Abduction! (3 page)

The final bell rang at two thirty-six. Bonnie could never figure out why it wasn’t two-thirty or two forty-five. An example of adults setting rules that don’t make sense.

Bonnie slipped her backpack on and hurried toward the school library. She had two books due and didn’t want to owe a fine. After dropping the books off, she headed across the ball field toward Matt’s school.

She arrived as the lines of students began boarding the yellow school buses. Her eyes darted from front to back of the second bus line, but she didn’t see Matt. She went to the bus door and called in to the driver, “Is Matt already on the bus?”

“Haven’t seen him,” the driver replied.

Bonnie frowned. Wouldn’t you know it. The one day she didn’t come straight to the bus, Matt wasn’t there. Maybe he had stayed after school to help Mrs. Jules.

She rushed to Room 27. Mrs. Jules was pinning new material on a bulletin board.

“Do you know where Matt is?” Bonnie asked. “He isn’t in the bus line.”

“He got a hall pass to go to the bathroom a few minutes before school got out. I let him leave because he said he couldn’t wait and when he didn’t come back to class, I assumed he went straight to the bus.”

“He isn’t there,” Bonnie said.

“I’ll look in the boys’ restroom,” Mrs. Jules said. “Sometimes Matt stands in front of the mirror pretending he’s pitching a baseball, and he forgets the time.”

Bonnie nodded. Matt did that at home, too. It drove her nuts when she was waiting to use the bathroom herself.

Mrs. Jules cracked the restroom door and called, “Anybody in there?” When there was no answer, she went in. Seconds later she came out. “He isn’t there. Let’s check the bus again.”

This time Bonnie boarded the bus, looking at all the passengers. Matt wasn’t there. As soon as she got off, the doors wheezed shut. The first bus in line pulled out of the school driveway; Bonnie’s bus followed.

“You check the playground,” Mrs. Jules said. “I’m going to the office to alert Mr. Quinn.”

Bonnie nodded. She rushed to the playground and looked at the monkey bars, the ball field, and the basketball court. No Matt.

She ran to the office where Mr. Quinn, the principal, was speaking over the public-address system, alerting all teachers that Matt Sholter had not boarded his bus.

“If you see Matt,” Mr. Quinn said into the microphone, “bring him to the office immediately.” He clicked off the mike and turned to Bonnie. “Has he ever done this before?” he asked.

Bonnie shook her head, no. “Once he was late because he goofed around with his friends, but Mom scolded him, and since then Matt has always gone straight to the bus. He gets there before I do.”

“Maybe he went home with a friend today, and your mother forgot to tell you.”

“Mom would never forget,” Bonnie said. “She always makes sure we know what we’re supposed to do after school.”

“Let’s call her, to be sure,” Mr. Quinn said. “Do you know her work number?”

Bonnie gave it. Her insides felt hollow as she listened to Mr. Quinn ask for Mrs. Sholter. A few seconds later, he identified himself and said, “Matt didn’t get
on the school bus today and we can’t find him. Did he go home with a friend?”

He talked another minute or so. When he hung up, he said, “She’s on her way. Matt was supposed to go home as usual.”

“I don’t like this,” Mrs. Jules said.

Apprehension crawled up Bonnie’s arms and across the back of her neck.

“Let’s not panic yet,” Mr. Quinn said. “I’ve had situations before where a youngster gets in trouble at school and doesn’t want to go home, or they get invited to play at a friend’s house and forget to call. Sometimes, especially with the kindergartners, they get on the wrong bus. Then they have to ride the whole route before they’re brought back here. One student fell asleep on the bus and wasn’t found until the driver had already parked in the bus barn.”

Bonnie could easily have disputed each of Mr. Quinn’s theories. Matt never got in trouble at school, and he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere with a friend unless Mom had arranged it. Certainly he wouldn’t have boarded the wrong bus; they had ridden bus number two all year. She didn’t argue with the principal, though. It was Mr. Quinn’s first year at this school, so he didn’t know Bonnie. She knew he was only trying to make everyone feel more optimistic.

While Bonnie looked out the office window, hoping to see Matt approach, Mr. Quinn called each of the bus drivers.

Matt was not on any of the busses.

The black fog of Bonnie’s old dream seemed to hover at the edge of the school yard.

P
uppy kisses! Puppy kisses!” Matt said.

The old dog, wriggling with happiness, slurped the boy’s face.

How disgusting, Denny thought as he watched in the rearview mirror. He had never understood why some people act as if their dogs were part of the family. Besides getting unsanitary slobber on the kid’s face, the mutt was probably shedding all over the backseat.

“Pookie doesn’t act hurt,” Matt said. “Are you sure he got hit by a car?”

“He feels better because you’re here,” Denny said. He stuck two fingers inside the wig and scratched his scalp. It was too warm to have an extra head of hair.

“Why are you going this way?” Matt asked. “Pookie’s vet isn’t this way.”

“We aren’t taking him to the vet. You said the dog is okay.”

“Then where are we going?”

“Home.”

“Home isn’t this way, either.”

“I know where I’m going,” Denny said. “This is a shortcut.” He glanced in the rearview mirror again. The boy stared back, one hand fingering his earlobe.

The boy’s nervous, Denny thought. I need to put him at ease, but how?

Denny had no idea what to say. He didn’t know anything about kids. What should he talk about? He tried to think how Celia and Winston handled their boys.

Denny leaned over, opened the glove compartment, and felt inside. He picked up a large chocolate bar and tossed it into the backseat.

“Here you go,” he said. “Something to munch on.”

“I’m not allowed to eat chocolate,” Matt said.

“You are now.”

“Really?”

“Yep. When you’re with me, I make the rules and I say every kid needs some chocolate now and then. Go ahead. Take a bite.”

“Won’t I get hives?”

“Hives? From a candy bar? No way.”

Matt ripped the wrapper open and took a bite. “Yum,” he said. “It’s good.” He took another bite.

Pookie whined.

“Pookie wants some,” Matt said.

“So give him a piece.”

“Mom says chocolate is bad for dogs.”

“Well, that shows how much she doesn’t know. Would you want to eat nothing but dog food all the time?”

“No.”

“Neither does Pookie.”

Matt broke off a piece of chocolate and gave it to Pookie, who swallowed it whole and immediately begged for more.

“He likes it,” Matt said. “So do I.”

“Of course you do. Everybody likes chocolate. Chocolate is one of life’s great pleasures.”

“Want a bite?” Matt asked.

“No, thanks. I had my own candy bar a little while ago.” Denny smiled, congratulating himself for thinking of the candy.

Imagine a kid who never eats chocolate bars.

Anita had always worried too much about health.
Once when he’d given Bonnie a sip of his beer, Anita acted as if he’d tried to poison the girl.

As he drove, Denny glanced frequently at Matt, who continued to share the chocolate bar with the dog. Denny felt no surge of fatherly affection, no pride because this handsome boy was his son. He felt only relief that he had succeeded in getting Matt away from the school without being questioned.

Although he’d been prepared to use his gun if a teacher had tried to stop him, he was glad it hadn’t been necessary. A school shooting would have brought every cop in the county swarming toward the scene; a kid who didn’t go home after school would attract far less attention. No one had seen him take Matt; he would not be connected to the missing boy.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Matt said.

“We’ll be home soon.”

“I have to go really bad. I was on my way to the bathroom when I met you, remember?”

Denny tried to think of a safe place to stop. He didn’t want someone to notice the dog and the kid, and then remember later what kind of car they were in. “You’ll have to wait,” he said.

“I can’t. I’m going to wet my pants.”

“Hold it! I’ll find a place.”

“Could we stop at McDonald’s to use the bathroom?” Matt asked. “Mom does sometimes.”

“I’ll stop at Marymoor Park. It has a public bathroom.” People walk their dogs around Marymoor all the time; nobody would pay attention if Denny stopped there.

A loud retching sound came from the backseat.

“Pookie’s going to throw up,” Matt said.

Denny slammed on the brakes and pulled the car on to the shoulder, but before he could get stopped, Pookie gave back the chocolate he’d eaten.

“Yuck,” Matt said. “Pookie barfed all over the seat.”

Denny swore. “Keep the dog on the floor,” he said as he pulled back on to the road and continued toward Marymoor.

“It stinks in here,” Matt said. “I think I’m going to be sick, too.”

“No! Roll your window down and breathe the fresh air.”

Matt put the window down and stuck his face in the breeze while Denny drove into Marymoor Park, ignored the parking-fee sign, and stopped near a playground.

Three empty cars waited in the parking lot. Denny parked as far from them as he could. He didn’t think
Anita would have reported Matt missing yet, but he was taking no chances. The fewer people who saw Matt with him, the better.

“You go to the bathroom,” Denny said. “I’ll clean up the mess.”

Matt ran up the sidewalk to the restrooms.

The leash still hung from Pookie’s neck. Denny lifted the dog to the ground, then led him to a large sign that gave park regulations. After making sure no one was watching, Denny wound the end of the leash around one of the wooden signposts and tied it with a double knot. Pookie sat beside the post.

Denny went into the men’s room, grabbed a fistful of paper towels, and held some of them under the faucet. He could hear Matt singing inside one of the stalls. “Come straight to the car when you’re done,” he said.

“Okay.”

As Denny started out of the building, a trio of young women emerged from the women’s restroom. Talking and laughing, they paid no attention to Denny as they walked toward their car, but he lingered next to the building until they drove away before he returned to his own car.

Denny cleaned up the seat and threw the towels in a trash can. He removed the school’s visitor badge
from around his neck and tossed it in the trash, along with the gloves. He unbuttoned the brown shirt and discarded it, then yanked off the wig and the false mustache and stuffed them in the trash. He added the clipboard, but the empty box didn’t fit; he put it back in the car.

He had wondered where to get rid of his disguise. This park was perfect—a public spot, well used. Soon other people would dump their litter bags and toss their empty coffee cups and even put soiled diapers into that same trash can. When it got emptied, nobody would sort through the contents. It would all go straight into the garbage truck, and there would be no evidence that Denny Thurman had ever been here.

Denny got back in the car, eager to leave. He could hardly wait to see Winston. For years, his brother-in-law had showed off his two boys.

The last time they’d been together, Winston had suggested Denny had no children because he never stayed married long enough to father a child. “You’ll never have kids,” Winston had said, “because your wives file for divorce on the honeymoon.”

Furious, Denny had determined to find his own kid and prove Winston wrong.

It had been easy to learn Anita had given birth to a boy. The library offered old newspaper records on
microfiche, and he knew approximately when the baby would have been born.

He read all the birth announcements for that month and quickly found the notice for Matthew Lee Sholter.

A week after he read the birth notice, Denny moved to a bigger apartment and made plans to take the boy to live with him. He would laugh in Winston’s face and claim he had known about his son all along.

Denny knew Anita would never give Matt up, not even for a visit. There was no point asking her. If he did, it would tip her off that he wanted Matt, and then he’d be a prime suspect when Matt disappeared. The only way to get his son was to abduct him.

Tomorrow Denny would see his sister and brother-in-law and their boys. They lived on Bainbridge Island, in a house near the beach. Winston and Celia frequently invited him to join them for a weekend, but Denny usually made up excuses not to go. The two noisy kids got on his nerves, and Winston’s endless bragging about the little monsters irritated him.

Even worse, Celia always tried to change Denny’s lifestyle. Once she had dragged him to a doctor, and now she nagged him constantly to take the medication the doctor had prescribed.

She didn’t know the doctor had also recommended Denny start counseling and take an anger-management
class. Well, forget that. Denny didn’t need some stuffed shirt with a string of medical degrees messing with his head. He’d thrown the pills away and refused to see the doctor again.