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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Finders Keepers
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“What has gotten into you, Barnes? None of this ever bothered you before. Why now all of a sudden?”
“I don't know, Thea. I have these awful guilty feelings. I haven't slept well since . . . that day.”
“Get over it! That's what you tell me all the time. Don't even think about asking me to give her up. Did you set up that trust fund for her?”
“I did that last year. She will inherit from both of us. The trust fund is doing nicely. When she's eighteen she can draw from it if she wants to. It doesn't seem right. I wish there was a way to send money to her parents. You didn't read the papers after the . . . afterward. I did, but not right away. Later on there were updates on the anniversary of the kidnapping. That's when I started to pay attention. Her parents are simple, hardworking people. They lost the house Jessie was born in. The church they belong to built a house for them. The mother had to be dragged away from the house they lost by her husband and parents. She didn't want to leave because she believed Jessie would somehow find her way home, and if they weren't there, she wouldn't know what to do.”
“Stop it, Barnes. Stop it right this minute. I don't want to talk about this. I never, ever want to talk about it.”
“She might remember one of these days. She might see something, experience something that will trigger a memory.”
“Who will pay attention to a two-year-old's memory? Be realistic, Barnes. I told you, I don't want to talk about this. How much money is in Jessie's trust fund?”
“Five million dollars.”
“Is that all?”
“In another eight years, when she turns eighteen, it will have doubled. I don't consider ten million dollars shabby.”
“We have so much,” Thea said. “Do you think you could find a way to send some money anonymously to . . . those people?”
Barnes leaned across the bench, his eyes boring into his wife. “How much money do you think their child is worth, Thea?”
Thea burst into tears. “There isn't enough money in the world to make up for what I did. I know that. We could try, though. A lot of money, Barnes. We could wrap it up securely, put enough postage on it so we don't have to go to the mail window. You could go to another city and mail it. You could also return the religious medal. This way they . . . will know the child is safe and in good hands.”
Barnes's voice was a hoarse croak. “How much, Thea? We won't feel any better. You know that, don't you?”
“Of course I know that. The money will . . . maybe it will make things easier for them. You said they were young. They probably have other children. A million dollars. More if you like. Or, half that amount. How much money do you have in the wall safe?”
“Four or five hundred thousand.”
“How long has it been in there?”
“Five years, ten? I'm not sure. Why?”
“Because, Barnes, you can't go to the bank and take out that kind of money without raising suspicion. They have a way of tracing bills. If you've had the money for a long time, it will be all right to use it. You can go to the bank and get a new batch of money after we . . . mail it. Then in a few years we can send some more. I don't know their name, Barnes. Do you?”
“God, yes. I know the address, too.”
“Go to Richmond to mail it, or Chattanooga. You could drive up one day and come back the next day. Stop in one of those cheap motels. People remember strangers. Why are we going through this after eight long years? Why, Barnes?”
“Because we both feel guilty, and both of us are afraid Jessie will remember. We're hoping this will make us feel better. It won't, but we're going to try. By keeping Jessie busy and happy she will have less time to think. Maybe if she has friends and keeps doing things, the bad dreams will stop. Are we in agreement then, Thea?”
“What else can we do?”
“Then let's go home and get to it. I'll leave tomorrow. We'll tell the girls and Ellie I'm going to Atlanta. But first we have to go to the stationer's to get Jessie a diary.”
“Good Lord.”
“Did you have a diary, Thea?”
“Yes.”
“Did you write secrets in it?”
“Sometimes. It can be comforting to write down one's thoughts.”
“I wonder what Jessie will write in hers.”
3
Ashton Falls. Tennessee
1973
 
“Morning, Grace. Got a package for you this morning. Didn't know you knew some one in Chack-ago.” The old postmaster handed her a package the size of a shoe box. “You don't have to sign for it, Grace. Seems to me you get one of these just about every year.”
Grace's stomach muscles curled into a tight knot. Hiram was right. For the past eight years, a package just like the one she was holding in her hand arrived at the end of summer. Usually the day the tourists started to leave. One year it even arrived on the anniversary of Hannah's disappearance.
“How does it feel to be back in your own little house, Grace?”
“It feels right, Hiram. Moving back into the house and setting it up the way it was turned out to be one of my best days. It's sad, though. I can't get used to the room Ben built onto the back of the house for the boys. He did a real good job. She would be getting ready to go off to college this month, Hiram.”
“I know, Grace. Marie and I pray every night for your little girl. So does this whole town. Someday, when you're least expecting it, that child will walk through your front door. You have to have faith, Grace. Now, tell me, how's Jelly doing?”
Grace's shoulders started to shake. She fought the burning tears that were building behind her eyelids. “I'm going to take him home when I leave here. Charlie is going to come by later and . . .and . . . put him down. The poor thing is so crippled with arthritis, he can't get up and down. His heart condition worsened these last six months. I've been carrying him around, but my back can't take it anymore. He's eighteen, Hiram. The same age as Hannah. We got him the day after we brought her home from the hospital. I know what I have to do. I just don't know if I can do it.”
“You have to do what's best for Jelly, Grace. Charlie told me yesterday he was in constant pain. Hard as it is, you have to do it. It's his time. If there's anything Marie or I can do, just holler. Take care of that mystery package now, you hear.”
Grace bit down on her lower lip. She knew what was in the mystery package: money. Thousands of dollars. Each year when the package arrived, always mailed from a distant big city, she was forced to call the FBI, who would take the money, test it, check for fingerprints, check the serial numbers and whatever else they did in their lab with no results. Eventually they returned the money and then she would put it in Hannah's toy box, one Ben had made so lovingly with his own hands. The toy box was the first thing he'd ever made for their daughter. It had a padlock these days; Ben had insisted. As if they would ever spend one dime of that hateful money. They would have returned the money, but there was never a return address on the mystery packages.
Grace tossed the package into the back of Ben's battered pickup truck. Right now she had more important things to do. More important things to care about than a package of money that would never be spent.
Ten minutes later, Grace pulled into the parking lot at the rear of the vet clinic. She struggled to bring her breathing under control. I can do this. I will do this. I have to do this. Me. No one else.
“For God's sake, Grace, let me carry this dog for you. He's too heavy. You might drop him.”
“Charlie, shut up. I might be capable of a lot of things. The one thing I would never do is drop this dog. This dog is . . . Just open the damn door, Charlie, and then open the car door. I'll do the rest.”
On the short drive home, Grace babbled to the whimpering dog so she wouldn't break down and cry. “Another one of those stupid boxes of money came today, Jelly. What do you think of that? About as much as I do, I suppose. Those people who took Hannah are trying to buy off their guilt. Each year they send more and more. I hope they never spend a restful moment. I prayed so hard, Jelly, that somehow, some way, she'd find her way home before it . . . was your time. I'll never give up the way you never gave up. No one cares anymore. Even when I call the FBI they just say oh, you got another one. They don't care. I thought the FBI always got their man. That's bullshit, Jelly. In sixteen years they didn't find one clue. Not one.
“Listen, big guy, we're home. This was the best thing Ben and I ever did. I feel more peaceful now that we're back in our old house. I know you want to . . . you know . . . go to that place that's waiting for you. The room is exactly like it was that day they carried me out screaming and kicking. Every little thing is exactly where it was. It was like it was stamped on my brain, so I would never forget. You know what else, Jelly. There are forty-two red sweaters in her room. I made another one last night. Not a whole one. I did the two sleeves. I'll probably stay up tonight and finish it. You can never have enough sweaters. I think my mother told me that, but I'm not sure.
“I'm going to go up to the house and open the door. I'll carry you up the steps. It will be like old times, Jelly. Just you and me. Your pup who really isn't a pup any longer is waiting for you. He lies outside the door just the way you taught him. Today, though, the kids aren't here. I wanted everything to be like it was for both of us. It was such a bad time back then. Now you have Jelly Junior and I have John and Joseph. You can . . . go . . . knowing we're all in good hands. I believe that somehow, if things change at some point in time, you'll know. Just a little while longer, Jelly.”
Grace raced into the house and up the stairs to Hannah's old room. It only took a second to make sure everything was the way she'd left it. She raced back to the kitchen; all she had to do was get Jelly upstairs and the rest would fall into place. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped at them with the sleeve of her T-shirt.
He wasn't as heavy as the last time she'd carried him up these steps. She choked back a sob, knowing she would never carry him anywhere ever again. “Look, there's JJ waiting for us.” Jelly whimpered. Jelly Junior whined, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.
He knows
, Grace thought as she laid her best friend in the whole world on Hannah's small bed. Jelly closed his eyes as he struggled to breathe. Where was Ben? He promised he'd be here when she brought Jelly home. She turned to see her husband standing in the doorway. Even from where she was standing she could see how wet his eyes were.
“Oh God, Ben. I can't do this. I love this dog. He's my best friend. He was our daughter's protector. Eighteen years, Ben. First God takes Hannah, and now He's taking my dog. Dogs can live till they're twenty. Charlie said so. We should have taken him to that specialist in Atlanta we heard about. We could have used that damn money.”
“It's Jelly's time, Grace. We have to accept it. He's leaving us his son.”
“JJ has never, ever come into this room, Ben. Never. Somehow he knew this was one place he couldn't go. It's amazing when you stop to think about it.”
“He's in now, Grace. Look.” Both Larsons stared at the young dog as he bellied his way into the room until he was at the side of the bed. He whimpered and whined, not knowing if he was permitted on the bed with Jelly or not.
“Go ahead, JJ,” Grace said.
“Should I call Charlie, Grace?”
“No, Ben. I need more time. Just a little bit longer. Go downstairs and wait for me. I'll call you.”
“How can I leave you here like this?”
“Because you love us both and you want what I want. Please, Ben, I have to do it my way.”
When the door closed behind her husband, Grace dropped to her knees to stroke Jelly's head. His eyes opened briefly, then closed. JJ moved slightly so Grace could stretch out next to Jelly. She started to croon the old lullabies. Jelly's tail fluttered in recognition. When she finished she leaned closer to the dog. “I have this feeling, Jelly, that you're waiting for something. I just . . . don't know what it is. Yes, I do know. I know, Jelly. Don't move.”
Grace leaped from the bed and ran down the hall to her own room where she snatched at the blown-up poster of Hannah and Jelly that had been taken on Hannah's second birthday. She ran back to the room and dropped to her haunches. Her voice was a hushed whisper. “Jelly, look. Open your eyes. It's Hannah and you. Look how manly you look. It was such a wonderful day. Can you see it, Jelly? When she comes back, and I know she will someday, I'm going to tell her how valiant you were and . . .and I'm going to tell her about this . . . moment. She's going to remember, I know she will. She loved you as much as Ben and I love you.” Grace's voice turned fierce when she said, “Don't you ever forget it, Jelly. Never, never, never.”
The golden dog struggled. JJ at his side used his muzzle to help Jelly lift his head. The beloved golden dog's tail gave one mighty swish as he used the last of his strength to emit one loud, resounding woof in his struggle to paw at the picture of the little girl he'd protected so long ago. Grace cradled him in her arms as he took his last breath, a sound deep and raw and so full of pain it ricocheted through the house. Ben dropped the coffee cup in his hands as he took the steps three at a time. His own grief and pain echoed his wife's. JJ leaped from the bed to take up his position outside the door.
A long time later Grace stirred, Jelly still in her arms. “What should we do, Ben? Should we bury him or should we ask Charlie to cremate him. We never talked about it. I don't want to talk about it now, but we have to. We could keep the ashes here in the room for . . . me, for us, for Hannah if she ever comes back, and for JJ. It would be like he's still with us. But then maybe that isn't good. I don't know what to do, Ben.”
“Let's do that. I think it's what we both want. We'll make a special place for him. He'll always be with us. Who cares if it's good or not. It's what we want, what we can handle. I'll call Charlie to make the arrangements. We'll have to explain to the kids what this is all about.”
Grace nodded. “This is the second most miserable day of my life, Ben. I simply don't understand. We're good people. Why is God doing this to us?”
“I don't have the answer, Grace. Are we going to leave things just the way they are?”
“I think I would die before I'd move a stitch of anything. Ben, another one of those boxes of money came today. I threw it in the back of the truck. You need to call the FBI.”
“The hell with the FBI. They couldn't find a pile of dog crap if they stepped in it. Forget about calling them. I'll put the money in the toy box and lock it. One of these days we need to discuss that money.”
“I don't want to discuss that money. Not now, not ever. Leave it there till it rots.”
The following day, Jelly's ashes were placed in Hannah's room on a small ornate shelf that Ben Larson spent the night making in the garage. JJ watched the proceedings, his head on his paws. He waited until Grace and Ben walked through the door before he got to his feet. He tilted his head to look at them before he walked into the room and took up Jelly's position on the old, worn blanket at the foot of the bed. As one, the Larsons nodded.
There was a new caretaker guarding Hannah's memory in the Larson household.
 
Charleston, South Carolina
1973
 
Jessie Roland waited until she was certain the house was completely silent. It was one-thirty in the morning. Surely her parents were asleep by now. Her steps were stealthy as she tiptoed down the winding staircase, out through the dining room to the kitchen, and then outside. She clutched her small flashlight tightly. The dew on the spiky grass felt wonderful on her bare feet. Her destination was the playhouse and the built-in storage room where she secreted everything she didn't want her mother to see. She thanked God every day that neither her mother nor Ellie could enter the little house. She herself had to get down on her knees and crouch her way through the little rooms. She was careful to hold the flashlight downward so there would be no trace of light filtering out through the tiny windows.
From long years and nights of practice, Jessie moved silently until she was in the room with the storage cabinet that had once held toys. Now it held her diaries, her cosmetics, her secret stash of money, notes from different boys when she was in high school, and, the prize of all prizes, her acceptance to New York University.
Jessie sat down and hugged her knees. Tomorrow she was going to be as free as her friend Sophie. Together they had come up with the plan, a year ago, after her parents refused to allow her to go to college out of state. They had insisted she attend the College of Charleston so she could live at home and walk to class. For the first time in her life the temper tantrums she excelled in refused to work. She had agreed because she had no other choice. It was Sophie who said she needed a game plan and time to prepare, and that's what she had done. Tomorrow morning she was driving to Atlanta for Sophie's party in her brand-new BMW, her high-school graduation gift. There she would sell the car and purchase a new one to drive to New York. The car would be registered in Sophie's name. Sophie had secured an apartment for her on her last trip to New York and paid the rent for six full months. Another debt she owed her best friend. Starting in September all correspondence would be sent to Sophie's apartment while she attended classes at Tulane. It was an intricate system of subterfuge, one Sophie insisted would work.

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