I told him what I knew about Ron Powers.
Dennis mentioned that he'd met the guy, then reassured me by adding, “Sounds like Powers has a good handle on it, Hannah, but I want you to check on a couple of things.” He paused. “Are you up to this, or do you want me to do it?”
I found myself nodding, which was ridiculous since Dennis couldn't see me over the cell phone. “I can handle it, but I think it might be better if you call Paul's cell. He's at Paradiso right now, and he can put you through directly to Powers. I can't imagine that Powers has let anyone go home just yet.”
“Right.” Dennis hesitated for a moment, and his phone went
beep-beep
in my ear. “Okay, good. I've got Paul's number programmed into my cell.”
“What do you want Paul to do, Dennis?”
“Unless I'm very much mistaken, Anne Arundel County hasn't had a noncustodial kidnapping in years, so I'm not sure they're completely up to speed. Did anyone call the FBI?”
“My God! Should I have? I thought that was the cops' job.”
“Absolutely, it's their job, and I imagine they'll do it, but we should make sure it happens, sooner rather than later. The FBI has the resources to help us find Timmy, and time is generally not on our side in cases like this.”
“Won't Powers feel like we're stepping on his toes if we insist on bringing in the FBI?”
“I don't give a damn about his
feelings
, for Christ's sake, and neither should you. Law enforcement agencies cooperate to the fullest when a missing child is involved.” He drew a long breath. “The first thing we need to do is get information about Timmy up on NCIC. Sorry, that's the National Crime Information Center's missing persons' file.”
Dennis didn't need to explain about NCIC, the database maintained by the FBI to track information about crimes and criminals. My name and vital statistics had been added to that database a year ago when I'd been falsely accused of murder. I hoped the negative information about me had been purged when all charges against me were dismissed, but I knew better. Old data never died. All of it was archived somewhere in that great big CPU in the sky. In addition to my rap sheet, anyone with a computer and Google or Ask.com could see how I felt about libraries, fair use, and other relevant provisions of the Copyright Act of 1976 way back when I worked as records manager at Whitworth and Sullivan.
“I gave Powers a picture of Timmy, and Emily gave him a description, so that NCIC business may already have been done.”
“Good, good. But we should check on that. Where are you now?”
“Waiting at Chloe's school. Then I'll swing over to St. Anne's and collect Jake. After that, I'll stop by their house and pick up a few things so they can spend the night with us.” Until I said the words, I didn't know I already had a plan.
“Good.” Dennis paused. “Look, Hannah, unless they find Timmy right away, things are going to get frantic. Once the word gets out, people will crawl out of the woodwork volunteering to help. The press will show up on Emily's doorstep. They'll camp outside the spa. We're going to need a family spokesman. Do you think Dante is up to it?”
“Frankly, no. I'd do it, but if I'm watching Chloe and Jake⦔ I took a deep, steadying breath. “We should ask Paul.”
“Good idea. I'll suggest it.”
“Oh, Dennis, what am I going to tell the children when they ask me about Timmy?”
“If they ask, you tell them the truth. But keep it simple.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Hang in there, Hannah.” And the line went dead.
The opportunity to tell the truth came sooner than I expected. Chloe came loping down the sidewalk, bent like a Sherpa under the weight of an oversized backpack.
“Grandma!” She wiggled out of her backpack, letting it drop to the sidewalk with a thud. I noticed that Emily had taken the time to braid Chloe's hair into neat French braids that morning. My heart turned over.
Emily
is
a good mother
.
“Can I ride in the front?”
“Of course,” I said, without thinking. Then I remembered the airbag. “But only if we slide your seat
way
back.” I unfastened my seat belt, leaned over the console and eased the passenger seat back as far as it would go. Then I waited until Chloe had hoisted her backpack into the car, crawled onto the seat, and we both buckled ourselves in before shifting into gear.
“Where's Mommy?” she asked as I pulled away from the curb.
“Your mama's really busy at the spa,” I answered, “so she asked me to come get you. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” Chloe folded her hands primly in her lap. “K-E-W-L,” she added.
I flipped up my turn signal. “Kewl?” I pronounced the word. “Oh, I see! Cool!”
Chloe's head bobbed up and down. “Kewl.”
“I hope that wasn't on your spelling test this week, Chloe.”
“You're silly, Grandma. I know how to spell. I get A's on my spelling tests. N-B-D.”
I turned right onto Arundel on the Bay road. “What's N-B-D?”
“No big deal.”
“I see. Where did you learn that, Chloe?”
“It's computer talk.”
“Do you do your homework on the computer?” I asked, thinking that the world was far too serious a place if six-and-a-half-year-olds were required to know Word and PowerPoint to produce their book reports.
“Sometimes. I like games, too.”
“What games do you play on the computer?”
“I like Zoboomafoo. Harry Potter's cool, too.”
I thought a website featuring Harry Potter and his gang might be a little too advanced for a child Chloe's age, but after further conversation, it turned out that the website's main attraction was Hedwig, Harry's snowy owl that whoo-whooed through a clever opening sequence.
“Sometimes after school I get to play games at Sammy's house,” Chloe said seriously. “That's funner, because Sammy doesn't have P-O-S.”
P-O-S? I considered the possibilities. Point of sale? Pepsi on sofa? Pigs on steroids?
“Okay, I give up. What's P-O-S?”
Chloe's shoulders shot up, nearly touching her ears. “Dunno.”
I made a mental note to ask Emily about this Sammy person, but not just that minute. Emily had far more important things on her mind.
“Is Sammy a boy or a girl?” I asked, trying to distract my granddaughter, who had turned on the radio and begun punching buttons, changing the station from classical to all news to country and back to classical again.
“Sammy's mother calls her Samantha,” Chloe said, punching another button, tuning into WETA just as the news on the half hour began.
“Anne Arundel County Police are asking the public's help in finding a young Annapolis boy who was abducted fromâ”
I slammed my thumb down on the power button, and the radio fell silent.
Oh God, it's for real
. Riding in the car with Chloe, chatting with her about mundane things like spelling tests and computer games, I could almost convince myself that Timmy's kidnapping had never occurred. Hearing those words tumble so matter-of-factly out of my car radio turned the knot in my stomach to stone. Timmy was really gone.
“Samantha is a nice name,” I stammered, gripping the steering wheel tightly, trying to keep my hands from shaking and the car squarely on the road as I rounded the curve at Old Annapolis Neck Road. A few seconds later I turned into the drive at St. Anne's School and slotted the car into a parking spot. I rested my forehead on the steering wheel for a moment, breathing deeply, feeling as exhausted as if I'd just completed an obstacle course.
“You tired, Grandma?”
Without lifting my head, I studied Chloe sideways. “A little bit, pumpkin. C'mon, let's go get your brother.”
Officially, Jake attended school from eight-fifteen to noon, but until Puddle Ducks opened for good, he'd been taking part in Afternoon Enrichment, followed by Extended Care, which allowed Emily the flexibility to leave him there until six if necessary.
I checked in at the office to let someone know I had arrived, then went to track down Jake. We found him in a classroom with four other children, working seriously on a drawing with a fat brown crayon.
“What's that?” I asked, studying the amorphous brown blob taking shape on his paper.
Jake exchanged the brown crayon for a black one and drew a small black circle within the brown blob. “It's Coco.”
I squinted at the masterpiece. “Right,” I said, more to myself than to Jake, who was now adding the dog's lolling, red tongue to his drawing. “I'd forgotten about Coco.”
The teacher helped Jake slide the drawing into his book bag, and located his sweater. “See you tomorrow, Jake.”
I managed an anemic grin. “Come on, guys and gals. We're going to pick up Coco, and your pjs, and we'll all have a slumber party at Grandma's house. Anybody up for pizza?”
“Pizza! Yay!” shouted Chloe.
“Pizza!” echoed Jake.
Skipping down the hall with the children, thinking about pizza, did nothing to lighten my spirits. In three years, Timmy would be old enough to attend St. Anne's Day School.
Would I ever get to skip down the hall with Timmy?
Chloe tugged on my sleeve. “No pepperoni, Grandma.”
I blinked back tears.
Would Timmy's kidnapper give him the chance to grow up and hate pepperoni, too?
I smiled down at Chloe, my heart nearly breaking. “No pepperoni, I promise.”
I was so proud of myself. I stayed cheerful and
grandma-lovey all evening. I didn't even cry when we watched
Finding Nemo
for the umpteenth time. By the time we went to bed, I still hadn't needed to tell the children about Timmy.
Tuesday morning I staggered out of bed, let Coco out to do her business in the yard, stumbled through breakfast, and supervised the children's face washing and tooth brushing while gulping down copious amounts of strong black coffee. I usually spiked my coffee with half and half, but I didn't want to dilute the caffeine that I was counting on to jump-start me out of a semicoma so I could drive the kids to school without running the car off the road. Paul would have helped, of course, but earlier, after hugs all around, he'd hurried off to the Academy to make arrangements for someone to take his classes. He promised to meet me back at Spa Paradiso as soon as he could get away.
At St. Anne's Day School, after Chloe and I escorted Jake to his classroom, we stopped by the office, where I intended to explain about Timmy. As it turned out, no explanation was necessary. The school secretary, normally a relentlessly cheerful sort, wore such a long face that I could tell she already knew.
“Is there any news this morning?” she asked.
Struggling for control of my emotions, I shook my head.
“Chloe? Do you want to sit down for a minute?” I directed my granddaughter to one of two chairs arranged at right angles to an end table in a nearby corner. “Do you have a library book in your backpack?”
Chloe nodded, her ponytails bobbing. I was never any good at French braids, a failing that had marked me as a Bad Mother when Emily was going through the Terrible Twelves.
“Why don't you get out your book and read it while I go to that little room on the other side of the desk and talk to the principal. Okay?”
I left Chloe pawing through her backpack. When I returned five minutes later, though, she wasn't reading a book. She was out of her chair, kneeling on the floor in front of the end table where a copy of the Baltimore
Sun
lay open. Timmy's picture was on the front page.
“That's Timmy, Grandmother!” Chloe said, looking up from the paper with excitement dancing in her eyes.
“I know.”
“Is Timmy famous?”
I sat down in the chair next to her, my heart pounding. “Yes he is, Chloe.”
Any doubts I had about whether Chloe had actually read the article vanished when she asked, “Grandma, what does âabducted' mean?”
“Abducted means stolen.”
Chloe's pale eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. “Somebody
stole
Timmy?”
“I'm afraid so, Chloe. But, your mommy and daddy, and your granddaddy and I, are trying very hard to find Timmy and bring him back home.”
“My mommy says that stealing is very bad.”
“Your mommy's right. That's why the police are helping us find the person who took your little brother away.”
Chloe hung her head, then studied me sideways through her eyelashes. “I stole a candy bar once at the grocery store. Daddy made me take it back and say sorry.”
“And the police are going to make the person who took Timmy bring him back and say sorry, too.”
Chloe's worried frown vanished. “I'm gonna tell about Timmy at Show and Tell!”