money, no claim to any, living on the street.”
“Maybe Kinkaid’s not the one hating me.”
He looked at her, squinting. “Oh, I get it, Dr. Joy’s image might suffer.”
“She’s all for private charity, do away with welfare.”
“And charity does not begin at home.“
“Her home, anyway.”
He headed for the van, and then stopped. “Have you heard from your friend at the castle?” She shook her head. “What’s her name?”
“Maria Angelo.”
“Maybe there’s some way to contact her, tell her where you are?”
“It’s not worth it. That warning wasn’t for nothing.“
Henry Clay still waited for him in the van. “I’m sorry, Henry, I can’t drive you any more today. Maybe some other time.”
“That’s okay, Doc.” He got out of the van and closed the sliding door. “Hey, Doc, thanks a lot.”
“ De nada.” He wasn’t sure of Henry’s Spanish.
”Hey, Doc. I remember now who that girl was, the one the bad guy took at the library.”
“You do?”
“She looked different, that fooled me, but I’m sure now.”
“Well, who was she?”
“Mandy Cyclone.”
12: A Wild Ride
“This is the third time you’ve asked me. No, I don’t mind. No, I don’t feel put out. Yes, I’ll happily pick up the boys at nursery school and babysit for an hour.” She shoved Karen toward the door.
“Thank you, DeeDee, I’ll never-”
“Get your car fixed if you don’t leave.”
A few minutes later DeeDee maneuvered her Z4 over city streets, Coast Village Road, Old Coast Highway, over to Milpas, up to Anapamu. It was an older part of town, not as scenic as the beach area, but lived in. The 101 Freeway would be quicker, but all the high-speed trucks, buses and RVs scared her. She should trade-in this little foolishness on a sensible vehicle, like a Sherman tank.
The nursery school was on East Sola Street, only a couple of blocks from where Karen lived. A nice arrangement for her. She parked in front of a vintage Victorian house and went in. Mothers and toddlers were leaving. Tommy stood near the doorway, looking a little forlorn.
“Hi, Tommy, I’m DeeDee, remember? Your mother asked me to pick you up today.” He recognized her, but did not react, except to take her hand. Did she just walk away with him? Kind of casual wasn’t it. “Where’s Jamie?”
He seemed disconsolate. “Gone.”
“Gone where?”
He shook his head. Oh God! If anything happened to Jamie… She tightened her grip on Tommy’s hand and went inside the building and approached a female adult. She was tweedy, prim, sort of the decline of Miss Jean Brodie. “I’m DeeDee Byerly, here to pick up the boys for Karen.”
“Yes, she phoned earlier. How do you do, I’m Heidi-”
“Where’s Jamie?”
“Karen’s friend, Marco-” Her hands moved as though in flight. “Something or other.”
“Musante, Marco Musante.” She was surprised she could remember his name.
“Yes, that’s it, he came for Jamie-”
“Good God! How could you? What kind of woman are you? Are you running a-”
“You’ll not talk to me that way!”
“I just did.”
“Mr. Musante said Jamie’s real mother had come for him.”
“You fool! His mother left him with Karen for safekeeping.” She clenched her fists, wanting to strike the woman, then she forced down her outrage. She had to think. “What time did he come for Jamie?”
“Not long ago.”
“God damn it woman! Have you no brains? How long ago?”
“Well I never!”
“If you don’t help me, I’ll turn you in for child endangerment. How long ago?”
“Maybe 15 minutes.”
“Was he walking or driving?”
“Driving, a truck, I think, yes, a red pickup, kind of old and beat up.”
“That’s more like it.” She heard Tommy crying. “It’s all your fault. You made me get angry and now Tommy’s upset.” She knelt and hugged him. “Don’t cry, darling, we’ll find Jamie.” To Heidi she said, “Do you know where Marco lives?”
“I’m afraid not.”
She stood up with Tommy in her arms. “Do you know, darling?”
“Vista.”
“Of course, Isla Vista. He said that the other night.” She carried Tommy to her car, strapped him in and took off.
Isla Vista was out beyond UCSB, and Marco had a 15-minute head start. She’d have to take the Freeway. What was the quickest way to reach it from East Sola Street? Her mind raced. Arrellaga Street. No, too many stop signs. Mission Street? Yes, if she took Santa Barbara Street and made some lights.
She made a U-turn on Sola and headed west, turning right on Santa Barbara Street, raced north, mentally cursing pokey drivers, then left on Mission. At State Street she bolted the light on amber, then slammed on her brakes for Chapala, and sat an eternity, drumming her manicured nails on the steering wheel.
She looked down at Tommy. Still crying. “Don’t worry, darling, DeeDee’s a good driver. You’ll be safe.” If only she were sure of that.
The light mercifully changed and she burned rubber, made two more lights and saw the Freeway entrance ahead. At last. She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes to get this far.
This car was supposed to go fast. Now was the time to find out. She accelerated out of the ramp, zoomed into the center lane, cut over to the inside lane. 65, 70, 75, 80. Her hair whipped against her face. She braked, cut behind a motor home, dashed over two lanes, then picked up speed. 85 now. DeeDee Byerly, killed in a high-speed crash on the 101. Yes, oh yes.
She heard laughter, glanced at Tommy. “This is fun, isn’t it?” She had no right, none at all, to endanger the life of this child.
She cut off a trucker. He blasted her with his air horn. DeeDee waved, shouted, “Sorry.” She raced past the exits for Lake Cachuma, El Sueno, Turnpike, Patterson. No sign of a red truck. She had to catch him, just had to. Ahead was the sign for Isla Vista. She slowed for the ramp and screeched to a stop for the light at Los Carneros Rd. No traffic. She ran the light, then did 75 in a 40-mile zone.
At last, just as she approached Isla Vista, she saw a red pickup, stopped for a light. It was several cars ahead, but looked old with faded paint. When it turned left on El Collegio, she saw a man behind the wheel, but no little boy. Oh Lord, it had to be the right truck. By the time she got through the light, the truck was two blocks ahead, turning right. She tried to hurry, but she was stuck in traffic. Oh God, please! There was nothing to do but wait and fume. The cars ahead of her seemed to dally forever at the light. She blared her horn.
At last. When she turned the corner the red pickup was nowhere in sight. Her hopes fell, replaced by desperation.
Isla Vista had once been a beautiful spit of land off the coast, all but surrounded by water. Now it was a bedroom community for the university, a warren of narrow streets, converted houses and apartments, no pride of
