"Don't worry, James. Jennifer won't poison him."
"I think poison is too impersonal. She'd rather choke him to death with her bare hands." James laughed along with Eugene, but both men knew it was true. If looks could kill, Crush Bonbon would be impaled on an ice pick of malice.
"Jennifer is far too defensive of me," Eugene admitted. He sipped the sweet punch, barely touching it to his lips. "I think Mrs. Whipple is trying to kill me with a diabetic attack."
James, too, had set aside his punch cup. It was like syrup, but the kids were swilling it down. "How long have you been doing story hour here?"
"For the past two or three years. Martha Whipple started it twenty-five years ago, though. I can remember bringing Eleanor and several other children up here to listen to her read the classic children's stories. She did a wonderful job."
"She seems to have a way with the children." James was watching them laugh and talk as Martha Whipple bent down to examine a cut or a bruise or to help with a difficult shoelace. "She's been staring at you all morning, Eugene. Is there romance sparking between you?" He owed the old gentleman a good turn, and Mrs. Whipple was an attractive woman with a bright and lively mind.
"Heavens, no." Eugene looked started. "Martha and I have been friends for years. She has no interest in me. Whatever gave you that idea?"
"The fact that the entire time you read, she watched every nuance, every smile, every little thing you did. And she obviously admires your stories." James knew he'd embarrassed Eugene— and good for that. If anyone could appreciate the eccentric life-style of a writer, it would be a librarian.
"Martha is my contemporary. If she's fond of anyone, it's that old reprobate, Allan Juniper, the historian. Now, he's been carrying a torch for her for fifty years." Eugene had recovered and was ready for battle. "I can see you're having difficulty controlling your own yen for Jennifer, but that doesn't mean you have to try and drag me down Lover's Lane behind you."
"Lover's Lane?" Crush Bonbon had moved up rapidly— and silently— for a man with his girth. "Who's sampling the delights of amour?"
"Crush, the mental picture of you mooning after a woman makes me too tired to think." Eugene backed away several steps. "I'm going for a walk and then home. I have some wonderful ideas to finish The Lizard King, and I need some exercise to work them out." He walked away without another word.
"Sorry to bust up your tea party, Tenet. Legander wasn't giving you the scoop on the next child he plans to kidnap, was he?"
"He said something about the Lindbergh baby." James glanced up to see Jennifer watching him with interest.
"Very funny," Crush said. He wasn't smiling. "You think you're better than me, don't you?"
"Journalistically, we're not even in the same profession." James normally wasn't so harsh, but Bonbon's personal attacks on Eugene were irresponsible, motivated by jealousy, and potentially damaging— without the first shred of proof. "I know cockroaches with more ethics than you, Bonbon."
Anger touched Crush's small, blue eyes. "You'll be singing a different tune when you have to admit that Eugene Legander is a dangerously deranged man. He writes about hurting children. My God, man, did you listen to the story today? A human boy is turned into a lizard because he doesn't mow the grass, or pick up his clothes, or help the old lady down the street. That's a little extreme, isn't it?"
Tenet gave Crush a long, cold look. "I know this is going to be difficult for you to grasp, but try. The Lizard King is a story. A made-up story. A fantasy, with magic and wicked princes and good elves. Those things aren't real, Crush. Maybe you should have your doctor check your medication dosage. You can't judge fantasy from reality any longer." He paused long enough to see that Jennifer was now within earshot, and she was grinning so wide it seemed her face would split.
"Yeah, there's magic going on here. Those people have done something to you. Cast a spell to make you forget you're supposed to be objective." Crush's face was red. "Man, you're over the edge. You must be getting some kind of attention from that publicist. She's good-looking, but is she worth your professional judgment?"
James was very angry, but he didn't show it. "Make that charge in public, Bonbon, and I'll sue you so long and hard you won't even own the dirt under your fingernails."
"Is there a problem here?" Jennifer stepped forward. She'd had to bite her bottom lip to get rid of the gloating look on her face. She might be the one hired to protect Eugene Legander, but James Tenet was doing all the work. And he did it from his heart, not because he was drawing a paycheck. That made it a million times more effective, and Crush had to know that.
"No problem." James smiled at her. With a twinkle in his eye, he lifted her hand to his lips. "The reading was wonderful. I told Eugene I can't wait for the end of the story."
"He's actually finished it, but he wanted to get the reaction of his critique group. That's what he calls the children. The questions they ask and the concerns they express are generally what other children want to know. Eugene says adults ask different questions."
"Does he pay them?" Crush wedged his large belly toward them.
"Oh, with his time and his wit and his love for them." Jennifer smiled. "Do you pay the people who call in to your show, Crush? Sometimes I've suspected you did. I find it hard to believe there are actually people that stupid, moronic, asinine and completely uneducated in this area. But you do seem to pull them out of the woodwork."
"Jennifer, Ms. Whipple is signaling you for some help." James pushed her none too gently away from Crush. He was having a hard time holding down his laughter. "Are you sure you don't have pit bull blood? That was some attack."
"He fries me. And most of the food he eats."
James laughed out loud. "Stop it. Now run over and help Ms. Whipple, and I'm running to the paper to file a story. Are we still on for tonight?"
"Yes. I've prepared some questions for the politicians. If I'm going to have to sit and listen to them lie, I'm going to try to pin them to the table."
James shook his head. "And they pay you to be tactful and personable. How did you get your job?"
"I wonder that sometimes myself." She grinned. She thought how delightful it would be to brush a kiss across his cheek, but she didn't. It was the wrong place, the wrong time. But the fact that she would see him later that evening made her very happy.
"Have you seen Tommy?" Ms. Whipple was trying to count heads among the dodging, weaving children.
"He's out on the steps talking with Eugene," Renee Paul said. She did a tap dance slap-ball-change and spun around before she stopped. "You know Tommy. He's all involved in what happened to Jimmy." She rolled her eyes. "He and Mimi were never content to let the story tell itself. They always thought they had to know before it happened. Mimi would have liked this story. Can I have some punch? I'm hot."
Jennifer pushed the girl's heavy bangs out of her face and looked around for Ms. Whipple. The librarian had disappeared for a moment and taken the punch container with her. "I wish Mimi could have been here." Jennifer spoke softly. Mimi's absence had been keenly felt by the adults and other children. "I know she really liked to hear a new story."
"She liked to make them up, too." Renee frowned. "I think she's trying to have an adventure. Like the children in Eugene's stories. You know, I think she's hiding because she wants to be brave and exciting. That's what I think."
Jennifer froze. She looked up to see Crush Bonbon; his grin was one of victory. She could see his two-cell brain working furiously. Now a child had leveled an accusation— that Eugene's stories promoted dangerous behavior in children. It was not what she'd hoped to elicit from Renee Paul.
"Except Mimi isn't as smart as the people in Uncle Eugene's books," Renee continued, unaware of the can of worms she'd opened.
"Well, maybe she'll be here next Saturday, for the conclusion of the story." Jennifer was ready to go. She'd offered to give Eugene a ride home. He'd never learned to drive— and never worn blue jeans— two facts of which he was ex
tremely proud.
James was already at the door. He held up six fingers and nodded, indicating that he would pick her up at six. Jennifer smiled and waved him on his way, then turned her attention to the librarian. Martha Whipple was the center of story hour. She made it all happen.
"Thanks, Martha. Everything was wonderful, as always." Parents had begun to arrive to collect their children, and the library was clearing out fast. Jennifer knew most of the mothers and chatted easily for a few moments with each. In ten minutes, though, there was nothing left but paper punch cups, crumpled napkins and a few bites of cookies that had been inadvertently dropped to the floor.
"Do you suppose that little Frost girl is still alive?" Martha asked, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "She was such a frail child. Always a little sad, and determined to grow up to be a writer. I think of all the children, she loved Eugene the most."
Jennifer couldn't show her deep worry. She forced a smile. "I'm sure the police will find her. I have to believe that. It would break Eugene's heart if anything happened to that little girl. As fond as she is of him, he's even fonder of her. He just can't show it, you know."
"Yes, I know Eugene well." Martha smiled. "I've known him for years and years. Since long before he became the acclaimed writer he is today."
Jennifer finished with the cleanup and was ready to leave. The library door swung open and a frazzled Mary Franklin rushed in. "Sorry to be late. I know Tommy is going to be upset. He has a ball game this afternoon, and we're late." She looked around the library. "Where is he?"
Jennifer glanced down several rows of books but didn't spy him. "He was here a moment ago. I thought he'd left with you." She saw the fear rise sudden and thick in Mary Franklin's eyes. "Hold on, now. He's probably looking for a book."
Martha Whipple went to the intercom that was rarely ever used in the silent library. "Tommy Franklin, come to the children's desk. Tommy Franklin, come to the children's desk immediately." She clicked off the microphone and nodded to Mary. "That should rouse him out of wherever he's hiding."
Jennifer checked her watch. They waited three minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. "Maybe he's in the bathroom."
"I'll check." Ms. Whipple had no qualms when it came to rounding up a child, especially when she could see that the boy's mother was getting more and more terrified.
"I'll check outside." Jennifer suddenly remembered that Tommy had been seen sitting on the steps with Eugene. Maybe they were both still there. But surely Mrs. Franklin would have seen them.
She went out, anyway. Maybe they'd gone around the building to look at the plants. Eugene was a master gardener and Tommy was one child who really enjoyed learning about insects and leaves and berries and flowers.
The wide stone steps of the library were empty— except for a stack of three library books. Jennifer picked them up. They were children's stories, and they'd been checked out that morning. She held them against her chest as she walked around. Fluttering on the ground beside a small holly bush was a piece of white paper. Even as Jennifer reached to pick it up she knew it came from the manuscript Eugene had been reading— The Lizard King. She scanned it quickly. It was the part where Giles was first taken by the old magician and told he'd be turned into a lizard for his laziness.
She heard her breath in her own ears, a sharp, shallow hissing. Tommy had been kidnapped. Someone had taken the boy and left his library books and Eugene's page behind. Just as had been done when Mimi Frost had been abducted. Except this time the page was from a manuscript Eugene had held in his hands only fifteen minutes before.
She stood in the hot sun holding the page until it glared neon white in the blazing light. What should she do? And where had Eugene disappeared to?
"Jennifer?" Ms. Whipple approached her with rapid, small steps. "What's wrong? Tommy isn't in the library. I've searched everywhere." She touched Jennifer's arm lightly. "What's wrong with you?"
"I think Tommy may have been abducted." She'd tried to say it without letting the dread drag her words away from her.
"He was here not three minutes ago." Martha Whipple walked over to look behind the big azalea that grew right beside the steps. "Tommy will play a prank on you. He's just out here fooling around, not really understanding how worried we are. But I can tell you, Mrs. Franklin is in a state, and when she gets hold of Tommy, he's going to be very sorry he ever thought this trick might be amusing." She walked to the side of the building. "Tommy Franklin, your mother is going to tan your hide, and then when she finishes, I'm going to show you what an angry old woman can do."
Jennifer felt as if all the air had been sucked from her. She heard everything Martha Whipple said. She watched her move about, searching in the places she'd searched a million times before for errant children. She felt the sun beating down on the part in her hair, soaking into her exposed neck where she'd pulled up the long, mahogany tresses. She was alive and functioning, but dread held her paralyzed.
The library door opened and Mrs. Franklin stepped out into the sunlight. "Is he out here?" She looked around before she gave way to her panic and fear. "My God, where has he gone?" She clutched her right fist at chest level, as if she could pound her own heart into not hurting so much. "I should have been here. I was just running late because when I took those clothes back to the store I had to wait in line for half an hour. I should have left and come straight over here, but Tommy is always so good about minding. I told him not to leave the library. Not for any reason. But he didn't listen. He didn't stop and think."
"Where's Eugene?" Martha asked. Her face was white. "You don't think someone took him, too?" As soon as she spoke, she clapped a hand over her mouth. Mary Franklin looked as if she might faint.
"There's no proof someone took Tommy or Eugene," Jennifer said as calmly as she could. She crumpled the manuscript page slowly into a ball in her hand. "We haven't checked the cemetery yet." She gestured behind the library toward a small, well-kept burial ground that dated from long before the Civil War. "You know the kids love to explore in there."
"I'll get Mr. Smith, the caretaker." Mrs. Whipple, her face still splotchy with emotion, was glad of something to do. "Those kids are always getting in there, playing hide-and-seek, reading the tombstones, and generally being kids. I'm sure he's there." She gave Mrs. Franklin a quick, sympathetic look. "We'll find him."
Twenty minutes later the three women and the caretaker had crossed and crisscrossed the two-acre cemetery without turning up a trace of Tommy. They had found a homeless man sleeping on a grave, and a place where a campfire had burned into ashes, but there was no sign of Tommy. Or Eugene.
"I'll run by Eugene's and make sure he's okay." Jennifer wiped the perspiration from her nose. The day was warm, but it was the emotion that made her so hot. This could not be happening— yet it was. She put a steadying hand on Mary Franklin's arm before she spoke. "I think we should call the police. If Tommy were still on the grounds, we would have found him by now. If he's deliberately hiding, I think the police officers can make him understand that this isn't funny."
Unable to do more than swallow, Mary nodded her consent.
"Come on inside, dear. I've got some punch with enough sugar in it to offset any form of shock." Martha Whipple began to lead Tommy's mother inside the cool library.
Standing on the steps, Jennifer saw Mrs. Whipple wave, signaling that she would call the police. For a split second Jennifer started to tell her to hold off, but Tommy's safety was at risk. If he had been abducted, the sooner the police moved to begin the investigation, the better the chances to get him back.
And Mimi.
Jennifer's hands clenched as she realized she'd assumed, without any hesitation, that both children had been abducted by the same person. It was exactly what Mary Franklin was thinking, and Mrs. Whipple. And what everyone else would think.
The library door closed behind the two women and Jennifer stood for a moment in the hot sunshine before she went to her car. The first thing to do was to check t
o make sure Eugene was safe at home.
It was a short drive to the quiet tree-lined street where Eugene's small cottage snuggled among willow and tallow trees. Azaleas had been allowed to grow thick and tall, denying the traditional term of "shrub" for the plants that had exploded in vibrant pinks, purples, reds, oranges and whites.
As she pulled up at the curb, Jennifer's eye was drawn to the splash of colors in the azaleas and she missed the dark sedan parked just below Eugene's drive. Stepping out of the car, though, she instantly heard a man's voice raised in anger.
"You'd better open this door!"
Jennifer grabbed her purse, which was heavy enough to be used as a lethal weapon, and ran toward Eugene's front porch where a man was pounding on the door.
"Excuse me," she said, slightly out of breath as she stopped at the bottom step. He was vaguely familiar. As soon as he turned around, she recognized him. "Mr. Frost! What are you doing here?"
"I want to talk to the crazy man who writes those books. He was the last person to see Mimi. Why isn't he behind bars? He's done something to my daughter."
Jennifer considered her options— cold water, a slap, or reasoning. The latter seemed the most sensible, and possibly the least effective. Mimi's father looked as if he were about to burst a gasket. His face was red, his eyes almost swollen shut.
"I'm sure Eugene will talk with you, as soon as you calm down," Jennifer said. She walked up the steps and put a restraining hand on his arm. "But if you don't calm down, I will call the police."
"It's my daughter!" His voice was filled with distress, but the anger was fading rapidly from his eyes. "They think I did something to her. I love Mimi. She was the only good thing I had in my life."
Jennifer felt the sting of tears. Charles J. P. Frost was suffering, as any parent would be. He was helpless to protect the very person he loved most in the world.
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