Disorderly Conduct

by Mary Feliz

She sniffed. “I think so.”

  “I won’t tell anyone about our conversation, as long as you contact Paolo within the next twenty-four hours. But if you don’t, I will report you to the chief of the Orchard View Police Force. What you did comes with criminal penalties.”

  Rebecca, to her credit, sat up straight, squared her shoulders, and looked me in the eye. “I’ll call him right now.”

  I stood, smoothed my T-shirt, and nodded. “Good.” I turned and stepped off the porch, heading toward my car. I’d completed my mission. But then I paused and turned. “Rebecca?”

  Her shoulders shook with tears, but she looked up.

  “Take a shower first. Put on clean clothes. Make your bed. The new you starts now. You can leave a message for Paolo outside regular work hours, but don’t delay too long. Fixing this will make you feel better.” She nodded, and I turned away but called to her again when I reached the car.

  “I’m sorry something has happened that has made you so angry. Eventually, you’re going to have to deal with that problem too. If you need help, get it. But don’t let it define you. Don’t let this mistake define you. You’ve got a mess to clean up, that’s certain. Try to let your efforts to fix the problem become the new Rebecca.”

  Finally, I felt like I’d finished what I’d set out to do this morning. Whatever happened to Rebecca, I’d lightened my load and lifted some of the pressure from Tess, Teddy, and everyone who cared for them.

  As I pulled out of the driveway, I sent up a little prayer, or a wish. I hoped that Rebecca would have time to do what needed to be done before Pauline got wind of her daughter’s crimes or her plan to repair the damage. If I knew Pauline, she’d try to explain the problem away and help her daughter dodge the consequences. And that wouldn’t do anyone any good. For the first time, I wondered if there was a Mr. Windsor, and if so, whether he was the kind of dad who could provide his daughter with a moral compass.

  But my work was done. For now.

  On my way back to the house, I stopped by the grocery for a quick resupply of necessary items, I looked forward to getting home, taking a quick shower, and getting caught up with the kids.

  After unlocking the kitchen door and putting two heavy sacks of food on the table, I called to the boys for help bringing in the remaining groceries. Holmes and Watson snaked around my ankles meowing for food, but there was no accompanying sound of the dogs’ toenails scrambling down the back stairs and no calls of greeting from the boys. Assuming they were down in the barn, I went outside to grab the last load of groceries from the car, calling down the hill. But I heard nothing in response, and no sounds to indicate that they’d had trouble hearing me over whatever it was they might be up to.

  Figuring they must be out for a walk with the dogs, I stashed the perishables in the fridge and the freezer as quickly as I could, pulled the chili out to thaw, and checked to see that we had enough ice for a party. Everyone who was coming tonight was a regular in our house, so setting up for the gathering was routine. Time for that shower.

  I washed my hair twice in scalding water to remove the soot and the persistent feeling of having become soiled in probing the lives of my neighbors. I dialed down the temperature to soothe my irritated skin. For the next few minutes, I thought I could almost hear my skin slurping up the moisture.

  I was drying my hair when my phone erupted with a series of chirps, telling me I had messages from my weather app, texts, emails, and voice mails. It’s the way life works. I’d spent the morning leaving messages without any response. But then I stepped into the shower for ten...or maybe twenty luxurious, self-indulgent minutes, and the world demanded my attention.

  I flicked through the messages. They included the same fire news I’d heard on the radio and RSVPs from everyone I’d invited to dinner. A local update with more detail than the one from the weather service showed that various areas of the hills were still under mandatory evacuation. Others, like our neighborhood, were deemed relatively safe, but everyone was cautioned to pay attention to shifts in the weather, to the warnings, and to our emergency preparedness. That text included phone numbers to call for more information, including services for those who needed help evacuating. I sniffed the air, wondering if the smoke I smelled was residual from the earlier burn or a sign that increased winds had coaxed the fire to jump its containment lines. I couldn’t shake the edgy feeling that disaster was again stalking us, just out of sight.

  Then a text message came through from Max:

  Heard from boys? I’ve been texting all day. No response. What’s up? Wondering if they want to do Baylands run this evening. Cooler, cleaner air.

  What had been a small hint of worry blossomed into a nagging fear. Where were the boys? It wasn’t like them to go anywhere without leaving a note, though I had enough experience with grief to know that a death in the family can disrupt everyone’s thinking and their ability to follow long-engrained practices, like some of our family rules: Leave a note or text when you leave home. Return parental texts immediately. The principal at Brian’s middle school, April Chen, shortened the rule for easy consumption by young teens with short attention spans: If they’re worried, you’re toast.

  So, no note. But no dogs, either. The boys weren’t here, and they weren’t close by, or the dogs would have heard me calling earlier and brought everyone home.

  I looked for clues. Their cereal bowls were in the dishwasher, which was nearly as unusual as no note. No food left out, crumbs on the table, or plates in the sink meant they’d either left after a late breakfast, or taken food upstairs to play video games. Food upstairs was unlikely. We didn’t have a rule against it, but it wasn’t a habit we encouraged. I dashed back up the stairwell to our spare room/den where we kept our TV and the online gaming paraphernalia. The room was relatively clean and tidy, which told me they hadn’t been playing in here today. So where? I thought for a moment, and my heart sank. They’d been so keen to go on their backpacking trip. Could they have ignored our prohibitions against the overnight hike and set off anyway? I flew up the attic stairs and leaned against the wall, breathing hard when I spotted their rolled-up sleeping bags and backpacks scattered around the upstairs hallway, partially packed. My faith in my children and their judgment was restored, but my fear for their whereabouts grew. I glanced out the attic window to the barn, but couldn’t see their bicycles. I doubted they would have taken them anywhere. Normally, conditions were perfect in our hills for both road biking and mountain biking. World-class athletes, avid amateurs, and recreational cyclists all frequented both streets and trails. And, of course, like teens anywhere who didn’t yet drive, bicycles were our kids’ preferred mode of transportation. But the air-quality was still dreadful from the fires and as far as I knew, Max hadn’t brought Teddy’s road bike up the hill. It was worth checking. I shot off a text to Max:

  Still checking on whereabouts of boys. Did you and the boys pack Teddy’s bike? If not, can you bring it up tonight?

  My whole family laughed at my texting skills. I was a slow typist. My sentences were too long, and I used too much punctuation. I laughed along with them. Texting wasn’t a skill I felt I needed to practice. Nor did I desire to converse like a fifteen-year-old regardless of the communication medium.

  I checked the laundry, the floors of their rooms, and the pile of shoes by the back door in an attempt to figure out what sort of gear they’d taken with them. I gathered an inconclusive mass of information. Their track clothes and the trail running shoes they normally wore to cushion their feet from rocks and protect their ankles on the deep ruts were still covered by soot from yesterday’s excursion and parked by the door. Pool towels and board shorts hung on the line outside, equally covered by soot, which precluded a last-minute invitation to a neighbor’s pool. The nearest community pool was closed for the duration of the fire emergency.

  I texted them again, then phoned, listening for text alerts and ringtones. Nothin
g. Could the stress of the past few days have caused them to allow their phones to run out of charge? Ridiculous. Their phones were their lifelines. While Max and I frequently found ourselves holding dead or dying phones, the kids had grown up with the habit of recharging their electronic gear and were more consistent with that chore than they were about brushing their teeth. They even owned backup chargers they carried with them, just in case.

  My anxiety climbed. I’d exhausted my ideas. It was time to enlist help. Using the same group list I’d used to invite our friends to dinner, I broadcast a message that I hoped set the right tone—mildly alarmed, eager to be reassured, but not yet freaking out:

  Teddy, Brian, David not checking in. Out somewhere with dogs. Are they helping you? Do you know where they are?

  Jason was the first to phone back. “I don’t like this, Maggie. I’ve already alerted my troops and nearby jurisdictions.”

  Chapter 24

  Expect the unexpected. Even if you’re familiar with the area in which you’re hiking, be aware that unexpected detours due to washed-out trails or roaming wildlife may require you to rethink your route. Plan accordingly with a map or GPS system.

  From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald

  Simplicity Itself Organizing Services

  Wednesday, August 9, Afternoon

  “It’s not like your boys to take off without letting folks know where they are, especially now.” Jason said. “You’re their connection to safety and security. With the fire, and Patrick’s death, and Tess being in jail, they wouldn’t risk breaking the rules or even stretching them.”

  “So, what do we do?”

  “I’ll send out an alert.”

  I gasped, thinking he meant an Amber Alert for a missing child. It was a term I associated with abduction and grave risk to a minor.

  “Sorry. Poor choice of words. I’ll let my officers know we’re looking for them. I’ll let the rangers and firefighters and the sheriff’s office know, too. The boys didn’t leave a note, which, unless they’ve got some kind of teenaged brain fade going on, means they weren’t planning to be gone long. That puts them in the fire areas, which means they are officially at risk.”

  My throat clenched, and I could think of nothing to say. My brain went from sane to frantic in only a few seconds, and horrific images raced through my mind.

  “Don’t panic, Maggie. I’m sure nothing’s wrong. We’ll find them quickly. If we don’t, an Amber Alert would be appropriate because of the fire danger. But we’re not there yet. Do you know what they’re wearing?”

  I shook my head, then remembered Jason couldn’t see me. “I don’t. Probably shorts and T-shirts, but I don’t know for sure.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “They have the dogs with them. Mozart and Belle.”

  “Even better. The dogs will protect them if necessary, and make them easier to identify. I’ll hang up so you can pick up your calls from everyone else you texted. That was another smart move. Contact me if you hear from them.”

  Before I could thank him, Jason ended the call. I checked and saw that I had several messages.

  From Elaine:

  Haven’t heard from them. Max called me. I’m coming up now with Teddy’s bike. Tell him cats are doing well. Will alert April Chen.

  April was the principal at the middle school and another friend of the family. If the kids were at loose ends, she was another person they might have sought out. And she would have been happy to put them to work at school with any number of maintenance chores.

  From Max:

  I’m running the Find iPhone app.

  Like many families of teenagers, we had mixed emotions on the myriad of child-stalking apps available. If our ultimate goal was to raise strong, independent kids, we reasoned, was it right to stalk them? Did that say we trusted neither their judgment nor their skills? Weren’t they entitled to at least the illusion of privacy? Was using an app a safety precaution or an overreach worthy of a helicopter parent? We’d asked the boys for their feelings on the matter. Predictably, they were horrified to think that we’d be able to pinpoint their location 24/7. So, we compromised. We installed the apps on everyone’s phones, and we established a new rule. Every call or text from a family member had to be answered within five minutes. If a response didn’t arrive, we were allowed and encouraged to activate the location app. So far, we hadn’t used it, and I’d forgotten I had the capability. It terrified me that we were in this spot. If one kid didn’t answer, that was worrisome. But we had three boys missing, and none of them had responded to texts. The implications were horrifying.

  By the time Elaine arrived, I’d called a few of Brian and David’s friends. Max had sent a text blast to the cross-country team. The few parents I reached wanted to hear about Tess. My heart raced as I fended off their questions and focused on clues to the kids’ whereabouts. Most local families were out of town for summer vacation trips, and no one I reached had seen the boys or knew where they might be. Everyone assured me they’d keep an eye out and call with any news.

  I hugged Elaine and then apologized. I was covered with sweat and smelled of fear. My reserves of equanimity had been low following Patrick’s death, and now they were nonexistent. Elaine took my phone and texted Max to come home. He texted back that he was already on his way, though stuck in traffic.

  Max and Stephen arrived simultaneously, and entered the kitchen with eager expressions as if convinced I’d have great news for them. Stephen had brought Munchkin, his mastiff sidekick, whose downtrodden and devastated expression matched that of Max and Stephen’s as soon as they learned the boys were still missing.

  Stephen kissed my cheek. “Can I look around? See if there are any clues you missed?”

  I agreed immediately. “The more I worried, the less effective my searching became. Have at it.” Stephen’s preretirement experiences with the marines included law enforcement responsibilities. Both he and Munchkin had a search-and-rescue background. He also had an able group of veterans willing to help out at a moment’s notice whenever people were in danger. I hadn’t met them, at least not for more than a second or two. Wounds they’d sustained in America’s multiple wars had made them shy away from strangers, but hadn’t put a dent in their need to serve. One, named Rocket, had helped protect us a few months earlier when Ketifa and a friend were stalked by a dangerous ex-boyfriend.

  Munchkin sniffed around under the table, then at Belle and Mozart’s food dishes, and then near the hook where we kept their leashes. He sat at the back door, whined, and scratched gently, then glanced over his shoulder toward Stephen and sat, returning his attention to the door. “Munchkin’s weighed in. Let me see what I can do,” Stephen said.

  He examined the pile of shoes near the back door, nudging them a little with his foot as if taking inventory. He nodded, then scanned the row of coats, jackets, and sweatshirts hanging on the kitchen hooks. Like me, he glanced in the sink and dishwasher, and then in the fridge. “They’ve been gone awhile,” he said without turning around. He lifted the milk and orange juice cartons as if assessing their weight. “Otherwise they’d have cleaned you out.”

  Max smiled briefly, but his face was lined with tension and fear. His hand gripped mine, hard.

  Stephen closed the refrigerator door and opened the freezer compartment. The rasping sound of scraping ice crystals affected me like fingernails on a blackboard as he sorted through the few frozen items that had survived the unexpected power outage and thaw during the evacuation. It seemed so long ago. And Stephen’s progress seemed so slow and deliberate that I wanted to scream. Until he turned and held up one of the small yellow pads we used for grocery lists and notes to one another. Moisture had smudged the note, but it was still legible.

  “Out for a run with the dogs,” Stephen read aloud. “Will stay away from fire areas. Back soon.”

  I sighed with relief, though I felt fooli
sh for having missed it when I’d put away the groceries. I guessed my inattentiveness showed how many routine household chores I performed on autopilot. We hadn’t found our missing children, but at least we knew they’d left under their own steam. We’d narrowed down the area we’d need to search. I hadn’t realized I’d feared they’d been abducted, perhaps by the same person or persons responsible for Patrick’s death. But I must have subconsciously been sure that’s what had happened, or I wouldn’t have found myself so relieved now.

  “How did you know where to look?” Max asked.

  Stephen grinned. “I didn’t. But I should have. Isn’t that the cliché? That people under stress put their cereal in the fridge and the milk in the cupboard? Keys in the vegetable crisper?”

  I shook my head. “I was looking for clues in the usual places. Looking for things in unlikely locations makes more sense.”

  Munchkin whined.

  “In a minute, Munch,” Stephen said, turning to Max and me. “Do you have their computers?”

  Max rubbed his chin, looking confused, but I knew at once what Stephen was getting at. I ran up the back stairs two at a time, and came back with two laptops. David’s was covered with stickers from musical groups he followed. Brian’s was pristine with a red plastic protective cover. “If we look at their browser history, we can see whether they consulted any maps that could pinpoint their location,” I said, breathless from my run and swirling emotions.

  I handed both computers to Max, who was adept at making any electronic device cough up what it hid from the less tech-savvy, like me. Max opened David’s laptop. “He would have taken the lead on deciding where to run.” Max spoke mostly to himself. His knee jiggled. He gritted his teeth. His fingers typed so quickly the sound of each tap melded with the next to create a single sound. I held my breath and tried to refrain from unnecessary pleas for him to hurry. There was no one better at squeezing information from a computer, and no one more motivated.