Picture Perfect

by Fern Michaels

  Crawling on his belly, he inched his way out into the field. He wriggled and squirmed across the muddy terrain. Mom sure was going to be mad when she got a look at his clothes. Aunt Lorrie would never be able to get them clean. Davey felt part of the earth now, and for a few brief seconds he reveled in the sensation of his fingers clawing through the muddy ground, pulling him closer and closer to the red barn. By the time he reached the barn he was exhausted but exhilarated. He had done it; he had gotten away from the man. Now, if only he could find someone to call Aunt Lorrie, everything would be all right.

  Davey got to his knees and brushed his hands together to get them clean. Mud spattered every which way. He laughed delightedly. If Mom could see him now she would take a fit. Aunt Lorrie would just laugh and turn a hose on him. But he couldn’t think about that now—he had to find someone to help him. He looked over his shoulder to see if the man was anywhere near but the open field was empty.

  The hems of his new jeans flapped at his ankles as Davey trudged around the side of the barn. There were turkeys there, daintily picking at the corn that littered the barnyard. Everything smelled sweet and clean. He wished he had a drink; even toothpaste would taste good in his mouth now. As he walked toward the turkeys, they started to gobble and scatter. A white-haired woman came out of the barn, holding a pitchfork.

  “Well, well, what have we here?” she said kindly.

  “Lady, I need someone to help me call my aunt. Will you call her for me?”

  The woman laid the pitchfork on the ground. “You’re lost, is that it? Bet you wandered off from the amusement park. I thought it was closed for the winter.”

  “It is. I was camping there with my aunt, and I don’t know how to get back.”

  “How old are you?” she asked.

  “I’ll be eight after Christmas,” Davey said proudly. “I would ’preciate it if you called my aunt. I have to get a shot at noontime. Do you know what time it is now?”

  The old woman looked up at the sun. “Pretty near one o’clock.” She reached out and took his hand in hers. “You come along with me and I’ll try to clean you up a little. You need hosing down in the trough, but it’s a mite too chilly for that. Wait on the back porch while I make the call. Would you like some cookies and milk? I make the best ginger cookies in these parts.”

  “I’d like that,” Davey said agreeably. They walked side by side toward the farmhouse.

  “Do you know the campsite number?”

  “It’s close to the pond—I don’t know the number. But we have an RV and it’s the only one in the campground.”

  “How did you get so muddy?”

  “I crawled on my belly across the field,” Davey replied truthfully.

  “You ask a dumb question and you get a dumb answer,” the old woman laughed. “I’ll be back in two shakes,” she said, leaving him on the porch.

  Davey sat down on the step. His leg was aching and he was tired. The cookies and milk were going to taste good.

  The screen door banged shut as the old woman brought out his food. “Here you go. What’s your name so I know who I’m talking about when I call the campground?”

  “Davey Taylor, but my aunt’s name is Lorrie Ryan.”

  All of a sudden the turkeys started gobbling again. “Mercy me, what’s that ruckus? Looks like we have another visitor. Land sakes, weeks and months go by and nary a soul stops by, and today we have two visitors.”

  Davey laid the cookie he was about to eat back on the plate.

  “There you are, you little rascal,” Cudge Balog accused playfully as he climbed from the pickup. “Thought you would give me a scare running off like that, did you? Excuse me, ma’am, this is my son, and he ran off on me this morning. You see, he didn’t want to do his chores around the campground. I have a rule that each child does his share but this rascal likes to play. I’m sorry if he gave you any trouble, ma’am.”

  Fear gave Davey the impetus to get to his feet. He moved over to the woman and clung onto her dress. “He’s not my father. He’s a mean, bad man and he’s telling you a lie. Please, call my aunt and tell her to come and get me. He’s not my father.”

  “Now, why are you upsetting this nice lady with your stories? Someday this boy’s going to write books. I just know it,” Cudge said airily. “He does have some imagination.”

  “You’re a bad man! You killed that man and tried to bury him. And you kicked my dog!” Davey stared with imploring eyes at the old lady. She didn’t believe him, he could tell.

  “That’s enough of that,” Cudge said. “Come along now and give this nice woman some peace and quiet.”

  “Now, just a minute,” Elsie Parsons said sharply. “This little boy don’t look like no liar to me. What’s it gonna hurt if I call the campground to see if his aunt is there? It’s only going to take a few minutes.”

  “What’s going to take a few minutes?” a nasally voice inquired from inside the house. “What’s going on here?”

  “Sid, this here boy is Davey Taylor. This man claims to be the boy’s father but the boy says he ain’t. I found him by the barn this morning looking like this. He wants me to call the campground for his aunt. I think we should call the police and let them straighten it all out.”

  “Now, Ma, you don’t want to go sticking your nose in someone else’s business and get yourself in trouble,” Sid said warily. “If the man says he’s the kid’s father, he is. Who you gonna believe—the guy or the kid? Kids lie all the time. He probably done something wrong and lit out.” There was no way Sid wanted police around the place. First thing they’d be tramping all over and find his patch in the cornfield. Smoking pot was one thing, but growing it was something else.

  Cudge grinned and slapped the youth on the shoulder. “You’re absolutely right. Davey wasn’t in the mood to clean up the campsite this morning and just took off. He’s a mighty big source of worry to his mother, I can tell you.” He turned to Davey. “Now you get your butt in that truck before I take a switch to you. Apologize to these nice people for the trouble you caused them, and we’ll be on our way. Ma’am, I do want to thank you for taking care of my boy here.” Cudge held out his hand to the old lady.

  Elsie backed off one step and then another. What could she do? She’d seen the look in Sid’s eyes at the mention of police. Good Lord, what had he done this time? Well, your own came first, and then you worried about someone else’s kids. Davey seemed like a nice little boy, well-mannered and polite. The father—if he was the father—left something to be desired.

  “You mean you aren’t going to help me?” Davey asked incredulously.

  “No, she ain’t gonna help you,” Sid told him. “You go on with your old man and stop bothering people and telling lies, or you’re going to wake up some morning with a nose a mile long.”

  Davey threw himself against the old woman’s legs. “He’s not my father! He’s not! He kills people! He kicked my dog.” He could feel the lady tense as he tried to hold on to her. Just as Cudge reached for him, Davey dropped to his knees, crawled quickly around him and down the steps of the back porch.

  Sid raced after him, caught him by the collar of the windbreaker and literally lifted the little boy off the ground. “Where’s your respect for your old man, kid? Now you get in that truck and act the way you’re supposed to. I’ll personally tan your hide if I hear another peep out of you.”

  Before Davey knew what was happening, he’d been thrown into the cab of the pickup. Sid’s leering face staring at him through the passenger window made him want to cry, but only babies cried. He wiped at his eyes with his muddy sleeve, leaving streaks of dirt on his cheeks. He was never going to get away now. He was going to be dead. His eyes went to the CB unit on the dashboard and then to Cudge, who was stepping down from the front porch. Quickly Davey locked both doors. He had the CB speaker to his mouth before Cudge’s feet had hit the ground. He switched to the emergency channel. “Breaker, do you read? This is Panda Bear. Breaker! Breaker!”

&nb
sp; Cudge felt the heat of his anger the minute he saw Davey with the CB. It was all over if the kid knew what he was doing. His rage intensified as he raced to the pickup. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sid walk around the back of the house. The old woman had gone inside the moment Cudge had stepped off the porch. He was alone with Davey.

  Davey looked around wildly. “Help, help me. This is Panda Bear. Breaker, Breaker, do you read? This is Panda Bear! Breaker, he’s coming. Somebody answer me. Do you read?” Frustration gripped him when he saw Cudge dig in his pocket for the keys. He had to get out before Cudge got in. If he stayed in the truck, the man would kill him. Whatever he was going to do, he had to do it alone, just like before. There was no one to help him. He had to think; above all, he couldn’t cry. If he cried, he wouldn’t be able to see. Swallowing hard, Davey tossed the speaker onto the cracked leather of the driver’s seat and pulled at the lock on the cab door. The moment Cudge opened the driver’s door to climb into the truck, Davey opened his side. He jumped to the ground and took off down the road, away from the farmhouse, back across the open field toward the woods. He knew that if he had the farm at his back, the amusement park would be ahead of him. That meant Aunt Lorrie would be close by. He had to run straight, and he couldn’t stop for anything. Run, run, run.

  His tattered shoelaces slapped the wet ground as his short legs pumped away. Danger was behind him; he could feel it, smell it. On and on he ran, his arms flailing the air as he fought for breath. Once he fell sprawling in the muddy field. He picked himself up and raced on, not looking behind him to see if Cudge was gaining on him. He knew Cudge must be close, but he couldn’t run any faster. He made himself think about Aunt Lorrie waiting for him, her arms outstretched to hug him, mud and all. She would laugh and tell him a story about making mudpies, and then he would laugh too. He wanted to hear the story, he wanted her to hug him. If Cudge caught him, he would never see Aunt Lorrie again. His Reeboks picked up speed. Behind him, curses sailed through the air, but he ignored them. Careening wildly from right to left, Davey headed into the welcome darkness of the forest. He didn’t stop. Faster. Run. Aunt Lorrie. A sob caught in his throat.

  A thicket of low underbrush caught his eye as he raced ahead. Without thinking, he dived down. Brambles and stickers scratched at his face as he burrowed deep into the undergrowth. Cudge was close; Davey could hear him now, feel the cold stream of danger getting closer and closer. He waited, his eyes squeezed shut. He didn’t want to see. He had to be quiet and still.

  At first he couldn’t comprehend the sound. It was a roar, a deep, hard rumble that came from the belly; like when his dad threw back his head and had a good laugh. He wanted to lift his head to look around to see where the sound came from, to try to identify it. The man chasing him didn’t make this kind of sound. This was something different. Davey tilted his head and listened as the rumbling was repeated. It was from the wildlife reserve. He must be close to the animals. That meant that on the other side was safety. His breathing eased; he wasn’t afraid of the animals in their cages.

  Cautiously Davey inched his way out of his nest. Everything looked so big as he lay on his stomach; even the scrubby bushes looked immense. He waited a moment, hoping the animals would roar again so he could tell in which direction he should go. If only he hadn’t been so afraid he might be able to remember now. For the thousandth time he wished Duffy was with him.

  He crawled backward on his belly from his hiding place and looked around again. Satisfied that the man wasn’t anywhere around, he stood up. A wave of dizziness overcame him and he swayed, feeling sick to his stomach. Both hands grappled for the bushes; he needed all his willpower to steady himself. He couldn’t get sick now. He shook his head several times; he was hungry and he really didn’t feel well. How much farther did he have to go?

  The old woman stood at the screen door, looking out at Cudge. Her son Sid watched him too, waiting to see if he was going to run after the boy, or jump into the truck and try to overtake him before he ran across the open field into the woods.

  “Watcha lookin’ at, old lady?” Cudge bellowed. “If you two had minded your own business, I would’ve had him!”

  Elsie Parsons stared at him a moment longer, then retreated into the house, closing the door firmly.

  Sid was belligerent. “Ma don’t think that’s really your kid.”

  Cudge turned on the teenager. “Oh, yeah? And what do you think, punk? You should’ve kept out of it, and I would’ve had him.”

  Sid gathered his courage. He really didn’t want any trouble with this man, but he felt compelled to stand his ground. “I agree with Ma. I don’t think that boy’s your kid, either.”

  “I don’t give a damn what either one of you think. That’s my kid and I mean to get him and beat the tar out of him. What’s on the other side of the woods?” Cudge demanded, stepping closer to Sid.

  “Wild Adventure Park. Only it’s closed now.”

  “Where’s the campground from here?”

  “Due north . . .”

  “I didn’t ask you that, did I?” Cudge bellowed in rage, reaching out and grasping Sid’s shirt front. “I asked you where.”

  Sid pointed across the field to the right, in the opposite direction from that the boy had taken. Cudge grinned; he knew Sid was afraid and it made him feel powerful.

  “Stay out of my way.” He shoved Sid aside. “I eat punks like you for breakfast and spit them out before lunch. I knew a kid like you once. I took care of him, and I could do the same to you.” He saw a defiance in Sid’s eyes he didn’t like. “Don’t think about calling anybody. A man has a right to his own kid, don’t he? Besides, you may not like it if I told anybody that you’ve got a patch of marijuana growing out behind the house.”

  Sid was amazed. “How do you know?”

  “I always know, punk. You reek of it. Besides, you just told me all I need to know. Even if you weren’t growing the stuff, you’d be real unhappy if the cops came beating at your door and found your little stash.”

  Cudge jumped into the truck and fired the ignition. It wasn’t going to be easy to find that kid, but he’d do it, just the way he’d tracked him here to the farmhouse. He’d drive back to the park and leave the truck in the cover of the trees where it wouldn’t be spotted. Then he’d grab the kid and shut his mouth for good.

  Cudge took his time driving back to the campsite. He didn’t need a broken axle now, not when the kid was within his reach. “It’s either him or me. And it ain’t gonna be me!”

  The turns in the road took his full concentration. The weather was blowing up and storm clouds were gathering. For a fleeting moment he thought about Elva lying in his pop-up. He was glad she was dead, and he didn’t have to listen to her squawking that he should leave the kid alone. Elva had never been a survivor, not like him. If he could just get his hands on that kid, his problems would be over. “It’s always the little things that trip a guy up,” he muttered aloud, “little boy, little dog. Elva with her little bit of brains. Candy Striper for a little piece of ass. Lenny, for a little bit of money.” He groaned. How had this all happened? This wasn’t the way things were supposed to work out! When he was a kid, he had believed he’d be able to overcome the poverty, the filth, his ignorance. And all he’d done was carry it all with him.

  As he drove he kept his eyes trained on the edge of the woods, expecting a mud-smeared figure to emerge at any moment. Christ, that kid was smart. Still, when he got his hands on the brat’s neck, he was going to finish him for good.

  The CB in the truck squawked. “Breaker, Breaker. Do you read me, Panda Bear? Come in, Panda Bear!”

  Panda Bear. Where had he heard that before? Then he remembered. He’d been cruising around in north Jersey, looking for a place to dump Lenny, and Panda Bear had come on the CB channel and talked about the campground. So that’s your name, eh, kid? Cudge thought. Panda Bear.

  “Breaker, Breaker, do you read? Come in, Panda Bear.”

  Cudge reached over an
d flicked off the CB. The sharp click made him think of how he would snap Panda Bear’s neck when he caught him.

  Chapter 13

  Stuart Sanders checked in with his chief then set out in Feeley’s motor-pool car. He couldn’t explain why, but he knew Davey Taylor was close by, close enough to touch if he could just reach out in the right direction.

  Up and down the dirt roads he drove, but with no success. He braked hard and sat for a while, pondering his next move. His instincts told him to head for the Wild Adventure Park, the same route he had followed on foot last night. There was something out there, something he’d missed.

  It was well after one o’clock when he returned to the camp office to clean up and get on with the day.

  Lorrie was sitting on the steps of the motor home. She looked as beat as he felt.

  “Hi,” he said, when he got within speaking distance.

  “Hi, yourself. Anything new to report?”

  Sanders shook his head. “Not yet, but not to worry. Everything is going to be okay.”

  Lorrie tilted her head sideways and gave him a questioning look. “How can you be so sure?”

  “It’s just a feeling.” He shrugged.

  “A feeling,” she repeated.

  He hunkered down in front of her, his hands braced on his thighs. “I’ve been in this business a long time, Lorrie, and after a while you start to rely on your gut instinct. And mine tells me Davey is alive and well.”

  Lorrie bowed her head. “I hope you’re right.”

  He could see the tears welling in her eyes and, without thinking, reached out to touch her face. “When this is all over and Davey is safe and sound, you and I are going to get to know each other a little better.”