by Janette Oke
Julie called merrily from inside, “Oh, but Nick, she’s coming with us! Come on, Bethie. Don’t make me go alone. What would Mother say?” Julie slid further across the back seat to make room for her sister.
“No! Julie, get out of that cab now. I insist.” Beth reached out toward her sister’s beckoning arm, but Nick quickly slipped into the seat, slamming the door.
Beth launched herself at the open window. “Julie Camille, that’s enough!”
Julie’s laughter was the last sound Beth heard before the taxicab shot away from the curb and lost itself in the rush of traffic. Beth stood for several moments staring after it, seething with anger and hurt, the accompanying fear making her knees weak. She could not comprehend what had just occurred as she turned around in horror on the sidewalk, streams of people flowing around her.
At last she ran back to the hotel, then stood like stone in the lobby. What should I do? I ought to tell someone. Monsieur Laurent is at the symphony. Perhaps Margret, the only one around . . . She rushed toward the elevator.
Margret was asleep on the bed beside JW. Beth’s pulse raced. And yet it seemed there was nothing to be done. She closed her eyes and prayed while silently pacing the room.
Chapter
24
I’D LIKE YOU TO CALL A CAB for me, please.” Back in the hotel lobby, Beth waited impatiently at the front desk. She hadn’t entirely formulated a plan, and random ideas tumbled around inside her aching head. She would follow Julie and Nick to the museum, and then—well, she wasn’t certain. Perhaps she would make a scene until Julie surrendered to her bidding. She might even summon a police officer if need be. At any rate, she had soon decided she would not be able to merely wait until Julie returned again at her leisure. She must go and retrieve her sister.
“The taxi will meet you at the curb, miss.”
“Thank you.”
Beth hurried out of the hotel, and the doorman directed her toward a waiting vehicle and opened the door. She was inside and directing the cabbie to the Museum of Fine Arts before the door was shut behind her. Were it not for the flashes of fury shooting through her, she knew she would have long before surrendered to tears.
It was only minutes before Beth was placing her coins in the cabbie’s hand, though the whole way she had willed him forward from the edge of her seat. She hoped she could locate Julie before her sister had spent the rest of the money pilfered from Monsieur Laurent. They would need some for their return fare.
Beth ran up the few front steps and into the mezzanine beyond.
“Excuse me, sir, is it possible to have someone paged?”
The man at the reception desk answered pleasantly, “Yes, miss. Do you know where in the museum they might be located?”
Beth breathed a small sigh of relief. “Yes. Her name is Julie Thatcher. She’ll be in the O’Keeffe exhibit.”
He hesitated. “I’m sorry, but we closed down that exhibit last month. It has moved on to Washington, I believe.”
Another shock of alarm ran through Beth’s body. She stammered, “Is it . . . is it possibly in another museum, here in Boston perhaps? I may have gotten the location wrong.”
“No, miss. I’m quite certain it moved on to Washington. But I’ll look it up to be sure.”
Beth could feel her hands clenching at her sides, her heart pounding furiously.
“Never mind, sir. I’m certain she said they were coming here. Maybe they were mistaken about the exhibit. Could I just run through and see if I can find her? Do you have a map?”
“Of course, miss. But you’ll have to pay the entrance fee.”
It could not be helped. She searched in her handbag for enough coins.
“Thank you.” Beth clutched the printed diagram and began a methodical search of the building. With every room she checked off the sheet, her tension heightened. Where have they gone? What will Mother say? The anger returned again. There certainly will be choice words for Julie . . . and possibly for me.
But soon the anger dissipated into a dread she had never felt before. I will not find Julie here. Dear Father, help me . . . help Julie . . .
“Excuse me, sir.” She was back at the receptionist’s desk, trembling. “Is it possible to call a cab—to take me to the Century Hotel? But I don’t have enough money for the fare.” Hot tears threatened, and she knew she sounded pathetic, but that was no longer important.
“And you have a room there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s the name and room number, please? I’ll see what I can do.”
Once more, Beth waited at the desk, watching those walking past—just in case.
“Miss, I’ve contacted the front desk for you. They know you’re coming, and they’ll take care of the fare for you. The charge will go to your room. The taxicab will be here momentarily.”
“Oh, thank you!” Beth gasped out. “I . . . I was afraid I’d have to walk.”
“Now, we wouldn’t want you to do that, miss. Not alone in the city and at night.”
The words he meant to be reassuring twisted like a knife in Beth’s heart. Julie is out there. She’s as good as alone . . . in the darkness. Beth tried to formulate the speech she would like to give to Nick when next she saw him, but anxiety so filled her, she was unable to complete a sentence. She tried to thank the clerk again, but found her mouth had gone dry.
At last she was back at the hotel’s front entrance and hurrying through the lobby toward the elevator. She was certain that by now the lift operator had caught on to her distress. She lowered her eyes to the floor, fervently praying again. This time she was begging that Julie might already be in the room, or that Mother and Monsieur Laurent had returned.
“Margret,” Beth whispered, patting her shoulder. “Margret, please. I need to talk to you.”
Finally her older sister stirred. “What is it? Is it morning? Why is it so dark?”
“Mother and Mrs. Montclair aren’t back yet,” she said. “But I must talk to you. It’s about Julie. She’s gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?” Margret lifted herself up on an elbow.
Tears were streaming down Beth’s cheeks. “In a taxi. Nick was going to take her to an art exhibit.” Her voice caught in a sob. “But I went to the museum and couldn’t find her. I think they might have . . . maybe gotten lost.”
“Who was she with?” Margret’s feet were already on the floor, and she drew Beth away from the sleeping baby. Turning on the light in the small bathroom, they huddled inside. “You’re crying. Oh, Beth, don’t cry. Tell me again where she is.” Margret’s arms reached out for her, but Beth pushed her away impatiently.
“Listen,” she said, wiping her eyes. “We were supposed to go together. Julie talked me into it. But when we got to the taxi, Nick was there. I kept telling Julie not to go with him—but she wouldn’t listen. And now I can’t find them.” She dissolved into sobs.
Margret caught her hands. “When were they supposed to be back? Before Mother?”
“Yes. What’s Mother going to say?”
“Probably things she should have said long before this.” Margret directed Beth out of the bathroom and opened the door into the hallway. “I’ll put the baby in his crib. Then I’ll speak to Miss Bernard so she knows I’m gone and can sit with him. It’ll take me a few minutes. You go down to the front desk and wait for me there. At the very least, we’ll see Julie as soon as she gets back . . . or Mother, whoever comes first.”
Beth nodded and hurried down the hall that seemed to have lengthened on its own. This time she determined she would take the stairs, bypassing the elevator man altogether. She paced back and forth across the lobby, looking out each window in turn. The darkness seemed even deeper beyond the city lights. Margret finally made an appearance, and the sisters set themselves up in a corner of the foyer where two sofas faced each other, able to see all who entered and exited the building. They fixed their eyes on the door and began to confer quietly.
“Tell me again, Beth. What w
as the plan for the evening?”
Beth’s shoulders sagged in defeat. It was already painful to recount the story. “She wanted to see the O’Keeffe exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts. I thought we were going together—just the two of us.”
Margret moved closer, asking in hushed tones, “The two of you were going out without telling Mother?” She was clearly puzzled.
Beth dropped her face into her hands. “It was Julie’s idea. She wanted me to go along with her . . . to a painting exhibit. She sounded so enthralled with the artist, and . . . well, I shouldn’t have agreed, Margret. But I didn’t know anything about Nick being there. That was a complete surprise.”
“I see.” In two simple words, Margret had managed to sound exactly like Mother. Beth’s spirits sank further.
She rushed on. “I went there myself to try and find Julie. And I walked through every room, but didn’t see them. I have no idea where they went instead.”
“You went alone?”
“What else could I do?” Beth’s voice was rising, pleading with Margret to understand. “I watched her ride away, Margret. She was laughing—thought it all was a big joke. I had to go after her.”
Margret gasped. “Oh my . . . oh, Julie.” Tears were forming in Margret’s eyes too.
Time dragged on until Mother and Mrs. Montclair at last materialized through the door, looking pleased with their evening as they made their way into the lobby, Victoria dawdling at her own pace. Following behind them all, Monsieur Laurent was the first to notice Beth and Margret off to the side, rising to their feet.
“What’s this? It’s quite late for you to still be awake, isn’t it? Mrs. Bryce, is something wrong?”
Mother turned toward them as Beth and Margret moved slowly across the floor, dreading what they knew was to come.
“What is it, girls?”
Beth swallowed hard. “Julie is missing.”
“What!”
Beth’s words, once they began to tumble out, could not come quickly enough as she recounted the frightening events. Mother’s face turned pale, then gray. “How long ago?”
Margret reached for Mother’s arm to steady her, and Beth said, “At least three hours. She said she was going to be back before you were.” Beth clutched at her own neck. “I went looking for her, but they weren’t at the museum where they said they would be.” Her words caught in her dry throat. “I’m so sorry, Mother,” she choked out.
“I shall call the police immediately,” Monsieur Laurent announced solemnly, turning toward the front desk.
Beth stared at the front doors, desperate for Julie to come bounding through them at any moment, pleased with her own emancipation, putting an end to this terrible uncertainty. But Julie did not come. Instead, after what seemed an eternity discussing the situation, Monsieur Laurent returned.
“They cannot send an officer until morning, though I certainly tried to convince them of the urgency. We shall have to wait. Miss Thatcher, will you please explain once more what happened as thoroughly as you’re able?”
Beth repeated her story in agonizing detail, wedged against the end of the sofa, Margret’s arm draped around her for support. Mother was now pacing between the windows, listening to Beth’s more detailed description of what happened, scrutinizing the dark streets outside. Beth was asked for more specifics—the time as exactly as possible, a description of the taxicab, of the driver, the direction in which it left, what had been said by each as Monsieur Laurent took what seemed to be meticulous notes. With every answer, the gravity of the situation heightened. Beth was vaguely aware of a general stir around the lobby, those working at the desk and still in the offices at this late hour, buzzing about their dilemma. It all seemed unreal and impossible. Oh, Julie, where are you? But each time Beth lifted her gaze toward the door, her heart seemed to fall even further.
Out of the corner of her eye, Beth saw Mother’s figure crumple to the floor. She had fainted. With the shock—the tight corset—the restricted breathing, it was no wonder.
All descended upon her immediately. She was lifted to a second sofa and revived with smelling salts. Beth and Margret crouched next to her, clasping each other’s hands and their mother’s. Again Beth raised a futile gaze to the door, pleading for Julie, for them all.
Chapter
25
BETH ROUSED HERSELF ENOUGH to realize she had fallen asleep with her head resting on Margret’s shoulder. Rays of morning light filtered through the lace curtains over the large windows. Several employees and hotel guests were walking back and forth, heels clicking far too cheerfully on the marble floor. The corner of the lobby with the sofas had been given over to family—and to three policemen whose arrival, it seemed, had stirred Beth awake. She shivered in the realization that it was not yet over. That Julie had not returned. Tears once more trickled from her swollen eyes and down her face.
In the middle of the night they had been asked to vacate the lobby and had been offered an office on the main floor of the hotel. But Mother had refused to leave the place where she hoped to be the first to see a chastened Julie, back and fully repentant after a night of imprudence. The women were still hoping, praying that this would be true. They dared not consider any alternative answer. But with every tick of the minute hand around the face of the hotel clock, it became increasingly evident that something darker was likely transpiring.
From his seat at a round table set into the large bay window, Monsieur Laurent seemed to notice Beth had awakened. “Miss Thatcher,” he called softly. “Would you join us, please?”
She extracted herself from her place beside Margret and stepped gingerly past her mother. “Yes, Monsieur Laurent?”
“We’d like you to tell us what you know of this young man. Anything at all.”
He and the officer with him drew up a chair for Beth, and she strained her memory to recall and relate what she could. There seemed to be very little. “He had claimed to be from Pennsylvania . . . in the vaguest of terms. I think he mentioned it was a small town outside of Philadelphia, but I’m not certain about that detail. He said he attended the University of Pennsylvania but didn’t complete his studies. He played tennis, seemed to dress well as one of the upper class. But eventually he said he was the child of an unwed mother, living with a large extended family. And then he said he was from New England. Is Pennsylvania in New England? I don’t really know.”
But the officer was busy jotting in his notebook and gave no reaction.
“It’s so difficult to believe he might be part of . . . part of something . . .” She couldn’t go on. After they waited a moment, she said, “He seemed such an ordinary young man. Rather a nice person.” Then another thought. “Penny and Jannis—they might know more about him,” she suggested hopefully. “They spent more time with Nick and Julie than I did.”
“Yes, well, you see,” Monsieur Laurent said quietly, “I already tried to contact them. I went to the ship during the night and spoke with the security officer on board. It seems their room is empty—all their possessions gone. As are the young man’s.”
“What?”
“They’ve disappeared, Miss Thatcher.”
Beth groped for the significance of his statement. Do all three have something to do with Julie’s disappearance? Are they working together? But the girls claimed not to know Nick well. It makes no sense. . . .
“I want you to think carefully, miss,” said the policeman. “Had they ever tried to draw your sister away from your family before?”
Remembrance lit a beacon in Beth’s foggy mind. She took a deep breath. “Yes, I do believe so—at Bar Harbor. They were very angry when Julie spent the day with us instead of going with them. We couldn’t understand why. Maybe they were trying to . . .” But Beth could not put into words such evil intent.
“It seems likely this may have been planned for some time—with some forethought.” The notion was inconceivable to Beth, and she sank back against the chair as the officer stood with a nod of thanks toward
her, retreating to where his partners were conferring together.
Beth lifted her eyes to meet Monsieur Laurent’s. “I’m grateful the policemen came quickly.”
He nodded solemnly. “Yes, with enough money you can even energize the services of the local police these days.”
Beth was startled for a moment, then sighed. She had never been more grateful for Father’s money.
“We must get Mrs. Bryce up to her room,” Monsieur Laurent announced as Margret and Mother began to stir. “In fact, it’s time for all of you to withdraw from the public eye.”
“But Julie . . . ?” Margret moaned. “What if she comes?”
“She won’t . . .” Monsieur Laurent stopped and began again. “If she comes now, she’ll be greeted by the officers and hotel staff, who will notify us immediately. But we must remove ourselves from the lobby. The staff can only keep reporters out for so long. And they do need their business space returned to normal.”
Beth was sure that each of them felt as she did—that to retire was to concede, to admit there was no hope for Julie to return on her own. They hesitated and lingered, wistfully casting glances toward the door. At last they entered the elevator together. Beth closed her eyes and once more let the tears slide freely. It’s my fault. I failed to protect my sister. I’m as guilty as Julie of rebellion against Mother’s guardianship . . . and the costs are more than I could have ever imagined. Her own accusations were carved at the point of a knife into her wounded conscience.
Beth lay on the bed beside Margret, but even in her exhaustion her mind refused to stop. Where is Julie? Where did he take her? How could he do something so horrific? He had promised in his last words to me that he could be trusted. Hard sobs began to shake her as she wondered, Is Julie terribly frightened? Is she fighting him? Is he treating her cruelly? And the most frightening of all, the words she could not form, Is she still alive? The torment of fears came in unrelenting waves. Beth knew she would not sleep. She rose to draw a bath. Lowering herself into the water, she wept again until a stupefied silence descended.
