Children of the Fog (4 page)

3

After Sadie dropped Sam off at school the next morning, she drove to Sobeys for milk and laundry detergent. Walking past the bakery section, she was flagged down by Liz Crenshaw, a vivacious food demonstrator who talked a mile a minute.

"Sadie! I was just thinking about you. How are you?"

Though the petite woman was in her early fifties, she looked closer to thirty-five. Liz had three grown children and four grandchildren who all lived back east. Without her family around to spoil, she was a sucker for Sam. And Sam adored her.

"How's your little boy doing?" Liz asked, smoothing a stray auburn curl behind one ear. "It's Sam's birthday soon, isn't it?"

Sadie tucked the milk under her arm and reached for a custard pie sample. "Monday. But his party's on Sunday. He's excited about all the birthday gifts he'll be getting."

Liz passed her a plastic spoon. "What did you get him?"

"A new bike," Sadie said between mouthfuls. "I'm not giving it to him until Monday though."

"I'd like to get him something. From Auntie Liz. What does he want, hon? Games? Books?"

Sadie grinned. "A pet bat."

The woman shuddered. "Ugh. That boy's got strange taste."

Sadie frowned at the empty sample dish in her hand, then greedily eyed the others on the stand. "Yeah, I'm trying to talk my husband into getting him a puppy as a compromise."

"Aw, I bet Sam'll love that."

"Yeah, but Philip hasn't said yes yet."

And he probably won't.

After two more samples, Sadie headed home. As she drove, she thought about Philip's relationship with Sam. He barely saw his son. Whenever he did, there was always an uncomfortable strain in the air. He never said anything to Sam, unless he wanted him to pick up something off the floor, and then Philip's voice was always so intolerant. And he never played with Sam. He was always too busy, or he didn't want to wrinkle his shirt or get his pants dirty.

She let out a sigh. She'd give anything to see Philip on the floor beside his son, both of them playing with dinosaurs or action figures—anything.

Entering the house, she headed straight for the kitchen and put the milk jug in the fridge. In the laundry room, she started a load of darks and threw the whites into the dryer. The morning passed quickly as she lost herself in her regular routine of housework.

After a bite to eat, she sat down at the small desk in the corner of the living room. She pulled out some watercolor paper and began drafting the cover for Going Batty. By two o'clock, she had created outlines of the cover and the first four pages.

"Looking good," she murmured.

She packed away the drawings and began straightening the pillows on the two sofas. Flicking a look around the room, she scowled at its stark white simplicity. She had wanted to decorate the spacious room with fresh flowers and colorful prints. But Philip wouldn't have it. He liked things the way they were. Everything in its place, no frivolous touches. The only room she'd been allowed free reign was Sam's.

The phone rang. It was her agent in Calgary.

"Hey, Jackson," she said. "I thought you'd forgotten me."

There was a feigned gasp on the other end. "I could never do that. You're a Starr, remember?"

Starr Literary Agency, run by Toronto native Jackson Starr, was giving the bigwigs in New York a run for their money.

"Any word on the conference tour?" she asked.

"That's why I'm calling. I have you booked in five cities in September, including the Crime Writers Conference in Toronto and Criminal Minds at Work in New York."

She grinned into the phone. "How rich did you make me?"

"Five thousand, plus hotel and travel expenses."

"Well, that made my day. Thanks."

"Any time. I'll deposit the check into your account this afternoon." There was a ruffle of paper. "So when you coming to visit us?"

Sadie gaze was drawn to Philip's office door. He was at work, but she still felt his presence, his disapproval. He didn't like Jackson, was jealous of him.

"Sorry, Jackson. I won't be able to get away for a bit. Maybe when I finish Sam's book."

"How's it coming?"

She filled him in on her progress, then hung up.

The thought of the extra money in her private account elated her. Philip maintained control over most of their money, which he had tied up in investments. He gave her a weekly household allowance with the agreement that any money she made would be used for Sam's basic expenses and her own. Thank God, she made a decent income. Maybe this summer they could finally go to Disneyland.

Thoughts of a family vacation, sunshine, castles and rides filled her mind and she practically danced into the laundry room. When the third load was dry, she folded Sam's clothes and placed them in a basket, along with a pair of Philip's socks that she'd discovered behind the laundry hamper. Gripping the basket under one arm, she trudged upstairs.

In the master bedroom, she opened the top drawer of the tallboy dresser and tried to ignore the five airplane bottles of alcohol that clinked together. Philip had made a halfhearted attempt to hide them under his long johns.

Five bottles, five drinks.

She tossed the socks in and slammed the drawer shut. Then she moved into the hallway, hesitating outside the door to Sam's bedroom. She wasn't sure why, but when her hand touched the brass doorknob, the hair on the back of her neck stood up. With a nervous laugh, she turned the knob and stepped inside.

A quick survey of Sam's room told her that nothing was out of the ordinary, so she set the laundry basket on the bed, next to a Batman t-shirt that had been tossed on the pillow.

She sniffed the shirt. "Clean."

Folding it, she placed it on top of the clothes in the basket. Then she gathered up the toy T-Rex, Raptors and Pterodactyls that were scattered on the floor and put them in the treasure chest. A few minutes later, Sam's clothes had been put away in the dresser, with the exception of an Oilers jacket.

She moved toward the closet, the jacket in hand.

Ssss…

The sound brought her to a halt. 

"Get a grip. What would Philip say if he saw you?" She laughed derisively. "He'd say you're being a stupid fool."

She hauled the door open.

The closet was a jumble of toys and clothes. On the floor, jammed between two stuffed animals, a red balloon left over from the Valentine's Day parade hissed at her mockingly.

As it deflated, she echoed the sound. "Idiot."

She hung up the jacket, tossed the balloon in the garbage and went downstairs. An hour later, she headed out to pick up Sam, the balloon long forgotten.

"It's Friday," she said as they left the school. "Park day."

Sam let out a whoop, his mouth lined with orange Kool-Aid.

She frowned. "We have to wash that face before Daddy sees."

They crossed the parking lot and followed the sidewalk to the playground. A light blanket of snow still covered the grass, but that didn't deter the dozen or so children that played in the park.

She settled Sam on a swing and closed her fingers over his.

"Hold on tight, honey. Don't let go."

She gave the swing a gentle push. Then another.

Sunlight danced in Sam's black hair and he closed his eyes and leaned backward. He rose higher and higher, pumping his legs in delight. One of his boots slipped off and landed a few yards away. Sam didn't even notice.

"You're flying," Sadie said, grinning. "Like a bat, Sam."

Watching him, she had a sudden urge to freeze the moment, savor it forever. Times such as these made her wish she had brought a camera.

She heard his soft giggle. It built slowly, then exploded into a bout of contagious laughter.

Even the young mother next to her couldn't help but smile.

"He's having a good time," the woman said.

Sadie nodded. "Oh, to be young and carefree."

"You got that right—Andrew!"

Distracted by the antics of a lanky, freckle-faced boy climbing on top of the covered slide, the woman rushed off, leaving her daughter—still a toddler—in the baby swing next to Sam.

Sadie stared after her in disbelief. What on earth was the woman thinking? How could she leave her daughter with a complete stranger after a girl had been kidnapped?

Her gaze drifted over the school park.

A cluster of mothers chatted at a picnic table, while an olive-skinned boy of about four wandered precariously close to the busy parking lot. A few feet away, an older boy—maybe thirteen—pushed a chubby girl off the steps to the slide, and a toddler of indiscriminate gender played in the sandbox, feasting on gourmet dirt laced with God knows what else. And all of that, ignored by the women at the table.

The child in the baby swing let out a soft cry.

Shaking her head in frustration, Sadie slowed Sam's swing. As she helped him down, she was torn between wanting to take him home and not wanting to leave the little girl alone.

Huge brown eyes captured hers. "Mama?"

Sadie sensed her fear. "Your mommy will be back soon."

The girl whimpered, her eyes pooling with tears.

A few minutes later, the mother rushed over. "Jeez, you'd think he'd been killed, the way he was carrying on." She nudged her head in the direction of the freckled boy.

Sadie's lips thinned. "Your daughter was getting worried."

The young woman's eyes widened as she let out a coarse snicker. "Daughter? She's not my kid. Neither of 'em are. I'm their nanny."

Sadie was shocked. "Their nanny?"

"Hey, people mistake me for their mom all the time," the woman said, as though motherhood were nothing more than a badge one could buy at the local Dollar Store.

While the woman helped the toddler from the swing, Sadie gave her a disparaging look and bit back a reply. Without another word, she took Sam's hand and led him back to the car.

"Snug as a bug," she said, clicking his seatbelt into place.

She climbed into the driver's seat. As she reached for the door, something made her look across the street.

A lone man wearing reflective sunglasses and a cowboy hat pulled low over his face waited in a gray sedan with the window rolled halfway down. She couldn't make out his features, but she did see the proud smile on his face as he watched his son or daughter playing in the park.

I wish Philip would take the time to bring Sam here.

She backed out and eased toward the parking lot exit.

That's when she noticed the man in the car again. He wasn't looking toward the playground anymore. His shadowed gaze was directed at her. Passing the man, she was relieved when he looked away.

4

"Give me a call and let me know if you'll be home for supper," Sadie said in response to Philip's voice mail greeting.

Despondent, she hung up the phone.

It was almost six and she needed to talk to him—before things got further out of hand.

Maybe therapy would help.

She let out a huff.

The day Philip went for any kind of counseling would be the day that pigs, sheep
and
cows flew.

A dull
thump
came from Sam's room.

"Honey, you okay?"

She listened at the bottom of the stairs, but he wasn't crying so she strolled back into the living room.

The phone rang. "Hello?"

All she heard was breathing—heavy breathing.

She hung up. She'd been getting a lot of crank calls lately.

The phone rang a second time.

She picked it up. "Hello?"

More breathing.

"Is anyone there?" She sighed, irritated by the silence. "Is that the best you can do?" When there was still no response, she said, "I hope this is as good for you as it is for me."

A hooting laugh erupted on the other end.

"Leah," she muttered.

"Hey, Sadie," her friend said with a snort. "What've you got planned for tonight?"

"I'm not sure. I was hoping Philip would be home early for a change. What about you?"

"I need to get out. My neighbor has a party every Friday night and I swear they're going to come through the ceiling any minute. Of course, it wouldn't be so bad if they invited me."

Sadie heard the frustration in Leah's voice.

"Why don't you come here for supper then?" she said.

"You don't mind?"

"Of course not, you twit."
But Philip might.

Although she'd never say
that
to Leah—even though her friend already knew that Philip wasn't her number one fan. He had issues with Leah. He didn't agree with her lifestyle, her fashion, or her influence on Sadie. He'd been trying for years to get Sadie to hook up with some of the wives from the firm. It would look good for him.

"Well…" Leah drawled, pretending to ponder the offer of free food. "Okay, I'll come over. I'll be there in twenty minutes. But as soon as Phil the Pill shows up, I'm outta there. Got it?"

"Got it."

"What's for dinner anyway?"

Sadie smiled. "Sam's favorite."

"KD?" Leah whined.

"No," Sadie said, chuckling. "His other favorite. KFC."

"Awesome! I'll be there in ten."

Leah showed up at the door, wearing a pair of tight black pants that flared at the ankles and a flamboyant gypsy-style blouse in colorful bronzes and silver trim.

"Hey, it's Friday night," she said when she saw Sadie's raised brow. "I'm going out later. Now, where's the man of the house?"

"Sam! Auntie Leah's here!"

A ball of energy flew down the stairs and landed in her friend's outstretched arms.

Leah groaned. "You're getting big, buddy."

Sam looked up at Leah and a devilish grin developed.

"Tomorrow you'll be six," she said, kissing his cheek.

"Well, officially he's six on Monday," Sadie reminded her.

Leah lifted a slim shoulder. "Semantics." She set Sam down. "Are you excited for your birthday?"

He nodded, then giggled and raced back upstairs.

"Supper'll be here soon," Sadie said, heading for the kitchen.