Once Upon a Day (18 page)

“Maybe tonight,” she said, but she knew it was doubtful. By the time the kids were in bed, one of them, usually Lucy herself, was always too tired.

“If not, there’ll be other naps,” he said, kissing her ear.

“As long as you wear your glasses,” she said, and he smiled and winked at her. Then he and Jimmy got in the silver car, and she watched them head down the driveway and through the gates and disappear.

By eleven-thirty, Dorothea had already had her nap—an hour, but not nearly long enough from Lucy’s point of view—and an early lunch. Lucy had promised her another swimming lesson. When they were both in their matching purple tank suits, they headed out the patio doors to the pool.

Fifteen minutes later, Dorothea was still trying to learn to hold
her breath. She loved the idea of going underwater, but she invariably opened her mouth before she came back up. Lucy tried not to laugh at how silly her little girl looked with her cheeks puffed out as far as they would go.

“Look at me, honey,” she said, and waited a moment. “I was holding my breath just by keeping my mouth closed. That’s all you need to do.”

“Try,” Dorothea said.

“Okay, we’ll try again. Pull down your goggles.”

They were in the shallow end, where Dorothea could stand up if she got scared. Lucy was on her knees. They both stuck their heads in, and this time Dorothea got it. She held her mouth just right and gave Lucy a confident look as if to say,
what was the big deal
?

Lucy was laughing when they came back up. Sometimes Dorothea was so much like her father. “You are the coolest kid in—”

The suddenly flat expression on the little girl’s face stopped Lucy. She turned around to see what Dorothea was looking at and that’s when she saw them. Two men, standing by the deep end of her pool.

Charles had had a lawn care company in last week: pruning bushes, planting a tree to replace one that had died, mulching the flowers. But Lucy immediately understood that these men weren’t gardeners. They were dressed in worn jeans and yellowing T-shirts. The taller one had his hands in his pockets and his shoulders thrown back. The shorter one was smoking a cigarette and staring right at her.

Later, she would find out that the lawn care people didn’t properly close the back gate. An accident, which normally wouldn’t have caused any harm. The neighborhood was hardly a high-crime area. Even the security gates Charles had installed when they moved in were mainly to make him feel calmer about leaving them.

Lucy flashed to a movie she’d seen where someone disappeared through the drain of a swimming pool. If only she and Dorothea could put their heads back under until they disappeared. There was no one to help if she called or yelled her lungs out. Even when she’d
hired a band for Charles’s birthday party—an outdoor party—the nearest neighbors hadn’t heard any noise.

The shorter man walked toward them. “Get out of the pool. Now.”

His voice sounded angry. Why was he angry? What response would calm him down?

She tried to think, but her mind was frozen by the man’s cold gaze. When he finally told her to get out or he would come in after them, she stood Dorothea up on the side and climbed out herself, then she grabbed their pink terry-cloth robes. She put on Dorothea’s, and then belted her own as tightly as it would go.

“Go inside,” the man said. Something was flashing in his hand and she realized what it was. The blade of a knife, reflecting in the sun.

She quickly decided that she and Dorothea would be better off making a run for it. She bent down and picked up her daughter, but before she’d taken one step, the taller man was there, holding her arm, pointing at the patio door. “In,” he said. “Now.”

As she walked into the house, her wet feet made a thwapping sound on the wood floor. Behind her, the short man had already shut the door and locked it; she’d heard the click. The other one had picked up the sunroom phone receiver and was smashing it against the wall.

Dorothea said, “Tewapone,” and started to cry.

“It’s okay, baby,” Lucy whispered, patting her back.

“What’s your name?” The short man was standing in front of her now, holding the knife in one hand, and touching her hair with the other.

“Eleanor,” Lucy said, because it was the first lie she could think of. She and Charles had checked into hotels as Franklin and Eleanor Eveltroos.

Dorothea tried to swat the man away from Lucy’s hair. She was yelling “Daddy” at the top of her lungs.

“My husband will be back any minute,” Lucy tried. “He just went to the store.”

“Sure he will,” the man said, and laughed. He turned to the tall guy. “Check the front door.”

“Here’s the deal, Eleanor. You gonna tell me what I need to know?”

“Yes,” Lucy said. She was trying to keep her voice steady to calm the little girl, who was crying so hard Lucy worried she’d throw up. “Whatever you say.”

“That’s good,” the man said. “Money?”

“Up here,” Lucy said, pointing at the stairs.

They all walked up together to Charles’s office. The tall man whistled. “Nice place you got,” he said, and then laughed like he’d told a joke.

“My husband keeps cash and an extra credit card in the right-hand drawer of the desk. And his checkbook. Take it all.”

The tall one walked over to the desk. The short one stayed right next to Lucy. His big meaty hand was resting on Dorothea’s arm, and she was squirming to get him off.

“Got it,” the tall one said, after he pulled open the drawer. He took the clip off the money and shuffled through it. “Not bad. Two or three grand, looks like. A MasterCard and the checkbook.”

“Screw the checks,” the short one said. He put his lips close to Lucy’s ear. “What else?”

“Jewelry,” she said. “It’s down the hall. In my . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

“Take us there.”

She led them to the master bedroom. When she saw the bed, she thought about this morning, lying there with Dorothea and Charles, and she felt her whole body start shaking as the fear hit her full force.

Dorothea had stopped crying, but she was still whimpering softly. Lucy held her close and repeated “It’s okay,” even though she knew her daughter no longer believed it either.

“The jewelry is in the cedar box. Most of it. There’s more in the middle drawer.”

The tall guy went through it all, pocketing what was small
enough, throwing the rest in a pillowcase he took from the bed. From Charles’s pillow.

“Let me see your hand, Eleanor.”

Lucy held her hand out to the short man. She was trying not to look at him, but she noticed a thick scar that went all the way around his neck.

“Give me the rings,” he said.

Both of them came off easily because her hands were slick with sweat.

“What else?”

“My husband’s car,” she said, thinking: The getaway car. Thinking: Get away. “It’s a black Jaguar. He’s had it for years. It’s an antique, I think it’s very valuable. There’s a newer BMW in the garage too.”

“We’ll take one of them, don’t you worry.” The short man grinned. “But we ain’t leaving yet.”

They told her to go back downstairs. She went, gladly. Anything to get away from the bed. The short man had her sit with Dorothea in the front room on the couch and told the tall guy to watch them.

She could hear the short guy going through the breakfast room and the den, the dining room and screening room and playroom. Picking things up, and then the crash as he broke them, maybe intentionally, maybe because he couldn’t be bothered to put them back.

Each sound left Lucy more terrified.

The tall man was younger than the other. His voice wasn’t as mean. And he seemed to feel a little sorry for Lucy. “If you do what he says, you won’t get hurt, Eleanor.”

“Her name ain’t Eleanor,” the short man said. He was holding their VCR and two of the components of the stereo; a garbage bag stuffed with other things was clutched in his fist. “Her name’s Lucy Dobbins. She’s an actress and her husband is some hotshot director.”

“Wow, no shit. She don’t look like an actress. No offense, Elea—I mean, Lucy.”

The short man put the things down near the table in the front hall. “I saw the posters in that room with the big movie screen.” He looked at Lucy. “Kind of stupid to call yourself Eleanor with all that evidence, ain’t it?”

She nodded weakly.

“I don’t like being lied at. It makes me want to fuck you up.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“We’ll see how sorry you are. Ron, take the kid, man.”

The tall guy came over and peeled Dorothea from Lucy’s arms. The child let out a blood-curdling scream and Lucy screamed too. “No. Please!”

“We ain’t gonna hurt her. We’re gonna stick her in a closet.”

“Oh my God! Why?”

“Why the fuck do you think?” The short man’s voice was really angry now. He was so loud that Dorothea’s screams turned to frightened sobs. “This is what I hate about you rich bitches. You think nobody like me could give a shit about kids. Guess what, lady? I got kids of my own. Four of ’em, one a baby like your little girl here. I ain’t never hurt a kid, and I never will.”

“I believe you. Really.” Lucy was speaking quickly, but she still didn’t understand. “I can tell you wouldn’t hurt my daughter. I just don’t know why she has to go in the closet. She’ll be so scared.”

The short man looked straight at Lucy, but he didn’t say anything. Finally the taller one, the one named Ron, mumbled, “So she won’t see nothin’.”

Lucy felt a sensation like falling even though she hadn’t moved an inch. The room seemed fuzzy. Her own voice seemed to come to her from inside a tunnel. “All right, but please let me put her in the closet myself. I know which one will be safest for a baby.”

The shorter man shrugged. “Rush it along. I ain’t got all day.”

The only closet that Lucy knew had nothing sharp or dangerous was in Dorothea’s own room: Charles had checked it himself when Dorothea went from her crib to her baby bed. Ron went with them, but he let Lucy grab Dorothea’s sippy cup full of water from
the dresser and her fluffy bear from her bed. He also stood back when Lucy asked him to give her a minute with her daughter.

Lucy had placed Dorothea on the closet floor. She was kneeling in the doorway, holding her frantic daughter firmly inside with one hand, and using the other to stroke the little girl’s face.

“Baby, I know you don’t want to do this, but you have to stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I want you to lay down here and hold on to your fluffy bear. If you get thirsty, you’ll have your water. Think of it like a game of hide-and-seek that will last a really long time. You just wait here though, and I’ll come and get you. And if you get scared, you can sing, okay? Sing one of the songs Mommy taught you.”

Lucy pushed back and Ron slammed the door shut before Dorothea could follow. The door had rows of horizontal slats, but Dorothea still started screaming that it was too dark, she was coming out.

There was no way she could get out though. Even if she could jump high enough to reach the knob, Ron had quickly wedged the dresser in front of the door.

“No, Mommy. No game!”

“It’s okay, baby.” Her voice was breaking up; she couldn’t help it. Dorothea was pounding her little fists on the door.

“Diaper!” Dorothea tried, still crying, but also sounding a little proud, like she’d come up with something the adults would have to care about.

Lucy looked at Ron, but he shook his head.

“Your swimsuit is like a diaper too, honey. Don’t worry. And don’t forget, you can sing if you get scared.” Ron pointed to the door, and Lucy walked there, but kept talking to Dorothea. “Mommy loves you. She or Daddy will be back as soon as they can.”

Charles would be home at two. The end of the preschool day, with time to drive back. It had to be twelve-thirty now. So an hour and a half in the closet. Terrible, horrible, but not fatal. No matter what happened to Lucy, Charles would save Dorothea.

As long as they left her in the closet.

Before she walked down the stairs, Lucy turned to Ron, who was really only a teenager, she saw now. He still had acne and peach fuzz on his chin. Just a boy.

She forced her voice to sound friendly. “He has four kids, huh?”

“Yep.”

“See them a lot?”

Ron looked at Lucy. No problem. She was smiling and it was so genuine. She was an actress.

“Every weekend. They’re his weak spot, that’s what Mick says. He calls the moms greedy bitches, but he loves those kids.”

“How about you?” Lucy said brightly.

“None so far. But someday. Find me the right woman and I want—”

The short guy, Mick, yelled, “What the hell is taking so long?”

“Get down the stairs,” Ron said sharply. “Now.”

They walked down the staircase and to the back of the house, where Mick was waiting in the sunroom. He was sprawled in Charles’s favorite leather chair, with his legs spread apart. The knife, Lucy noticed, was still in his hand.

“She stopped crying,” he said, pointing to the wall monitor by the light switch.

Charles had had monitors installed so they could hear the kids’ rooms in every room in the house. Mick must have been listening to Dorothea while he waited. It was true, she’d stopped crying. All they could hear was a soft hiccuping sound.

Tigger came in then, wagging his mangy tail, stretching like he’d just woken up from one of his many naps. Lucy winced when Mick bent down, but he only petted the dog before telling Ron to take him outside.

After a minute, Mick walked up to Lucy and pulled on the belt of her robe until it loosened. “Okay, here’s the deal, lady movie star. You gonna be nice to me, right?”

He was stocky, but his cheeks were hollowed out and scarred
with pit marks. Yet it was the look on his face that made him seem so ugly. The mean expression and the cold green eyes, especially when he looked at Lucy, though she still didn’t understand why.

She took a breath. “I’ll give you our car and our money and anything else you want, but—”

“A kiss.” He lifted the knife and ran the flat side of the blade along the outline of her face. His voice was low. “That’s what I want.”