The Balloon Man (17 page)

“I won't need that, sussele, I'm not planning to entertain a glamorous lady spy in my hotel room.”

“I'd be embarrassed to have a glamorous lady spy see you in this.” Sarah's smile wavered. “Max, do you have to go?”

“We can't afford to lose Upthorn's goodwill, darling, or
the outrageous fee I expect to collect. You never know, Davy may need braces, or a brace of camels. I'll see Up-thorn in the
morning and be back tomorrow night, come hell or high water” He took her by the shoulders. “Jesse will be here in a couple
of hours, and Mariposa and Charles are on their way home”

“Did they get it?” Sarah's face brightened.

“There speaks a true professional.” Max kissed her. “Yes, they got it. I have to go, sweetheart. The flight's not till five,
but by the time I get to the airport and park the car and pick up my ticket and go through security three or four times because
I forget to take all the coins out of all my pockets I'll just about make it.”

Max had faced assorted criminals with considerable aplomb, but he wasn't man enough to explain to his son that he couldn't
go to the Sahara. He sneaked away while Sarah did her best to propitiate the leader of the expedition. “I'm sorry, Davy, but
Daddy has to fly to Chicago and talk to a man about a painting.”

“Can we go, too?”

“Not this time, dear. It would be wonderful if we could all go together, but the people in Chicago are going to give Daddy
quite a lot of money for bringing back something that somebody else had taken away. Aren't we lucky to have such a clever
daddy?”

“But he's going away. Tell him I want him here, Mummy.”

“We can't, dear. You see, if you've promised to go somewhere
to see somebody who wants very much to see you, it's not polite to stay home.”

“Why can't Uncle Jem and Uncle Egbert go instead of him?”

“Because Uncle Jem doesn't know how to drive a car, and Uncle Egbert is going to cook something special for dinner. Let's
take our picnic down to the carriage house, shall we? Grandfather Bittersohn will be there, and you can show him how fast
his alligator can run.”

“But I want Daddy to see, too.”

This was awful. Davy wasn't usually so whiny. He had a sunny disposition, and he was used to having Mummy as well as Daddy
go away from time to time. At least she had thought he was. Had he reached an age when the absences were beginning to bother
him? Perhaps it had been a mistake on her part to have offices both at home and in Boston. Had there been too many paid baby-sitters,
too many too willing relatives? But that big, loving family was what she had missed as a child, what she had believed every
child should have. Not just Max's father and mother, and sister and brother-in-law, and nephew and brand-new niece, but her
own wonderful and weird support group. They all adored Davy, and he adored them. If ever there was a child who did not suffer
from neglect, Davy Bittersohn was it. He was just going through a stage, the way children did.

The welcome he got from his grandfather brought the smile back to Davy's face. Isaac had brought his own thermos
bottle with coffee in it; he gave Davy a taste, but only a little one, which was all Davy wanted anyway. Grandfather Isaac
showed Davy how to pound a nail into a board with both of them holding the hammer at the same time so that nobody's thumb
would get banged, and the alligator raced to the satisfaction of all. Then they sat around the boxes of wedding presents that
hadn't been put away yet, ate up the picnic, and had a lovely time until Sarah decided that she and Davy ought to go home
and let Grandfather Isaac get some work done. Jesse had arrived, brimming with zeal and ready to defend the premises against
any invaders that might turn up. Fortunately none did, but Davy refused to take a nap, and Jem spent the afternoon cleaning
an antique pistol he had brought back from Pinckney Street, and the phone kept ringing with calls from various clients, and
what with one thing and another Sarah was more than a little frazzled by the time her energetic son consented to go to bed.

The last straw was a call from Lieutenant Kilkallen in Boston. The police had finally located Jem's car in one of the lots
where abandoned or illegally parked vehicles were taken. An astute traffic cop had noticed the meter hadn't changed for twenty-four
hours and had had the car towed. The right front fender was bashed in, and one of the headlights was broken. When he heard
that, Jem hit the ceiling and it took an extra pitcher of martinis to calm him down. By the time Sarah got him and Egbert
up to their rooms,
she was so tired she had barely enough energy to brush her teeth.

She did wonder, though, why Max hadn't called. He usually did when he had to be away from home overnight.

Miriam Rivkin was in a swivet.

“Fifty cases of pickles! And such pickles, Sarah! I bought a jar of kosher dills, right after Mike got engaged to Tracy, thought
I should keep it in the family, but after I took one bite I threw the jar away. What I'd say is just get rid of the whole
lot of them, if you can think of anybody you dislike that much,”

“Do you think Tracy would mind? They're hers and Mike's really, I suppose,”

Mike's mother snorted loud enough to rattle the phone. “You'd be doing her a favor, Sarah. They aren't going to eat them,
you can be sure of that, and it has to be so embarrassing for the poor child to see what her father thinks of her. Her mother's
not much better.”

“I thought she helped you with the blintzes.”

“She tried. I don't think she knows a saucepan from a soup tureen. Oh, she's a nice enough woman in her own
way, but the minute she sets eyes on a good-looking man she loses track of everything else. Tracy said she and her mother
only see each other a couple of times a year; they meet for lunch if Jeanne happens to be somewhere between downtown Boston,
the classier shopping malls, and her latest boyfriend.”

“Well, she's got you and Ira now,” Sarah said. “That makes her a darned lucky girl, Miriam, and she knows it.”

“She asked if she could call me Mum, like Mike does.”

“And of course you said yes”

“Of course. As for those awful pickles, get them out of the house before the kids come home, they must be taking up a lot
of space. How about donating them to that senior citizens' center your cousin Dolph and his wife started? They aren't actually
poisonous, just limp and tasteless.”

Sarah thought that was an excellent idea, but she refused Miriam's next suggestion, that she bring Davy over to spend the
day with his doting aunt. “To be honest, Miriam, I've got a bad case of the guilts. We've left Davy with other people so much
lately, what with the wedding and all the other distractions, and I think he's missing his daddy.”

Davy definitely was. He'd waked up that morning demanding Daddy or the balloon, preferably both, and it had taken Jesse's
offer of some fast rides up and down the driveway in his wagon to cheer him up. Jesse could run faster than anybody except
his daddy, and Jesse didn't keep slowing down for fear a little boy would bounce out of the
wagon and land on his head. Jesse shared Davy's conviction that nothing like that was ever going to happen.

Sarah didn't share it, and knowing Jesse's habits, she insisted he put the wooden sides up on the wagon and rig up a temporary
but sturdy seat belt. Jem decided he'd time the race with his stopwatch, so Egbert carried out a pair of lawn chairs and a
table and they settled down to watch.

After such a strenuous morning, Jesse was ready for a nap even if Davy wasn't. He settled down, though, after Sarah tucked
him up under the lions-and-tigers quilt that Aunt Miriam had pieced for his third birthday and gave him fresh water in his
small carafe and a few whole-wheat crackers to munch on with his fine new tooth if he felt the need for a snack before it
was time for a meal. Sarah went downstairs to do something about the avalanche of mail that had accumulated during the past
few hectic weeks. Thank goodness Max would be back tonight. She hoped Upthorn wouldn't want him to go rushing off to Katmandu
or Lhasa or some other remote spot. Davy missed him, she missed him, and the paperwork was really piling up.

Then there was the ruby parure. It was still upstairs in the hidden safe in their bedroom. Max had planned to take it to the
bank, but there just hadn't been time. She'd feel a lot happier if it were out of the house, but that was silly and superstitious.
No outsider knew about the safe, and only a locksmith as talented as the legendary Louie could get into it.

Sarah forced herself to concentrate on her paperwork, so successfully that only a change in the breeze from the open window
made her realize how late it was getting. It was coming off the water now and was fairly brisk. She'd better make sure Davy
put on his blue sweater; he was probably awake by now and playing on the deck.

He had waked up. His bed was empty except for his usual menagerie of toys. But he wasn't on the deck outside his room. The
bathroom?

He was not in the bathroom, or out on the upper deck, or in his parents' bedroom, or in either of the two guest rooms that
Jem and Egbert were occupying for their own afternoon naps. She could hear them both snoring: Egbert in a steady, rather pleasant
low rhythm; Jem in a raucous crow, proclaiming himself the cock of the walk and perhaps dreaming that he really was.

Then Davy was either on the floor below or on his way back to his room. He knew he wasn't supposed to leave the house and
go wandering around outdoors unless he had somebody with him. Davy was a sensible little chap for his age. Nevertheless Sarah
went downstairs more quickly than usual.

Jesse was in the living room, watching a soap opera on television. That's what Sarah assumed it was; she caught only a glimpse
of two enormous mouths unattractively entwined before Jesse snatched up the remote and the screen went blank. At least the
boy could blush, Sarah thought
distractedly. The blush was probably on her account, though.

Jesse began, “Oh, hi, Sarah, I was just—”

“Have you see Davy?”

“He's in his room, isn't he?”

“No. He's not in the house.”

“Maybe Jed Lomax has seen him,” Jesse suggested. “Jed always keeps an eye peeled when Davy's outdoors.”

“Jed isn't here. He had to take Mrs. Lomax to the hospital for her therapy session today.” Sarah tried not to wring her hands.
“Oh, this is silly. Davy wouldn't go outside, he knows better. He must be playing hide-and-seek with me. Under his bed, pretending
to be a lion, or on one of the decks talking to a bird, or … Help me look for him, Jesse.”

She'd never realized how many hiding places there were in the house. It was a modern open structure, not like the rambling
old mansion she and Max had had torn down, but a small boy didn't occupy much space. She was beyond caring about disturbing
the elders by then. When she burst into Jem's rooms and dropped to her knees to look under his bed, he woke with a snort and
a snuffle.

“What? Hey? Who?”

“It's Davy,” Jesse said. “Sarah can't find him.”

That woke Jem up. “You sure? How long has he been gone, Sarah?”

“Not very long. Twenty minutes, half an hour at the most. But that's a long time to a child as young as he.”

“He's got to be around here someplace. Egbert! Egbert, damn it, get your lazy carcass up from that bed.”

Sarah couldn't believe Davy wasn't hiding somewhere in the house. She called till her throat hurt, dashing from room to room
and looking in places she'd already investigated. Finally she gave up and ran, outside, where she met Jem and Egbert coming
back from the carriage house.

“Not there,” Jem reported. “Jesse's looking in the garage and the shed. Sarah, maybe we should call the police. There's thirty
acres out there.”

And the cliff and the ocean below. Nobody wanted to say that, or even think it. “Call them,” Sarah said. “And Miriam and Ira.
Warn them not to say anything to Mother and Father Bittersohn, there's no sense in getting them worked up before … until …
Oh, why isn't Max here? How could he go off this way?”

She left them standing there and ran toward the wooded area behind the house. If she had to search all thirty acres foot by
foot, that was what she would do. Time passed; how much she couldn't calculate. Still no Davy, and not much left of Sarah.
She was exhausted from all the walking, her voice down to a hoarse whisper from the shouting. She had not yet broken down
completely, but she would very soon if her child was not found.

Jem Kelling was doing what he could. He brought his niece a small tot of whiskey and stood over her while she sipped it. He
linked his arm in hers and tried to persuade her to go in the house. Miriam and Ira had joined the
search; Miriam in her jeans and sturdy walking boots was as tough as any man, especially when her nephew was in danger. Jofferty
had come, bringing two of his best men; they were scouring the woods.

Sarah shook her head and handed the glass to him. “I can't sit still, Uncle Jem. It's time Davy's father found out about this.
See if you can locate him. Maybe he's on his way home. If he isn't, he'd damned well better be. Call Brooks. Call Theonia.
Ask her … Never mind, just find Max. I'll come in soon, I promise.”

She had been over and over every last inch of the house, outside and in. She'd been down on the beach with field glasses,
hating to go, dreading what she might find, and mercifully not finding it. But there was one place she hadn't looked—the Vickery
house, the one place that had always been taboo to Sarah Kelling. Why hadn't she thought of it before? Because of the taboo,
or the unlikelihood of Davy breaking the strictest rule of all—don't cross the road?

Sarah crossed the road at a dead run and plunged into the narrow opening between the brambly bushes.

The driveway had once been paved, but there wasn't much left of the asphalt now, only broken chunks between the deep ruts
trucks had cut through the dirt. Untrimmed trees and shrubs crowded in on either side. Would a three-year-old go this far,
into this scary place? He'd been nagging her about visiting the balloon lady, but she found it hard to believe he would wantonly
disobey her.