Outside, the gears of the van ground as the tires crunched up the driveway. Julian had returned.
?Marla, I can?t stand being out of it. I can?t stand to just sit here by the telephone waiting for the police to call. I?ve got to do something.?
She sat down and squeezed my fingers, which were finally beginning to get warm. ?Goldy, what you need to do is rest. Let Arch and Julian pamper you, if you?re not going to come to my place.?
Julian, dressed in a secondhand wool overcoat that was much too big for his compact, muscled body, clomped inside and threw himself into a kitchen chair. Marla, who is happiest when people are eating, asked him if he wanted some tea and shortbread.
?No, thanks.? The corners of his mouth quivered downward. His bleached Mohawk haircut was wildly askew, and the five o?clock shadow on his jaw made him look older than nineteen. He?d exchanged the rented tux for patched jeans and an oversized T-shirt distributed by a local roofing company that had gone out of business. The logo shrieked: The roof is the hairdo on a house! Think about it.
Julian snorted. ?I went by the church to see if there was anything else. I needed to pick up.? He gestured with his thumb. ?The wedding cake?s in the van. I gotta freeze it. The people at the church told me what happened to Schulz. I can?t believe it, man. Schulz is so fast, so smart, I?m like, you?re kidding. Have you heard anything??
I said no and tried to appear pulled-together. Julian had suffered his own share of upheavals, starting when the boarding department at Elk Par Preparatory School, where he was a scholarship student, closed. We had both been live-in employees for a few illfated months at a wealthy couple?s mansion, and when things fell apart there, Julian came to live with Arch and me. Less than two months away from graduating from Elk Park Prep, he was an excellent student, star swimmer, and ferociously good cook. He was desperate to get into Cornell so he could study food science. Eventually, he wanted to become the first vegetarian caterer from Bluff, Utah, to be written up in Gourmet. I thought he had a good chance to get into Cornell, although I had my doubts about his aspirations for Gourmet. That, however, could wait, as it was the coming week that would bring the college acceptance and rejection news. Adding this to the wedding preparations had put Julian?s anxiety into high gear. Still, Arch and I loved having him around, high anxiety or no. But now, with Tom gone, the teenager would be impossible. I knew from sad experience that the emotionally volatile Julian became volcanic in the face of danger to those he loved.
?So what are the police doing about Schulz?? he demanded when I didn?t answer immediately. He glowered at me as if this were somehow my fault. ?I mean, do they, like, know who snatched him, or what??
I patiently explained that a concentration of law-enforcement types were prowling about at Olson?s house the way they were searching the church, that they had found some things of Tom?s and a note containing abbreviations nobody could decipher. Julian chewed on his knuckles when I said Tom?s note seemed to be his catalogue of events up to the moment he was abducted by somebody whose identity we did not yet know.
My personal phone line rang; I snatched it. ?What??
?Uh, Goldy? This is Father Doug Ramsey, and I need to talk to you about … some church matters. First, of course, I am concerned about you. How are you doing??
?Terribly, Doug. Sorry, I can?t talk now. I?m trying to keep my phone lines open for the police.?
?Well. This will just take a minute. It?s about the meeting next week, and the food ? ?
I put my hand over the mouthpiece and hissed at Marla, ?Get rid of Father Doug for me, will you? Quickly??
Marla puckered her lips, then took the receiver. ?This is Goldilocks? Catering and we can?t talk now.? But instead of hanging up ? she was, after all, a cradle Episcopalian ? she listened to Doug Ramsey launch into one of his long strings of words: explanations, queries, thoughts. I whispered a prayer that the police would do an operator interrupt if there was news.
?What do you mean, abbreviations? What kind of notes are you talking about?? Julian asked me in a conspiratorial tone.
?Just his notes on what was happening when he arrived out at Olson?s place. They think it was to help him remember.? I looked questioningly at Marla, who still held the phone to her ear.
Marla shook her head and told Doug Ramsey to hold on. To me she said, ?He?s saying Bob Preston called him after Agatha phoned here. He wants to know if you want Schulz put on the prayer list.?
?Of course,? I said. ?Please tell him I have to leave this line open for the cops, so don?t let him go on and on with exaggerated descriptions and hyperbolic worries.? Which was precisely Father Doug Ramsey?s style, unfortunately.
Marla returned to the phone. After a minute, she said, ?no, no, no, I?m sure she won?t … She?s under too much stress, that?s why.? Again she put her hand over the mouthpiece. ?Did this guy flunk pastoral theology or what?? she whispered. Doug?s voice still droned through the receiver; Marla smiled widely. ?Doug,? she told him loudly, ?you can find another caterer.? More muffled protests were followed by ?All right, I?ll ask.? She turned to me. ?Father Insensitive wants to know if you?re still going to cater the Board of Theological Examiners? meetings starting Tuesday night. And attend, too, since you?re a member, that?s what he says he?s upset about, can?t get another qualified laywoman on such short notice, and especially with Olson gone, they just won?t have enough people to do the examining. Or so he claims. He says it?ll help you get your mind off your other crises. Although I think he?s more worried about food, if you want to know the truth.?
?Goldy, you can?t,? Julian began fervently, ?not when you?re going through this other mess. Tell them I?ll do it.?
?I agree,? said Marla, her hand still clasped over the mouthpiece. ?The police will want to talk to you ? ?
?Tell him I don?t know yet,? I interrupted firmly. ?The meeting?s in three days ? he can wait until tomorrow for a decision.? Besides, I added mentally, Father Olson had been head of the Board of Theological Examiners I owed doing this catering to him, and perhaps cooking for the board would keep me from obsessing about Schulz.
Resigned, Marla spoke quietly into the phone, then hung up. When Julian asked if I wanted him to fix dinner, Marla replied with a snicker that Father Doug had said the Altar Guild was sending in meals. Starting tonight.
?Oh, wow,? Julian muttered as he raked his mown blond hair with his short fingers. ?Tuna fish and cream of mushroom soup.?
?Don?t be ungrateful,? Marla chided. ?I?ve brought you frozen zucchini quiche, your own mini-wheel of Camembert, and spinach tortellini. And there?s Beef Wellington for the carnivores. Not to mention that you still have plenty of wedding goodies tucked away in your refrigerator. You can munch on those for as long as ? ?
Wedding goodies. I put my head into my hands. I know he loved you Loves. Julian and Marla simultaneously lunged forward to hug me, which only made matters worse.
?I didn?t mean to, I really didn?t.? Marla?s voice choked with guilt near my ear. ?At least let me take you out tonight, Goldy. There?s no point staying around here.?
?I need to be near the phones,? I said for what felt like the hundredth time. ?But thanks, Marla. Please. Julian, if it?ll make you feel better to cook, go ahead.?
With a wild and angry energy, Julian began to bang around the kitchen. Arch appeared from the TV room and asked for an update. When we told him there was none, he assessed the two glum adults and one manic teenager, then announced he was going back to finish watching his show. After a while, Marla said she would go home and make some calls for me, to let people know what was going on so that they wouldn?t tie up my line with their dumb questions. But she would stay if we needed her, she offered hopefully. I assured her we would be fine. When she left, I went to find Arch.
In the spare bedroom that we used as a recreation space, Arch had the television on but was lying face-up on the tartan plaid couch. When he turned to me, I knew he was assessing my mood, the way he had as a child. He seemed to be wondering: How should I react to this crisis? If Mom is upset, I should be upset.
?I?m going to be all right,? I said to his unspoken question. ?Are you??
He groaned. His gray sweatsuit was pleated in a rumpled mass that he didn?t bother to straighten. He avoided my eyes. ?Mom, how soon do you think the police will call??
I turned the television off and sat in the matching plaid chair. ?Very soon. They?re going to bring me a copy of the note, and some things of Tom?s.?
Arch paused, mulling something over. Finally he heaved himself up.
?What is it, Arch??
His thin chest and shoulders collapsed with a loud, disgusted sigh. Lying on the couch had flattened his hair straight up at the cowlick. ?You really don?t think he could have decided to, like, run away, do you? Maybe he just
