Through the Darkness (6 page)

Roger Haberman was next. Now, that was interesting. The only Roger I knew was married to our priest, Evangeline Haberman. I checked the heading for an address, and saw that Roger lived on Monterey, the same street in West Annapolis as the parsonage. According to his experience block, before their move to Annapolis from California, Roger had been a CPA but was now working as a bookkeeper at Eastport Yacht Sales. Eva's Roger all right.

None of the applications included photographs, but I'd been introduced to Roger when Eva got the call to St. Cat's, and I'd caught glimpses of him at the party, looking stiff and uncomfortable in a rented tux. I remembered Roger as about five-foot-ten, handsome in a rugged, outdoorsy sort of way, with dark wavy hair, combed straight back. We hardly ever saw him at church—Eva often joked that her husband was a Methodist. Roger'd popped into a vestry meeting once, whispered quietly into his wife's ear, then just as quickly popped back out again. His infrequent appearances at St. Cat's gave new definition to the term “low profile.”

I checked Roger's salary at Eastport. No wonder he was looking for a new job. For someone with his experience, which included an MBA from Boston University, Eastport Yacht Sales was paying peanuts. Clearly Eva was the breadwinner in the family.

Feeling confident that Dante had at least two viable candidates to interview that afternoon, and lulled by the lyrical strains of a Mozart symphony wafting down from the speaker over my head, I leaned back in the lounger and closed my eyes.

I was hovering on the fringes of sleep when somebody bumped my chair.

“Sorry, ma'am. I was just collecting your mug.”

“That's okay,” I said dreamily, looking up at the young man and trying to focus. “Is that a menu?” I asked, pointing to the gold-embossed, green leather-bound folder under his arm.

“Right. I'm Steve. What can I get you?” he asked, handing it to me.

I took a few moments to drool over a list of delicious-sounding selections. Although sorely tempted by the Fruited Chicken Curry Pita and the Turkey Wraps with Apples and Cabbage, I finally ordered a sensible pear salad, and asked that it be delivered to the office.

Back in the office, somewhat reluctantly, I had just started opening envelopes, scanning résumés, and sorting them into piles by job title when Alison popped in carrying my salad on a tray, along with a side of Parmesan Pita Crisps and something aggressively orange in a tall glass. “Was just on my way to the gift shop, so François asked me to deliver this,” she said, setting the tray down on the desk.

“What's that?” I asked, pointing to the glass.

“Papaya drink,” she told me. “That was my idea.”

The drink turned out to be heavenly, and the salad—a confection of Anjou pear with arugula, bleu cheese, and cinnamon-roasted pecans—equally divine. I was noisily sucking the last of the payaya drink up through a straw when Emily poked her head into the room.

“Mom, is Timothy with you?”

“No. I thought he was in the nursery.”

“Have you seen Alison?”

“She just left. She brought me a salad, then said she was going to the gift shop. Wait a minute.” I picked up the phone and dialed the two digit extension for the gift shop. Alison picked up. “Alison, you don't happen to have Tim with you, do you?”

“Sorry, no.” Alison paused to speak to a customer. “That'll be ninety-eight fifty, Mrs. Lewis.” I heard electronic beeps as Alison ran the purchase through the credit card machine. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

“I'll let you know,” I said, hanging up the telephone. I looked at Emily and shook my head.

“Could he be with Dad?”

“I doubt it.” My stomach lurched. Something was terribly wrong. “Your father's with one of the new girls, getting a massage and a facial. How about Dante?”

Emily grabbed onto the door frame for support. “No, I checked the conference room first. He's still talking to that woman from
Shape
.” Suddenly, she slumped over, resting her hands on her knees, and began to sob. “Oh my God, oh my God, I left Tim alone in the nursery for just a minute. He was napping in his playpen. I came back, and he's gone!”

I took a deep breath, struggling to stay calm. Somebody had to, because my daughter was coming unglued. “C'mon.” I grabbed Emily's hand. “Let's look again.”

Emily and I tore down the hall and burst through the doors of the day care center. Never had the room looked so vast and so empty. Tim's playpen sat where it always had, but except for Lamby and a half-consumed formula bottle of orange juice, nothing. Our little boy was gone.

“Do you think Tim learned to climb out of the playpen?” I panted. “Kids can surprise you. Maybe he climbed out and crawled away?” Even I knew I was grasping at straws.

Emily shook her head miserably. “I've checked everywhere. The bookshelves, the closet, the toy box, under the slide. I was only gone for two minutes, Mother, I swear!”

“Where the hell did you go, Emily? The restroom?”

The creases deepened on Emily's brow. “God, noooooh! Somebody called from the office and told me that Dante needed me out on the loading dock to sign for some exercise bikes. Tim was sleeping so soundly, I didn't want to disturb him, so I ran out to the loading dock, but by the time I got out there, the truck was gone. Two minutes!” she wailed. “Where could a baby have got to in two minutes?”

I helped Emily into a chair, then checked the French doors that led to the patio. They were firmly closed. If Tim
had
managed to escape his playpen and crawl away, he hadn't left the nursery that way.

The only other door led into the main hallway. I looked at Emily and we both had the same thought. “The swimming pool!” I yelled.

Emily knocked over her chair in her rush to get out of the room. When I caught up with her, she was standing at the edge of the pool, staring into the water. Except for gentle ripples generated by two women swimming lazy laps, the water was crystal clear. No floundering child. No small, lifeless form lying on the bottom.

Emily was crying now, big heaving sobs. “What kind of a mother am I? How could I have been so stupid?”

Close to tears myself, my heart pounding in my ears so loudly I could barely think, I tried to sort it out. Emily'd left Tim alone for two minutes, maybe three. Add the time to find me, call Alison, and search the day care center, another five minutes, tops. If somebody'd snatched little Tim, they might still be in the building.

So I did the only sensible thing.

I pulled the fire alarm.

The state of Maryland can fine you up to five thousand
dollars for calling in a false alarm, but it was a price I'd gladly pay if it helped find Timmy.

The clock was ticking for my grandson, so I didn't waste a moment waiting for the fire brigade. With the klaxon relentlessly hooting, I grabbed Emily's hand and raced from the day care center into the reception area, where, like some deranged Pied Piper, I picked up Heather, then hurried across the lobby to the gift shop where Alison was frantically closing up.

“Forget that,” I said. “There's no fire. Timmy's missing!” I snatched the cash drawer from under Alison's arm and tucked it beneath a pile of fleece hoodies that had been arranged for sale on a nearby display table. “Alison, I need you to go out to the parking lot. Grab everyone coming out the exits from the kitchen and the fitness suite. Herd them together and keep them in the parking lot until … well, I don't know until when, just do it! And when Norman Salterelli shows up,” I called after Alison's departing back, “tell him to get down the drive to the main gate and don't let anybody leave until I say so!”

I turned to Heather. “You do the same thing on the patio for the folks coming out of the swimming pool exits, okay?”

“Right!” Heather turned smartly on the toes of her brand new athletic shoes and chugged out of the shop. On her way, she laid a hand on Emily's shoulder. “We'll find Tim, don't you worry.”

Emily wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, bobbed her head, and forced a smile. “Thank you.”

After Heather left, heading into the Natatorium against the flow of people hustling in the opposite direction, I gathered Emily into my arms. “We will find him, Em. I promise.” Still holding my daughter by the shoulders, I stepped back and looked deeply into her troubled, red-rimmed eyes. “But you need to be strong. Not only for Timmy's sake, but also for Chloe and Jake.”

Under my hands, Emily shivered. “Chloe and Jake! I almost forgot! I have to pick them up from school at three!”

On the wall over Emily's head the hands of a brass ship's bell clock pointed to 1:25. Paul and I had picked it out at the Midshipmen's Store as our “housewarming” present for the spa. Then, I had thought it was beautiful. Now the clock ticked at me accusingly, each tick reminding me that another second had passed, and Tim was still missing.

A tendril of hair had escaped from Emily's braid and was plastered damply to her cheek. I smoothed it back gently. “Don't worry about the children, honey. We have plenty of time. I'll take care of them,” I said, not having the slightest idea how that would be accomplished, but reasonably certain that the school wouldn't chuck my grandkids out on the street if Emily didn't show up at three on the dot. “Now, come with me.”

A few seconds later I stationed myself just outside the main doors of Paradiso. As clients streamed out the door—dripping wet from the pool, or sweating from exercise, some still tying their robes around them—I scanned each face, looking for a sign, but I saw nothing but confusion, fear, and panic that mirrored our own.

“Yes, yes, everything's fine,” I shouted over the deafening sound of the klaxon, all the time wondering,
Where the hell is Paul?
“Yes, the firemen are on their way. Please, move on. We're to assemble in the garden.”

At some point Emily left my side and began grabbing at shirtsleeves, tugging at robes, her eyes wide with panic. “My son is missing! Has anyone seen a ten-month-old boy?”

The sad shake of a head. “No.”

A concerned smile. “I'm so sorry.”

While the crowd in the garden grew.

I had no idea there had been so many people in the building. François, Jimmy, and the kitchen staff would be out back, of course, but Wally and his two shampoo girls, the bikini wax specialist, a half-dozen guides, the guy who'd been introduced to me as Julio the Pilates instructor, and three massage therapists including Garnelle, were already congregating in and around the gazebo, reassuring clients and awaiting instructions.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, the familiar voice of my husband in my ear. “Hannah. What's going on? I don't smell any smoke.”

An elderly woman stumbled as she stepped over the threshold. I grabbed her elbow, steadying her, then directed her to the gazebo before turning to face Paul. “There isn't any fire,” I said. “Tim—” I choked on my grandson's name.

Paul's dark chocolate eyes searched mine for clues. Until he wiped my tears gently away with his thumb, I didn't realize I had been crying. “What, Hannah? What about Tim?”

“He's missing, Paul. We think someone snatched him from the nursery.”

Paul sucked air noisily through his teeth. “Are you sure?”

“Would I have pulled the fire alarm if I wasn't?”

“My God, Hannah.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me to him. I turned, buried my face in his chest, and began to sob.
Paul's here now. He'll take this burden away. Everything will be fine
.

“Where's the goddamn fire?”

I raised my head, focusing through my tears on my son-in-law as he stood in the doorway, pointing the business end of a large red fire extinguisher in our direction.

Paul grabbed his arm. “Put the extinguisher down, Dante, you won't need it. Hannah pulled the alarm. Tim is missing.”

“What?” Dante gasped as if he'd been struck in the stomach. “Where's Emily?”

I nodded to my right, where Emily was leaning against a pillar, her head bowed.

Dante cast the fire extinguisher aside and yelled, “Emily, what the hell?”

Emily looked up miserably, tears streaming down her cheeks, too choked up to say anything. I answered for her. “When Emily went to sign for the exercise bikes like you asked, Tim disappeared.”

“What do you mean, he disappeared?”

“He was napping in his playpen. Five minutes later, he wasn't.”

In four long strides Dante crossed the veranda. Before I could intervene, he grabbed Emily by the upper arms with both hands and started shaking her. “You left Tim alone? You stupid
bitch!
How could you do that?”

Emily threw back her head and wailed like a lost soul. Her cries cut through me like a hot knife.
My child is in pain
.

Paul, too, was struggling for control. He had been hugging me so tightly I could barely breathe, but Dante's outburst seemed to galvanize him, because he suddenly released me, crossed the porch, clapped a firm hand on Dante's shoulder and snarled under his breath, “This is your spa; you are in charge here. Now act like it!”