THE SNOW HAD MELTED, THE ROAD WAS NO longer icy, and I broke all the speed laws going up the mountain, arriving at Corny's Corner in record time. Fewer cars were parked in the field than last night, and I feared the search was winding down as people lost hope in finding Kevin.
Inside Corny's, the Friendly Feed Store, I discovered it was not only a feed store but also an old-fashioned hardware shop, dark and dusty, with shelves piled high with tools, bags of fertilizer, kitchenware, Christmas decorations, and many items I didn't recognize. Down the center of each aisle was a row of wooden barrels full of nails. Ceiling fans, high overhead, churned up dust motes, but did little to freshen the stale air. I looked around the cavernous old building, trying to spot Peter, but there was no sign of him.
A young man approached wearing black trousers, yellow suspenders, a bright-purple shirt, and a black hat too small for his head. A delicate golden peach fuzz bloomed on his rosy cheeks. With a thick Pennsylvania Dutch accent, he asked if he could help me.
I shook my head, since Peter was obviously hiding and I'd promised not to tell he'd called. I spent a few moments examining the store's selection of blue and white crocks and ceramic butter churns, while I tried to figure out what to do. It came to me that Peter would most likely be somewhere near the phone he'd called from.
“Do you have a public telephone?” I asked the young man. “I've got a little problem with my car.” I don't know why I thought it necessary to throw in an explanation for wanting to use his phone.
The youth smiled, rather patronizingly, I thought, and said, “Ain't got no pay phone, miss, but you'uns can use the one in the office.” He pointed down one of the long aisles, to a heavily varnished oak door. My helpless-female act had paid off. I stepped inside the small office, really not much more than a closet with a window, and closed the door behind me. “Peter, are you in here?” I whispered. “It's Tori-I mean, Miss Miracle.”
From beneath the rolltop desk came a rustle, a grunt, and finally a frightened-looking, towheaded boy.
I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him. I could feel the pounding of his heart right through his skimpy jacket and my quilted one.
“You didn't tell no one, did you?” he asked, still shaking. “Pearl don't know I called you, does she?”
I smoothed his tousled hair. “It's okay. There's no way she could know.”
My words seemed to soothe him.
I watched through the crack in the door until the clerk left his position at the counter to wait on a customer. “Now,” I said softly to Peter, and we scuttled, unseen, out the front door.
“Where to?” I asked him, once the truck had sprung to life.
Peter scrunched down beside me on the front seat. “Up the mountain,” he said.
He and Pearl had told the police that Kevin's kidnapper had driven toward town-the opposite direction from where we were now headed.
“Keep going till I tell you to stop,” he said. He appeared much calmer now. I reached over and patted his hand to reassure him, and he smiled wanly at me.
We passed the entrance to the Iron Ore Mansions Trailer Park. As far as I could tell, there were no media vans beyond the gate. The ghouls had moved on.
“Hurry,” he urged. “She could be watching.”
I knew he meant Pearl. Again, I wondered what she had done and why Peter was so terrified of her.
Shrouded by the evergreen forest, the road became so dark I could hardly believe it was still morning. It was now hardly more than a trail, and I feared I would round a bend and find it gone. As I drove higher and deeper into the forest, I realized I was also driving farther and farther away from the area on which the search parties were concentrating.
Peter was now sitting up, watching the passing landscape with intense interest. “Stop here,” Peter said.
I braked, pulled onto the shoulder, and turned off the ignition.
He jumped out. “Come on,” he said and pushed into the forest, where I could see no path. I followed him, not liking this one bit. The only sound to be heard was the faint crunching of dry pine needles beneath our feet. Low branches reached out, tangled my hair, snagged my jacket. I ducked to avoid one and came up with something unpleasant and sticky clinging to my face.
“Where are we going?” I panted after a few minutes. We'd been moving uphill at a brisk pace, and I was rapidly realizing I was in no shape for hiking.
“Shhh.” He paused and looked around. “You hear something?”
“No,” I snapped. I was growing impatient and, unfortunately, beginning to wonder if Peter was leading me on a wild-goose chase. For the first time I wondered if he and Pearl were pulling a trick on me.
“Let's go,” he ordered.
At last, we stumbled out of the gloom into a small clearing. Directly in front of us was a crumbling tower of dark gray stones, rising at least twenty feet over my head. Behind it was a steep, rocky hill.
I bent over, gasping, and tried to catch my breath. Tomorrow, I vowed, I would really start my diet-and an exercise program, too.
When I'd pretty much recovered, I straightened up to see Peter climbing the hill behind the tower. What had at first looked like natural rock formations now appeared to be the ruins of a stone staircase.
“Come on,” he urged. “Hurry.” He was halfway up the hill, at the summit of the tower. A narrow bridge crossed from the hill to the tower, and Peter skipped across it. He leaned over the stone wall, looking down at something.
The tower, I realized, was similar to one I'd seen in Caledonia State Park-an enormous chimney, built long ago to process iron ore from the local mines. The large opening at the base, where the fire would have been built, was blocked now by fallen rocks. I suddenly knew Kevin was inside, and my heart pounded wildly as I scrambled up the hillside.
The rocks were moss covered and slippery, and many were loose. I stumbled, twisted my ankle, and had to grab a tree limb to keep myself from tumbling backward down the hill. At last, I reached the bridge. Trying not to look down, I hurried across it to where Peter sat on the edge of the chimney wall.
“Be careful,” I warned. “Don't fall in.”
I stood on tiptoe and peered down into the square opening. It was larger than my New York living room. Stones from the wall had tumbled in and partially filled the interior, and it was heaped with dead leaves, brown pine needles, and picnic trash.
“Kevin,” I called into the pit. “Are you there? We've come to help you.”
I listened, and at first I heard nothing, then came a faint crackling sound from beneath the debris. “I have to go down there,” I told Peter as I climbed onto the wall. The height made me dizzy, but I managed to swing my legs over the side, get a good handhold on the ledge, and lower myself as far as my arms could stretch. It wasn't quite enough. Shutting my eyes and saying a quick prayer, I let go and dropped the remaining couple of feet.
I landed upright, then toppled over backward. The litter cushioned my fall. As I rolled over, my left hand came in contact with something soft and warm. I scrambled to my knees and began to dig through the trash.
It took only seconds to uncover the child's face. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was shallow and uneven, but he was alive, and that's what was important. I cleared some of the crumbled dead leaves and dirt away from around his lips and nose and made sure his breathing passages were open.
His eyes opened then, and he blinked several times, trying to focus. Slowly, he seemed to realize someone was with him, and this appeared to frighten him. He attempted to push me away with his frail arms. “Go 'way… go 'way.”
“It's okay, Kevin.” I tried to soothe him. “I'm going to get you out of here.”
I began to scoop the rest of the trash away from his body. Suddenly he screamed, and I realized that one of his legs was twisted unnaturally beneath him. I gently uncovered it and saw a jagged, blood-crusted bone poking through the skin of his thigh.
“Peter,” I called. “You'll have to hike down the mountain and find a phone. We need an ambulance-and emergency crew.”
As if in answer, a rock tumbled off the ledge and landed in the pile of garbage next to me. “Careful!” I
