Picture Perfect (8 page)

“Oh, no you don't,” Lorrie scolded her brother-in-law playfully. “This is my chance to have Davey all to myself and you're not invited. I intend to treat that kid as if he was my own. Better.”

Sara straightened her spine. “I suggest you remember that Davey's our child, not yours, Lorrie,” Sara said, avoiding Andrew's warning glance. She knew he didn't think this was the right time to tell Lorrie they intended to reduce her time with Davey.

Lorrie paled, her sister's cruel words cutting her to the quick.

At a sound from the doorway everyone turned. Davey was standing there, Duffy clutched in his arms. The little boy's face looked crestfallen.

“What's the matter, son? Not having second thoughts, are you?” Andrew teased.

Davey sniffed. “It's Duffy. She doesn't want me to go. Look at her eyes, she's been crying.”

“Duffy will be fine in the kennel,” Sara told her son.

“I don't want her to stay all alone in a kennel. I want her to go with me!” He glanced shyly at his aunt, feeling like a crybaby yet unable to help himself.

Lorrie smiled warmly. “Come here, Davey.” Slowly Davey walked over to her, Duffy still held tightly in his arms.

“That's one sorry-looking dog you've got there. I think you're right. She doesn't look to me as though she'd last a day without you. We'd better take her with us.”

Immediately Davey brightened. “Really? Did you hear that, Duff? Aunt Lorrie said you can come with us!” He set her down. “I'll go get her dog food,” he said, turning to leave. “C'mon, Duff. We need your leash and your dish, too.” Davey scampered off to the kitchen, leaving his aunt to bear the weight of his parents' remonstrances.

“Lorrie, are you sure you want to do that?” Andrew asked, looking doubtful.

“Where will Duffy stay while you're at the planetarium and the zoo?” Sara questioned, not liking a last-minute change to the plans she had carefully made.

“In the motor home. She'll be fine. I should have thought of it before.”

Davey ran through the dining room carrying Duffy's red plastic dish, a metal-link leash and a bag of dry dog food. He headed for the front door with Duffy scrambling after him, yipping at the sight of her leash. “I'm going to tell Mr. Sanders that Duffy's going with us!”

Davey dropped the bag of dog food and the rest of Duffy's possessions next to the front door. “Duffy's coming too!” he told Stuart Sanders.

“Is that right? Good for Duffy! Hey, Davey, come over here. I've got something for you.” Sanders withdrew something from his pocket. “It's a penlight, just like the Boy Scouts use.” He flipped the switch and displayed the light against the palm of his hand.

“Gee! Thanks, Mr. Sanders.”

“And see, it has a chain attached to it so you can hook it through your belt loop, like this.” Sanders attached the penlight to Davey's narrow belt loop and dropped it into the boy's pocket. “For your very first camping trip.”

Davey's smile was the agent's reward. Shyly the youngster reached out to shake hands, just the way his mother had taught him.

Lorrie called Davey back to the dining room and held him on her lap, the brochure spread out on the table in front of them. She pointed to the pictures of the campground where they would be spending the night.

Davey pored over the pictures, then looked up. “Mom, you said I could call Digger on the CB to say goodbye. Can I tell him about my camping trip, Mom, can I? I want to tell him that we're staying at a campground right near Wild Adventure Park, and that at night you can hear the lions roar.”

“Yes, Davey, you can call him but don't be long.”

After Davey had left the room, Andrew turned to Lorrie. “That CB was a godsend. Best thing you could have given him. He loves it.”

Lorrie smiled, pleased that Andrew was pleased. “Well, I knew Davey would be cooped up in the house for a while because of the trial and all. I'd remembered one of my patients, a little boy with severe physical limitations, talking about a Junior CB Club and how much fun he had talking to other kids.”

“Davey would be on it all the time if we let him,” Andrew said. “But Sara and I explained that operating a citizen's band radio is a responsibility, and I'm proud to say that Davey doesn't abuse it. One half hour each afternoon, that's all. After all this is over, we promised Davey he could meet this ‘Digger' in person.”

“Digger? That's a funny handle. I've heard some of them are outrageous. What's Davey's?” Lorrie asked.

“Panda Bear,” Sara answered, long white tapered fingers shredding the paper napkin near her cup. “It's the only one he came up with that Andrew and I would agree to. You should have heard some of the others.”

“I'm so glad you approve of Davey belonging to the Junior CB Club, Sara. I wasn't sure you would.”

Sara faced her sister. “I don't approve of some of the ‘lingo' that the CBers use. It goes against my grain. Whatever happened to the Queen's English?”

 

Elva and Cudge sat stiffly on the front seat of the Chevy pickup truck, fully aware of Lenny Lombardi's body behind them on the floor of the pop-up camper.

Cudge kept a careful eye out for traffic signals and speed limits. This was definitely not the time to attract the attention of some cop who might demand an inspection of the camper. Cudge damned himself for painting the truck with wild colors and applying decals that just barely came within the limits of the law. Cops were always stopping vans and pickups, looking for drugs, and the wild decorations on the old Chevy just begged for police to get nosy, if only on principle.

The CB on the dashboard emitted its usual static, picking up a trucker here and there. He intended to keep the CB going all the while they were on the road, regardless of Elva's whining protests that she wanted to listen to her Elvis cassettes. If there were speed traps or any cops in the vicinity, he wanted to know while he could still do something about it.

They headed west out of Newark, traveling city streets. Elva had never seen Cudge drive so carefully. She knew better than to complain about the static coming from the CB that was giving her a roaring headache. This was no time for Cudge to lose his cool.

About nine o'clock they were going through the town of Montclair. As they entered the town, the transmission on the CB became clearer.

“. . . that sounds great, Panda Bear. When will you get back? Over.” A click.

“We'll be back Wednesday, Digger. How long will you stay in the hospital to get your legs fixed? Over.” A click.

“Don't know, Panda Bear. Where are you camping? Over.” A click. The second young voice sounded louder, clearer, coming through the speaker.

“Down at a campground near the Wild Adventure Amusement Park. Aunt Lorrie says you can hear the lions roar at night. Over.”

“Too bad the park isn't open yet,” Digger said. “I know you'd like the Ferris wheel they have there. Over.” Click.

“That's what Aunt Lorrie says is so great. When the park is open, it's so crowded you can never get in; this time of year there won't be hardly anybody there. It'll be like being out all alone in the woods. Over.”

“Have a great time, Panda Bear. Wish I could go with you rather than to the hospital. Over.”

“Digger? I hope they fix your legs this time. Over.”

“Yeah, me too. Gotta go now, Panda Bear. Have a great time for me. Out.”

“I will, Digger. I know I will! Out.”

The transmission ended and the static sounded again.

“Get that map out of the glove compartment, Elva,” Cudge instructed, keeping his eye on the road. “Find out where that Wild Adventure place is.”

 

Federal Bureau of Investigation Special Agent Stuart Sanders stood outside Davey's door. He could hear the excited voices on Davey's CB. He still had some time. He would wait till the conversation was over before he said goodbye.

The agent looked into Davey's immaculate room, so different from his nephews' bedrooms. Where were the personal touches? Everything was expensive, from the porcelain clowns on the shelf to the leather-bound editions of Dickens. An interior decorator might find it in perfect taste, but to Sanders it seemed like a model room in a department store. Where were the bits and pieces of games that were standard in a kid's room? Where were the stubby crayons in coffee cans? Or the slipper without a mate? Where were the comics and storybooks that took a kid on trips to fantasy land? He knew if he looked under the bed he would find nothing but a clean, vacuumed carpet. There would be no forgotten toys, no dirty pajamas, no pennies. Just a clean floor. As he watched the Yorkshire terrier nip at Davey's pant leg he thought, at least Duffy was real. Davey was real.

It was impossible, but the bed was already made. It annoyed him. His sister's kids never made their beds till five minutes before their mother came in from the office, and then all they did was throw the comforter up over the pillow. There was no life in this room. Sanders had a sudden urge to scoop up the dog and the kid and take them to his sister's house with the noise and disorder that four boys made. Nancy would take one look at Davey and cradle him in her arms and croon some indistinguishable words that only kids understood. Nancy called it “mother magic.” Disgust washed through him. This room, this kid, could use a double dose of Nancy.

The minute Davey broke his connection Duffy barked to let Stuart know it was all right to enter the room. Walking in, he held out his hand. “I came to say goodbye, Davey.”

Manfully, Davey extended his hand. “It was nice of you to come up to see me and Duffy, sir.”

Stuart Sanders squatted down till he was at eye level with the little boy. “Listen, tiger, I hope you have a whale of a good time on your camping trip. Take good care of this bundle of dynamite,” he said, motioning to the dog.

“I will, sir. And, sir, thanks again for the flashlight. I have it in my jacket pocket so I can use it whenever I want.”

Stuart stared into Davey's bright eyes. Despite the room, the kid would be all right. Stuart felt it in his gut. His eyes dropped to the needle marks on Davey's arms.

Davey grinned when he noticed Stuart staring. Playfully, he punched the agent on the arm. “I almost don't need them anymore.”

Suddenly, Stuart didn't want to leave. He had never in his life believed in premonitions or anything supernatural, but he was experiencing something now. And the dog, the dog was staring up at him with what Stuart would later describe as questioning eyes. “Davey, I'm going to give you a card that has my cell phone number on it. If you ever want to talk to me, or if you think I might be able to help you sometime—you know, if you ever join the Scouts or something like that—you call me. It doesn't make any difference what time it is, day or night. If I don't answer, you just leave a message and I'll get right back to you.”

“Sure, Mr. Sanders,” Davey said, taking the business card and sticking it in his hip pocket. “Maybe you should give me two, one to take with me and one to leave here in my desk.”

Stuart got to his feet. He didn't know why but it was important for him to make the kid promise. “Okay, but first I want you to promise me that you'll call me if you need me.” Deliberately, he made his tone light.

Duffy barked sharply and Davey's tone was solemn. “I promise, Mr. Sanders.”

“Listen, tiger, you got any money on you?”

Davey shook his head. “Mom and Dad said I don't need any money.”

Sanders winced slightly. “I'm sure they're right, but when I was a kid, my dad always gave me some pocket change to carry around in case I needed to make a phone call and all I could find was a pay phone. I think you should have some. Here, take these three quarters.”

Dutifully, Davey accepted the three quarters and stuffed them down into his pocket with the business card. The jangle sounded nice.

“As long as you have money in your pocket, you're always just a phone call away from having someone to talk to. I have to go, tiger. You and Duffy take good care of each other, okay?” He choked a little as he tousled Davey's hair.

 

“Got everything, sport? Ready to go? Your mom and dad have a plane to catch to Florida and we can't hold them up.” Although Davey was aware that his parents were flying to Florida, Lorrie knew he wasn't aware of the reason. He had been told it was on school business.

“Everything's ready. Right, Mom?”

“You'd better be on your way, son,” Andrew said, then turned to his sister-in-law. “His gear is on the front porch. Sanders took it out a while ago.”

Sara, issuing last-minute instructions, was still talking when she pecked Davey on the cheek. Her hand lingered a moment on his shoulder before she stepped back.

Andrew Taylor clapped Davey gently on the back and patted his head. “I want you to be a good boy for your aunt, and don't give her any trouble.”

“And keep Duffy out of trouble,” Sara instructed. “We'll see you in a few days,” she added quietly.

Lorrie knew she had been dismissed. It was Sara's inimitable style. She didn't just say hello or goodbye like other people. Not Sara. She welcomed you for the moment and then, when some invisible clock in her head reached the appropriate time, she dismissed you. As she ushered Davey out the door, Lorrie wondered if Sara ever dismissed Andrew that way, and what he thought of it if she did. Or if he was even aware of it. Sara was her sister and she loved her dearly, but she had to acknowledge she
was
different.

“Doctor Ryan,” Stuart Sanders said, following Lorrie out the door and down the steps. “If I could have a word with you, please.”

Lorrie turned around. “Sure, just let me open the door to the motor home so Davey can get in.”

“Of course. I'll just wait right here,” he said, standing back.