Nobody Knows (22 page)

“Nothing I care to share right now. I’ll be on my beeper if you need me.”

THE DRIVE
to the hospital was excruciatingly slow. Cassie listened on the radio to reports of flooded roads and downed power lines.

“This is no joke, folks. You shouldn’t be out there if you don’t absolutely have to be. And make sure you
keep your kids inside. The sheriff’s department found a boy on Siesta Beach at the Old Pier. What he was doing out there, nobody knows, but he had to be taken to the hospital.”

With Mark beside him, he had driven down the Tamiami Trail to see if he could get onto Siesta Key by way of the Stickney Point bridge, but that was closed as well. He’d pulled over when he spotted phone booths, calling the Baylers’ house, hanging up when the mother answered. The kid was the one he needed to reach.

In desperation, he was driving home; there he would try to figure out what to do next. He heard the words coming from the car radio and knew where he had to go.

“
PLEASE DON’T
leave me here. You said we were going to Vincent. You promised. I want to go home. I want my mommy.” Mark’s chest heaved as he sobbed and coughed.

“Here, take your medicine.”

He felt sorry for the kid, but it couldn’t be helped. He had to go to the hospital alone.

He hoped those hurricane shades on the windows would do their jobs. He hoped they would be enough.

“What were you doing out there, anyway?”

Pale and solemn, Vincent sat on the hospital bed. His head hurt. He cast a look at the hovering nurse, refusing to answer Cassie’s question.

“We reached his mother,” said the nurse. “She’s unable to come to get him. Normally, we might keep him for observation, but he seems all right now, and we are only keeping critical patients. His mother gave her permission for him to go to the evacuation center with you.”

Cassie was concerned about the responsibility. A kid who’d hit his head should be watched, and she still had her job to do. “I’d like to call Vincent’s mother.”

She tried repeatedly, on her cell and on the hospital phone, but she couldn’t get through. The lines must have been out.

ANGRY RAIN
beat on the Jeep’s metal roof. As Vincent buckled his seat belt, Cassie insisted that he explain
what was going on. “We’re not going anywhere until you tell me.”

Realizing, finally, that this was too much for him to handle on his own, he related his story, haltingly at first. Then it poured from him, a relief. The ring on the beach that Gideon had tried to sell, how he had hidden in the bathroom while his friend was attacked, the phone call from the man who had taken his brother demanding the ring as ransom, leaving Mark’s medicine and pounder at the tennis courts, the swap that never happened at the Old Pier.

“You should have told your mother, Vincent. You should have told the police.”

“He said if I told the police, I wouldn’t get Mark back.” Vincent pleaded his justification. “I had to get him back. Everything was all my fault.”

Cassie calculated the anguish the boy had been through, and she had to hold herself back from wrapping her arms around him. “It wasn’t your fault, Vincent. You weren’t responsible for a very bad man taking Mark. He did that.”

“But I should have been there. If I was home, watching Mark like I was s’posed to, none of this would have happened.”

“We can’t change what’s already happened, honey. All we can do is figure out what to do from here. Give me the ring, Vincent. Let me hold on to it.”

He opened his jacket, zipped open the pocket, and dug inside. He handed her the ring, glad to be rid of it. Cassie slid it on her finger.

Next she pulled out her cell phone but couldn’t get a connection. Cassie turned the key in the ignition and put the Jeep into drive. She’d try to reach the police again when they got to the evacuation center.

“I’m looking for Vincent Bayler.” The worried-looking man stood at the emergency room admitting desk.

“Are you his father?”

Why not?

“Yes. Where is he? I want to see him.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bayler, but he just left.” The nurse was puzzled. “Your wife said no one could come to get him. She gave permission for him to leave with someone else.”

“Who? Who did he go with?”

The nurse mistook the urgency in the man’s voice for understandable parental concern. She checked her clipboard. “A Cassie Sheridan. She was taking him to the evacuation center at Sarasota High School.”

Etta and Charles were glad that they had staked out their place in the high school media center. If you had to be stuck somewhere riding out a hurricane, what better spot to be than surrounded by thousands of volumes of books and recordings?

Charles contented himself with a stack of architecture books he’d pulled from the shelves. Etta, fearful of straining her eyes, helped herself to a headset and some classical music tapes.

Closing the cover of his book, Charles leaned over and pulled an earphone from his wife’s ear. “Want to try again? The line might be shorter now.”

“That’s a good idea, dear.”

The retirees made their way to the cafeteria, where soup, fruit, donuts, and coffee were being served by volunteers.

They sat together sipping their soup, each trying not to let the other know how worried they were. Charles peeled an orange and held it out to his wife. “Etta?”

She was squinting at something at the side of the
cafeteria. “Charles, I think that’s the boy from the beach. You know, the one I told you about? The one that found the hand the other morning.”

He looked in the direction of her gaze. The boy seemed to be sitting by himself.

“You don’t think he could be alone here, do you, Charles?”

“No. I’m sure he must have someone with him.”

Etta continued to watch. “I’m going over to him.”

“Now, Etta, don’t go overreacting. I’m sure the kid’s fine. You don’t have to get involved.”

She ignored her husband’s instruction. “If it were our child, I’d want someone to check on him.”

As Etta reached the boy’s table, another woman approached, carrying a tray, which she set before the child. Etta smiled and explained. “I was worried when I saw him sitting all by himself.” She looked at the boy. “I recognize you from Siesta Beach. I’ve seen you out there with your metal detector.” She deliberately didn’t bring up the unpleasantness with the hand.

“I’ve seen you around, too,” said Vincent.

Cassie introduced herself.

“I’m Etta Chambers. You’re his mother?”

“No, actually, I’m not. Just a friend. His mother couldn’t be here.”

What kind of mother wasn’t with her child during a hurricane?
wondered Etta, automatically wanting to take care of this boy.

“I see.”

Cassie studied the older woman, well groomed and dressed in a good-quality nylon running suit. She looked like a hip grandma.

“Cassie, my head hurts.” The boy rubbed his temples.

“That’s to be expected, Vincent.” She glanced at her watch. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take some more Tylenol.”

“What happened to him?” Etta asked with concern.

“He hit his head earlier, and he really should be watched. My problem is that I’m a reporter and I’m also here working.”

“I could stay with him, if you want.”

It was a tempting offer. What were the chances that this elderly lady was a kidnapper? Pretty darn remote. And what choice did Cassie have? She could drag Vincent along with her as she did interviews around the evacuation center, but he really should be resting. Cassie’s gut told her Etta Chambers was safe, a straight shooter. She had to go with that feeling.

Cassie looked down at Vincent. “How does that sound?”

“I guess it would be okay.” The boy shrugged.

“Good,” said Etta. “My husband and I are staying in the media center. After Vincent finishes eating, that’s where we’ll be.”

Cassie found Leroy and Felix in the crowded gymnasium.

“There you are. Finally. I can’t get through to New York,” declared Leroy. “The damned cell phones aren’t working. We should just go on shooting and hope that we can get through later.”

Cassie wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t been able to reach the police either.

Vincent was safe, but little Mark Bayler was out there somewhere, being held by a desperate killer. A man so crazed that he would slay an old man and kidnap a child to get back the ring that had been on Merilee Quiñones’s finger.

Cassie looked at the ring that now encircled her finger. She slipped it off and held it up to catch the light from the glaring overhead gymnasium lights. There was no inscription, only the jeweler’s mark. She squinted to see it better.

A flowery, scripted LS.

Leslie Sebastien. The jeweler slashed at Ringling two nights ago.

On the theory that three heads were better than one, she decided to share what she knew with Leroy and Felix.

“I saw a sheriff’s car out in front when we pulled in,” offered Felix after hearing her story.

“Well it’s not there now,” observed Cassie. “I checked with the school office. They had to go off and answer an emergency call.”

He’d heard that the new high school could hold close to two thousand evacuees. He went from classroom to classroom looking for Vincent and Cassie. Needles in a haystack. Through the busy hallways, stepping over blankets and sleeping bags, picking his way around the children passing the time by playing cards and board games on the floor. He searched each young face.

Children filled the music room, banging on the piano, beating the drums. Babies cried and mothers shushed and fathers paced.

“I haven’t seen you in quite a while.”

He turned to face the voice but had to look down to see where it had come from.

“Anthony. How ya doin’?”
Stay calm. Don’t give yourself away
.

The little man waved his arms. “This sure is something, huh?”

“Sure is.”

“Where are you camped out?”

He thought fast. “The gym. I was just stretching my legs.”

Anthony nodded. “Don’t forget, you promised you’d sub for me next week at the hospital. Who knows if this storm will have any little casualties, but whoever’s in the pediatric unit will definitely need some cheering up.”

“I’ll call you about it,” he said, edging away. “I’ll call you.”

She was in no mood for that jerk. Gloria steered clear of Van when she saw him taking a drink from the water fountain.

She found her corner to huddle in at the end of the jammed hallway. She spread out her blanket and arranged her picnic hamper and the pile of movie and fashion magazines she had brought to pass the time.

She slathered some moisturizer over her face and hands and took a long swallow from her water bottle. Might as well make these hours count, use the time as an opportunity for a little spa treatment. She hadn’t been satisfied with the way she’d looked in the rushes of yesterday’s shoot that Webb had shown her. Her skin looked too dry, her hair brittle and frayed.

With her back against the wall, she stretched out to catch up on what her favorite models were sporting. Lots of leg, tight abs, and sheer blouses opened to reveal perky breasts. Gloria tightened her stomach, sucked in her breath, and lifted her legs a few inches above the blanket, holding them as long as she could.

She was letting out her breath when she saw the man standing farther down the hall, seeming to search the congestion, his face intense and glowering.

Gloria buried her head in her magazine.

She didn’t want him to spot her. She didn’t want him to see her without her makeup on. Nor was she in any mood to talk to him about Merilee.

When this hurricane was over, maybe she should go to the police with her suspicions.

What great luck! There was Cassie Sheridan.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to his camerawoman.

With his bag slung over his shoulder, the WSBCTV reporter picked his way across the people-scattered gym floor. When he reached Cassie, he stood aside and waited while she finished the interview she was doing.

“Cassie? Hi.” He could tell she didn’t recognize him right away. “Tony Whitcomb. From Suncoast News?” he coaxed, crestfallen.

“Oh, yes, Tony. Of course.”

“I have the tape I was telling you about. I didn’t have a chance to mail it yet. But this is better. I can give it directly to you.”

Tony’s audition tape was the last thing on her mind right now, but Cassie accepted the cassette he held out to her.

“I put some of my best stuff on it. Sweeps pieces. The station spends some money then and I get to go
out of town. I thought the network would like to see me in some different locations.”

“Fine, Tony. I’ll pass it on.” She tucked the tape in her bag. She wanted to finish her interviews so she could go check on Vincent.

It was times like this that Harrison Lewis hated being a doctor and the notoriety it could provide. People were always recognizing him, coming up to him and chatting. As if he cared.

Even in the sea of people at the evacuation center, there was no anonymity. Some old coot that he had operated on had spotted him. He stood before Harry now, raving about the changes in his life since he’d had his cataracts removed. “I can’t thank you enough, Doc. The past year has been wonderful. Kitty and I can go out to dinner and go dancing at night. I don’t have to worry anymore about driving in the dark.”

“Glad to hear it.” He wanted to get away, but he was trapped.

As Jerry waited in line for coffee and donuts, he saw the guy who’d rented Webb’s boat last week standing in the cafeteria doorway. He wanted to give the pig a piece of his mind. Leaving powder all over the head of the boat like that and raising Webb’s suspicions.

But Jerry was hungry, and he didn’t want to give up his place in the line. He’d get the slob later.

“Charles, go with him,” Etta urged.

“I can go by myself,” Vincent insisted. She was treating him like a baby.