Winter Break (24 page)

‘Here. You all right?’ Lou stopped, grabbed Hank’s crutch and held it up for him. The man was solid muscle but off balance, struggling to right himself. Lou was freezing; they were outside without jackets. The wind whipped up suddenly, and he shivered, waiting for a man twice his size to climb, stumbling and tottering, to his feet. Vivian had rushed ahead, calling Harper’s name. By the time Lou and Hank got to the fraternity, she was already at the door, peeking through windows.

The light was on in the foyer.

‘Hoppa!’ Hank pounded the door. Thrust his shoulder against it, threw his body at it until the wood around the lock finally broke and he shoved his way inside. ‘Hoppa?’ His voice circled the rotunda of the entrance way, crashed into the sitting room, bounced against the walls. He followed it, charging on his crutches through the shadows of the first floor, finding no one.

Vivian stood at the door, hugging herself, coughing, yelling for Evan and Sty, her voice scratchy and deep. Lou wrapped himself around her like a stole, trying not to collapse under the weight of what he now was certain that he knew. As Hank and Vivian had raced inside, he’d lingered out front. In the snow, he’d seen multiple footprints leading to the tracks of a vehicle. And tracks of something else – a sled, maybe. Or a cart.

Damn Wally. He hadn’t messed with just Harper. His people must also have taken the boys. Those two boys must have seen Harper in trouble, must have stepped in to help her. And now, all of them, all of them were gone, being held God knew where. All because of him.

Vivian left his embrace, began running around, up and down stairs, hollering names, looking like a trapped bird.

‘Nobody’s here, Viv. The place is empty.’

The facts were obvious, but she didn’t seem to accept them, fluttering around until the big guy lumbered back to the door and slowly started home. Vivian suddenly regained her focus. ‘Hank? Wait – where are you going?’

He didn’t turn around or stop moving. As he swung his body forward on his crutches, his voice slapped the air like wind. ‘Calling. Police.’

The thin wooden post in the middle of the armoire had broken under her weight, and gravity kept Harper right on top of the body. She pushed at it, trying to rearrange it, but the armoire kept bumping, tossing them, and the thing kept sliding around. Beneath her, she felt a cold arm. A hand. A puddle of puke. Shivering in frigid total darkness, she resisted the stench, the images it conjured – the explosion, the white heat, the motion of flying and the screams – no. She kept fighting the flashbacks. Had to think, had to figure out how to get out of the armoire, away from the body. From Sebastian Levering. It had to be him. Evan and Sty – they’d killed him. Harper cradled her belly, protecting the baby from banging the hard wood encasing them as they rolled along. A contraction snaked around her, and she breathed, assuring the baby or herself. ‘Don’t worry. It’s okay.’

Of course, it wasn’t okay. The contraction intensified, strangling her mid-section. ‘It’s okay,’ she repeated. Her baby wasn’t even born, and already she was lying to it. Gradually, slowly, the contraction eased, leaving Harper breathless, cold and damp. Suddenly, the armoire lurched to an angle, propelling Harper against the wall. She leaned on it, pressed her arm and a leg against Sebastian, pushing up and away. How long had he been dead? Three days? Four? Rigor mortis had passed; he was limp, clammy. God. Harper had to get out, had to. She leaned an elbow, lifting herself away from him, used her other hand to grope the wood, searching for the latch. If she could find it, maybe she could undo it, open the armoire door, climb out, escape without Evan or Sty seeing. Her hand moved along the wood, desperate and inefficient. Where was the damned latch? It had to be there, in the middle somewhere. Sebastian bounced; his arm flapped against her. She kicked it away, finally locating the latch.

‘I have it,’ she told the baby, trying to calm herself. ‘I found it.’ And she fingered the metal, feeling for the release, pushing and twisting it slightly, catching a finger on a sharp edge, feeling a prick of pain. Damn. She kept working the latch, pressing on it, hoping to hear a snap, feel the door give. But she felt no give, heard no sound above the noisy engine and the crunch of a snowy road.

Finally, she understood. She couldn’t get the door open because it was fastened from outside. The doors were tied shut. And the armoire had to be tied onto the vehicle. So, even if she’d unfastened the latch, no matter how long or hard she pushed, she wouldn’t be able to open the armoire. She was trapped.

And she was losing perspective. Had no idea how long she’d been in there, how far they might have gone. She let go, slumping against Sebastian, questions darting through her mind. How much longer would they drive? What did they plan to do with Sebastian? And what about the other body she’d seen them carrying? Who was he? Was he dead, too? How would she get away? Harper leaned on Sebastian, her left leg starting to cramp. Think, she ordered herself. Design a maneuver. But, digging her elbow into Sebastian’s ribs, the best she could do was to tolerate the fetid air and minimize the bouncing, protecting her belly with one arm.

By the time Detective Rivers arrived, Hank had already called Leslie as well as Harper’s obstetrician to see if either knew where Harper might be. Neither did. Both were concerned; Leslie offered to come over but Hank said there was no need. He met Rivers at the door and, on crutches, ushered her into the living room where they found Vivian, chain-smoking Camels and draining a bottle of Scotch.

‘Back off,’ Vivian growled, hugging the cigarette pack. ‘It’s not my fault. Don’t blame me for starting again. I was doing fine, but your wife finally pushed me over the edge.’

Hank glared; she snuffed the cigarette and downed her drink.

Rivers made them review everything that happened: Hank’s sudden return, Harper’s absence, the trek next door following footprints. ‘I thought you were supposed to be away for a few weeks.’

‘Surprise Hoppa.’ Hank’s voice was thick. ‘Christmas. Came home.’

Rivers eyed him. ‘So Harper didn’t know you were coming?’

He shook his head, flopped onto a wing-backed chair, clung to the crutch.

‘What’s with the leg?’

‘Hurt.’ He scowled. ‘Ligament. Not rele. Vant—’

‘Mr Jennings, please bear with me. Everything is relevant at this point. I’m gathering information to get a sense of what’s going on.’

Vivian raised a glass. ‘I’ll tell you what’s going on.’ She gulped Scotch. ‘My daughter is out of control. She’s completely self-absorbed and oblivious to the feelings of the people around her. Trust me, you’re getting upset over nothing. She probably got bored again and went next door to see the boys. Probably they all went out for a ride around town. That’s all. She’ll turn up. You don’t need to worry about Harper.’

‘Has this happened before?’

‘What, that she’s gone over there? You bet. Look, you saw the footprints. I’m telling you, that’s what happened.’

‘Do you know their names?’

‘You have them – they’re the same kids from the other night.’

‘Other night?’ Hank’s gaze moved from Vivian to Detective Rivers.

‘Yeah. When Harper made all the fuss about that missing boy.’

‘What. Missing boy?’

‘Hank, you have no idea how impossible she’s been. Thank God you’ve come home. Harper’s been over the top on one thing, then another until, like I said before, she’s decided to throw us out.’

Hank seemed doubtful. ‘Never told me that.’

‘Of course she didn’t. She knew you wouldn’t put up with it. But she gave us a firm deadline to vacate the premises. Her own mother. Don’t look so surprised. I’m not kidding. It’s been crazy here with her. She imagines things – it started with the naked guy in the snow . . .’

Hank’s brows furrowed. ‘Naked. Guy?’

‘Everybody stop.’ Rivers put her hands up, sighing. Clearly, not everyone was on the same page. She settled onto the sofa, looking around for Lou. ‘Any chance we can get some coffee?’

Lou was already in the kitchen, waiting for his phone to ring, concocting more than coffee. As hot water dripped through ground beans, he practiced his lines, the excuse he’d give to Vivian.

‘My brother-in-law called.’ He would try to make his eyes water, his voice break. ‘It’s serious. My sister. She’s been in a car accident.’ He would pause there, waiting for the expected, ‘Oh no!’ or, ‘Is she all right?’ He pictured Vivian’s face, the alarm and disappointment in her eyes. Would she sense his deceit?

Maybe he should forget the accident story, go with a cancer diagnosis instead. Although cancer might be less pressing; there would be treatments or surgeries that lasted weeks or months. But a car accident, well – that could suddenly put his sister, if he’d had one, on the verge of death. Could be a reason he’d have to drop everything and come.

‘I know it’s bad timing, what with first my client being angry and now Harper missing,’ he would say. ‘But she asked for me. And she doesn’t have long.’

Damn. It sounded phoney even to him. Never mind; if he presented it sincerely, she’d buy it. He couldn’t risk telling Vivian the truth. Poor kid. Well, there was no choice. The lie, his departure – they were for Vivian’s own good. As long as he was with her, she and those close to her were in danger. At least until he squared things with Wally. But after that, he’d still have to deal with Ritchie. Damn. Lou stopped, rubbed his eyes and took a breath, steeling himself. What a mess he’d made of his life. What a goddamned mess.

But there was no going back. He’d brought this onto Vivian’s family, and he’d have to make it right. He’d get Wally to bring Harper home, then move on before anything else could catch up to him. He stopped for a moment, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand; apparently, he wouldn’t have to fake tears. Taking a deep breath, getting control of himself, he opened a cupboard, pulled out a box of shortbread. Arranged some cookies on a tray, poured steaming coffee into the mugs. Headed into the living room, eager to tell Vivian about his sister, to get it over with.

When he set the tray down, his hand slipped; he almost dropped the thing and spilled coffee all over the table, interrupting their conversation. He apologized and tried to steady his hands as he wiped up the spill and passed out mugs of coffee. The detective was talking to Hank and Vivian; no way he could announce his news right now. He’d have to wait until the detective was gone. Interrupting would draw too much attention, and the last thing he needed was too much attention from the cops. Especially not while he had almost half a million dollars upstairs. Speaking of which, he needed to pack.

The red and green Christmas lights kept blinking, taunting Hank with their happiness. Surrounded by unopened gifts, leftover wrapping paper, spare decorations and the hulking oversized tree, Hank tried to sort out the stories Vivian and Rivers had just told him. One about a missing student from Elmira. Another about a snowy brawl in their own back yard involving the assault of a naked guy. Most upsetting was the news that Harper had been consumed – and according to Vivian, obsessed – by these events. And that, despite their importance, she had deliberately neglected to mention anything about them during their nightly phone calls.

And now she was missing.

Hank didn’t know what to do. Even while the detective was talking, he pulled himself to his feet, limped to the window. Stared out at the night. Harper was out there somewhere. Where? Was she hurt? Frightened? Was she even alive?

Dishes clattered behind him. Vivian gasped.

‘Sorry—’ Lou fumbled with a tray, dropping it onto the coffee table. Reached for napkins, kneeling, dabbing spilled coffee off the hard wood floor. Rivers hopped to her feet, helping him. ‘I’m sorry, I—’ Lou broke off, sank to his knees. Covered his eyes.

Vivian ran to him, knelt beside him, caressing his shoulders, his head.

Lou took a moment, meeting Vivian’s eyes. Embracing her. ‘It’s just—’

‘I know,’ Vivian croaked, burying her head under his chin. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, Lou. You’re my world.’

‘I’m so sorry this is happening to you, Baby.’

They stayed there, fiercely locked together in the middle of the living room. As if Harper were irrelevant. As if Vivian were the victim.

Hank tightened his jaw, couldn’t be distracted by Vivian and her need for drama. He made his way to the table, took a mug of coffee and hobbled back to the window. He needed the caffeine. Needed to process what was going on, to clear his head so he could sharpen his instincts, clear his senses. Problem was, at the moment, he couldn’t quiet himself enough to sense anything other than panic. Even Rivers seemed at a dead end, passively waiting for some new development. God. Where was Harper?

Hank gulped coffee, blinked at Vivian and Lou who were still fawning over each other. Thought about how bizarre and inappropriate they were, stroking each other, staring into each other’s eyes while Harper was missing and in trouble. Obviously, Vivian was caving in, imploding, grabbing onto her boyfriend in desperation. But Lou – what was his excuse? The guy was off somehow. Just wrong. Trembling like jelly; Vivian just about had to hold him up. Hank glanced at Rivers to see if she was catching this, but Rivers was pointedly ignoring the display of affection. She munched shortbread, studying the red and green Christmas lights bouncing off her shoes.

By the time the jostling stopped, Harper’s feet and hands had long since gone numb from the cold, and, though she’d found a way to breathe by pressing her face against a crack in the wood, she’d become convinced that she would never rid herself of the stench. Closed in this casket-like closet with Sebastian, she had absorbed the smell of death through her pores; it penetrated her bloodstream. Her mind seemed frozen and useless.

Even so, when the armoire finally jolted to a stop, Harper grabbed her belly and bolted to attention, alert again. The ride was over; whatever Sty and Evan were planning to do with Sebastian would happen now. She had to be ready; surprise was one of her best weapons. Maybe her only weapon.

Harper’s eyes strained in darkness, and she felt around, hoping to find a nail, a splinter – anything that could slice or puncture. She found nothing, reached into her pockets. Maybe there would be a pen or pencil – nothing.