Picture Perfect

by Fern Michaels

  Leaving the car, Lorrie matched Sanders’s athletic stride. Both glanced at the ominous gathering of thunderheads, each dreading the rain that would delay their search for Davey.

  “We don’t have time to wait for someone to open the gates, Lorrie, so the best thing we can do is climb the fence. I’ll give you a hand up and you go over first. Find a garbage can and toss it over the fence, and I’ll follow you.”

  “Okay.” Lorrie placed her foot into Sanders’s cupped hands and grasped the fine links of fencing. They cut into her fingers. She was going to feel this tomorrow, she thought, as she dropped to the ground. The first roll of thunder sounded. She tried to ignore it—to acknowledge it was to accept that Davey might be caught in the storm, unsheltered and afraid. Quickly she found a trash can and ran back to the fence with it.

  “This storm is worse than I thought. I think you’d better come back to this side for now,” Sanders said. “We can sit in the car until it blows over.”

  Seconds after Lorrie got back over the fence a river of rain came down out of the sky. They made a mad dash for the car.

  “I guess you know we’re stuck here. I can’t even see to drive in this. Jesus, I haven’t seen rain like this since I left the farm thirty years ago, and then only once. Later on the weather guys said it had been a hurricane.”

  Lorrie reluctantly resigned herself to waiting. “You know something, Stuart, I’d give everything I own, everything I hope to own for the rest of my life, if I could see Davey safe and sound right now. I love that little boy more than you can possibly imagine.”

  “I’m sort of nuts about him myself,” Sanders admitted. “There’s just something about him that makes you want to hold him and love him, and it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with his medical problem. It’s Davey. He’s a very special kid.”

  “Do you get this involved in all your cases?” Lorrie asked.

  Sanders chuckled. “No way.”

  A brilliant flash of light ricocheted off the windshield. Sanders swallowed hard as he caught the look on Lorrie’s face. “Stuart, tell me that Duffy is in the backseat.”

  He would deserve the whiplash he got from the quick swivel he did. “Oh, Jesus. She went under the hole in the fence where I found the sneaker. She must have picked up Davey’s scent. When you got the trash can, did you see her?”

  “No, but I wasn’t looking. I thought she’d stayed with you.”

  “If I were a crying man, I would bawl my head off about now,” Sanders said.

  “There must be something we can do. We can’t just sit here. That dog weighs all of six pounds—the wind will kill her if she doesn’t find a safe spot to take shelter. She’s not an outside dog, Stuart, she’s a house dog. She won’t even go outside to pee when it rains. The cook spreads a paper by the back door for her. She’s frightened to death of thunder and lightning.”

  Sanders hated negatives of any kind. “I know. I also know that you are an intelligent woman. No one with reasonable intelligence would even think about opening this car door. Believe me when I tell you I know what you’re going through.”

  Lorrie’s head fell back against the headrest. “We wait, is that it?”

  “At least until it starts to let up. Come here,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her toward him.

  It was shortly after eight when a call came in over the radio from the campground manager, asking Sanders to return to the camp offices. Though it was still raining cats and dogs, Sanders was able to inch the car out of the parking lot and onto the road that led to the campground.

  “I have good news, excellent news as a matter of fact,” the manager said importantly. “Your man Feeley called in just a few minutes after you left. He said that an elderly woman stopped by the police station shortly after he arrived; she was carrying a copy of the Asbury Park Press. She said Davey had been at her turkey ranch around noon.”

  “Oh, Stuart, he’s all right!” Lorrie threw her arms around Stuart’s neck and hugged him.

  “What did I tell you?” He hugged her back. One of these days he wouldn’t have to let her go.

  The manager went on. “Mr. Feeley says all the roads are flooded, especially the causeway, so your men might be delayed even longer, Mr. Sanders. They closed off the parkway an hour ago. He’s been most kind, calling in every twenty minutes or so to keep me alerted. Lordy, I almost forgot. The woman from the turkey ranch said that a man who claimed to be Davey’s father came after him.”

  “Balog?”

  The manager shrugged. “Feeley didn’t say. The woman told him she didn’t think the man was the boy’s father because he was too mean.”

  “Anything else?” Sanders inquired. It would be easier to get blood out of a turnip than the full story out of the campground manager.

  “Feeley said . . . I’m not sure, but I think he said that the woman’s son put the boy into the man’s truck.” He shook his head. “Well, anyway, the woman said the boy started talking on the CB. Then, when the man got into the truck, the kid jumped out and ran across the field toward the amusement park.”

  “That clinches the shut-in call,” Sanders mumbled. He hated to ask but he had to, for his own peace of mind. “Did Feeley say anything about how the boy looked?”

  “I asked that and apparently the woman said the boy was hungry but looked right as rain to her. Oh—and he looked like he had been wallowing in the pig trough.” The manager laughed, but sobered at once.

  “Then he is in the amusement park. I knew it.”

  “What about Balog?” Lorrie asked. “Did he follow Davey?”

  The manager shrugged. “I don’t know. Feeley didn’t say.”

  “If he’d followed him to the turkey ranch, he’d probably follow him to the amusement park,” she surmised. “How long can Davey elude him?”

  “I don’t know, but so far Davey’s given him a run for his money,” Sanders said.

  “If Balog does find Davey, do you think he’ll kill him?” Lorrie’s voice was unsteady.

  Sanders couldn’t answer any other way. “Yes.”

  Lorrie sucked in her breath. “Are we going back out there now?”

  “As soon as I can find us some raincoats or slickers.” Sanders’s gaze shifted back to the manager. “It’s still coming down in torrents. When our back-up men arrive, you’ll have to direct them to the park. You can do that, can’t you?”

  “Of course I can. I’ll stay right here by the phone and write everything down.”

  “Here we go—best I could do.” Sanders handed Lorrie a pair of knee-high green boots and a bright orange hooded slicker. “I think I should warn you, if we fall into a pond or a lake we’ll both go straight to the bottom. This stuff must weigh eighteen pounds.”

  Lorrie leaned over to kiss Sanders on the cheek then wrinkled her nose. He smelled like mildew and detergent. “Come on, let’s go find Davey,” she said.

  Sanders drove carefully through the heavy rain. No matter how bad the storm got, there was no way he was going back to the camp offices now. He knew Davey Taylor was in the amusement park and he was going to find him—tonight.

  “We aren’t going over that fence again, are we?” Lorrie asked.

  “Hell, no. We’re going to do it the way they do in the movies. We’re going to shoot off the locks and walk right in.”

  “Good. I was wondering how we would make it over the fence in these Armani originals.”

  “That’s what I like about you, Lorrie—your keen wit and utter logic,” Sanders laughed. He felt more confident now, sure they would find Davey soon. He wouldn’t think about the cold rain and the dark. “I should be back at the offices waiting for the others right now. And having you along with me is a no-no, right off the bat. We never involve civilians in anything that might be dangerous. I’m not going by the book is what I’m saying.”

  “To hell with the book,” Lorrie said briskly.

  “That’s what I say. Okay, we’re here. Let’s hope the thunder muffle
s the shots.”

  Lorrie stood back, holding the flashlight while Sanders aimed the gun. Two shots and the lock was still intact. “Just how the hell rusty can it be?” he asked, not considering for a minute that he might have missed. He fired again and the lock fell off.

  “Okay, here we go!” Sanders swung open the wide gate.

  Lorrie held the flashlight in front of her as she waded through six-inch-deep puddles. When was this rain going to let up? She shouted for Davey and Duffy till she was hoarse. The wind and rain just carried her cries back to her. It was eerie—she didn’t like it. Over and over she shouted, though she knew it was probably useless. Even if Duffy heard her calling, and barked in response, would she be able to hear the dog?

  “I know you’re out there, kid,” Sanders mumbled. “Give us a break, Davey. Do something—anything would be a help at this point. Help me to help you.” The rain was running down his arm, and he switched his flashlight from one hand to the other to shake the water from out of his sleeve. It was cold; the boy must be freezing.

  The agent stopped to check their surroundings. To their immediate left was the roller coaster and the thrill rides; to their right was the Lehigh Valley Express train for little kids. Beyond the tracks, a small section of the park was devoted to the children’s rides. None of the areas offered shelter of any kind. All he could see were the steel skeletons of framework. Should he go to the left or the right?

  An hour later they were almost ready to give up. Just then the rain slackened, then stopped. In the dim, yellow-white glow of the flashlight, Sanders could at least see where he was going now. Just ahead were the carousel and the end of the children’s area—they had almost reached the wildlife preserve. He doubted Davey would go in there, not if he knew about the wild animals. Something teased at him, some comment his nephew had made last spring. One of the animals—Delilah, the lioness—had given birth to six cubs. That was it. Her mate, Samson, was extremely protective of Delilah and the cubs. God help anyone who strayed into the lions’ den.

  Everywhere Sanders looked there were fallen branches and uprooted trees; anything that hadn’t been nailed down had been scattered by the storm. Swinging the flashlight wide to get a better view, he was startled to see a monstrous oak lying across the Lehigh Valley Railroad. It would take a team of ten men to move it.

  He didn’t like the destruction he saw all around. “Where are you, Davey?” Maybe he was crazy; maybe Davey had never come back to the amusement park at all.

  Chapter 15

  Upon awakening, the little boy’s movements were slow, sluggish. At first he was unaware of the softness nestled close to his chest. But when he came fully awake, he wanted to howl with glee at the comforting feel of his little dog.

  “Duffy!” he cried. “How did you find me? Where did you come from? Where’s Aunt Lorrie? Good girl, you can lick my face all you want,” Davey laughed happily. “I’m so glad to see you!”

  He put his arms around his dog and hugged her, then suddenly remembered why he was hiding under the carousel. “We have to be quiet, Duff. You can’t bark and don’t run away this time. It’s good you’re here, Duff. I don’t know my way back to camp and you can show me the way. Boy, is everybody going to be surprised when we come back together. Just you and me, Duff. We’re a team, just like Mom and Dad. I only wish Mr. Sanders was with you—he’d know what to do. But he’s in Florida with Mom and Dad.”

  It was good talking to Duffy. Davey felt reassured that soon he would be safe at home. “You’re all wet,” he noticed suddenly, “and so am I.” But Duffy’s companionship relieved some of his hunger and weariness—as long as Duffy was with him, he could talk to her and it would make the hike back to camp easier.

  Brows puckered, he decided it must be very late. “We’ll just have to wake Aunt Lorrie up, right, Duff?” He smiled to himself in the darkness, visualizing the expression on his aunt’s face when he opened the door of the RV. Duffy whined low in her throat and continued with her furious licking.

  “You’re tickling me, Duff! We’ve got to get out of here. Do you think you can find your way in the dark?” Davey grunted the question from the effort of inching out from under the carousel. He shivered in his wet clothes. Now that he was exposed to the wind, he could feel the cold all the way down to his stockinged foot.

  “Be quiet, Duff, real quiet. I don’t know where that man is now but I know he’s here somewhere, waiting to catch me. I’m going to be right behind you. If he catches us this time, he’s going to kill us both. I don’t want to be dead, and I don’t want you to be dead, so don’t bark,” he cautioned in a firm voice. Duffy trotted off with Davey following close behind.

  The rain was coming down steadily and Davey was cold. Duffy must be cold too. The pavement dipped—Duffy growled but it was too late. Davey’s foot slipped and he found himself in water up to his chin. He thrashed about wildly as he struggled to reach higher ground. The rain continued to beat down in steady driving torrents. Carefully, not allowing himself to panic, he trod water till he was at the edge of the little pond. He groped for a handhold, only to find himself slipping back into the water. Duffy stood sentinel, barking loudly to offer encouragement. Her stubby tail swished furiously against her haunches as she crept up to the edge then backed off.

  “It’s no use, Duff,” Davey called out. “I can’t get out of here—there’s nothing to hold on to. I need someone to pull me out. Quiet Duff, stop barking and go get Aunt Lorrie. Go on, girl, go get her. I’m not going to drown. I know how to float on my back. Go on, girl. Go!” Purposely, with all his might, he forced his voice to be like his mother’s when she gave an order. “It’s the best thing for me, Duff. Go get Aunt Lorrie.”

  Davey watched Duffy run away and hoped she’d understood him. He rolled over in the water. It was better lying on his back than playing dead-man’s float. He never wanted to play that game again, not now that he knew what being dead meant. Blackness engulfed him, closing off the world. He could feel fear closing in too, choking off his air. He stiffened, feeling himself going under, the weight of his clothing dragging him down. Tentatively, he straightened his legs, the one shoeless little foot stabbing out a speculative toe to touch bottom. There it was, not very far down, but it felt slick and slimy, unpleasant. Yet, by standing on tiptoe, his head and face were out of the water.

  He could feel the tears pricking at his eyelids, but then he imagined what Mom would say at a time like this. “David, crying solves nothing. You must use your brain and think. Tears are a sign of immaturity. You must reserve your tears for important things, such as grieving and weddings.” He wasn’t exactly sure what grieving was, and he only had a vague idea about weddings, but what he did know was that Mom wouldn’t consider that the position he was in called for tears. He swallowed hard and wished for a light so he could see how big the pond was and find a way out. He had a light! Mr. Sanders had given him the penlight and it was still in the zippered pocket of his sleeve. He would have to unzip his jacket and take it off, or at least get his arm free of the clingy, nylon windbreaker.

  Experimentally, he shifted his arm, trying to take it out of the sleeve, working at the zipper and sleeve under water. He had to balance himself on his toes so he didn’t go under. He yanked at the zipper and managed to get it down halfway, and then it stuck. His toes gave out and he slipped beneath the water. Gagging and spluttering, he rose to the surface and flailed out with his arms. His teeth began to chatter and he had to control them, because the more noise his teeth made the colder he felt. Flopping over on his back, the way he’d been taught, he let the rain drizzle down on him. It reminded him of a waterfall he had seen in one of his picture books. He wasn’t afraid of the rain or the water. He just had to think of a safe way to get out of the pond.

  He was concentrating on testing the bottom with his foot to find a shallow place to get a foothold, when he heard a muffled curse. A dim circle of light played near him. Cudge! If he went under the water, he could only stay under until he
counted to four. He would make noise coming to the top and then he would have to take deep breaths. Cudge would be sure to hear him.

  When the light reached the edge of the little pond, Davey could make out the big man’s work boots and wet trouser legs.

  “You’re really a pain in the ass, kid. You made me tramp this goddamn place in the rain for hours. I thought you might have gotten away while I went back to the truck to get the flashlight. Guess I was wrong. Get over here and I’ll pull you out. C’mon, over to the edge. Move it!”

  Davey hesitated. To put himself into the hands of the man was unthinkable.

  “Better do what I say, kid. I got your dog. I’ll hold her under the water and finish her off real fast. Move it!”

  He’d got Duffy?

  “You hear me, kid? Get your ass over here so’s I can grab you. You want to see your dog drown?”

  He had got Duffy! Davey obeyed unwillingly. Maybe it was better to be out of the water. Maybe he could get away from him again. As long as he didn’t hurt Duffy. Please don’t let him hurt Duffy!

  The little dog snapped and snarled as Cudge reached down to lift Davey out of the pond. He hauled him out effortlessly. “I thought I heard this mutt of yours. Even the rain couldn’t muffle her barking.” He set Duffy down on the ground and immediately she attacked his leg. “Call her off, kid, or I’ll kick her from here to kingdom come.”

  “Duffy! Duffy—down girl. Down!” The dog sat back on her haunches and tilted her head, deep growls rolling in her throat.

  “Pick her up!” the man ordered. “Pick her up and carry her. I got someone I want you to meet. As a matter of fact, he’s dying to meet the both of you.”

  “My aunt is going to find me,” Davey said, feeling his lower lip quiver. “She’s going to come and get me and take me away from you. And Duffy, too!”

  “Well, ain’t your aunt gonna be surprised when she gets here and you’re not. C’mon, walk! My friend is waiting.”