Leapholes (2006) (19 page)

"So, the law books belonged to them?" she said.

"Yes," said Gonzalez. "And according to their office manager, no one has ever disappeared into any of their books before."

"I don't understand this," she said.

Detective Gonzalez leaned into the table and looked her straight in the eye. "I've seen this a hundred times, ma'am. I know how difficult it can be for a mother to admit that her child has run away from home."

"Ryan didn't run away."

"Has he ever run away before?"

"No."

"What about last week? You told the police that you and your son had an argument. He was supposed to visit his father., You came into the kitchen and he was gone."

"Well, I wouldn't call that running away."

"Ma'am, he took off on his bicycle and didn't come home for three days."

"He was in an accident. The doctor thinks he could have had temporary amnesia."

Gonzalez looked at her skeptically. "You're a doctor. How many cases of temporary amnesia have you seen in your entire career?"

"Very few," she admitted. "Maybe a couple."

"A couple. Now, I'm a cop. I probably see a dozen kids a year who claim to have temporary amnesia. Funny thing is, they're all faking it. These kids are just afraid that their parents will punish them for running away from home. So they make up a story."

"Ryan knows he can't fool me. He's not a faker."

"Lady, he disappears for three days. He comes back telling you that he and some magic lawyer traveled back in time to a sinking ship from another century. He may get points for imagination, but he's still a faker."

"You don't believe anything I've told you, do you?"

The detective rubbed his big nose again. "Look, I'm not calling you a liar. You seem like a nice person. I'm sure Ryan isn't running away from you. But kids do this kind of thing when their dad ends up in prison."

"Are you suggesting that this is somehow my husband's fault?"

"All I'm saying is talk to your son. Maybe he's getting teased at school. Kids can be cruel. Ryan's a pretty easy target with his dad in jail."

She folded her arms tightly, a purely defensive gesture. "Ryan knows he has nothing to be ashamed of. His father is innocent."

"I'm sure you and his father tell him that. But innocent men don't plead guilty. Ryan is old enough and smart enough to know that. Believe me, for a boy his age, there's plenty to be ashamed of."

The anger was boiling up inside her, and she feared that she might say something unwise. She rose and said, "Get out of my house."

The men pushed away from the tabfe without a word. Dr. Coolidge showed them the way out.

Standing in the open doorway, the old detective glanced back over his shoulder and said, "Just so you know, we'll be treating this case as a runaway. I'm sure your son will turn up. Probably as soon as he gets hungry."

She watched as they climbed down the front steps. Detective Gonzalez turned and looked back at her one last time before getting into his car. He was shaking his head.

How dare he, she thought as she closed the door. How dare that old detective say that about my son. She felt another surge of anger, but her feelings were more complicated now. As much as she hated to admit it, the detective had managed to plant a tiny seed of doubt in the back of her mind.

Maybe Ryan had run away.

Chapter
23

Never before had Ryan seen a river so big. He now understood why they called it the Mighty Mississippi. In the mid-nineteenth century, a levee extende
d a
long the Mississippi's right bank for nearly six miles. At old St. Louis, it rose to a limestone bluff almost forty feet high. Wharves, warehouses, and other structures stretched all along the bank, serving a city of over 150,000 people. Ryan and Jarvis watched from a high point on the bluff, looking down on the river. This was the golden era of river boats. Still, the sheer amount of traffic on the waterway surprised Ryan. He stopped counting at 170 vessels, but he saw still more. There were paddle boats, sailboats, steamboats, and fishing boats. Ferries operated between Illinois and Missouri, as there was no bridge. Coursing between the larger boats were rafts, canoes, and rowboats. Some were purely pleasure craft. Others were commercial. They ranged from the old and barely seaworthy to floating palaces with fine Victorian carpentry. They headed up river and down river. At the levee, dozens more unloaded cargo and passengers, making St. Louis one of the busiest ports in the country, second only to New York in tonnage.

Ryan and Jarvis were seated on the grass, eating little green crab apples that they'd picked straight from a tree alongside the road. The sour juices made Ryan wince as he chewed. They weren't exactly tasty. Funny how the mind works, but Ryan seemed to recall from his summer reading that even Huck Finn swore off stealing them. In fact, it was right when Huck and Jim's raft floated past St. Louis that Huck said "crab apples ain't ever good." Huck was probably right. But Ryan was starving, and his belly was grateful for anything that would fill it.

Ryan nibbled his eighth apple down to the seeds. He pitched the core into the river. He was still thinking about Huck and his friend Jim, who was a slave. "Hey, Jarvis. Was Missouri a slave state or a free state back in 1857?"

"Slave, I think. Wasn't that the whole issue with the Missouri Compromise?"

Ryan strained his brain to recall the things he'd learned about the Civil War and the events leading up to it. Disagreements over slavery threatened to tear apart the Union. Missouri was admitted to the nation as a slave state, and Maine entered as a free state. Congress approved the so-called "Missouri Compromise" to maintain an equal number of slave and free states.

Ryan said, "What do you think the case we fell into was about?"

Jarvis swallowed the rest of his apple, seeds and all. "I don't know. Considering the time and the place, I'd guess the Missouri Compromise, maybe."

"Sounds boring."

"Yeah. Most of the law sounds boring. Until you look through a leaphole. You have to see the people and how it affects their lives. That's the interesting part."

"That's what Hezekiah used to say." Ryan glanced toward the flowing river. His belly was full from the apples, but just mentioning the old lawyer's name brought back an empty feeling inside. "You think we'll ever find Hezekiah?" said Ryan.

Jarvis didn't answer. He was on his back, snoring. Ryan was getting sleepy, too. He reclined on the grassy slope. With his hands clasped behind his head, he looked up at the clouds. As a kid, he and his friends used to find clouds that looked like cars or trains or even elephants. He hadn't played that game in a long time. In fact, he hadn't seen any of those friends since his father went to jail. Their parents wouldn't let them hang out with Ryan anymore.

Ryan rolled on his side and felt a lump under his ribs. It was an apple, which made him smile. But it was a sad smile. It reminded him of that old saying: "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

His eyelids were growing heavy. He was thinking about his dad. The day that marked the beginning of trouble for Ryan's family had been a day much like this one. It was sunny and warm, the kind of day when nothing should go wrong. As a patch of puffy white clouds moved across the bright blue sky, Ryan's thoughts drifted back to the past. Or was it the future? It was getting complicated. He was in 1857 now, so technically speaking, Ryan Coolidge hadn't even been born yet. But to Ryan, his memories would always be "the past," even if the power of leapholes had landed him on the banks of the Mississippi River in the nineteenth century. At that particular moment, one of those memories came flooding back to him. With his eyes closed, he could see himself on a beach not far from the Coolidge house. He could see himself in the twenty
-
first century again, but it was long before Ryan would meet Hezekiah. It was before he would watch his father plead guilty in court. It was even before his father would be arrested. It was the innocent beginning--the very beginning--of a story with a terrible ending.

A balmy breeze was blowing in from the bay. Ryan could almost taste the sea salt in the air. Crandon Park on Key Biscayne was always full of beach lovers on Sundays, and on gloriously sunny days like this one, the park was packed. The Coolidge family did a barbecue every weekend. Their favorite spot was about a hundred yards from the beach, a little picnic area beneath the shade of a huge banyan tree. Ryan's father would cook hamburgers and chicken breasts on the grill. His mother made the salads and snacks. Ryan always got to bring a friend along. This time (as usual) he brought his best friend, Leddy "Sweaty" Colletti. They headed straight for the beach.

Ryan and Leddy were lying flat on their backs. Above them was only blue sky. Ryan could feel the warm, wet sand beneath him. Anyone could leave a handprint in the sand, but Ryan liked to leave full-body prints. In a rhythm that seemed to have no end, the white foam of breaking waves rode up the shoreline. They reached as far as Ryan's knees before receding back into the ocean. It was the most relaxing feeling imaginable.

A seagull soared overhead. It was coming closer. Too close. Ryan sat up quickly. He would never forget what had happened to his friend Leddy the last time they were lying on the beach. Seagulls had some deadly aim.

Ryan looked left, then right. It was the most beautiful beach he had ever seen. The sand was like powder with a pinkish cast to it. Palm trees dotted the shoreline. Some were forty or fifty feet tall, with long, skinny trunks that reached for the sun. It reminded Ryan of a brontosaurus's neck.

Around him, sun worshipers had spread out their blankets. Beach chairs and colorful umbrellas dotted the landscape. Ryan's gaze drifted toward the cabana behind him. It was shelter for three generations of females--a grandmother, a mother, and a little girl about two years old. The girl seemed fascinated by her grandmother's jewelry. She tugged on the necklace and drooled on the bracelet. Ryan smiled wanly. The days when he could do absolutely anything he wanted and still be adorable had long since passed.

The mother and grandmother were deep in conversation. The two year old was obsessed with the jewelry. She was especially fascinated by the ring. It was one of those obnoxious, rich-old-grandma rings with an emerald stone as big as an acorn. It must have looked tasty to the toddler. She started licking it. Grandma didn't seem to care. She just kept talking, and the little girl kept licking. The ring was still on the old woman's finger, but grandma didn't notice as the girl started sucking on the big stone like a pacifier.

Suddenly, the child started choking. The grandmother screamed. The stone was missing from her ring. The child had worked it loose from the setting. That huge, green stone had come off the ring and was now lodged in the child's windpipe. The grandmother tried to reach into the child's throat, but it would not come out. She screamed for help.

Ryan leaped to his feet and ran to them. "She swallowed the stone! I saw it. I saw it happen!"

"We know!" the grandmother screamed. "Do something!"

Ryan shouted to his friend. "Leddy, call the lifeguard!" Then he looked at the grandmother and said, "My mom's a doctor. I'll get her!"

In a flash, Ryan raced across the beach. He found his mother back at the picnic area. She had a camera bag around her neck, and she was busy photographing red and yellow hibiscus flowers.

"Mom, come quick! A baby's choking!"

Dr. Coolidge didn't even have time to drop her camera bag. She ran with Ryan across the sand to the cabana. A crowd had gathered to watch. The onlookers had formed a semicircle around the mother and grandmother. The lifeguard was on his knees, and he was holding the little girl in his lap. His attempt to perform the Heimlich maneuver was finding no success. It was clear that he'd never practiced on a child so young. The child's face was turning blue. Her mother and grandmother looked horrified, fearing the worst.

"I'm a pediatrician!" Dr. Coolidge shouted as she broke through the crowd. "Let me try."

The lifeguard handed the child over to her. Something had to be done quickly. The girl was fading from lack of oxygen. Ryan's mother dropped her camera bag and gathered the child into her arms. She placed one hand on the girl's back and the other on her tiny abdomen. Quickly but gently, she pushed. But nothing happened.

She tried again.

Still nothing.

"Please, please!" the grandmother cried.

She tried a third time, and it was like uncorking a bottle of champagne. The emerald stone popped from the child's mouth and flew through the air. It landed in the sand, right next to the doctor's camera bag.

The child was crying, like a newborn drawing her first breath.

Her mother and grandmother screamed with relief. The onlookers applauded. Dr. Coolidge continued to massage the child's chest, trying to make her breathe regularly. Just then the paramedics broke through the crowd. Ryan's mother helped them give the child oxygen from a tank. When she seemed satisfied that her young patient would be okay, she didn't stand up and take a bow. She didn't wave to the crowd of onlookers like some kind of hero. She simply whispered something into the mother's ear--something that wiped away much of the anxiety from the young mother's face.