Where Trust Lies (9781441265364) (24 page)

I
'
D
LIKE
YOU
TO
CALL
A
CAB
for me, please.” Back in the hotel lobby, Beth waited impatiently at the front desk. She hadn't entirely formulated a plan, and random ideas tumbled around inside her aching head. She would follow Julie and Nick to the museum, and then—well, she wasn't certain. Perhaps she would make a scene until Julie surrendered to her bidding. She might even summon a police officer if need be. At any rate, she had soon decided she would not be able to merely wait until Julie returned again at her leisure. She must go and retrieve her sister.

“The taxi will meet you at the curb, miss.”

“Thank you.”

Beth hurried out of the hotel, and the doorman directed her toward a waiting vehicle and opened the door. She was inside and directing the cabbie to the Museum of Fine Arts before the door was shut behind her. Were it not for the flashes of fury shooting through her, she knew she would have long before surrendered to tears.

It was only minutes before Beth was placing her coins in
the cabbie's hand, though the whole way she had willed him forward from the edge of her seat. She hoped she could locate Julie before her sister had spent the rest of the money pilfered from Monsieur Laurent. They would need some for their return fare.

Beth ran up the few front steps and into the mezzanine beyond.

“Excuse me, sir, is it possible to have someone paged?”

The man at the reception desk answered pleasantly, “Yes, miss. Do you know where in the museum they might be located?”

Beth breathed a small sigh of relief. “Yes. Her name is Julie Thatcher. She'll be in the O'Keeffe exhibit.”

He hesitated. “I'm sorry, but we closed down that exhibit last month. It has moved on to Washington, I believe.”

Another shock of alarm ran through Beth's body. She stammered, “Is it . . . is it possibly in another museum, here in Boston perhaps? I may have gotten the location wrong.”

“No, miss. I'm quite certain it moved on to Washington. But I'll look it up to be sure.”

Beth could feel her hands clenching at her sides, her heart pounding furiously.

“Never mind, sir. I'm certain she said they were coming here. Maybe they were mistaken about the exhibit. Could I just run through and see if I can find her? Do you have a map?”

“Of course, miss. But you'll have to pay the entrance fee.”

It could not be helped. She searched in her handbag for enough coins.

“Thank you.” Beth clutched the printed diagram and began a methodical search of the building. With every room she checked off the sheet, her tension heightened.
Where have they gone? What will Mother say?
The anger returned again.
There certainly will be choice words
for Julie . . . and possibly for me.

But soon the anger dissipated into a dread she had never felt before
. I
will not find Julie here.
Dear Father, help me . . .
help Julie . . .

“Excuse me, sir.” She was back at the receptionist's desk, trembling. “Is it possible to call a cab—to take me to the Century Hotel? But I don't have enough money for the fare.” Hot tears threatened, and she knew she sounded pathetic, but that was no longer important.

“And you have a room there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What's the name and room number, please? I'll see what I can do.”

Once more, Beth waited at the desk, watching those walking past—just in case.

“Miss, I've contacted the front desk for you. They know you're coming, and they'll take care of the fare for you. The charge will go to your room. The taxicab will be here momentarily.”

“Oh, thank you!” Beth gasped out. “I . . . I was afraid I'd have to walk.”

“Now, we wouldn't want you to do that, miss. Not alone in the city and at night.”

The words he meant to be reassuring twisted like a knife in Beth's heart.
Julie is out
there. She's as good as alone . . . in the darkness
.
Beth tried to formulate the speech she would like to give to Nick when next she saw him, but anxiety so filled her, she was unable to complete a sentence. She tried to thank the clerk again, but found her mouth had gone dry.

At last she was back at the hotel's front entrance and hurrying through the lobby toward the elevator. She was certain that by now the lift operator had caught on to her distress. She lowered her eyes to the floor, fervently praying again.
This time she was begging that Julie might already be in the room, or that Mother and Monsieur Laurent had returned.

“Margret,” Beth whispered, patting her shoulder. “Margret, please. I need to talk to you.”

Finally her older sister stirred. “What is it? Is it morning? Why is it so dark?”

“Mother and Mrs. Montclair aren't back yet,” she said. “But I must talk to you. It's about Julie. She's gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?” Margret lifted herself up on an elbow.

Tears were streaming down Beth's cheeks. “In a taxi. Nick was going to take her to an art exhibit.” Her voice caught in a sob. “But I went to the museum and couldn't find her. I think they might have . . . maybe gotten lost.”

“
Who
was she with?” Margret's feet were already on the floor, and she drew Beth away from the sleeping baby. Turning on the light in the small bathroom, they huddled inside. “You're crying. Oh, Beth, don't cry. Tell me again where she is.” Margret's arms reached out for her, but Beth pushed her away impatiently.

“Listen,” she said, wiping her eyes. “We were supposed to go together. Julie talked me into it. But when we got to the taxi, Nick was there. I kept telling Julie not to go with him—but she wouldn't listen. And now I can't find them.” She dissolved into sobs.

Margret caught her hands. “When were they supposed to be back? Before Mother?”

“Yes. What's Mother going to say?”

“Probably things she should have said long before this.” Margret directed Beth out of the bathroom and opened the door into the hallway. “I'll put the baby in his crib. Then I'll
speak to Miss Bernard so she knows I'm gone and can sit with him. It'll take me a few minutes. You go down to the front desk and wait for me there. At the very least, we'll see Julie as soon as she gets back . . . or Mother, whoever comes first.”

Beth nodded and hurried down the hall that seemed to have lengthened on its own. This time she determined she would take the stairs, bypassing the elevator man altogether. She paced back and forth across the lobby, looking out each window in turn. The darkness seemed even deeper beyond the city lights. Margret finally made an appearance, and the sisters set themselves up in a corner of the foyer where two sofas faced each other, able to see all who entered and exited the building. They fixed their eyes on the door and began to confer quietly.

“Tell me again, Beth. What was the plan for the evening?”

Beth's shoulders sagged in defeat. It was already painful to recount the story. “She wanted to see the O'Keeffe exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts. I thought we were going together—just the two of us.”

Margret moved closer, asking in hushed tones, “The two of you were going out without telling Mother?” She was clearly puzzled.

Beth dropped her face into her hands. “It was Julie's idea. She wanted me to go along with her . . . to a painting exhibit. She sounded so enthralled with the artist, and . . . well, I shouldn't have agreed, Margret. But I didn't know anything about Nick being there. That was a complete surprise.”

“I see.” In two simple words, Margret had managed to sound exactly like Mother. Beth's spirits sank further.

She rushed on. “I went there myself to try and find Julie. And I walked through every room, but didn't see them. I have no idea
where
they went instead.”

“You went alone?”

“What else could I do?” Beth's voice was rising, pleading with Margret to understand. “I watched her ride away, Margret. She was
laughing
—thought it all was a big joke. I
had
to go after her.”

Margret gasped. “Oh my . . . oh, Julie.” Tears were forming in Margret's eyes too.

Time dragged on until Mother and Mrs. Montclair at last materialized through the door, looking pleased with their evening as they made their way into the lobby, Victoria dawdling at her own pace. Following behind them all, Monsieur Laurent was the first to notice Beth and Margret off to the side, rising to their feet.

“What's this? It's quite late for you to still be awake, isn't it? Mrs. Bryce, is something wrong?”

Mother turned toward them as Beth and Margret moved slowly across the floor, dreading what they knew was to come.

“What is it, girls?”

Beth swallowed hard. “Julie is missing.”

“
What!
”

Beth's words, once they began to tumble out, could not come quickly enough as she recounted the frightening events. Mother's face turned pale, then gray. “How long ago?”

Margret reached for Mother's arm to steady her, and Beth said, “At least three hours. She said she was going to be back before you were.” Beth clutched at her own neck. “I went looking for her, but they weren't at the museum where they said they would be.” Her words caught in her dry throat. “I'm so sorry, Mother,” she choked out.

“I shall call the police immediately,” Monsieur Laurent announced solemnly, turning toward the front desk.

Beth stared at the front doors, desperate for Julie to come
bounding through them at any moment, pleased with her own emancipation, putting an end to this terrible uncertainty. But Julie did not come. Instead, after what seemed an eternity discussing the situation, Monsieur Laurent returned.

“They cannot send an officer until morning, though I certainly tried to convince them of the urgency. We shall have to wait. Miss Thatcher, will you please explain once more what happened as thoroughly as you're able?”

Beth repeated her story in agonizing detail, wedged against the end of the sofa, Margret's arm draped around her for support. Mother was now pacing between the windows, listening to Beth's more detailed description of what happened, scrutinizing the dark streets outside. Beth was asked for more specifics—the time as exactly as possible, a description of the taxicab, of the driver, the direction in which it left, what had been said by each as Monsieur Laurent took what seemed to be meticulous notes. With every answer, the gravity of the situation heightened. Beth was vaguely aware of a general stir around the lobby, those working at the desk and still in the offices at this late hour, buzzing about their dilemma. It all seemed unreal and impossible.
Oh
, Julie, where are you?
But each time Beth lifted her gaze toward the door, her heart seemed to fall even further.

Out of the corner of her eye, Beth saw Mother's figure crumple to the floor. She had fainted. With the shock—the tight corset—the restricted breathing, it was no wonder.

All descended upon her immediately. She was lifted to a second sofa and revived with smelling salts. Beth and Margret crouched next to her, clasping each other's hands and their mother's. Again Beth raised a futile gaze to the door, pleading for Julie, for them all.

B
ETH
ROUSED
HERSELF
ENOUGH
to realize she had fallen asleep with her head resting on Margret's shoulder. Rays of morning light filtered through the lace curtains over the large windows. Several employees and hotel guests were walking back and forth, heels clicking far too cheerfully on the marble floor. The corner of the lobby with the sofas had been given over to family—and to three policemen whose arrival, it seemed, had stirred Beth awake. She shivered in the realization that it was not yet over. That Julie had not returned. Tears once more trickled from her swollen eyes and down her face.

In the middle of the night they had been asked to vacate the lobby and had been offered an office on the main floor of the hotel. But Mother had refused to leave the place where she hoped to be the first to see a chastened Julie, back and fully repentant after a night of imprudence. The women were still hoping, praying that this would be true. They dared not consider any alternative answer. But with every tick of the minute
hand around the face of the hotel clock, it became increasingly evident that something darker was likely transpiring.

From his seat at a round table set into the large bay window, Monsieur Laurent seemed to notice Beth had awakened. “Miss Thatcher,” he called softly. “Would you join us, please?”

She extracted herself from her place beside Margret and stepped gingerly past her mother. “Yes, Monsieur Laurent?”

“We'd like you to tell us what you know of this young man. Anything at all.”

He and the officer with him drew up a chair for Beth, and she strained her memory to recall and relate what she could. There seemed to be very little. “He had claimed to be from Pennsylvania . . . in the vaguest of terms. I think he mentioned it was a small town outside of Philadelphia, but I'm not certain about that detail. He said he attended the University of Pennsylvania but didn't complete his studies. He played tennis, seemed to dress well as one of the upper class. But eventually he said he was the child of an unwed mother, living with a large extended family. And then he said he was from New England. Is Pennsylvania in New England? I don't really know.”

But the officer was busy jotting in his notebook and gave no reaction.

“It's so difficult to believe he might be part of . . . part of something . . .” She couldn't go on. After they waited a moment, she said, “He seemed such an ordinary young man. Rather a nice person.” Then another thought. “Penny and Jannis—they might know more about him,” she suggested hopefully. “They spent more time with Nick and Julie than I did.”

“Yes, well, you see,” Monsieur Laurent said quietly, “I already tried to contact them. I went to the ship during the night and spoke with the security officer on board. It seems
their room is empty—all their possessions gone. As are the young man's.”

“What?”

“They've disappeared, Miss Thatcher.”

Beth groped for the significance of his statement.
Do all three have something to do with Julie's
disappearance? Are they working together? But the girls claimed not
to know Nick well. It makes no sense. . . .

“I want you to think carefully, miss,” said the policeman. “Had they ever tried to draw your sister away from your family before?”

Remembrance lit a beacon in Beth's foggy mind. She took a deep breath. “Yes, I do believe so—at Bar Harbor. They were very angry when Julie spent the day with us instead of going with them. We couldn't understand why. Maybe they were trying to . . .” But Beth could not put into words such evil intent.

“It seems likely this may have been planned for some time—with some forethought.” The notion was inconceivable to Beth, and she sank back against the chair as the officer stood with a nod of thanks toward her, retreating to where his partners were conferring together.

Beth lifted her eyes to meet Monsieur Laurent's. “I'm grateful the policemen came quickly.”

He nodded solemnly. “Yes, with enough money you can even energize the services of the local police these days.”

Beth was startled for a moment, then sighed. She had never been more grateful for Father's money.

“We must get Mrs. Bryce up to her room,” Monsieur Laurent announced as Margret and Mother began to stir. “In fact, it's time for all of you to withdraw from the public eye.”

“But Julie . . . ?” Margret moaned. “What if she comes?”

“She won't . . .” Monsieur Laurent stopped and began again. “If she comes now, she'll be greeted by the officers and hotel staff, who will notify us immediately. But we must remove ourselves from the lobby. The staff can only keep reporters out for so long. And they do need their business space returned to normal.”

Beth was sure that each of them felt as she did—that to retire was to concede, to admit there was no hope for Julie to return on her own. They hesitated and lingered, wistfully casting glances toward the door. At last they entered the elevator together. Beth closed her eyes and once more let the tears slide freely.
It's my fault. I
failed to protect my sister. I'm as guilty as
Julie of rebellion against Mother's guardianship . . . and the costs
are more than I could have ever imagined
. Her own accusations were carved at the point of a knife into her wounded conscience.

Beth lay on the bed beside Margret, but even in her exhaustion her mind refused to stop.
Where is Julie? Where did he take her? How could
he do something so horrific? He had promised in his
last words to me that he could be trusted.
Hard sobs began to shake her as she wondered,
Is Julie
terribly frightened? Is she fighting him? Is he treating her
cruelly?
And the most frightening of all, the words she could not form,
Is she still alive?
The torment of fears came in unrelenting waves. Beth knew she would not sleep. She rose to draw a bath. Lowering herself into the water, she wept again until a stupefied silence descended.

The water had grown cold before a loud knock sounded at the bedroom door. Beth scrambled out of the tub and threw a thick robe around her shivering body. She opened the door enough to hear but not be seen.

Monsieur Laurent's voice was saying, “. . . the note said a ransom is demanded. We'll inform you as soon as we know more. But this is very good news,” he insisted firmly. “She is alive. He won't harm her so long as it's money he seeks. We're sending another telegram to your father right now. I'm certain he'll arrive as quickly as is humanly possible.” The door closed behind him.

Money? Father's money
is the cause of Julie's . . . abduction?
She could barely acknowledge the word. Beth lingered on the cruel irony. The coveting of his money had stolen her sister away. The use of it had brought the police so quickly. And that same money would bring Julie back again. She sat on the edge of the tub, face in her hands.
How could Nick do such a thing? Was this
“the business” to which he so calmly referred? What
kind of man
is
he?

But for now it was enough to grasp at one thought among Monsieur Laurent's report.
He won't harm her.
He won't
harm her. He won't harm her.
Beth hurried to dress.

A tray of food rested on the corner table. The platters appeared not to have been touched. Her sister stood at the window. “Margret, you must eat.”

“You also.”

“But you're with child.”

Margret turned a tortured face. “I'll eat if you do.”

Beth lifted a piece of toast from one of the platters. It felt like sawdust in her mouth. “Where's Mother?”

“In the next room. Emma is with her.”

“Is she sleeping?”

“I can't imagine she would be.”

“And Monsieur Laurent?”

“I believe he's below with the policemen.”

He won't harm
her. He won't harm her.

Beth drew a hanky from the dresser drawer and blew her nose. “Did he say how much they wanted?”

“I didn't hear.” Margret's voice grew cold and harsh. She spat out, “I don't want to know.”

As they forced themselves to eat, Beth asked, “Where's JW?”

“With Miss Bernard.” Margret's face twisted. “Said I was scaring him—with my crying.”

“Oh, darling!” Beth reached for Margret, and they clung together on the edge of the bed.

At a soft knock at the door, a voice asked if they were awake. Beth hurried to open it, and Mother entered—dressed well, her hair as neat as normal. Only her reddened eyes betrayed the deep emotional turmoil through which she was treading.

“I'm glad to see you've eaten. I've been worried about you girls.”

Beth led her across the room, where Mother took a seat on the bed, and Margret asked, “What else have they said, Mother?” Beth drew a tender hand across their mother's back and lowered herself to sit between the two.

“Not much,” she replied. “I believe that most of what is currently being discussed is the source of the document we received this morning. It came by courier, so they've gone to speak with the company that performed the service.”

Beth asked, “Have they heard anything more about Penny and Jannis?”

Mother shook her head. “We shall continue to pray that they might be located soon in order to discover what part, if any, they played, what they might know. . . .”

“He won't harm Julie,” Beth repeated aloud, trying to sound confident, “if it's money he wants.”

“So it would seem. However, the young man may not be in charge at all. He seems to be working with others—more than just the girls.”

Beth's lip began to tremble. “I'm so sorry, Mother. I . . .”

Immediately she felt arms drawing her close. “You mustn't blame yourself, Beth. We each make a hundred decisions a day that might bring danger. No one believes that you would ever allow harm to your sister if there were anything you could do to stop it. This is an evil plot perpetrated against us. You instigated nothing.”

“But I made such poor decisions,” Beth wept, her head on Mother's shoulder.

Beth felt a gentle hand stroke her rumpled hair. “Yes, dear. You did choose poorly. And at another time I might have reprimanded you for it. But you are
not
responsible for the consequences brought on by someone else's choice. Remember, Father and I allowed Julie to travel west alone when she visited you. This . . . this event could have happened as easily at that time—more easily, in fact.”

Beth wanted with all her heart to cling to the merciful words. However, it was much more difficult to imagine being able to forgive herself.
Perhaps it
will be possible once Julie is back safely again. Yes,
she
will
be back, won't she, Lord?

Mother continued, “In the same way, we can't be angry with Julie. She is young and impulsive—but she
did not
bring this upon herself. And I'll not allow a word to be spoken against her in my presence.”

“Of course not, Mother,” Margret and Beth said in unison.

“What happens next?” Beth managed to ask.

“I truly don't know, my darlings.” She released Beth and began straightening the spread carefully as Beth and Margret
watched. “We have sent a telegram to Father. I'm told it will take him several days to travel to us here in Boston.”

“Several?” Margret gasped.

“Unless he can secure a seat on an aeroplane—I have no idea how long it would take if he's able to do so. But we can't know anything until we hear back from him. I am hoping that will happen today.” Mother cleared her throat and began to scrape and stack plates on the tray. “Also, Mrs. Montclair has sent word to Edward. She's asked him to use whatever connections he is able to see that we receive all possible help.”