Lover's Lane

by Jill Marie Landis

  She’d pushed herself to the limit today, talking Carly into letting her meet Christopher in the park. On the way home aboard the commuter plane to LAX, she’d begun to question what she was doing.

  If only Charles were alive, he would be the one in charge. Everything would be out of her hands.

  After Rick died, she’d been angry and helpless. Like Charles, she had wanted to strike back at the girl who’d taken her son from them. If it hadn’t been for Caroline or Carly or whoever she really was, Rick would have never been racing back to Borrego.

  Charles had put everything in motion. After Rick’s memorial, he contacted Art Litton, sat down with him, and came up with the plan to offer the girl money, more than enough money to make most people’s heads spin—but Carly had refused.

  She’s been a good mother.

  All day, try as she might, Anna couldn’t keep that thought from popping into her mind. Christopher was a delightful child, the kind of child any parent would be proud of. Though she’d like to deny it, she knew that he hadn’t gotten that way by himself.

  And seeing him in the flesh brought home the truth—he was a living, breathing, energetic little boy, and she was a sixty-two-year-old woman.

  When he’s fourteen, I’ll be seventy!

  Even though his room was ready and waiting for him, she was now faced with the reality of the situation. This was no place for an active child, let alone a dog. When she won guardianship, she would have to move again, find a house with a yard or a place on the beach.

  She’d pushed herself too hard today. After the limo dropped her off from the airport, she’d quickly changed clothes and attended the Nineteenth Annual Benefit and Silent Auction for the Children’s League.

  As physically and mentally exhausted as she was, the event seemed to go on forever. On the heels of her flight back, three hours of small talk with a table full of divorcées and widows had nearly done her in.

  Once in her room she automatically picked up the television remote, jabbed the on button and tossed the remote on the bed before she walked into the dressing room.

  Peeling off her panty hose and then her beige St. John knit, she listened to the teaser for the eleven o’clock news. Something about a hijacked bus on the 91 Freeway. She mentally tuned it out until her attention was captured by the anchorwoman’s next words.

  “. . . we’ll go to a small town up the coast where a Long Beach private investigator is involved in a search for two missing six-year-old boys.”

  Her heavy gold earrings clattered when she dropped them on the marble countertop. She grabbed a thick terry cloth robe off a hook near the dressing room door and hurried back into the bedroom. A series of inane commercials blasted from the television, so she hit the mute button until they ended.

  Perched on the edge of the bed, she turned on the sound again and waited through breaking news with live film coverage of yet another bus hijacker being taken into custody.

  When will these idiots realize car chases are getting old?

  After highlights of the national news there was yet another teaser before a few thirty-second commercials. Finally the female anchor was back. Thin, Hispanic, still beautiful despite too much stage makeup, she stared at the Teleprompter.

  “Now we’ll take you up the coast to Twilight Cove, a small tourist town just off of Highway One near San Luis Obispo where it seems a private investigator from Long Beach has found himself involved in the search for two missing six-year-olds. Let’s go to reporter Abbigail Klasa with our affiliate station KBCH in San Luis Obispo. Abbigail, what can you tell us about the search for the missing boys?”

  “Well, Tamra, let’s just say things are tense here in the usually quiet seaside town of Twilight Cove where local sheriffs and volunteers have been combing dangerous hillsides as well as the treacherous coastline for the two missing youngsters, who are best friends and T-ball teammates.”

  Anna clutched the remote, her attention riveted on the screen. A photograph suddenly replaced the image of the reporter, a shot of a T-ball team, all of the boys lined up in matching uniforms and baseball caps. Slowly the camera focused in on two of them and the image widened until it filled the screen. They stood side by side with their arms around each other’s shoulders, their sweet smiles showing missing teeth.

  Anna gasped and covered her mouth.

  “We’ve learned the two are best friends, but no one has yet to explain why Matthew Potter and Christopher Nolan have run away. Matthew’s parents remain positive that the two boys will be found safe and sound. No Amber Alert has been issued as there is no indication the boys were abducted.”

  An odd, strangled noise escaped Anna as she stared at the screen filled with the image of Christopher and his friend. It was uncanny how much Chris looked like Rick at the same age. The same sun-streaked hair. The same dimple in his right cheek. His eyes even crinkled when he smiled, just like Rick’s.

  The camera moved from the photo to Jake Montgomery standing beside the reporter. Patrol car strobe lights knifed through the darkness around them.

  Anna covered her mouth with her fist, leaned toward the television. The reporter held the microphone in front of Jake.

  “How did a private investigator from Long Beach become involved in the search, Mr. Montgomery?”

  “Ms. Nolan and her son are friends of mine.” Jake Montgomery clammed up, reticent to say more, frustrating the reporter with his silence.

  Anna watched, aware of the agitated beat of her heart, fearing it was going to burst. She took a deep breath, held it, let it out.

  Dear Lord, you’ve only just let me see Christopher, talk to him, hold him.

  Do you truly give only to take away?

  I’ve already lost so much.

  Anna sat in dazed silence as the young reporter wrapped up the interview. The anchor promised the L.A. audience they would learn the outcome of the search as soon as it happened. Then the news broke for another spate of commercials.

  The phone rang almost immediately after, and she jumped up, stumbling as she made a grab for it, half hoping it might be Carly Nolan with news that Christopher had been found. But after what Anna had said today, she doubted Carly would call her at all.

  It was Art Litton.

  Before Anna could say a word, he was crowing into the phone.

  “Have you seen the news? We’ve got her now.”

  She shivered, thought she might retch.

  “My grandson is missing, Art, and that’s all you can think about? What if he’s been kidnapped? What if he’s hurt?”

  “And if he is hurt, whose fault is it? Hers.”

  “I . . . actually, I’ve been thinking of reconsidering, of dropping the petition or whatever it takes to stop this thing from—”

  “You can’t, Anna. Not now. Look what’s happened.

  What kind of mother lets her kid run off like that? Surely you don’t think she has any right to Christopher after this, do you?”

  He sounded so certain, so persuasive. Just like Charles. He was always telling her what to do, what was expected of a Saunders. She pictured Jake Montgomery standing with his arm around Carly this afternoon. Perhaps they’d gotten together later, maybe they’d wanted Christopher out of the way. She’d heard of people locking their kids outside. Maybe Carly had wanted an hour or two alone with Jake, maybe she’d left him outside with instructions not to disturb her, and he’d wandered off.

  Surely the woman she’d met earlier wouldn’t have done any such thing . . .

  “You can’t leave him in that kind of a situation, Anna.”

  “He’s . . . he seems happy, Art. And well adjusted.”

  “How would you know? You can’t tell anything from a photo on television.”

  “I’ve seen him. I was up there today, in Twilight Cove. Jake Montgomery convinced me to go up and meet Carly Nolan . . .”

  “I would never have advised something like that, and you know it. You could jeopardize our case.”

  “Which is why I
went on my own. I can’t help but wonder if my visit had something to do with Christopher’s running away.”

  “And you think he’s well adjusted?”

  “I did. He’s darling. Polite, intelligent. She’s done a good job, Art.”

  “You listen to me, Anna. Charles wasn’t just a client for thirty years. He was one of my closest friends. I know what he wanted. You can’t let him down now. Besides, you aren’t doing this solely for Charles, you know. You have a responsibility to Saunders Shipping. Christopher will take his rightful place at the helm.”

  “What if that’s not what he wants?”

  “You’ll never know what he wants if he grows up under her roof.”

  “I don’t think she’d object to me seeing him. I—”

  “You don’t know what she’s likely to do. I’m going to hang up and call you first thing in the morning unless there’s some word on the boys before then. Don’t even think about backing down now, Anna. Christopher needs you. He obviously needs a more stable situation. Don’t you agree?”

  “Well, yes, I—”

  “You try to get some sleep.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Then at least lie down and rest. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  He hung up, but Anna cradled the phone in her lap. Unable to move, she stared blindly at all the lawyers on a rerun of The Practice on television.

  40

  JAKE LET GO A SILENT CURSE AS HE WALKED AWAY FROM ABBIGAIL Klasa and her damn cameraman and headed for his car.

  He was still pissed at the officer in charge of the search who had introduced him to the reporter just to get her off his own back. When Jake heard that the L.A. network affiliate was picking up the story, he knew chances were good that Anna Saunders would find out that Christopher was missing.

  As soon as he had left Carly’s, he checked in with the officer in charge of the search, demanding to know why in the hell they hadn’t brought in search dogs. He was told all available animals in the area had been transported to the Los Padres National Forest where three teenage hikers had been missing for two days.

  The man thought there would be more dogs flown in by morning. Jake refused to give in to a fear of statistics. This wasn’t L.A. The kids had run off, and as yet there was no reason to believe they’d been kidnapped. But out here there were an infinite number of places where they could be hiding and just as many ways they could get hurt.

  Climbing back into his SUV, he scanned the dark hillside directly above the town where the volunteer search-and-rescue team had fanned out, trying to cover too much open ground without enough manpower.

  Flashlight streams bobbed along, briefly illuminating the grassy slope as well as rocks, crevices, and low-growing brush.

  You’d be a real good dad, Jake.

  I’m learning to write stuff at school.

  Maybe I’ll draw a picture of you playing ball with me.

  We rund awaee.

  Jake leaned against the car window, watching search lights crawl over the hillside. Once darkness had settled in, rescue helicopters no longer swept the open terrain. Now it was up to exhausted, cold volunteers. Geoff Wilson was heading up a group combing the beaches. Glenn Potter had organized neighborhood watch captains into door-to-door searches.

  Restless, frustrated, Jake thought of all the people he’d been hired to locate, and it made him sick at heart to think he couldn’t find two little boys.

  He started the car, headed back toward Cabrillo Road. While crossing a two-lane bridge that spanned the dry creek bed, he remembered the day Chris had gotten turned around in the arroyo behind the rental house.

  What happened, Sport?

  I got mixed up, Jake.

  If you ever get lost again, just remember to stay calm and think about whether you want to go up or down.

  My house is up, away from the beach.

  My house.

  The one place they hadn’t thought to look. If Chris happened on the right stream bed, they just might have made it.

  Jake whipped the car into a U-turn, sped along Twilight’s deserted main thoroughfare. The area around his house hadn’t been thoroughly searched because it was farther from town and expert consensus was that two little boys couldn’t make it that far, especially in the dark. But if they followed the stream bed . . .

  He reached for his cell phone and started to hit the automatic dial for Carly’s number, then stopped. He wasn’t about to get her hopes up for no reason, so he snapped the phone off and tossed it on the seat beside him.

  When he reached the gravel driveway, he slowed down, parked, grabbed his phone before he got out, jogged up the front steps and across the porch.

  The house was dark and empty, just the way he’d left it. His footsteps echoed off the hollow walls as he walked past the cans of paint, rollers and pans stacked off to one side of the dining room. He turned on the overhead light in the living room and searched the first floor.

  There was no sign of the boys anywhere, so he went upstairs. His bedroom door was still closed. After taking a deep breath, he pushed it open, but the room was empty.

  He paced to the window, stared out at the night. Damn, but he’d wanted them to be there.

  Where in the hell are you?

  With a ragged sigh, he turned, shoved his fingers through his hair, and started out of the room, then stopped just short of the door when he realized the comforter on the inflatable mattress was missing.

  “Chris?” He walked over to the closet, opened the door, pulled the light chain. Empty.

  He pounded down the stairs, trying to think like a kid.

  “Chris? Matt?” Rounding the corner between the hall and the kitchen, he checked the pantry near the service porch again, then flipped on the light over the back door and stepped outside onto the deck.

  There, snuggled together close to the wall, hugging the comforter, Chris and Matt lay sound asleep. A crumpled Doritos bag and two empty Snapple bottles had been abandoned nearby.

  Jake knew he was smiling from ear to ear in the dark but didn’t care. He hunkered down beside the boys.

  Matt had fallen asleep with his thumb in his mouth. Muddy tear streaks stained his cheeks. Chris lay on his stomach, his head resting on his backpack, the comforter pulled up around his ears. Jake watched his own hand shake as he reached out to stroke the boy’s blond hair.

  Getting to his feet, Jake walked to the edge of the deck, leaned one hip against the railing, punched 911, and gave the local dispatcher his name, address, and the news that he’d found the boys.

  Then he called Carly.

  When he heard her voice, he imagined her in her living room surrounded by Selma, Joe, and Etta.

  “Jake? What, Jake?” She sounded too terrified to hope.

  “I found them, Carly. They’re fine.”

  There was silence on the other end, hollow, endless silence until he heard her sobbing. The next voice he heard was Joe Caron’s.

  “Where are they, Jake? We’ll bring Carly over.”

  “They’re asleep on the deck behind my house. I just called the police to let them know I’ve got them. They’re coming to pick up the boys and take them to the station. Bring Carly and meet us there.”

  “Want me to call the Potters?”

  “I imagine the police are on that right now, but double check. No one can ever have too much good news. I’ll see you at the station.”

  He hung up and pocketed his phone, then crossed the deck and sat down beside the sleeping boys. Gently, he laid his hand on Christopher’s shoulder and slowly shook him awake.

  Chris pushed up off the deck, rubbed his eyes and looked around.

  “Hey, Jake.”

  “Hi, Chris. You gave us all a pretty big scare.”

  The sound of their voices woke up Matt, who took one look at Jake and started bawling.

  “I didn’t want to do it. It was all his fau . . . fault.” Matt pointed at Chris as he continued to wail.

  “Baby.” Chris
mumbled and rolled his eyes. “We were okay the whole time, Jake. I remembered what you said about following the creek.” Then he whispered, “Am I in trouble?”

  “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

  “What about Mom?”

  “She’s going to meet us at the police station.”

  “Police station?” Matt started howling.

  “She’s mad, huh?” Chris ducked his head sheepishly.

  “I think sad is a better word for it. You scared her, Chris. You two scared everybody in town.”

  Chris’ lower lip began to tremble, but he stubbornly threw back his shoulders. His chin jutted in defiance, reminding Jake of Carly.

  “Well, she scared me, too. I don’t want to move, Jake. I heard you and her talking about moving.”

  “You didn’t stick around to hear the part where she said that she would never make you move if you didn’t want to. Running away doesn’t solve anything.” Jake thought of how Carly had been running half her life. “It only makes things worse. I’m sure she’ll explain when you get home. Right now, let’s get you cleaned up and see if we can’t get Matt to stop crying.”

  He carried the comforter and backpack as he followed the runaways into the kitchen. It took half a roll of paper towels to make them somewhat presentable again. Matt didn’t stop crying until Jake promised to tell his parents not to put him on restriction forever.

  Jake was about to pour them both a glass of milk when the whine of sirens split the air. Matt started sniffing. Chris took Jake’s hand and pressed close to his leg.

  “You’re going to get to ride in a police car.” As he shouldered the small backpack Jake wished he could take Chris straight home to Carly’s arms.

  Then he reached down for Matt’s hand, and leading both boys through the house, he met the officers waiting on his front porch.

  41

  CHRIS SAT BELTED IN THE BACKSEAT OF THE POLICE CAR wishing he could enjoy the ride, but he was too worried about what his mom and the Potters were going to do when they saw him.