She left them standing there and ran toward the wooded area behind the house. If she had to search all thirty acres foot by foot, that was what she would do. Time passed; how much she couldn't calculate. Still no Davy, and not much left of Sarah. She was exhausted from all the walking, her voice down to a hoarse whisper from the shouting. She had not yet broken down completely, but she would very soon if her child was not found.
Jem Kelling was doing what he could. He brought his niece a small tot of whiskey and stood over her while she sipped it. He linked his arm in hers and tried to persuade her to go in the house. Miriam and Ira had joined the search; Miriam in her jeans and sturdy walking boots was as tough as any man, especially when her nephew was in danger. Jofferty had come, bringing two of his best men; they were scouring the woods.
Sarah shook her head and handed the glass to him. “I can't sit still, Uncle Jem. It's time Davy's father found out about this. See if you can locate him. Maybe he's on his way home. If he isn't, he'd damned well better be. Call Brooks. Call Theonia. Ask her … Never mind, just find Max. I'll come in soon, I promise.”
She had been over and over every last inch of the house, outside and in. She'd been down on the beach with field glasses, hating to go, dreading what she might find, and mercifully not finding it. But there was one place she hadn't looked—the Vickery house, the one place that had always been taboo to Sarah Kelling. Why hadn't she thought of it before? Because of the taboo, or the unlikelihood of Davy breaking the strictest rule of all—don't cross the road?
Sarah crossed the road at a dead run and plunged into the narrow opening between the brambly bushes.
The driveway had once been paved, but there wasn't much left of the asphalt now, only broken chunks between the deep ruts trucks had cut through the dirt. Untrimmed trees and shrubs crowded in on either side. Would a three-year-old go this far, into this scary place? He'd been nagging her about visiting the balloon lady, but she found it hard to believe he would wantonly disobey her.
She began calling him again. Between calling and running she was fairly out of breath by the time she came out onto a roughly clipped lawn. The old house was like something out of a horror movie. Shingles and clapboards had been ripped off or let fall, rubbishy remains of furniture had been dragged out on the porch and left: to rot, providing a sanctuary for rats, mice, bats, squirrels, voles, and other local fauna. A pile of firewood had been dumped haphazardly next to the rotting steps. As for what might once have been a lawn, it was burdocks everywhere: the misleading kind that looked rather handsome on the stalks but fastened themselves in clumps to people's clothes and animals' fur with myriad tiny hooks, and refused to let go.
Sarah took a deep breath and screamed at the top of her lungs, “Davy! Davy, are you there?”
The form that appeared was definitely not that of her son. Didn't the woman have anything to wear except an aeronaut suit and a tatty purple jogging outfit? Sarah wondered hysterically.
“Why, Mrs. Bittersohn,” Calpurnia exclaimed. “How kind of you to call. I'm afraid the place isn't looking at its best, but we hope to get it back in shape before long, so perhaps you could come by another time. After I've purchased a teakettle.”
“Is my son here?”
“What on earth would he be doing here?”
Sarah was past caring about good manners. “Miss Zickery, you must have heard us calling, not to mention the sirens when the police arrived. My little boy is missing. He was fascinated by your balloon, and I thought he might have come to see it. We've looked everywhere else—”
Her voice broke, but she cleared her throat and went doggedly on. “He might have crept into the house without your seeing him, and fallen asleep. I hope you don't mind my searching the place, because I mean to do it whether you mind or not, and if you don't help me, there are a dozen people just across the road who will”
“Dear me.” Calpurnia looked a trifle alarmed. “I certainly don't want a mob of strangers seeing how run-down the poor old place has become. You just wait there, Mrs. Bittersohn, while I have a look around.”
Naturally Sarah did nothing of the kind. The splintery porch steps were a hazard in themselves, but she was right on Callie's heels and she was the first to spot the small bundle curled up on a battered chaise longue in the corner of the room. She snatched him up. He was sleeping so soundly he scarcely stirred, but he was warm and breathing and alive. She turned like a mother tiger on Calpurnia Vickery.
“You've had him with you all this time? And you didn't even let me know?”
“I didn't know he was here, Mrs. Bittersohn. We seldom use this room or the front door.” Calpurnia looked uneasily over her shoulder. “You'd better go now.”
“Yes, of course.” Sarah began backing toward the door. She could hardly wait to get out of the horrible room. It was no wonder the Vickerys didn't use it. It smelled like a moldy cellar, cobwebs swathed the walls, and the chaise longue was the only piece of furniture. “I'm sorry. Thank you. I know I must sound insane, but he's our only child, you see, and we love him so much.”
She was out in the daylight at last, trying not to stumble on the splintered boards or the broken steps. Then Calpurnia let out a yelp, and Sarah turned to see a figure out of nightmare burst through the door. He was draped in cobwebs like an animated mummy, and his eyes were bulging.
“A kid! A damned kid! I told you, Callie, I don't want any kids around here!”
“No!” This time Calpurnia did the screaming. “Allie, don't do it! They'll catch you this time, I know they will. You'll be shoved in a padded cell and you'll blame it on me. But I'll fight back this time, I've had enough!”
“You've had enough? I warned you, Callie, I won't take this any longer. Get out of here, Mrs. Bittersohn or Kelling or whatever your name is, and take the brat with you.”
Sarah was already on her way. She ventured one quick glance over her shoulder and almost fainted when she saw Alister closing in on her. He was brandishing a big chunk of firewood.
Davy had grown during the summer; Sarah forgot that she was too exhausted to carry a kitten, much less a sturdy three-year-old. From somewhere inside her, she found strength enough to keep ahead of the maniac, but it couldn't last. He was closing in, waving the chunk of wood, yelling at her to go away, get out. In a matter of moments, she and Davy would both be dead. Where was Jesse? Where were the others?
Calpurnia's shrieks rose over the breathless curses of her brother. “Don't worry, Mrs. Bittersohn. I'll save you!”
Sarah fled to her own side of the road, still carrying Davy. And there, finally, thank God, was Jesse, coming full tilt down the driveway, with Jem and Egbert puffing along behind him. Sarah's legs and lungs gave way. She dropped to her knees, clutching Davy, and turned her head. There was Allie, standing still, some distance away, and there, across the road was Callie pointing at her brother. Pointing … My God, Sarah thought, she's got a gun! Callie fired one shot and then another. Her brother fell to the ground and lay still.
Sarah held the child closer. He was still too sleepy to know what had happened, she thought, and thank heaven for that. Jesse had stopped and was staring at the motionless form on the ground. “Aunt Sarah! You okay? Is Davy …”
“Safe,” Sarah panted. “He's safe. Thanks to her.”
Calpurnia stood over her brother's body, looking down at him. She tucked the pistol into her pocket and turned to Sarah.
“I do apologize for the mess, Mrs. Bittersohn. Since there is no telephone in my house, would you mind phoning the local police to come and get my brother? Here is fifty-five cents to cover the cost of the telephone call.”
Sarah had just enough strength left to carry her son up to his bedroom and get him changed into his pajamas. Jesse tried to take him, but Sarah wouldn't let go, so Jesse went off to tell the searchers that they could call off the hunt. Egbert or Jem would have been more than ready to attend to Davy, but Sarah couldn't bear to let him out of her sight and touch, not even for a moment. The spo
nge bath she gave him roused him, and Sarah almost wept with relief when he demanded food, a story, and the pajamas with tigers on them.
Egbert rushed off to prepare a tray with a small bowl of milk toast, a tangerine already sectioned, a few grapes on their stem, and a couple of graham crackers to feed Davy's playmate the alligator. While he ate, Sarah sat on the side of his bed, stroking his hair and crooning a silly little song about a mouse and a friendly kitten that her first governess had taught her. Sarah couldn't even remember her name; but the simple ditty had stayed with her all this time, almost entirely forgotten but still here when it was needed. Thank God Davy hadn't had time to become aware of what he and his mother had come within a mouse's whisker of experiencing, what that hideous twin brother of Calpurnia Zickery's had tried to do. He could so easily have killed them both with one heavy blow. Instead he'd wound up with his sister's bullets in his head.
Calpurnia had sacrificed her own flesh and blood for a mother and child she'd barely known. She must have loved her brother, though the hysterical accusations she had hurled at him strongly suggested he had a history of bizarre behavior. Clearly she'd been in a state of shock after shooting him, and who could blame her? And how could Sarah Kelling Bittersohn ever repay that odd-looking woman in her grubby purple jogging suit? Sarah fed Davy milk toast from the tip of his spoon until he turned his head away, coaxed him to eat a segment or two of the tangerine and half a grape, and kissed him good night though he was already asleep. She finished what was left of her son's supper and lay down beside him on the lions-and-tigers quilt. There were voices downstairs, people talking, and somebody singing—Uncle Jem, of course. Something was going on; she didn't know what it was and she didn't care. The only thing that mattered was having Davy back.
She didn't mean to go to sleep, but she was worn out with worry and chasing around. When she woke it was dark outside. Sarah sat up and rubbed her eyes. How long had she slept? Not long, she hoped. There were things she had to do. The police would want to talk to her. They'd come and removed the Zickerys dead and alive, she supposed. Had they put Calpurnia in jail? She must tell the police that Calpurnia had saved her and Davy. Jesse must have told them, but he hadn't realized how dire the danger had been. Calpurnia was a heroine, not a murderess.
Davy was sleeping sweetly, breathing normally. His forehead was cool. He was all right. She switched on the nightlight, made sure the window was locked, and borrowed Davy's comb in order to smooth her hair. Her face was pale and her eyes were heavy, but what did she care? She left his door open and went downstairs.
They were all in the kitchen; she could hear them talking in low voices—Ira and Miriam, Jem and Egbert—and surely that was Brooks? He'd rallied around, bless him. Theonia must be there, too. Sarah hoped she'd brought one of her stupendous coffee cakes or a basket of biscuits. She was starved. No wonder, after all that running around and nothing since breakfast except a peanut-butter sandwich. She was about to push open the swinging door when she heard something that froze her in her tracks.
“Should we tell her?”
“We'll have to,” Jem said heavily.
Sarah shoved at the door. “Its Max, isn't it? What's happened to him?”
16
“Nothing” Brooks jumped up. “We just can't find him. Come and sit down, Sarah, before you fall down.”
“I'm not going to fall down, and I'm not going to faint.” Sarah pushed his arm away and took the chair Ira was holding for her. “I am awfully hungry, though. Is there anything to eat?”
When Miriam Rivkin was around there was always something to eat. She'd snatched up a pot of her made-from-scratch minestrone and brought it along, knowing there's nothing like hot soup on a chilly day when people's stomachs are tied in knots. There were popovers left from breakfast, and applesauce, and Theonie's diet-destroying double fudge pecan rum cake. Sarah ate her way steadily through it all without tasting anything. She'd have devoured pickles if that was all there was, since keeping up her strength was the main consideration.
“That telephone call didn't come from Mr. Upthorn, Sarah. He knew nothing about it.”
Sarah nodded. “I didn't recognize his secretary's voice. I assumed he must be new, that Miss Wilson had retired.”
“Perfectly reasonable,” Brooks said. “Max had no reason to suspect anything, either. He never made it to the airport. He wasn't on the plane and his car isn't in the parking lot. The police are looking for it, but…”
“Poor Sergeant Jofferty.” Sarah put a bite of something in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “He must be sick of us and our troubles.”
“He's doing everything he can,” Brooks assured her. “And Jesse's searching the byways and side roads. We're assuming Max was waylaid somewhere between here and the highway. It wouldn't be easy to intercept him in the middle of a lot of traffic without being noticed.”
“It wouldn't be difficult to run him off the road and cause an accident,” Sarah said steadily.
“There wasn't an accident,” Ira said. “Well, there were several accidents, there always are, but Max wasn't involved in any of them. That was the first thing the police checked.”
Miriam cleared her throat. “He hasn't taken it into his head to go off on some job without telling you, has he? You know Max, here today and off to Kamchatka tomorrow.”
“He wouldn't do that, not without telling me.” A faint hope stirred. “Have you looked for a note and checked the voice mail?”
“We did,” Brooks said. “It seemed unlikely, but there was always a possibility that he'd come across something that had to be followed up without delay. It's still a possibility, Sarah. We may hear from him yet.”
Miriam got up and refilled Sarah's soup bowl from the pot simmering on the stove. Sarah shook her head. “No thanks, Miriam, it's a shame to waste your wonderful soup; my taste buds are paralyzed just now.”
“You've got to keep your strength up.” Miriams black eyes snapped. “When I get my hands on that brother of mine…!”
She looked so like Max that Sarah's hard-won calm almost cracked. “When you get your hands on him you'll hug him to death. Don't pretend you're not worried, and don't bother inventing comforting theories in order to cheer me up. I'm all right. I may crack right down the middle when this is over, but I have to hold myself together now, for Davy's sake and for Max's. I'd love to believe he saw something suspicious and had to follow it up without taking the time to call me, but I can't. He has a car phone, remember?”
They had remembered. They were all hoping she hadn't. Sarah went on, “Then there's the call that was supposed to be from Upthorn. It was a fake, so it must have been meant to lead Max into some sort of trap. Any number of people could have known that Mr. Upthorn was one of our clients. The Artemesia Gentilischi transaction was even featured on television because it was such a peculiar business, and Mr. Upthorn gushed all over the newspapers about how wonderfully clever Max was. Which he was.”
Sarah grabbed her napkin and dabbed at her eyes.
“Now, Sarah, don't you go soppy on us,” Jem Kelling muttered. “You know better than I do how many close calls Max has had, but he always comes up smiling. Or swearing, if the occasion calls for it.”
Presiding at the head of the table in queenly dignity, Theonia brushed a few crumbs from her magnificent bosom. “He's not dead, Sarah. I'd know.”
“Do you know where he is? Can you find out?”
Slowly and regretfully Theonia shook her head. “I've tried, dear, and I'll keep trying. Something's blocking me. All I can see is those rubies. Where are they now?”
“Still in the safe,” Sarah answered. “Do you think there's some connection?”
“Has to be,” Brooks said. “This whole business began with the reappearance of the rubies. The only way one can explain the presence of Jem's burglarious acquaintance is that he was after the jewels. He failed, and now he's safely tucked away in jail, but that doesn't mean the people who hired him have given up. Breaking into this
place would be dangerous and almost certainly futile, so they decided to try another tack. I predict we will receive a ransom note offering to return Max in exchange for the parure.”
It was the most hopeful theory anyone had yet proposed. “Makes sense,” Ira rumbled. His wife nodded vigorously.
Jem poured another martini from the pitcher at his elbow. “Try to get some sleep, Sarah,” he suggested. “We'll hold the fort.”
“No, there's something else.” Sarah pressed her hands to her aching head. “Calpurnia. What have they done with her? I want to tell Sergeant Jofferty what happened.”
“He said he'd take your statement in the morning,” Jem assured her. “We all saw what happened. Jesse was first among the foremost, so he had a better view than Egbert and me. It was obvious that she fired in order to save you and Davy, and that's what we told Jofferty. He had to take her in, of course, but there'll be a hearing tomorrow and I'm sure the judge won't set bail too high when he hears the circumstances.”
“I don't care how much it is, I'll post it or sign it, or whatever is necessary. Miriam, can you get Uncle Jake to represent her?”
“Sure, honey. We all feel the same. Don't worry, well take care of it. Now you just run along upstairs and get some rest. Everything will look better in the morning.”
Egbert, the perfect manservant, had been pottering at the sink. Now he turned to Sarah with a glass filled to the brim with a creamy liquid that smelled finely of freshly grated nutmeg.
“Just drink this down, Mrs. Sarah. There's nothing like fresh eggnog to settle the stomach and soothe the nerves. Mr. Jem always sleeps like a baby after one of my eggnogs.”
Sarah didn't want the eggnog, but he seemed so anxious to do something for her, and she wouldn't have hurt his feelings for the world. She still couldn't taste anything, so she choked the liquid down to the last drop while Egbert stood over her like an amiable gnome. Theonia rose in all her majesty, black velvet billowing, and put a plump white arm around Sarah. “Come along, dear,” she cooed, “I'll tuck you in.”
The Balloon Man Page 14
