The Balloon Man (18 page)

She began calling him again. Between calling and running she was fairly out of breath by the time she came out onto a roughly
clipped lawn. The old house was like something out of a horror movie. Shingles and clapboards had been ripped off or let fall,
rubbishy remains of furniture had been dragged out on the porch and left: to rot, providing a sanctuary for rats, mice, bats,
squirrels, voles, and other local fauna. A pile of firewood had been dumped haphazardly next to the rotting steps. As for
what might once have been a lawn, it was burdocks everywhere: the misleading kind that looked rather handsome on the stalks
but fastened themselves in clumps to people's clothes and animals' fur with myriad tiny hooks, and refused to let go.

Sarah took a deep breath and screamed at the top of her lungs, “Davy! Davy, are you there?”

The form that appeared was definitely not that of her son. Didn't the woman have anything to wear except an aeronaut suit
and a tatty purple jogging outfit? Sarah wondered hysterically.

“Why, Mrs. Bittersohn,” Calpurnia exclaimed. “How kind of you to call. I'm afraid the place isn't looking at its best, but
we hope to get it back in shape before long, so perhaps you could come by another time. After I've purchased a teakettle.”

“Is my son here?”

“What on earth would he be doing here?”

Sarah was past caring about good manners. “Miss Zickery, you must have heard us calling, not to mention the
sirens when the police arrived. My little boy is missing. He was fascinated by your balloon, and I thought he might have come
to see it. We've looked everywhere else—”

Her voice broke, but she cleared her throat and went doggedly on. “He might have crept into the house without your seeing
him, and fallen asleep. I hope you don't mind my searching the place, because I mean to do it whether you mind or not, and
if you don't help me, there are a dozen people just across the road who will”

“Dear me.” Calpurnia looked a trifle alarmed. “I certainly don't want a mob of strangers seeing how run-down the poor old
place has become. You just wait there, Mrs. Bittersohn, while I have a look around.”

Naturally Sarah did nothing of the kind. The splintery porch steps were a hazard in themselves, but she was right on Callie's
heels and she was the first to spot the small bundle curled up on a battered chaise longue in the corner of the room. She
snatched him up. He was sleeping so soundly he scarcely stirred, but he was warm and breathing and alive. She turned like
a mother tiger on Calpurnia Vickery.

“You've had him with you all this time? And you didn't even let me know?”

“I didn't know he was here, Mrs. Bittersohn. We seldom use this room or the front door.” Calpurnia looked uneasily over her
shoulder. “You'd better go now.”

“Yes, of course.” Sarah began backing toward the door. She could hardly wait to get out of the horrible room. It
was no wonder the Vickerys didn't use it. It smelled like a moldy cellar, cobwebs swathed the walls, and the chaise longue
was the only piece of furniture. “I'm sorry. Thank you. I know I must sound insane, but he's our only child, you see, and
we love him so much.”

She was out in the daylight at last, trying not to stumble on the splintered boards or the broken steps. Then Calpurnia let
out a yelp, and Sarah turned to see a figure out of nightmare burst through the door. He was draped in cobwebs like an animated
mummy, and his eyes were bulging.

“A kid! A damned kid! I told you, Callie, I don't want any kids around here!”

“No!” This time Calpurnia did the screaming. “Allie, don't do it! They'll catch you this time, I know they will. You'll be
shoved in a padded cell and you'll blame it on me. But I'll fight back this time, I've had enough!”

“You've had enough? I warned you, Callie, I won't take this any longer. Get out of here, Mrs. Bittersohn or Kelling or whatever
your name is, and take the brat with you.”

Sarah was already on her way. She ventured one quick glance over her shoulder and almost fainted when she saw Alister closing
in on her. He was brandishing a big chunk of firewood.

Davy had grown during the summer; Sarah forgot that she was too exhausted to carry a kitten, much less a sturdy three-year-old.
From somewhere inside her, she found strength enough to keep ahead of the maniac, but it couldn't last. He was closing in,
waving the chunk of wood,
yelling at her to go away, get out. In a matter of moments, she and Davy would both be dead. Where was Jesse? Where were the
others?

Calpurnia's shrieks rose over the breathless curses of her brother. “Don't worry, Mrs. Bittersohn. I'll save you!”

Sarah fled to her own side of the road, still carrying Davy. And there, finally, thank God, was Jesse, coming full tilt down
the driveway, with Jem and Egbert puffing along behind him. Sarah's legs and lungs gave way. She dropped to her knees, clutching
Davy, and turned her head. There was Allie, standing still, some distance away, and there, across the road was Callie pointing
at her brother. Pointing … My God, Sarah thought, she's got a gun! Callie fired one shot and then another. Her brother fell
to the ground and lay still.

Sarah held the child closer. He was still too sleepy to know what had happened, she thought, and thank heaven for that. Jesse
had stopped and was staring at the motionless form on the ground. “Aunt Sarah! You okay? Is Davy …”

“Safe,” Sarah panted. “He's safe. Thanks to her.”

Calpurnia stood over her brother's body, looking down at him. She tucked the pistol into her pocket and turned to Sarah.

“I do apologize for the mess, Mrs. Bittersohn. Since there is no telephone in my house, would you mind phoning the local police
to come and get my brother? Here is fifty-five cents to cover the cost of the telephone call.”

Sarah had just enough strength left to carry her son up to his bedroom and get him changed into his pajamas. Jesse tried to
take him, but Sarah wouldn't let go, so Jesse went off to tell the searchers that they could call off the hunt. Egbert or
Jem would have been more than ready to attend to Davy, but Sarah couldn't bear to let him out of her sight and touch, not
even for a moment. The sponge bath she gave him roused him, and Sarah almost wept with relief when he demanded food, a story,
and the pajamas with tigers on them.

Egbert rushed off to prepare a tray with a small bowl of milk toast, a tangerine already sectioned, a few grapes on their
stem, and a couple of graham crackers to feed Davy's playmate the alligator. While he ate, Sarah sat on the side of his bed,
stroking his hair and crooning a silly little song about a mouse and a friendly kitten that her first governess had taught
her. Sarah couldn't even remember her name; but the simple ditty had stayed with her all this time, almost entirely forgotten
but still here when it was needed. Thank God Davy hadn't had time to become aware of what he and his mother had come within
a mouse's whisker of experiencing, what that hideous twin brother of Calpurnia Zickery's had tried to do. He could so easily
have killed them both with one heavy blow. Instead he'd wound up with his sister's bullets in his head.

Calpurnia had sacrificed her own flesh and blood for a mother and child she'd barely known. She must have loved her brother,
though the hysterical accusations she had
hurled at him strongly suggested he had a history of bizarre behavior. Clearly she'd been in a state of shock after shooting
him, and who could blame her? And how could Sarah Kelling Bittersohn ever repay that odd-looking woman in her grubby purple
jogging suit? Sarah fed Davy milk toast from the tip of his spoon until he turned his head away, coaxed him to eat a segment
or two of the tangerine and half a grape, and kissed him good night though he was already asleep. She finished what was left
of her son's supper and lay down beside him on the lions-and-tigers quilt. There were voices downstairs, people talking, and
somebody singing—Uncle Jem, of course. Something was going on; she didn't know what it was and she didn't care. The only thing
that mattered was having Davy back.

She didn't mean to go to sleep, but she was worn out with worry and chasing around. When she woke it was dark outside. Sarah
sat up and rubbed her eyes. How long had she slept? Not long, she hoped. There were things she had to do. The police would
want to talk to her. They'd come and removed the Zickerys dead and alive, she supposed. Had they put Calpurnia in jail? She
must tell the police that Calpurnia had saved her and Davy. Jesse must have told them, but he hadn't realized how dire the
danger had been. Calpurnia was a heroine, not a murderess.

Davy was sleeping sweetly, breathing normally. His forehead was cool. He was all right. She switched on the nightlight, made
sure the window was locked, and borrowed Davy's comb in order to smooth her hair. Her face was pale
and her eyes were heavy, but what did she care? She left his door open and went downstairs.

They were all in the kitchen; she could hear them talking in low voices—Ira and Miriam, Jem and Egbert—and surely that was
Brooks? He'd rallied around, bless him. Theonia must be there, too. Sarah hoped she'd brought one of her stupendous coffee
cakes or a basket of biscuits. She was starved. No wonder, after all that running around and nothing since breakfast except
a peanut-butter sandwich. She was about to push open the swinging door when she heard something that froze her in her tracks.

“Should we tell her?”

“We'll have to,” Jem said heavily.

Sarah shoved at the door. “Its Max, isn't it? What's happened to him?”

“Nothing” Brooks jumped up. “We just can't find him. Come and sit down, Sarah, before you fall down.”

“I'm not going to fall down, and I'm not going to faint.” Sarah pushed his arm away and took the chair Ira was holding for
her. “I am awfully hungry, though. Is there anything to eat?”

When Miriam Rivkin was around there was always something to eat. She'd snatched up a pot of her made-from-scratch minestrone
and brought it along, knowing there's nothing like hot soup on a chilly day when people's stomachs are tied in knots. There
were popovers left from breakfast, and applesauce, and Theonie's diet-destroying double fudge pecan rum cake. Sarah ate her
way steadily through it all without tasting anything. She'd have devoured pickles if that was all there was, since keeping
up her strength was the main consideration.

“That telephone call didn't come from Mr. Upthorn, Sarah. He knew nothing about it.”

Sarah nodded. “I didn't recognize his secretary's voice. I assumed he must be new, that Miss Wilson had retired.”

“Perfectly reasonable,” Brooks said. “Max had no reason to suspect anything, either. He never made it to the airport. He wasn't
on the plane and his car isn't in the parking lot. The police are looking for it, but…”

“Poor Sergeant Jofferty.” Sarah put a bite of something in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “He must be sick of us and our
troubles.”

“He's doing everything he can,” Brooks assured her. “And Jesse's searching the byways and side roads. We're assuming Max was
waylaid somewhere between here and the highway. It wouldn't be easy to intercept him in the middle of a lot of traffic without
being noticed.”

“It wouldn't be difficult to run him off the road and cause an accident,” Sarah said steadily.

“There wasn't an accident,” Ira said. “Well, there were several accidents, there always are, but Max wasn't involved in any
of them. That was the first thing the police checked.”

Miriam cleared her throat. “He hasn't taken it into his head to go off on some job without telling you, has he? You know Max,
here today and off to Kamchatka tomorrow.”

“He wouldn't do that, not without telling me.” A faint hope stirred. “Have you looked for a note and checked the voice mail?”

“We did,” Brooks said. “It seemed unlikely, but there
was always a possibility that he'd come across something that had to be followed up without delay. It's still a possibility,
Sarah. We may hear from him yet.”

Miriam got up and refilled Sarah's soup bowl from the pot simmering on the stove. Sarah shook her head. “No thanks, Miriam,
it's a shame to waste your wonderful soup; my taste buds are paralyzed just now.”

“You've got to keep your strength up.” Miriams black eyes snapped. “When I get my hands on that brother of mine…!”

She looked so like Max that Sarah's hard-won calm almost cracked. “When you get your hands on him you'll hug him to death.
Don't pretend you're not worried, and don't bother inventing comforting theories in order to cheer me up. I'm all right. I
may crack right down the middle when this is over, but I have to hold myself together now, for Davy's sake and for Max's.
I'd love to believe he saw something suspicious and had to follow it up without taking the time to call me, but I can't. He
has a car phone, remember?”

They had remembered. They were all hoping she hadn't. Sarah went on, “Then there's the call that was supposed to be from Upthorn.
It was a fake, so it must have been meant to lead Max into some sort of trap. Any number of people could have known that Mr.
Upthorn was one of our clients. The Artemesia Gentilischi transaction was even featured on television because it was such
a peculiar business,
and Mr. Upthorn gushed all over the newspapers about how wonderfully clever Max was. Which he was.”

Sarah grabbed her napkin and dabbed at her eyes.

“Now, Sarah, don't you go soppy on us,” Jem Kelling muttered. “You know better than I do how many close calls Max has had,
but he always comes up smiling. Or swearing, if the occasion calls for it.”

Presiding at the head of the table in queenly dignity, Theonia brushed a few crumbs from her magnificent bosom. “He's not
dead, Sarah. I'd know.”

“Do you know where he is? Can you find out?”

Slowly and regretfully Theonia shook her head. “I've tried, dear, and I'll keep trying. Something's blocking me. All I can
see is those rubies. Where are they now?”

“Still in the safe,” Sarah answered. “Do you think there's some connection?”