St. Patrick's Day Murder (14 page)

“What doesn’t make sense is why you would leave two little girls in the care of an unreliable teenager,” said Dylan, glaring at Sara.

“Sara’s not unreliable,” said Lucy. “She gave up her Saturday morning to watch the girls.”

“She was probably on the phone with her boyfriend the whole time,” said Dylan. “I bet she wouldn’t have noticed if they’d set the house on fire.”

“That’s not true,” said Sara. “I took them outside and played with them in the snow. I made hot chocolate for them….”

“I don’t believe a word of it. I’m sure you just watched TV,” replied Dylan.

“Just a minute,” protested Lucy. “If Sara said she played with them and gave them hot chocolate, well then, she did. She tells the truth, unlike some people.”

His bristly brows shot together. “And what’s that supposed to mean? Are you calling me a liar?”

Lucy didn’t like being on the spot like this, but she didn’t see any way out except to go forward. “You know what I mean. You’re a bit loose with the truth yourself, now aren’t you?”

“What exactly do you mean?” he demanded, glaring at her.

Lucy swallowed hard. “Well, for example, you didn’t exactly come on the plane with your family like you said you did.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” said Dylan, dismissing her accusation. “Lots of husbands and wives take separate planes in case of a crash. What I want to know is what you’ve done with my daughter.”

“I have done nothing except give your daughter a playmate. If anything, I think it’s your daughter who’s caused the problem here,” said Lucy. “My Zoe is a sensible child, at least she was until she started playing with your Deirdre. Now she can’t sleep for fear of demons and leprechauns and I don’t know what all.”

“Now that’s not fair,” protested Dylan. “Deirdre has a healthy imagination and enjoys a bit of make-believe, but she’s not a naughty child.”

“I don’t know what you consider healthy—”

“Mom,” interrupted Sara. “Whatever’s going on here, there’s no sense looking for someone to blame. We need to find the girls, and arguing isn’t helping.”

Ashamed, Lucy bit her lip. “I’m going to call my husband,” she told Dylan.

He nodded in agreement.

Bill didn’t mince any words when she told him what had happened. “Call the police,” he said. “I’m on my way home.”

“The police? Are you sure?” replied Lucy. “What if they’re just hiding or it’s some silly misunderstanding…?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Bill. “This is what police are for. Call them, or I will.”

“I’ll do it,” she said.

She started dialing the number, which she knew by heart because she’d called it so many times as a reporter, but Dylan grabbed the phone from her and punched in 911.

“Yes, we have an emergency,” he said. “Two missing children.”

It was then that Lucy felt tears pricking her eyes, and she quickly brushed them away. Until now she’d been just barely able to control her emotions by refusing to believe the girls were really missing. She’d clung to the notion that there was some misunderstanding, some mistake. But that was shattered when she heard Dylan’s call for help. This was the real thing, a real emergency. Two little girls were gone.

Lucy’s friend Officer Barney Culpepper answered the call, arriving at the same time as Bill. From the window, Lucy watched as they shook hands in the yard, then came into the house together. Bill took her in his arms while Barney stood aside, gripping his cap in his hand.

“I’m going to need some information,” said Barney. “The sooner I get it, the sooner we can find those girls.”

“Right,” said Lucy. The tears had started to flow again, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand.

“Mebbe it would be best if we all sat down at the table,” said Barney. “I don’t know about you, but I could sure use some coffee.”

“I’ll make it,” said Lucy. “Sara was minding them. She can tell you what happened.”

She filled the pot with water and counted out the scoops of coffee, with shaking hands, listening as Sara recounted the story. By the time she finished and flicked the switch, she felt much calmer. When she joined the others at the table, Barney had turned to Dylan.

“So you came to pick up your daughter at one thirty?”

“That’s right.”

“What about your wife?” asked Barney.

“What about her?”

“How come she didn’t pick up the little girl? Isn’t that the more usual arrangement?”

“Actually, she was supposed to pick her up, but she left a note asking me to do it instead.”

“And why was that?”

“She was upset. We’d been rehearsing the show at the church, and she had a disagreement with the musical director.”

“She left the rehearsal early?”

“Yes.”

“And would you say she was angry or upset?”

“I don’t think…”

“I do,” said Lucy. “She was definitely upset when she left.”

“So it’s possible she picked up the girls herself?” asked Barney.

“It’s possible, but not probable,” insisted Dylan. “I know my wife, and I’m sure she would have let me know if she decided to change plans, and the last I knew, she wanted some time to herself.”

Barney scratched his chin. “What kind of car does she drive?”

“A little white compact. It’s a rental,” said Dylan.

“Ah, good. I’ll contact the rental company and get the license number. It’s possible we can put out an AMBER Alert,” said Barney.

Despite Lucy’s best efforts to control herself, a sob escaped, and Bill took her hand.

“What is this AMBER Alert?” demanded Dylan.

“We’ll issue a description of your wife and the girls and the car. It will go out to all police units in Maine as well as the neighboring states, and on TV and radio, too. It works real good. We often get a sighting within minutes.”

“But you’re turning my wife into a criminal. Anyone who hears this AMBER Alert will think she’s a kidnapper,” protested Dylan.

“She’s the best lead we’ve got,” said Barney. “She’s missing, too. She was in an emotional state. Chances are, she took the girls.” He licked his pencil. “Now can you give me some descriptions?”

When Dylan remained silent, glumly staring at the table, Lucy spoke up. “Moira has red hair, one hundred twenty pounds, five foot six, something like that, wears a black cape. Deirdre is eight or nine years old, with dark hair and green eyes, wearing a pink parka. Zoe is ten, with light brown hair, and is wearing a blue jacket and snow pants.”

“Good. I’ll radio it in,” said Barney.

The cackle of his radio filled the kitchen as he filed his report. Then, finishing, he turned to Lucy and patted her hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll find them.”

It was then Lucy remembered the coffee. She got up to get cups and pour it out when there was a knock on the door, and Toby came in, along with Willie, Renee, and her mother, Frankie, all from Prudence Path. They were all dressed for the weather, Willie in tall boots and a long raincoat with split seams for riding.

“Any news?” asked Toby.

“Not yet,” said Barney. “It’s just a matter of time.”

“Right.” Toby nodded. “Well, we thought we might take a look around outside, check the backyards and woods. Is there any objection?”

“Mom already did that,” said Sara.

“Won’t hurt to do it again,” said Barney.

“I’ll go, too,” said Dylan, standing up.

“I’m going to the stable to get my horse,” said Willie, giving Lucy a little smile. “Blaze and I can cover a lot of ground. If they’re out there, we’ll find them.”

They all clattered out, leaving the kitchen suddenly quiet, with only Bill and Barney sitting at the table, nursing their coffee. Lucy went into the powder room to wash her face.

The reflection she saw in the mirror shocked her. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face blotchy, and when she put the cool washcloth against her burning eyes, it only made the tears start to flow again. She put the toilet lid down and sat on it, taking deep breaths and telling herself that everything would be all right. When no more tears would come, she ran the cold water, gave her face a final wipe, and went back to join Bill and Barney in the kitchen.

Their backs were to her, and they didn’t notice her return but continued their conversation as she went to the counter to pour herself a cup of coffee. She had just picked up the pot when she heard Barney say, “You might think I’m jumping the gun here, but there’s no time to waste. The truth is, three-quarters of abducted children who are murdered are dead within three hours of the abduction.”

Chapter Eleven

T
he carafe dropped from her hands and rolled across the floor, leaving a trail of dark brown coffee. Lucy stood, staring at the mess, terrified by the possibility that Zoe might be gone forever. Until then, she had only given a passing thought to the possibility that the girls might have been abducted. She hadn’t seriously considered the fact that they could have been snatched by some weird pervert, but she knew it happened. The news was always reporting these tragic stories of abuse and death. Babies ripped from their mothers’ bodies, children snatched out of bed or off the sidewalk and hidden away, forced to gratify their captors’ twisted desires. And then…

“It’s going to be all right,” said Bill, taking her in his arms.

“Now, now,” said Barney, reaching for a towel and dropping to his knees to mop up the mess. “What you heard, that’s just part of the story. The truth is that most missing children are found safe and sound. Only a very small minority are actually victims of”—he paused and humpfed—“predators.”

“But it’s a possibility,” said Lucy. “You read about it in the papers all the time. Amber and Jessica and Jeffrey and Megan. I don’t want Zoe on that list.”

“That’s the trouble,” said Barney, lumbering clumsily to his feet and putting the coffee-soaked towel in the sink. The carafe, miraculously unbroken, he set back in place on the coffeemaker, which he switched off. “These sensational cases get all the publicity. You never hear about the kid who went to play at his friend’s house and forgot to call home. Or the mom who takes her child’s friend along for a ride to the candy store and loses track of time.”

“Do you think that’s what happened?” asked Lucy.

“I’m sure it is,” said Barney, looking anxiously at the clock.

Lucy knew what he was thinking. It was after two, which meant less than three hours of daylight left, maybe less on this gloomy day. The roar of an engine caught her attention, and she looked out the window, spotting two more neighbors, Preston and Tommy Stanton, joining the search on ATVs. She also saw the sky had darkened, filled with threatening black clouds. She went into the family room, where she found Molly was keeping Sara company. Libby was stretched out at their feet, on the carpeted floor.

“Any news?” Sara asked eagerly.

Lucy shook her head.

“Mom, it wasn’t my fault, really,” said Sara. “They’re not babies. It was all right to leave them, wasn’t it? I was so scared the dog would get hit by a car or something.”

It wasn’t an unreasonable fear. Libby’s predecessor, Kudo, had been hit by a truck and killed on Red Top Road. Lucy sat on the couch, beside Sara, and wrapped her arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “I would have done the same thing,” she said. Libby had gotten up and was resting her chin on Lucy’s knee, and Lucy scratched her behind her ears. “Libby’s part of the family, too. Besides, Zoe ought to know better than to go off without permission.”

“That’s what scares me,” admitted Sara. “I’m afraid she was forced to go, against her will.”

Lucy squeezed her daughter tighter. Molly sat quietly, rubbing her stomach.

“That Deirdre struck me as a pretty spooky kid,” said Molly. “Remember how she told me that I should watch out for fairies after I have the baby, because fairies like to steal babies?” Molly paused. “The weird part is that she really seemed to believe it. It wasn’t like she was telling some silly old story or anything. She was dead serious.”

“It was all she talked about,” agreed Sara. “I tried to get her interested in some other game, like Monopoly, or watching a video, but all she wanted to do was play fairies.”

“It’s probably just a phase,” said Lucy. “Kids have these fads. Toby was mad about dinosaurs. Elizabeth absolutely had to have a kitten. I guess fairies are less trouble than a kitten.”

“Not according to Deirdre,” said Sara. “Fairies are nothing but trouble. Though I can’t see why they want to steal babies. It’s not as if a fairy would make a very good mother.”

“It’s just a myth, a way of explaining birth defects,” said Molly. “People didn’t understand why a baby was colicky or slow to develop, so they blamed it on the fairies. The fairies stole the healthy baby and left a sickly one in its place. A changeling.”

Lucy remembered how she had worried during her own pregnancies for fear her baby wouldn’t be healthy. She glanced at Molly, wondering if she had the same fears, and noticed that she looked different somehow. She’d lost that pregnant glow, she realized. Her face was puffier than before, and her blond hair had lost its former shine. She reached out and patted her knee. “Well, if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that fairies did not abduct Zoe and Deirdre,” said Lucy.

She got up and went out to the kitchen, where Bill and Barney were still sitting at the table. Seeing her, Barney shook his head. “No news,” he said.

Lucy looked at the clock. A quarter hour had passed since she last checked the time. Fifteen minutes. Not long. But how many minutes had Zoe been gone? Sixty, seventy, ninety, maybe more. She could already be ninety miles from home.

“So what exactly went out on this AMBER Alert?” she asked.

“The girls’ descriptions, and Moira’s, too, and a description of her car and license number, on the chance that they might be with her,” said Barney.

“You’d think someone would have spotted them by now,” said Bill. “Especially since it’s been on the radio.”

“And Moira’s pretty noticeable, with her red hair and that black cape,” said Lucy.

“A hat and a different coat and she would no longer match the description,” said Barney.

Lucy felt a new emptiness in her gut, realizing it was possible that Moira herself had abducted the girls. “We don’t really know the Malones, do we? We don’t know that they really are who they say they are. We all just took Dylan and Moira at face value, believing everything they said.”