Traveling had always been an adventure, but planes, hotels, and meals in every country of the world held none of the excitement it had in the past. Now, even a trip across the states was an imposition, and he wanted to be done with his mission and back in Port Anderson as soon as possible.
He lay on the bed, but fatigue couldn't counteract an active mind. For help in falling asleep, he turned on the TV and concentrated on the drone of the news anchor. Sometime during the night he woke to the spattering of machine gun fire on the twenty-four-hour news channel, but closed his eyes again and drifted in and out of sleep.
The next morning he was tired, but hyped at the same time. He made it a point to leave the hotel early, so he could be on the Hutchinson River Parkway by nine o'clock. Within two hours he'd turned off I-95 in Connecticut and traveled over secondary roads until he came to the sign for Old Town, population 2,039.
He turned left toward the town he'd lived in two years ago and soon neared the old four-bedroom farmhouse where he and Tanya had fled after their daughter was born. Oak and birch trees lined the long, meandering driveway to the house, and he couldn't tell if she was there. When they'd split up, she wanted the property, even though most of the year she occupied their New York City apartment.
Farther ahead was the two-story house he and their daughter had moved into. After the divorce, Kipp quit his reporting job to care for Kelly, a heartfelt decision and the logical one, considering Tanya's love of the high life and her lack of maternal instincts. A mother who'd deserted her when she was young was no role model for Tanya.
He and Kelly lived comfortably on his income as a freelance writer and a small trust fund that had been set up by his parents when he was younger. Tanya made considerably more money than he did, and when he agreed to care for Kelly, she agreed to pay child support. He bought his house with the money he received for his share of the farmhouse. He rarely traveled beyond the picket fence, save for that fateful day.
As the car passed by, his throat caught with barely a swallow. There, in the shadows, someone had abducted Kelly.
The current owner's rosy-faced boy darted across the yard, and for a split second Kipp conjured up a scene from the past: an image of Kelly waddling across the grass, arms outstretched. The twisting in his gut was overwhelming, and he turned his gaze toward the road.
He wiped away the tears. How many times had he been racked with guilt, wondering if he should have kept the house in case whoever took her brought her back? Or what if one day she returned only to find strangers where her father once lived? Such thoughts were irrational. The police assured him he would be contacted, so he left the house with the painful memories, knowing that Tanya had the old farmhouse and still had ties to the community.
Just seeing the yellow house with the white shutters brought up all the guilt and anguish. He cursed Libby for sending him on this agonizing and, more than likely, fruitless journey. Nevertheless, he continued on.
In front of Harvey's Grocery Store he got out of the car, stretched his legs, and breathed in the fresh country air. He sidestepped around a woman in the doorway and looked up to see a man with a rounded belly, gray crew cut, narrow hawk-like eyes, and a broad thin-lipped smile.
The man came around the counter and grasped Kipp's shoulder. "Kipp Reed. If it isn't Kipp Reed. Never thought you'd come back to this old place."
"Hello, Harvey. Glad to see you're still here."
"Be here till I die." He scooted back around the corner. "Say, did they ever find your little girl?"
The pain in Kipp's gut was inching back. "No. Not yet."
"Sorry to hear that. I see the missus every once in a while. She picks up a few things now and then. Never says much. Pity you two couldn't work it out."
"Listen, Harvey, I'm looking for Mrs. Crowley. Is she still on Adams Street?"
"What business you got with her?"
"No business. I was just passing through, and I wanted to say hello."
"She hasn't been too well since you left. Still blames herself for everything. Not being watchful and all. Doesn't watch kids anymore."
"Maybe she'd feel better if I talked to her."
"Worth a try. You want me to close up and go with you?"
"I think I should go alone. But thanks for the offer."
Before leaving, Kipp rounded up bottled water and a newspaper. The air outside had a sticky feel to it; the day promised to be hot and muggy. He rolled down the car window to let the morning breeze cool the inside.
Main Street looked like a Norman Rockwell painting. Not much had changed over the years. Many of the businesses were still family-owned: Del's Hardware, Old Town Clothing, Harvey's Grocery Store. None of the superstores had found their way to Old Town yet. The pace was slower than in the larger New England towns, and that was what drew Kipp and Tanya here in the first place, although once the newness wore off, it hadn't suited Tanya.
He turned onto Adams Street and pulled up to the curb in front of Mrs. Crowley's house. Bare flower beds and the grass, tall and straw-like, gave the yard a neglected look. The curtains were drawn, and he considered turning around, but Libby's words rang out like a reminder: follow your heart. His heart had brought him this far, and he resolved to go through with the plan that she'd laid out.
Kipp straightened his glasses and knocked on the door several times. He was about to give up when a corner of the curtain rustled.
The door opened a slit, then swung wide. A plump woman in an apron-covered housedress, her graying hair matted in places, her pallid skin flecked with age spots, smiled at him in anticipation. "Did you find her?" When he shook his head, her smile faded to a frown.
"May I come in?"
"Of course, Mr. Reed, of course. Please come in." She opened the curtains and dusted a Queen Anne chair with her opened palm. "Please sit down. Would you like some coffee? I can make coffee."
"No thanks. I can't stay long."
She fussed with papers and magazines, trying to straighten them into neat piles, pushed two dirty cups and a glass to the end of the coffee table away from Kipp. The dark rug was dappled in light, showing numerous specks of lint. The room smelled of camphor. Except for the happy sounds of a caged bird, cheeping and gurgling in the adjoining room, the house felt weighty and lifeless.
When she finished her flurry of activity and settled on the end of the brown paisley couch, he noticed the tremor in her left hand. "How have you been, Mrs. Crowley?"
"I've had good days and bad days, but I'm all right." Her stab at optimism was brave, but her weary eyes told the honest truth.
He asked her about the weather and her family. After they'd chatted for a while, he decided to broach the subject of Kelly. "Harvey tells me you aren't taking care of children anymore. I know how much you liked to do that."
"I couldn't, you know. Not after..." She lowered her gaze.
She was in his house with Kelly, and not as vigilant as she should have been. But he should never have left Kelly with a sitter while he traipsed around Washington, D.C., hunting down leads for a story he was working on.
He leaned forward to look into her eyes. "It wasn't your fault."
"I lay down for just a minute. She was napping. I just don't understand."
"Mrs. Crowley, don't blame yourself."
"They must have come from the alley behind your house. They snuck up on me. I didn't see any cars, or I would have called the police." She was crumpling her apron, agitated and anxious.
"You don't have to convince me. I didn't come here to upset you or to question you about that day."
"I know, but--"
"I need your help."
She looked up, curious. "My help?"
Kipp hesitated, thinking about how to phrase the question without distressing her any further. "I wondered if Kelly left anything with you to keep for her while she's away, something you might have of hers."
She stared at Kipp, her eyes widening.
"Mrs. Crowley? Did she leave something with you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did she leave any toys with you? Anything you might have forgotten to tell me?"
She twisted the corner of her apron into a wrinkled mass. "Well, I don't know, Mr. Reed. I mean, maybe."
Encouraged, Kipp put his hand on hers to stop her fidgeting. "Please. It's important. If you have something of Kelly's, I need to know. I promise I won't be angry."
She studied his face, perhaps measuring his sincerity. She abruptly left the room and returned holding a six-inch stuffed bear with a red ribbon around its neck. She laid the bear in Kipp's lap. He swallowed hard to suppress the surge of emotion that welled up in him. The tattered brown bear was a toy he'd won at a carnival.
The memories of walking on sawdust and carrying Kelly around with her lips blue from cotton candy, amidst the crowds and calliope music, began rolling in, swelling his already bursting heart. Mrs. Crowley's raspy voice stopped the flow of images.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Reed. I know I shouldn't have kept it. But it reminded me of Kelly. I wanted something to remind me of her. How did you know?" She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back tears.
Kipp could have used the comfort himself, but he moved to the couch and held her hand. He would never get over the loss of his daughter, but this dear, sweet lady, the last person to see Kelly, would for the rest of her life always share the blame with him.
"I'm not angry with you," he said. "In fact, I think it was very thoughtful of you to hold onto this bear for her. I want you to know that I'm going to look for her myself, and hopefully this toy will help me find her. May I take it with me?"
"Oh, yes, you take it. You should have it."
Kipp rose to leave, and she walked him to the door.
"You know, Mrs. Crowley, I think you should take care of children again. You were a very good sitter, and what happened wasn't your fault." He gave her a warm hug. "When I find Kelly, we'll come back to visit you."
"Please find her, Mr. Reed," she said softly and hurried inside and closed the door.
Kipp set the bear on the passenger seat and glanced at it from time to time on the drive out of town. As he passed the two-story house, he had a renewed sense of hope because just as Libby predicted, he was led to Kelly's toy. In his enthusiasm he thought he might stop at the farmhouse to see if Tanya was there, but then he remembered she was in Paris.
He drove on to the main highway, anticipating getting on the plane and back to Libby, but traffic slowing to a crawl and flashing lights up ahead dashed his hopes of leaving early. He'd have to fly out the next day.
He returned his rental car and called the hotel. The clerk told him he was lucky it wasn't a Friday and booked him a room for the night. He rearranged his flight and hopped on the hotel's shuttle.
His room was on the sixth floor. It had the same layout as his former room but faced the courtyard.
He lay on the bed and held the bear to his cheek, hoping to catch a hint of his daughter, the sugary clean baby scent he remembered. He held the bear next to his heart. His eyes blurred with tears. The day had been emotionally draining, but touching the bear made him feel closer to Kelly than he had in a long time. He ached to find her.
He removed his glasses and dried his eyes. He felt the need to nap, but the neurons in his brain were clicking away like the gears in a clock.
He tucked his hands behind his head and skimmed the events of the last few weeks: being led to Libby, her uncanny way of knowing things about him, her pushing him to look for his daughter, his coming to Connecticut and finding the toy as she predicted.
What else was in store for him? Was he really being led to his daughter? He didn't want to get his hopes up, but how could he not after everything that had transpired so far.
For the first time in months an excitement surged in him, and he wished he had someone to share his enthusiasm. Libby was his first choice, but then he thought of Tanya and wondered if the time was right to let her know he was active again in his search for their daughter; but Tanya was in Paris.
He'd leave a message for Tanya, and because of the time difference he'd wait to call Libby in the evening.
His gurgling stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten since morning. He'd take a short nap and then get some food and make the calls.
* * *
CHAPTER 12
On the way up I-5 Ellen sang along with the radio and glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. She'd taken considerable time primping and getting ready for the evening, and she considered herself especially foxy today.
Heavy clouds obstructed her view of the Cascade foothills from the highway. Sunshine would have made the day perfect, but the lack of sun and the blocked view of the mountains did nothing to dampen her spirits.
She exited the freeway and drove through the valley. She'd be home in fifteen minutes. She stopped at the market and bought wine and two sirloin steaks.
She loved the two-story house they'd lived in for the past fourteen years. Even though Mel traveled a lot, she'd made a comfortable nest for herself and the children. The neighborhood had held up over the years, nothing upscale, but a good solid community of homes, each unique from one another.
As she neared the suburban community, she experienced the same giddy feeling she'd had in the first years of her marriage before the children came, before Mel fell into his destructive habits. Back then he never brought her gifts or flowers, no show of affection on his part, but their bedroom always glowed with the aftermath of sex.
Mel's Taurus was in the driveway, and she wondered if he had come home for a late lunch or if he had taken ill. She thought better of parking behind his car, in the event he had to go back to work, and pulled up behind the old beater Jason used whenever he graced them with his presence.
Mel's being home stirred her imagination of what might transpire in the next few minutes, and she walked toward the house as if she were floating on clouds.
Hoping to surprise him, she carefully opened the side door and set her purse and groceries on the kitchen counter. With one hand against the frame and the other on the doorknob, she latched the door without making a sound.
She listened for footsteps or water running. Except for his car parked outside and the unlocked door, she would have guessed no one was home. She assumed he was taking a sick day. She slipped off her shoes and tiptoed through the living room and up the stairs to the second floor, careful to avoid the creaky steps in case he was asleep.
Halfway down the hallway she heard thumping and moaning sounds. Her first thought was that poor sick Mel was writhing in pain, but then she heard a high-pitched squeal.
By the time she reached the master bedroom, her heart was racing ahead of her and blood pounded in her temples. In the doorway she froze, her mind desperately trying to catch up with her eyes.
Viewing the gyrating mass of covers, she shook herself conscious and threw the door wide open, crashing it into the wall. A woman screamed. Ellen screamed. And Mel toppled to the floor.
He scrambled to his feet and wheeled around, looking for his shorts. Once he found them, he hopped from one foot to the other, tugging them on, looking to Ellen like one big blob. "Ellen, wait!" She turned on her heels and stormed out with Mel carrying his shoes and clothes, puffing behind her.
In the living room she grabbed the first object she set her eyes on--a framed photo from the piano top--and hurled it at Mel, barely missing the side of his head as he ducked out of the way. The picture smashed into the wall, shattering the glass.
"You could have killed me," he bellowed.
"I wish I had!" Stationed in the middle of the room, she glared at him, her body tense with rage.
Mel huffed and grumbled while he dressed in his slacks and shirt and wrestled with his shoes and socks. His face was beet red. "It's not what it looks like."
"What is it, if it isn't you humping another woman in my bed?"
"She's a two-bit tramp."
"She's your secretary, Mel, and you had her in our bed. In my b
ed. You bastard!"
The woman, with velvet black hair and a dress that clung to her like spandex, slunk down the stairs. Ellen watched Mel follow her with his eyes as she glided through the room and out the door.
Draping his tie around his neck, he inched toward the foyer. "Listen, Ellen, I have to take her back to the office. I'll be home at six, and we'll go out to dinner and straighten things out."
In her numbed state, Ellen didn't even hear the door close. She stumbled into the kitchen and peeked out the window to watch Mel backing out. He had an arm draped over the woman's shoulder. In full view of the neighbors, he stopped the car and kissed her on the cheek.
Ellen bowed over the sink and wailed like a siren, her tears, black from mascara, pooling on the stainless steel surface. After she'd cried herself out, she soaked a dishtowel in cool water and wiped her face clean of the makeup she'd put on for Mel.
She took a ragged breath in. She knew what she had to do.
She tossed the steaks in the garbage and staggered upstairs to the bedroom. The mound of sheets and the unbearably cheap perfume made her want to wretch. She would not stay in this house, not when Mel had contaminated it with another woman.
She tracked down the extra suitcases in Jason's closet and filled them with clothes, shoes, and every memento she could squeeze in. She trekked out to the car twice, dragging the luggage with her and filling the trunk. Back inside, she took the latest photo of her kids off the wall, the one they'd surprised her with on her birthday, and made sure she had a credit card and some blank checks.
Driving down the freeway, she pictured Mel in bed with his secretary. All these years she'd made excuses for his horrible behavior: He wasn't loved as a child. He hated himself and acted out. He needed understanding.
Then there were her faults to consider: She wasn't the best wife. She was too fat and ugly for him. She was too involved with the children.
Whatever might be wrong with her, his secretary in their bed was the last straw. Forget the excuses. She was determined to make the break.
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