Sudden Recall

by Jean Barrett

  “OF COURSE, they got away. He’s too smart for all of you. He has been all along.”

  Claire Jamison gazed lividly at her family gathered around her in the empty courtyard. Charles had just rejoined them to report there was no sign of Eden Hawke or Michael Reardon and that an open window in one of the rest rooms indicated they had probably fled the museum by that route.

  Claire’s calculating green eyes, in a delicate face that belied an inner strength, came to rest on her two sons. More brawn than brains, just like their father whom she had divorced years ago when she’d realized that the widowed Sebastian Jamison had a great deal more to offer her.

  “Why did I ever trust either of you? If you hadn’t bungled it from the start by not being there at the airport when Reardon’s plane landed, none of this would have gotten out of control.”

  “It’s not our fault that the weather and traffic delayed us,” Bryant spoke up in defense of himself and his brother. “Or that his flight got in ahead of schedule.”

  “And I suppose it’s not your faults that you went and lost him again in Charleston, and then you come back here with your tails between your legs.”

  Claire made a sound of disgust, her gaze shifting to Charles. Unlike Bryant and Hugh, Charles wasn’t stupid. She had expected better from him, but he, too, had failed her. “You were a fool to alarm the guards like that. Telling them that lie about Reardon threatening the family when you knew how vital it was to keep everything as quiet as possible.”

  Charles shrugged. “What was I supposed to do? Let him get away?”

  “He did get away,” she reminded him sharply, “and we still don’t have Patrick.”

  But she would before she was through, Claire promised herself. Because she had enough brains for all of them, and something even more important than that: a ruthless determination. She had proved that both here in Savannah and up in Charleston where Harriet Krause had supplied her with useful information before she died. Claire had learned Eden Hawke was Patrick’s biological mother and that the man calling himself Shane had amnesia and didn’t know what he had done with the boy.

  “Now you hear me, all of you,” she told her family severely. “What I’ve done before, I can do again if I have to. But I’m not in this alone. We’re all of us in it together, and you know what we’ll lose if any of us forget that.”

  “Then why are we standing here talking about it?” Claire’s stepdaughter challenged her. “What are we doing back in the courtyard, anyway?”

  “Think about it,” Claire said, addressing not just Irene but the others as well. “We don’t know why Reardon and the Hawke woman came to Savannah. But we do know, from what Eden Hawke told Charles, that Michael Reardon’s memory is restored.”

  “If that’s true,” Irene said, “why would they bother turning up here at the museum?”

  “Exactly.” Claire paused, brushing her hand impatiently across the side of her stylish ash-blond hair as she looked at each of them in turn. But none of them could see the obvious. “Don’t you understand? If Michael Reardon had fully regained his memory, then he and Eden Hawke would have the boy by now and would probably be back in Charleston talking to the police.”

  “Are you saying,” Charles asked her slowly, “that Eden lied to me, and Reardon hasn’t recovered his memory?”

  “They wouldn’t know his name if that were true. But more often than not, the memory of an amnesiac returns in fragments,” Claire explained, speaking from her knowledge as a doctor. “And if his mind had yet to restore the last of those fragments…”

  “Yes,” Charles said, finally comprehending. “You’re telling us there’s a good chance Reardon remembered everything but where he put Patrick.”

  Claire nodded. “And he was here in the courtyard when you came back to look for Irene’s sunglasses. You’re sure of that, Charles?”

  “Yeah, he marched out of here while Eden was talking to me in the hall.”

  “Then it makes sense. There’s something he felt was important enough to risk his appearance here in the courtyard.”

  “What?” Irene demanded.

  Claire didn’t answer her. The two workmen had returned to the courtyard with the cart. They were preparing to load the last of the folding chairs for storage, when Claire crossed the flags to speak to them.

  “I wonder if you gentlemen could help me. There was a man here about a half hour ago.”

  Charles had joined her to offer a description. “Tall guy with a slight limp. Were you in the courtyard then?”

  The elder of the two workmen nodded.

  “Did you notice what he was doing?” Claire pressed him.

  “Looking at the obelisk over there.”

  “Any part of it in particular?”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “I did,” the younger of the two spoke up. “He looked at the back side of it. Stared at it for a long time, and then he got this kind of excited expression on his face. I figured the guy was really into sculpture, you know.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen.” Claire dismissed them sweetly before either of them could start asking questions.

  They went back to loading chairs as she hurried toward the obelisk, her family trailing behind her. Circling the monument to its back side, she spent several moments shrewdly studying the reliefs. There were four of them carved into the length of the obelisk.

  “One of these,” she said with growing certainty, “gave Michael Reardon the last missing piece of his memory.”

  Neither the one on top nor the third one down qualified as possibilities. They depicted the art museum itself and a children’s playground in Savannah. But the second and fourth reliefs were of considerable interest to her.

  “It’s either this one or this one,” she said, her hand fingering the raised representations of a lighthouse on the coast and an antebellum plantation house in rural Georgia. They were both of them restoration projects Sebastian had helped to fund.

  “You telling us one of those places is where Reardon stashed the kid?” Bryant asked, a sneer in his voice.

  “It’s a hell of a long shot,” his brother, Hugh, agreed with him.

  Claire rounded on her two sons. “You listen to me, both of you. This could be our last chance, and you’re not going to screw it up this time. Hugh, I want you and Charles to take the plantation. Bryant, you’re coming with me to the lighthouse. I’m convinced Patrick is near one of them, and we’re not coming back without him.”

  Reardon or not, she promised herself fiercely, the boy had to be found and dealt with. Everything depended on it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Palm Island Lighthouse,” Shane said.

  Eden was eager to hear the rest, but she had to concentrate first on getting them out of Savannah. She pulled up behind a tourist trolley at a traffic light. A decision was necessary before the light turned to green.

  “Which way?”

  “Straight ahead.”

  He gave her the number of the route they needed. Moments later they were out of the historic district and headed in the direction of the coast.

  “Now tell me,” she urged him.

  “It’s one of the Atlantic seaboard’s early lighthouses, and it was in bad shape when I knew it as a teenager. There was talk then of restoring it. Jamison must have funded a large portion of the project, and that’s why a carving of it ended up on the obelisk.”

  Shane wasn’t making sense. “Nathanial is at a lighthouse?”

  “No, but nearby. I used to see the light every day off in the distance on this point where it stands. It’s a familiar landmark, which is why I finally recognized it.”

  “Wait a minute. Didn’t you tell me you grew up in Richmond, Virginia?”

  “That’s right, but I spent my high-school summers down here working for a couple on Palm Island.”

  Palm Island. Eden didn’t recognize the name, but that wasn’t surprising. There were countless barrier islands all along the Carolina and Georgia coas
ts.

  “Estelle and Victor DuBois,” Shane said. She could hear the affection in his voice as he went on to tell her about the couple. “Victor and my father were professors at the University of Richmond, but he and Estelle had a summer home and rental cottages on the beach on Palm Island. I used to help them run the place. Now Victor’s retired, and they live there full-time.”

  Eden understood at last. “Nathanial is with this couple.”

  “I contacted them from Arizona, and they met me at the Charleston Airport and took Nathanial home with them, where I knew he’d be safe while I checked you out. Estelle and Victor are like family to me. They’re good people, Eden,” he assured her. “I would never have trusted Nathanial with them if I hadn’t been certain they would care for him like he was their own.”

  Eden didn’t doubt him, but the situation being what it was, she remained anxious. Shane understood that without her need to express it.

  “I’ll call them,” he said, helping himself to her cell phone. “They ought to know we’re on our way.”

  Eyes on the road, she listened closely as he phoned the island and spoke to Victor DuBois, explaining the whole situation.

  “Everything’s fine,” he reported moments later after ending the call. “Patrick—Nathanial, that is—is safe and happy. No one’s been near the house or asked about him, but they promised not to let him out of their sight until we get there.”

  Eden nodded and checked the rearview mirror. She knew that Shane had also been keeping an eye on the road behind them. There was no sign whatever that they were being followed, but it paid to be vigilant.

  Satisfied for the moment, Eden relaxed. There had been no opportunity before this to ask Shane what she had been hungering to know ever since he had told her that Beth had entrusted him with Nathanial. But now…

  “It’s been three years since I lost him,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “He must have changed a lot since then. You spent time with him, Shane. You can tell me what my son is like now.”

  “I’ve never been around kids before, Eden. I don’t know whether he’s a typical five-year-old or not.”

  “Please, I have to know.”

  Shane was thoughtful for a moment. “He’s a good-looking little boy, but you know that already from the photograph. As for the rest…well, I think you’ll be proud of him. He’s intelligent, loves animals, but he’s shy with people.”

  “Lively? Is he at all lively? Most boys that age are.”

  “Sometimes. He’d be playing hard, and then—”

  Shane hesitated. She knew he was reluctant to tell her anything that might worry her, but she had to hear it all. “What?” she pressed him.

  “He’d turn suddenly quiet, withdraw into himself.”

  “Because he was missing the woman he knew as his mother? Is that why?”

  “I think it was more than that, Eden. I think he was remembering something he wanted to forget and couldn’t.”

  She nodded. “Something that frightened him. The thing, as you said before, he wouldn’t talk about and probably the reason why he and Beth left Savannah.”

  Dear God, what could her son have seen that had traumatized him like that?

  Sensing her concern, Shane made an effort to comfort her. “He’s going to be okay, Eden. He’s a tough kid underneath it all, and with time and patience he’ll come around. You’ll see.”

  She flashed him a look of gratitude and then gave her attention entirely to the road again. She didn’t want to risk any further glances in his direction, didn’t want to tempt herself with the potent sight of him. There was too much uncertainty in that.

  They would soon reach Palm Island, claim Nathanial and return with him to Charleston where his true identity would be established, her legal right to him secured. The police would handle everything after that, including any investigation of the Jamisons and their involvement.

  She and Shane would have finished with what they had set out to do. What then? Would he go out of her life as suddenly as he had entered it? Return to Arizona and his own existence? She hadn’t dared let herself think about that before, and she didn’t want to think about it now. The idea of losing him was unbearable.

  It was a subject, however, that sooner or later would have to be addressed, but at this moment Eden preferred to avoid it. She was almost grateful that she had something else to distract her. For some time she had been aware of the sky. It had darkened and was looking increasingly threatening in the southeast, the direction in which they were headed.

  “I guess there’s a reason why the traffic is so light,” she said. “The weather doesn’t look good.”

  “Yeah, I know. There’s a storm brewing off the coast. I’ve seen them come up like this before in this part of the country, and they can be pretty bad.”

  She might have been alarmed, except his tone was so mild. But he was silent after that, his gaze fixed on the menacing sky. He is worried, she finally realized. And he doesn’t want me to know.

  “Shane, what’s wrong? This isn’t hurricane season, so I don’t know why—”

  “There’s no bridge, that’s what’s wrong.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Palm Island isn’t connected to the mainland by a bridge, like so many of the barrier islands are. It depends on a small car ferry, and if the weather is too wild…”

  “Are you saying there’s a chance we won’t be able to cross?”

  “Maybe it will be all right. Maybe we can beat the storm.”

  But they didn’t. Even though Eden increased their speed, the storm broke over the flat, marshy lowlands while they were still miles from their destination. The wind and rain were so severe over the open country that Eden was forced to slow the Toyota to a crawl. It was either that or risk being blown off the highway, which she could barely see through the sheets of driving rain.

  The torrent had eased some by the time they reached the ferry landing. But the wind was still a gale, so fierce that her heart sank when she glimpsed the intercoastal waterway frothy with whitecaps. Was she to get this close to Nathanial, only to learn she wasn’t able to reach him?

  “Sit tight,” Shane instructed her, “while I find out what our chances are.”

  Sliding out of the car, he dashed through the rain toward the snub-nosed ferry sitting at the dock. He was back in a moment, wet hair plastered to his scalp as he rejoined her in the car.

  “We’re in luck,” he reported. “Pilot said he’s making this the last run of the day. Said he’s crossed in worse, though he wouldn’t be attempting it if the island wasn’t the ferry’s home base and he doesn’t want to spend the night on this side. Are you up to it?”

  If it had been necessary, Eden would have swum the broad sound to reach her son. “Of course,” she said without hesitation.

  But it was a rough crossing, the vessel wallowing in the swells like a sick animal as it chugged through the rapidly failing light. She was relieved when they finally crawled into the quiet waters of the harbor and coasted to the dock.

  It was nightfall by the time they crossed the island where Shane directed her along a road edging the oceanfront. Her whole body was thrumming with anticipation when they turned into a driveway and arrived at a long, low brick ranch house situated in a grove of tall pines. Welcoming lights glowed in the windows.

  It was still raining, the wind so strong that great rollers piled along the beach. But Eden was oblivious now to the weather and scarcely noticed the sweeping beam of the lighthouse off in the distance as they left the car and made their way to the front door. All she could think about was Nathanial somewhere inside this house.

  Her tremulous bottom lip that Shane seemed to find so intriguing must have betrayed her nervous state. As they stood under the light on the covered stoop, waiting for their ring to be answered, he leaned down and placed a light kiss on that lip. It was an act of reassurance that moved her. Told her he understood the emotions that were churning inside her.

>   “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “He’s going to learn to love you all over again.”

  She could have kissed him back for that. And would have if the door hadn’t opened in that second. They were ushered inside with smiles of greeting, and Eden found herself being introduced to the African-American couple who had been caring for her son.

  Estelle DuBois was a small woman, all warmth and gentleness. Her husband, Victor, who towered over his wife, bore himself with an innate dignity. Eden immediately liked them.

  She must have looked more eager than she realized, her gaze casting around the entrance hall where they stood for a sign of Nathanial. Victor understood. “He’s in the family room with Spice,” he said in a bass voice that must have commanded attention in his classrooms.

  The couple led them through a comfortable living room, across a dining room whose table was laid for dinner, and into the spacious family room off the rear of the house.

  Spice turned out to be a lively spaniel tugging at the end of a towel in the hands of the boy who was playing with him on the floor. He was unaware of their arrival, probably because of the blaring television set.

  Estelle crossed the room and lowered the volume. “Look who’s here, Patrick.”

  He lifted his gaze then, and even with the width of the room between them, Eden could see the lavender blue of those wonderful eyes that had haunted her every dream for three years before tears blurred her vision. She had been waiting for this reunion all that time, longing for it, and suddenly she was scared. Praying for his acceptance of her.

  But she was a stranger, after all. Shane wasn’t. Dropping the towel, the child scrambled to his feet and raced across the room. “Uncle Mike!”

  Man and boy shared a fierce hug.

  “Hey, buddy, you didn’t think I wasn’t coming back for you, did you?”

  Watching them together, Eden could see that Shane had minimized their relationship. He and her son had clearly bonded, and that pleased her. It also made her a little jealous.