The Great Escape (44 page)

“Tell me about it.”

Lucy resisted the urge to hurl her bike across the driveway. “I need to get out. Let’s have dinner at the Island Inn. Just the two of us. My treat.”

Bree looked around at the farm stand. “I don’t know … It’s Saturday night. There’s a fish fry on the south beach, so there’ll be a lot of traffic …”

“We won’t be gone long. Toby can handle things for a couple of hours. You know how much he loves being a big shot.”

“True.” She cocked her head. “All right. Let’s do it.”

Lucy stomped around the small bedroom where she’d been staying. Eventually she forced herself to open the matchbox closet and study the clothes Temple had brought over. But she couldn’t go back to her Viper outfits, and she didn’t have much else with her. Even if the closet had held her old Washington wardrobe, the tailored suits and pearls wouldn’t have felt any more right than Viper’s green tutu and combat boots.

She ended up in jeans with a breezy linen blouse she borrowed from Bree. As they left, Bree stopped her car at the end of the drive to throw last-minute instructions out the driver’s window. “We won’t be gone long. Remember to ask people to be careful with the ornaments.”

“You already told me that.”

“Watch the change box.”

“You told me
that
about a thousand times.”

“Sorry, I …”

“Go,” Lucy ordered, gesturing toward the highway.

With one last worried glance, Bree reluctantly stepped on the gas.

Lucy hadn’t come into town since she’d cut her dreads from her hair and scrubbed off her tattoos, and Bree automatically took the chair that looked out into the dining room so Lucy could face the wall. But it had been almost three months since her wedding, the story had died down, and Lucy couldn’t bring herself to care whether or not anyone recognized her.

They ordered grilled portabellas and a barley salad sweetened with peaches. Lucy gulped down her first glass of wine and started on her second. The food was well prepared, but she had no appetite, and neither, it seemed, did Bree. By the time they drove back to the cottage, they’d given up the effort to make conversation.

The farm stand came into sight. At first they didn’t notice anything was wrong. Only as they came closer did they see the destruction.

Toby stood in a sea of broken honey bottles—far more bottles than had been out on display. He turned in a jerky, aimless circle, the honey-splattered quilt Bree tossed over the counter hanging from one hand, his game player in the other. He froze as he saw the car.

Bree jumped out, the motor still running, a scream ripping from her throat. “
What happened?
”

Toby dropped the quilt into the mess. The Adirondack chairs lay on their sides near the splintered remains of the Carousel Honey sign. The door of the storage shed that jutted off the back gaped open, its shelves emptied of several hundred bottles of next year’s crop Bree had stashed there to give her more working room in the honey house. Toby was streaked from head to toe with honey and dirt. A trickle of blood ran down his hand from broken glass. “I only left for a minute,” he sobbed. “I didn’t mean—”

“You
left
?” She charged forward, her shoes crunching in the glass.

“Only for a minute. I-I had to get my N-Nintendo. Nobody was stopping!”

Bree saw what he was holding, and her hands fisted at her sides. “You left to get a
video game
?”

“I didn’t know—I didn’t mean—It was only for a
minute
!” he cried.

“Liar!” Her eyes blazed. “All this didn’t happen in a minute. Go! Get out of here!”

Toby fled toward the cottage.

Lucy had already turned off the engine and jumped out of the car herself. The wooden shelves hung askew, and broken honey bottles were everywhere, even out on the highway. Shattered lotion jars spattered the drive; the luxurious creams and scented potions smearing the gravel. The cash box was gone, but that wasn’t as devastating as the loss of hundreds of bottles of next year’s crop. The glass from the bottles mingled with the silver shards of Bree’s precious, fragile Christmas ornaments.

Bree knelt, her skirt trailing in the muck, and cradled what was left of a delicate globe. “It’s over. It’s all over.”

If Lucy hadn’t insisted they go out this evening, none of this would have happened. She couldn’t think of anything comforting to say. “Why don’t you go inside? I’ll deal with the worst of this.”

But Bree wouldn’t leave. She stayed crouched over the debris of goo, glass, and ruined dreams.

With guilt hanging over her head like a shroud, Lucy fetched a pair of rakes and a shovel. “We’ll figure out something tomorrow,” she said.

“There’s nothing to figure out,” Bree whispered. “I’m done.”

L
UCY MADE
B
REE CALL THE
police. While Bree told them what had happened in a flat, listless voice, Lucy began scraping the worst of the glass back from the highway. Bree finished answering their questions and hung up. “They’re coming out tomorrow to talk to Toby.” Her expression hardened. “I can’t believe he let this happen. It’s unforgivable.”

It was too early to plead Toby’s case, and Lucy didn’t try. “It’s my fault,” she said. “I’m the one who insisted we go out.” Bree brushed away her apology with a shaky hand.

They worked in the ghostly illumination of a pair of floodlights mounted on the front of the farm stand. Cars slowed as they passed, but no one stopped. Bree dragged away her splintered sign. They righted the chairs, tossed the damaged candles and ruined note cards into trash bags. As night settled in, they began attacking the broken glass with rakes, but the ocean of ruined honey made the glass stick to the tines, and a little after midnight Lucy pulled the rake from Bree’s hands. “That’s enough for now. I’ll bring a hose out in the morning and spray everything down.”

Bree was too demoralized to argue.

They walked back to the house in silence. They had honey everywhere—on their skin, on their clothes, in their hair. Clumps of dirt and grass stuck to their arms and legs, along with slivers of glass and other muck. As Lucy peeled off her sandals, she saw a square of pale blue cardboard stuck to the heel.

I’m a one-of-a-kind Christmas ornament.
Please be careful when you pick me up.

They took turns sticking their feet under the outside faucet. Bree leaned down to rinse off her hands and forearms, then glared toward the back window. “I can’t talk to him right now.”

Lucy understood. “I’ll check to make sure he’s okay.”

“How could he have been so irresponsible?”

Because he was twelve, Lucy thought. And because Lucy should never have encouraged Bree to leave him alone with so many rowdies on the island for the weekend.

Even though she’d rinsed off, Lucy’s feet still stuck to the vinyl floor as she crossed the kitchen. She turned down the hall. Toby’s door was open. He usually kept it closed so Bree wouldn’t nag him about the mess. With a sense of foreboding, Lucy looked inside.

The room smelled of strawberry bubble gum and boy-funk. The last few days’ clothes lay in a heap on the rug, along with a discarded bath towel. The bed was unmade as usual. And empty.

She searched the house. He was gone. She shoved her sticky feet into her sneakers, located a flashlight, and went back outside to find Bree staring into space, smoking a cigarette.

All she does is sit on the back step and smoke.
That’s what Toby had told her, but Lucy hadn’t seen Bree do either in weeks. “He’s not in the house.”

Bree’s head shot up. “What do you mean? Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

Bree came off the step. “I’m going to kill him! Doesn’t he know he’s only making things worse?”

“He’s probably not thinking too clearly.”

Bree ground out her cigarette. “Because of me. Because of what I said to him.” She turned toward the woods just as Lucy had done on the day they’d met. “Toby!” she shouted. “Come back here right now! I mean it!”

Not exactly the way to lure a frightened kid home. On the other hand, Bree sounded like a million other angry mothers.

Not surprisingly, Toby didn’t appear. Finally Bree grabbed a flashlight of her own, and they separated to search the perimeter of the yard, the root cellar, and the woods around the house. They went into the neighboring orchard and shone the flashlight down the ravine. “I’m calling Mike,” Bree declared. “Toby’s over there now. He has to be.”

But he wasn’t.

“Mike hasn’t seen him,” Bree said when their brief call was over. “He’s going out to look. What am I going to tell him? That I screamed at Toby and told him to go?”

“You’re only human.”

“Maybe he’s at your house. Check over there while I wait for Mike. Please.”

Lucy couldn’t bear the idea of seeing Panda again, and if anything other than Toby’s safety had been involved, she would have refused, but she couldn’t refuse this. She followed the path she’d traveled so many times in the daylight, but at night the woods were no longer as friendly. “Toby!” she called into the silence. “Toby, it’s Lucy. Bree isn’t mad anymore.” Not true, but good enough. “I want to talk to you.”

The only response came from the rustle of night creatures and the hoot of an owl.

She emerged from the woods. It was one in the morning, and the sky had cleared. With no light pollution, the stars shone brightly overhead. Until she’d come to the island, she’d forgotten what a real star-spangled sky looked like.

The house was dark, and she prayed it would stay that way. As she moved deeper into the yard, she shined her flashlight around. Her hands were still tacky even though she’d washed them, and her clothes stuck to her skin. She even had honey in her eyebrows.

A shadow moved on the porch. A shadow too large to belong to Toby. Her heart sank. She couldn’t go through this again. Except she had no choice. She stiffened her spine and directed the beam toward the screen. “Toby’s disappeared,” she said brusquely. “Have you seen him?”

The shadow stood. “No. How long has he been gone?”

“Since around nine.” She briefly explained what had happened, glad she couldn’t see him clearly.

“Let me get my shoes on.” A few moments later, he emerged with a flashlight of his own. Its beam swept over her. “You’re a mess.”

“Really? I wasn’t aware.”

He ignored her sarcasm. “The front door’s locked. I don’t think he could have gotten in the house.”

“He has a talent for breaking and entering. Check while I look in the garage.” No way was she going in the house with him. She made her way to the garage, but as she stepped inside, she was flooded with memories of the afternoon they’d made such kinky love here. She couldn’t imagine ever being so uninhibited again.

She searched the interior of the garage, then went outside to check the area around the woodpile. The longer Toby went missing, the more anxious she became. In so many ways, Toby was her doppelgänger. She knew what it was like to be a kid who felt alone in the world, and she knew how dangerous that kind of desperation could be.

Panda emerged from the house. “It’s clear inside.”

“Maybe the boathouse.”

But that, too, proved fruitless. They split up to circle the yard and the woods nearby. Lucy had tucked her cell in her pocket, and she called Bree, but the agitation in her friend’s voice told her nothing had changed.

“What if he went to the beach?” Bree said. “Anything could have happened. The thugs who vandalized the farm stand—Maybe he ran into them. I called the police back, but they won’t do anything till morning. Why did he have to make things worse? That’s all he’s done, right from the beginning, is make things worse.”

Panda came up behind Lucy. “Ask her if his bike is still there.”

Lucy did.

“Hold on,” Bree said. “Mike’s beeping in. I’ll call you right back.”

Lucy’s phone rang again within minutes. “Toby’s bike is gone. Mike’s out on the highway, but so far he hasn’t seen anything.”

Lucy relayed the information.

Panda took the phone from her, every inch the cop. “Bree, it’s Patrick Shade. Can I have Mike’s cell number?”

Lucy looked frantically around for something to write with, but Panda didn’t seem to need pen or paper. “Got it. Is there any particular place Toby tends to go when he’s upset?”

He listened and nodded. “Okay. What was he wearing?” He listened again. “Go to his room and look around. See if he took anything with him. A backpack? Clothes? Anything at all. Call me back when you’re done.”

“He’s going to be fine,” Lucy said to herself as he disconnected. “I know he’s fine.”

Panda was already talking to Mike. “Toby has his bike. Where are you now? All right … Check the south beach, and then stop here and we’ll work out what to do next.”

Lucy tried to imagine where she’d have gone if she were Toby. Even though he’d grown up on the island, she couldn’t imagine him huddling in the woods all night. He’d look for someplace where he’d be alone but where he’d also feel safe.

She remembered the rocky bluff Panda had made his brooding place. It was more open than the woods, and the rocks offered some shelter. While Panda headed toward the highway, she climbed the slope.

The air was still at the top, and she could hear the lap of waves below. She swept the beam over the rocks, praying for a glimpse of him. Nothing.

In a few hours, it would be dawn. Increasingly worried, she returned to the house. Panda was coming down the drive with Toby’s bike. She ran toward him. “Did you find him?”

“Only the bike. It was hidden in the trees about thirty yards up the road.”

She thought of the bikers, along with the other lowlifes who came to the island to get drunk and make trouble. “What if he left it there and hitched a ride?”

“I don’t think so. I found some footprints. It’s too dark to follow them, but my guess is that he was coming here.”

“We’ve looked everywhere.”

He gazed toward the woods. “Maybe he waited until after we’d searched before he settled in.”

Safe. Sheltered.

She and Panda moved together.

Chapter Twenty-four