by Lois Duncan
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 were 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.
&n
bsp; “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.”
“That’s coincidence number two then,” Sally said. “The first was Tracy’s calling us when she did, right when we were absolutely frantic about finding a sitter. All I can say is, blessings on Jimmy Tyler! He’s an angel for having given you our number, Tracy.”
“We’d better get the show on the road, hon,” Doug broke in. “Is Cricket down for the night?”
“Probably,” Sally said. “I tucked her in and handed her Monk-Monk and put on the Songs From Dreamland tape. That usually does the job in about thirty seconds.”
“Cricket?” Tracy repeated the name in bewilderment. “Her name is Cricket?”
“It’s a nickname,” explained Doug. “You’d understand why if you ever saw her in the daytime. The kid’s like a jumping bean. She never stops hopping around.”
“You don’t have to worry about her tonight though,” Sally said reassuringly. “Once she hits that bed, she’s down for the count. Around ten, you’ll have to get her up and walk her to the bathroom. She sleeps so soundly she won’t wake up on her own until the bed’s wet.
“Cricket’s room is down the hall, second door on the right. If you should need to get hold of us for any reason, my cell phone number is on a pad by the telephone. Help yourself to anything you want from the refrigerator.” She looked at her watch. “Doug, we’ve really got to get going!”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Doug Carver responded in mock exasperation. “Tracy doesn’t need a thirty page instruction sheet. Next thing, you’ll be offering to supply her with a floor plan of our home.”
They were still engaged in lighthearted bantering as they left the house. Tracy stood gazing out through the screen as they crossed the yard and got into their car. The engine roared to life and the car radio followed suit, filling the evening with foot-stamping bluegrass. The headlights flashed on like the eyes of a waking cat as Doug backed the car slowly out of the driveway and into the street.
Tracy continued to stand and watch until the Carvers had disappeared from sight around a bend in the road and Sweetwater Drive had settled back into undiluted darkness. Then, closing the door but leaving it unlocked, she went down the hall to the room in which the child was sleeping.
The bedroom door had been left standing open, and light from the overhead in the hallway spilled into the room, illuminating the small figure on the bed. Mindy was lying on her side with her thumb in her mouth. Her silken hair was spread out across the pillow like a halo. With her free hand, she was clutching a toy monkey, and a tape recorder on the floor by the bed was playing softly. A woman’s voice was singing a song about the moon.
“Mindy?” Tracy asked softly. “Are you awake?”
The child made no response.
“The moon is wise, the moon is old, and all her songs come wrapped in gold,” sang the lady on the tape.
Tracy switched on the lamp on the bedside table. Despite the fact that Mindy was a recent addition to their household, it was evident that the Carvers had redecorated the room for her. The wallpaper was splashed with pictures of brightly colored balloons, and the curtains were adorned with Sesame Street characters. A throw rug on the floor was in the shape of Big Bird.
Crossing to the bureau, Tracy pulled open the topmost drawer. It was filled with panties, socks, pajamas, and T-shirts. She began removing the clothing, stack by stack, placing it in neat piles on the top of the chest of drawers. When the first drawer had been emptied, she shoved it closed, pulled out the one below it, and began to remove the clothes from that.
“The sweetest songs I ever knew; she has no child to sing them to,” crooned the lullaby lady. “Poor lonely moon, poor Mother Moon. …”
Gentle as it was, the voice on the tape was loud enough to cover the sound of the front door opening, and although she had been expecting him, Tracy was startled when Brad appeared suddenly in the doorway to the bedroom.
“I was parked down at the corner and saw the car drive off,” he said. “They sure took their own sweet time about leaving the house. I was beginning to be afraid they might have changed their minds about going out.” He paused. “What are you doing over there?”
“I’m getting Mindy’s things together,” Tracy told him.
“You don’t have to do that. She’s got plenty of clothes back in Albuquerque,” said Brad. “Mom was going to give all her stuff to Goodwill, but I wouldn’t let her. I made her put it in boxes and store it in the attic.”
“That was close to half a year ago,” Tracy reminded him. “It’s not likely many of those things will fit her now.”
“You may be right. She sure has grown a lot.” He went over to the bed and stood staring down at the sleeping child. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Like a princess in some fairy tale. I can’t wait to see Mom’s face when I walk through the door with her.”
“The Carvers have a nickname for her,” said Tracy. “They call her Cricket, because she’s always hopping around.”
“That’s stupid. What do they think she is, a bug?” He reached down and smoothed back a lock of hair from the little girl’s forehead. “Mindy’s such a pretty name, why would anybody change it?”
“There’ll be plenty of time to admire her later,” said
Tracy. “What you’d better do now is find something we can put these clothes in. It doesn’t have to be a suitcase; any sort of sack or bag will do. And while you’re at it, see if you can locate her bear.”
“Doesn’t she have him in bed with her?”
“She’s sleeping with a monkey.”
“That’s odd,” said Brad. “It used to be she wouldn’t go to bed without Bimbo. She’d throw a fit if we tried to get her to sleep with any other toy.” He bent closer to examine the object his sister was clutching to her chest. “You’re right, though, it is a monkey. That doesn’t make sense. I wonder why she took that shabby thing to bed with her.”
He left the room and returned a few moments later with his arms loaded with brown paper sacks, which he placed on a chair next to the bureau.
“I found these in a storage room off the kitchen,” he said. “Now I’ll check around for Bimbo.”
Maybe you didn’t see a bear the other night, Tracy suggested. “That lump on the floor could have been almost any toy. Neither of us could see very well through the window.”
“It was Bimbo,” Brad said firmly. “I know that bear. After all, I’m the one who went out and bought him.”
Alone once again, Tracy continued with the task of removing Mindy’s clothing from the second drawer and loading it into the grocery sacks. Then she pulled open the third drawer and emptied that also. The lullaby tape came to an end and the recorder switched itself off.
With the cessation of the music, the only sound in the room was the even breathing of the child on the bed. This time, when the front door opened, Tracy heard it perfectly. There was another short silence, during which she tried desperately to convince herself that she had been mistaken about the source of the sound. Then Doug Carver’s voice exploded into the quiet.
“Who are you, and what are you doing in my home?”
Shocked into a state of paralysis, Tracy stood frozen, her hands convulsively clutching the straps of a pair of tiny overalls that she had been preparing to drop into the second half-filled sack.
