Lost Innocents (10 page)

“What in the world going is on here?” she asked.

Doug looked up at her grimly. He glanced in at the men in the living room and shook his head. He spoke in a distracted mumble.

“He’s after me. It’s a vendetta because of Heather. I swear it. He won’t be satisfied until he has my head. You’re not going to believe this.”

“Doug, what are they doing here?” Maddy asked frantically. Amy was still clutching her around the neck.

Chief Frank Cameron emerged from the living room and regarded her with a cold eye. “Well, Mrs. Blake. We meet again.”

“Why are you here?” she said in a barely civil tone. Charles Henson followed him out of the living room.

Chief Cameron held out a piece of paper with a man’s picture drawn on it. “Do you recognize this man?” he asked.

“Don’t answer him,” said Charles.

Maddy clutched Amy tightly in her arms and looked at the picture. The face was clean shaven and even featured, with light-colored hair, combed back the way Doug often liked to comb his hair. She glanced up at her husband, and instantly she knew that they were in danger.

“Doesn’t he look familiar?” Chief Cameron asked mildly, with a hint of cruelty in his eyes.

“Not particularly,” Maddy said.

“Don’t talk to him,” Charles said sharply. “Doug, I think the best thing for us to do is to cooperate with their investigation.”

Amy craned her head and looked at the picture. “Dada,” she cried happily.

Chief Cameron’s eyes narrowed. “From the mouths of babes,” he said.

“Take her out of here,” Doug said angrily.

“I will,” said Maddy. She walked back toward the kitchen. Her heart was pounding. What in the world were they here for now? How long was Frank Cameron going to hound them because of Heather’s lies? Maddy didn’t know whether to feel fear or outrage. Her anger over Doug’s mishap with the insurance had evaporated in the anxiety of the moment. How many more ways could their life go wrong? She was clutching Amy tightly—too tightly.

“Mama, let me go,” Amy cried. Maddy put her down and tried to think. Amy was beginning to take off her jacket.

“Wait,” said Maddy. “Leave your jacket on. Come with Mommy.” She opened the door that led to the garage and went outside. Her car was sitting in the driveway behind Doug’s car, and as she approached it, she could see that Bonnie was still inside. Maddy pulled out the stroller and dragged it down the driveway toward the car. She opened the passenger door.

Bonnie gripped the door handle and would not relinquish it. “What are they doing here?”

“The police chief has a vendetta against my husband,” Maddy said grimly. “Look, I’ll explain it to you later. Would you mind taking Amy for a short walk with Sean until they leave? I want to be here, but I don’t want Amy…”

Bonnie ducked her head as she got out of the car and mumbled, “All right, all right.”

“There’s a little park right down there. You can see it from here,” said Maddy, pointing. “They’ve got swings.”

Bonnie nodded without looking. “Okay, I get it.”

“Just until they leave.”

Bonnie turned away from Maddy. She opened the back door of the car, leaned in, and tied the hood of Sean’s sweatshirt until only a small disk of his face was visible. Then she lifted him out of the seat. He kicked his dangling feet as he rose.

Maddy looked fretfully at Amy. “You should have a hat on, too,” she said. “It is getting chilly. Wait a minute.” She went around to the hatchback, lifted it, and pulled out a red knitted watch cap. “We could live out of the back of this thing,” she said. She crouched down and put the cap on Amy’s head. “Now you go with Sean and Miss Bonnie down to the swings, and I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Amy was already helping to secure Sean in the stroller.

“Thanks, Bonnie,” said Maddy.

“No problem,” Bonnie muttered.

Maddy turned and hurried back into the house. Doug was rummaging in the hall closet. “What are you doing?” Maddy cried. “Where are you going?”

“Why don’t you wear your blue jacket?” the chief asked sarcastically.

“He doesn’t have a blue jacket,” Maddy said.

Charles Henson came over to her and took her arm. He spoke quietly but firmly into her ear. “They are investigating that disappearance of the baby-sitter and the little boy. A witness described a man talking to them in the park, and Chief Cameron seems to think this sketch resembles Doug.”

“That could be anybody,” Maddy cried. Through the window she could see Amy’s red hat as she clambered up on a swing across the street. Bonnie sat on a bench under the bare branches of a tree with the stroller beside her.

“Of course it could,” Charles said smoothly.

Doug pulled his dark green jacket out of the closet and put it on.

“Now where are you going?” Maddy cried. She looked at the grim expression on her husband’s face.

“I have to play his little game,” said Doug. “Don’t pay any attention to it. He’s desperate. He’ll try anything.”

Chief Cameron’s face turned red, but he did not respond to the accusation. “Let’s get this show on the road. We’ve got a witness waiting down at the station for a lineup.”

“A lineup?” Maddy cried. “Are you arresting him?”

“Not till after the lineup,” the chief said ominously.

Charles put a soothing hand on Maddy’s arm. “We’re going to cooperate with their investigation, regardless of their motives, and we’ll be back in no time.”

“I’m coming with you,” said Maddy.

“No,” Charles said sternly. “You stay here. I’ll bring him home to you as soon as possible.”

Doug was apologetic. “I’m sorry, honey,” he said. “I hate for you to have to go through this. You’ve had enough to cope with these last few months.”

Maddy reached out and squeezed his hand. “It’s not your fault. I’ll be all right,” she said fiercely. She felt her heart thudding as she watched them go.

The ringing of the phone startled her.

“Mrs. Blake,” said a high, nervous voice.

“Yes.” Maddy steeled herself against the intrusion. She prayed it wasn’t the newspapers again.

“This is Ellen Henson.”

“Oh, hi,” said Maddy, feeling somewhat relieved. “Are you looking for your husband? He just left.”

“Really? No. I just…I read about the accident in the newspaper. Are you all right? Is your family all right?”

Maddy looked out the window at the police cars pulling out of her driveway and gave a shuddering sigh. “I guess so,” she said.

“What about the kitten?” said Ellen.

Maddy frowned, then remembered. “Oh, the kitten. I’m afraid in all the confusion last night, the cat got away. He must have taken off into the woods. Amy was terribly upset about it.”

“Didn’t you find him?”

“Well, it was a chaotic scene,” said Maddy. “My husband was injured…I looked around, but it was dark.”

“He could die out there,” Ellen cried. “He’s only a baby.”

Maddy felt tears well in her eyes. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She had a sudden image of the kitten lost in the woods, his little life suddenly turned upside-down, through no fault of his own. A victim of circumstance. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Ellen said fretfully. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have given him to you. I saw the child and I…I just acted impulsively. You didn’t ask for that cat. I just wanted the child to have it. Why do we do things when we know we shouldn’t?”

“I’m sorry,” Maddy repeated helplessly. “I should have looked harder.”

“Never mind,” Ellen said grimly. “I’m to blame.”

Before Maddy could reply, the phone went dead in her hand.

F
ather Nicholas Rylander reached up and pulled an armload of books off the shelves that lined his living room, packing them into the boxes on the floor. He had three rooms in the parish house—this living room, which looked out over Binney Park, a galley kitchen, and a cell-like bedroom. There wasn’t much left to pack, but it was a dreary chore and he had put it off as long as possible. Every so often he would stop and close his eyes as against the headache that throbbed behind his left eyebrow. It felt as if he had a brutal hangover, even though he hadn’t had a drink. There was grit beneath his eyelids, and the muscles in his neck were tensely coiled. He lifted down a large art book, and it fell open on the desk. Nick stared down at Botticelli’s
Martyrdom of St. Sebastian.
In the painting, the saint looked patiently to heaven as arrows pierced him from every direction. The mortification of the flesh—it was an ideal towards which a priest aspired. It was God’s will. Nick closed the book and rubbed his forehead. Then he he shoved it beside the others in a box. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow you’ll be gone, and far away from here. It couldn’t happen too soon.

He had not been raised to be devout. On the contrary. His parents had fought bitterly and nearly drowned in alcohol. Watching their torturous union had hardened him against the idea of ever marrying. While studying art at a university as far away from them as possible, he had found himself marveling at the inspiration of the artists of the Renaissance. Gradually he had felt drawn to Catholicism: his study had led to faith. The priesthood had seemed a natural extension of that faith.

Now he tried to picture himself back in Canada. The monastery was out in the woods, far removed from the kinds of problems he faced here. He would work on the art restoration and regain control of his life. He would start over and try to make the right choices. Choices that God would want him to make. He would not become confused by lust. Try not to make any more mistakes.

“Nick?” said a soft voice.

It was as if his thoughts had conjured her. Her voice reverberated through him; he felt as if he were falling into a bottomless hole. He hated the adolescent way his senses responded to her presence—sight, smell, and sound. He tried not to imagine touch. He felt his cheeks redden. What made him think he would ever be able to overcome it?

He looked up and saw Maddy Blake holding her daughter by the hand, tapping tentatively on his door. She peered into the gloomy interior of the dark paneled room. He realized that although he could see her, she could not see him. He took the moment to gaze at her. Her dark hair glistened under the dim light of the sconce in the hallway. What would make hair gleam like that? he wondered. Her skin also seemed to glow, despite the dark circles he could see under her eyes. “Nick?” she called again, and her voice tolled inside him.

“In here,” he said. “Come on in.”

Maddy led Amy into the dark room. The walls were lined with bookshelves, most of which were now empty. A silver crucifix was affixed to the dark paneled wall over the fireplace mantel. The room revealed little about the man who occupied it. “Oh, hi. I’m so glad you’re still here. Am I disturbing you?” she asked.

Nick suppressed a bitter smile. She had no idea of how she disturbed him—invaded his prayers, disrupted his dreams. “No,” he said. “Come on in. I’m glad for an excuse to stop. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I can see you’re busy,” she said, fretting. She too looked as if she hadn’t slept, but he doubted it was for the same reason that he had lain awake.

“No, I’m glad you came,” he said. “I’m tired of this job.”

Maddy shrugged helplessly. “I tried your office and the sextant sent me up here.”

“It’s fine,” he said, clearing a half-filled box off the sofa. “Sit down. You too, Amy. You’re both welcome.”

Maddy reached into her large handbag and pulled out a talking book. Amy took it eagerly and began pushing the various buttons. Maddy perched on the edge of the sofa cushion. She shivered and looked around. “Brrr…it’s cold in here.”

“I’m practicing for Canada,” he said with a smile, indicating the gray pullover sweater he was wearing.

“You look like you’re almost done,” she said sadly.

“I’m the world’s slowest man to get organized,” he said. He could tell that his answer did not even register.

Maddy gazed around the room with troubled eyes. “It must feel good to live simply, without a million complications,” she murmured.

He smiled ruefully to himself. “It’s all in how you look at it,” he said. “Maddy, I know you didn’t come here to talk about my moving arrangements. What is it? You said everything was all right last night at the hospital…. Has something happened?”

Maddy shook her head miserably. “Not about that,” she said.

“Then what?”

Maddy stood up and began to pace around the tiny room. “I don’t know why I came here,” she said. “I’m not very religious. I mean, I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m not the most faithful churchgoer.”

Nick put up a hand as if to stop her, but Maddy seemed to be unable to stop. “I’m not here to talk to you as a priest. I guess I need a friend—someone I can trust.”

He blushed and was grateful for the gloom.

“It’s probably just from seeing you last night, and you know, you and I have been working together. On the windows. I feel like you know me. You have things to do and I’m taking up your time. I’m really not entitled to your time.”

Nick leaned forward and tried to catch her eye. “Maddy, stop.”

“In your mind, you’ve probably already left this place behind. I know how that is when you’re leaving a place. The last few days you’re just on automatic pilot.”

“Not about everything,” he said. He wondered at her obtuseness. Was it deliberate? How could she be unaware of the effect she had on him? He reminded himself that she was here for counsel or consolation. No matter what she said, she had picked him because he was a priest, and she could rely on his discretion.

“Maybe it’s because you’re leaving,” she said as if she were thinking aloud. “And I know you’ll go away and take all the terrible things I’m saying with you. And I won’t have to face you after saying them.”

Nick used all his will not to let her see how her remark pained him. “Maddy,” he said, “what has happened since last night? I thought everything was okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

Maddy sighed. “All right,” she said. She took a deep breath. “We took the people who were in the accident home with us, because they had nowhere to stay.”

“How’s the fellow doing who was in the other car?” he asked.