Death in Paradise (50 page)

The car didn't pass. It slowed down until it came to a stop beside him. The woman inside rolled down her window and leaned out. David edged farther away from the van. His mother had given him at least a million lectures about strangers. "David," the woman said, "something awful has happened to your mother and your father. You're in great danger. You've got to come with us."

David just stared. He'd never seen her before in his life. She was older than his mom and she looked nervous and not very friendly. He looked toward the front of the van. Was there room to get past it and ride away? No. That was silly. Cars could go a lot faster than bikes, even though he could ride very fast. He'd have to go into the woods. He didn't like the idea. The woods were scary, especially if you were alone, and they were full of mosquitoes.

The sliding door on the van's side slid open. "David," the woman repeated, using his name like she knew him, "I'll explain it all to you once we're on our way. You've got to come with us. You can't go home. A very bad man who didn't like something your daddy did as a lawyer came and hurt your daddy and your mommy and he's waiting at your house to hurt you. Now jump in. Hurry!"

David edged closer to the van. She sounded serious, worried. But she hadn't given him the password and he was never to go with anyone who didn't know the password. He waited.

The woman looked annoyed. "Come on. Hurry up." She looked nervously over her shoulder. David didn't move. "Oh, for heaven's sake, David, rutabaga."

It was okay then, he thought. "What about my bike?"

"We'll take the bike, too. Come on!"

A man in the van reached out his hand. David took it, was lifted off his feet and into the van. The heavy door slammed shut behind him and he heard the click of a lock. The man jumped behind the wheel and the van drove off, the wheels spinning loudly through the gravel as the van turned around and headed back the way David had come.

"Hey. Wait! What about my bike?"

"There was no time. Someone was coming. It might have been him. We'll get you another one, I promise." The woman sounded sad, like she really had wanted to bring the bike.

His new bike. Brand-new. He bit his lip, not wanting to seem like a baby crying over his bike, but he watched it until he could see the shiny red no longer. There was a pebble in his shoe. He untied it, took it off, shook the pebble out. His hands were trembling too much to re-tie the laces. He left the shoe sitting on the seat beside him. "Is my dad all right?" he asked.

The woman shook her head. "I'm sorry, David," she said. "I didn't want to tell you this
way..."
She did look sorry.

"Is this the way back to the highway?" the man interrupted.

"Yes," the woman said sharply. "David, your dad and your mom are..."

She looked at the man but he wouldn't meet her eye. David filled the silence with all his worst imaginings and then she confirmed them. "Dead, David. They're both dead. I'm so so sorry." She reached back with a wrinkled hand and patted his knee. Carefully, like she was not used to children.

She must be wrong, he thought. In a minute she'd probably explain what she really meant. He distracted himself by thinking about happy things. When he looked out the window, he saw that they were almost to the place where the kid in his mom's stories, Cedric Carville, had thrown all those things out of the car. He picked up his shoe. Hefted it. Flexed his arm muscles.
As
they whirred around the curve, he opened the window and threw his shoe at the sign, watching the red sneaker spin end over end, landing just a few feel short. Not bad! A few more tries and he'd be able to hit the sign.

"Oh, David! That was a stupid thing to do, wasn't it?" the woman said. "Now you've only got one shoe."

David looked down at his foot and back at the woman. She was trying to smile but didn't look very friendly. "Sorry," he muttered, lowering his eyes. "Where are we going? Where are you taking me?"

"Far away from here," she said. "Someplace where you'll be safe. Where no one can find you."

"Will my grandma be there?"

The woman shook her head.

"My aunt Miranda?"

She shook her head again.

"Why not?" David asked. "Why did they send you? I don't know you."

"Because they knew you'd be safe with me." She tried to smile again and he thought she meant to be reassuring. "The bad man will be watching for you. He'll be watching your grandmother and your aunt Miranda."

David didn't feel safe at all, even though the woman had known the password. He thought about jumping out the door but the van was going very fast and he'd heard awful stories about what happened to children who fell out of cars.

"Will my aunt Miranda come and get me, then?"

"Of course she will, when it's safe. Until then, we're going to pretend you're someone else and you mustn't let anyone know who you really are. The bad man will be looking for you. Are you hungry? I have some nice homemade cookies."

David thought he was too scared to eat anything, but when the woman handed him a big chocolate chip cookie and a cup of juice, he found he could get them past the lump in his throat. She seemed pleased to see him eat and smiled the way grown-ups do when children are being good. But David wanted his mother and he wanted to go home. He sat wondering what to do next, but before he could think of anything, his eyes closed and he fell asleep.

 

 

 

Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy!

-
Ben Jonson
,
"On My First Son"

 

 

Chapter 1

 

She was going to be late again, Rachel thought, stepping on the gas. She couldn't make peanut butter cookies without peanut butter and brown sugar, and she couldn't be home baking if she was at the store buying supplies. There wasn't even enough time to get the cookies in the oven before David got home. He'd give her one of those looks, both irritated and understanding, that seemed so odd coming from a nine-year-old. Odd unless you knew how much he was like his father. Her husband, Stephen, was always giving her long-suffering looks. A woman who lived on sufferance, that's what she was. Always teetering on the verge of failure, clinging to the cusp of competence.

A shiny red bike lying at the side of the road caught her eye. Someone had a bike just like David's. Some kid biking home from school who'd stopped to explore the woods near the old pine tree. Maybe to climb the pine. It was the kind of tree that invited climbing with its well-spaced, sturdy branches. It took a kind of revenge, though, by daubing climbers generously with pitch. David had ruined more than one good pair of pants that way. Usually when he was with his best friend, Tommy. Tommy was the kind of kid the term "daredevil" was made for.

She snapped on the signal and whisked into the yard, grabbing the grocery bag and running for the door. In the distance, she could hear the muted roar of the bus. She hurried into the kitchen, vaguely aware of how silly she looked in her workout wear. She usually took it off the instant she finished class, but today she hadn't had time. They all dressed like this, the women in the suburbs. She didn't feel like one of them, but she knew she looked the same, a peculiarly gnome-shaped creature, body rounded and squared off by the bulky sweatshirt, perched on skinny little black Lycra legs.

She grabbed a bowl and stuck in the beaters. Threw a stick of margarine into the microwave to soften. Pushed the button and hurried to the window as the bus roared around the curve, passed the driveway without stopping, and disappeared into the trees. "Hey, wait a minute," she said aloud, rushing out the door and down the long driveway. Halfway down, feet churning, the arm that wasn't holding a mixing bowl waving, she remembered. David hadn't taken the bus. He'd gone on his bike. The bike she'd seen lying on the roadside.

Something felt wrong. David had just begun to be allowed to ride his bike to school. He wouldn't stop off without permission. He'd come straight home, then go out again after asking her. He was a cautious, methodical child, not a willful one like Tommy. But he and Tommy had planned to ride together. Maybe Tommy had persuaded him to stop. Only she hadn't seen Tommy's bike, just David's. Unbidden, Rachel's feet were moving faster, carrying her down the driveway. She left the mixing bowl by the mailbox and hurried along the road until she reached the bike.

She cupped her hands and called "David" several times, listening each time for an answer. Waiting without breathing. She walked to the base of the tree, cupped her hands again, and called up. She had a soft voice; she had to work at being loud. She circled the tree, staring up into the dark branches. There was no one there. She walked back into the woods, calling as she went, heedless of the damage she was doing to her pristine white shoes, shoes that normally never touched ground outside the gym itself. A knot of panic grew in her chest and her footsteps got faster as she plunged deeper into the brush.

This was silly. David didn't like the woods. He might go in with Tommy, just to show how brave he was, but the woods scared him. He didn't like small, enclosed spaces, didn't like the feeling of things closing in on him. She hurried back to the street, walked a few hundred feet in either direction, calling. Crawled down the bank and peered into the culvert, shouting his name. Her voice echoed back to her, hollow and metallic over the gurgling of the water, but no voice answered. Heart pounding, she climbed up the bank and looked up and down the empty road.

Maybe she was panicking over nothing. She didn't know that the bike was David's. His helmet wasn't there. Besides, David loved his new bike; it was the pride of his life. He wouldn't leave it lying in the gravel like that. He'd probably stopped off at Tommy's, so excited by being a big boy who could ride his bike that he'd forgotten to ask for permission. She ran home and called Carole.

"Carole," she gasped, cutting off the drawled hello. "It's Rachel. Did David stop off there on his way home?"

"Nope. I meant to call you and apologize. I forgot they were going to ride their bikes today, and I didn't wake Tommy in time. He took the bus. While I've got you on the phone, can I get your recipe for that cucumber salad? We're having some people from—"

"Can I call you back?" Rachel interrupted.

"Is something wrong?"

"David... he didn't come home. I've got to call the school. Talk to you later." Rachel disconnected and called the school. While she fretted on hold, pacing a loop as large as the phone cord would let her, the secretary found a teacher who remembered seeing David set out with all the other riders just before the buses left. "Was he wearing his helmet?" Rachel asked.

"I'll check," the woman said doubtfully, probably immediately consigning Rachel to the realms of the hyperanxious, one of those lunatic mothers who's always calling to keep track of her child's every move.

Rachel waited an eternity before the woman returned and confirmed that David had been wearing his helmet. An eternity during which she began to imagine awful things had happened to him. She thanked the woman, grabbed her keys, and began driving slowly down the street, retracing the route that David would have taken. There was no one. Not a power walker, not a jogger, no in-line skaters swooping gracefully as dragonflies. Where the hell were they? Why wasn't anyone out when she needed to ask if they'd seen David? They were always out when she wanted the road to herself.

She turned around in the schoolyard and drove slowly home again, peering down side streets and into driveways, until she came back to the spot where the bike lay. Her hands were shaking and she couldn't quite remember how to breathe. She stopped the car and sat there, hands gripping the wheel. He had to be somewhere. There had to be some reasonable explanation for this; she just hadn't thought of it yet. He wouldn't go off somewhere without telling her, not unless someone had made him go. Unless he'd gone with another friend?

She picked up the car phone and called Carole again. "Carole? There's no sign of him. Can you ask Tommy if he might have been riding with someone else? Someone he might have gone home with?"

"Hold on." She heard Carole calling Tommy, heard the snap in Carole's voice that was her own fear being transmitted.

Carole's answer hit her like a gut punch. "He says David was hurrying home because you were going to make cookies. He wants to know what's going on. Should I tell him?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. I don't think so. Ask him if he saw David from the bus."

She waited, straining to hear the mumbled voices, and then Carole was back. "He says they didn't pass David along the way. But they wouldn't, if he set out ahead. The bus has to go all around that loop. He didn't come home?"

"No. There's a bike... I'm sure it's his... lying by the road near that big pine they like to climb... but there's no sign of David."