ABC Amber LIT Converter (6 page)

Pat had seemed overjoyed to see Rhonda: she caught Rhonda up in a tight embrace and said, “How awful for you to have seen such a thing. You must be a wreck! But don’t worry, we’ll find her. You mark my words! I bet she’ll show up this very morning!”

Pat led a small group through the streets of Pike’s Crossing, then into the woods bordering the state forest. They were gone most of the morning and came back for lunch and went out again, to continue combing the woods with Pat cheering them on, saying she was sure they were going to find Ernie that very day.

Rhonda had believed Pat, had even let herself fantasize that it would be her who took the important call; she who put together the string of clues that would lead the cops to Ernie. But now, here it was, a little after three p.m.—twenty-four hours since Ernie’s kidnapping. And the most productive thing Rhonda had done was to keep the coffee pot full.

“Fuck,” she mumbled to herself, then started organizing papers and pens—busy work. Useless. Little Ernie Florucci’s face stared up at her from the flyers strewn across the table.MISSING , said the bold red letters at the top of the page. Underneath was a snapshot of Ernestine taken just the week before. She was wearing a flowered sundress and sitting in the dull yellow grass of her front yard, a plastic kiddie pool in the background. She had dark brown, straight hair done up in pigtails. Her small nose was dotted with freckles and she had a slight gap between her two front teeth. She was smiling up into the camera, squinting a little, like the sun was in her eyes. Or like she couldn’t make out something she was looking at in the distance.

“I’m sorry,” Rhonda whispered to the little Ernie as she put the flyers in a neat pile, then sat back down in her chair, willing the phone to ring.

“What’d you say?” Warren asked, looking up from his computer. His eyes were a deep, rich, chocolaty brown. A little sad and totally sincere, like the eyes of a basset hound. Rhonda imagined the string of girls Warren must have back in Pennsylvania.

“Nothing,” Rhonda said, looking away. She leaned back in her chair and turned to see if there was any sign of Peter yet. No. Still in the office with Crowley.

Rumor had it, among the other volunteers, that Peter had the distinction of being Crowley’s first suspect. Rumor also had it that the police had impounded Laura Lee’s Volkswagen and that they’d found one of Ernie’s red pigtail holders in the front seat. Rhonda herself had overheard Crowley ask Peter if he had a set of keys to his mother-in-law’s VW, when she went back to get more pens from the storeroom.

“I did,” she heard Peter admit. “But I lost my key ring about a week ago.”

Rhonda could picture the key ring: a half dozen or so keys attached to a bottle opener and, of all things, a small white rabbit’s foot for luck.

Afraid of being caught eavesdropping, she grabbed the box of pens and returned to the phone table, where she resumed drumming her fingers, waiting for the phone to ring. It was bullshit that Crowley was wasting his time questioning Peter. Everyone, it seemed, was wasting precious time.

By the cash registers, Pat was holding a small press conference, her arm around the silent and tearful Trudy Florucci.

“It’s times like these,” Pat was saying, “that pull a community together. The people of Pike’s Crossing are not the sort to just stand back and let tragedy overtake them. No, the people of Pike’s Crossing are going to go out there and find that little girl. Mark my words: we will find Ernestine Florucci. We will not rest until she is back in her mother’s arms, safe and sound.”

Rhonda caught Warren’s eye. “God, I hope she’s right.”

“She is,” Warren said, chewing his lower lip. “Aunt Pat is hardly ever wrong. And once she makes up her mind about a thing, there’s no stopping her—she’s like a force of nature.”

Rhonda glanced around the room at the whirlwind of activity Pat had put into motion in less than twenty-four hours, and nodded. “That I can believe.”

Rhonda and Warren were the only two volunteers for the
moment. Peter was stuck in back with Crowley, the others had left.

“So you believe her, then?” Rhonda asked.

He set down his paper cup of cocoa, leaned in closer, and nearly whispered, “Wanna know what I believe?”

Was he flirting? Hadshe been?

Rhonda suddenly felt horribly guilty. How could she even be thinking about some unattainable guy while Ernie Florucci was still missing, being held under lock and key by the rabbit, or worse?

“No matter what happens, we’ve gotta think positive,” Warren said, as if reading her mind. “Thoughts have power, Rhonda. That’s what I believe.” He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes tightly for a minute, then opened them, looking at her.

Rhonda shook her head. “Actionshave power,” she told him. “Ernie’s not just going to come walking back on her own. Someone’s gotta go find her.”

AS THE PRESSconference was breaking up, a woman in hospital scrubs and white clogs came in. Behind her was a girl Rhonda guessed to be about twelve, shouldering a heavy-looking knapsack and looking flushed and out of breath, like she’d run the whole way.

The woman in scrubs embraced Trudy and whispered something to her. The girl headed straight for the folding tables, opened her knapsack, and pulled out two large plastic containers.

“I’ve got cookies and brownies for you guys,” she said, smiling. She addressed both of them but was clearly focused on Warren, who, with his disheveled teddy bear looks, was an adolescent girl’s dream. “I baked them myself. I’m Katy,” she said, extending her hand to Warren, “Ernie’s cousin.”

She wore jeans, canvas sneakers, and a black T-shirt with a large-eyed anime character on it.

She extended her hand to Rhonda, though even when Rhonda took it, Katy stayed focused on Warren. Katy had long, straight, blond hair that she wore pulled back in a braid. She had braces, but didn’t seem the least bit self-conscious about them. When she smiled, she showed her teeth and the metal flashed like jewelry.

Warren peeled back the lid on the brownies and dug in. “These look amazing. You’re our savior.”

Katy grabbed an empty chair and pulled it up between Rhonda and Warren, turning it so that she sat backward, legs straddling the seat, arms wrapped firmly around the wooden back.

“Anything new?” she asked. Again, the question was clearly directed at Warren.

“Not much on our end. Crowley’s been in there talking to the mechanic who works here, Peter, for about forty-five minutes now,” Warren reported.

“My mom said they found the car the guy used but they don’t think the owner’s involved. Belongs to some nutty lady who didn’t notice it was missing. Lives over by the lake.”

“You mean Laura Lee Clark,” said Rhonda. She felt odd discussing the details of the case with this girl. But still, it was good to have an in with Ernie’s family—to hear what the police had been telling them.

“Peter’s mother-in-law,” Warren added. Clearly, he’d been paying attention to the rumors and gossip of the day.

“Not technically,” Rhonda corrected. “I mean, Peter and Tock never got married.”

“But they have a kid, right?” Katy asked. “A friend of Ernie’s. My mom said Ernie would go over to their house to play. This Peter guytotally knew her.”

“Just because he knew her doesn’t mean he did it. I know Peter, all right? He would never do anything like this. Ever. I’d bet my life on it.”

Katy and Warren exchanged ayeah, right look.

“You guys know about the drawings, right?” Katy asked. Rhonda nodded. Warren shook his head, said, “What drawings?”

“She made these pictures of her and the rabbit going on all these adventures together. He’d take her to this place called Rabbit Island. I bet that’s where she is right now!”

Warren frowned. Chewed his lip. “Rabbit Island,” he muttered.

“Time to go, Katy!” called the woman in scrubs, who Rhonda figured must be her mother. Trudy was still holding on to her arm, like she might crumple and fall without the extra support. Trudy glared at Rhonda with such fierce hatred that Rhonda felt her stomach do an icy drop down into her bowels.

“See you guys later,” Katy said, taking her leave.

“SO HOW WELLdo you know Peter?” Warren asked once they were alone again. Peter and Crowley were still hidden away in Pat’s office—it had been nearly an hour.

Rhonda took in a breath while she considered what to say.

“We grew up together. Next door neighbors. He was like my big brother.”

“You know, I thought you guys were a couple at first. Until Peter started talking about his wife and little girl,” Warren said.

“They’re not married,” Rhonda said again, as if that made any difference. “And no,” she continued, allowing herself for half an instant to imagine that alternate universe where she and Peterwere a couple and had been living happily ever after all along.

“We’re just good friends.” She gave him her best and-I’m-just-fine-with-that smile.

Warren nodded, plucked at his goatee. “So do you think he could have had anything to do with this, or is Crowley barking up the wrong tree?”

“No question. Wrong tree entirely,” Rhonda said. “He’s wasting valuable time.”

“But if it was his mother-in-law’s car…”

Didn’t I just say they weren’t married?

“We don’t know that for sure. I was actually thinking I might take a ride over to Laura Lee’s after I leave here. See what her story is.”

“Mind if I tag along?”

“What? Why would you want to do that?”

“Curiosity. And besides, what else am I gonna do? Uncle Jim and Aunt Pat are all caught up here and it’s not like I know anyone else in town. Come on, you can show me the exciting sights of Pike’s Crossing.” He flashed her a warm smile that Rhonda, in spite of herself, found impossible to resist.

“I don’t know if Laura Lee’s trailer counts. She’s kind of a nut job,” Rhonda warned.

“I like nut jobs. Come on, every great sleuth has a sidekick, right?”

“I don’t know…” Rhonda said. She eyed the hallway leading back to the office, thinking of Peter. Ridiculous. She didn’t need his permission or approval.

“Okay,” Rhonda agreed. “Why not?”

LAURA LEE CLARK’Strailer rested on a cinder block foundation about one hundred feet back from Nickel Lake. The trailer itself was an old metal one, covered in faded and peeling flamingo-colored paint. The yard was a forest of lawn ornaments, whirligigs, bird feeders, and bird baths. Rhonda led Warren through the gnomes, colored gazing globes, and wooden cutouts of fat women bending over, showing their knickers. Rhonda was trying to seem calm and composed, but inside, she was fuming. She had learned, on the drive over, that Pat, who had been friendly to the point of near nausea today, considered Rhonda a suspect.

“What did your aunt say to you on the way out?” Rhonda had
asked Warren. There was something odd in the way the ever-friendly Pat had pulled Warren aside and whispered in his ear just before they left the Mini Mart together.

Warren’s face reddened a little at Rhonda’s question.

“Come on,” Rhonda said. “I thought you were Mr. Think Positive, Surround Yourself with White Light and Don’t Ever Tell a Lie.”

Warren laughed, chewed on his lip. “Hardly.”

“So really, what’d she say? You both looked all serious and conspiratorial.”

“She told me to stick close to you,” he admitted.

“Why, does she think that bunny’s coming after me next?” It hadn’t occurred to her until that moment. The rabbit, she recalled, had gotten a good look at her. She was a witness.

“Not exactly,” Warren said.

“Well, what then?”

Warren worked at his lip some more.

“She thinks,” he paused, “that maybe you’re involved somehow.”

“What, like I helped with the kidnapping?” Rhonda’s voice raised in pitch.

“Relax,” Warren said. “Pat’s just a leave-no-stone-unturned person.”

“So that’s why you wanted to come along? To keep an eye on me?” She was furious, mostly with herself for thinking that Warren had come along for other reasons.

“Nah,” Warren smiled. “I came along ’cause I thought you were kind of cute.” He winked. “Listen, I can see you’re on the level. I’ll talk to Pat.”

Rhonda kept her eyes on the road, hands gripping the wheel as she drove down toward the lake. They passed the Ducharme farm—a Jersey cow was poking her broad snout through the roadside fence, seeing if the pickings were any better out there.

“So what is it you’re doing at school…computer science or something?” Rhonda asked after a few minutes of silence.

Warren laughed. “I’m a film student.”

“Really? You make movies?”

“I’ve made one. A documentary about this place I used to work at: Story Town. It’s like a theme park with buildings and characters from classic stories. You know…like the old woman who lived in a shoe, Jack and the Beanstalk, that kind of thing.”

“Just don’t tell me there are any big white rabbits,” Rhonda said.

“Nope. Not a one. And my movie is more about the stoner culture of the kids working there than the characters themselves. Humpty Dumpty was a dealer. Cinderella was sleeping around.”