Nobody Knows (25 page)

Whatever
, thought Cassie. Her boss’s call meant little to her now. The only ones that mattered were the ones from Jim and Hannah, worried about her and wanting her to come home.

BEFORE SHE
went to the airport, Cassie had a stop to make. “Siesta Key, please. 603 Calle de Peru.”

She looked out the taxi window at the city cleanup crews clearing away Giselle’s remaining debris of fallen palm fronds and soggy trash. Passing the marina, she spotted Jerry Dean’s orange baseball cap, its wearer directing the righting of a capsized boat. The taxi traveled on, making several detours around still-flooded streets.

Over the North Bridge, past The Old Salty Dog, now reopened for lunchtime business, through Siesta Village, its shopkeepers sweeping the sandy sidewalks in front of their shops. As the cab turned onto Calle de Peru, Cassie caught sight of Mark and Vincent playing in front of their house, Wendy watching her boys from the stoop.

Vincent ran up to the car as Cassie paid the driver and gave him directions on when and where to pick her up again.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” said the boy.

“I told you I would come.”

She talked a bit with Wendy, accepting the mother’s thanks yet again.

“At least something good has come from all this.” Wendy smiled. “Mr. and Mrs. Chambers have volunteered to watch the boys for me when I need them. They said they’d like to be surrogate grandparents.”

“Hey, that’s great,” Cassie responded. “That should make things a little easier for you.” She gave a last pat to Mark’s soft, shining hair.

Cassie turned to Vincent. “You ready?”

“Yep.”

Together, Cassie and Vincent walked to their destination in the village center. They sat on the wooden
bench in front of Big Olaf’s, licking their double-scoop ice cream cones.

She eyed the bandages on his thin wrists. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not much.” He shrugged.

Cassie doubted the boy would tell her even if the bondage cuts throbbed.

“I guess I won’t see you again,” said Vincent, chocolate rimming the sides of his mouth.

“I don’t know about that,” answered Cassie, looking around. “This looks like a great place to vacation. I’d like to come back sometime with my daughter.”

“Your daughter’s lucky,” Vincent said softly, studying his cone.

“Hannah doesn’t always think so. But I want to change that.”

“She must be nuts. I wish I had a mother like you.”

Cassie returned his highest compliment. “I’d be proud to have a son like you, Vincent. But, you know, your mother is a good woman, and she’s doing the best she can to take care of you and Mark. She loves you very much.”

“She’s all right, I guess.”

Cassie didn’t want Vincent fantasizing about how wonderful it would be with a mother other than his own. Wendy was the one he had. It was only her financial situation that left her so frazzled, that made their lives so tough.

She licked her ice cream, resolving to get in touch with Sarge Tucker. After the hurricane, the band promoter had announced that he was donating his proceeds from “Nobody Knows” to local charities. Maybe
he was doing it from the goodness of his heart, maybe from guilt if the song was Merilee’s. It didn’t really matter, now that Merilee was dead. But Cassie wanted to see some of that money funneled to the Bayler family. She had a feeling she could persuade Sarge to make that happen.

The cab pulled up in front of the ice cream shop.

Cassie rose from the bench. “I have your number and you have mine. I’ll call you in a few days, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” She leaned down to hug the boy who, to Cassie’s pleasure, hugged her in return. “You’re a good, smart boy, Vincent Bayler,” she whispered. “I see great things for you, and I should know. Remember? I always trust my instincts.”

Cassie waved from the rear window until the child was out of sight and then turned to look straight ahead. In a few hours she would be with Jim and Hannah. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she was determined to make things right between her daughter and herself. And she hadn’t given up on Jim either. They had shared so much but lost their way. She wanted to try to find it again.

She had misplaced her priorities, concentrated on her work at her family’s expense. She hoped they could forgive her so they could go forward together. But, no matter what happened with Jim and Hannah, no matter what her career might hold, Cassie felt an inner calm as the sunlight streamed through the cab’s windows.

She had learned, the hard way, perhaps life’s most important lesson: Never take your blessings for granted.

Read on for an excerpt from
Mary Jane Clark’s new novel

DANCING IN THE DARK

Coming in July 2005 in hardcover
from St. Martin’s Press!

Thursday evening, August 18th

D
eprived of sight, her other senses were intensified. She stood in the darkness, seeing nothing, but hearing the persistent roar of the Atlantic Ocean in the distance and the soft flapping of wings right above her. Her nostrils flared at the smell of must and decay. The ground was damp and cold beneath her bare feet, her toes curling in the wet, sandy dirt She felt something brush against her ankle and prayed it was only a mouse and not a rat.

Three days in this dank chamber were enough. If she had to stay any longer, she would surely lose her mind. Still, when they found her, as she fantasized they would, the police would want to know everything. To survive this, she’d have to be able to recount every detail of what had happened.

She would tell the police how he’d leave her alone for what seemed like hours at a time. She would tell them how he’d gagged her when he left so nobody
would hear her screams and how he would only lower the gag to press his mouth against hers when he returned.

The police would want to know what he’d said to her, but she would have to tell them that she had stopped asking him questions after the second day of captivity because he’d never answered. He’d expressed what he wanted by touch. She’d be sure to tell them how he’d caressed her and lifted her up, how he’d maneuvered his body against hers, how she had known she must follow his lead.

As she continued to mentally organize the information the police would surely need from her, she felt a familiar rumble from her stomach. She had eaten sparsely of the meager provisions, but that didn’t really bother her. Hunger was a familiar friend. She knew the ability to survive with minimal sustenance was one of her most impressive strengths, though, of course, her parents didn’t see it that way. Nor did her former friends or teachers or the health care professionals who had worked so hard to steer her away from the path she had chosen for herself. They didn’t see what to her was only obvious. Not eating was the ultimate control.

As she listened to a pigeon cooing from the eaves above her, she thought more about her parents. They must be frantic with worry. She imagined her mother crying, and her father pacing and cracking his knuckles, over and over, his annoying habit whenever he was upset. Was everyone in town out looking for her? She prayed they were. She hoped that anyone who had ever wronged her, anyone who had ever snubbed her, anyone who had ever hurt her, was worried about her now.

The low rumble of the waves rolled in and out, and she began to rock to the rhythm, trying to soothe herself. It was all going to work out. It had to. She would tell the police what had happened, how he’d silently pulled her to her feet. Without words, he’d shown her what he wanted her to do by the way he moved his body next to hers. She had danced in the dark for him. Danced again and again, trying desperately to please him. Dancing for her life.

Four hours later

The security guard raised his arm and pointed the flashlight at his wrist. Still an hour to go before his shift was over. Time for one last patrol.

Strolling along the empty paths, George Croft pulled his handkerchief from his uniform pocket, wiping his forehead and the back of his neck. Except for the excessive heat, it was a night like many others in the quiet oceanside community. An occasional throaty snore emanated from the canvas cottages he passed. The rules permitted no loud talking after ten o’clock, and most lights were off by 11:00
P.M
. The combination of sun, heat, and salt air had left the summer occupants ready for a good night’s sleep.

Finishing up on Mt. Carmel Way, the guard cut across the grass and stopped to check the doors of Bishop Jane’s Tabernacle and the Great Auditorium one last time. The massive Victorian-style wooden structures were locked up tight as drums. The illuminated cross that shone from the top of the auditorium,
serving as a naval landmark for passing ships, beamed into the night, signaling that all was well.

He was satisfied that everything was in order, but he still had another fifteen minutes before he was officially off duty. God forbid something happened before 2:00 a.m., and he wasn’t on the grounds. He’d lose his job over that. And, although she didn’t live in his patrol area, that young woman was still missing. If some sick nut was intent on abducting another Ocean Grove girl, the guard wasn’t going to have it happen on his watch.

Lord, it was hot. Longing for a drink of cool water, George turned his flashlight in the direction of the wooden gazebo which protected the Beersheba well. He knew the first well driven in Ocean Grove had been named for a well in the Old Testament. Beersheba’s waters had been good enough for the Israelites back then, and good enough for his town’s founding fathers, but he preferred the bottled stuff. Still, the gazebo was as good a place as any to wait it out until his shift was over.

With no breeze blowing in from the ocean, the night air was especially still. He trained the yellow light on the lawn in front of him and walked slowly, trying to kill time. Noticing one of his shoes was undone, he put the flashlight down in the grass and stooped to tie the lace. It was then that he heard the scratching sound.

The fine hairs tingled on the back of his clammy neck and George spun the flashlight in the direction of the noise. He squinted, trying to identify what he was seeing. A dark, motionless mound lay at the base of the gazebo.

With caution, George stepped a little closer. Just when he heard the scratching again, he detected slight
movement coming from the form. Slowly, slowly, he approached until, finally, the glare of the flashlight reflected off the pale skin of a female face, blindfolded and gagged.

Read on for an excerpt from
Mary Jane Clark’s exciting novel

HIDE YOURSELF AWAY

Coming in June 2005
from St. Martin’s Paperbacks!