Under the Boardwalk (15 page)

His lids opened and those emerald eyes met hers. He cleared his throat. "Are you ready for some soup?" he asked.

She nodded.

He pulled himself up out of the chair with an obvious effort. "I'll be right back."

She stared at the arched ceiling until he came back. He brought a tray—tomato soup and crackers and a big glass of milk. "It's soup out of a can," he said apologetically.

"It's perfect," she said. Her stomach grumbled its agreement. She sat up in bed and ate, finishing every bit, down to the last cracker. He sat back in his chair in the corner and watched her.

Finally she set the tray aside and smiled at him. "Where's yours? You look like you need breakfast in bed as much as I do."

He shook his head. "I've eaten. Chris and I had pizza last night and leftovers this morning."

"Last night?"

He gave a wan smile. "You've slept for a long time, Hallie. The doctor said that was best."

"The doctor?" She looked around the room. "Dr. Lil was here?"

Kyle nodded. "The doctor and the police, and Chris has been in and out. You gave a statement, well, sort of a statement, to Joe Serrano."

She put her hands to her head. The doctor and the police and Chris.

Vague images came back, of hands carrying her to a car, and voices talking to her. "Somebody brought me here?"

He nodded again. "You were pretty upset, but you calmed down after a bit."

She remembered something more: her voice calling for Kyle, and then his arms around her, and sinking into a blissful sleep safe in his protection. She didn't think that part was a dream. She felt herself blush. "Um, so, I slept for hours, huh? Did I miss anything?"

"Nothing but a couple of cold showers." Her eyes widened. He smiled, and he looked almost like the carefree Kyle she knew. "Just kidding. Yeah, you missed a lot, actually. Joe brought in more deputies from Great Bend to help him with the investigation, and they've been searching—now we're looking for an attempted murderer, too, although we don't seem to be having any more luck finding him than we did looking for the kids. A bunch of volunteers have blanketed the town with flyers, and the TV station in Great Bend ran another story on your attack. They seem more interested in your amnesia and the attack than in the missing kids. But I guess we should be grateful they're covering it at all."

He smiled at her. "Don't mind me—it's been a long week." He rubbed the two-day's growth of beard on his chin. "What else happened while you were asleep?" he mused. "Let's see, Alec put out another edition of the paper, right about the time you were attacked, and the grower's co-op has set up a $10,000 reward for information."

"That's all?" she said. "Nothing else?"

"No word on Windy or Zac," he said quietly. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The sunlight from the window shone full on him, and with his gaunt, weary face, he looked like a photo of his conquistador ancestors. A black-and-white photo, Hallie thought as she looked at his pallor.

"Have you slept?"

He opened his eyes. "Sure, honey," he drawled, and smiled faintly.

"Liar."

He pulled himself up out of the chair. "Maybe I'll doze off a little now that you're feeling better—if you can spare me."

"I'll manage."

He reached for the tray on the bed next to her. When he leaned over her, Hallie felt like reaching for him, wanting both to comfort him in his grief, and to comfort herself. She gripped the coverlet with both hands instead.

"It's still early," he said. "We can both get some more sleep before the day's half-over."

She snuggled back down under the covers. The door shut softly.

~*~

She woke again.

The sun still shone through the windows. This time she felt really awake, no more of that drifting between dream and daylight. Her neck still hurt. The ache grounded her firmly in the present moment.

She got out of bed, noticing for the first time that someone —she didn't dare imagine who—had gotten her into her flannel pjs. At least she wasn't wearing a negligee, she thought. If she woke up knowing he'd picked that out of her dresser drawer she'd probably die of embarrassment.

She opened the window. It looked like midday, with clear blue skies all the way to the coastline. The barn doors were open, and Poky stood in the corral with one leg cocked, head down, dozing, her tail occasionally swishing at a fly.

Hallie heard some kind of banging on the other side of the house by the driveway, then the chug of an engine turning over. A Volkswagen, she thought, remembering the familiar putt-putt of the Little Guy. She got dressed and went downstairs.

The kitchen table was covered in papers: post-its with scribbled phone numbers; stacks of empty envelopes waiting to be stuffed with flyers; listings of everybody from Pajaro Beach employees to PTA members at Pajaro High School and the local Boy Scout troop—all with red x's next to most of the names. It was a sad sight, because it meant that nothing they'd tried so far had helped.

She thought of the man who attacked her. Had he done the same to Windy and to Zac? That was the image they'd all studiously avoided thinking about—the two in the hands of some madman. No, she thought. The text message from Windy could have been faked, but that had been Zac's voice on the phone. But if Zac was okay, why hadn't he called again? If only they had some answers to go with all their questions.

She went out the back door. In the driveway the Little Guy sat surrounded by enough spare parts to make another Beetle. A pair of long legs could be seen sticking out from under the car. Chris sat on the hood of Kyle's red pickup, sipping a soda and holding the phone. He waved.

"You're alive." He pointed down at Kyle's legs. "We've got the Bug running again—a little paint and it'll be good as new."

Kyle poked his head out. "We? You don't have a spot of grease on you. Hand me that torque wrench."

Chris jumped off the hood and got the wrench for him.

"I thought you were going to sleep," she said to Kyle.

"I'm too tired to sleep." His head disappeared back under the car.

Chris rolled his eyes at Hallie. "He's been going crazy since you got hurt," he said quietly. "Dr. Lil said you were all right, but he's been all worked up about it."

Hallie thought of the feel of the rag around her throat. "I got pretty worked up about it myself."

Kyle poked his head out again. "What're you two talking about?"

"Nothing," Chris said. He handed the phone to Hallie. "I'm going inside for a minute. Don't forget," he said to Kyle, "you've gotta get back from the haunted house in time to drive me to the park at five. I'm on the evening shift, and I'm gonna grill everyone on the shift until I find a clue."

Kyle frowned. "We'll talk about that later."

Chris went into the house.

Kyle looked up at her. "Should you be out of bed?"

"Sure," she said. "I'm okay—just a couple bruises. I've been hurt worse."

Kyle raised his eyebrows at that. "Joe Serrano wanted you to call when you got up. He wants to ask you some more questions about the attack."

Hallie rubbed her head. Yesterday was still a blur in her mind. "More questions? I don't remember what I've told him already."

"You said you didn't get a look at the jerk 'cause he came up behind you in the dark, but you saw him leave through the service door. That's all I heard you tell him, anyway."

She sighed. "That's about all there is to tell, I guess. I don't know. He's gotta be the same guy who ran me off the road—or else this is a very unfriendly town. I just wish he'd let me get a good look at him."

He raised his eyebrows at that. "If you had, he might have been more careful to make sure you were dead before he took off."

Hallie hugged her arms around herself. The day was sunny, but she felt cold, thinking of the dark haunted house and that stranger creeping up behind her. She shivered. "Next time he might be more careful to finish me off."

"There's not gonna be a next time," Kyle said firmly. "This bozo's an amateur—running you off the road, choking you. Joe said it might mean he doesn't have a clue what he's doing and is just improvising. We can take some hope from that—Windy and Zac might be okay. They've got to be okay...."

She picked up the phone. "Do you know the deputy's number?"

"Got it memorized," he said with a faint ghost of his old smile.

~*~

"Well, that's that," she said to Kyle when she hung up. He was gathering the tools he had scattered on the ground while he worked. "Deputy Serrano says we're no closer to finding the guy who's behind this than we were the first day."

Kyle shrugged. "He said there are so many fingerprints smudged on the walls in the haunted house they couldn't find anything helpful."

He brushed the dust off his jeans. "I'm going to take a look around the place myself, though. I haven't been up in that old attic for years, and I'm wondering if this guy could have used it as a vantage point to stalk you."

She shuddered. "I didn't even know there was an attic." She got an image of bats hanging upside down under the eaves of the haunted house.

He smiled at her expression. "It's just a storage area—nothing too ghastly, I'm sure. It doesn't matter anyway, since you're not going to see it."

She raised her eyebrows. "Yes, I am."

"I need you hold down the fort here, in case anybody calls."

"I want to go along," she said. She saw the objection in his eyes and rushed on: "Chris can hold down the fort."

"He's gotta go to work."

"Not for hours." She reached for the car door. "Come on. Let's go."

He stood in front of the car door and blocked her way.

"No. I don't want you to go back there."

From somewhere deep inside, she felt anger. "Don't you dare say no to me! You don't tell me what to do." She took a breath, and tried to calm down. Where had that anger come from? It seemed to burst out from somewhere deep inside of her—some place she'd held it in for a long time. She thought about her time in the hospital after Dave had broken her hands. For days she'd lain there, curled up in a ball, feeling nothing but a paralyzing fear. She wasn't ever going to be a victim again.

He just stood there, patiently waiting for her to get herself together, not yelling back, not contradicting, not ordering. Looking a bit confused at her anger, but not fighting it.

She spoke more quietly: "It's my choice, Kyle. I need to face this myself, not hide out here. I'm not letting the bully win."

"But you're scared." He took hold of one of her shaking hands. "I don't want you to be scared."

"Of course I'm scared," she said. She pulled her hand away. "Somebody's tried to kill me, and he's done something with my best friend, and I don't know why any of this is happening. But I'm not going to be bullied anymore. I'm facing up to it. So don't try to tell me what to do."

"Sorry. Okay," he said hesitantly. "We'll go together. It's just... if anything happened to you...." He paused, then said: "I just want to protect you is all." He moved aside.

"Don't worry," she said as she slipped past him through the open door, "I'm not proud. If King Kong comes after us I'll be cowering behind you before you know it."

~*~

"Where could that ladder be?" Kyle muttered.

"It's in there somewhere," Tom said. He sat at his desk and watched Kyle and Hallie dig through the pile of junk in his office. His brow furrowed. "Or maybe it was in the storage shed next to the Ferris wheel?"

"How could you lose a ladder?" Hallie asked. "Isn't it pretty big?"

"We've lost kids, why not a ladder?" Kyle muttered.

Tom took another sip of his "coffee" and Hallie turned away, coming face to face with the armless King Kong between the file cabinets. She jumped. Geez, she was feeling nervous.
I guess having somebody try to kill you will do that to a person
, she thought.

"Didn't the deputies have a ladder to look in the attic?" she asked.

"They brought their own," Kyle said. "Smart dudes." He began handing Hallie things as he dug through the pile of junk in the corner: a wrench, a can of motor oil, a snake.

She took the snake from him absentmindedly before she realized what it was. "Ugh!" She tossed it away and it landed in the gorilla's arms.

"Huh?" Kyle glanced up. "Relax. It's rubber."

"I can see that," Hallie said.

"It's from the Wild Adventures exhibit from three summers ago," Tom explained.

"This place is a dump," Kyle said. He bent over the pile again.

"Hey, you weren't here to run the park, don't you criticize me. It hasn't been an easy job." Tom's voice got loud.

"I'm sure it's not easy when you're boozed out of your skull," Kyle muttered.

"Who are you criticize? You never came around." Tom shuffled the papers on his desk into neat piles.