When Elena reached the bottom of the staircase, Doctor Montalvo was speaking from the platform. His gaze rested on her for a moment and then he smiled widely and gestured toward the musicians. When Elena reached the bottom of the staircase, Doctor Montalvo was speaking from the platform. His gaze rested on her for a moment and then he smiled widely and gestured toward the musicians.
“The dance music will go on until two. At midnight, for the young and the vigorous, there will be a dance contest. And after the music stops, we’ll share a Mexican tradition, menudo. For those whose taste is not yet attuned to our strength-giving broth, Mrs. Addison has prepared what she calls a modest hunt breakfast.” He paused and laughed. “Modest. We shall see. We shall see.”
When he finished, Elena was edging the crowd, moving toward the wooden seat where she had left her shawl. She had taken only a step or two in that direction when someone placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Elena, where you going? I’ve been waiting for you.” It was the man she had danced with earlier, now taking her hand and pulling her toward the dance floor. “C’mon, c’mon, just one little dance.”
“All right,” she said not too reluctantly, “but just one.”
They moved onto the dance floor. She stepped and twirled at a distance from him, then close to him, and then she was swept into a whirling turn. The lanterns sped past in a glowing orange blur that included the musicians, then a group of smiling faces, and beside them, a somber one. Doctor Montalvo. He was watching her closely. As the music stopped, he turned on his heel and strode away.
She shivered and said something to her partner about the cold night air and about finding her shawl, and she left him. The bench was empty except for the fringed stole draped on the back of the seat. She pulled it around her, and her skirt rustled against the bench as she sat down. Now that David had returned, she was more at ease, and the waiting here was pleasant. How long she sat there, she didn’t know, but the party was at its liveliest—voices and laughter and even the music were louder—when she heard the sound of running footsteps and a sharp whisper. “Elena!”
Carlos, in jockey shorts and a shrunken tee-shirt, ran from behind the oleanders.
“Carlos! What is going on?”
He was in front of her now, standing very still, his arms slack at his sides. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he said, “Mario’s gone!”
“Gone? To his secret place? Oh, no, not again!”
“No, Elena!” His voice was shrill. “Not there! They took him! He kept yelling, ‘leave me alone, leave me alone,’ but they took him anyway!”
She put her hands on his shoulders. “What? Calm down. What happened?”
“I told you already. Two men wearing masks, like people in the snow, they came into your room and…”
“My room? Carlos, are you making this up? Is this a joke?”
“No! No! I tell you they came…” Carlos’ voice broke and his words changed into gulping sobs as he sank heavily to the grass.
She looked at the twisted little bundle at her feet and bit her lip. Carlos rarely cried. Why was she doubting him? She slid off the bench to the grass beside him and put her arms around him. “All right, Carlos, I believe you. I am truly sorry. Now, can you tell me what happened?”
He nodded, still gulping. “We…we were in your room…playing hide and seek. I was hiding under your bed and Mario was…he was by my door counting.”
“Yes. Go on.”
“I heard some noises from the window and then I saw some big feet going toward the bathroom. I… I was scared, Elena. Pretty soon they came back and they had Mario. They were taking him out the window by the big chair and he was yelling all the time.” Carlos pushed away from her. His eyes looked enormous in the shadowed light. “Elena, do something,” he whispered.
She pulled the shawl from her shoulders and put it around him. “Wait here for me. I’ll get Ana.”
“No! Don’t leave me!”
“All right. You can come with me.” Under ordinary circumstances, Carlos would not have allowed a girl’s shawl near him, but tonight he pulled it close to him. He was shivering. She put her arm around him. “Come on then.”
Carlos followed her closely as she skirted the edges of the garden. Ana was nowhere to be seen. Finally she remembered. Ana was with David. As Elena wondered whether or not to look for her upstairs, she saw Doctor Montalvo. He was crossing the grass at an angle, smiling and nodding to his guests. He strode without a pause until he reached the gate to his private patio. She stiffened, thinking of the men she had seen the night before. This is no time to start scaring yourself again, she told herself. Mario is in trouble and his father has to know.
“Come this way, Carlos,” she said, and rushed up the terrace steps. She went through the open glass doors into the entry hall, ignoring the eyebrows that raised at the sight of Carlos, red fringes of the shawl dragging, racing barefoot behind her. She pointed to the bench on which they had waited that first day. “Stay there,” she said, and knocked on Doctor Montalvo’s door.
“Yes. Who is there?” The words came loud and sharp.
“It is Elena, señor. I must see you!”
She heard quick footsteps and the door opened. Salvador Montalvo, his black eyes brilliant, his face flushed, said, “I have only a moment. I am expecting an important call.” Then he reached out to touch her arm. “But you are agitated, señorita. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. What is it?”
“Something terrible’s happened!”
“Yes? Well, quickly, out with it.”
“Kidnappers, señor!” she cried. “Two men. They broke into my room. The boys were playing hide and seek. Mario was in the bathroom counting. It was Carlos’ time to hide. He was under my bed. And they took him, señor!”
Doctor Montalvo swung around and strode to his desk. “We must call the police immediately.” He picked up the phone, but instead of dialing, asked, “Do you think this could be a prank? That he’s merely hiding? Or run away?”
“Oh, no, they wouldn’t do that. I mean make up such a frightening story.” She felt anger spurt into her voice. “I can speak for Carlos. But as to running away, well, you would know about that better than I, señor. After all, he is your son, no?”
“My son?” He looked startled. “What do you mean?”
“That Mario didn’t run away. I told you! Two men took him!”
Doctor Montalvo’s face flushed scarlet and he said, “Not Carlos?”
“Carlos is just outside in the hall.”
“Ah, I see. They took Mario.” Something like anger crackled at the edges of his words.
She took a step toward the door. “I can call Carlos.”
“No, leave him there. You may go now, Elena. I will take care of everything.”
“But it was Carlos who saw everything. He can tell you…”
He brushed away the rest of her words with a move of his hand. “That will not be necessary.”
“Shall I find Mrs. Montalvo for you?”
“That will not be necessary,” he repeated in a dull, flat tone. “I want to tell her myself. You may go now.”
In the hall she found Carlos right next to the door, the red silk bunched up around his neck. He was quiet as they went up the stairs. Once in their rooms, with the doors bolted behind them, he spoke.
“What will those men do to Mario? Will they hurt him?”
“Mostly they want money. They’ll let him go if they get enough money.”
“Does his father have enough?”
She nodded and changed the subject. “I think you had better get dressed. In case the policemen want to talk with you.” Her gaze circled the room. Except for a small chair lying on its side, there was no sign of a struggle. But it had been an uneven match. Two grown men and Mario. David would want to know, but she couldn’t look for him now; Carlos was too frightened to be left alone. She pulled the pillows out from beneath the bedspread and folded it back. “You can lie down on my bed until they call us.”
Carlos shook his head and sat on the edge of the wing-backed chair. “Would they have taken me, Elena, if I had been the one counting?”
“You, Carlos? Who would want you, eh?” She glanced at him, a pillow pressed between her hands. “But it is strange. For a moment Doctor Montalvo thought it was you who was taken.” She stared vacantly at the opposite wall. What had Sara said earlier? It is important that you take Carlos and go—now. And then something had frightened her.
Elena dropped the pillow and knelt by Carlos’ chair. “Did the men say anything to Mario?”
He lifted huge, dark eyes to her face. “Yes, and it was funny. They said, ‘Stop kicking, Carlos, stop kicking!’”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am sure! Do I not have ears, Elena?”
She took his hand and squeezed it. “Yes, yes, you do. Now, don’t worry about Mario. He’ll be all right. Doctor Montalvo will get him back.” She stood up and pulled him out of the chair. “Go get dressed as fast as you possibly can!”
“Why?”
She had no answer for him because she had no plan. All she knew was that she had to be ready. “Just dress please, Carlos.” He nodded and then stole a strange little look up at her. Without another word, he went into his room.
While Carlos dressed she stood by the open French doors, trying to find an explanation for what had happened. It looked as though Doctor Montalvo had tried to kidnap Carlos. It made no sense. Why would he do that? Why? She knew now that even before she had met Doctor Montalvo he had been trying to find her father. But why the kidnapping? On that first day, after he had learned who she was, he had given her the job, even when Carlos made problems. The truth was that Doctor Montalvo had gone out of his way to persuade her to stay. He must have been sure that she would lead him to her father. And when he realized that she knew as little about where her father was as he did, maybe even less, he must have become desperate. “I have a plan to flush him into the open,” he had told Jim Donald. But kidnapping Carlos? How would that be of any help?
Elena caught her breath and whirled around. Dear Teresa, why am I so blind? If her father heard that his son was in danger—and he would have because Doctor Montalvo had invited all those newspaper people from Mexico—he would drop everything to come to find him! And Doctor Montalvo could hold out for a ransom that included all that he needed in Villa Rey. She shook her head impatiently. No, no, she must be imagining it all. This was the kind of thing that happened only on television. Still, there was the secret room with all the secret happenings. She had seen that. And, tonight, there was Carlos running about in his underwear, frightened into tears, and there was Mario’s disappearance, and the strange way Doctor Montalvo had acted when he learned that Mario was the one taken. ¡Basta! Enough! Stop doubting yourself, Elena! It is absolutely clear what Doctor Montalvo had planned. Well, his plan has failed—at least, for now. Still, he’s very determined to get what he wants. Which means? He will try again, of course!
She was back by her bed, tearing off the red satin skirt, the petticoats, the peasant blouse, and pulling on pants and a sweater. There was only one thing to do. Get away from Doctor Montalvo’s reach as soon as possible. David would help her. He was here in the house with Ana. But where? Where? No, there was no time to look for him. Hurriedly, she stuffed the papers from under the clock into her purse and called Carlos.
His big eyes watched her as, with a signal to him to be silent, she stepped lightly to the balcony. She had to know where Doctor Montalvo was. She had to be sure he was busy, that he was somewhere where he would not see them before they went through the house to the outside. Below her the guests were crowded around the cleared area, watching the dance contest. She waited, and when the music stopped and the contestants had left the floor, Doctor Montalvo stepped up to the microphone. She slid back into the room and cautiously closed the French doors.
“We will go down the back stairs to the breakfast room,” she said. “Whatever happens, let me take care of it. Try not to be frightened.”
“I do not get frightened,” Carlos said.
“Not too much,” she said, and a half-smile came and went on her lips. She eased the door open and listened. “All right, Carlos,” she whispered, “come with me. Be very quiet.”
Moving quickly, they went down the hall to the gallery above the main stairs. Two young women with bright fresh lipstick came chattering toward them from the east wing, and Elena smiled and nodded and watched them go down the main staircase into the entry hall. The music had started up again. She grasped Carlos’ hand firmly and ran across the empty corridor to the back stairs. The breakfast room was directly opposite the bottom of the stairs, and it had French doors that led to the side yard. Those doors, and the escape they promised, was what she was heading toward. Downstairs, she found the little corridor empty and the breakfast room brightly lit. She motioned Carlos to remain by the staircase and looked into the room. The table had been stretched to its greatest length and was covered with bowls and platters of cold foods. There were no people about. She reached across the corridor for Carlos’ hand, ready to make a run for it, but then pushed him back. Sara, followed by two of the caterer’s helpers, had rushed through the kitchen door to the table. Carlos whispered, “It’s Sara,” and started to speak, but Elena put a finger to his lips.
They stood silently in the narrow hallway, listening to the sharp ringing of silver on china, the muttered questions and answers, the quick foot-steps and, at last, the sound of emptiness in the breakfast room. Cautiously, she looked around the side of the door. “They are gone,” she whispered. She put her hand firmly on Carlos’ shoulder and swept him to the other end of the room. There she fumbled with the knob, hoping the door would swing open quietly. It did. Carlos and she slipped out into the cool night air.