“So what
does
it mean?”
“Her body’s mixed up about waking and sleeping. She nods off without warning. That’s why she told me to wait in the hall while she talked with you. She didn’t want you thinking she had a stroke or heart attack and call in paramedics.”
“I feel like I should have done something for her.”
“As long as she’s in a safe place like the couch, she’s fine. She can hurt herself if she falls while standing or climbing stairs. Sometimes, her muscles give out when she’s awake—knees buckling, hands turning weak and dropping things, jaw going slack, speech slurring. These kinds of things scare other people and embarrass her, so she stays pretty close to home. When she does go out, I go with her. That’s mostly why I’m here—as a safeguard for her.”
“You live here, too?”
“Used to, until I remarried this summer. Never thought I’d tie the knot again, but life always throws you a new curve.” Smiling, Jen pointed toward the French doors. “There’s a suite—bedroom and bath—beside the terrace. I lived there for three years. It’s been redone as a guest room, and I guess that’s where you’ll stay if you get the job. Go ahead and have a peek.”
Holly went to the French doors. The property was enclosed all around, with ivy lacing down from the top of a high back wall. Along the terrace’s left side a long room with wide windows flanked an apple-green door. The room fit under the first floor’s deck.
“There’s a private entrance,” Jen called from the kitchen. Holly turned to see her pointing toward the street. “When you come in the ground floor door, you’ll find a side corridor leading directly to the terrace. No need to go through this kitchen.”
“Seems nice here.” Holly perched on a stool by the island.
“It is—for the right person.” Arms crossed, Jen turned to face Holly. “Look, Mrs. S. is a good woman. She runs half a dozen charities for kids, battered women and old people. Gets nothing for it, not even the smiles and hugs. She does work no one else wants to do—haggling over supply prices, twisting arms to get donations, smoothing feathers of diva volunteers, background-checking staff and like that. So,” Jen said pointedly, “if you have anything to hide, don’t think she won’t find out.”
Holly rubbed her lips thoughtfully. Other than speeding tickets, her record was clean. It occurred to her she needed some questions answered, too. “What can you tell me about Olivia?”
“Good kid, more or less, considering the life she’s had. Could use a shot of self-confidence.” Jen turned toward the whistling teapot. “I’ll pour the tea, and then we’ll take it up to Mrs. S. When she asks, remind her of where your conversation broke off.”
Holly and Jen found Mrs. Smallwood awake and talking on her phone. After setting down the tea, Jen left. Holly took her seat in the armchair and tried to give Mrs. Smallwood privacy for her call by gazing into the connected dining room, which was much like the living room—the same marble fireplace and round mirror, a warm-toned rug, graceful table and chairs. Even with her head turned away, Holly could tell all wasn’t well by the number of “Oh, dear!”s and “Are you sure?”s she heard.
Putting down her phone, Mrs. Smallwood told Holly, “That was my son. He has my car, but he won’t be able to drive Olivia home from school.” She sighed, her expression a mixture of worry and exasperation.
“I could walk to the school and escort her home,” Holly said.
“When you haven’t been offered the job yet?”
“Consider it a free trial offer or…or just consider it a favor. Everyone gets in a jam from time to time.” Holly paused to take a deep breath. “I really want this job, but if you decide someone else should have it, I can still do you a favor, no strings attached.”
Mrs. Smallwood gave Holly an appraising look. “That’s very kind of you. The problem is I don’t want Olivia walking home today. The police revealed that this kidnapping was reported by a classmate. Media people are sure to besiege the school. I don’t want them to interview Olivia or mention her name on the news. Even if I send a cab, someone might take her picture, which would help the kidnapper identify her.” She picked up her teacup and stared into it.
The two sat in silence until Holly had an idea. “I may be able to get my hands on some wheels…” she thought out loud as the plan unfolded in her mind, “to whisk Olivia away from school without interviews or pictures. Yeah…yeah! It could work.”
“Tell me how,” Mrs. Smallwood urged.
“Give me a minute. What time is school over?”
“Three ten.”
Holly stood. “I need to make a call. It could be…um, a delicate negotiation, so I’ll step outside.”
On the front stairs, Holly called her younger brother in Portsmouth. Eric would be snoring in his bed at this hour.
“‘S up?” his sleepy voice asked.
“I need your help, Ricky. I’m calling in all the favors you ever owed me, and…and there’s a six of beer in it for you, too. Meet me in Boston on Beacon by the State House at 2:30. Not a minute later. Make sure you and The Rocket look your best.”
“No way! Mom will skin me if I touch The Rocket. That’s worth a
case
of beer, at least.”
“Done—and I’ll take the heat from Mom. Just be here on time, okay?”
Silence. Grumbles. Grudging agreement.
Holly clicked off and did a fist pump. The Rocket was on its way!
Day 3—Monday
Peering down the one-way street, the cab driver said, “Looks like news crews are tying up traffic. Want me to go another way?”
Stealth fingered his knit cap. This was an unexpected setback. Using any other route, they wouldn’t pass the school. “No…no. Keep going.” Publicity was a good thing. Over the weekend, the news was all about the kidnapped state senator’s daughter. It was like no one remembered the others, like no one cared about Stealth anymore.
“Could take a while—and the meter’s running,” the cabbie said.
“‘s okay. See what’s happening.”
As the cab inched toward Sidley, Stealth’s dead twin fidgeted in his head. So many school emblems, Brandon moaned. So many girls.
Shut up about girls! Didn’t you make enough trouble today
? Stealth’s foot still throbbed where the bitch on the subway stomped it.
This isn’t the time to collect emblems. This is recon.
Aw, you’re no fun! When Brandon isn’t having fun, he warned in his maddening, sing-song voice, Stealth gets to do clean-up himself.
Stealth shuddered. It was dangerous to push Brandon too far.
Look, there’s one—no, two!—with white shirts.
School emblems stood out on white.
Stealth turned his head to give Brandon a better view as the girls went by. Stealth felt Brandon sigh, and the crisis passed.
“All right,” Stealth mumbled aloud.
“Didn’t catch that,” the driver said before he shouted, “Oh, man! There’s an old Honda Interceptor! Haven’t seen one of those in years. Looks mint.”
Stealth leaned forward. “What?”
The driver pointed out the windshield. “The bike in front of the school is a classic. I’ve always liked the red-and-silver ones best. Give my right arm for a crotch rocket like that. Maybe the rider’s a celebrity ‘cause the cameraman just aimed at him.”
Now Stealth was interested. With traffic deadlocked, the cab wasn’t moving. He said, “Going outside.” Shoving the door open, Stealth stepped onto pavement, his height making the view over other cars easy.
The motorcycle rider wore full leathers. All in black. Slim, with broad shoulders. Smooth, tight butt. When the rider pulled off his helmet, freeing a mane of glossy, black hair, Stealth’s heart beat faster.
Brandon snickered. Down, boy. We’re doing recon, remember?
Stealth’s fists clenched. A fifteen-year-old in your head could make anyone crazy.
You’re such a shit!
And you’re so much better?
Stealth isn’t a snotty, little kid. Stealth grew up.
Brandon had to have the last word. Just on the outside, bro. Just on the outside.
Stealth gripped the door handle, but movement by the school’s doors caught his eye. People shifted aside when a red-haired woman strode toward the street. A girl wearing a motorcycle helmet scurried after her.
Isn’t that the tall chick who hurt us this morning? Brandon asked.
It was. Stealth stroked his ribs, remembering her hated touch. No one should touch Stealth. Brandon had to stop taking control of Stealth’s hands when Stealth wasn’t concentrating.
The reporters chased the girl in the helmet. Maybe she was the one who saw the last kidnapping—the witness.
She looks important. Worth collecting?
Stealth stroked his chin.
The girl climbed on the motorcycle. The male rider got off, handing his helmet to the redhead. She took over the bike and wove her way through traffic. Stealth saw her face in his mind long after she disappeared from sight.
Day 3—Monday
Soon as she could get away from her grandmother and the new bodyguard, Liv escaped to her room. She brushed dust off Margaret’s painted head, and then smoothed Sarah’s organdy dress. “You have no idea,” she told the six porcelain faces staring at her, “what a day I’ve had!”
Wrinkling her nose at the dolls, Liv sprawled on her frilly bedspread. She nearly heaved when she first saw the room—white canopy bed, daisy wallpaper,
dolls
? Liv wanted to scream, “Are you serious?” until Grandmother hugged her and said, “I’ve always loved this room. I’m so glad you’re here to enjoy it.”
Now, more than a year later, the dolls weren’t so bad. Liv never had dolls, except that one Uncle Mike brought to California, and these were antiques, ugly enough to be cute. She felt sorry for the dolls, sitting there on the stupid, child-sized couch by the fireplace doing nothing all day, so she spoke to them. Today, she told them the headmaster called her to his office the minute she reached school. He asked a zillion questions about Ari’s kidnapping. During a special assembly, he announced another new rule: No one could leave school at lunchtime. Once you reached Sidley, you stayed there.
Between classes, Liv fielded more questions until she felt like her head was spinning. She hid out in the bathroom during lunch period. Then there’d been the exciting motorcycle ride home, but the fun stopped when she learned about her new babysitter-bodyguard. Liv smirked while her grandmother chewed out the bodyguard. “You didn’t say you intended to put my granddaughter on a motorcycle. Those things are dangerous! We need a word, Miss Glasscock. Olivia, you may go to your room.”
The ancient intercom box on Liv’s wall crackled with Mrs. Barnes’ voice. “Liv, you have guests, Madison Fitzgerald and Taylor Alexandros.”
Ohmygod.
Liv jumped off her bed in a panic. Those two could
not
see this little-girl room. She pressed the intercom button. “I’ll be right down.”
Liv had two long flights of stairs to think about what they could want. She’d already told them everything she knew about Ari’s kidnapping. Over the weekend, it seemed like she talked non-stop to her grandmother, to police, to Ari’s parents, to kids from school. Liv felt weary. She couldn’t go through it all again.
“Hey,” Tay said when Liv reached the foyer. “We bring Starbucks.” She held out a paper cup.
“Caramel macchiato,” Maddy added. “My favorite. Hope you like it.”
“Mine, too,” Liv lied. “Thanks.” She checked the living room door, which was still closed. Her grandmother and the bodyguard were in there talking. She wished she could hear them.
Mrs. Barnes asked, “Shall I make you girls some snacks?”
Tay and Maddy shook their heads. “We’re good.”
Mrs. Barnes went downstairs. With her in the kitchen, where could they talk? “Let’s go outside.” Leading the girls along the hall, Liv unlocked the doors to the deck.
Red and yellow leaves clogged the lattice fence shielding the deck from the neighbor’s view. Liv brushed aside leaves littering the table overlooking the terrace, sat, and took a sip of her drink, working hard not to shudder at the too-sweet taste.
She thought how strange it was to see Ari’s friends without Ari. Liv knew how the three talked together. Ari led the conversation; Maddy elaborated on what Ari said while Tay smiled, saying little until the conversation lost direction. That’s when Tay suggested what to do next.
Just now, Maddy shoved her long bangs away from her eyes, hands restless as always, her expression uncertain—an odd look for Maddy. Usually, she bowled people over with her energy. Maybe that’s why she was junior-class president. “So tell us about your plan,” Maddy said.
“Plan?” Liv asked.
“You said on the phone you had an idea.”
Liv scratched her head, trying to recall what she told Maddy. Then it dawned on her: the disk. “Mrs. Kelly came here to see me—to ask me about what happened, you know. She gave me a video Ari was working on. It’s about the difference between Ari’s life and Anne Frank’s. There are pictures of what Ari saw every day—home, the walk to school, people along the way and stuff. Mrs. Kelly hoped I could spot the van that took Ari, or the dog, or the dog’s owner. She thought maybe Ari caught an image of the kidnapper.” Liv shrugged. “Seemed like a long shot, but I didn’t want to disappoint her. I watched the video and thought we should finish it and post it on YouTube. I want people to know Ari, to care about finding her.”
Maddy rocked back in her chair, shutting her eyelids. When she opened them, her eyes were sparkling blue.
Before meeting Maddy, Liv always thought sparkling eyes were just words in romance novels, but when Maddy got excited, light danced in her eyes. “
Great
plan!” Maddy decreed. “We make the best video ever and it goes viral and—wait!” She held her head with both hands. “We’ll make it
for
the kidnapper, talk to him directly about Ari. And then we…uh, we…”
“Talk about Kyle,” Tay put in. “Don’t forget about Kyle.”
Maddy nodded, but she was already onto the next step. “We’ll have a concert—Tay’s brother knows a lead singer in Tripl Thret—to pull in ransom money, and—”
“Hold up a minute,” Liv interrupted. “Do we need to raise money for a ransom? No one on TV mentioned ransom.”