by Diane Hoh
That sounded ominous to Nora. Something else? Meaning something bad.
Reardon walked over to greet the officers as they left their cars. Only one officer per vehicle. The rest of the force, Nora guessed, was busy searching for Mindy.
“This Ms. Mulgrew?” the taller officer asked Reardon.
“It is. Why?” Reardon walked back to stand beside Nora.
“Got a tip,” the shorter, heavier policeman answered. He waved a piece of paper in the air. “Search warrant.” To Nora, he said, “Need to check out your room, miss. If you’ll be kind enough to lead the way.”
“What are you searching for?” Jonah Reardon asked.
“Anything that might give us information on the whereabouts of the Donner child.”
“Well, you won’t find that here,” Nora said crisply. “I’ve already told you people everything I know. At least a dozen times.”
“There isn’t anything here,” Reardon agreed. “She didn’t take the kid.”
“We got a tip, can’t just ignore it,” was the response. “The sooner we get to it, the sooner we’ll be out of your hair.”
Nora couldn’t be sure if the noise she heard then was the rumbling of an approaching thunderstorm or the ominous sound of impending doom.
“What does he mean, a tip?” Nora asked Reardon quietly as they went up the porch steps ahead of the two police officers. “How could they be tipped off to something that isn’t here? I don’t have anything of Mindy’s.”
“Someone must have called and said you did. Don’t worry about it. They’ll look, they won’t find anything, they’ll leave. Relax!”
“You shouldn’t have defended me out there,” Nora added, keeping her voice low as she led the way up the stairs to the second floor. “You could get in trouble. Besides, how do you know I didn’t do it? You don’t know anything about me.” She opened the door to her room and stood aside to let the officers pass.
Reardon, waiting in the doorway beside her, grinned. “I have a gift. A sixth sense. When I finish law school and pass the bar, it’ll help me decide which cases to take and which ones to pass up. I’d take yours.”
Overhearing, one officer, picking through the contents of Nora’s trunk, called out, “Yeah, well you’re not a legal eagle yet, hotshot. How about giving us a hand here?”
Nora stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, burning with rage and humiliation as the officers checked under her mattress, went through her dresser and desk drawers and her closet, even checking, she noticed with fury, the pockets of her jeans, raincoat, and two blazers.
“Don’t you want to check the fillings in my teeth?” she asked sarcastically when she could restrain herself no longer.
They ignored her, although Reardon sent her an understanding glance.
The phone rang.
“Am I permitted to answer my own phone, or were you about to take it apart to make sure I’m not hiding Mindy in the receiver?” Nora asked even as she defiantly walked to the phone and yanked it off the hook.
“Hello?”
“Kid-snatcher!” a voice hissed in Nora’s ear. “Kid-snatcher! I hope you get the death penalty! I hope you fry!”
Click.
For several seconds after the line went dead, Nora clung to the receiver, unable to believe she’d heard correctly. “Kid-snatcher”? Her?
She dropped the phone back into its cradle.
Reardon was just passing, carrying a half-full wicker wastebasket. When he noticed the expression on her face, he stopped. “What? What’s wrong? Did they find her?”
Mute, she shook her head. “Wrong number,” she finally managed. “Happens all the time.”
She could tell he didn’t believe her. But he didn’t argue. He turned and walked away, the wastebasket still in his hands.
And a few minutes later, he said in an odd voice, “Ms. Mulgrew?”
When she turned around, he was holding up a candy box. A pink ribbon still sat atop the lid, which was raised. Reardon’s eyes were on the contents.
The other two officers arrived at Reardon’s side at the same moment as Nora. Three pairs of eyes looked down into the box.
It held fingernail clippings.
Ten of them.
Ten clippings, neat and precisely cut, from ten very small fingernails.
Fuchsia in color. Bright, vivid fuchsia, carefully applied, with no smearing at the edges.
I tried to talk her into Powder Puff Pink, Nora’s shocked mind remembered. But she insisted on Thunder Alley Fuchsia.
She had painted Mindy’s fingernails with Thunder Alley Fuchsia on the morning of the day before she disappeared.
And now the tips of those same fingernails, the polish not even chipped yet, were lying in an old candy box discovered in her room.
The phone rang again.
Chapter 7
NO ONE MOVED TO answer the ringing telephone. It shrilled four times and then fell silent.
“That’s not mine,” Nora said finally. “That box doesn’t belong to me. In my entire life, no one has ever sent me candy.” Then, feeling Officer Reardon’s eyes on her, she flushed, embarrassed. What a stupid thing to say. He wasn’t feeling sorry for her, was he? It wasn’t as if she’d been complaining. She had said it only to fortify her claim that the box, with its disgusting contents, couldn’t possibly belong to her.
“We don’t care about the box,” one of the officers said. “Only what’s inside. Unless I miss my guess, those clippings are from a little kid’s fingernails. Someone, say, about the age and size of the Donner girl.”
“I didn’t put those in there!” Nora insisted, backing away from the box. “Someone else did.”
“Right.” The officer slid the box and its contents into a clear plastic bag. “We’ll just take this into town and have the lab check it out.”
“You’ll be available, right?” the other officer asked Nora as the pair turned to leave.
“Am I under arrest or not?” Nora asked.
“Not yet,” she was told by one of the departing officers. “Have to check out this box first. Just don’t be taking off on us, hear?”
As the officers were about to leave Reardon directed his dark brown eyes on Nora. “You sure you’ll be okay here alone?” His gaze moved to the Band-Aid across her temple.
I won’t be here alone, Nora thought, because I won’t be here at all. Aloud, she said, “Yes. I’ll be fine.” Then she added anxiously, “You’ll call me the minute you find her?”
Reardon opened the door. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll come here in person to give you the good news. Don’t worry, okay? We’ll find her.”
Nice of him, Nora thought as the door closed after him. She still didn’t understand why he was being so decent to her when he didn’t know her any better than the other policemen did. That “sixth sense” of his, telling him she was innocent? Maybe.
Too bad he was a cop and would probably be carting her off to jail any minute now.
She stood at the window watching until all three police cars had disappeared from sight. Then she grabbed her blue raincoat and left the room.
Once outside, she hesitated on the wide, stone steps. Which way to go?
She knew from Reardon that the search parties were concentrated on campus. She would have to avoid that area. She wouldn’t be welcome there. Besides, the nasty phone caller could be one of the searchers. The thought of running into him in person made her skin crawl.
Why did everyone assume that the kidnapper was hiding Mindy on campus? If I had taken her, the way everyone thinks I did, Nora thought as she moved down the steps, the first thing I would have done was get her away from campus where everyone knows her.
And take her where?
To know that, Nora decided, you would have to know why Mindy had been taken in the first place. Not for ransom. Professors didn’t make that kind of money, and right now most of Professor Donner’s money must be going for medical bills. Anyone who knew Mindy well enough tha
t she would walk off with them had to know the professor’s economic situation.
Then why had Mindy been taken?
A sudden sound behind her brought Nora’s head up. Mrs. Coates was out for the evening. Wouldn’t have been wandering around outside even if she had been home. The police officers were gone. There should have been no sound anywhere on the hill except the soft whisper of her own breathing and the gentle tap of the wind on the oak leaves overhead. The threatened rain hadn’t materialized.
Nora’s heart skipped a beat. The voice on the phone calling her a “kid-snatcher” had known where to reach her. Knew where she lived.
He was sick, or he never would have delivered such a cruel message.
What would he do to her if he found her?
Nora lifted her face and listened carefully. But she heard nothing but the wind and the erratic beating of her own heart.
Relieved, she began walking away from the house, pulling her hood over her hair. She had taken only a few steps when darkness completely enveloped her and she realized her mistake. She had left the house without a flashlight.
Duh. “Planning to conduct a search in the dark without a light of any kind, are you, Nora?” she muttered, and was about to retrace her steps when it struck her that she was now closer to the cellar entrance than to the front of the house. There would be a flashlight or lantern in the cellar, where the handyman kept all of his tools. She could borrow one, if the slanted wooden doors set. into the ground weren’t locked.
When Nora walked over and bent to tug on one, it opened. It was heavy, but when she used both hands, she was able to set it aside. What looked like a giant black pit lay below her, as if waiting to swallow her up. Nora had never been in Nightingale Hall’s cellar. Had never had any reason to be.
Cool, damp air floated up to her from the opening, and a musty, moldy smell came with it. It didn’t look very inviting.
But she needed a flashlight.
She felt her way down the stone steps into the black, musty void, and stood for a few seconds on the earthen floor just inside the doorway. The cellar was wide and low-ceilinged, with shadowy, bulky shapes looming out of the darkness here and there. One was a huge, old-fashioned furnace, Nora decided. The rest were boxes and trunks and old furniture. She could feel the dampness of the cellar seeping through her clothes, and fought the urge to turn and hurry back up the steps.
When her eyes had become accustomed to the lack of light, she made her way to a long, high, wooden bench against one wall, and fumbled among the tools there until her fingers closed around what felt like a flashlight. She flicked the switch, but nothing happened.
“Nor-rie!”
Hands on the flashlight froze.
“Nor-rie, where are you?” The voice was distant, eerie, as if it were coming from far away, but the words were clear and distinct, mournfully wailed in a child’s sweet voice. “Norrie! Come and get me. I want to go home!”
Nora whirled away from the bench, her breath catching in her throat. “Mindy?” It came out a hoarse whisper. She cleared her throat, tried again, louder this time. “Mindy? Is that you?”
“Norrie, please come take me home. I want my daddy.”
Nora’s eyes frantically scanned all four corners of the cellar. “Mindy, where are you?”
“Here, Norrie, I’m here!” But the voice was too faint to reveal its location.
Nora took a hesitant step forward. She had completely forgotten about the flashlight. “Mindy, tell me where you are. Tell me where you are!”
But when the voice came again, it was fainter, and fading fast.
The voice was too distant now to still be in the cellar. Nora stumbled forward, toward the entrance. “Mindy, don’t go! Stay there, so I can find you. Wait, wait!” She reached the doorway, plunged up the steps, repeatedly shouting Mindy’s name.
But she emerged at the top of the steps into total silence. The childish voice was gone.
Nora wasn’t willing to give up. To have Mindy so close, so close, only to lose her again was more than she could stand.
Panic took over then. Nora began running through the dark night, shouting the child’s name. As she ran, first around the house to the back, then toward the new barn sitting on the edge of the steep, wooded hill, her mind raced along with her feet.
She’s here somewhere, somewhere on this hill, I have to find her, take her home, she’ll be safe there, she’s counting on me …
When, breathless, she reached the new barn, she skidded to a stop just before the wide, double doors and stared at it. The barn?
Why not? Wouldn’t it be a perfect place to hide someone? Besides, the new structure sat far enough away from the house that a small child’s voice wasn’t likely to carry that great a distance.
But I heard her, Nora thought, puzzled.
“Nor-rie! Where are you?”
Nora snapped to attention. The plaintive wail was definitely coming from inside the barn.
Call for help, an inner voice warned. Mindy didn’t go in there alone. Someone took her in there. Someone cruel enough to kidnap a child, think what he might do to you. Call Officer Reardon, wait for him, and then the two of you can go inside together.
“Norrie!”
Impossible to take the time to run all the way back to Nightingale Hall, go inside, make the phone call, then wait for Reardon. Couldn’t be done, not with Mindy crying out like that. Find her first, make sure she’s safe, then make the call. Had to be done that way. No choice.
Making up her mind, Nora pushed aside the wide, flat board barring the entrance of the new barn, and slid one side of the door open.
“Mindy? Are you in here?”
No answer.
Nora took a few cautious steps inside, and as she did, a new thought emboldened her, eased her fear: Mindy had to be alone. Her captor would never have let her yell for help, would have silenced her after the very first cry. He must have gone off and left the child, knowing that Mindy was too tiny to slide the heavy door open.
“Mindy, it’s Nora. I’m here. It’s okay, honey. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll come and get you.”
No answer.
The faint outline of a wooden platform three-quarters of the way up one wall drew Nora’s attention upward. A hayloft.
Nora moved farther on into the barn, her eyes fixed on the loft and the wooden ladder leaning against its edge. “Mindy? Are you up there?”
The voice that answered her then was not the sweet, distressed cry of a child. It was deeper, harsher, and laden with cruel glee. “No, but I am!” The shout was followed by wild, maniacal laughter, shrill and bloodcurdling, fouling the air in the barn like toxic smoke. Just as quickly, it changed, sounding now identical to the cries that had brought Nora into the barn. “Oh, Nor-rie,” the falsely childlike voice begged softly, “come and get me, Norrie, come and save me from the big, bad kidnapper.”
“It was you,” Nora breathed, her head still uptilted, her feet beginning to back away from the loft. Her spine collided with a wooden post in the center of the barn. She stayed there, grateful for the support now that fear was turning her legs to mush. “Mindy wasn’t calling me. You were!” Her voice shook as she added, “What have you done with her?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” There was thinly disguised glee in the voice.
“Why are you doing this?” Nora screamed.
“Do unto others,” a thin falsetto answered, “as they have done unto you. That’s my motto!”
“Mindy couldn’t possibly have done anything to you. She’s only a little girl.” Nora peered up into the loft, trying to make out a shape … height, weight, or colors … hair, clothing, anything to tell her who the disembodied voice belonged to. But she could see nothing. It wasn’t even possible to guess gender, the way the voice kept changing.
“Never assume that all children are innocent little angels,” the voice said harshly. “It’s not true. Don’t make that mistake.” Then, in a different
, almost-giddy voice, it cried, “Look out below!” and an object came whizzing through the air straight at Nora.
Just before it ripped into her, one of the sharp tines slicing through her raincoat and penetrating the flesh of her upper right arm, Nora recognized the size and form of the object hurled at her from the hayloft as a pitchfork.
There was no time to throw herself out of the way. The tine caught her with a blow forceful enough to slam her back against the post. She felt the sharp, stabbing sensation in her right arm and then the wound on the back of her head, the skin held together with new stitches, collided with the heavy wooden post. The pain was so great, she had to bite down hard on her lower lip to keep from losing consciousness.
But, though her knees buckled and she sank to the wooden floor, kneeling, something kept her alert. She didn’t know if she stayed conscious out of stubbornness, or fear that if she fainted, he would finish her off. Her eyes remained open, and her mind continued to function. Gritting her teeth, she reached over and yanked the pitchfork out of her right arm, then twisted it around in front of her to use as a weapon if she needed it. It seemed unusually small, but it was all she had.
“Go ahead,” she gasped, her eyes on the loft, “come on, come down where I can see you. Show your face, coward!”
She heard a scrambling sound up above, and although she could see nothing but a shadow, her eyes followed the form as it scrambled along the platform to a small, oval door at one end, facing Nightingale Hall. Fingers reached up, undid the latch. Hands pushed the little door open. The figure hoisted itself up and out and over the edge, and disappeared. She heard a grunt and a soft thud as it hit the ground, and for one small, terrifying moment, she expected to see someone approaching the open door to the barn and coming at her.
Instead, she heard more scrambling sounds, then the unmistakable thud of footsteps as feet hurried away from the barn.
She was alone again.
And she was still alive.
Chapter 8
CROUCHING AT THE BASE of the wooden post, Nora waited, paralyzed with fear, still expecting the figure to appear in the wide doorway and rush toward her to finish her off.
