As the disco music pounded from the small Sony recorder, as the sweat inside her pink jogging suit with the black piping began to have the viscous texture of oil, she opened her eyes to see if there were any bunnies on the hill behind their place.
It was then that she saw the girl.
Doing a double take that Abbott and Costello would have been proud of, Mindy's stare became a glare and she stalked so abruptly to the edge of the deck that she stumbled over the tape recorder. So angry and frightened was she, that she drop-kicked the tape-player clear over the edge of the deck, into an orange swirl of autumn flowers.
It could not be.
No way.
But it was.
Fleeing inside, slamming into the sliding-glass door that led to the deck, Mindy began to hyperventilate. Within two more steps her nose began to bleed.
'Oh, God,' she said, recalling what Dr. Moeller, the psychotherapist, had told her to do.
Stretching herself out on the oak floor of the living room, she was at once attacked by her golden toy poodle, Ringo.
Liking blood, the dog began to lap at her nose, his quick pink tongue sandpaper-rough on her face.
'Oh, please Ringo. I don't need any more grief,' she said, trying to push the dog away.
But even this much movement caused her nose to spurt more red blood, so that all she could do was back- down, and let Ringo have at her.
'She's alive,' Mindy said miserably. 'We killed her, we buried her two hundred miles from here, but she's alive. Do you hear that, Ringo? She's alive!'
Ringo just continued to yip and lick her face.
Once Jenny was in her arms, Diane knelt next to the small girl for a closer look at her. Dirt darkened Jenny's face and smudged her white blouse, jeans, and Reeboks. Her blond hair was a bird's nest of tiny leaves. She looked as if she'd been traveling for days. But kneeling there in the clearing, the sun warm on her back, Diane was far more disturbed by Jenny's eyes, a blank blue that suggested shock.
'Where did you come from, Jenny?'
Jenny's gaze registered understanding but she said nothing, just stared at Diane.
'Why don't we go tell Mindy you're home? Do you know how happy she'll be?'
Diane rose and took Jenny's fragile hand, starting to lead her toward the McCay property.
Jenny's grip suddenly became iron. She jerked on Diane's hand, pulling Diane back.
'You don't want to go home? You don't want to see your sister?' Diane asked.
With the severe blue gaze unchanged, Jenny shook her head.
'Where do you want to go, then?' Diane said, her glee having turned abruptly to a curious exasperation.
With her free hand, Jenny pointed to the house: Diane's house.
'Do you have any idea how many people were looking for you? The TV stations estimated that more than one thousand people joined the search one Saturday. And that wasn't counting the police and the State Patrol and the State Bureau of Investigation.' Diane said all this as they stood in the bathroom. She washed Jenny's face and hands with a soft pink washcloth soaked in warm, soapy water. 'They searched parks and farmland and the clay hills to the north and they put your picture in all the supermarkets and sports arenas and department stores. And once a night, there was an update about you.' Diane frowned. 'I hate to say this, Jenny, but everybody started believing that you were dead. They just assumed that your kidnappers had gotten scared and murdered you.'
As she finished washing off the girl's face, Diane noticed again how ominously silent the girl was. She listened to every word. You could see that by the way her expression changed as she listened. But she never spoke. Diane had the unnerving sensation that the girl wasn't human at all, but rather some life-size doll.
Drying her off, Diane said, 'Now, why don't I take you over to see your sister?'
Anger shined in Jenny's gaze as she shook her head. 'But, Jenny, why don't you want to go home?' Exasperation tightened her voice once more.
Jenny shook her head for a second time, then, seeming about to cry, ran out of the bathroom.
It took twenty minutes to find her. As a younger girl, Jenny had often come over to Diane's and played hide- and-seek, her favorite game. This time she hid in a cedar chest in Charlie's old office.
When Diane opened the trunk, she had the terrifying feeling that Jenny had died. She lay so still, hands folded across her chest, eyes closed tight, that that was the impression she gave.
Diane decided not to mention Mindy for a while. 'You must be starving.'
Getting out of the cedar chest, Jenny nodded.
'How about a turkey sandwich on rye and some potato chips on the side?'
Jenny nodded again.
'Whatever happened to that talkative little girl I used to know, anyway?' Diane said on the way downstairs to the kitchen.
Jenny ate two turkey sandwiches, a healthy wedge of cheesecake, a half-cup of spinach, and drank two glasses of milk.
They sat in the sun-splashed kitchen. Two tomcats sat across from them, watching.
'Autumn's my favorite time,' Diane said. She realized she was chattering. It was her way of compensating for the fact that Jenny said nothing at all. 'When I was your age, I liked to walk through the woods and smell leaves burning. It was the most exotic aroma I'd ever smelled. And I loved Halloween. I loved to dress up like a ghost and jump out from behind trees and scare my big brother, who always liked to pretend he was so brave.'
As if to comment on her reverie, one of the cats yawned.
She stopped herself and looked across the butcher-block table at Jenny. 'I wish you'd talk, hon. Are you afraid to talk?'
Jenny stared at her.
'Did they tell you they'd hurt you if you tried to talk?' Jenny shook her head.
'Do you know what happened to your kidnappers?' Jenny went back to staring.
Diane dropped her gaze. Sighed. 'Maybe I'd better go call Mindy now.'
A snake could not have moved faster than Jenny's hand. It clamped onto Diane's wrist, hurting her. It was obvious she did not intend to let go.
'Jenny,' Diane said through her pain, 'why don't you want me to call your sister?' Then: 'Please, Jenny, you're hurting me.'
Jenny let go at once.
Rubbing her wrist, letting the worst of the pain dissipate up the length of her arm, she said, 'Then will you let me call a friend of mine, Jenny? He's a policeman. Chief Clark. Do you remember him?'
Jenny nodded.
'Is it all right if I call him?'
Jenny took a full minute thinking it over.
Finally, a wisp of a sigh escaping her small mouth, she tilted her head forward, meaning yes.
It was known as the Hubba-Hubba Room. Located in the dusty, shadowy basement of the Foster Dawson Agency, the ten-by-ten room was furnished in Salvation Army modern, equipped with a small wet bar and, most important, it could be used only by the four executives who had keys to it. In the era of liberation; this meant one female and three male vice-presidents. The room was used for 'quickies,' as the executives were prone to call them.
This afternoon, the Hubba-Hubba was being put to struggling use by Jeff McCay and a most appealing young woman named Brenda Kohl, who was an assistant art director and had been Jeff's lover for the past seven months. Red of hair, green of eyes, sumptuous of body, Brenda could most often be found straddled on top of Jeff in the overstuffed chair. As now.
'Oh-oh-oh,' she said, tossing her head back, closing her in eyes in what Jeff took to be ecstasy.
'Oh-oh-oh,' Jeff said right back, closing his own eyes in what he took to be ecstasy.
Finished a few minutes later, the skirt of her fashionable gray Jaeger suit pulled into place with fierce modesty, she said, as she always said, 'Did you get a chance to talk to Barney yet?'
Now they were seated sensibly across from each other. She held a Coca-Cola, he a Diet Pepsi.
