Idyll Fears

by Stephanie Gayle

  Peter sat next to Cody’s bed. He stood when I came in. “Sit,” I said. “Just came to check on Cody. How you doing?”

  Cody said, “Chief! I got the Lego truck kit!”

  “That’s great, buddy.”

  Peter said, “Looks like Santa found it after all.” I raised my brow and he mouthed, “Donor.” Ah, so it wasn’t the original kit. The one Mrs. Forrand had bought and given to Mrs. Donner to lure Cody into the stolen car.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  Cody shrugged. “They took two toes,” he said.

  Oh no. So they hadn’t saved his foot, not entirely. Two toes. He’d be okay with three, wouldn’t he?

  “Cody will need some physical therapy, later,” Pete said.

  “Where’s Anna?” I asked.

  “Home, with my parents,” he said. “She’s been teaching Gretel tricks.”

  “Kimberly,” Cody said. He tried to lock two plastic bricks together with one hand.

  “Kimberly?” I asked.

  “The dog’s name,” Cody said. “We changed it to Kimberly, like the pink Power Ranger.” Poor Anna. Once again forced to give way to her brother. What chance did she have now? He’d been kidnapped, starved, beaten, rescued. Featured on the cover of newspapers and magazines. She’d always be number two in that family.

  “Where’s Mom?” Cody asked.

  I shot a look at Pete, and he shook his head. “She’s still traveling, pal. Hey, maybe after lunch we can watch James and the Giant Peach.”

  Cody nodded. “Can I have ice cream?” he asked.

  How could he want ice cream after he nearly froze to death? He didn’t feel it, that’s how. Cold took his toes, but it didn’t hurt. Funny. I didn’t think I’d be eating ice cream anytime soon.

  “Sure. Chocolate?” Pete asked.

  “Yeah,” Cody said.

  “You want to help me make the truck, Chief?” Cody asked me. I dragged a chair over and stuck bricks together for a half hour, until Cody’s eyes closed and he fell asleep.

  “He’s still recovering,” his father whispered.

  “How are you doing?” I asked.

  He grimaced. “I’m getting there. The worst is when he asks for Jane. I didn’t know what to tell him the first time, so I made up some story about her going on a trip. I know I’m going to have to tell him, eventually. But how?”

  “Has he said anything about her involvement?” I asked.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. Exhaled shakily. “She prepped him for the first grab. Had told him all these stories about the Power Rangers and their base and how, if he was a very good boy, he might get to visit someday.” He opened his eyes and stared at the floor tiles. “After we got him back, she told him that Power Ranger secrets couldn’t be shared and it was okay not to tell anyone, especially the police, about their base or what they did.”

  “Jesus,” I said.

  “Yeah. I still can’t believe she just gave him away.” He pulled the blanket higher over Cody. “Do you think she knew about Aaron? That his death wasn’t an accident?”

  “No.” In truth, I didn’t know, but no one else had suspected murder. And as much as I loathed Jane Forrand, I wasn’t certain she’d have given Cody to a murderer. A religious nut? Yes. A killer? No. Maybe it was a fine distinction, but I suspected it wasn’t to Peter Forrand.

  “It’s funny, but his missing toes, his arm, those don’t worry me as much as what he’ll hear on the playground about his mother. The things other people will say. I don’t know how to shield him.”

  “He’s a tough kid,” I said, hating the words as I spoke them. They were empty. Sure, Cody was tough, but that was because of his medical condition. That same protection didn’t extend to his feelings.

  “Is there anything I can get you?” I asked.

  Peter Forrand gazed at his sleeping son. “A time machine?” he said, offering up a weak smile. A time machine, sure, only how far back would he go? To before the first kidnapping, before Cody was born, before he met Jane?

  I found a copy of the Idyll Register photo on my office door. A gold star was stuck above my head. I took it down and headed for my wastebasket. Thought twice. Put it atop my desk. A bark brought my head up. “There he is!” Dix called. “Man of the hour!”

  Ah, so Yankowitz was getting it too, the hero treatment. “Man of the year,” he called back. I heard the smile in his voice. A few months ago, Yankowitz had been the meter maid who couldn’t drive, the butt of jokes. Now he was the guy who’d found Cody Forrand. Quite an upgrade.

  “Jinx!” I said.

  The German shepherd came bounding into my office. I reached into my cabinet for the box of treats I’d picked up. “Here you go.” I set a treat on the floor and watched Jinx destroy it in two bites.

  Yankowitz came in a moment later. “Hey, he hasn’t earned that yet.”

  “No?”

  “He needs to work on his responses. Yesterday he didn’t signal on a find.”

  “Must be hard for Jinx, living with Skylar now that she’s a media darling.”

  “Hardly. Jinx still rules the roost.”

  “Things okay?” Now was the time for him to tell me if the guys were playing too hard, if he’d had enough of the hero treatment.

  “Sure, though I wish the reporters would stop calling. Lindsay’s getting tired of answering the phone.”

  “It’s only been two days. They’ll lose interest. Some disaster will make you yesterday’s news.”

  “Good. It’s weird having people ask you so many personal questions. I had a reporter ask what my sign was and if I was single.”

  “No wonder Lindsay’s annoyed.”

  He smiled to himself. “I didn’t tell her that. I’m not stupid.” He looked at the newspaper photo on my desk.

  Jinx barked, once. Mrs. Dunsmore appeared. I told Jinx, “Good dog.”

  “Good morning,” Mrs. Dunsmore said. She went straight for my plant and said, “This thing is dying of thirst! I’m glad you’re here,” she said to Yankowitz. “I got off the phone with the mayor. He wants to have a parade.”

  “A parade?” I asked. Another parade? For what?

  “For Cody Forrand. To celebrate his return and to honor our two heroes.” She looked from Yankowitz to me. “Skylar too,” she said.

  “It’s freezing out. No one is gonna come outside.”

  “We’ll have it in early April,” she said. “Once Cody’s arm has healed.”

  “What do I have to do?” Yankowitz asked. Great question.

  “Be on a float, with Skylar. Toss out candy. The usual.”

  “Do I get to throw candy too?” I asked.

  She sized me up. “Maybe we’ll let you ride in a convertible, beside the mayor.”

  “Couldn’t we do something else?” I asked.

  “There will also be a fundraiser.”

  Parades meant extra work details, and setting out detour signs for the parade route, and a thousand other trifling, stupid details I’d hoped we could avoid until Memorial Day. “Why don’t they do the fundraiser without the parade?” I asked.

  “Because people like parades. Gives them a chance to dust off their uniforms, play music, march in formation,” she said. “Gives businesses a chance to look good, by volunteering materials and funds.”

  “I don’t see the point—”

  “Of course you don’t,” she said. “If you thought for one moment beyond your convenience and considered other peoples’ needs, you might. The Forrands are going to need money. Plenty of it to pay Cody’s bills. And for daycare or a sitter, since they lost their mother. Neighbors will pitch in for the first month or two or five, but then they’ll get busy with their own lives. That family needs long-term help, and that means throwing a parade, getting press, and asking people to give.”

  “Let me know when you need me,” Yankowitz said, stepping backward slowly, eager to escape her increasingly angry words.

  “Thank you, Jim.” Her voice fell an octave.

/>   Yankowitz left and Jinx followed.

  I said, “Look, I get that the Forrands need money. Fine, we’ll have the parade. It’s gonna mean a lot more work, and I’d rather not be hailed as a hero.”

  “It’s not always about you,” she said.

  “Pardon?”

  She put her hands on her hips, “You’re not always the victim, you know.”

  “The victim?”

  “You act like you’re the most put-upon man in Idyll.”

  “I’m sorry. Did someone else have their car covered with hate speech?” Where did she get off with her attitude?

  “You should’ve thanked Klein for that.” Of course she knew it was Klein. Had she always known? Had she hidden that fact from me? “His act won you more loyalty than you’d have gotten without it.”

  “I should be grateful?” Jesus. She really was a hard case.

  “You should stop acting like you’re better than the rest of them.”

  “Better? How do I do that?”

  “By putting them in their place, day after day.” “I’m their boss.”

  “Yes, and you should lead by example, instead of shaming them with their lack of knowledge. They’re small-town cops. They do small-town policing, and it’s not always rescuing cats.”

  “Forgive me for trying to teach them a thing or two.”

  “Teach all you want, but don’t be condescending when you do it. And maybe find it in your heart to forgive them when they mess up. Everyone does, including you.”

  “I’m assuming this lecture has a point.”

  “Billy is still walking on eggshells around you. Smile at him once in a while. Don’t make him fear for his job every damn day.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You do!” With her free hand she rubbed the crucifix around her neck.

  “As if you don’t judge,” I said. “With your cross.”

  She stopped rubbing it and held it out. “This?”

  “You started wearing that the day after I made my ‘announcement.’ Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

  “Wrong. I started wearing it two days later, when my niece was diagnosed with cancer.”

  “Oh,” I said. Belatedly, “I’m sorry about your niece.”

  “I’ve also been wearing it to remind me to be patient, to remind me that God has a plan and it contains everyone.”

  “Even me?” I asked.

  “Even you.”

  “I don’t care if you hate that I’m gay,” I said. “I can handle that. Don’t you—”

  Her bark of laughter stopped me. “Hate you because you’re gay? You really are blind. My niece, Valerie, the one with cancer, had an older brother, Leo. Sweet boy. Loved baseball and roller coasters. Used to spend nights with his sister at my house when his parents went out. When he was in college, Leo told his parents he was gay. They disowned him. Took away his money for college, refused to help him find a place to live. He stayed with me for seven months, working at the ice-cream parlor, saving money. Then he moved to California. I was so worried about him, but he got a job at an art gallery, made friends. Used to send me postcards. He was happy. And then, in 1985, he got sick.”

  AIDS. That was how gay men got sick at that time. So many.

  “He was far gone, and they didn’t have treatments like they have now. Doctors were afraid to care for him.” She shook her head, her eyes bright. “I flew out to California, and he . . . oh, how he looked. Like a scarecrow, balding, and with sores on his face and lips. But his eyes, they were bright, and he told me that he’d been happier than he ever expected to be. He thanked me for helping him find his way West, and for not giving up on him. For staying in touch. For never suggesting the way he lived was sinful and wrong.” She brushed her eyes and said, “You don’t know anything, Thomas Lynch. The problem is you think you know everything.”

  She walked out before I could defend myself or think of a cutting retort or apologize.

  I got out of my chair, restless. Decided to visit with my detectives, who were also less than delighted with me. Neither had been included in the FBI’s special op. I’d asked to bring them on, but although Waters liked Wright, she claimed there wasn’t a place for him. Finnegan, she said, “wasn’t vital.”

  They sat at their desks, Finnegan smoking, Wright chewing gum and telling Finny some New Year’s story involving drunk twins.

  “Hey,” I said.

  They said, “Hail the conquering hero” in unison, like they’d been practicing.

  “Knock it off,” I said. “Look, I know you’re annoyed with me.” Wright looked at his cuticles. Finny stared at the space where the air purifiers used to be. I missed them already. “Look, it was the FBI’s call. For what it’s worth, I wanted to include you.”

  “That and fifty cents will get you bus fare,” Finny muttered.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, thinking of Mrs. Dunsmore. Of her accusation that I acted as if I was better than everyone. I didn’t believe it, no matter what she thought. “I’m really sorry you didn’t get to join me on a seasick ride across a choppy ocean.”

  “Yankowitz said you nearly lost your lunch,” Wright said.

  I was willing to play ball. “Why don’t boats move like cars?” I asked.

  “Because the ocean moves, dummy, unlike a highway,” Finnegan said.

  “Ohhhhh,” I said.

  “Hey, what’s the deal with the Farraday kid?” he asked. “He going to be indicted?”

  “Not on kidnapping charges,” I said. “He stole the car without knowing why Jane Forrand needed it. He’d had a crush on her since he worked for her as a teenager.”

  “So because he was getting paid and laid by her,” Wright said, “he wasn’t likely to ask questions.”

  I nodded.

  “The thing I can’t wrap my head around,” Finny said, “is why did Mrs. Donner return him after the first grab?” He picked up a pencil and gnawed at it like a damn woodchuck.

  “The boat she planned to use was out of gas. Someone at the dock spotted her. She interpreted this to mean that the Lord had decided the time was wrong.”

  “So Cody wasn’t loopy when he told us about the boat,” Wright said.

  “No, but if you remember, it was his mother who suggested the ‘boat’ was a ride outside the grocery store.”

  “Is Mrs. Donner bat-shit crazy?” Wright asked. “Or just playing?”

  “Beats me.”

  “What about Jane Forrand?” Finny asked. He set his tooth-marked pencil down.

  “I think the Sally Jesse Raphael show was the final straw. She’d finally turned her nightmare into a TV opportunity and Cody blew it.”

  Wright said, “What I don’t get is why she thought getting pregnant would help.”

  “She might’ve thought her husband would get over Cody’s disappearance faster with a baby on the way. Or she wanted another perfect family, this time with a kid she knew wouldn’t have CIPA.”

  Finny asked, “What’ll happen to her baby? Once she gives birth?” He crumpled a piece of paper and tossed it in the air.

  “I’m guessing they’ll do a paternity test,” Wright said. “If I were Peter Forrand, I’d insist.”

  I said, “Peter Forrand says if the child is his, he’ll sue for sole custody and raise it.”

  “Even if it has CIPA?” Finny asked. I nodded.

  “And if it’s Farraday’s?” Wright asked.

  “No idea.” Mark Farraday didn’t seem like he was eager for fatherhood.

  “That plumber story she tried to sell us was pure fairy tale, wasn’t it?” Wright asked. “I always thought it seemed convenient.”

  He’d never said so to me, but I let it go. “Looks that way. I think she stole it from the Victoria Fitzgerald playbook. She used that case to sow suspicion and prejudice her husband against the police.”

  “Worked a treat, too,” Finny said. He rotated his neck. “Any word on Cody?”

  “He lost two toes.” Both detectives winced. “Otherwise, he�
��s looking better.”

  “Poor kid,” Wright said. “You think Mrs. Donner was going to kill him?”

  Finnegan said, “’Course she was. You saw the pictures. He wouldn’t have lasted another week out there.”

  “She got angry when she realized how public the kidnapping was made. She thought she’d be able to rename Cody, take him someplace far away, and have another son. But then she saw her face on the news and realized it wouldn’t be so easy,” I said.

  “Can the feds prove she killed her son?” Wright asked.

  “Last I heard, they wanted to exhume him, test for traces of poisons or drugs in his system. Thing is, if he died of hyperthermia, it’s going to be tough to prove she caused it.” I thought of what Geraldine Howard had told me, about the flickering light coming from his room before Aaron died. What if he’d been signaling? Trying to get someone’s attention while his body shut down?

  Wright interrupted my dark thoughts with, “They’ve got her for Cody, anyway. I don’t think her ‘the Lord told me to do it’ act will work on a jury.”

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me, gents, I have 1997’s crime report to complete for the next town meeting,” I said. “As you know, we’re full of it these days. Must be that terrible city influence I keep hearing about.” I jerked my thumb to my chest.

  “Ooh,” Finny said. “Life of the hero, huh?”

  “Life of a paper pusher, more like.” I returned to my office, hoping they resented me a little less.

  When a trio of knocks at my door came at 4:50 p.m., I thought about not answering. Coward. I called, “Come in,” and in came Agent Cisco. He closed the door behind him. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Hello,” he said. He stood in place, looking around my office as if it was new. “Rescued any abducted kids lately?” Cisco hadn’t been around when Waters and I laid the groundwork and executed our plan. He’d been on another case. Some human-trafficking thing involving money wired via computers. Tech stuff.

  “How’s life?” I asked.

  “Not bad.” He chafed his hands. “You?”

  “Can’t complain.” God, this was awkward.

  “I wanted to see if maybe you’d like to grab dinner.”