Vanished (21 page)

UPCAKES AND SOFT DRINKS HAD SEEMED LIKE A
brilliant PR move.

Alexis's generous offer of food and drinks was based
on the expectation that the authorities would be rolling in
within an hour or so after the blast. People would be sent home
warm and fuzzy because Donnelly's had made them welcome.

No one had come.

In the hours since the explosion, a couple hundred people
had clustered in her parking lot.

Alexis was a pragmatist. She didn't worry about why aid hadn't
yet arrived. Her concern was what to do next. If night came and
help still hadn't, she would be stuck with all these people.

Turning on the lights in the parking lot would suck up a
tremendous amount of diesel. The way things were going, it
might be days before power was restored. She had fifty thousand dollars' worth of meat inventory to keep cool.

But if Alexis didn't light up the lot, all these people would
expect to be let into the store. That would be a complete disaster.
She didn't mind having the kids in here. Kate, Jenny, and Tripp
had been very helpful. The baby had been no trouble.

But strangers? No way. At the very least they'd chew through
inventory. At the worst, some thug with a gun would sneak in
with them, hold someone hostage, and demand Alexis give
them money and beer.

She had to make these people go away, but how? It wasn't
like she could just tell them to leave. It would be disastrous
PR if she did.

Sergeant Logan's informational meeting at two o'clock was
the key. As was Alexis's computer and photocopier.

Alexis peered through the grates. Teens in gang gear hung
out at the food table, chatting up jenny and Kate. She needed
to get those two inside before they fell for that bad-boy routine.
She'd do that after she put her plan into place.

She sat at her desk, fired up her computer. The lights came on,
but the blasted thing wouldn't boot. The photocopier powered
up, but stared at her with a blank screen.

OK, so she'd do this the old-fashioned way. Alexis counted
out the marquee letters and numbers, arranging them in order
before going outside.

"Miz Latham?" Tripp called from the sales floor.

She slid open the window and looked down at him. "All
done?"

He grinned. "Yep. People really like this. What we're doing."

"How about you?"

"Never did anything like this before. It's rad, man. Totally.
So Miz L, whassup with the bomb? Out there they're saying it's
the trains the terrorists were after. But the people that made the
trains said nothing could touch 'em."

Sad that the kid hadn't comprehended what had been obvious
from the first window-shattering boom. "Of course it was the
trains. What else in Barcester is there that matters?"

Tripp's eyes held a startling sadness. "We count for something. Don't we, Miz L?"

She wanted to grab Tripp and hold on, promising to take
care of him because he didn't have the sense to take care of
himself.

"You count for a lot, Tripp."

"Anything else you want me to do?"

"Can you get me the big ladder from out back? It's inside the
loading dock. Meet me in the front of the store."

Two minutes later, she and Tripp went out to the parking
lot. Those tough boys were still hanging at the food table. Let
them have their five minutes of fun-once Alexis got this job
done, she'd bring the girls back into the store with her and
lock down.

She was partway up the ladder when Tripp said, "Can I do
that, Miz Latham?"

"Sure."

He climbed up, took down all the letters proclaiming this
week's specials. That big discount Alexis had gotten on fresh
halibut this week seemed rather ridiculous right about now.
When he had cleared the marquee, she passed the letters up
one at a time. One side done, they moved the ladder and loaded
up the other side of the marquee. The sign read:

INFORMATIONAL MEETING 2:00 P.M.

GRACE COMMUNITY CHURCH

REGISTRATION OPENS AT 1:45 P.M.

Sure enough, it took less than a minute for someone to ask
her: "What does that mean-registration?"

"The authorities want to register people who are around so
they can let family members know who is where. Try to figure
out who was injured or... " Alexis shrugged, unable to continue.
The registration might be a little white lie, but the pain she felt
for those who had been injured or killed was genuine.

No time to cry though. Too much work to do. Life going on
was the only rational response to irrational terror.

People read the sign, peered up the block. Some put their
paper cups in the trash-thank you-and headed for Grace.

Alexis would leave the remainder of the cupcakes and drinks
on the table. Time to button down and wait it out. She'd keep Jenny, Kate, and Tripp under her watchful eye. And the baby,
of course. Help would come this afternoon, she'd replace her
windows tonight, and tomorrow morning she'd open the store
for business.

"Kate, Jenny. Let's go."

A muscular kid with a parade of gold hoops along his left ear
grabbed Kate's arm. "Hey, come on. Hang awhile."

Kate glanced at Alexis. "I haven't had my break yet."

"Inside, Katherine."

"Sorry," Kate said to Hoops, trying to pull away.

"No one's working today," he said. "Chill with us."

Another boy-wearing a red hoodie-took Kate's other arm.
"We could have us some fun."

Alexis unlocked the grate, shoved Jenny inside. "You too,
Tripp."

"Miz Latham, you might need me out here."

Two hundred fifty pounds of little boy-trying to be a man.
Alexis couldn't take that away from him. What was left of the
crowd was silent, watching the drama unfold.

She turned back to the toughs. "Off my property. Now!"

A third kid grabbed Kate from behind. "Fun's just startin'."

Kate shivered with what must be the dawning realization that
she'd made a terrible mistake in flirting with these guys.

Alexis pushed open her coat and rested her hand on the
handle of her gun. "Get your hands off her."

Hoops laughed. "Right. An old witch like you is gonna be
strappin'."
"

"I'll count to three and then I'll shoot."

"Let me have it, mama. One. Two."

I mean it."

"Three, witch. Flippin' three."

Alexis shot him in the foot.

Hoops screamed, fell onto his backside. His friends took off
at a dead run. Tripp grabbed Kate, hustled her into the store.

"Get off my property," Alexis said. "Before I shoot you somewhere you'll regret for the rest of your life."

"I can't walk," he cried. "I need an ambulance. And the cops.
I'm gonna sue you so hard, you won't know what hit you."

"Then I guess I'll make it worth your while." Alexis leveled
the gun at his crotch, willing her hands to hold steady.

Hoops hopped away, cursing and moaning.

"Good for you!" someone called out.

She bowed her head. Not good, not good at all. Just something that had to be done. She composed herself, looked at
the crowd.

"Sergeant Logan wants people to head up to Grace Community Church so he can get some notion as to who needs help.
We'll send you along with a drink and a treat, compliments of
Donnelly's. By tomorrow..."

Alexis scanned the faces, trying not to blush at all this
attention. She raised her arm in the air, surprised herself by
making a fist.

"By tomorrow, the United States of America will have
wreaked havoc on whoever did this to us. And by tomorrow,
Donnelly's Supermarket will be back open for business."

A huge cheer went up. Someone in the crowd started singing
"God Bless America."

Alexis joined in, finally letting her tears flow.

OGAN CUT OVER A BLOCK SO HE COULD SNEAK UP TO
the back of Kaya's house. Pappas would go in the front
way, but only after he got the signal. They had tested
the range on the walkie-talkies again to make sure communication was firm.

The backyard was overgrown with weeds and untrimmed
bushes. Good cover for Logan and good cover for a killer.
Poor kid was on the run from the bomber, but what about
that scum Stone? Unstable meth head like him could create
even more havoc.

Logan took his time working his way onto the porch.
Standing to the side of the door, he jiggled the knob.

Locked.

He knocked forcefully. "Ben. It's Sergeant Logan. We need
to talk."

Nothing. He pressed his ear to the door, hoping to hear footsteps, a voice, a door slamming.

"I need your help. Could you open the door, please?"

Nothing.

"We know about the other bomb. But we don't know where
it is. Please."

The deadlock clicked.

Logan clicked on the walkie-talkie. "Pappas, he's letting me
in. Stand down. I repeat, stand down."

A burst of static, then, "Copy that."

A boy with shaggy hair and anxious eyes peered through a
crack in the door. "Is my mother all right?"

"She's awesome, Ben. Working for us down at Grace Church,
caring for the injured." Logan pressed his palm against the
door. The kid still had the chain on. "Can I come in? We need
to talk."

"You sure she's all right?"

"She's fine. I have a guard for her to keep her safe." Stupidwhy did he say that?

The boy drew back, a wounded animal crouching in shadow.
"Why does she need a guard?"

A man could only be so many places at once, Logan thought,
but guilt still ate at him. Despite his promise to Kaya, they
hadn't been over to the clinic. Hopefully neighbors would do
the decent thing and cover Sarah Nolan's body.

Too many kids dying today.

"Was it the bomber?" Ben said. "Did he go after her?"

"No, no. There was an incident at the clinic this morning.
But your mom's safe. And she's helping all of us right now. Like
I'm asking you to do."

"You're not here to bust me?"

"Just to talk, Ben."

"I didn't mean for this to happen. Any of it. The bomb.
Cannon. Jasmine and me didn't know what was in the backpack until right before I called you. I tried to do the right thing,
keep trying, but I keep messing it up."

"I believe you, son. Please, can I come in?"

Ben slipped the chain and opened the door. Logan stepped
into the kitchen, glanced about to get his bearings. The shades
were pulled, casting everything in gloom.

"Are you alone in here?"

"I don't know. I just came in and then kinda froze. Trying
to figure out if I was safer inside the house or outside. I knew I should look for Mom in here in case something happened,
but ... I'm sorry."

"No, it's OK, Ben. And your mother is OK."

Logan took in the scene. Too many places to hide in here.
Boxes were piled everywhere. A mattress and box spring
leaned against the stove. An oak armoire blocked the door
to the dining room. The air was hot, stale. Logan smelled old
coffee in the pot on the counter. Salty fear radiated off the kid,
his breath raspy and shallow.

He'd get Ben calmed down and get him out of here.

There was a whisper of a footfall in the hall.

Logan knocked Ben to the floor. Bullets tore through the
boxes, raining down scorched cardboard.

He rolled with the boy to take cover behind the armoire.
More bullets, feeling the concussions before hearing them, ears
already battered, making it hard to hear Pappas yelling from
somewhere outside.

Logan whispered into the walkie-talkie. "Where are you? I
don't want to fire if you're in line."

"Still on the front porch. Let me creep up on this skell. Wait,
watch the-"

Bullets peppered the walls, shattering windows. Got to get
out of here, but the back door was in a direct line with the hall.
Too exposed.

The back stairs then. Sneak into the cellar, come out through
the back. The rhododendrons were overgrown, might provide
enough cover to sneak Ben away from the house.