A Son's Tale

“What about the grounds camera?”

“It’s broken at the hinge, but we can’t tell if the break is new or not.”

“How long ago did he leave class?”

“He asked to go to the bathroom half an hour ago. As soon as his teacher reported that he hadn’t come back and wasn’t in the bathroom we went to the security camera. I texted you as soon as I saw the film.”

“Have they checked his locker?”

“Yeah. His suit and towel for swimming are in there.”

“What about his lunch?”

They were out of the car, hurrying toward the walk.

“Today is picnic-on-the-lawn day, remember? We provide brown-bag lunches.”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Picnic-on-the-lawn day had seemed so far away.

“They’ve locked down the school, Morg. Come on. We have to get in there. They’re waiting for you… .”

The fear in Julie’s eyes held Morgan frozen for a split second. And then she ran.

* * *

CALPUSHEDTHE BUTTON on his office answering machine before he’d taken his seat behind his desk.

As if there’d be some news about Morgan Lowen’s son there already. Just because her urgency was coursing through him like a river with a broken dam didn’t mean that he was in any kind of loop that would be privy to her private information on an immediate basis.

Still, he couldn’t just sit there. A child was missing. Something had to be done.

He was overreacting, of course. Kids went missing every day, and almost every single time they turned up. Morgan was probably with Sammie at this very moment. Maybe scolding him for having given her a scare. Or taking him for fast food hamburgers, which she’d told Cal she’d done last April after Sammie’s problems at school. She’d wanted her son to talk to her. Rather than punish him, she’d wanted to know why he’d acted out.

“This message is for Dr. Caleb Whittier. Dr. Whittier, I left a message yesterday. My name is Detective Ramsey Miller. I’m with the Comfort Cove Police Department in Comfort Cove, Massachusetts. It’s important that you return my call… .”

Cal cut off the message before the man recited his numbers, including one for a private cell, a second time. He hadn’t been anywhere near Comfort Cove, a coastal town not far from Boston, since he was seven years old. Not since the accusations had forced him and his father out of town.

He’d be damned if he was going to waltz back there of his own accord. Other than this office line at school, his numbers—landline and cell—were unlisted. His father’s cell was a pay-as-you-go with an untraceable number. They rented instead of owning so that there was no tax record of the residence. They used a P.O. box for mail. He paid taxes, but Frank didn’t. His father worked at the local nursing home, doing handyman and janitorial work, and the rent on the home they lived in was free in trade. Cal hadn’t lived thirty-two years without learning a thing or two about protecting his father from the stalkers who’d all but ruined his life.

Bile rose in his throat as he thought about the tall, proud man who’d once stood at the helm of one of Massachusetts’ most prestigious private high schools, getting up every morning to fix bathroom plumbing and mop piss off floors.

His father had not only been one of Massachusetts’ most respected educators, he’d also been a damn good basketball coach. And in the past twenty years the only ball he’d touched professionally was the float ball in a toilet.

There were two other messages. One confirming that while the adventure vacations group had sympathy with Cal’s plight, the thousand bucks he’d put up for his father’s fishing trip was not going to be refunded, regardless of the circumstances. The second one was from the assistant of one of yesterday’s bankers informing him that she’d sent a list of questions that he would need to answer, in writing, before her boss could consider Cal’s scholarship request for the young artists’ league.

Voice mail over, he sat down. Opened his email.

And saw the message in his in-box that Joy had sent the day before, confirming their date the night before. She’d said she had something to speak with him about. He’d thought she wanted to deepen their relationship with spoken commitment. To talk about some kind of future.

It hadn’t gone that way… .

“Hi, hon. How was your day?” he’d said as he’d met her outside the restaurant. He’d bent down for a kiss, which she’d returned as though everything was fine. It hadn’t been until later, back at her place, that she’d let him know how she was really feeling.

He’d pulled her into his arms. She’d pushed him away.

“I don’t want to do this, Cal,” she’d said. “It’s like I’m on your list of things to do, not like I’m the person you need in your life. When you kiss me…I don’t know…I don’t feel like I do it for you anymore.”

“It’s not that,” he’d hastily assured her. “I want you.”

“I’m not talking about sex, Cal. All your working parts are in perfect order, as I’m sure you’re fully aware. You’re the best lover I’ve ever had and then some.”

“So what’s the problem?” His tone was purposefully light. But he knew. In the end, the story was always the same.

“You don’t give enough of yourself, Cal. You bring gifts. You take me to concerts and the theater. You’ve introduced me to some great restaurants that I’d never been to even though I’ve lived in Tennessee my entire life. You entertain me. You bring me physical pleasure I didn’t even know I could feel. But you never talk to me. I know more about what’s playing and who’s cooking than I do about you.”

Different words, but same story. As he’d predicted.

“What’s there to tell?” he’d asked, as much out of habit as anything. And he’d waited for her answer with more curiosity than hope. Would her answer be any different than any he’d ever heard before?

“If I knew that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Did it ever occur to you that you know what there is to know?”

“It did. But I don’t believe that. You have too much insight, too much consideration and too much understanding to ever pass for a shallow man.”

Her words made him uncomfortable. “You get more of me than anyone else in my life gets.”

She’d wanted more.

He wasn’t going to give it to her.

Her next words replayed themselves loud and clear—their echo joining the chorus of others in his mind. “I think we need to start seeing other people, Cal.”

“You’re breaking up with me.”

“Were we ever really going together?”

“I was seeing you exclusively. You know that.” He only had exclusive sex.

She’d paused.

Two months prior they’d had “the talk.” The one that said she was important to him. As he was to her.

And what more was there? They’d established in the very beginning that neither was interested in marriage or family.

None of the women Cal dated were. That criteria was at the top of his list when considering whether or not he should ask a woman out. “I know you care about me, Cal. And I’ll always care about you,” Joy had finally said. Then she’d added, “And no, I’m not saying I don’t ever want to see you again. I just think we need to see other people, too. You know, to keep things from getting too…personal.”

They were done sleeping with each other. “I understand.”

“We’ve had some really good times.”

“Agreed.”

She’d offered him coffee to sober up so he could drive. He’d had several cups. The silence had gotten awkward.

Then he’d stood.

“Call me, okay?” she’d said, standing there in her banker’s conservative shirt and jacket, her arms wrapped around her middle.

He’d pulled the knot on his tie up. “I will. You do the same.”

“Of course.”

He’d left her house pretty certain that he and Joy would never speak again.

There was another message from her in Friday morning’s incoming email. She was sorry for how things had gone the night before. But she really thought their decision was for the best. She hoped he understood that she wouldn’t be referring any more of her clients or associates to him for his fundraising efforts. And she wanted the earrings back that she’d left in his car the previous week.

Cal would have been a lot more bothered about Joy if he’d known that Sammie Lowen was with his mother, safe and sound.

CHAPTER THREE

SHEWASLIVINGa nightmare. She’d wake up any second.

Longing for the quilt on her bed, to be able to pull it up over her head and warm her freezing body, Morgan sat in the chair at the police station and waited for her parents to arrive.

She’d already answered all of the officers’ questions.

“Let’s go over things one more time, Ms. Lowen.” The female detective sitting across from her in the little room with only a table and four chairs emanated sympathy. About ten years older than Morgan, Elaine Martin didn’t look any more like a cop than she did. She wasn’t even in uniform.

“The smallest things can make a difference,” Detective Martin said. “Tell me again everything you can remember about this morning.”

“I got Sammie up at seven, just like always.”

“Did he get right up? Or did you have to nag him?”

Was the woman calling her a nag? Did she think Morgan wasn’t a good mom? That she’d somehow failed her son? Failed to see that someone was watching him? Out to get him? Or…

“Ms. Lowen? You okay?”

Morgan focused. Detective Martin’s brow creased with concern.

No, I’m not okay. How can I possibly be okay? My son is…where? What are they doing to him? God, was Sammie even still alive? Or…had he run away? Was he that unhappy with her? Was he in with a bad crowd and she’d somehow missed evidence of that fact? “Yeah. I’m fine.”

The detective covered Morgan’s hand with her own. “We’re going to find him,” she said. “Stay with me, okay?”

Morgan nodded “He got right up. He always does. Sammie’s like me. A morning person.”

“Then what?”

“I got his breakfast. Rice Krispies with milk.”

“Did he eat it all?”

“Yes.”

“Does he always?”

“Yes.”

“What about toast? Or fruit?”

“No. He hates fruit.” And she didn’t make him eat it. Did that make her a bad mother? Did they think Sammie’s missing was her fault? That she had something to do with this? They were asking her so many questions over and over and…

“Just cereal,” she said, meeting Detective Martin’s gaze again. “He went upstairs to dress. I heard him brushing his teeth. He left the cap off the toothpaste just like always. And he spit six times…” Her eyes welled up. She’d limited Sammie to six spits and, bless his heart, he always complied.

She smiled, not seeing anything but her son’s skinny little face, his lips puckered up. “He loves to spit. Sometimes I think that’s why he loves baseball so much. Of course, he loves basketball even more and you can’t spit on a basketball court… .” She stopped. She was rambling. Did that make her look guilty?

She searched for signs of accusation in the detective’s expression and couldn’t determine if there were any there or not.

“What was he wearing when you left the house?”

“His oldest pair of cutoff shorts. The ones with the ripped pocket. They were going to get to play around with oil on canvas today and I didn’t want him to ruin any of his good clothes.”

She couldn’t afford to replace them. She and Sammie lived on a tight budget. They had his whole life. Was that why this was happening? Because she couldn’t provide well enough for her son?

“And a Phoenix Suns T-shirt,” she said. He had four of them. “The oldest one. It’s his favorite sports team. They play basketball…out in Phoenix. We’ve never been there.”

“What was he wearing on his feet?” Detective Martin’s voice was a gentle reminder that this was all real. She wasn’t having some horrible nightmare.

“Sneakers. The ones with the rip in the toe. They’re black. Converse.” The Converses had been a Christmas gift from her mother. He’d worn them out by March. She’d bought him a new pair of sneakers. A bargain brand. They looked the same to Morgan but Sammie loved Converses. He said all real basketball players wore them. And so he’d continued to wear them even though they were worn through.

“You said he doesn’t know his father?”

Morgan shook her head.

“Are you certain about that?”

“Yes, of course. Sammie’s never met Todd. He knows we were divorced and he thinks his father is dead, that he died before Sammie was born, which is why Sammie has my last name.” She’d told him Todd was dead. She hated lying to her son but felt that in this case, she had no other choice. Because the alternative, the truth, was unthinkable. No one told a little boy that his father just didn’t want him. That he wasn’t worth the money it would have cost Todd to have Sammie in his life.

“I’d know if Todd wanted to see our son.” She could bet on that. If Todd wanted something, Todd got it.

“But what if he thought you wouldn’t let him see Sammie? Do you think he’d take him?”

Her blood ran cold. “As in kidnap him? You said there was no sign of struggle at the school—nor any forced entry or exit. You said that a good majority of missing-child cases are runaways and that was what Sammie’s case was looking like… .”

She heard how crazy she sounded, to be accusing a cop of misleading her. But she felt crazed. “No.” She forced herself back to the question. “Todd wouldn’t do that,” she added, trying to calm down. “I wasn’t eager for Todd to have a part in Sammie’s life, but I never told him he couldn’t see his son. Todd was the one who wanted nothing to do with him from the very beginning. Sammie’s father is a thief and a liar who wants nothing more than to wallow in money. And he’s doing that now. He’s married to an heiress who actually has money to share with him. On the condition that he doesn’t bring a kid into her life. She hates them.”

Morgan was heiress to a large fortune, too—unless her father had changed his will and left all of his money to the investment firm he owned and loved more than life—but she’d been cut off from access to the money when she’d married Todd.

Her father had forbidden the marriage. He’d said that Todd was a gold digger. She’d believed Todd loved her, so she’d gone against her father’s dictates. Her father then made certain that she didn’t have any money for Todd to use.

And as it turned out, her father had been right.

“We ran a check on him,” Elaine Martin said, and Morgan stared at her. They’d run a check on her father? Already?

“On Todd Williams,” the detective clarified. “Turns out he’s got a record, both juvenile and adult. He did time for burglary and theft.”

“That’s right.” Though she hadn’t known about the juvenile stuff until after he’d broken into her parents’ mansion and tried to steal what was “rightfully” his. His prison time had come after their divorce.

“We’ve got a call in to his parole officer. They’re going to be bringing Williams in for questioning.”

Again, Morgan nodded. They could question the devil for all she cared. She just wanted her son found.

“What kind of relationship does Williams have with your parents?”

“After he stole from them and they prosecuted him, you mean?”

“They were one of the counts in his conviction?”

She nodded.

“Before or after your divorce?”

“He stole from them before. The conviction came after.”

“What kind of relationship do your parents have with Sammie?”

“My mother sees him regularly. My father never comes to our home or takes Sammie anywhere.”

“Your parents are divorced?” The woman looked down at her paperwork. “I’m sorry, I thought…”

“They aren’t divorced,” Morgan clarified. “My father sees Sammie when my mother brings him to their place, but he and I have been in a standoff since before Sammie was born. After my marriage to Todd broke up, he offered to take me back into his fold, but only if I live at home with him and my mother and do exactly as I’m told. If I don’t live by his dictates, he has nothing to do with me. He won’t go to any of Sammie’s functions if I’m there. Though, to be fair, I believe that if I was incapable of providing for Sammie, my father wouldn’t let us starve. As it is, he’s content to let me penny-pinch, drive a used car and live in a smallish duplex. And I’m perfectly happy to do so if it means I can be my own person and live my life and raise my son in the way I feel is best.”

“Mmm.” The detective’s compassionate glance, her knowing tone, left Morgan feeling far too exposed. And ready to spill all at the same time.

She wanted her son found. No matter what embarrassing and humiliating shortcomings she had to confess.

“So your parents don’t help you out financially at all? Not even with Sammie?”

“No. My mother buys gifts for Sammie occasionally and my father doesn’t object, as long as I don’t benefit financially. It’s his way of teaching me a lesson. My father isn’t evil. He’s just cold. And certain that he’s always right.”

But he would not do anything, ever, to hurt his grandson. Or Morgan, either, in a physical sense.

“You have no siblings, right?”

“Right.”

Morgan jumped as a knock sounded on the door to the small room.

“Excuse me.” With papers in hand, Detective Martin left Morgan alone.

She was back in a couple of seconds.

“Todd Williams is here. We’re going to question him.”

“You really think he could have taken Sammie?”

Elaine Martin shrugged. “If his money pool is running low. I know you said his wife is rich but he could be into gambling. Or he could have taken your son if he wants to get back at your folks for rejecting him to begin with and then pressing the charges that sent him to prison. Either motive is solid. It’s our job to find out who has motive and to investigate every possibility as quickly as possible.”

Morgan felt like she might throw up. This couldn’t be happening. “But if he took him, he’d have to do something with him.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “He couldn’t take him home… .”

Sammie? Oh, God. Her breath caught. Where are you, Sammie?

Does your father have enough of a parental instinct to at least keep you alive?

Thinking of the man she’d once thought she loved with all of her heart and soul, Morgan couldn’t be sure what he’d do. He’d been quite willing to turn his back on her, in spite of the adoration he’d professed to have for her, so how well could a child he’d never met fare with him?

“What about an Amber Alert? Did you issue one of those?”

“Not yet.” The detective looked down at the pages in front of her. “We have to be reasonably certain that there’s been an abduction before we can do that, which is why we’re questioning your ex-husband. As I told you already, there’s been no sign of foul play.”

Her ten-year-old son was missing! That was foul. Morgan resisted the temptation to jump up and run. To make up for what others weren’t doing. Not that she knew what that was.

Had Sammie really run away? Was he that unhappy with her?

As bad as that seemed, it was still better than thinking that her son had been taken against his will. That he was scared or…worse…

“But you’re still pursuing the possibility that he’s been kidnapped, aren’t you?”

“Of course. We have to consider the worst if we’re going to be assured of getting him back.”

“What about his backpack, his things? His baseball mitt? He took that to school with him this morning and he wouldn’t leave it behind.”

She’d just remembered. She’d told him he had to leave it at home, but when he’d said he wanted to show Jimmy how to catch during the picnic lunch and he’d promised to keep it in his locker the rest of the day, she’d given in. She’d told Detective Martin she’d forgotten about the mitt when she and Julie had discussed Sammie’s locker.

“There was no mitt in his locker,” the other woman said, frowning. “Or backpack, either. Who’s Jimmy Burns?”

“He’s a boy in his regular class at school and he’s in Sammie’s summer school art class. He just moved here last spring. He’s got Down syndrome, but he loves baseball and Sammie was going to teach him how to catch at lunch.”

“Does Sammie spend much time with Jimmy?”

“Yeah, a fair amount. His mom sometimes watches Sammie for me when I’m in class. Daddy only lets Mom see us a couple of times a week.”

Blind fear made her continue, to tell the detective everything. Her son’s life was in danger. She wasn’t going to spare herself. “According to my father, I’m a bad influence on my mother.”

“And on Sammie, too?”

“Only because I’m teaching him how to disrespect a parent and go against a parent’s wishes. If I’d conform to his way of thinking and move home and be pampered and protected, he’d think I’m a great mother.”

She didn’t want to stop talking now. If she kept talking she didn’t have to think. Could Sammie really be with his father? He’d never even met the man.

Already divorced by the time Sammie was born, she’d put “father unknown” on her son’s birth certificate to protect the boy from finding out who and what his father really was. And lost any chance for child support in the doing.

If Todd had her son, Sammie would be scared to death. And Todd? What would he do with him? How could he possibly keep the boy’s existence a secret? If Sammie didn’t turn up soon, his picture was going to be all over the evening news.

Todd had friends in low places, though, in spite of the moneyed crowd he now ran with.

She glanced up at Detective Martin, her entire body frozen with fear. “If Todd is behind this, he might turn my son over to associates from his old life for safekeeping until he gets the ransom.”

“We’re already checking on that. We’re also finding out who he knew in prison and if anyone is out or has contacts in the area.

“We also aren’t ruling out a nonrelation kidnapping.”

Morgan wasn’t sure which was worse—Todd or a stranger. “Even if ransom is paid, kidnappers don’t return victims who can identify them. And they don’t just take kids for ransom money.” She was killing herself and couldn’t stop. “I watch TV.”

Oh, God. Please don’t allow Sammie to pay for my sins… .

Elaine Martin squeezed her hand, quieting the screeching in Morgan’s mind enough for her to hear the detective when she said, “We get them back safely, too. And we’re getting way ahead of ourselves. At this point it doesn’t even look like Sammie’s been kidnapped. We just don’t want to leave any rocks unturned.”

The detective was right. Sammie was probably hiding out someplace, just to see if he could.

“I’m going to go see what, if anything, they’ve learned from Williams.” Detective Martin stood again.

“I should never have married that jerk,” Morgan said. “My father was right.”

He was also right outside the door. She could see him through the window that looked out into the reception room through which she’d been led. He was staring straight at her.

And she recognized that frown.

Her father was angry. Really angry.

And blaming her. Again.

Please, God, this time don’t let him be right.

CHAPTER FOUR

ONANORDINARYDAY, Cal would have emailed Joy back. He’d have tried to make things right for her. He was sad to see this one go. Joy was fun. Intelligent. Witty. Conversationally she’d kept him on his toes. In bed, they’d been plenty good enough.

He’d kind of been hoping that she’d become a semipermanent fixture in his life. He’d even thought about introducing her to his father some day.

On an ordinary day, he might even have called Joy.

Instead, Cal finished up a requisition request that was due that day for books for the fall semester, filed his class notes, found notes for Monday’s class and watched the time—and the phone.

Two hours had passed since Morgan Lowen had run from his class. She hadn’t called to apologize for interrupting class. To explain. To tell him that all was well.