Into Thin Air

by Karen Leabo

  As quickly as the thought materialized, he banished it. Returning his attention to Mindy, who was looking more uncomfortable by the minute, he viewed this moment as just another career challenge. He was good at meeting challenges. This was also an excellent opportunity to prove to Caro Triece that he could handle whatever came along without her help.

  “You know,” he said, trying to sound casual, “kids are molested a lot more often than people generally think. I mean, my own sister was. By a camp counselor.” Never mind that his only sibling was a brother. “The saddest thing is, the kids are afraid to talk about it, and the molester keeps getting away with it, hurting one child after another.”

  “What are you getting at?” Mindy asked suspiciously.

  All right, so much for subtlety. “Look, if this person who raped Marcy is a family friend or relative, he could easily have...approached you at some point.”

  Mindy bristled and her mouth moved into a snarl, reminding him of a dog Austin had once seen facing a skunk. “I have never been molested,” she said, hissing the words. “If there is any family friend capable of anything like that—and that’s a big if—he’s never approached me.”

  “And what about Debby? She could be next.”

  Mindy shook her head vehemently. “No way. Debby’s smarter than that.”

  “And Marcy wasn’t?”

  “Stop putting words in my mouth, okay? This theory of yours is way off base. There’s no ‘family friend’ who would do what you’re talking about.”

  “Then who? Who could have fathered your sister’s child?”

  There was a pause. “It had to be a stranger. That’s the only answer.” She crossed her arms and stared at him, daring him to contradict her.

  Mindy’s parents must have picked up on the change of tone in their daughter’s voice, because Bob Phelps put his head through the dining room door. “Is everything okay in here?”

  “It’s fine, Daddy,” Mindy mumbled. She looked up at Austin, her expression almost pleading. “I’ll get those letters now, okay?”

  Austin nodded.

  Audrey and Bob Phelps were even more reticent about allowing the detectives to question their baby. At first they insisted on staying in the room, until Austin assured them he was not in the habit of browbeating ten-year-olds.

  “I’m eleven,” Debby objected. With brown hair and hazel eyes, she didn’t resemble her older sisters at all.

  “Are you?” Caro said, smiling. “That’s right, you had a birthday recently...Christmas Eve, right?”

  “Yeah. Don’t worry that you missed it, everyone else did, too,” she said, issuing a fatalistic sigh.

  “I’m afraid we did overlook it,” Audrey said apologetically. “What with everything that was going on...”

  Don’t apologize to us, Austin wanted to say as he stared into Debby’s sad eyes, seemingly wise beyond her years.

  The Phelpses were finally convinced to let the detectives conduct their questioning in peace, and Austin was actually grateful for Caro’s presence. It wouldn’t have been proper for him to question the child alone.

  He soon discovered that Debby was the brightest of the whole clan. Although he suspected no one had spelled out the hard facts of the case to her, she knew all about Marcy’s pregnancy. She seemed so well versed that Austin wondered if she’d read the newspaper.

  “I’m an aunt, you know,” she said, fiddling with a lock of her hair. “If they find the baby, will we get to keep it?”

  “I don’t know,” Austin replied. He sensed that Debby would be even more sensitive than Mindy to any hedging he might attempt.

  He went through the same series of questions he’d asked Mindy, and Debby made a seemingly sincere effort to answer honestly. If there was any “favorite uncle” attached to the Phelps family, Debby could shed no light on him.

  “Please, think hard, Debby,” Austin said. “Has there been any other man present in the house? Even a repairman.” He was grasping at straws.

  “Well, there was Ray, but I don’t think...” Her voice trailed off.

  “Ray who?” Austin asked, trying not to sound too anxious. This was a new name.

  “Seifert. Mindy’s boyfriend.” She made a face.

  “You don’t like him, I take it.”

  Debby shrugged. “He’s gross. He called me ‘kid’ and ‘shrimp’ and ‘sport,’ and he smoked.” She pantomimed gagging.

  Debby went on to explain that Mindy had met Ray Seifert in college, that he was “old”—twenty-two or -three—that he’d stayed at the Phelps house for a couple of days over Christmas vacation and again at spring break.

  “Your parents didn’t object to Ray?” Austin asked.

  “They liked him okay. Of course, he was completely different around them, real polite, ‘yes, ma’am—yes, sir.’ Made me want to puke.”

  “And how did Marcy feel about him?”

  “She thought he was cool ‘cause he rode a motorcycle. And he showed her a joint once. You know, marijuana. She went on about it for days.”

  So, Marcy’d had a crush on her older sister’s boyfriend. That was something she probably wouldn’t have confided in Mindy. And Ray Seifert had been hanging around during spring break. Mid-March. Right about the time Marcy’s baby had been conceived.

  Austin exchanged a knowing glance with Caro. He was sure she was thinking the same thing he was. A slight tickling at the back of his neck told him he was onto something.

  “Were Ray and Marcy ever alone in the house?” he asked.

  Debby darted a nervous glance toward the door to the kitchen.

  “Debby, anything you tell me will be kept in confidence. We won’t tell anyone unless and until it becomes important to the investigation. Nothing we can do at this point will bring your sister back, but you might be leading us one step closer toward finding Marcy’s baby.”

  Debby took a deep breath. “There was one time,” she said slowly, thinking it through. “Daddy was at work, Mom was shopping or something, and Mindy left to go get a pizza and a movie at the video place.”

  “And she left Ray here alone with Marcy?”

  “I was here, too, but I was in my room. I didn’t like being around Ray.”

  “So what happened?”

  Debby shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. I can’t remember.”

  “Did Marcy say anything about it, or act any differently afterward?”

  “No, but she was sick the next day. I remember that because we all went to church, even Ray, except Marcy didn’t because she said she didn’t feel good. But I think she was fibbing.”

  “Why?”

  “‘Cause she was doing laundry! She washed a bunch of sheets and towels while we were at church. No one does laundry when they’re sick, do they?”

  Austin didn’t comment. He busied himself flipping his cassette tape over to the other side, all the while watching Debby’s face as she mulled over her memories of those long-ago events and wondered at their significance. Suddenly she grew still, and her eyes widened to the size of half-dollars.

  “Corporal, when you have sex, does it mess up the sheets?”

  Austin nearly fell out of his chair. He’d never had an eleven-year-old ask him questions about sex before. But what really astounded him was that this little girl had put the clues together almost as quickly as he had.

  He sent a panicked look to Caro. She responded with a nod of understanding. “Yes, it does make a mess sometimes,” she replied to Debby’s question. “Do you think that’s what happened? Do you think Marcy and Ray Seifert had sex?”

  God, Austin thought, if Debby’s parents had any idea of the conversation going on in here, they would chase both detectives out with a meat cleaver.

  Debby shrugged. “I don’t know. Nobody tells me anything.”

  “Are Ray and Mindy still dating?” Austin asked, though he was still recovering from the shock.

  She shook her head. “They broke up last summer.”

&nb
sp; Right about when Marcy disappeared.

  Austin let Debby go after cautioning her not to talk about their conversation to anyone else, not even her parents, but he didn’t think he had to worry about that. Audrey and Bob Phelps didn’t seem like the type of parents who were easy to confide in.

  “We’d like to speak to Mindy again, if we may,” Austin said to Bob Phelps after Audrey had hustled her youngest daughter away—to debrief her, no doubt.

  “I’m sorry, but she left,” Bob replied, sounding not at all sorry. “We thought you were through with her.”

  Well, fine. Mindy would just have to make a trip downtown. Maybe in a hot interrogation room, her memory about her former boyfriend would improve.

  “Oh, but she did leave you these.” Bob handed Austin a stack of letters. “You’ll return them, won’t you?”

  “Yes, we’ll return them.” But only if they didn’t prove useful in nailing Ray Seifert for sexually assaulting Marcy Phelps.

  As soon as he and Caro were safely in the car away from prying eyes, Austin issued a gusty sigh. “Okay, what are you waiting for? Where’s the ‘I told you so’?”

  “What do you mean?” Caro asked innocently.

  “You know what I mean. I about lost it back there. If you hadn’t stepped in, I don’t know what I would have said to that little girl.”

  “Oh, I expect you’d have come up with something. In fact, I thought you handled things rather well. You managed to intimidate Mindy—no easy task—and earn Debby’s trust in record time. You didn’t need me after all.”

  Surprised, Austin looked over at Caro, searching her face for some sign of sarcasm. But there was none.

  “Thanks,” he murmured. Her praise meant more to him than it should have.

  * * *

  Henry liked the new girl, he decided, and that was something. He didn’t often allow himself to like another person. Experience had taught him that emotional attachments only led to grief. Hadn’t his own mother, whom he’d adored, dumped him on Aunt Odell’s doorstep when he was only seven?

  He’d always been a troublesome child. He’d been told that often enough. But that final incident, the one that had so upset his mother, hadn’t been his fault. He hadn’t meant to burn up that cat. It had been an accident. He’d only been trying to scare Whiskers. But his mother, tight-lipped and almost fearful, as he recalled, hadn’t wanted to listen to any explanations. She’d simply packed up his clothes and carted him off to his aunt’s, and he’d seen her only a handful of times since then.

  He hadn’t seen much of his father, either, but he didn’t care so much about that.

  He’d fared no better in school than at home. He’d tried to make friends, like Aunt Odell had told him to do, but none of the other kids wanted to sit with the “retard.” Even when he tried to explain that he wasn’t retarded, he just had “adjustment difficulties”—a wonderfully adult-sounding phrase he’d picked up from the school counselor—it hadn’t mattered. No one wanted to be friends.

  There’d been a girl, once. Jenny was a fat girl—really fat—so in a way she’d been as unpopular as Henry. But she was smart, something he admired because he was smart, too, although sometimes he had a hard time proving it. He’d liked Jenny, a little, especially after she started sharing her cookies with him at lunch. Henry loved cookies.

  But everything had changed the day he’d tried to kiss Jenny behind the gym and touch her breasts. He thought that’s what boys did when they liked girls. But Jenny had slapped him, hard, screaming something about how all boys wanted was sex. He’d tried to explain that he’d only been trying to do something she would like, something that was expected of him, but she hadn’t listened. No one ever listened.

  Jenny hadn’t shared her cookies with him after that.

  For years, now, the only person Henry had loved was his Aunt Odell. Not that Odell loved him back. She wasn’t his mother, after all. But she’d always been there for him, praising him when he did something right, patient when he made mistakes. He lived for her praise. He knew that someday he would do something so right, so splendidly perfect, that Odell would finally love him.

  So it really was strange that Henry found himself liking the new girl, when he knew she was a sinner. Aunt Odell would never approve. But Amanda was different from the rest. Her hair was the prettiest reddish color he’d ever seen, and soft like bunny fur. And her eyes looked like little bits of sky were trapped in there. But it went beyond her looks.

  Sometimes she smiled at him. The other girls looked at him with contempt, as if he were dirt on their shoes. But not Amanda. She smiled, friendly-like. He was sure that, if she was allowed to talk to him, she would tell him she liked him, too. And maybe someday she would even let him kiss her and touch her breasts, and more. He’d never forgotten the mistake he made with Jenny, and he wasn’t sure whether kissing and touching were sins, anyway.

  The last day or two, he’d found himself doing things that he knew would make Odell angry if she knew. He’d stolen one of her pretty-smelling bars of soap and smuggled it to Amanda. And he’d cut Amanda an extra-big slice of the cheesecake they’d had for dinner that night. Somehow, earning Amanda’s smile had become the most crucial thing in his life—even more crucial than Odell’s mission.

  The mission was supposed to be the holiest, most important thing in the world. And for all these long months, it had been. But suddenly, saving the lives of babies—and even punishing their evil mothers, the part Odell didn’t know about—didn’t seem as gratifying as it once had been. For the first time in his adult life, Henry contemplated a life away from Odell, a life where he could pursue other interests besides saving babies. A life with a girl who could love him.

  A life with Amanda.

  A little warning voice inside his head came to life. Don’t set yourself up for a fall, it said. Don’t expect too much of people and you won’t be disappointed. All right, so maybe he was expecting too much. Putting the cart before the horse, as Aunt Odell was fond of saying. But Amanda’s smile had to mean something. Before long, he would find out what.

  Chapter 6

  Chloe Krill sat on the leather sofa in her living room, her feet curled underneath her, waiting for Don to get home. They hadn’t enjoyed much time alone since Justin’s arrival. But this evening, Justin was staying at his grandmother’s house four blocks away. Tonight, she and Don would talk.

  Odd little thoughts kept popping up in Chloe’s mind, events and circumstances she hadn’t thought much about during the exciting months of preparation for Justin’s arrival—or perhaps she had deliberately ignored them. But now she found that her memory was suddenly, frighteningly accurate, not to mention persistent.

  Travis Beaman was a tax attorney. He did not normally practice family law. Why did he not refer the Krills to another attorney, someone more familiar with cases of this type, to handle the specifics of Justin’s adoption?

  Even more puzzling, Travis had asked them not to mention the purpose of their visits to any of the secretaries or clerks, except for his own secretary. “Adoption is such a private issue, and I think it’s better that as few people as possible are involved,” Travis had said, and the Krills had agreed. It had sounded sensible at the time.

  But Travis employed some of the best clerical help in the business, and paid them well. Now Chloe wondered...couldn’t his staff be trusted to keep matters confidential?

  A peculiar instance at a Fourth of July picnic given by the Krills came to mind. Travis and Don had been off in a corner of the backyard, speaking about something in hushed voices. When Chloe approached, they had suddenly stopped talking, and her husband had looked at her with something akin to alarm and, well, guilt. Smiling, she had asked them what they were whispering about. She’d been ready to tease them about talking business at a party. But Don had scowled and told her it was nothing she needed to concern herself with.

  Don had never kept secrets from her before—none that she’d found out about, anyway. But something about
the way he’d looked at her had warned her off. She hadn’t pressed. She had deliberately pushed the incident from her mind.

  The two men, who had been friends since high school, had excluded her from talks about the adoption having to do with money, and that had been all right with her. She didn’t really want to know. If she’d thought about the money aspect for too long, it would have seemed to her that they were buying a baby.

  She wouldn’t be thinking about it now if it weren’t for Marcy Phelps. Chloe had followed the stories in the paper, greedily reading the columns of newsprint, shorter each day, devoted to the girl’s mysterious disappearance and death. She couldn’t stop imagining the fifteen-year-old’s naked, ravaged body, floating in the freezing water.

  Had Marcy held her baby before she died? Had anyone tried to save her life, or had she simply been allowed to bleed to death?

  Chloe heard Don’s key in the door. Her heart seemed to expand inside her chest, followed by a shortness of breath. This was her husband, for God’s sake. They’d been married twelve years. Why did she feel so afraid?

  He came in the front door. She heard the familiar sounds of his setting down his briefcase, opening the closet, hanging up his coat. Then he walked into the living room. He was not a large man, nor a classically handsome one, especially now that his hair was thinning. But Chloe had loved him almost from the day she’d met him at her church. Her family had thought she was marrying below her station, but she’d known he would make good with his printing business. And he had. He’d bought her this beautiful house. They had nice cars, clothes, vacations.

  And a fifty-thousand-dollar baby.

  He started to pass through the darkened room when he saw her sitting on the couch with just the one lamp on, and he froze. “Honey? What’s going on? Where’s the baby?”

  “He’s at my mother’s. I thought we needed some time alone. We need to talk.”

  A slow smile spread across Don’s face and his stance relaxed. “Just you and me? Alone?” He crossed the room and sat down next to her, touching her hair with one finger. “You look awfully serious.”