by Edie Claire
Leigh flipped through more sketches and stories about Mason, which became more elaborate as their creator grew up. At one point, she remembered, Cara had gone through a period of anger, and the entries had changed into stormy renderings of betrayal and revenge. But none of these had stayed in the book. Cara's passions on the subject had soon flip-flopped, and she had torn the uglier pieces out and thrown them away. The last entry, however, remained the same. Leigh had seen it only once, briefly. She had not seen the book again until today.
I have an aunt named Trudy Dublin who lives in Jennerstown, Pennsylvania. She hasn't seen or heard from Mason Dublin in years. My grandparents are dead. Trudy is an alcoholic and none of her information can be trusted.
Leigh closed the book and exhaled slowly, remembering the first time she had read those words. It had been the summer before she had started college at the University of Pittsburgh. Cara had just gotten her driver's license, and was feeling particularly independent. Unbeknownst to Lydie, she had been doing some research and had located a copy of her parents' marriage license. Knowing Mason's date and place of birth and parents' names, she had doggedly tracked down his older sister, who still lived in the same small town in the Laurel Mountains, just a few hours east of Pittsburgh.
Leigh could picture her cousin quite clearly as she set off that day, her cheeks flushed with excitement and her voice nearly giddy. "I've been waiting so long for this, Leigh!" she had gushed. "A real aunt! And she's going to answer all the questions Mom never would." Cara had hugged her and jumped into Frances's car, which Leigh had acquired for the day at great personal risk. "I'll be careful, I'm promise," Cara had said with a wave. "Remember—I was with you all day at rehearsal. Bye!"
Leigh normally loved practicing with her youth theater group, but she would have enjoyed that afternoon's rehearsal of The Miracle Worker much more if Cara really had stayed to watch. She was so nervous about what might befall her cousin (and her mother's car) that she forgot to duck when the girl playing Helen Keller had taken a swing at her, giving Annie Sullivan a very realistic bruised cheek for the duration.
When Cara had finally returned that evening to pick up Leigh from practice, the car was fine, but it was the only thing that was. They had ridden home in near silence, with Cara unable to say much of anything without choking on the words. Her cheeks were stained with tears and her eyes were puffy—a rare state for her even at that tender age. Only after they were safely cloistered in Leigh's room did she seem to recover her voice.
"She was awful," Cara had begun without preamble. "I've never met anyone like her. The house was a dump—absolutely filthy. And I don't mean that she was poor," she interjected. "I'm not being a snob about that. I mean that she didn't take care of anything. There was trash everywhere, crumbs, dust…and bottles. She was an alcoholic, I'm sure of it. She was either tipsy or had a hangover when I got there, I'm not sure. But she wasn't nice at all. I didn't even think she'd let me in at first, then when I told her who I was…"
Cara's voice had trailed off, and Leigh had waited impatiently for more, her heart pounding. "What did she do?"
"She invited me in," Cara had continued, her eyes far away. "She did tell me to sit down and everything. But all she said was, 'So, Mason really did have a wife and kid. More's the pity.' I didn't know what to say to that, so I asked her if she had a picture of him. She laughed and pointed at a frame on the wall—it was her and Mason at his high school graduation."
Cara had gone on to insist that Mason had looked just like she'd always pictured him, but beyond that, her story had gotten dark again. "She said my grandparents are dead—that they died in a car accident a few months before the picture was taken. Mason graduated and took off; she didn't know where he was most of the time after that. He'd call once in a while—she knew he'd gotten married and that there was a baby—but then he'd go for years without contacting her. She claimed the last she heard from him was a postcard three Christmases ago, with no return address. And then she told me—"
At that point Cara had started to tear up again, and as Leigh recalled, she had joined her. "She told me that Mason was no good, and that I should turn around and go right back where I came from and forget all about him. She said no decent man would run off and leave his own baby, and that I was better off without him."
The memory of those words stung Leigh even now, as she knew they had stung Cara for years afterward. The search had been abandoned, and Cara never again mentioned the aunt, or even her father, except in the most cursory manner. She seemed to have fallen into the same pit of denial that her mother inhabited—don't speak of it, and it will cease to exist.
As they had grown older, Leigh had occasionally tried to broach the subject, but the rebuff was always the same. "I don't have a father," Cara would insist flippantly. "I had a sperm donor." Nevertheless, the pain in her eyes was always disturbingly deep, and Leigh couldn't help but worry what damage could be caused by a lifetime of suppressing such an emotion.
Leigh's reverie was interrupted by a clean-washed, masculine hand, which gently took the binder from her and returned it to the file. "You've seen that before, haven't you?" Gil asked quietly.
Leigh nodded, then looked up. Mathias was nestled in the crook of his father's other arm, looking quite pleased with himself. She smiled at him, then turned back to Gil. "Did Cara ever tell you about the visit to her aunt?" She suspected she knew the answer already—the fact that he had acquired Cara's book was pretty clear evidence that his wife had shared it with him at some point. Leigh was embarrassed to admit a twinge of jealousy. As far as she knew, Cara had never told anyone besides her about the disastrous visit, and it had always been an important secret between them. A part of her still assumed Cara would never discuss Mason with anyone else, but that was silly.
"She showed me the book shortly before we were married," Gil answered. "She almost never talks about her father, as you know. It still hurts too much. But if you're wondering if I know about Trudy Dublin, the answer's yes. The PI located her as well, and even attempted to question her."
Leigh's eyes widened. Of course. Why hadn't she thought of that? Mason could still be in contact with his sister—she might even have a current address for him.
But before she could get too optimistic, Gil shook his head. "She's no help to us at the moment, I'm afraid," he said grimly. "She's been living in Pittsburgh for the last ten years, but her apartment was burglarized last week, and she's been at Allegheny Central Hospital ever since. She's been in no condition to answer any questions about anything."
Leigh vaguely remembered a news story about an older woman on the North Side who had nearly been beaten to death by an intruder. Then it had just been a news story. Now it was tragically real. "How awful," she said soberly, wondering at the timing. Mason Dublin was back in town, and his sister—admittedly an estranged one—was in the same city, on death's door. Did he even know? And if he did, would he care?
Pushing back another wave of sadness, she held her hands out for Mathias. The toddler leaned toward them with a grin, and his father handed him over, then tucked the file under his arm and picked up his wallet and keys. "Cara may be home before I am," he said, heading towards the family room. "If so, just tell her I needed to meet with the PI again. There's no need to explain your mother's involvement."
She looked after him skeptically. "I'm not sure how much longer we can keep Cara out of it," she said, following him to the back door. "Not since there's really—I mean, not since we know the threat from Mason is real."
Gil paused a moment and swung around to look at her. He looked like he was about to tell her something, but then he stopped. "There are some things you don't know yet, Leigh," he explained, "that the PI found out. But I'm already running late. Your parents or I can fill you in later, okay? Thanks for watching Matt."
It wasn't okay at all—the waiting to be filled in part—but Leigh didn't have much choice about it. Gil was out the door before she could reply, and Mathias was a
lready clamoring to be put down. She set him on the floor with a pat, and he immediately toddled off toward a red plastic fire truck. Things she didn't know yet. Things like what?
She stewed on the couch for several minutes before realizing that Mathias was trying to open the back door himself. "Go out!" he declared, as clearly as a precocious toddler could. "Out, Anlee!"
She looked through the picture windows at the sun shining over Mathias's customized play yard, and decided it wasn't a bad idea. She put on the boy's jacket and took him out to the fenced-in enclosure, which was home to a sandbox, playhouse, and swings fit for a king. Given that the farm also featured a small pond and a creek that tended to flood, the fence seemed prudent. Leigh took the lid off the sandbox, watched Mathias step gleefully inside, then settled herself in Cara's gliding loveseat.
It was a cool day, but with the sun warm on her face and her recent lack of sleep catching up to her, she was afraid to close her eyes for fear of nodding off. She needn't have worried. Scarcely a minute of solitude had passed before four wet paws pounced jarringly into her lap.
"Aggie!" Mathias called enthusiastically. "Aggie dog!"
"Yes," Leigh answered, with considerably less enthusiasm. "So I noticed." The orange and white Brittany Spaniel that had claimed her lap was now in the process of licking her face, as well as distributing a few more muddy paw prints on her chest. "Down, Maggie. That's a girl," she said, attempting to round up the flailing paws and remove them from her person. She managed to shift the dog to the cushion beside her, and Maggie cooperated, though the licking continued.
"Aggie dog!" Matthias chanted, now in a sing-song. Leigh grinned at the squirming beast that Gil had purchased for Cara as a watch dog. Showed what he knew. Like so many sporting dogs of her ilk, all Maggie ever wanted to do was run. The comings and goings of the farm's visitors were of little consequence; unless, of course, they wanted to run with her. Maggie tolerated the slow movement of the swing for another thirty seconds or so, then took off again. She was heading toward the pond—which, if the state of Leigh's clothes were any indication, was probably where she had just come from—when she stopped short, ears perked. A millisecond's analysis later, the dog was bound hell-for-leather around the back of the barn.
"Aggie go," Mathias chanted again.
Leigh watched as the little dog disappeared around the far corner of the old barn. She expected to see her bounding around the near edge any moment, but the dog didn't reappear.
Leigh's brow furrowed. Maggie had probably gotten waylaid by a chipmunk. Still, something about her long absence was disturbing. While just about anything could grab Maggie's attention, nothing ever managed to hold it for very long. Was there something behind the barn that she could be eating? A dead bird? A groundhog?
Mathias was intent with his work now, having decided that all of his sand box toys must be lined up along the fence with perfect precision. Leigh got up and walked in the direction of the barn, watching the toddler over her shoulder as she went. "Maggie!" she called, knowing the effort was probably futile. She attempted a loud whistle, which she'd never been very good at. "Maggie? You still back there?"
She was only a few paces from the barn's back edge when a flash of orange and white shot out from around the corner and collided with her knees. "There you are!" Leigh said, relieved. She patted the ecstatic little spaniel. "What were you doing?"
The dog accepted only a few pats, then shot off to circle Matthias's play yard. This time he ignored her, having finished the alignment and moved on to the next phase of the project—filling each toy with sand one spoon-sized shovelful at a time. Maggie took the rebuff with good humor and dashed off toward the pond again.
Leigh smiled and began walking back to the loveseat. She had only gone a few steps when everything turned black.
Chapter 11
Leigh's face was cold, and she was lying on the damp ground. Why? She lifted her head and looked up. She was at Cara's farm, outside by the barn, lying on the grass in a very uncomfortable position. She sat up a moment and looked around, unable to figure it out. What was she doing at Cara's, anyway?
Her eyes drifted toward the driveway, where the only vehicle visible was her Cavalier. She'd come out here for some reason, obviously. Now what was it?
Mason Dublin was trying to blackmail Gil, she recalled easily. And her mother had just told her that Lydie herself had been messed up in the bank robbery. She had come out here to baby-sit… Her mind began to clear as she struggled stiffly to her feet. But when her eyes landed on the open gate of Mathias's play yard, her brain, as well as her heart, stopped cold.
Mathias. The image of the toddler loomed up in her mind, overwhelming her with sheer terror. Mathias! Where was he? She began to run toward the play yard, stumbling a few times along the way. She tried to scream his name, but every time a sound escaped her throat, something in her skull seemed to crack, and her voice caught deep in her lungs.
The play yard was empty. She looked toward the house, where some rational part of her brain insisted he must be. She had taken him to the play yard, she remembered now. But then what had happened? She tried to concentrate, but thinking sent sparks of pain shooting off behind her eyes, and didn't produce any results besides. She couldn't remember what had happened next. Still, she had an overwhelming feeling that wherever Mathias was, it wasn't the house.
Led by some idea she couldn't quite put her finger on, she walked out into the center of the yard, and stood still. She might not be capable of yelling, but she could listen. Though the beating of her heart was so loud she feared it would drown everything else out, she closed her eyes and thought of Mathias. If he was out there, he would be making noise. It was a cardinal rule of toddlerdom.
She waited only a few seconds before the blessed sound reached her ears. It was a high-pitched squeal, and it was coming from the woods by the road. Her feet moved instantly toward the sound, but after only a few paces, she stopped.
Something was wrong. The squeal wasn't a happy one, of that she was sure. It could be a cry of annoyance, or frustration, or fear. If she were Mathias's mother she could probably pinpoint it exactly, but since she wasn't, she'd have to do the best she could. But it wasn't just the squeal that bothered her. Had Mathias simply wandered away while she slept?
It only took an instant, then, for her brain to shake its cloudiness. She hadn't fallen asleep. She didn't know what had happened to her, but she knew one thing. Whatever had just happened wasn't an accident. She hadn't fallen asleep on the ground just because she was tired, and Mathias hadn't figured out how to undo a double child safety latch by himself. He hadn't just wandered away. Someone had taken him.
Kidnapped. The terror that shot through her then was so intense it burned. Mathias was screaming because someone was carrying him away. Away from his home, away from his mother—
An image of Cara floated up in Leigh's mind, her arms empty, her eyes dull. My baby, she was saying weakly. Where is he?
Leigh's eyes narrowed, and her whole body felt hot. No. This wasn't happening. And it wasn't going to happen. She cocked her ear toward the sound again, and determined that while it was indeed coming from the woods, it wasn't moving toward the driveway or the main road. Mathias seemed to be moving towards the creek.
The pain behind her eyes was forgotten as Leigh's mind began turning cartwheels, her fear replaced by sheer determination. She was sharp, she was on it, and she was going to get that baby. She took a deep breath and prepared for the chase of her life, but stopped before she began. Though her heart was screaming for pursuit, her brain knew that the abductor had far too much of a head start. There had to be another way. She could run after them and hope to get a license plate number and description if they got into a car, but there was no guarantee she could reach them before they drove off, and even if she did, she would be a long way from a phone.
A car, she thought quickly. The abductor had to have one somewhere. He must have been staking out the farm, waiting for jus
t the right, unguarded moment. The car couldn't be sitting in the driveway, or even on the shoulder of the side road where she had staked out Gil a few days before. It would be too noticeable. Where could it be hidden?
She looked in the direction of the creek and tried to visualize what was on the other side. The creek flowed down from Wexford, and all along its far bank ran the Harmony Shortline, a wide flat lane of grass that had once been a railroad bed. She and Cara had hiked up it soon after the farm had been purchased, with Cara spinning wild tales of how Mathias would ride it up to the high school some day, after it had been turned into a bike trail.
High school. The memory of Cara's carefree dreams for her son's future sent another wave of determined heat through Leigh's body. Where would the car be? Think, woman—think.
In a rush she remembered the hike, and how the Shortline trail had been flanked on its other side by a winding residential road, first with a cluster of houses, then, as they had walked north, with more woods and a private road.
Of course. She turned and looked upstream, away from where Mathias's cries seemed to be going. There was nowhere to park a getaway car at the south end of the farm—there was too much traffic on the road and too many houses to manhandle a screaming toddler without being noticed. But farther up where the road turned private, one could park a car all day without rousing much suspicion. And odds were that no one would be close enough to see or hear anything.
So why weren't they headed north? Leigh's question was answered immediately by another sound—rushing water. The wet weather of late had swelled the creek, and though it was hardly the stuff drownings are made of, traversing it with a toddler in tow wouldn't be the easiest thing in the world. At the level of the private road, the creek was narrow and fairly deep—certainly waist high in the middle—and the banks were steep and slippery. But at the south end of the farm by the main road, the creek widened out, and an adult—even one toting an unwilling load—could easily splash through it with no worse than wet pant legs.
