Stolen in the Night

by MacDonald, Patricia

  The legal papers, Tess thought with relief. The lawsuit. She almost sagged against this man, her enemy, in gratitude. Her reason for being here was obvious. He had pointed it out himself. Now, she thought, tread carefully. Hide your indignation. Be…conciliatory. “Yes,” she said in a deliberately even tone of voice. “Yes. I received those papers from your attorney. That’s why I’m here. I wondered if we could talk about that.”

  Nelson peered at her suspiciously. “We got nothing to say. We’ll say all that we need to say in court.”

  It made her flesh crawl to appeal to him—this man whom she suspected of being Phoebe’s actual killer. The thought of trapping him through the DNA helped her to overcome her revulsion. “I was just hoping that you and your wife and I could maybe…discuss this whole thing. I mean, I probably shouldn’t admit this to you, but I do feel…very responsible for what happened to Lazarus.”

  “My wife’s not here,” he said flatly. “She’s at the church.”

  Tess raised her hands in supplication. “You and I then. Could we sit down and talk about this…?” The thought of entering the house made Tess feel weak with dread, but she couldn’t give up. If he would only invite her in, she knew she could get to the bathroom, to get what she needed. “Could we just go inside and talk…?”

  “I don’t know what it is you want to talk about,” said Nelson suspiciously.

  “Just…to, um…clear the air,” said Tess.

  He peered at her and seemed to be calculating something. “Clear the air how?” he said.

  “I don’t think we…necessarily need an intermediary. I mean, lawyers can get in the way. And they’re expensive. Would you mind if I came in?” she said. “It’s awfully wet out here.”

  Nelson turned his back on her and walked up the front porch steps, rummaging in his pocket for the keys. He inserted a key into the front door and turned the knob.

  “Mr. Abbott,” Tess said politely.

  He turned to gaze at her, still standing beside the steps, and there was a chilling little flash of cunning in his eyes. “Well, come in if you’re comin’,” he said abruptly.

  Tess felt victorious and utterly wary at the same time. Where was that sudden, sly satisfaction coming from? She climbed the steps and followed him into the parlor she had viewed through the window earlier. Nelson Abbott took off his hat and his jacket and hung them on a clothes tree by the front door. Tess started to take off her wet slicker to hang it and her furled umbrella on the clothes tree, as well, but Abbott interrupted her. “I didn’t say to make yourself at home,” he said.

  “It’s just…I’m dripping,” she said.

  Nelson Abbott made a face and then sighed, indicating his unwilling approval. Tess hung up the umbrella and the slicker over it. Nelson pointed to one of the wooden chairs and Tess sat down on it in the center of the dank room. Nelson remained standing, his arms crossed over his chest.

  Instantly, Tess realized that they weren’t going to be sharing a friendly drink. So much for any hope of secreting away his drinking glass. He was staring at her, tapping the palm of his hand impatiently on his upper arm. “Say what you come to say,” he barked.

  Make this good, Tess thought. Be appeasing. “Well,” she said, “I know that you and Mrs. Abbott feel as if your son was the victim in this…whole thing. And of course he was,” she said, nearly choking on the words. “But my sister was a victim, as well. So I thought, maybe, instead of blaming each other, we should be placing the blame where it really belongs…on the state and the…death penalty.”

  Nelson looked at her in disbelief. “That’s what you wanted to say? That’s it?”

  Tess felt flustered. “Well, I, yeah…”

  Nelson rolled his eyes in disgust.

  “I mean…I just thought we could talk,” Tess said.

  Nelson snorted. “And here I figured you wanted to settle this thing. I thought you come to make us an offer.”

  “An offer?”

  “A financial offer,” he said. Then he shook his head. “Avoid the court business. I should have known. Just a lot of talk,” he said. “If that’s all you’re good for, get out.”

  Too late, Tess realized that she had missed her chance. Nelson would have been happy to sit and bargain. He might even have made them both a cup of coffee. Now it was too late to backtrack. He would not believe she was actually here to negotiate. In fact, he looked as if he was going to lift her from the chair and toss her out. Tess stood up, mindful that her last hope to obtain the sample was at hand. She knew that what she was about to say might seem strange, but she had to do it. “Excuse me,” she said, “but would you mind if I used your bathroom?”

  Nelson stared at her in amazement. “The bathroom?”

  Surely you have one, Tess thought. But she didn’t say it. “Yes,” she said.

  “No need for that,” he said. “You’re leaving.”

  “You won’t let me use the bathroom?” Tess said incredulously.

  Nelson was unrepentant. “No. You’ve wasted enough of my time. Get out of my house.”

  “All right,” said Tess, her scalp prickling. “Never mind.” She looked around the tidy room, hoping that something, somehow would strike her. Some source of a sample.

  “Let me tell you something,” said Nelson. “You ought to think about offering a settlement. Because if you don’t, a jury is going to make you pay dearly. You’re not going to get out of this. You hear me? It is going to cost you.”

  She walked over to the clothes tree while Nelson planted himself behind her so that there was no way for her to reenter the room. He grabbed the doorknob, pulling the front door open. Tess reached out for her slicker, still shiny and wet, and then she realized that all hope was not lost after all.

  “Is it still raining?” she asked.

  Nelson glanced out the front door. “Still coming down,” he said.

  Tess nodded as she put on her coat and clutched her umbrella and her pocketbook to her chest. “Well,” she said, “I’m sorry to have disappointed you. I guess we’ll have to leave this to lawyers after all.”

  “Don’t come back,” said Nelson. He barely waited until she was out the door to slam it behind her and lock it. Tess pulled up her hood while she was standing on the porch. Then she went down the front steps and hurried to her car.

  Once she got inside the car, she turned on the ignition, set the windshield wipers in motion, and locked the doors. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out one of the plastic bags she had taken from the Fuller house. Wrapping the bag around her hand like a mitten, she reached inside her slicker, under her arm and down the sleeve. She extracted a worn, stained hat with “John Deere” written above the brim. It had been hanging on the clothes tree beside her slicker and umbrella. When Nelson Abbott had looked out the front door at the rain, Tess had stuffed the hat into her sleeve as she pulled the slicker off its hook.

  Now Tess folded the hat with the use of her plastic “glove,” pulled it into the plastic bag, sealed the top, then placed it into the inner pocket of her slicker.

  The hat in its protective plastic seemed to glow warm against her own thudding heart. Hair, perspiration, a veritable treasure trove of Nelson Abbott’s DNA. Later, when he went to get his hat, Nelson would frown and try to remember if he had worn it in from the car. Perhaps he would assume that he’d left it somewhere. He’d probably check his truck, to see if it was on the seat. Or look around at the places where he worked. Tess backed out of the driveway, smiling at the thought. By the time he figured out that she had taken it, the results would be in.

  CHAPTER 17

  Chief Fuller scolded Tess soundly when she returned to his house with her treasure, but he also called in a favor from an old friend—a technician at the police lab in North Conway—who dispatched the lab’s courier for rush jobs to come and pick it. Aldous Fuller assured Tess that he would let her know as soon as he received the results.

  By the time Tess returned to the inn it was dark. Tess expected t
o find her mother comfortably settled in for the night, but Dawn went to the closet to get her coat as soon as Tess returned. “I have to go out,” she said.

  “Where are you going?” Tess asked.

  Dawn pressed her lips together. “I’m going to a CF meeting.”

  Tess understood what meeting she meant. Compassionate Friends was a national organization composed of parents who had lost a child. Members shared their grief and tried to help other members come to terms with their devastating loss. Dawn had begun going to the chapter in Boston after Phoebe’s death and occasionally attended meetings at the local chapter when she moved to New Hampshire. “I didn’t know if you were still attending meetings,” said Tess.

  Dawn sighed. “This week brought it all back to me. I feel like…I need to…go tonight.”

  “I understand,” said Tess. “Thanks for watching Erny. I’m sorry I was gone so long. I hope I didn’t make you late.”

  “Where were you all this time?” Dawn asked as she buttoned her coat.

  Tess wanted to tell her mother about her hunch, about procuring Nelson Abbott’s DNA, and about the fact that she was now waiting to hear the results. But’s Dawn’s eyes were distant and distracted. Tess knew better than to detain her. Over the years, talking with those people who truly understood her loss had helped her mother to survive. “I’ll tell you later,” Tess said. “Go on. Don’t be late.”

  “Erny’s watching TV. There’s some spaghetti sauce in there for you two,” said Dawn. “Just cook up some pasta.”

  “I will,” said Tess. “Thanks.” She kissed her mother on the cheek, saw her out the door, and then went into Dawn’s cozy parlor to see her son. Erny was curled up on Dawn’s couch under a blanket. Tess sat down beside him and he rested comfortably against her as she absently stroked his curly black hair. “How do you feel now?” she asked him.

  “Pretty good,” he said, yawning.

  “How about if I get you some supper after this?” she asked.

  Erny’s eyes widened appreciatively. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m hungry.”

  “Good,” said Tess.

  Once the TV program was over he shuffled along with Tess to the kitchen where she made them both spaghetti, using Dawn’s sauce, and they ate in the kitchen under the glow of the stained-glass lamp that hung over the table.

  Erny dug into his food eagerly.

  “My mother makes the best spaghetti sauce,” said Tess as she handed him the cheese shaker for the third time.

  “Yours is better,” said Erny, polishing off his second helping. “But this is almost as good as yours.”

  “You are a born diplomat,” said Tess. She gazed at him, smiling.

  “What?” said Erny, looking up at her.

  “I’m just so glad you’re okay,” she said.

  Erny yawned again. “Can I have ice cream?”

  Tess gave him some ice cream and cleared the plates. By the time she was done, Erny was resting his head in his arms on the table.

  “You look like you’re ready for bed again,” she said.

  Ernie yawned. “I’m tired,” he admitted.

  “You’ve had quite a day,” said Tess.

  “Will you read me more of Unfortunate Events?”

  “Sure,” said Tess. Her son, like so many kids, relished the bestselling ghoulish tales of orphans visited by every imaginable disaster. She sometimes wondered if Erny didn’t relate to those orphans in a way that other kids might not.

  She hung up the dish towel and together they went back to their room. Erny climbed up under the covers and handed Tess the book from the bedside table. Tess nestled down beside him on top of the covers and turned to the bookmarked page. She was no more than three pages into the new chapter when she noticed that Erny had dropped off to sleep again.

  She closed the book and set it down, carefully got up off the bed, and kissed him on the forehead. Leaving the night-light on, she closed the door to their room and wandered down the hall.

  Tess went into the library to look for something to read. She needed something to get her mind off the results she was waiting for. One of the guests had his laptop set up on the table by the front windows. He looked up at Tess and said hello politely when she came in and then returned to his computer. As Tess perused the shelves, taking out first one title and then another, she came across a framed plaque, propped up between the books. It had been awarded, years ago, to the Phalens, by the Chamber of Commerce for the improvements they had made to their property. As Tess pulled it from its spot to look at it, a newspaper clipping that had been tucked behind it fluttered to the floor. Tess bent down and picked it up. It was a picture of a beautiful young girl with long, straight hair and sad, kohl-rimmed eyes beneath the headline “Middle School Student, Lisa Phalen, 14, Dead from Drug Overdose.” Tess stared at the picture. It was hard to believe this was the same little toddler who had careened through this inn so many years ago. She had grown into a pretty but hard-looking teenager. The article referred to several stints in rehab. What troubled you? Tess wondered, staring at the photo. Once again, despite her conviction that she would be proved right about Nelson Abbott, she found herself wondering if there was some connection between Lisa’s death and Phoebe’s. And then she was chastened by the memory of her mother’s lament. Why do we blame the people who’ve suffered the most?

  Tess replaced the plaque, putting the article behind it, and found an old Ruth Rendell hardback whose title she didn’t recognize. She took the book back to the main sitting room. There were no guests in the comfortable room. Tess went over to the hearth and put a match to the fire that Dawn had laid, flopped down in the corner of the sofa, opened the book, and tried to read. But even her favorite author could not keep her attention tonight. She glanced up at the rain-spattered windows, the phone on the table by the door and wondered when Chief Fuller would have the results. “Rush job” did not mean that the lab would be working ’round the clock. Tomorrow, perhaps. But still, her gaze kept traveling to the phone. She got up and went around to the tray of sherry and tiny glasses that her mother always put out in the evening on the table behind the sofa. Several of the glasses on the tray were right-side up, having already been used by guests. Tess turned a fresh glass over, poured herself some sherry, and took a sip.

  The phone rang and Tess jumped, nearly spilling the sherry. She set down her glass, picked up the phone, and answered cautiously. “Hello.”

  “Tess. It’s Becca.”

  Tess was at once pleased and disappointed to hear her friend’s voice. “Hey.”

  Becca knew her too well. “You sound disappointed. Who were you hoping to hear from?”

  Becca’s question made Tess realize that there was someone else she was hoping would call besides Chief Fuller. She had not even thought of Ben Ramsey since she left his office, but now, as she waited by the phone, the image of his face had crossed her mind more than a few times. “It’s a long story,” said Tess.

  “We’ve been following the news,” said Becca. “It’s been all I can do to keep Wade from hopping the next flight up there. He keeps talking about what a missed opportunity it is.”

  “NO,” said Tess. “I hope you keep reminding him that I expressly forbid him to try and make a movie out of it. This is not a game.”

  “I know. I’m keeping him under control,” said Becca. “How are you holding up? How’s Erny?”

  Tess sighed. “Well, let’s see. Erny fell out of a tree today.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Becca. “Is he all right?”

  “He got the wind knocked out of him. A slight concussion. My brother was in charge, so naturally…there was an accident. But he’s okay. He’ll be fine. He was trying to fish from a tree limb.”

  “Well, at least he was having some fun. The papers make it sound so grim. Have you two been able to do anything to escape it all?”

  Tess frowned. “No. Not really. A couple of Sudoku puzzles. I was just reading to him for a while. But I’ve hardly had a minute
to spend with him.”

  “Sudoku puzzles? You can do that here. You should go on a picnic or something. Get away from all the madness.”

  “We should,” said Tess.

  “Or better yet, you should come home,” said Becca. “What’s keeping you there now? Why stay there any longer?”

  Tess shook her head. “Unfinished business. After all, I’m the one responsible for Lazarus Abbott’s death.”

  “I knew you were going to say that,” said Becca. “Tess, that is so not true. You’ve got to stop thinking that way.”

  “Thanks, Becca. I know you’re sincere when you say that.”

  “No one blames you. All your friends feel the same way about it.”

  “Well, I wish I could feel that way, but I have to try to…get a few answers while I’m here.”

  “Never mind answers. That’s the job of the cops. Hurry back. We need you here. Tell Erny that Sosa is fine and Jonah is taking good care of him.”

  “I’ll tell him,” said Tess.

  Tess said good-bye to her friend and they hung up. She took another warming sip of sherry, but felt even more warmed by the call, which reminded her of the good life she had made for herself and her son. Almost immediately the phone rang again. Tess picked it up, smiling. “What’d you forget?” she asked.

  “Tess, you’re there,” a man’s voice said.

  The sound of his voice coursed through her like a current. For a moment Tess felt too surprised to reply. “Ben?” she said at last.

  “I was thinking about you,” he said.

  Tess felt happy but flustered at the same time. She didn’t know whether he meant it in a business or personal way. “I’m glad you called,” she said.

  “I ran into a friend of mine who works at the hospital. She said they treated your son in the emergency room today.”

  This is a small town, Tess thought. Word got around. “That’s right,” said Tess.

  “What happened? You never mentioned it when you were in my office today. Is he okay?”

  “He’s going to be fine,” said Tess. “Thanks for asking.”