections. After four days of searching the area, the police got a tip about a farmhouse on 28th Avenue and 201st Street. A man and a woman had recently been seen coming and going at odd hours.

Wilson interviewed one of the neighbors, a short, stocky man in his fifties.
“What makes you think this house might be what we're looking for?” Wilson asked.

“Before this, the house had been empty for two months,” the man said with a shrug.

“Are you positive about this?” Breaks in the case were few and far between. Wilson wasn’t in the mood for a wild goose chase.

“I’m telling you, I know what I saw.

“In that case, why don’t you describe these people for me?”

“Afraid I can’t help you there. They never went out during the day, just at night. So nothing stood out about them.”

Wilson sighed, drumming his fingers on the man's kitchen table. “So you know what you saw, but you didn’t see anything.”

“What I saw was a man and a woman who might as well have been vampires, Detective.”

Wilson sighed. “What about the owners, then?”

“The Pierces? They retired and moved to North Carolina. Their son, Geoffrey, was supposed to take the place over, but he’s a good-for-nothing bum.”

“Can you get me an address for them in North Carolina?”

“Sure.” He blinked at Wilson. “Right now?”

***

Ben Wilson climbed the three steps to the front porch, hearing the old wood planks creak beneath his feet. On the porch sat two wicker chairs, white where the paint hadn’t worn off. He knocked on the door, waited a few moments, then knocked again. No answer. Wilson turned the doorknob, surprised to find it unlocked. He stepped into the foyer, turned right and entered an enormous kitchen, the kind his wife always complained she didn’t have. The refrigerator held an empty milk bottle and three bottles of beer. He took all four items out and dropped them in an evidence bag.

Upstairs, the first three bedrooms were empty, apart from a few chewed up toothpicks scattered around the floor. He crouched and put the toothpicks in a smaller baggy, then opened the door of the last bedroom.

The crib and the can on the floor were empty, who knew for how long. But the sweet pink aroma of baby powder wafting through the room was unmistakable.

Chapter Twelve

The three weeks Laura spent in East Hampton seemed like three years. Hopes of finding Todd alive, or even finding him at all, dwindled. She was miserable and rarely slept. She forgot to eat. And every day she grew more irritated, living in such close contact with Phillip. They had limited, cordial contact, but his selfishness and philandering made her wonder what she could ever have seen in him.

One morning she woke up and realized she couldn’t stand being near him anymore. It was time to go home. She packed her suitcase and found Phillip in the dining room, reading the latest police report.

“I'm leaving,” she announced.

“All right,” he replied, barely glancing toward her. “I’ll call you. We’ll find him soon.”

“I’m not so sure anymore,” she whispered, feeling her throat tighten.

Phillip said nothing. She wondered if he'd even heard.

Laura tossed her luggage into the car and started down the long driveway, purposefully keeping her eyes averted from the pond. Once she was on the road, she decided to stop at Virginia’s brownstone. If anything, her time at Willow Pond had left her starved for decent company.

Virginia answered the door and greeted Laura with a broad smile. “Laura,” she said, folding her niece into an embrace. “I'm so glad to see you.”

They sat in the same living room where she and Phillip had been married. The beautiful room hadn’t changed a bit. Its high ceilings, wood floors and original moldings dated back to the 1880s. Despite the sour memory of her wedding, Laura still loved the room.

“Is that Mozart I hear, Virginia?”

“Umhmm. Clarinet Quintet. Nice, isn’t it?”

“The sound is so clear.”

“I know.” She gestured toward the other side of the room. “This phonograph’s the latest from Victor. It plays all the 78s. Better than those old Victrolas any day.”

Laura walked to the phonograph and ran her finger appreciatively over the dark wood. It was a beautifully crafted piece, just like everything else in the room. It always amazed Laura how Virginia came off so crass in one environment, so dignified and cultured in another. Here in this room she was in her element, surrounded by things she loved. For some reason, Laura was more comfortable with her here in this place than when they were anywhere else.

“The Chinese inlay is the latest thing too, isn’t it?”

Virginia smiled wryly. “You know me ...”

Laura glanced at her, but Virginia was looking away. Ever since Phillip's bungled attempt to pay the ransom, her aunt had seemed preoccupied. She was more attentive than ever, but Laura had the strange impression she was keeping secrets. More secrets than usual, that is. Laura knew Virginia had people looking for Todd and the kidnapper, but when she asked, Virginia put her perfectly manicured finger to her lips and smiled. Laura took this to mean it was better if she didn’t know.

They sat on the couch together in a comfortable quiet.

“You can stay here, you know,” Virginia said after a few moments. “As long as you want. Now’s no time to be alone.”

Laura shook her head. “That’s a nice offer, but I can’t. I can't hide from life, you know? The best thing for me to do is face what’s happened. That’s what you always do.”

Virginia nodded and patted the back of her niece's hand. “I understand. But Laura, remember. I’m here anytime you need me.”

When she got to her apartment, Laura set down her bags and went directly to the nursery. She leaned against the doorframe, vaguely aware of particles of dust dancing in the shaft of late afternoon sun. She stepped quietly through the door, feeling like an intruder in the empty room. Her chair creaked as she settled into it, and she closed her eyes, rocking gently. She could almost feel him in her arms, practically smelled the powder, sweet on his skin. Oh Todd. The anguish of longing was so intense she nearly doubled over.

But when she was able to open her eyes, to look around the room, she knew she'd been right to come home. Painful as the reminder was, he seemed more real here. His things lay everywhere she looked, making it easier to believe he was still alive somewhere. How could he not be, with his little slippers waiting for him right there under the crib?

Chapter Thirteen

Laura was stretched out on the flowered chintz sofa, listening to the radio and daydreaming when the phone rang. It was early in the evening, and she was tempted not to answer. A week had passed since she’d left Willow Pond, and she was having trouble working up the energy to do just about anything.

“I hope I’m not taking you away from anything important,” Erich said when she eventually picked up the phone.

“Not really. Just listening to Fibber McGee and Molly.”

He chuckled. “That’s one of my favorites. Hey, I was wondering what you were doing for lunch tomorrow.”

She sighed heavily. “Oh. No more interviews, Mr. Muller. That piece you did was okay, but—”

“Please. It’s Erich. Nobody but you calls me Mr. Muller. What do you mean it was okay? Should I start looking for another line of work?”

“No, I didn’t mean that. Nothing dreadful was in it. About us, I mean. What you think of Virginia is your business, but she’s my aunt and I love her.”

“I know what you mean, Laura. I was kidding. And to be frank, I’m not asking for another interview. Just lunch. Nothing in it for me other than some good company.”

She was surprised at how appealing the prospect of seeing him again was, and shocked herself even more when she agreed to meet him at the Pepper Pot Inn.

The Inn had been one of her favorite places since the day she spotted the poet, E.E. Cummings, sitting at a table and writing in a notebook. It turned out he lived a few doors down from her, at 4 Patchin Place. After seeing him there, she’d gone out and bought herself a notebook to jot down ideas for her novel, but at first was too embarrassed to take it out of her purse. What if he saw her copying his idea? It had taken a few weeks before she felt comfortable using it, and now she never went anywhere without it.

***

Laura set out the next day for her lunch date, thinking how beautiful the day was. A light spring breeze swayed the budding trees and the sky was like crystal blue water. Laura strolled down Patchin Place, past the one gaslight lamp left in the city and headed toward Waverly Place.

Walking alone helped her feel the pulse of a place. Helped her clear her mind. It also reminded her of the country road in Maine where she’d been walking when her sister had found her. That was the moment when she’d learned their parents were missing. She thought about them often lately.

The restaurant was crowded, but Erich had managed to get them a table by the window. He pulled out her chair when she arrived, and she smiled at him, then glanced out the window. She was grateful to have somewhere to look besides at him. His startling eyes, an incredible cornflower blue, never left her face.

“I’m so glad you decided to join me.”

This was the first time she’d done anything social since the day Todd had been kidnapped. It felt strange. A little scary. She couldn’t help thinking she should have stayed home in case there were any news about him. There wouldn’t be, she knew, but her son was always on her mind. So she told stories about him to Erich.

“He sounds like quite a boy,” Erich said. She’d just finished telling him about the time Todd climbed into the driver’s seat of Virginia’s Packard and refused to get out. He’d screamed and hung onto the steering wheel. It wasn’t so cute at the time, but sweet to remember.

“He is. Smart and funny and …” She smiled. It felt natural, speaking with him about Todd. “I suppose all mothers think their children are wonderful.” She took a sip of iced coffee. “Since I separated from his father I worry I won’t be able to give him what he needs.”

“My mother always said all children need is love. From the way you talk about him I’d say Todd’s doing just fine.”

She nodded with appreciation and swallowed hard.

“You know,” Erich said. “I remember the day I met you. Todd was one of the first things you mentioned then, too.”

She put her sandwich down, feeling slightly guilty. Her strongest memory of that day had been her concern about Virginia, not Todd. He’d been safe in their Patchin Place apartment with Mrs. Nickerson. If only he were in that lady’s loving care now. She had to believe whoever had him was taking good care of him. To think any other way was only inviting madness.

Erich frowned and bit his lower lip, then lifted his eyebrows apologetically. “I know I promised you I didn’t want an interview,” Erich said, “but I can’t help wondering. Don’t the rumors bother you?”