No Way Out

by Andrea Kane

  "Starbucks," she murmured. "Do I get a scone or just a measly cup of coffee?"

  "Whatever you want. I wish I could buy you dinner, but Stephen and Nancy are both working late, and I promised to split a pizza with Brian. So I'll have to settle for coffee. I'll meet you right outside Starbucks." Connor's voice dropped to a husky pitch. "I'd offer to pick you up at your apartment, but then you might feel compelled to invite me in. And I promised to give you till Saturday for that."

  "Good night, Connor," she interjected hastily.

  He chuckled. "Starbucks at eight?"

  "Starbucks at eight," she agreed.

  "In that case, good night, Julia."

  * * *

  14

  April 9 10:15 am.

  Stephen pressed the intercom on his phone. "Celeste, hold all my calls during this meeting."

  "Yes, sir."

  He leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands and facing the three men who sat across from him. He had to play this very carefully, to avoid arousing suspicions.

  And he had to pull this off.

  "I appreciate all of you being here on such short notice," he began.

  Martin Hart, Leaf Brook's chief of police, took a gulp of coffee and set the cup down on the edge of the desk. "Not a problem. It sounded important."

  Stephen nodded. "It might be, depending on how the city reacts and how the council votes. I want to get a jump start, just in case public anxiety influences what we do."

  Greg Matthews frowned. "What exactly are we talking about?"

  "The question of who gets the municipal parking contract." Stephen kept his tone even. "Last week, the council was leaning away from a private company handling things. But after Friday night and Albert's car being stolen, I'm not sure how they'll feel. Or how public opinion will sway them, to be frank. There's been a real increase in auto thefts. And to have a city councilman as one of the victims makes people feel nervous and vulnerable."

  Hart shifted uncomfortably. "We've doubled the number of patrol cars that cruise the municipal lots. But we don't have the resources to..."

  Stephen waved away his explanation. "You're doing a great job, Marty. This isn't about you."

  "It's about Philip Walker," Cliff assessed, speaking up for the first time.

  "Right. He's offered us security as part of his contract proposal. With what's going on, there's every possibility that the council will vote to accept his bid." Stephen took a healthy swallow of coffee. "I think we should start the due diligence process, do a thorough background check on Walker Development., Cliff, do a full legal search. Greg, conduct a financial rundown. And Marty, run a criminal check. It's all routine, but it'll save us a helluva lot of time and avoid a major roadblock if the council suddenly jumps on Walker's bid."

  "It makes sense," the police chief agreed. "Enough of these auto thefts, and the whole damn city will panic. It'll be much easier for us if we have a ready-made solution, one that won't cost the taxpayers thousands more."

  "Exactly." Stephen took another gulp of coffee, grateful that he'd asked Celeste for decaf. He was having enough trouble keeping his hands from shaking. "I need you to do this ASAP. Judging from the calls I got over the weekend, this is about to become a front-burner issue."

  "You got it." Hart was already coming to his feet. "Anything else?"

  "No, that's it." Stephen rose, too. "Just keep me posted."

  Hart went directly back to police headquarters.

  Cliff headed off to the legal records department.

  Greg went straight into his office.'

  Five minutes later, Philip Walker got a phone call. He hung up, livid. So Stratford wanted to play dirty. Well, he had no idea what dirty meant.

  But he was about to find out.

  10:50 a.m.

  Julia wasn't happy.

  Her classroom was quiet. It was also empty, except for her and Brian. The rest of the kids had gone on to art. Julia had timed things that way, asking Brian to stay behind for a few minutes so they could go over his essay. This way, there'd be no distractions, and she'd be able to devote all her energies to assessing his reactions and figuring out where his head was.

  Well, she'd been doing just that. She'd watched him the entire time they spoke, listened to what he was saying and what he wasn't saying. He was quieter than usual, less animated. And, in contrast to his usual attentiveness, he was restless, shifting in his seat and swinging his legs around as if he couldn't sit still. Julia tried all the usual things to put him at ease, from complimenting his writing to asking about his Little League team's chances this year. He gave her terse answers, his gaze darting around the room, a gaze that was heavy-lidded with fatigue.

  "Brian," she said at last, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Your essay is really good. I'm especially impressed that you wrote about your family rather than the Yankees."

  A nod.

  "In a way, your wish came true. I mean, I realize you're not staying with your Uncle Connor, but you don't need to. He's staying with you."

  "I know."

  "It must be neat having him at your house."

  "It is." A pause. "But it would've been neater staying at his apartment"

  "Why? Because it's in a really tall building?"

  "Nah. It's tall, but not as tall as the Empire State Building. Uncle Connor took me there once. It was cool. His apartment's cool, too. But that's not why I want to stay there. I want to stay there because Uncle Connor isn't sad or cranky, and he wouldn't mind . . " Brian broke off, averting his gaze.

  "Wouldn't mind what, Brian?"

  No answer.

  Julia chose her words carefully. "Sweetie, everyone gets sad and cranky sometimes. It usually means they're tired or have too much work to do- It's not about anyone else."

  "I guess. But what if it is?"

  The worry in Brian's voice made her heart ache. "You don't really feel like you're in the way at home, do you?"

  A shrug. "I guess not. I just wish things could be like they used to be. Even with Uncle Connor there . . . it's different."

  "Different how?"

  "I don't know—weird, I guess. Uncle Connor tries to make me think about other stuff, so I won't see Mom cry. She does that a lot. Especially the night before Uncle Connor came. She thought I was asleep. But I wasn't. She cried until really late. Then Dad came home. He didn't sound like him. His voice was weird. And he was mad. He yelled at Mom."

  Julia ruffled Brian's hair, feeling a tight knot form in her gut. "Were you scared?"

  "Kind of, yeah. I didn't tell them I was up." His head jerked around, and he gave Julia an anxious look. "You're not going to tell them, are you? I don't want to make things worse. They'd feel bad."

  "No, sweetie, I won't tell them. Not if you don't want me to." Julia's mind was already racing, as she formulated the way she'd phrase things when she called Nancy Stratford. She wouldn't break Brian's confidence. But she wouldn't close her eyes to this situation. Not anymore. No matter what Connor said, this problem wasn't going away. And it was time Brian's parents knew it.

  * * *

  It was lunchtime when Julia got her first opportunity to break away. The lunch aide had taken over her class and was supervising the noontime meal and playground time.

  Julia went into a private office in the school and called Nancy Stratford at home. Voice mail. She hung up and tried Mrs. Stratford's boutique. Voice mail again. This time, Julia left a message. It was better to do that at the boutique than at home. Brian would be less likely to hear the message.

  Just the same, she kept it vague. All she said was that she had a quick but important matter to discuss, one that warranted an immediate response.

  She hung up, knowing she had one other commitment to fulfill.

  She punched up Connor's cell-phone number.

  When he answered, she said simply, "Things are worse than you thought. I left a message for your sister-in-law. I'm talking to her as soon as possible. No arguments, Connor," she added quickly a
s he started to speak. "Under the circumstances, I think we should cancel tonight. I want to be available in case your sister-in-law calls. Besides, I don't want to argue with you. You won't change my mind. If you still want to see me after I see this problem through, let me know."

  Without giving him a chance to reply, she hung up.

  * * *

  Outside on the playground, Brian went straight to the fence and tossed his jacket and baseball cap in the usual spot, the one that had been assigned to his class. The rules were that any personal items not being worn or used during recess were supposed to be left in those assigned areas. His jacket and baseball cap went there every day. He never wore either one when he played. If he did, he got too sweaty.

  He shuffled over to the other side of the playground. Sitting down by himself, he picked up a stick and started drawing in the dirt with it. He had a bad feeling in his stomach, even though he hadn't eaten his turkey sandwich or his Yodel. Maybe he shouldn't have told those things to Miss Talbot- Maybe he should have kept them to himself. But if anyone would know how to make things better, it was her. Her and Uncle Connor.

  He sat like that for the whole twenty-minute recess period. He didn't feel much like playing.

  Finally, Mrs. Parkins, the lunch aide, signaled the class that lunchtime recess was over.

  Brian got up and went over to the fence to get his stuff.

  It took him a minute to realize that his baseball cap was missing. He searched everywhere. He even fumbled around in his friends' stuff. But the cap was gone.

  He swallowed hard, fighting back tears and feeling worse than ever. That was his Little League cap, the one he wore every time he was on the mound. It brought him good luck. He could get a new one, but it wouldn't be the same.

  A car horn sounded from the parking lot.

  He looked up in time to see a black car drive slowly by. The driver rolled down his window. Most of his face was hidden by a cap, one that was pulled way forward and was too small to cover his whole head.

  It was Brian's baseball cap.

  Beneath the rim, the man's lips curled in an ugly smile. He tipped the cap in Brian's direction.

  Then he drove off.

  7:35 p.m.

  Stephen Stratford left the municipal building even later than usual that night. He'd hoped to get a report from Marty or Cliff cluing him in on some illegal deal Walker Development was involved in. Anything that would give him ammunition to use against Philip Walker. A man as dirty as that had to have some skeleton in the closet that could be uncovered in record time.

  Connor had left him two messages, neither of which he'd returned. Partly because he was too busy, partly because he had a pretty good idea what the messages were about—and he wasn't ready to deal with it. Connor probably knew when their father was planning to show up in Leaf Brook. Well, he didn't want to hear about it. All he could do was pray that it wasn't going to happen for a few days. He needed that time. He had to get things under control before his father descended on him like a ton of bricks.

  Feeling unbearably weary, Stephen trudged through the parking lot, his heels echoing on the concrete. The lot was deserted, since everyone had gone home hours ago.

  He reached his car and was just inserting the key in the lock when he heard the screech of a car rounding the corner of the lot. It sounded as if it was roaring right at him.

  He jerked around, just as the black coupe slammed to a stop beside him.

  Two men jumped out.

  He caught a brief glimpse of them as they lunged forward, one hefty, the other tall-and muscular. The tall one's fist connected with his jaw, sending him reeling backward, crashing into his car.

  "A gift, Stratford," the hefty guy grated out, slamming his fist into Stephen's gut. "From Walker Development."

  Ten minutes later, they walked away, leaving Stephen crumpled and bleeding on the concrete floor.

  "Due diligence is over," the hefty guy muttered. "And you will be, too, if you pull something stupid like that again." He jumped back into the car.

  "So long," his counterpart added. "Mr. Walker will be in touch. Oh, and Stratford . . ." He strode back long enough to drop a ten-dollar bill beside Stephen's head. "That'll cover what I owe your kid. Next time, what I take will be worth a whole lot more."

  8:30 P.M.

  Nancy's insides were twisted into knots.

  She shifted restlessly on the family-room sofa, easing the blinds aside and checking, for the dozenth time, to see if Stephen's headlights were visible on the winding driveway.

  Nothing.

  Where the hell was he?

  She twisted back around, watching as Connor and Brian finished Brian's arithmetic homework on the floor. Connor glanced up and met her gaze, attempting a reassuring look.

  She didn't buy his facade for a minute. Connor was as worried as she was. She could see it on his face. Just as she'd heard it in his voice when he called her at the boutique this afternoon and demanded, "Nancy, have you checked your answering machine?"

  "No," she'd replied, slipping off her coat. "I just got back from lunch. Why?"

  "Because you have a message from Julia Talbot. She didn't leave it at the house, so it must be at the boutique."

  Her heart had dropped to the floor. "Julia Talbot? Oh, God, is Brian ... ?"

  "He's fine. It's nothing like that. Nancy, listen to me. Julia's worried about Brian's emotional state. Don't return the call. Not yet. Not until after we've talked to Stephen."

  She got it then. She more than got it.

  "Have you reached Stephen?" she'd asked woodenly.

  "I've tried. He's in meetings."

  "I should come home."

  "No. Brian's expecting me to pick him up and you to work late. Do that. I'll have him call you when we get in, so you can hear for yourself that he's okay. Nance, let's not make things worse by upsetting him. Stephen won't be home until seven-thirty or eight. There's nothing we can do until then. Brian and I will have our pizza, as planned. Come home at seven, like you said you would. We'll save you a slice. When Stephen comes home, we'll get Brian off to bed. We'll keep things as normal as possible. Then we'll talk this through. And, Nancy..." He paused. "We'll work everything out."

  "I hope so, Connor. Because this isn't my life we're talking about anymore. It's my son's."

  With a quiet click, she'd dropped the telephone receiver back into its cradle.

  The boutique was busy, but she'd played Julia Talbot's message through three times anyway. God, she'd been so tempted to call the woman back. But she owed it to Stephen to wait. She didn't know how much Julia Talbot suspected. And she had to know what she was up against before speaking out.

  Brian had called the boutique at a quarter to four, just as Connor promised. He'd sounded fine, other than being upset about losing his baseball cap,

  Fine. That was an interesting choice of words. By other people's standards, Brian did sound fine. But she knew better. So, apparently, did Julia Talbot. Compared with his usual exuberant self, Brian was hardly fine these days.

  Then again, how could he be?

  She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a surge of guilt as painful as any physical injury. Maybe she should have done something sooner. But what? Leave Stephen? That would have broken Brian's heart and destroyed Stephen. She couldn't do that. So she'd turned to Connor, who'd dropped everything to be there. And Brian did seem better with his uncle around.

  Obviously, not better enough.

  Over the course of the afternoon, she'd tried Stephen's office twice. But, just as Connor said, he'd been tied up in meetings. She hadn't left a message. This wasn't something she could just blurt out. They had to talk—tonight. As for her rushing home, Connor was right. That would have been a mistake. It would only have made Brian's qualms worse and ruined the "guys' night" he had planned with his uncle. Besides, there was nothing to be done until Stephen got home and she could lay out all the facts, determine what was at stake and how it should be handled.

  S
he'd almost called Cliff.

  But she leaned on him too much these days as it was. He had a life of his own, and that didn't include fixing hers.

  She'd walked in the door at five of seven, hurrying straight to the kitchen to assure herself that Brian was all right.

  He'd been sitting at the table, stuffing his face with pizza, and he'd given her a mozzarella grin as he finished his last bite. "Hi, Mom."

  "Hi, yourself." She'd glanced at the pizza box and shuddered. "What did you guys get on that thing?"

  "The works," Connor had informed her cheerfully. "Meatballs, sausage, green peppers, mushrooms, onions..."

  "Enough." Nancy had held up her palm, bending over to kiss the top of Brian's head. At times like this, she wished he was still little enough for her to hug as tightly as she wanted to without his getting all embarrassed. "How was your day?"

  "I lost my baseball cap." His entire face had fallen. "I looked everywhere for it, but it was gone. I think some guy took it."

  "Why do you think that?" Nancy had asked in surprise.

  Brian had shrugged. "I saw a man drive away wearing a red cap. It looked kinda like my baseball cap. But I guess that's pretty dumb. Why would a man want my cap? How am I gonna pitch without it?"

  "Honey, I doubt you'll have to. It'll probably turn up in a day or two in the school's lost and found. But, if not, we'll get you a new one."

  "Yeah, ace," Connor had agreed. 'That cap was getting kind of shabby. Too much wear and tear. A new one would be a good idea. Then, if you find the old one, you can change off."

  "I guess." Brian hadn't sounded convinced. But he'd brightened up when Nancy reminded him that his dad would be home soon. He'd shot off to get his bookbag so he could finish his homework.

  For a three-minute span, Nancy and Connor had been alone.

  "Was Julia's message at the boutique?" he'd demanded.

  "Yes. I did as you asked. Did you get hold of Stephen?"

  "Nope. He never called me back."

  "How has Brian been acting?"

  "Not great." Connor hadn't lied. "He's been pretty down. I'm not sure how much of that's based on what we're worrying about and how much on the fact that he lost his baseball cap."