Stolen Grace (14 page)

Ruth was wearing her Joker Face again. She had on a huge smile but her voice was
mean
. Then Grace noticed that the people ahead of her in line started taking off their jackets. Were the Bogeymen making them take off their clothing? They were removing their belts and shoes, undressing in front of each other! They put keys and money and laptops into big plastic dishes. Did they have to give away their laptops and the keys to their houses to the Bogeymen? Would they find her secret pen hidden inside Carrot? Would they want to take it away from her? Tears filled her amber eyes and slid like raindrops down her cheeks. She watched and waited while the Bogeymen felt the people up and down all over their bodies with big, black-gloved hands. There were Bogey Women too, touching the ladies. She wondered if that part was going to tickle.

It didn’t tickle.

But it sure was scary.

In the end, they didn’t find her pen. They didn’t even open her backpack. But now she had to look out for the walls that had invisible eyes.

Watching her.

Waiting silently.

Grace

M
ama Ruth was wearing the high heels again. Grace watched her from her bed in the strange-smelling hotel that had ugly brown and yellow curtains. Ruth was putting on make-up, smacking her lips as she looked at herself in the mirror, her glassy blue eyes glinting back at her. That must have been the magic trick she’d talked about—changing the color of her eyes.

Grace wondered if they had arrived in Saginaw yet. Sometimes, if the family went out in the evening, her mom would carry her from the car directly to bed and she’d wake up the next morning, not knowing how she got there. But it was Mama Ruth who had carried her to bed, not her mommy. And she remembered that it wasn’t even night time. They’d arrived in the afternoon and she took a nap straight away.

Now Mama Ruth was brushing her newly blond hair. She was looking at her mom’s passport picture, smoothing her hair at the same time. Then she put on the big straw cowboy hat.

“Why do you have Mommy’s passport?”

“Hi baby. Did you have a good siesta?”

Grace yawned. “Uh-huh. But it smells in here.”

“I know, baby, it’s a bit funky, but we’re leaving straight away. We’re just here so you could take a nap and I could get changed.”

“Are we in Saginaw?”

“Not yet, baby. I
told
you we got delayed. We won’t be there until tomorrow.”

“But you promised.”

“It’s not my fault, Grace baby. There was a problem with the aircraft and so they sent us a long way round.”

Grace hated the word “baby.” She wasn’t a baby, she was five and three-quarters. Well, almost. “Does Mommy know?”

“Of course she does. I spoke to her while you were asleep. She sends you a big hug. She’s very busy right now. She knows we’ve been delayed.”

“What’s Dee Layed?”

“When things take a long time.”

“I want to speak to Mommy. Let’s call her.”

“I told you, she’s busy.”

“My mom always has time to speak to me.”

“She told me to send you a big hug but she really does
not
have time right now. Now let’s get you dressed as we have to get to the bank before it closes. We need to hurry. Are you hungry?”

“Uh-huh.” Grace thought about how they were always hurrying. But they still weren’t in Saginaw yet. Hurry, hurry, hurry, but they were late anyway. Ruth strutted uneasily toward her.

“Why are your eyes blue now? Why are you wearing high heels?”

“Because I need to be a little taller. Now come on, Grace, let’s get you dressed. We have to go.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s later than it needs to be. We
must
be at the bank soon.”

“Why do you have my mom’s passport?”

“Because, baby, she left it behind and asked me to bring it.”

“So you get to use it?”

“That’s right. Your mommy said I could use it.”

“Is that why you changed the color of your hair and your eyes so you could look like her?”

“Too many questions, young lady. Come on. Up!” She grabbed the butterfly dress that was slung over a chair, yanked off the T-shirt that Grace had worn to bed, and pulled the dress roughly over her head.

Grace battled with the dress. “Ouch! That hurts.”

“Hurry up, don’t dawdle.”

“I don’t want to wear the same dress I wore on the plane!”

“Come on, don’t argue. Quick! We haven’t got all day.”

“Can I bring Pidgey with me?”

“Okay, but let’s get a move on.”

THE BANK WAS BORING. Mama Ruth spent a long time signing papers and talking to a fat man with a moustache, her Joker smile fixed on her face. Then they counted out money. A lot, lot, lot of money. Once, Grace remembered, she had played a game called
Monopoly
with her parents and her Auntie Melinda. But the money at this bank was real. It was dollar money. Ruth had a bag around her waist and another around her neck. She stuffed the money inside the pouches and the rest in her purse. She shook hands with the man. The whole time she spoke Spanish. Grace kept hearing them say the words,
Gwat a Maala
. Gwat a Mala this, and Gwat a Mala that. Who
was
Gwat a Mala?

After the bank, they went to have lunch. But the food was funny, so Grace just chose a Bun Weylo, as Ruth called it. It was a bit like a doughnut but served with hot, cinnamon syrup
.
Ruth had a taco with avocado inside and melted cheese. Mama Ruth was eating with her hands. Auntie Melinda had told Grace it was not polite to eat with your hands but Ruth said it was okay and the way things were done in this country.

“So where are we?” Grace asked. “What country?” She had never been to a “country” before. Except for India, where she came from. Oh yes, and England once. But she couldn’t remember that so well.

“In South America, baby.” Mama Ruth was smiling and happy. Really happy, not just Joker Face happy. She took off the high heels and said, “Well, I won’t be needing
these
anymore.” Then she took off her cowboy hat. “Or this.”

She put on some flip-flops.

Grace watched her open up her cell phone; take out a chip inside which she dropped to the ground. On purpose. Then Ruth rubbed her eyes, played around with them, popping up the eyelids so you could see the whites inside and the bloody pink bits like a scary ghost. And like magic, her eyes were back to their old poop color again! Then she waved her arms at the waiter, grinning. Like a crocodile, Grace thought. Ruth asked for something and five minutes later a bubbly drink appeared.

“Oh Gracie, I’m so, so happy! We’re going to have a lot of fun from now on.”

“Because you have lots of money?”

“Well yes, that’s part of it.”

“And what’s the other part?”

“Because, baby,
you
are with me. And we’re going to be a team!”

“Like in baseball?” Grace asked seriously.

“Something like that.” Ruth flung her arms around Grace, picked her up and, placing her on her lap said, “You are the cutest, most adorable little girl in the world. And I am the luckiest Mama!”

“You’re not my real mommy, though. And why aren’t we in Saginaw? You said—”

“All in good time, baby.”

“Can I taste your drink, then?”

“No, baby, it’s for grown-ups. But when you’re sixteen I’ll let you try a glass.” She finished her bubbly drink and smacked her lips the way she had earlier when she put the lipstick on. “Now, baby, we need to go and get one more thing before going back to the hotel.”

“But you said we were
leaving
that smelly hotel!”

“We are, but I need to go to the store and buy some hair color, use the bathroom at the hotel to do my hair, change what you’re wearing and then, guess what?”

Grace pouted. “But you just
changed
your hair!”

“I know,
mi amor.
But I think I should go back to my natural color. That way, you and I will look just alike. People will think I’m your real mommy.”

Grace felt hot and prickly. Her long lashes sprang damp with tears. “But I
have
a real mommy.”

“Oh baby.” Ruth kissed her eyes and stroked her forehead. “Don’t you see how great everything’s going to be? You and me together like a little dark-haired team? We have the same colored eyes, almost the same kind of skin, especially if I get a tan. Which I’m planning to by the way. I thought you and I could go to the beach for a while. Would you like to wear your new pink swimsuit I bought you at the airport, and play on the beach?”

“What about Mommy?”

“I
told
you, she’s very busy right now. She loves you very much but she has a lot to do.”

“I want my daddy.”

“Daddy’s delayed. And busy too. We’ll see him soon.”

Grace looked down at her half-eaten buñuelo, the thick spicy syrup swimming on the plate
.
It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Her throat felt all lumpy.

“Don’t cry baby. Don’t you see how much I love you? I have a big surprise.”

Grace looked up. Maybe her dad wouldn’t be so busy and he could come and fetch her.

Ruth’s eyes opened wide. “We’re going on a bus!”

Grace didn’t see what was so great about going on a bus.

“A chicken bus! All brightly painted in different colors. And you’ll see how the locals put their
animals
on the bus. Chickens, sometimes pigs, too. Isn’t that exciting?”

“I guess so.”

“You see, baby, we’re free to go anywhere we like. Any country.”

“By plane?” Grace wondered about Saginaw.

“No, baby. No more plane trips. Just buses from now on.”

“Does the bus go to Saginaw?”

Ruth stared at her. She had her Joker Face on again.

Tommy

T
ommy had been prowling about the airport for the best part of forty minutes. Ruth and Grace were nowhere to be seen. He’d called Ruth’s cell several times already. No longer in working order? What the fuck? He called Grace’s schoolteacher.

“Hi, Mrs. Pitt?”

“This is she,” the teacher answered.

“It’s Tommy Garland here, Grace’s dad. I wondered what time Grace left school today? What time my wife’s friend Ruth came to collect her?”

The teacher cleared her throat. “But Mrs. Garland called this morning and told us Grace had the flu, that she wouldn’t be coming in today.”

“No, there must be some mistake. My wife definitely told me that Ruth would be picking me up from the airport after Grace’s school. Unless . . . what time did my wife call?”

“Around nine-thirty this morning.”

“Oh, okay. Wish she’d told me. Thanks. Bye.”

Not like Sylvia at all to not keep him up to date about Grace. But that didn’t explain why Ruth wasn’t picking up her cell, nor why nobody was answering the landline at Crowheart. He called his wife.

“Hi, Tommy, I’m at the funeral parlor, so be quick,” Sylvia said.

“Why didn’t you tell me you called Grace’s school to call in sick? I’ve been waiting here at the airport for ages. I would have just got Gus to pick me up.”

Sylvie’s voice pitched up an octave. “I never called her school. Called in sick? What’s wrong? Is Gracie ill?”

“Nobody’s answering at home, and Ruth’s cell is out of order, no longer in service. I spoke to Mrs. Pitt. She said you called.”

“
What
?” Sylvia shouted.

“Mrs. Pitt said you called. She clearly said ‘Mrs. Garland.’ ”

“But this is crazy! I’m going to hang up and call Mrs. Pitt and hope she answers.”

Tommy went outside to get some fresh air. A feeling of doom coiled in his gut. That bloody cop stopping him. He, Tommy, fucking up. He’d done a lot of that lately. He raised his eyes to the sky. An afternoon sun warmed his skin, and just a faint breeze rustled his blond hair. He looked into the distance, scanning the horizon. There were a few small planes in this regional airport and just a handful of cars . . .

Fucking Hell!

Their car! There it was. Parked next to a truck. He hadn’t noticed it, forty minutes before, when he had stood outside the airport door. He raced up to it just to make sure he wasn’t having visions.

Their car was sloppily parked. But Grace and Ruth were nowhere to be seen.

And that’s when Tommy knew that this was just the beginning . . .

The beginning of a full-on nightmare.

Sylvia

S
ylvia felt as if she were looking at an actor on stage, hearing and seeing somebody else, yet she, herself, was the player. There was no script, no words to learn by heart, it was improvisation all the way—the unexpected had twisted her world into tragedy. She had seen movies where this sort of thing happened, occasionally read a story in a newspaper, or seen it on the news, but to be living the nightmare herself, ensnared in her own body as it heaved and shook, speaking through lips that coiled into a tight screw, spitting out words, moaning and swallowing vowels, gasping for air as she sobbed uncontrollably, trying to assimilate the truth of what had happened to Grace. To her. To Tommy. To everyone who loved them.

But there was still hope and she clung to it like a rock climber on an overhang.
She would
find Grace.
What seemed impossible
could
be possible. If she didn’t believe that, why bother living? She had to muster faith from every cell in her body. Believe that Ruth would slip up with her crazy plan, or her daughter—even at her young age—would find help.

Somehow.

THE LAST FORTY-EIGHT hours had been lost in a void of phone calls and meetings with police and the FBI. Strangely enough, it was when the money was stolen that the authorities pledged their attention—when the penny dropped that Ruth was the criminal, and that Ruth, not Sylvia or Tommy, had kidnapped Grace. At one point, Sylvia was being cross-questioned. Good cop, bad cop. She couldn’t believe it was happening—a suspect of her own misfortune. Was she certain, they asked, that she hadn’t taken Grace
herself
to Guatemala? Caught the plane from Wyoming to Denver, changed planes for a flight to Mexico and then another to Guatemala, all in the same day? After all, a woman called Sylvia Garland had gone through passport security three times with her very own passport. She even had a signed parental consent form from Tommy, giving her permission to travel with her daughter alone. With parents divorcing and battling over child custody these days, and with kidnapping, foreign borders were getting strict.