Since You've Been Gone (11 page)

The attic was poorly lit by a few incandescent bulbs. Bill didn't know what he'd expected to be up here—relics of the once-opulent Dobbs Hotel? Instead the attic was nearly empty, with only a few sets of metal shelves bearing sealed boxes along the walls. In the middle of the space sat a garishly printed plastic patio set complete with fringed umbrella looking as if it waited for a party of ghosts. Skeeter's grandfather and friends, perhaps.

“Chief, take a look at this.”

Bill walked to where Curry stood over a rumpled, rough-textured white blanket and a gray stuffed animal. Kneeling down, Bill took in the animal's floppy ear and silly grin. “It's Todd's dog Tramp.”

Curry pointed toward a big rust-colored splotch on the dog's white chest. “Did the toy already have that stain?”

“No.” Bill swallowed hard. “And that stain looks like blood.”

Bill wasn't sure why he first called Rebecca with the news of finding Tramp. Maybe it was because she'd given him the tip about Todd being in a hot, dusty, deserted place. Maybe it was because he was putting off telling Molly as long as possible.

Rebecca agreed to meet him at Molly's. News like this should not be delivered by phone, nor should Molly be without the support of her closest friend. Right before he left the office, Bill impulsively called Clay Bellamy. Bill thought Molly might be in need of a doctor to administer another tranquilizer. She might even need hospitalization. Clay had just gotten off his shift at the hospital but said he would immediately head for Molly's.

As Rebecca neared Molly's house, she was dismayed to see at least six cars and a news van stationed in front, even though it was past midnight. She parked nearly a block away and walked casually toward the house, wishing she knew a way to dart around to the back door. But on her first visit she'd noticed that a chain-link fence enclosed the back lawn. The front door would be her only choice.

She lowered her head and turned in the front walk. Almost immediately a woman appeared beside her and said, “Excuse me, are you family?”

Rebecca looked up. The woman was young with perfect features, avid blue eyes, and artfully messed hair the color of butter. “Who are
you?
” she asked.

“Kelly Keene, WPCT News. We've heard there's been a break in the case.”

“I don't know anything about a break and I'm in a hurry.”

“Certainly you know about Todd's bloodstained toy being found in the attic of Klein Furniture.”

Shock coursed through Rebecca that this woman knew about Tramp, but she rigidly controlled her expression. “I don't know about a toy.”

“Look, Ms. Ryan, don't stonewall me,” Kelly Keene said with false earnestness. “All we're trying to do is help.”

Rebecca looked into the avid blue eyes. “Somehow I don't think helping Todd Ryan is at the top of your agenda, Ms. Keene. I think helping your ratings is. Now please stop trailing after me.”

“You
are
family.” Kelly Keene pursued her up the walk. “You're her cousin, aren't you? Rebecca Ryan.”

“My name is none of your business, although I have a feeling you already knew it.”

“Ms. Ryan, do you have any idea who took Todd? Have you had any visions?”

Rebecca ran up the front steps onto the porch, pounded on the door, and yelled, “It's me!” The door opened barely enough for her to slip in. She came face-to-face with a slender woman in her early thirties. Her dark brown hair was short, her expression humorless.

“You're Molly's cousin?” Her voice held no warmth, no welcome.

“Yes. Where's Molly?”

“In the kitchen. I'm Jean Wright.”

She had even features, a sensuous mouth, and large, long-lashed brown eyes. She could have been stunningly attractive, but there was no smile and no welcome in the eyes. Her face was tight, her slender body was almost rigid with restraint, as if she were controlling an impulse to push Rebecca out the door.

“You're Molly's next-door neighbor,” Rebecca said in an effort at friendliness.

The woman's eyes flickered. Rebecca couldn't tell if it was anger or dislike. “Yes, but I was gone the night Todd was taken.”

“It wasn't an accusation,” Rebecca said coldly, already disliking the woman.

Molly walked in carrying a dish towel. “I didn't know you were coming, Becky! You've met Jean?” Rebecca nodded. “She's heard so much about you she probably feels like she already knows you. How about some iced tea? Or a soft drink? Or a hard drink? Or wine? I have something in the kitchen that's supposed to be really good. It has a cork and everything!”

Molly looked exhausted. She giggled too loudly, she was talking too much, and she acted like this was a casual social gathering early in the evening. Rebecca knew Bill hadn't forewarned her of bad news, but Molly probably sensed it because of the people descending on her at this late hour.

“I'll have some of that good wine,” Rebecca said, thinking that uncorking the bottle might take up some of Molly's time until Bill and Clay arrived. “Not too much, though. I'm driving.”

Molly hurried off to the kitchen and Rebecca turned to meet Jean's hard stare. “You came to deliver bad news. What is it?”

“Bill Garrett will be here any minute. He'll want to be the one to tell Molly.”

“Molly may need medication. I need to be warned so I can help her.”

“A doctor is coming.”

Jean paled. “Todd's dead.”

“No.”

“But you said Chief Garrett is bringing a doctor. What for? What doctor?”

Rebecca was losing patience with the woman's presumptuous tone. “Clayton Bellamy.”

“Bellamy! He's barely beyond his residency! I've been a nurse for twenty years.”

“Good for you.” Rebecca gave a false smile when she saw Molly entering the room.

“Here you go.” Molly handed her the glass of white wine. Rebecca couldn't stand white wine if it was warm.
She also hated extremely dry wine. This was both. She took a sip. “Delicious!”

“It has some totally unpronounceable name.” Molly beamed. “Suzanne gave it to me.”

Another knock at the door. Molly started toward it but Rebecca cut her off. She didn't want Molly seeing the crowd of people outside.

Clay faced the door while Bill stood at the edge of the porch facing the crowd. “There is no news here,” he said firmly. “Meanwhile, you're obstructing the street with your vehicles.”

Rebecca heard Kelly Keene's trained voice. “Is it true you found evidence that Todd Ryan was being held in the Klein Furniture Building?”

“No comment.”

“Do you think he's dead?”

“Ma'am, no comment means no comment. This is
not
a press conference and you are trespassing on Ms. Ryan's property. Now leave.
All
of you.”

A host of voices rose. Clay had already stepped into the house. Bill ducked in and nearly slammed the door behind him. At last everyone looked at Molly, who stood frozen, looking small and stricken. “Well, don't tell me this is a coincidence,” she said thinly. “Clay, I haven't seen you for… for…” Her hand fluttered to her throat. “I heard that woman. Oh God, what is it?”

“Molly, we did not find Todd.” Bill's voice was calm but adamant. “We have no reason to believe he's dead, no matter what those vultures outside are saying. Do you understand?”

She nodded as blood flooded her cheeks, then vanished with alarming speed. Rebecca knew she was going to faint but Clay acted first, rushing forward and guiding her to the couch. She flopped down limply and Clay sat next to her, holding her hand. She swallowed twice, then said, “Just tell me, Bill.”

He told her about Skeeter's sighting, the noises heard by Helen Moreland, and finding Tramp. He didn't mention
the suspicious stain on the toy. “So we're pretty sure that Todd was held in the attic,” he ended.

“And killed?” Molly whispered.

“I told you there's no evidence of that. I believe that the kidnapper simply moved Todd because the Morelands, who live in the apartment below the attic, came home.”

“But you don't
know
he isn't dead,” Molly insisted.

“I know it,” Rebecca said.

Molly looked at her desperately. “Are you just trying to comfort me?”

“No. I wouldn't do that. I feel that Todd is alive.” And she did. She hadn't “seen” anything, but she knew the child lived. “Molly, you can't give up. Todd needs you.”

Molly's eyes filled with tears. She lowered her head in her hands and began to shudder. “What can I do? I'm not like you, Becky. I'm just an ordinary person.”

“Molly, you're the strongest person I've ever known,” Rebecca said sincerely.

Molly shook her head violently and Clay took her trembling hand. “You are Todd's mother,” he said. “You are the most important person in his life and I really think that if you give up hope, he'll feel it. That observation isn't based on any sound medical evidence. It's just my own belief.”

“And mine,” Rebecca said.

“I want to believe it, too,” Molly quavered. “But he's been gone since Friday. I know the more time that passes, the worse the chances are of finding him alive.” She began to sob. “I'm just so tired I can't believe we'll find him because I can't even think … Where's Tramp?” She looked at Bill and almost shouted, “Where's Tramp?”

“The toy is evidence,” Bill said evenly. “We have to keep it.”

“I don't believe you! There's something wrong, that's why you won't give him to me!”

“Molly, I told you it's—”

“
He. “

“Okay,
he
is evidence. We might find fibers on him that will tell us something about the kidnapper.”

Rebecca knew this wasn't the whole truth and she thought Molly sensed it, too. Molly's eyes blazed. “You're keeping things from me! And don't think I don't remember that Klein Furniture is one block away from where Jonnie's body was found!”

They'd all hoped she wouldn't realize the proximity. Rebecca had pounced on it immediately as further proof that there was a link between the kidnappings, but Bill had argued her down, saying it wasn't important.

Now Molly looked at Rebecca, who in the face of her despair echoed Bill's words. “It's probably just a fluke,” she said lamely. “The cases aren't alike.”

Molly opened her mouth, clearly wanting to present her own point of view, but Clay took control. “Molly, you're ragged, physically and emotionally. I want you to get a good night's sleep—”

“I can't sleep! My baby is somewhere out there! I have to
do
something!”

“You have to get some rest.”

“I'll give her a Valium,” Jean said.

“No, I'm giving her an injection of Ativan.” Clay headed toward a small medical bag by the door.

Jean placed her hands on her hips. Her sleeveless top revealed strong, well-toned arms. “I think a ten-milligram Valium will be sufficient,” she maintained.

“I don't.” Clay didn't look at the woman but Rebecca did. Resentment simmered in her eyes. Rebecca could tell she regarded Clay as an interloper, even though he was a doctor and had known Molly since she was a teenager. She also seemed to resent Rebecca. Rebecca decided to find out more about her. Maybe later Clay could give her some information.

Molly fussed about the injection but at last fell silent, as if she'd run out of air. Afterward she sagged, wiping halfheartedly at the tears on her face, as Clay disposed of the syringe.

“I'll spend the night here,” Jean said. “I don't think Molly should be alone.”

Clay nodded. “I agree.”

“I can stay,” Rebecca said.

Bill drew near and spoke softly in Rebecca's ear. “Honey, you know Molly expects something spectacular from you. She's gonna be watching like a hawk, waiting for you to burst forth with some revelation. It's going to be hell on both of you.”

Jean had overheard. “He's right, Miss Ryan. And you look tired.” Her tone had mellowed considerably. “I'll just run next door and get a few things. I'll be back shortly.”

Rebecca still felt as if she were running out on Molly a second time, but what Bill and Jean said made sense. Besides, some pain was kicking in from the minor injuries she had received in the wreck. She realized she had stretched herself too thin with all the walking she'd done at Esther's. She, too, needed some pain medication and rest.

Rebecca helped Molly to bed and sat beside her until she began breathing deeply. Then she walked down the hall to Todd's room. Dim light filtered in from the living room where she heard Clay and Bill talking quietly. She wandered around, touching the swimming medals, looking at the fish swimming serenely in their bowl. She glanced out the window just in time to see a light go off in Jean's house next door. She would return soon.

Rebecca sat down on Todd's bed. She shut her eyes and began counting backward. When she reached 85, she stopped in frustration. She had never “conjured” a vision. When she was 12 her grandmother Ava had told her visions came or they didn't. “I was ten when I discovered I had the gift,” Ava had recalled the year before she died. “I was frightened at first. I thought I was going crazy.” She had allowed herself a small, sardonic smile. “Your mother thinks I am. My own daughter is afraid of me. But my husband accepted me. And Bill loves me. Your mother will never appreciate your power, Rebecca. It will always scare
and repel her. It will cause problems between you. But you have your Uncle Bill. He understands.”

He
had
understood, believed, accepted. So had Molly. They were both counting on her now. And she had nothing to offer.

Feeling defeated, she went back to the living room. “Is Molly asleep?” Clay asked.