The most likely three candidates were a garage, an attic, or a basement.
This whole ordeal had been riddled with liars.
For the first time, I thought, If Clayton isn’t a victim, he might be a perpetrator. What if the Harrisons are liars, too? What if there never had been a ransom demand? What if they knew all along where Clayton was?
How could I get into the Harrisons’ house? And then I remembered that the older Harrisons were in Colorado. Their house would be empty. My brain caught fire with excitement.
I called my mother. “Didn’t you sell the Harrisons their place?” I said. “I seem to remember that.”
If she was startled, she didn’t let on. “Yes,” she said. “The mansion on Overbrook. And further up the hill, I sold the older Harrisons their house, too.”
“Do you remember the features of those houses?” I asked, keeping my fingers crossed. My mother was a walking encyclopedia of real estate in Lawenceton and its environs. She never forgot a property.
Though she sounded puzzled, she complied. “Okay,” she said, warming up to the task. “Dan and Karina’s house is a four-bedroom, two living areas, chef’s kitchen with eat-in area, dining room. There are, hmm, five bathrooms? And an entertainment room in the basement.”
I closed my eyes. Thank you, God, I said. “What about the older Harrisons’ house?”
“It’s about the same size. But instead of an entertainment room, they have a pool room in their basement for visiting grandkids.”
“Right. How big is that pool room?”
“At least twenty by sixteen, if I’m remembering correctly,” Mother said. “But I don’t believe Dan’s parents have talked about selling, and I would have heard. Do you think the baby will need that much more space?” I could tell she was smiling.
“So you think the basement room in Dan and Karina’s house is that big?” I asked.
“Larger,” my mother said. “There’s a huge storage closet for Christmas and holiday stuff down there, and there’s the movie room. Roe, I’m getting worried. What’s on your mind?”
“I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
I didn’t want to show my hand, but I owed her that much. “I wonder if our missing kids are being held in a basement,” I said. “I was thinking of all the people involved in the case who might have a basement. Voilà!”
She drew in a sharp breath. “How could they be?” she said. “Right in town!” There was a moment of silence. “Well, the nearest houses are not close,” she said slowly. “Both lots are maybe three fourths of an acre.”
“How many people in residence in those houses?”
“Karina and Dan, of course. And normally, Clayton and little Marlea. The older brother, Bobby, is at college at Auburn. He’s engaged to a girl from … oh, well. There’s a cook. Comes every day. Not live-in.”
“And the other Harrison house?”
“Just Dan’s folks. They travel a lot. They don’t have a live-in maid, and neither do Karina and Dan. Right now, Lena and Tate have gone to Colorado to ski, like they do every winter,” Mother said. “Their other son and his family live out there.”
“So what help do the Harrisons have?”
“I actually know the answer to that!” My mother sounded pleased to find her knowledge was so thorough. “They use a maid service. The same company I use. I recommended them to Karina when she and Dan bought the house. Helping Hands,” Mom said. She added helpfully, “The ones with the pink smocks. I think Dan’s mother Lena uses them, too. Just about everyone in that subdivision does.”
“Do they use anyone else, regularly?”
“They use one of the yard services, I’m sure,” Mother said promptly. “Either Garcia and Sons, or Landscaping Magic. Roe, it sounds to me like you’re going to do something stupid. The police are competent, you know. Don’t go acting like you have to rescue Phillip yourself.”
I didn’t look as though I worked for Garcia and Sons or Landscaping Magic, but the maid service … I could do something with that. “Mom, don’t worry,” I said. “I just have to find out everything I can about everyone involved. You know how I am. I like to have all the facts. If I ever learn anything that’s really decisive, I’ll call the police in a jiffy. Thanks, Mom, I have to—”
“Have you decided if you all come to us for Christmas dinner?” she asked quickly, stopping me right before I could hang up. I knew I owed her some conversation. So for what felt like an eternity, we chatted about the Christmas meal, when John’s sons were arriving with their families.
“Mother,” I said, “I’ll let you know in a day or two.” I knew that was shabby. But I couldn’t even think about Christmas without my brother, burdened with the overwhelming uncertainty about his whereabouts and well-being.
“By the way, Betty Jo is in town,” I said. I didn’t want Mother to run into the woman somewhere in Lawrenceton without being warned.
“Where did the police find her?” Mother had been really intrigued that no one could lay hands on my father’s wife.
“On a commune,” I said. It didn’t seem right to tell Mother Betty Jo’s reason for taking off like she had.
“A commune,” my mother said with delight. I’d made her day.
“I have to go,” I said, trying to suppress my excitement at actually having something to do. I might have known I couldn’t fool my mother.
“Roe,” Mom said sharply. “Don’t go doing anything foolish. You talk to Robin right now, before you go running off alone.” She was serious as a heart attack.
“I’m going to talk to him right now, or at least as soon as I see him.” And I did.
After I’d hung up, I felt like getting off the couch. In fact, I felt a rush of energy. I went to our bedroom and picked up the strewn clothes and shoes. I realized that what I’d told Sandra Windham was true. Our house looked shabby and forlorn after a more than a week of neglect. When I’d picked up and made the place look tolerable, I went to my own laptop at my own small desk in the corner of Robin’s office.
Where was he? I hadn’t seen a note, and I hadn’t checked to see if his car was gone. I’d do that next, I decided, after I retrieved the phone book to look up the older Harrisons’ address. Lena and Tate Harrison. They were listed.
Turning to the Internet, I tracked down the maid service. Helping Hands was not an uncommon name for both temporary help services and cleaning operations, but I finally tracked down the right one. It was complete with pictures of smiling women holding mops and dusters. I realized I’d seen their zippy green cars around town, the distinctive logo on the side. After studying their pale pink smocks, I called the office number.
“Helping Hands,” said a woman briskly. “How may we assist you?”
“I’m picking up Lena Harrison’s mail while she’s on vacation,” I said. “She asked me to check with you. Lena’s worried that she told you the wrong date to resume service.”
“Let me see,” the woman said, without a single hesitation. I could hear the keys clicking on a computer. “I have January third?”
“Great, that’s right. I’ll let her know.”
“Sure. Thanks for calling.”
I began to make a plan, but it was so risky that I hesitated.
I called Detective Trumble. When the switchboard put me through to her, she sounded distracted. “Hi, Aurora. What can I do for you?”
“Any news?”
“You’d be among the first to know,” she said.
“I figured. Listen, I know you all have searched every nook and cranny around Lawrenceton…”
She sighed heavily. “Believe me, we have.”
“But have you searched the homes of everyone involved?”
“Like whose?” she asked bluntly.
“Like the Scotts, the Finstermeyers, the Harrisons, the Bells. Or even the two other bullies … the Windhams’ house, or Tiffany Andrews’ place.” I thought I was clever, just easing in the Harrisons like that. But Trumble was susp
icious.
The silence she kept had a texture to it. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?” she demanded.
“You know everything I know,” I said, which was the literal truth.
“That’s good, because I’d really hate it if you didn’t give me every little fact you have.”
“Nope, you have all the facts.” I only have suspicions.
“We’ve searched the rooms of all the missing kids,” Detective Trumble said. “Josh’s, Joss’s, Liza’s, and Clayton’s. Just like we searched Phillip’s room. But there was no credible reason to search all the houses. And the little bullies? There was no legal basis at all for getting a search warrant for their rooms, or their homes.”
“I understand.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing,” I said mendaciously, joining the ranks of the liars without a qualm. “I just wanted to be sure that you searched everyone’s room, not just Phillip’s.”
“For what purpose?”
“To make sure you had no special reason for picking him out,” I said.
“Let us handle this, Aurora,” Cathy Trumble said, after a fraught pause.
“Hmm. Sure thing.”
“Call me if you have any new information.”
“And you call me, likewise.” We both hung up, equally unsatisfied with our conversation. My phone buzzed, and I picked it up quickly, hoping it was Robin. But my caller ID read “unknown.” “Phillip?” I said, my voice wavering.
“Ms. Teagarden?”
I slumped, deflating with disappointment. I didn’t recognize the voice, but she was young.
“Yes,” I said.
“This is Marlea. Marlea Harrison?”
“Marlea, what do you want? Why are you calling me?” I really wondered how she’d gotten my number, but I’d already asked two questions. “I thought you were out of town with your mother’s family.”
“I am. Kesha was lying to you,” Marlea said. She sounded pretty happy about that.
“Oh, I can’t believe that,” I said with heavy sarcasm. “And I guess you’re going to set me straight?”
“Yeah. She told me that she told you that Phillip was just friends with Liza Scott.”
“And?”
“And he was having sex with her,” Marlea said coolly. “Your brother was having sex with a child.”
I thought my head was going to explode. I knew this girl was lying, but the fact that a child could call me and say something so horrible, so calmly … it was disgusting. “You make me sick,” I said, seeing no reason to mince words. “Why are you saying this?”
“All I have to do is tell people that,” she said, clearly drunk on her own power. “And some of them will believe it.”
I was talking to a twelve-year-old who believed she could manipulate the world. Was there any possible thing I could say to puncture the balloon of her ego?
“I wonder what you told your brother,” I said. “You’re a small person, Marlea. Mentally and emotionally. You’ll always be small. And if I can send you to the juvenile detention center, I will be happy to do it.” I hung up, leaving her to think of that what she would. Could I really charge her with anything, like slander? I didn’t know. I doubted it. But I was willing to find out.
I couldn’t understand how someone so young could be so twisted. Had her parents beaten her? Had she been molested by a cousin? Had the three girls formed a toxic pool by their very chemistry? Was she born that way?
I didn’t have any answer. But now I’d talked to two of Liza’s tormentors, and I’d taken their measure. I was older and smarter and meaner—at least, I could be. And I planned to be.
My phone rang again. This time, it was Robin. “Hey, honey. I decided to go Christmas shopping while you were asleep. I want to put something under the tree. Anything you need while I’m out?”
“I don’t even know. Isn’t that pathetic? Someday we’ll be back to normal.” Maybe. “Listen, I’ve had an idea. When you come home, we’ll work it out.”
“Okay,” he said, pleased. “I’ll be home in a few minutes.”
I felt better the minute I saw Robin. He had several mysterious bags in tow, and he looked something other than worried for the first time in days.
“Anything happen while I was gone?” he asked, while he stuffed his loot in the extra bedroom.
The nursery.
“I had some ideas,” I said, “and Marlea Harrison called me.”
“The third girl,” he said.
“Yeah. She’s a piece of work. She threatened to start the rumor that Phillip was having sex with Liza Scott.”
“She said this to you?” Robin was horrified. “I didn’t think I believed in corporal punishment, but I may reconsider.”
“I told her I’d take legal action if she did that.”
“I doubt that’s enforceable.”
“Look, Robin, I had to threaten her. She can’t keep ruining lives. Someone’s got to take her in check.”
“Umm. Well, what’s this idea you had?”
I took a deep breath. “To my mind, there are very few places the kids could be,” I said.
He listened to me intently as I told him what I wanted to do.
“That’s a dangerous plan,” he said. “Let me.”
“There’s no way you’d get in,” I said. “But I can do it. And after I verify they’re there, this will all be over. The police can come in.”
We talked some more, and though Robin was reluctant, he finally agreed that if he were nearby, with the police on speed dial, he’d go along with me. With a safeguard or two.
Finally, I had something to do.
That evening, I walked into the local uniform shop, Work Togs, right before it closed. I’d never had cause to go there before, but I’d vaguely remembered it for its location, right by the Hallmark store where I’d bought gift paper and bows. The small shop was absolutely crammed full of smocks and scrubs in all kinds of fabrics and some really startling colors and patterns.
Did any nurses, anywhere, still wear white starched dresses? Or caps?
My mother had described these to me with great nostalgia. But then, she hadn’t had to wear them.
There was a young clerk, who was glad to let me search on my own while she attended to the urgent business of filing her nails. I was the only customer. At the back of the store, I found the pale pink smocks I’d been looking for. And there was a small. I tried it on just to be sure it would fit. I felt like I became invisible the minute I put it on, exactly what I wanted.
I paid for it and took it home. The clerk did not look at me the whole time she rang up my purchase.
Robin and I spent half the evening going over and over the plan. I had a hard time getting to sleep, because I felt excited at the prospect of action. I was tired of reacting.
Early the next morning, after Robin had left to get into position, I brushed my wayward hair vigorously, put product on it to slick it into a ponytail, and twisted the ponytail around in a bun. I picked my glasses with care; nothing too frivolous. My little tortoiseshell ones, the most anonymous frames in my glasses repertoire. Since I looked like hell on wheels anyway, I actually did have a natural disguise: big dark circles under my eyes, white as a sheet, drawn and pinched-looking, thick through the middle. Yeah, I was a knockout, all right.
And pink was definitely not my color.
Now that we were doing something, we both felt so much better—as if the very act of trying to solve the problem meant we had solved the problem.
I knew that wasn’t so. I knew I might be completely wrong. But at least I had a plan. Robin had protested the evening before, but he knew better than to try to forbid me to do something. He understood I wasn’t going to be reckless. I just wanted my brother back.
My car was a staid color, less notable than Robin’s, so we’d decided I’d take it.
On the way up, I passed the Windham house just past the Fox Creek Hills sign. What would the Windhams’ Christmas
be like this year, in their beautifully decorated house, in this affluent suburb? I had no idea if there were foxes resident, or if there was a creek; but there was definitely a hill, and I was driving up a steep one.
First I went all the way up to the most likely place, the home of Dan Harrison’s parents, Tate and Lena. It was supposed to be empty, and I was sure I’d be able to tell if it really was.
Robin had preceded me in his car. As I drove past the mansion at the top of the hill, one of three on a cul-de-sac, he was parked at the Harrisons’ front door, knocking patiently, a large folder under his left arm. He waited, and knocked again.
No one was going to answer the door, but I hoped someone inside was pretty alarmed. I made a slow circle and passed by again, this time seeing Robin get in his car.
I’d expected that. I was sure this was the more likely place to conceal the missing kids. My heart began beating faster.
I drove down the other side of the hill, circled around, and drove up again. This time I turned in to Tate Harrison’s driveway and drove to the back, where a garage and a back door were on the same level. I left my car and walked unhurriedly to the back door, which had some glass panes. As I knocked lightly on the doorframe, I looked in. I saw an empty kitchen. There was absolutely no sign that anyone had been using it. No dishes, nothing out of place. Total order. I glanced around, but I didn’t see a soul out in one of the tidy yards who might be watching me, even in the grounds of the houses below me, though the day was warm enough to be tolerable. So I opened the garbage can, a large rolling one that could be wheeled out to the curb. It was not only empty, but clean. (Whose garbage can was clean?) Just as I was considering going part of the way around the house to peer in a window, a thin man in a blue long-sleeved jumpsuit walked around the corner of the house.
It took every ounce of self-control I had not to shriek.
“Hey,” he said, and I could tell he was startled. Maybe not suspicious, but he was waiting for an explanation.
“Hi,” I said. “I was supposed to come check on the job my cleaning team did yesterday, but this house seems to be empty. I need the Harrisons’ house?”