Scarecrow (18 page)

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Authors: Robin Hathaway

BOOK: Scarecrow
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“Hey, Mac. Take a look at this.”
The guard left his post at the end of the room full of whirring machines. The operators, intent on their work, did not look up.
“See the buzzards?” He directed the guard's gaze out the window at the field where two large birds hovered above the head of a scarecrow. “Soon one of them will land,” he laughed, “and
bingo
! One less goddam foreigner!”
“What did he do?” The guard asked cautiously.
“Stole my cell phone and tried to call home.” He scowled. “Stupid bastard!”
The guard drew his breath in sharply. A buzzard had landed on the shoulder of the scarecrow.
“Ha!” The supervisor slapped the guard on the back. “Now we'll have some fun. Gotta see this. Time for a break. A
lunch
break.” He laughed again and drew the reluctant guard closer to the window.
At 11:30 Maggie arrived with Paul's lunch. She looked concerned but she didn't say anything. Thank God she wasn't the kind of wife who burbled things like, “Don't worry” or “I'm sure everything will be all right.”
As Paul picked at his lunch, he tried to recall everything he could about Jo. Her arrival in that funny outfit—a chic suit with sneakers and a backpack. The way she had come to the rescue of that woman on her first night … Suddenly he knew Jo was in serious trouble. She would never leave her cell phone uncovered voluntarily, date or no date. He opened the backdoor to his office, the one that led to the working parts of the motel—the laundry, the kitchen, and a small workshop. “Maggie!” he shouted.
“She's in the laundry, Mr. Nelson.” Marie looked up from the sheets she was folding. “Want me to get her?”
“No. I'll go.” He pushed past her.
Maggie came out of the laundry bearing a pile of white towels smelling of Tide. “Is she back?”
“No.” He looked around furtively and spoke in a low voice. “Remember that couple that was here a few months ago?”
“What couple?” She looked exasperated. Hundreds of couples had been here a few months ago.
“The one with the sick wife that Jo treated.”
“Oh, yes.” She nodded.
“Put those towels down, for God's sake.”
Carefully Maggie laid the towels on a chair. “What's all this leading to, Paul?” She had her hands on her hips. A bad sign.
“They skipped without paying.”
“So what's new?”
“It upset Jo. She thought she should go after them.”
Maggie smiled at the righteous indignation of youth. “If I could count the number of times people had skipped …”
“I know, I know, but she meant well. And she ran into them again at Mike's garage. They drove in for gas while she was picking up her tire. When they saw Jo, they took off.”
“Did they recognize her?”
“Why else would they take off?”
“Then what?”
“One day Jo took a tour of the nuclear plant. She wanted to know how it worked, she told me, so she wouldn't be afraid of it.”
“Sounds sensible.”
“But when she came back, she was all in an uproar. Said she'd seen the husband half of the couple. He was working as a security guard at the plant.”
Maggie frowned. “How strange.”
“Strange, my foot. It all fits together now.”
Maggie was thoughtful. “You mean you think he recognized Jo on the tour?”
“Sure. Why else would he quit?”
“Quit?”
“Yeah. Up and left the same day with no notice. Swiped his personnel file, too.”
“So what's your point? Do you think he kidnapped her?”
When put that way, it did sound ridiculous. He shrugged.
“Mr. Nelson?” Marie called. “You have a customer here.”
Maggie grabbed her towels and fled.
 
 
Later, when Maggie came to relieve her husband at the desk, she said, “she's still not here! Paul, we have to call Jo's father.”
“Oh, God.” Paul moaned.
“I'll call him. Do we know his number?”
“No, but I know his name. Joseph Banks. And he lives in Queens.” He prepared to leave. “I hate to stick you with this …”
“Never mind.” Maggie dialed Information with no more fuss than if she were calling the laundry to report a missing shirt—one of the reasons he had married her.
Less than ten minutes later, Paul was back.
“He's going to try to get a plane to Philadelphia tonight,” Maggie told him, “and rent a car. I gave him directions.”
“Was he … ?”
“What do you think? But he seemed in control.” After a minute, she said, “We better tell Tom, too.”
“Canby?”
She nodded.
“What's he got to do with this?” He was startled by a twinge of jealousy.
“I think he'd like to know.”
“But the first time I saw them together was at our house on Thanksgiving. And they hardly spoke. I didn't think they took to each other at all. They aren't dating, are they?” He ran out of steam.
“No. That's not his way,” she said firmly. “But … he's fallen for her.”
“What?”
“Calm down, Paul.”
Obediently, he shut his mouth. From long experience, he knew that in matters of this sort his wife was usually right.
“Of course, he doesn't know it yet,” she added.
“Will you call him?” Paul asked finally.
“No—I think you can handle that.”
“Thanks.” He grunted.
Maggie looked fondly after her husband's retreating back.
Paul took off in his truck. He would have gone crazy if he had had to sit around the motel another minute. But he felt guilty. He should make that call. He pulled into Mike's garage.
“Any news of the doc?” Mike's worried face appeared at the window.
Paul shook his head. While Mike filled his tank he went over to the pay phone to call Tom. No answer. Relieved, he went back to his car. He hated to be the bearer of bad tidings. He'd rather Maggie do it.
When he had paid for his gas, he looked over at the pay phone. A bunch of teenagers had taken it over. They'd be there for hours. Well, he'd tried. He drove off, heading nowhere in particular.
 
 
Polly had been trying Jo's number all day. She had important news. Becca wasn't in school and the school secretary had no record of Becca's aunt calling to say she was sick. No one answered the phone at Becca's house. Polly hung up. She would try Jo again later.
 
 
The Lobster Trap was closed for the winter, except for the small lunch counter that was kept open all year round for the especially
hardy sailors and fishermen. Fred Taney, the owner, was chewing the fat with one of those fishermen when his son, Clyde, burst in the door.
“Hey, Dad, did you rent a boat yesterday?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“It's still out.”
“I know. She said she'd probably be out all day.” He glanced at his watch. “It's only four.”
“Okay. Will you take care of it? I've gotta to get home.”
“Whatsa matter, wifey's orders?”
Clyde glared at his father and slammed the door.
Fred and the old fisherman shared a grin. Neither of them had ever let
their
wives tell them when to be home.
 
 
“Your girlfriend was in here yesterday.” Sally slapped a glass of water, some silverware, and a napkin in front of Tom.
He glanced up.
“She put away a man-sized breakfast,” the waitress said.
“Well … she's a big girl.”
“You like 'em big?” She had a glint in her eye. Sally was solid, but pint-sized.
“I like 'em any way.” He grinned. “Where's my dinner?” He made as if to slap her backside.
With a laugh, she scurried away.
In Bayfield you had to play the macho game or they'd think you were queer.
 
 
Tom left the diner with Jo still on his mind. He decided to drop by the motel on the off chance he might bump into her. When he walked in, Maggie was at the desk.
“Hi, beautiful.”
She glanced up with a frown.
“Something wrong?”
“Jo's missing.”
He stared.
“She didn't come home last night. She hasn't been back all day.”
He remained quite still. “Did she tell anyone where she was going?”
“She told Jack she had a big date and not to wait up.” The expression on Tom's face made her add quickly, “But I'm sure she was pulling his leg.”
“Have you asked everyone?”
“Everyone I could think of.”
“What about her cell phone?”
“She doesn't answer it.”
“And her emergency calls?”
“Nine-one-one's taking them.”
He chewed on his lip. “She took her bike?”
“It's not in its usual place.”
“Where is Paul?”
“Out looking for her. He's half-crazy.”
He slapped the desk. “I'll take a look around.”
“Go ahead. But if she doesn't turn up by nine o'clock, I'm calling the police.”
Tom checked the clock over the desk: 7:25.
It took Tom less than five minutes to get to the road leading past the Wistar house. (It had taken fifteen minutes when he was with Jo.) He had the presence of mind to pull off the road a good hundred feet before he reached the house and shut off the motor. Silently he slid from tree to tree toward the house. Even though it was a cloudy night, the roof and chimneys were faintly outlined against the sky. No crack of light came from the house. No smoke. And no sign of any vehicles. Clinging to the brick wall, he made his way around the side of the house to the back. Nothing there.
After circling the house, he concluded it was the vacant, boarded-up property it appeared to be. Like so many other houses in the area, it had been abandoned upon the death of the owners, with no living descendents to claim it, and was simply awaiting the erosion of time—or the quicker, more humane death of the bulldozer. He made his way back to his pickup. He had been so sure he would find her here. As he slid behind the steering wheel, he had no idea where to look next.
When he had rushed out, he had had nothing in mind but a driving desire to rescue his … his what? His slight acquaintance? A young woman doctor with whom he had spent a few hours and exchanged a few words? Oh, hell, it was his humanitarian duty to find her. She was a doctor. A lot of time and money had gone into
her education. He owed it to the human race to see that she lived to practice her profession.
Lived?
He pressed the accelerator.
As he drove, he thought of Jo's friends. The Nelsons, ‘Mike,' Maggie's sister, Polly; Jack; Marie; Becca … The lights were on full at Mike's garage. He pulled in and Mike came right up. “Any news?”
Paul must have been here. “No. I was hoping you might …”
Mike shook his head, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Well, if you do …”
Mike nodded grimly.
Tom headed for the Sheffield place. As he drew near, he saw only one light—in a second-story window. Bad sign. If the family were back, there would be more lights. He checked his watch: 8:30. Juri, all by himself, probably turning in early. He pulled fifty yards past the house and parked. His first instinct was to break down the door and search the place.
Easy. No point getting Juri's wind up
. He controlled himself. What excuse could he give for dropping by? He hardly knew the man. They belonged to the same community but had no common interests. He'd met him a couple of times—at the post office and the obligatory fireman's' muskrat dinner. Juri was partial to muskrat. Tom hated it—and the way they trapped them. He wondered if Maggie had already called the Sheffields. He should have asked. He glanced in the back of his truck for something to help him. Nothing there but his bow and a couple of arrows. He grabbed the bow and rummaged in the glove compartment for his flashlight.
There was no bell. He knocked twice. A dog barked. He waited. The barking stopped. He knocked again. More barking, followed by heavy footsteps. Lights came on behind the drawn shades. The door opened and Juri squinted into the darkness.
“Tom Canby. Sorry to bother you. Was huntin' in the field across the way and lost an arrow.” His Bayfield drawl grew thicker
as he went on. “They're kinda valuable and I'd like to take a look for it. I think it came this way.”
“Can't it wait 'til morning?”
“I'm kinda anxious about it.” (He resisted saying “shucks.”) “ … And I've got my light.” He held up his flashlight. God, what an ass he sounded.
Juri shrugged. “Go ahead, if it'll make you sleep better.” He shut the door.
It had been easier than he thought. But what had he actually accomplished? Permission to spend the night trekking through a muddy field looking for a nonexistent arrow.
He began close to the house, shining his light onto the porch, under the porch, into the crawl space under the kitchen. Did he really expect to find Jo there? The kitchen window burst into light. He drew back. Had Juri decided to have a snack? The shade was down and glowed yellow. A narrow crack of brighter yellow edged one side. Hugging the wall, Tom peeped through the crack into the kitchen.
Peeping Tom.
He snorted. A table and three chairs. Juri came into view bearing a bottle of wine and a glass. He set them down and moved out of Tom's line of vision. When he came back he was carrying a chunk of cheese and a box of crackers. Tom turned away in disgust. Had he nothing better to do than spy on some fella's evening snack? He headed for the barn. The door was unlocked but creaked loudly when he pushed it open. How would he explain his presence in the barn? His arrow could hardly have pierced a thick barn door. Maybe the door had been open during the day and—like a bird—the arrow had flown in? Bullshit. He flashed his light over the empty stalls. Apparently the Sheffields no longer kept animals. A pile of tattered horse blankets. The remains of an ancient wagon. The sound of scuffling. He shot his light into the corner, trapping a pair of shiny black eyes. They vanished.
When Tom came out, the clouds had scattered, revealing a three-quarter moon. Clusters of stars crowded the sky. No time for star gazing. He went around to the back of the barn. A rusty tractor,
some wooden barrels, a roll of chicken wire. No need for a flashlight now. He headed into the field and stopped. What was he doing? Jo wasn't here. If she was anywhere, she would be in the house—a prisoner in some darkened room. Not likely. Juri had not seemed nervous or angry when he came to the door. A little curious and mildly annoyed; the normal reaction to an unexpected nocturnal visitor. Hardly the attitude of a kidnapper. And he had been perfectly willing to let Tom search his property. Not the behavior of someone who was hiding something. Or someone. Should he knock again with some further excuse? Such as?
How would you like to share your bottle of wine?
As Tom stared at the kitchen window, the shade went black. He headed back to his pickup.

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