Since You've Been Gone (21 page)

Molly rose abruptly, too nervous to sit still. Jean had gone home for a couple of hours. She'd fretted about leaving, saying Molly shouldn't be alone. She'd nearly insisted on asking one of Molly's friends to stay with her. Molly had said, “They're all working. Maybe Rebecca could come.” That had stopped Jean. She disliked Rebecca although she denied it.

She'd wanted Jean to leave because she hadn't been alone since Todd's abduction. How long ago that night seemed. She'd returned home tired but happy and relieved to have her work finished. And then she'd found Sonia, unconscious, bleeding. She'd rushed to Todd's room to find it empty. And the world spun out of control when she knew her worst terror had at last come true.

The next few hours had been a haze of questions and activity. Molly only remembered feeling a savage panic and an overwhelming need to see Rebecca. Rebecca had ESP,
she'd thought with the simplicity of a child. Rebecca had “seen” all those things years ago and found Molly's lost cat Taffy and saved the man wrongly accused of killing Earl Tanner. She'd even found a couple of children who'd tumbled into an old well at a deserted house. Rebecca could find Todd.

But it was Tuesday now and Todd had been gone since Friday night. Rebecca had
not
found him. The only real lead had come from Skeeter Dobbs, miserable old wretch. Bill had reminded her they would have paid no attention to Skeeter if Rebecca hadn't said Todd was in a hot, deserted place. She was having visions, but they weren't good enough because Rebecca couldn't tell them
where
Todd was.

Molly's arms started to itch and burn from nerves. She ran her hands up and down them as she paced, going first to the refrigerator, then Todd's room, then to the living room to peer around the closed draperies at the five people trying to look casual as they watched the house, and back to Todd's room. She watched the fish swimming calmly. Todd had named them Rocky and Bullwinkle. She sprinkled fish food in the bowl.

“You guys need to stay healthy because Todd will want to see you as soon as he gets home.” The fish nibbled their food, smooth, golden, oblivious.

Todd had been conceived in an ill-advised moment of passion. When Molly found out she was pregnant, though, she hadn't been entirely sorry. She'd loved Todd's father. He didn't love her—there was someone else and she would never force herself on him or make claims—but she would have part of him now. Someone to love, someone who wouldn't abandon her like her parents, and Uncle Patrick, and Rebecca who'd run away to New Orleans. At ten she'd understood that Patrick hadn't deliberately left her. And at nineteen she'd understood Rebecca's reasons for permanently leaving Sinclair, but she'd never let Rebecca know she'd been deeply hurt. Throughout the years Rebecca had thought Molly was strong because that was what Molly
wanted her to think. No one liked a weakling and Molly was desperate to be liked, to be accepted. But inside she had always felt like a small, deserted child left to cry in the darkness.

And then there had been Todd. In some places no one would bat an eye at an unwed mother. Sinclair wasn't one of those places. A lot of people in the area thought of her as “disgraced.” She hadn't cared, but she didn't think she could have managed without Suzanne. She'd been frightened, not because she'd been penniless as everyone thought—her parents weren't that unfeeling. But they hadn't gone out of their way to help in any way except monetarily. They'd been annoyed, not morally outraged, and they did not like to be annoyed. They saw their grandson a couple pf times each year, but that was enough. They didn't care to be reminded they were old enough to be grandparents.

Molly had doted on her child, happily finished college, and then taken a good job at Grace Healthcare provided by Frank. Her life had been work and Todd. He'd brought her love, peace, joy, and fulfillment.

And now he was gone.

“Damn it, Becky,
do
something!” Molly burst out. She knew she wasn't being fair. She knew Rebecca was trying. But she also knew that if Todd did not return to her, she would never be able to look at her cousin the same way. For years she'd thought Suzanne completely unreasonable, even cruel, for holding Rebecca partly responsible for Jonnie's death. Now she was holding Rebecca responsible for Todd's life. She hated herself but she couldn't change her feelings.

Rebecca continued to wander the grounds of the house restlessly, even taking Sean out to see the beautiful gazebo. She didn't want to admit it, but she was waiting for another
vision to strike, which was useless. In the meantime she searched her mind for something constructive to do. Only one thing presented itself: a few hours at the volunteer center.

She arrived around one, parking her mother's Thunder-bird down the street and walking back to the building that had once housed Fanny's Fine Fabrics. There was no Fanny. There had been a Stanford from Baltimore who'd bought the little store on impulse when he'd spent a week in Sinclair, then mistakenly decided that all women in West Virginia liked only gingham, calico, denim, and other inelegant but serviceable materials. He'd also been huge on country prints. The store had staggered along for two years, a succession of three managers arguing futilely with the less-than-savvy Stanford, until he'd finally tired of the whole thing and sold the building to Frank Hardison at a rock-bottom price.

Rebecca knew that when Frank bought the place, he'd never dreamed what dreadful use he would find for it. Nevertheless, he'd acted quickly and efficiently, having the volunteer center up and running less than twelve hours after Todd's disappearance. It would have been a good place for the city and county police to coordinate their efforts also, but their tartar of a county sheriff had decided to make things difficult. Rebecca had never liked Sheriff Martin Lutz, and the feeling was mutual.

Now she walked into the volunteer center and gazed around at the five women and two men who were copying, faxing, answering phones, and chatting. A young woman with a child's face and a body heavy with pregnancy walked toward her, smiling. “You look like you haven't been here before!”

“I haven't. I want to help, though. Will you show me what I can do?”

“Oh, I sure will! We appreciate this so much, and I'm sure Molly Ryan does, too. Isn't this just the most awful thing?”

“It certainly is.”

“Do you have kids?”

“Not yet.”

“Me either.” She giggled. “But soon. Just three months! I can't wait.” She held out a small hand. “I'm Amy Tanner.”

“Hello. Rebecca Ryan.”

Amy shook hands, then frowned. “Ryan? Are you related?”

“I'm Molly's cousin.”

“Oh! Rebecca Ryan. Goodness gracious!” Rebecca could see awareness flickering in Amy's great blue eyes. She'd heard of Rebecca Ryan and all the stories of ESP. Rebecca would have liked to have presented a blank slate to this sweet-faced girl. “Well, how nice of you to come down! We'll just start you off answering the phones. Now Chief Garrett wants us to take the caller's name …”

Amy had rattled on, repeating the instructions as if Rebecca were slightly slow or her head too full of visions from the netherworld to concentrate on the present. After Rebecca took her first call, she looked up to see Amy watching her with a mixture of curiosity, trepidation, awe, and suspicion. She smiled quickly, though, hurried over to make sure Rebecca had taken the message properly, then scurried back to her own post. Rebecca knew she should probably be offended by the girl's hovering, but she could tell Amy only meant to be helpful. She was terribly earnest about her duties and about the search for Todd.

One woman brought her a cup of coffee and pointed out the refreshment table. A man instructed her on how to load copier paper. She thanked him, although she'd been loading copiers for 15 years. On the whole, though, the other volunteers tended to steer clear of her. During her years in New Orleans she'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be an oddity—a source of wonder for some, a source of fear for others. No wonder she'd been so miserable during her teenage years, she thought. No wonder she'd never considered returning to Sinclair to live.

Fifteen minutes later her phone rang again. An elderly
man reported the presence of a new child next door. “It's a boy, about the age of that Todd kid,” he said. “The guy next door, I think he's one of
those
, if you know what I mean.”

“I'm sorry, sir, but I don't. One of what?”

“You know, homeosexials. He's good looking in a girly kind of way, dresses to beat the band, and never has a girl in that I've noticed. Then out of the blue comes this kid. He told me it's his nephew.”

“But you don't believe him?”

“I never heard about no nephew before.”

“And you talk to this man often?”

“No oftener than I have to. Say, what're you givin' me the third degree for? I'm tryin' to help you.”

Rebecca reminded herself that she wasn't a cop and her job wasn't to weed out cranks from sources of solid information. Amy had told her this three times. And just because she had a feeling this man simply disliked his neighbor due to real or imagined sexual orientation, she couldn't dismiss his information. He might be absolutely correct. This new nephew might be Todd.

But her hope faded as the boy was described as blue-eyed and unable to speak plainly. Still, he might be someone else's lost child. Rebecca dutifully wrote down the man's name, address, and telephone number and twice promised to pass on the information to the police.

Amy had stopped by again to see how things were going. Then she looked at the door and her big blue eyes grew even bigger. “Alvin!” she exclaimed.

Amy Tanner. Alvin
Tanner
. The name hadn't registered with Rebecca when Amy had introduced herself. Now she felt herself freeze. She'd been responsible for sending Alvin's mother away for life. Slim Tanner had claimed to be protecting herself and her child when she killed Earl Tanner. After she went to prison, a ten-year-old Alvin had been sent to live with an aged grandmother who'd raised him in poverty. Because of Rebecca, Alvin had lost a mother and a comfortable home.

Rebecca looked down at her notepad and began writing additions to the account she'd just taken from the elderly man. Anything to keep from facing Alvin, who was saying, “Amy, you told me you'd only stay a couple of hours. It's been four.”

“Oh, has it?” Amy exclaimed almost convincingly. “Gosh, the time just slipped away, honey. We've been really busy.”

“And you need to rest.”

“Yes, well…”

“Well… I want you to come home.”

“Oh!” Amy sounded startled and Rebecca had the feeling Alvin Tanner did not often issue orders, even if they were mild. “Okay, honey. If you'll just wait another few minutes.”

“No. I think… no, I want you to come
now.
”

“Miss Ryan, could you help me here with these copies?” a woman asked in a louder-than-necessary voice. Rebecca rose, furiously aware that the woman had wanted to announce her presence to Alvin. She had to walk past him to reach the copier and she tossed a casual smile, trying to act as if nothing was wrong. Alvin did not look surprised to see her. He just stared at her, his dark eyes enlarged slightly by his glasses.

“I'll get my purse, honey, and we'll go right home. You don't look like you slept one wink,” Amy chattered, scampering around the room in search of her handbag. “I'll make you some hot cocoa—it's nice even if it is summer—-and we'll watch a TV show and then we'll both take a good, long nap. Won't that be fun? Okay, I'm ready. ‘Bye, everybody. See you tomorrow.”

Overly cheerful good-byes chased Amy and Alvin out the door. Rebecca gave the woman at the copier a long, level look. “Now what was it you wanted me to do? Shut the lid for you? Or push the Start button?”

“I guess I can manage,” the woman murmured, her face turning red.

Rebecca forced herself to stay another hour. She would
not give anyone the pleasure of seeing her flee. She took five more calls, none of which seemed too important, grabbed up a handful of flyers, and at two-thirty left the volunteer center, imagining the flurry of gossip she left in her wake.

She sauntered down the street looking in store windows, then headed for the car. She'd locked the doors but left the windows down a couple of inches on both sides so the leather seats wouldn't be so hot they'd burn her thighs through the thin material of her slacks. Sun bounced off the windshield as she climbed in and her foot touched something lying on the floor. Leaving the door open, she bent down to see a narrow, braided length of leather. She picked it up, turning it over to inspect it more carefully.

The letters
JPR
had been burned inside. Rebecca felt as if she were falling through space as she recognized the bracelet Jonnie had made in Boy Scouts, a bracelet no one had seen since he disappeared.

TUESDAY, 2:45 P.M.

Matilda Vinson had been terrified since she found Skeeter. They were exactly the same age. She'd known him since he'd attempted to go to first grade and Mrs. Esther Hardison had been their teacher. Way back then Matilda had been his champion when other kids made fun of him. She'd missed him when he was forced to drop out to attend the special classes from which his father constantly found excuses to withdraw him. Nevertheless, for the rest of his life Skeeter had considered Matilda his best friend and waved to her through the windows of the drugstore, although he rarely came inside unless he had a bit of money to buy some antacids for his ulcers.

Sunday morning Matilda had been in the store. She came every day because the big drugstores at the mall had hurt business and Matilda still answered to her father, who was in his late eighties and in the local Gracehaven Nursing Home. Every month he insisted on looking at the accounting books and if profits were markedly down, he became agitated and sometimes cried. Once he had even run away and tried to climb up to the ramshackle treehouse Matilda had shared with her sister fifty years ago. He'd broken his hip and spent three months recovering. Matilda could never fudge a second set of books for his eyes only to prevent such disasters. Her father was deeply religious and the thought of lying to him filled her with as much fear as lying to her God. Instead she opened on Sunday mornings without telling him. The drugstores in the mall did not open until one o'clock on Sundays, and she caught the extra business.