It Only Takes a Moment

by Mary Jane Clark

  Eliza nodded and accepted the phone from him. She walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

  “I’m so sorry, Eliza. To have your hopes raised like that is really terrible.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “You’re right, I don’t.”

  Leaning against the wall, Eliza slid down to the floor and pulled her knees to her chest. She pounded her fist on the tile floor. “Damn it, who are these people and why have they invaded my life like this? How are we going to find them?”

  “Let the FBI and the police do their jobs, Eliza. That’s what they’re trained to do.”

  “They aren’t infallible, Annabelle. And honestly, I don’t think I should leave it entirely in their hands.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Annabelle.

  “You know the psychic I told you about?”

  “Yeah, what about her?”

  “She was back this morning and she told me that the kidnappers had not sent a ransom demand. When Stephanie said that, I thought it showed she really wasn’t tuned in to anything, because we had gotten a ransom note. But, now, I’m thinking she was right because the ransom demand wasn’t from the real kidnappers.”

  “Oh, Eliza.” Annabelle’s voice was soothing. “I don’t think you should be putting faith in that woman, I really don’t.”

  “She said she dreamed that Janie was near water,” said Eliza.

  “That’s a pretty broad category,” said Annabelle. “Pretty much everybody is near some kind of water. I’m holding a bottle of it in my hand right now.”

  “Moving or rushing water, Annabelle.”

  “Still a wide category. Near a beach, near a river, near a waterfall, near a fountain?”

  “And the letter M,” Eliza continued, ignoring Annabelle’s skepticism. “Stephanie sees the letter M figuring prominently.”

  “Manhattan?” asked Annabelle. “That’s where you work every day. It could be Musquapsink—after all, that’s where Janie was taken. Or maybe it’s Mackinac, Michigan. That has two Ms and it has water, too.”

  “I see what you mean,” said Eliza, suddenly embarrassed to mention Stephanie’s bridal veil vision. “Still, I just have a feeling that Stephanie knows what she’s talking about.” Eliza felt for the zodiac medallion in her pocket and hoped that Stephanie could somehow lead them to Janie and Mrs. Garcia.

  CHAPTER 90

  In the early afternoon, the figure in the Olive Oyl mask came in with a tray and laid it on the table. She leaned forward and shook Janie’s arm.

  “Come on. You’ve got to get up and eat something,” she said. “You’ve been sleeping since you got home from the Urgentcare last night.”

  Janie opened her eyes, looked at the grotesque mask, and closed them tight again.

  The woman put her hand on the child’s forehead. “You’re still hot,” she said. “Wait here while I go get the thermometer.”

  Janie waited until she heard the footsteps leave the room, then she opened her eyes. She got up and went to the television and switched it on, keeping the sound low. She hoped she would see Mommy again, like she had early this morning before the bad people woke up. She had turned on the television and had seen her mommy talking to her, telling her she was coming to get her. Mommy said it again and again as Janie changed channels on all the morning news shows.

  Yet as much as she was relieved to see Mommy, Janie was worried more than ever. The people on the television said that Mommy and the police weren’t having any luck in finding her and Mrs. Garcia. Why did they look in Kentucky? They should be looking here. But Janie didn’t even know where here was.

  Maybe Daisy can help Mommy. Maybe Daisy can use her nose and follow the trail to find me and Mrs. Garcia.

  CHAPTER 91

  Throughout the morning, people wandered into the community room at St. Luke’s Catholic Church in Ho-Ho-Kus, New Jersey, as word spread about the volunteer center being set up there. By lunchtime, the crowd was so large that the pastor of the church offered the use of the gymnasium at the neighboring school as well. He also lent a fax machine and a copier and gave his permission for coffee and doughnuts to be served in the school cafeteria.

  Susan Feeney stood in the middle of the community room, clipboard in hand, taking names, addresses, and phone numbers and gradually giving the volunteers assignments. Several offered to bring in their laptop computers. Many agreed to put up flyers. Others said that, when the time came, they wanted to be part of any search party.

  Having spent much of the night on the Internet, reading about missing children and suggestions on what should be done to recover them, Susan had learned that it could do some good to have the media aware of a volunteer center. She sent one of the volunteers over to Saddle Ridge Road to alert the news people staked out in front of Eliza’s house. Within the hour, five news crews, eager for any fresh video elements, showed up to record what was happening.

  Susan found microphones being thrust in her face. She answered the questions about what the volunteer center planned to do the best she could and assured them that she would make the flyers available to them. She also announced that a candlelight vigil was going to be held that night.

  As the news people began to straggle out, one of them lingered to introduce herself. “I’m Annabelle Murphy, a producer at KEY News and a good friend of Eliza’s. I just wanted to thank you for all you are doing.”

  Susan extended her hand. “No reason to thank me,” she said. “I wish I could do more, but this is all I can think of. I still feel so guilty that I didn’t make it a point to get that license plate.”

  Annabelle made the connection. “Ah, so you’re the neighbor who saw the van.”

  “Guilty,” said Susan. “Every time anyone from the media has rung my doorbell over the last few days, I’ve either not answered or I’ve made my husband get it. I just couldn’t face them. I’m only talking about it to you now because you’re a friend of Eliza’s.”

  “And you live across the street from her?” asked Annabelle.

  “Across the street and down a ways,” said Susan.

  “You wouldn’t want to talk about what you saw that morning now, for the camera, would you?”

  Susan looked uncomfortable. “No. Not really.”

  “It might be helpful to other people,” Annabelle urged. “Make them realize that they should pay attention to anything that seems out of the ordinary in their neighborhoods.”

  “Well,” Susan said, wavering. “Maybe something positive could come out of my mistake.”

  “Great,” said Annabelle, waving at B.J. to come over. As the cameraman attached a small microphone to Susan’s shirt, Annabelle knew that they were going to win kudos back at the Broadcast Center. She was scoring an exclusive interview with the only person who had seen the alleged kidnapping vehicle.

  The interview itself didn’t provide any new information, but having Susan Feeney on camera, talking about what she had seen, was a valuable element to have. Annabelle was certain the video would be used on the Evening Headlines and tomorrow morning on KEY to America.

  As B.J. removed the microphone and began to pack up his gear, the women continued to chat.

  “You know, if positions had been reversed, and my child had been taken and Eliza hadn’t paid attention when she could have, I’m afraid I would have been angry with her,” said Susan. “But, instead, when I talked about it with her yesterday, Eliza was very understanding. The only thing she asked me to do was go over and check on Mrs. Garcia’s family.”

  “Have you done that yet?” asked Annabelle.

  “Not yet, but I’m going over there soon.”

  Annabelle immediately saw the opportunity. “Mind if we tag along?” she asked.

  The KEY News car followed the late-model BMW the few miles into Westwood. As they pulled up, Annabelle and B.J. saw police cars parked in front of the rundown two-story house. A cluster of people who looked Hispanic were gathered in the driveway.

  B.J. immediatel
y got out of the car, unloaded his camera gear from the back, and started shooting. Annabelle went over to one of the cops.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “And you are?” asked the officer.

  “Sorry,” said Annabelle as she pulled out her press pass and held it up for his inspection. “This is the house where the family of the woman who disappeared with Eliza Blake’s child live, right?”

  “Used to live,” answered the policeman. “It looks like they’ve taken off.”

  “Why do you think they would do that?” Annabelle asked.

  The officer shrugged. “Look around,” he said. “See these people? Not one of them is in this country legally. Maria and Vicente Rochas are no different.”

  Annabelle looked at the quiet people standing in the driveway. Their expressions were solemn, worried even, but none of them was running away.

  “For the most part, we turn a blind eye,” the policeman continued. “We know they live here, dozens of them sometimes packed into one house. But most of the time they stay quiet and don’t bother anybody. They do the jobs that nobody else wants to do anymore, and they do those jobs for very little pay. So even though some people resent it if they’re taking advantage of social services, others like having them around for the cheap labor.”

  Annabelle nodded. “But they all know they could be sent back at any time, right?”

  “Yep. And they’ve seen it happen, too. So most of them try to stay under the radar. But this week, with the abduction of the Blake kid and her nanny, the Rochas couple were under our scrutiny. That’s what made them run.”

  Annabelle called Eliza and told her that the Rochas family had fled.

  “I don’t understand,” said Eliza.

  “The cops were breathing down their necks,” said Annabelle, “and they were scared.” Annabelle paused. “You don’t think…?” Her voice trailed off.

  “I don’t think what?” asked Eliza.

  “That they have something to do with the abductions and that’s why they left?”

  “No, I do not,” Eliza said firmly. “Maria and Vicente Rochas are honest, hardworking people who want to stay in America rather than go back to a poor and dangerous country that holds little future for them. They thought the authorities were going to arrest them—and, at the very least, deport them. I’m certain that’s why they ran.”

  Driving back to the Broadcast Center, Annabelle voiced her frustration. “We’re spending all our time gathering video elements and interviews for the day-of-air story and we aren’t doing enough to find Janie.”

  B.J. slowed as they approached the E-ZPass toll lane to the George Washington Bridge. “It’s pretty hard to investigate when you have specific assignments on what you have to get for the piece,” he said. “They’re paying us to get what they want for their coverage of what’s happening today.”

  “There just aren’t enough hours,” Annabelle said as she looked out the car window to the Hudson River and the New York City skyline. “You know, it’s terrible. Eliza is so desperate, she’s clinging to anything that psychic says. The latest is, Janie is near water and something with the letter M.”

  “Minnesota, Mississippi, Massachusetts, Maine?” said B.J., smiling in spite of himself.

  “Ridiculous, huh?” said Annabelle.

  “Sure,” said B.J. “You need something a lot more specific than that to go on.”

  It had been nagging at her since her conversation with Eliza, and now Annabelle remembered. The cookies with the disturbing note written to Eliza. The cookies from the Marzipan Bakery.

  She had looked the town up on the map but hadn’t gone any further than that because she hadn’t had the time. They’d been busy with what turned out to be the bogus ransom demand and then shooting at the volunteer center and at the Guatemalan family’s home. Tomorrow, Linus would surely have more ideas about what he wanted them to do and, again, the day wouldn’t be their own.

  “I have an idea,” said Annabelle. “How would you like to pick me up at three A.M.?”

  “I’d rather stick pins in my eyes,” said B.J.

  “Seriously, Beej.” She told him about the Marzipan Bakery.

  “And you want to go there because of the letter M?” B.J. asked incredulously.

  “No, I want to go there because of the creepy letter sent to Eliza,” said Annabelle, “but I guess the M thing is the icing on top. Come on. It’s only about an hour’s drive.”

  “Yeah? And what do you think we’re going to get at four o’clock in the morning?”

  “Baking is done overnight, so somebody will be there,” said Annabelle. “We can ask our questions, see what we can find out, see what video you can shoot, and be back in New York before our paid workday is scheduled to start.”

  CHAPTER 92

  She was a prisoner in her own house. She couldn’t go outside for some fresh air, couldn’t take a walk to clear her head, couldn’t take a ride in the car to get away for a while because the press was out there, ready to ambush her.

  Eliza got up from her chair. “I’m going upstairs to take a shower,” she announced.

  She stood beneath the soothing spray and let the warm water cover her, washing the tears from her cheeks and easing the stiffness in her neck and shoulders. It was a relief to get away from the tension downstairs, if only for a little while.

  As Eliza dried herself, she remembered again what Stephanie Quick had said that morning, remarks that Eliza hadn’t paid much attention to, her mind focused on the ransom note and the possibility of Janie’s imminent return. Stephanie had said that the kidnappers hadn’t sent a ransom demand yet. As soon as Stephanie had said that, Eliza had tuned her out—but it turned out that the psychic had been right.

  Since Stephanie was right about that, and she had been right about the green face paint and her vision about John and the perfume, she could be right about the letter M and Janie’s being near moving water. Please God, thought Eliza, let Janie be near the water, not in it.

  She dressed in fresh clothes, went downstairs, and marched in to talk to Agent Gebhardt. “What’s being done with the lead that Stephanie Quick gave us about the water?” Eliza asked forcefully.

  Agent Gebhardt looked up, her facial expression perplexed. “That’s not a lead, Eliza. That’s just a general statement, from a psychic, no less. And even if we were to treat it as a lead, where would you suggest we start? Where would you look for moving water?”

  “Well, we could let the public know about it at least,” said Eliza. “Then people all around the country, around the world for that matter, would know and could be paying attention.”

  The FBI agent didn’t comment.

  Eliza’s despair turned to anger. “All right,” she announced. “If you guys won’t, I will. I’m doing the interview for KEY to America and I’m going to tell the world what the psychic saw.”

  CHAPTER 93

  The Internet, and volunteers all around the country, made it possible for flyers featuring the faces of Janie Blake and Carmen Garcia to be displayed in post offices and hospitals throughout the United States. Flyers were stapled to trees and telephone poles and taped in the windows of convenience stores, fast-food restaurants, gas stations, and low-rent motels, all in the hope that someone would recognize the faces and have an idea of who was holding one child and her caretaker, or where to find them.

  Nell studied a yellow flyer tacked to a fence that surrounded the grocery store parking lot. She looked around to make sure no one was watching her. Then she reached up and pulled the flyer down, ripping it. She crumpled the paper in her hand and stuffed it in her bag.

  She went inside the store and saw another flyer, blue this time, on the bulletin board. But there were too many people who could spot her if she took it, so she left it where it was. All around town, she found multicolored flyers identifying the missing pair and urging anyone with any knowledge or suspicion to contact the police.

  Nell took down as many flyers as she could
.

  CHAPTER 94

  Linus Nazareth was thrilled when Eliza called and told him she was going to do the interview.

  “You want to do it live in the morning, or do you want us to tape it?” he asked. “Either way, we could come out and do it at your house if you’d rather not come into the Broadcast Center.”

  “Let’s tape it tonight,” said Eliza. “That way, if I forget to say something important, we can go back and edit it in. And I think I’d rather come in to do it. I’ve got to get out of this house for a couple of hours.”

  “Perfect,” said Linus. “I’m wondering, would you be willing to bring in a videotape of Janie, too?”

  Eliza considered the request. She hated sharing her personal home videos with the world, but her public exposure had gotten them into this horror, so more public exposure might get them out of it.

  “All right, Linus. I’ll bring one with me.”

  “Yes!” said Linus with enthusiasm.

  Eliza could picture him pumping the air with his fist.

  “Linus, do me a favor and don’t be so damn happy.”

  His tone changed immediately. “You’re right. I apologize. I’m sorry that the ransom demand turned out to be bogus, Eliza,” he said. “I really am.”

  Yeah, thought Eliza, but I bet you’re not so sorry that the story is continuing. I bet you’re not sorry you are going to be exclusive with the interview and I bet you’re not sorry you can tease the hell out of it so tomorrow morning’s ratings are through the roof.

  The videotapes and discs were kept in a cabinet in the den. All of them were marked by subject but not filed in any particular chronological order.

  Eliza picked one marked JANIE SWIMMING and put it into the machine. She watched, with an increasing tightness in her chest, the images of Janie wearing inflatable water wings and paddling in a swimming pool. Eliza recognized it as one of the pools at the Grand Floridian in Walt Disney World. Janie was three years old when we went there, she thought. We need something more current than that.