Once Upon a Grind (5 page)

“A
UNT
Clare, we can't find our mom!”

Mike's daughter looked frantic. Jeremy looked scared. He'd stepped in after his sister, holding Penny's leash.

I got to my feet and embraced the children. “Where have you two looked for her?”

“We went to Belvedere Castle, like she told us to,” Jeremy said.

“But she wasn't there!” Molly cried.

“Okay, calm down. We'll find her . . .”

I led the children out of the tent. Then they took the lead. Night had fallen fast, but the park seemed especially dark. Mike's children headed for the castle again.

“Slow down, kids! Wait for me!”

They didn't. They kept moving. At the crest of the hill, I reached the castle grounds, only to find the kids racing for a set of stone steps on the other side. At the bottom of the steps, they took a dirt path, one of the many entrances leading into—

Oh, no . . .

“Molly! Jeremy! Come back! Don't go in there!”

The Ramble was confusing in daylight. At night, the thick woods and maze of winding paths were downright stupefying. I did my best to catch up, but Mike's kids were moving at a preternatural pace.

Freestanding park lamps glowed along the path. They were few and far between. The children would appear in a pool of light and quickly disappear again, as if swallowed up by a black beast. And then—

No!!!

They were gone. I had completely lost them!

I saw a fork in the trail. Both paths branched off into thick woods—one sloped upward, the other down.

Which way do I go?

Both routes seemed right. With tears of frustration, I searched for any sign of which path to take. And then I saw the light—literally.

A flickering glow emanated from far down the descending trail. Was it a flashlight? Someone signaling for help? I hurried along the dirt path only to find an incomprehensible sight.

A traffic sign hung on a huge oak tree, blocking my way, its blinking bulbs spelling out the words
Bridge Detour
.

“Clare . . .”

Now someone was calling my name. Off the path, I heard leaves crunching, saw branches moving. Then came a flash of sparkling pink.

Between two gnarled trees, a slender woman appeared with her back to me. Against the black trunks and brown leaves, the glistening fabric of her gown seemed to glow with its own illumination.

Then the woman turned.

“Leila!”

At the sound of her name, Mike's ex-wife took off.

“Stop,” I shouted, following her off the path and into the woods, “your kids are looking for you!”

The brush grew thicker, but I kept going. Then the ground began to give, like quicksand. With tremendous effort, I tried to push forward but couldn't. That's when I felt it—

The cold.

Not the icy bite of harsh weather, but the black, empty chill that freezes you from the inside out.

A presence loomed nearby. I didn't need to see it because I
felt
it. And whatever it was, I knew it meant harm.

Shaking with fear, I watched a specter begin to materialize. The black shape started out as human then it began to transform, its essence bending and twisting until it became a monstrous animal.

I was about to scream when somebody beat me to it.

“Help! Help me!”

I fell off my chair and onto the floor.

What the—

From my padded derriere, I rubbed my eyes. No longer in the Ramble, I was back in Madame Tesla's fortune-telling tent. My chair was turned over, my empty coffee cup on the ground beside me.

“Help me! Help me! Please!”

The woods had been an illusion, but these cries weren't part of a dream. They were real.

I scrambled to my feet and bolted for the lawn.

T
HE
cry for help had drawn a costumed crowd. A dozen Storybook Kingdom residents converged in front of my coffee truck. I elbowed my way through Jack, Jill, and Little Miss Muffet (sans her Tuffet).

Pushing into the center of the fairy-tale ring, I found Mike Quinn's ex—in a clinch with mine.

“What happened?!” I cried.

Matt stepped back and Leila faced me, topaz eyes pooling.

“I can't find Molly or Jeremy. They were supposed to meet me at the castle. When they didn't show, I searched everywhere, but I couldn't find them!”

She buried her face into my ex-husband's princely tunic.

That's when it hit me like a sucker punch:
Lost kids. In an urban park. At nightfall.
And they weren't just any kids. They were
Mike's kids
.

“Did you try calling them?”

“What are you talking about, Clare? Molly doesn't have a phone.”

“But Jeremy does!” I reminded her.

“Not since I took it away.”

“You what?!”

“My son sneaked his phone into school two days ago,” Leila said. “And that's prohibited!”

“Mike never told me that!”

“That's because I haven't had time to tell him.”

I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms. “Leila, if Jeremy
had his phone now
, we could
contact him.
”

“Stop yelling at me. They're
my
children. Not yours.”

“And what about their father? Maybe you should have consulted him before you took the phone away.”

Leila shook her scarlet mane, and her tone turned shrill. “What does that matter now? I can't find my babies. That's
your
fault, not mine. I left Molly and Jeremy with
you
. You agreed to watch them!”

A wall of muscle stepped between us. “That's enough. Bickering and blame aren't going to help us find two lost kids.”

Leila's eyes flashed at Matt. “They
also
had their collie with them.”

“Okay, and their little dog, too.”

Leila demanded the police be called, and a perpetually grinning Cheshire Cat stepped up, informing us he'd already spoken to 911.

(The cat was actually James Elliot, whose popular portobello mushroom burger prompted his embrace of the
Alice in Wonderland
theme, complete with inflatable hookah-smoking caterpillar atop his bright orange sandwich truck.)

Within a minute an electric buggy with two park policemen rolled up, while in the background an NYPD sector car approached along the narrow road circling the ball field.

Samantha Peel arrived with her handy Bluetooth—and a bearded man in a navy blue blazer (the festival's legal advisor).

The police were serious and professional, but they were not overly alarmed; in other words, no Amber Alert, not yet. They calmed Leila and launched some basic protocols.

A smartphone alert was sent to Sam's staff, and an announcement was made over the loudspeakers for “Jeremy and Molly to please come to the coffee truck . . .” Meanwhile, Leila was instructed to ring her building's doorman
(no sign of them)
and the kids' friends.
(No luck.)

Finally, the police shared their plans for a systematic search of the entire festival area, as well as the museum's grounds near the festival's entrance. If the kids didn't turn up, the hunt would be widened.

The Mad Hatter joined the Cheshire Cat in offering to help search, as did Jack and Jill, Snow White's Huntsman, and Little Bo Peep (who clearly took her role to heart). But while the police outlined their plan, I felt a cold itch at the back of my skull.

That little dream I'd had in Madame Tesla's tent had involved Mike's kids, and they hadn't led me to any of the places the police were about to search.

It bothered me. But what was I supposed to do about it? Tell the police to base their response on a coffeehouse manager's naptime musings?

Rationally speaking, I had no idea where Molly and Jeremy were. And I certainly didn't want to divert official resources on
this
mother's “goose chase.”

Yet my dream had seemed
so real
. I couldn't let it go . . .

That left me with one solution. But first I had to call Mike Quinn and tell him the truth. There was no getting around it—

I'd let down the man I loved.

Q
UINN
picked up on the first ring. As soon as I explained the situation, he went into full cop mode, peppering me with questions on the official response, the name of the officer in charge, the search procedure, and a dozen other things.

“I'm sorry this happened, Mike. You warned me about Leila's flaky behavior, you asked me to keep an eye on your kids. I should have been more careful—”

“Stop. It's not your fault—”

“I don't care what you say. I feel responsible—”

“Let me finish, Clare. It's not your fault for a very simple reason. It's mine.”

“How could it possibly be yours? You're four hundred miles away.”

“Exactly.”

I closed my eyes and took a breath. “Mike, I'll find them. I promise—”

“I'm coming to help.”

“In the morning?”

“Now
.
I'm already in the car. If I can't book a seat out of Dulles, I'll go on standby. Call me anytime, okay? If you can't get through, I'm on the plane. I'll call you back as soon as I can . . .”

We said our good-byes and I turned my gaze skyward. The night felt especially dark with the glow from Manhattan's lights painting the horizon an eerie purple.

I hurried to my coffee truck and climbed in the back door.

Esther looked up. “Nancy and I already emptied the thermal Air-Pots—”

“Fill them again,” I commanded. Then I told them about Jeremy and Molly. They were both upset and asked to help. “Take care of the truck. And after the coffee is ready, notify the officer in charge that free java is available to all police and park personnel helping with the search.”

Rummaging through the utility drawer, I found a heavy Maglite. I tested its beam—and accidentally blinded Esther.

“Yow!” she howled, rubbing her eyes. “Why do you need the flashlight?”

“It's dark outside!” I called, dashing for the door.

On the grass, my legs began eating up ground until something caught my arm. “Whoa, Nellie!” Prince Matt stared down at me with suspicion. “Where are you galloping so fast?”

“Where do you think? To find my boyfriend's kids!”

“Yes, but
where
?”

I told him my destination and Matt frowned.

“Clare, I'm not about to let you wander around Central Park's woods alone.”

“Then I guess you're coming.”

U
SING
my dream as a guide, I started at Belvedere Castle—where Molly and Jeremy
should
have met their mother.

The Victorian folly was perched on top of Vista Rock, the second highest point in the entire park, and Matt complained about stiff boots and sore feet during the whole climb.

“Molly! Jeremy!”

A howl of wind was the only reply.

It set me to shivering (and kicking myself for not covering my peasant costume with a nice, warm hoodie). Ignoring the chill, I adjusted my babushka, untying the strings from beneath my ponytail and retying them under my chin. Now I looked like Baba Yaga, but at least my ears were warm as I led Matt across the brightly lit observation deck to stone steps cut into the steep hillside.

After the castle's bright lights, our descent felt like a plunge into a black abyss. Cold, damp air hung like a fog around us, and the strong scent of earth and autumn leaves wafted up from the forest below.

At the bottom of the rustic staircase, we followed the downward sloping dirt trail and entered the wooded maze known as the Ramble.

I activated the Maglite. Its powerful beam seemed impressive back at the truck, but in these thick shadows, the light was easily dispersed.

“Molly! Jeremy!” I called as we moved deeper into the darkness. A wind gust rustled the dry leaves, sending another chill through me. After more minutes of silent walking, I glanced at Matt.

“You're awfully quiet.”

“These woods are creepy.”

I sent the flashlight beam across his face. “You look tense. Are you scared?”

“No. Just . . . uneasy.”

I couldn't believe it. “The fearless world traveler is rattled by a few trees?”

“
These
trees, growing out of
this
earth.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“When I was a kid, I told my mother that I was spending the night at a friend's apartment, but I really spent it in these woods. Three of my buddies and I did it on a dare.”

“And?”

“An old homeless guy saw us horsing around. He gathered us together and told us New York ghost stories for hours, including the true history of an early Dutch director general who ordered the massacre of two villages of Native American families. Men, women, children, grandparents—they were all killed right here on Manhattan Island, most while they slept.”

“That's horrible.”

“The Dutch official was ordered back to Amsterdam, but he never got there. His ship sank in a storm with everyone on board. The old man said he was cursed. The ghosts of the murdered families pulled him into the dark, icy depths.” Matt shivered. “I had nightmares for weeks.”

“That massacre probably occurred in lower Manhattan, not way up here.”

“It happened on this island, this land. You never wondered why the Manhattan population is happiest on concrete? Why the entire island is paved over? It's a layer of stone between the residents and the cursed earth, which we do not have the advantage of at the moment.”

“You actually believe there's a curse on Manhattan earth? You never mentioned this to me before.”

“We've never been alone, at night, in the Central Park woods before—”

An animal chuffed from the bushes and we both nearly jumped out of our shoes (in Matt's case, pointy boots). I aimed the flashlight at the sound and saw a pair of shiny eyes on a masked face. The creature blinked calmly and scurried away.

“A raccoon,” Matt whispered.

“At least it wasn't a rat.”

“Rats don't bother me. I'm more concerned about wild dogs.”

“What's next?” I cried. “Gators from the sewers? A killer-eyed cockatrice? You can't scare me with these silly fear tactics. I'm not leaving this park until I find Molly and Jeremy.”

Matt stopped me. “They're not here, Clare. There's no sign of them. And the police are back on the festival grounds with a search plan that makes sense. This doesn't.”

“Can't you trust me?”

“Yes—if you tell me why you think they're out here.”

My dream
, I thought, but what I said was—

“Mother's intuition.”

“What does that mean?” Matt folded his arms. “Are you flashing back to some incident in Joy's childhood you never mentioned?”

Actually, there were plenty. When Joy was thirteen, she failed to come home from school. For hours, I knocked on doors in our Jersey neighborhood. I finally found my daughter in a tree house.
She wasn't alone, and while Joy and her classmate Stewart weren't exactly playing doctor, they were definitely in the waiting room.

“I often wonder how many of Joy's secrets you've kept from me,” Matt mused.

Only one
, I thought.
And his name isn't Stewart. It's Emmanuel Franco.
But what I said was, “Not everything can be explained.” And I continued down the path, calling—

“Molly! Jeremy!”

Nothing.

“Clare!” Matt shouted, standing his ground. “Let's turn around—”

“Wait, Matt! Look!”

When he caught up to me, I passed the flashlight over two items lying on the dirt path: a cellophane wrapper and a piece of broken cookie. I picked them up and sniffed.

“It's one of our frosted gingerbread sticks. Mike's kids were here. I'm sure of it!”

“You gave hundreds of those away, Clare. Anyone could have dropped it here. You don't expect me to believe—”

“I expect you to back me up. That's what good partners do. Now come on!”