Cry Mercy (15 page)

“I don't know where she is,” Hayley protested. “I don't know anything.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way. I'm sure your mother will appreciate how serious this is, even if you don't.”

“No, no, don't call my mother.” Hayley began to cry. “She'll be so mad. She doesn't know about the boards. About the others. She'll freak out. She didn't want me to look for my sibs, but I did it anyway. If she finds out, she'll ground me. Like, forever.”

“I'm sorry about that. I really am. But we're talking about a missing girl here.”

“All right.” Hayley sniffed and blew her nose. Emme held the phone from her ear until the blowing stopped. “I'll meet you. It will have to be after school, though, on one of the days when I'm in town late.”

“You tell me where and when and I'll be there.”

“How do I know you're not a white slaver or something? How do I know you're really a detective?”

“You look up the Mercy Street Foundation on your computer. You'll find my name on the website.”

“Is there a picture of you there?”

“No.” No picture of me anywhere, Emme could have told her. God knows who might see it, and recognize her for who she really was.

“Then how will I know?” the girl persisted.

“Look up the number and ask for me and when I get on the phone, you ask me for a code word. No one would know that but me.”

“Okay, cool. The code word is … Bonkers.”

“Bonkers?”

“That's my cat.”

“All right. I'll expect to hear from you within the next fifteen minutes. No later.”

Kids do enjoy a bit of intrigue, Emme thought as
she hung up. She supposed she had when she was younger, too. For years she'd waited for her real parents to show up at whatever foster home she was in at the time and take her to her real home. Every night before she fell asleep, she'd play the scene over in her head like a scene from
Growing Pains
or
Family Ties
, the shows she watched on TV every week. There'd be a tearful reunion and she'd be swept from her tiny bed in her foster home into a long white limousine and transported to a beautiful house on a hill where every moment of her previously meager existence would be forgotten.

Emme smiled ruefully. Those were the days …

Her phone rang and she answered, “Emme Caldwell.”

“Okay, so what's the code word?” Hayley asked.

“That would be Bonkers.”

“Okay, so it's really you. I guess that's cool.”

“So what day this week looks good to you?” Emme pressed her.

“I have a music lesson on Thursday, but I usually have to wait until six for my mom to pick me up on her way home from work.”

“Where and what time?”

“There's a pancake house on Nassau Street, right near the theater. I can meet you there at four o'clock.” Hayley paused. “How will I know you?”

“Well, we could—”

“I know, I'll wear a red scarf. You wear something red, too.”

“All right. I'll see you on Thursday at four. Red accessory mandatory.”

“No, no, a red rose,” Hayley said excitedly.
“There's a flower shop down the street. You can buy one there.”

“Fine.” Emme couldn't help but smile. “One red rose it is.”

Intrigue, indeed
.

She punched in the number of Nick's cell phone.

“I have a sit-down with Hayley Nash on Thursday at four. I'm assuming you want to come along.” She was typing the pertinent information into her computer. “I'm estimating it will take three hours to get there, so you need to be here no later than one, in case we hit traffic.”

“Where will you be?”

“I'll meet you in the parking lot at the hotel. And oh, yeah—this time, I'm driving.”

•

“So, this whole donor sibling thing, it's like a movement now?” Nick asked. They were driving over the Scudder Falls Bridge connecting Pennsylvania to New Jersey in light midafternoon traffic. “Not that it isn't understandable. Dr. Drake said there were tens of thousands of these kids born every year. That's a lot of kids who know only half their story, so I guess it's natural to want to know the rest of it. I mean, everyone wants to know who they are, where they came from, right?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Spoken like a woman who knows who she is.”

Emme forced a smile.

“Hey, not everyone is as secure as you are, you know?” he told her. “I think it would be really hard to only know one half of your family. You know your
mother, but your father—nada. It's normal to want to be able to get a feel for him. To be able to reach out to all the members of your family.”

He paused, as if expecting her to say something. When she did not, he continued. “Take my grandparents, for example. They were real important to me. Shaped my whole life. I don't know where I'd be or what I'd be doing if it hadn't been for my granddad.”

“Have you ever thought of doing something else?”

He shook his head without hesitation. “Why would I want to do that? I have my own business. I'm doing something that I love. I look forward to going to my garage every single day.”

“There are a lot of people into this car thing, I take it?”

“A lot, yes.”

“And a lot of them come to you to fix their cars?”

Nick smiled. “I
restore
the cars, not fix them. Big difference. And yes, a lot of people bring their babies to me.”

“I take it you're good at what you do.”

“There's a waiting list,” he said.

“Really? How do people know about you?”

“Car shows. Magazine and newspaper articles. Word of mouth.” He grinned. “And I've written a few books on the subject.”

“They have car shows? Like dog shows? Horse shows?”

“Close enough, yes. I started going with my granddad when I was twelve or thirteen. Damn, those were the days.”

“How many cars did he fix? Er, restore?”

“Seventeen.”

“So he'd buy the car, restore it, then take it to a show and sell it?”

“He didn't restore his cars to sell them, and he went to the shows because he liked to look at automobiles, liked to see what other people had, what they were doing. Sometimes, he did show his. Some he loaned out for special occasions, like the local Fourth of July parade or the Founders Day parade, but he only sold one while he was alive.” His voice dropped. “He kept the rest for me.”

“You still have them? You own seventeen cars?” Emme frowned. “What do you do with seventeen cars?”

“I don't have them all now. I had to sell most of them to start up my business, which is what my granddad had in mind all along. He figured they'd be a good investment, that they'd appreciate as the years went by, and they did.” He smiled. “Better than the stock market.”

“How many do you have now?”

“Originally, I kept four and sold the rest for my business. Now I only have the Firebird and a Corvette.”

“What happened to the other two?”

“I sold them to hire the private investigators to find Belinda after the police told me they had no leads. When they found nothing, I realized I was wasting the money. Until I saw Robert Magellan on TV that day a few weeks ago, I wasn't sure what my next move was going to be.”

“You're lucky you responded as quickly as you did. I understand there's been a flood of applications since that press conference.”

“There are that many people missing in this country?”

“More than you could ever imagine.”

She followed the signs off the interstate to Lawrenceville Road. The GPS assured her it would lead her straight into the heart of Princeton. Nick let her know when they'd arrived.

“That's Nassau Hall.” He rolled the passenger window down to gaze at the venerable brownstone building that sat back off the street behind tall gates, its entrance flanked by bronze tigers. “At one time, the capital of the United States.”

He turned to Emme. “That would have been in 1783. The Congress of the Confederation met on the second floor.”

“History buff?”

“Revolutionary War, yes.” He nodded, then added, “And also my sister went to school here.”

“You knew how to get here all along?”

“No. I've never been here before, never visited her when she was in college.” His expression was somewhat regretful. “Like I said, Wendy and I were never really close. When she was an eighteen-year-old freshman, I was six. I sort of understand why Belinda searched for her donor siblings. It's occurred to me that she's as connected to them, in a way, as Wendy and I were. Same sperm donor. Different mothers.”

“You think of your father as a sperm donor?”

“He never seemed to stick with any of his wives after they'd had a child. Neither Wendy nor I really knew him.”

“How many wives has he had?”

“I think four.”

“You have other half-siblings then?”

“I only know about Wendy, but I suppose anything is possible.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Last I heard. We're not particularly close.” Nick stared straight ahead, his jaw squared. It was clear this was not a subject he wished to discuss. She could respect that. There were some things she didn't like to talk about, too.

Emme craned her neck to look over the traffic that blocked the lanes in each direction. “We have to find Nassau Street.”

“You're on it.” He pointed across the street to the sign on the corner. “Where are we supposed to meet Hayley?”

“At a pancake place near the theater.” Traffic crawled toward the light. Several times she had to brake to avoid the pedestrians who crossed the street without apparent regard to the cars. They approached the next light slowly.

“This is Witherspoon Street,” she told him. “According to the map I looked at online, there should be some public parking down here somewhere. The pancake house is at the far end of this block of Nassau Street. We'll park and look for the florist.”

“What florist?”

“Hayley wants me to carry a red rose so she'll know me.” Emme smiled.

“Kid watches too many old spy movies.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

She made the turn, and searched for a parking spot. She found one in front of a small café, and fed the meter before heading up toward Nassau Street. At the
flower shop, they stepped inside for the requisite red rose.

“This one's on me.” Nick paid the clerk and handed the flower to Emme. “It's the least I can do to thank you for letting me tag along.”

“Thanks.” She took the rose and they walked toward the corner, sidestepping the students who walked in pairs or in clusters. Nick took her arm as they navigated through the throng.

“There.” Emme pointed ahead at the two-story building with the striped awning. “Pancake House.”

They stepped through the red double doors, and once inside, she scanned the tables and booths for a teenaged girl wearing a red scarf.

“Hold the rose up a little higher.” Nick stood behind her, whispering in her ear.

“How stupid do I look twirling this thing around?” She gave the stem a twist as she glanced from one crowded table to the next.

“Well, I'm not sure that stupid is the word I'd use.” He took several steps away and pretended to be scrutinizing her. “Silly might work. Amusing is better. But not stupid.”

“Very funny. I'll try to remember not to ask rhetorical questions around you.”

Emme looked around the room. It seemed every kid in town and half of the students from the university had stopped in for a snack after class.

“Her red scarf should be easy enough to pick out. Oh, there, on the right…”

Emme took a few steps forward, holding the gaze of the young girl who sat alone at a booth against the wall, a bright red scarf tied jauntily around her neck.
She had dark blond hair and round tortoiseshell glasses. She smiled uncertainly when Emme waved, and raised her hand to wave back. When she realized that Nick was headed her way as well, she froze.

“Who's that?” Hayley asked suspiciously.

Emme slid into the booth next to Hayley. “This is Nick Perone. Belinda … Belle's uncle.”

“The perv?” Hayley's expression was one of disgust.

“What?” Nick stared across the table. “What did you call me?”

“You're the perv who's looking for Belle.” She turned to Emme. “You didn't tell me you were bringing him.” Hayley shook her head. “I wouldn't tell you where Belle was even if I knew.”

“Go back to the part where you called me a perv.” Nick's frown creased his forehead and drew his eyebrows close together. “Where did that come from?”

Hayley shifted uncomfortably on the bench.

“Hayley, why would you say such a thing?” Emme asked.

The girl shrugged. “They were saying on the loop that maybe the reason why she ran away was because her uncle … the one who posted on the loop … maybe he, you know,
hurt
her.”

“Did Belle ever give you or any of the others any reason to think that her uncle—or anyone else—had been abusing her?” Emme asked. “Or had hurt her in any way at all?”

Hayley thought it over before shaking her head, “No.”

“Then maybe you shouldn't put any stock in some
idle comment that someone”—
some thoughtless jackass kid
—“tossed out without any regard to the truth.”

“Listen, Hayley.” Nick lowered his voice and leaned his body closer to the table. “I am not now and never have been a ‘perv.’ I'm looking for my niece because she's been missing for five months—five months when anything could have happened to her. She's all the family I have, Hayley. I need to find her. You may be the only person who can help us to do that.”

“I'm sorry. You're right. It was just something stupid someone said.” Hayley turned to Emme. “Everyone knows I'm meeting with you. If anything happens to me, they have your name and your phone number. I posted it on the message board.”

“That was very smart of you, Hayley,” Emme assured her. “Good thinking on your part. Nick and I are only interested in finding out what happened to Belle, but you were right to take some precautions, just in case.”

The girl seemed to relax slightly.

“Are you hungry?” Emme asked.

“The food's pretty good here,” Hayley said, hopefully. “I usually get the peanut-butter-and-chocolate-chip pancakes, but the raspberry ones are good, too.”

“I'm sold. Raspberry for me.” Emme looked across the table at Nick. “You need a menu?”