Spring Rain (44 page)

Bill blinked. He’d be twenty when Clay came to town next time. He’d be a man. He’d be in college. He
wouldn’t need a father then. He frowned. Yeah, he would. He remembered how Clay missed his father, and he was twenty-nine! It seemed that if your dad wasn’t there, you always missed him, no matter how old you got.

Did girls miss their dads too, or was that a guy thing? He wasn’t sure since he’d never asked. Mom didn’t miss Pop-pop much, he didn’t think, but Pop-pop wasn’t a good example of a father anyway. He’d have to ask one of the girls at school. He shuddered. He could do it. He was strong. One question wouldn’t contaminate him, at least not too much.

He came to the jetty where he and Clay had sat and talked. His eyes burned, and he swallowed tears at the thought of that special time.

“Go ahead and cry,” Mom always said. “It’s okay. Boys can cry.”

But he knew they couldn’t, especially out in public. What if someone saw you, for Pete’s sake. You’d never live it down.

He climbed out on the first few rocks, and he knew he desperately wanted a dad for always. He wanted to sit on the jetty some more and talk. He wanted to go camping or throw a Frisbee or build more sand castles. He wanted to bury his father in the sand so only his face showed, like Clay and Uncle Ted used to do to Grandpa Will.

He stopped for a minute as a new thought hit him. Did Clay surf? His heart beat fast at the idea of his very own dad teaching him to surf. Not that the waves in Seaside were the greatest, but they’d be just right for learning. He knew it. He and Clay could pick out his board together and find the best wax. He could get one of those ankle things that hooked you to your board so it didn’t float away when you fell. Then when he got good, they could go on a vacation somewhere where there were huge waves. Hawaii maybe, or Australia. He’d seen guys on TV surfing in Australia. Mom could sit on the beach and read while he and Clay had fun.

Don’t be dumb, kid. He’s not staying. Or if he is, they’ll forget all about you. They won’t want some dumb kid around, getting in their lovey-dovey way.

He started to run again, his nerves jumping under his skin.

He couldn’t explain what he felt when his mom and Clay were together. There was a special connection or something between them, and it left him out. He saw it when Mom rushed to Clay
after that Molino man called. He saw it while they were watching TV last night, and Clay made him move so he could sit by Mom. He saw it in the way he carried her just now.

They thought he was mad because Clay carried Mom. That wasn’t it. People carried injured people all the time, and there was no fizz. But Clay and Mom had fizz big time, romantic fizz, and it didn’t include him.

He was going to be just like an orphan. He could see it coming as clear as clear. They’d get closer and closer and closer, and there he’d be, outside on the other side of the screen. At least until Clay left. Then Mom’d let him back in in a hurry. Then she’d need him again.

If only he didn’t know Clay was his father. If only Clay hadn’t come back to Seaside. Things had been fine before. Mom had depended on him then. He was the one who made her laugh. He was the one who scared off the unwanted boyfriends. He was the one who was her company, and he had been all his life.

She didn’t need Clay. All she needed was
him.

He was finally forced to stop running because of the stitch in his side, poking at him like a spear or something. He bent over, hands on his knees, as he pulled in great gasps of air. His lungs ached so much he knew he was going to die.

But that wouldn’t be all bad. He’d just go to heaven and wait for Uncle Ted. It was a cinch he couldn’t go back home, not after that performance in the backyard. Mom was going to kill him for talking to her and Clay that way. Clay probably wanted to strip some skin off too. He sighed. Not that he blamed her. He’d been obnoxious.

He gave a half smile. Maybe he’d make a rock star after all.

When his lungs stopped aching and the pain in his side eased, he kicked sand up in the air as high as he could and watched it fan out and fall, sort of like dry rain. When kicking sand got boring, he started walking back the way he’d come. He realized he wasn’t going to be lucky enough to die. He was going to have to go home and face Mom and Clay.

But what would he say? He couldn’t apologize to Clay. He just couldn’t. Clay was butting in with Mom, and he was just going to leave them again. Bill knew it. How could he say he was sorry when Clay was the bad guy, not him?

He came to the jetty and looked out where Terror had been tied. He still had to swallow hard when he thought of that night. He’d never look at the incoming tide in exactly the same way again. He watched it for a minute, surging even now over the outer rocks.

Well, so what if Clay saved his life then. Big deal. What else could he do? Let him drown in front of Mom? Besides it was his dog Clay was after. Bill just happened to be there too.

His conscience dredged up Clay’s voice yelling, “Drop Terror and run!” just as the really big wave rolled in.

Okay, so maybe Clay saved him on purpose, but that still didn’t excuse him from butting into his and Mom’s lives.

He sat down on the jetty and stared at the roof of Grandma Jule’s house, just visible over the dunes. What in the world was he going to do? How was he going to save Mom? And how was he going to get Clay to be his dad and nothing more?

“Having a bad time of it today, son?”

Bill looked up into the face of a man with glasses that were almost as dirty as his own. The guy had a bald spot covered by long, long hairs combed from one ear to the other. Bill made a promise to himself right that very second that if he ever went bald, he’d never comb his hair like that. What was it about old guys that they thought they were disguising the problem with a haircut like that? And why did they think it looked good? Grandpa Will hadn’t been that dumb, and neither was Dr. Traynor.

“I got a wonderful surprise for you over there,” the man said. “Come see it. I promise it will cheer you up fast.”

Bill stared at the man. Like he was stupid enough to fall for a line like that. “Thanks, but no.”

The man looked very annoyed. He reached out a hand to take Bill’s arm. “Come on. It’ll only take a moment.”

The man’s hand on his arm made Bill’s skin crawl. He took several steps back as his computer brain kicked in recalling Mr. Barnes’s words:
“Little like in not important, though come to think of it, I don’t think he’s too big physically either. Wears glasses. Skinny guy about forty-five with a bald spot he combs his hair over by growing it long on one side and spraying it in place.”

Bill sighed. This guy was all he needed to make the day perfect. “Go away, Mr. Molino. You can’t kidnap me.”

M
R. MOLINO?
He froze and stared at the kid.
How could he know?
“What are you calling me Mr. Molino for? I don’t know who that is.”

“Yeah, right.” Bill looked disgusted. He turned toward the dunes and took the first step toward home.

Worm took a step too and grabbed the kid’s shirt.

“Let go!” Bill said, swiping at Worm’s hand.

The kid was more angry than scared. Worm wanted him scared.

Really scared.

He tightened his grip on the shirt and leaned his face into the kid’s. He wished he knew how to laugh that crazy laugh of Stanley’s. It was enough to scare the starch out of anyone.

Stanley used to do terrible things to him because he couldn’t run fast enough to escape. Stanley’d get something to torture him with—the hedge clippers, Ma’s scissors, her nail file. When he saw Stanley coming and tried to run, Stanley always caught him by tackling him and landing on top of him, crazy laughing the whole time. While he was busy trying to get his breath back, Stanley’d cut his hair or clip his clothes or see how far he could push the file under his fingernails before they bled.

I’m going to be rich, Stanley. I’m going to be rich. And all you are is dead.

“Who says I can’t kidnap you?” Worm grinned evilly and pulled a gun from beneath his shirt. The kid’s eyes widened, and this time Worm saw fear. He didn’t even want to think about what his parole officer would say if he saw the piece. But what he didn’t know …

A thought struck him. What if Leigh-Leigh was really hurt with a broken leg or something and had to go to the hospital? Then he couldn’t get the treasure today.

He had to get it. Sugar was waiting.

With a feeling of great anticipation, he put the muzzle at Bill’s throat.

L
EIGH TURNED TOWARD
the beach, panic written clearly on her face.

“Now don’t jump to conclusions, love,” Clay said. “What can Molino do to Bill on a public beach?”

“An empty public beach.” She raised frantic eyes to him. “No one was there when we left except that man.”

The back door to the house slammed, and they both jumped.

“Hey, Leigh.” Ted, still pale but with some zip to his step, walked toward them with the phone in his hand. He wore his down jacket again, all puffy and warm. “For you.” He held it to her.

She turned a frightened face to Clay.

“It may not be him,” Clay said, but he remembered other phone calls too.

She grabbed the phone. “Hello?”

Clay couldn’t hear the words, but he grabbed her as she swayed.

“But you know I can’t walk,” she said and grimaced at the reply. “Give me a few minutes to get it.” With slumped shoulders she clicked the phone closed.

“What did he say?” Clay demanded.

“We were right. He has Billy.” She looked toward the beach. “I’m to come alone with the treasure. No cops, no brothers, or he’ll hurt Billy. If I cooperate, I can trade the treasure for Billy.”

“What treasure?” Ted asked. “What do you mean, trade it for Bill?”

Leigh looked at Clay. “ ‘Just Leigh-Leigh and the treasure.’ That’s what he said. I have fifteen minutes.”

Clay grunted, glanced at his watch, and hurried along the path through the dunes. He crouched and looked cautiously up and down the beach. When he looked left, he stiffened. He hurried back to Leigh and Ted.

“He’s talking with Bill. I can’t tell from this distance whether he’s holding him against his will or not.”

“What treasure?” Ted asked in a voice several decibels louder than normal. “What do you mean, holding him against his will?”

Clay explained the situation quickly and succinctly.

“But there is no treasure.” Leigh said as he finished. She swallowed against tears of desperation. “I don’t have anything to give him.” She looked at Clay. “Maybe I can get him to step in one of Clooney’s spade holes.”

He loved her and her strong heart at that moment more than he’d ever thought possible. He leaned over and kissed her.

Ted thought for a moment, then grinned. “So you need a treasure?”

“Ted, this isn’t funny,” Leigh protested.

“Wait right here. I have just the thing.” He hurried into the house.

Leigh turned to Clay. Her hands shook and tears filled her eyes.

He pulled her into a hug. “Hang on, love. We’ll get him back.”

She clung to him. “How? Oh, Clay, I couldn’t stand it if something happened to him.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll think of something. One thing’s for sure—we can’t go rushing out there without a plan. We’d put Bill at risk.”

“Oh, God,” she prayed and couldn’t continue. She shuddered.

He tightened his arms about her and picked up where she’d faltered. “Lord, help us come up with a plan. Keep Bill safe. Please, Father. Keep him safe. Help us rescue him from this awful man.”

“Please,” Leigh whispered. She stood still for a moment, resting against him. Then she hopped back a step, stuck out that stubborn chin, and straightened her shoulders. He watched as she beat the panic back. He was filled with pride and an overwhelming
need to protect her and rescue his son.

She turned toward the house, watching for Ted, but she leaned back against Clay. He rested his hands on her shoulders to balance her. It seemed forever before Ted came rushing out, but it was only a few minutes. He carried a small silver coffer about the size of a chest used to hold sterling flatware.

“Grandmom Wharton’s treasure box.” Clay reached to touch its gleaming surface, richly carved with intricate bouquets of roses, irises, and lilies of the valley.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Leigh gasped. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Sterling silver should look like a treasure, shouldn’t it?” Ted asked.

“It was Grandmom and Grandpop’s wedding gift from some rich guy they knew,” Clay explained.

“He must have liked them a lot to give them something this wonderful.” Leigh stared in awe. She traced the petals of a rose and the curve of a ribbon that bound a bouquet.

Ted looked at Clay, eyes gleaming. “Remember how we used to scheme to see what Grandmom had locked in it?”

He nodded. “We never succeeded. Is anything in it now?”

Ted shook his head. “Mom’s been using it as a jewelry box, but I dumped all her things out.” He traced a lily of the valley with an index finger, just as Clay had done. He held it out to Leigh. “Take it.”

“I can’t take that. It’s a family heirloom,” Leigh protested. “What will Julia say?”

“She’d say take it.” Clay laid a hand against Leigh’s cheek. “Bill’s family, her grandson, and incredibly more important than this treasure or any treasure.”

Leigh grabbed first Clay, then Ted, and kissed them both on the cheek. “Thank you, thank you! I love you guys.”

She took the chest carefully from Ted and almost dropped it as its weight threw her fragile balance awry. “It’s heavy.”

“Very,” said Ted as he took it back.

He and Clay looked at each other for several seconds and nodded. “Buster Cassidy,” they said in unison.

“Who’s Buster Cassidy?”

“Some bully who used to pick on us until we fixed his wagon,” Ted said.

“We’ll take Molino the same way,” Clay said. “Ted will go with you to the beach, Leigh. The chest is too heavy for you to carry in your injured condition.”

“I can manage,” she said, even as she knew she couldn’t. “I have to. He said I did.”