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SEPTEMBER DOWNSHIFTED, tires spinning as she sped away from Body Works. She wanted to curl up and hibernate for oh, about thirty years, and never think about snow or killers or guns—or little boys lost in the snow—ever again. But her hand’s sense memory relived the dull “thwack” made by the dumbbell against Ghost Man’s head. She clenched the steering wheel to still the tremors that rendered her already numb fingers even less effective.
“Think, get your brain in gear, and think.” Blood seeped from the peppered shards of glass down one cheek. Luckily they’d missed her eyes. She drew close to the mirror to pluck a bright splinter from her brow and a hot wet thread tickled down. She palmed it away.
“Find Steven.” Saying it aloud helped focus her blurry thoughts. “Then search the laptop for something, anything that can help.” The computer sat in the passenger’s seat next to Shadow’s stuffed bear toy. She’d wadded April’s bloody clothes and dropped them on the floor of the car. The clothes had to be the reason April hadn’t called the police. September couldn’t risk Ghost Man or anyone else finding the incriminating clothes until Steven was safe. What if the blood was Steven’s? A sinking feeling made her clutch the steering wheel to keep her balance. No, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t think that way.
September pulled out her cell phone, scrolled through the programmed numbers until she found Pam, and dialed. “Please be there, please please please.”
“Hullo, what’s shakin’, September?” The woman laughed. “Lordy, I love this new caller ID thing. How’s the wonder-pup?” September could hear barking in the background.
“Afraid you were in Houston.”
“Naw, the tracking trial isn’t until the end of the month.” The background barks increased. “Heike, Uschi, hush girls. I can’t hear myself think.” The barks calmed and finally stopped. “Sorry about that. I had to bring ‘em inside. I’ve got Bruno in the garage with the two young ones, Uschi’s in the kitchen with her babies, and Heike’s due to whelp in another week. She’s ready to pop, may go at any time.”
Then it would have to be the old-timer, Bruno. The two bitches tracked better, but Pam wouldn’t take them out when they had pups. And the young dogs, littermates of Shadow, barely had their noses wet in tracking. She took a breath. “I’ve got a huge favor to ask, Pam.”
“Sure, what’s up? Eugene’s stuck at that veterinary conference. He finished his lectures yesterday but they grounded all flights so I’m twiddling my thumbs.” She laughed again, a contagious bellow that was surprising from the slight woman. “He’s going to miss our thirtieth anniversary dinner tonight, so I’m treating myself to lobster without him. I imagine he’s hanging out with the other internists debating how to resolve the latest controversy over hot rum toddies.”
September began to see a car here and there on the streets. “I’ve got a tracking challenge for you.”
“Oooh, sounds fun! But in this weather?” Pam made a raspberry with her lips. “The girls won’t like that. You know I can’t risk Heike. And Freda’s pups are two weeks old; I don’t want her away from them.”
“What about Bruno?” Please, please, please, September thought, she had to help. “I wouldn’t ask but it’s a matter of—well, life-and-death sounds dramatic, doesn’t it?” She tried to laugh but it sounded as pathetic as she felt. She was no actress, but the less Pam knew, the safer she’d be, especially with crazies like Ghost Man lurking. “Shadow got out. I tracked him as far as Gentry Park before the snow erased sign.” That, at least, was the truth.
“What? Did that dingbat sister of yours—”
“No, it’s not April’s fault.” September cut off Pam’s angry words. There wasn’t time to explain.
“Bruno’s retired. Besides, he’s certified in human tracking. I’ve never trained a dog to track another dog, have you?”
“He’s got a ninety-four percent find rank. It’s the best shot we’ve got. I collected Shadow’s stuffed toy and a couple of Steven’s dirty socks.” She slowed as a car passed. “A dog can generalize to the target scent. Bruno’s savvy enough to make that leap.”
Pam sighed. “I keep waiting for the punch line. You’re not telling me everything.”
September remained quiet.
“You’ve not spouted a single pun or wise-ass comment. What’s really going on?” She gasped with understanding. “It’s Steven, isn’t it? That’s what this is about if you have his socks. Am I right?”
“Pam, will you please bring out Bruno, give it a try? Please.”
“I get it, say no more. You want to try before going Amber Alert. Maybe you don’t want CPS involved, or you think April’s ex snatched him or something. I don’t need to know, long as you’ve got something for Bruno’s old nose to snort.”
September nearly cried with relief. “Thank you. I owe you big time.”
“Yes, you do.” Pam’s good humor was colored by concern, but she still tried to lighten the mood. “Spring for a bottle of Merlot and we’ll call it even. I’ll expect you to give me all the dirty details when we guzzle that bottle together later tonight. Deal?”
“Deal.” September coasted into the intersection. Traffic lights flashed a yellow caution so she didn’t risk the brake. She could see Doug’s townhouse halfway up the next block.
“I’ll meet you at Gentry Park. It’ll take me at least twenty or thirty minutes to get Bruno ready and slip and slide over to the park. Hopefully we can make it before the light goes. The dark won’t matter to Bruno, but I sort of like to see where I’m going.”
“Pam, you’re a life saver.” Please God, let that be true.
A half hour gave her time to check with Steven’s father. April’s ex sometimes acted like a jerk, but he loved Steven. And if he didn’t have the little boy with him, he deserved to know about Steven’s disappearance.
She drove past Doug’s building. Parking spots were full except for one. The cops would want to talk to Childress if they hadn’t already, and she didn’t want her car to be seen when they showed up. She rounded the block, and parked in the rear next to the dumpster, right below the fire escape in the only available space. By the look of the mounded snow, the other cars hadn’t moved in hours. Only the one next to hers had a semi-clean windshield. She recognized Doug’s white corvette in one of the coveted covered parking spots. Good, he must be home.
Hell, maybe Pottinger was with him. He and April argued about Steven’s treatment, and that’s why she’d ended up helping out with the funding. That’d be luck unchained, to find the boy and the mysterious Pottinger at the same time. Folks said she was born under a lucky star—yeah, right—but this was different than a damn scratch-off game. Or the insurance policy she’d never wanted, or known about, until Chris was killed.
She checked the mirror again. Her swollen face looked lopsided. Blood crusted her forehead. September tugged her hat down, and poked coffee-colored hair beneath out of sight. Careful not to ding the car next to hers, she opened the door to scoop a handful of clean snow and scrubbed away the blood. She gritted her teeth but the numbness relieved the ache. She checked the side mirror and noted the improvement. Her flushed face just looked like a casualty of the weather.
September slogged to the rear entrance of the apartment building, jerked open the common entry, and found the elevator. Doug lived on the top floor five flights up. Thank God the building still allowed unannounced visitors. The mailboxes at the front weren’t marked, so she had a fifty-fifty shot to guess which of the two top apartments he’d chosen.
A wide hallway split the floor in half. The large window at each end of the hall overlooked the dumpster and her car at the back, and office buildings and street at the front side. Doug would stroke out over the dumpster view, so she chose the front apartment, rang the bell and waited.
“Hold on, I’m on the phone.”
September’s jaw tightened. If he eyeballed her through the peephole he might turn her away.
“Doug, it’s me, September.” She buzzed the bell again. “I have to talk to you. Only take a minute.”
The door swung wide, Doug Childress blocking the doorway, cell phone in one hand. Bright blue eyes nailed her from beneath groomed sandy brows. He was a perfect Ken doll to April’s Barbie. “What do you want?”
She peered past him, hoping to see good news, but the living room was empty. No sign of Steven anywhere, even though she knew he got visitation each week.
“I heard you moved back. Sorry for your loss. But hey, at least you’re set for life with the money, eh? Silver lining and all that.”
Her nostrils flared. Yep, he was still an asshole. “Let me in.”
He grudgingly moved aside, and waited for her to enter. “Not much warmer in here. The cold caught everyone by surprise, and it takes time to heat these rooms.”
The living area boasted ten-foot ceilings, decorative columns and floor-to-ceiling windows facing the street. One corner held a desk and laptop, and another a big screen television opposite a hunter green leather sofa and chair group. The marble entry spilled into the kitchen side of the room, divided from the living area by a walnut counter. Hardwood floors covered by sumptuous oriental carpets—real ones, not fake like April’s missing one—gave the room the air of a showroom.
September wasn’t at all surprised. The man had always been as polished as his home, from cashmere sweater to alligator shoes. A decorator’s dream, straight out of a magazine spread and just as real, with no room for sticky hands or imperfect kids. The glamor had dazzled April until Baby Steven’s diagnosis spoiled Doug’s ideal family portrait. April had been trying to retouch the picture ever since, until she finally gave up and cropped him out of the frame.
“What do you want?” He stood at the open door, inference clear.
“Have you heard from April?” September noted the small hallway. Steven might be there.
“Wipe your feet, would you?” Doug closed the front door with an exaggerated sigh. “No, I haven’t heard from April. What’s she done now?” He motioned with the cell phone toward his desk. “Hurry up. I’ve got work to do.”
“When was the last time you saw Steven?”
“Last weekend for my regular visitation. Why?” He switched off the news channel on the widescreen. “What’s this about?”
Maybe Steven was hidden away in a back bedroom. She strode toward the hallway.
Doug blocked her. “Why are you here? What’s with the questions about Steven?” His puzzlement changed to aggravation and she stopped, realizing the boy wasn’t there.
She noticed the laptop on the nearby desk, and took a closer look. No flash drive was in use, but there were several fliers that had to do with autism. She picked up one. “Meeting Dr. Pottinger? Any promotional flash drive to review?”
He stiffened. “Who? What the hell are you talking about?”
He knew the name. His body language told a different story even if he denied it. But what could she gain by challenging him, since Pottinger wasn’t here? Short of knocking him down and searching the premises there was no way to find the flash drive even if it was here.
“Isn’t Steven with April?” At her expression, Doug uncrossed his arms and stepped close. “Isn’t he?”
It had been a wasted trip, ten minutes lost that she could have been searching for Steven at the park. Childress knew nothing about Steven’s disappearance. September crossed to the windows to hide her worry and figure out what to say without further endangering April.
Childress crossed to September in three quick strides, agitation clear. “Answer me. Where is my son?”
The quiet street five floors below suddenly bustled with activity. Two cars, one a black and white, double-parked out front. A uniformed officer got out of the patrol car, and a short man and tall woman in plainclothes emerged from the other.
September whirled and dashed toward the door.
Childress stared out the window. “Why are the police here? It’s about Steven, isn’t it? What’s happened to my boy?”
She rushed back, grabbed his arms, and shook him. “Steven’s fine. I promise.” She looked away, praying he didn’t hear the lie in her voice. “But April’s in danger. You have to help me.” The police would be here any minute.
“Help you do what?” He shook her off. “Where is my son?”
“Stall the police, just long enough that I can get away and reach April.” She squeezed his arm. “Helping April is helping Steven, do you understand? Will you help me?”
She didn’t wait for his assent. He’d either help or he wouldn’t. She dodged out the door and turned toward the elevator and noticed the indicator light showed its slow climb from the first floor. The police were already on their way up. She looked left and right for a way out. There, at the end of the short hall the EXIT sign flashed over the doorway. She bolted. Snatched open the stairwell door. Took two seconds to look back.
Doug watched, his cell phone clutched tight, his face white.
She held the door and tried one last time. “You’ve always been a button-down jerk. For once in your life, don’t worry about how it affects you. Do something for somebody else. Not for me. But if you ever loved April, if you love your son now, trust me.”
“What have you done?” He didn’t bother to hide his dislike.
“Stall the police.” She paused. “Please, Doug. Help me help Steven and my sister.” She didn’t hide her desperation.
He hesitated, and then made up his mind. “Get out of here. Before I change my mind.”
She nodded and dodged through the doorway, loping down the steps three at a time. She banged out the stairwell door into the common area, and skidded to a stop. With studied restraint she strolled out the rear exit when she wanted to race for the car. The snow had slowed but the wind picked up, driving icy needles into her exposed skin. September looked up, fully expecting to see Childress or one of Heartland’s finest watching through the fire escape window.
The snow had crusted the passenger door of her Volvo and sealed it shut. September tugged hard before it sprang open, banging into the adjacent car and jarring snow off the passenger window. Less than a minute had passed since her mad dash down the stairwell. She climbed into the car, hands shaking as she started the engine, backed out, and drove away as fast as the slick roads would allow.
Her phone rang. She took the call without checking the screen. “What?”
“Mark’s jazzed about the corn chowder.” Mom, again. “But he doesn’t have a big enough bowl to serve from. Do you still have that ceramic tureen? Remember, that monstrous thing he made in college throwing clay around, or whatever it’s called, before he got into the glass artsy stuff?” She waited. “September, are you there?” Her voice sharpened. “What’s the matter? Where are you?”
“Just leaving Doug’s place.” Too much information. She immediately wished she could take back the words.
Mom tongue-clucked. “You didn’t invite him to Thanksgiving, did you? April won’t be happy.”
“Forget Thanksgiving for a minute, will you?” She wanted to cry. Mom didn’t have a clue. And she couldn’t tell her.
“Oh honey, I knew it would be too much for you. I’ll bring the oysters, Mark has his corn chowder and April can do the turkey. We’ll do carry-in, it’ll be fun.” The told-you-so remained unspoken but obvious. Mom thrived on being right.
“Stop it. I don’t have time for this. I’ll explain later.” September disconnected, and knew she’d pay for it later. But now it didn’t matter.
Doug didn’t have Steven. He wouldn’t speak about Dr. Pottinger. But for sure he’d talk to the police, now that she’d stirred up his suspicions. “Crap, crap, crap.” She pounded the steering wheel. He wouldn’t be able to stall the cops for long once he realized Steven was gone. She should have listened to April and never gone to him.
April didn’t want the police involved because something bad had happened this morning. Her clothes didn’t get bloody by themselves. Tears spilled down September’s cheeks in two scalding paths. It was the only warmth she’d felt all day.
September wished she knew how to fix this mess. Maybe she should have asked Mom. Rose January always had the right answers, and she’d tell you so herself. She just had to suck it up.
Just meet Pam at Gentry Park, and hope Bruno could lead them to Steven before he froze.
