drivers.
But a fog this thick made him aware of every inch of road. And the possibility of his own quickly snuffed-out mortality.
Ben slowed his vehicle down to a crawl.
He supposed he could have gone later, but the word itself held a foreboding threat within it. Later was too close to never when it came to kidnappings. It was always best to follow every lead as soon as it occurred. Later might be too late.
He didn’t ever intend to be too late. So far, he’d been lucky. He’d never had to face a parent and say those gut-wrenching, eternally tormenting words that would forever cut them off from hope. He’d found every child he’d set out to locate. Which was what made his job at ChildFinders so much more rewarding than the time he’d spent in the homicide division on the police force.
The coffee nestled in his cup holder had grown cold and stagnant by the time the fog had lifted, and he felt confident enough to risk taking one hand off the wheel to take a drink. By then, he was fifteen miles out of Saratoga.
The small town created an immediate impression the moment he entered it. Saratoga looked as if it should have been the subject of a fairy tale. Or, at the very least, a Frank Capra movie. There was a picturesque, storybook quality about it. The climate was cooler up here, and what had been rain in Bedford had transformed into light flurries in Saratoga.
The light layer of fresh snow on the trees and ground made Ben think of a Currier and Ives painting.
The woman he was looking for lived ten miles on the other side of Saratoga.
“I do so like getting visitors,” the small, cherubic woman said, smiling at Ben. “Have another cookie.” She pushed the near-full plate toward him. “I just wind up eating them myself half the time.” Her eyes twinkled and she gave the illusion of lucidity as she smiled at her girth. “But I suspect you’ve already guessed that.”
The wan afternoon sun had finally withdrawn from the parlor they were in, after losing a hopeless battle for space within a room crammed full of knickknacks and memorabilia. It was a room where an old woman sat, surrounded by things that reminded her that she had once been young, with the world at her feet. Too heavyset to be called elfin, she still had that way about her. She was charming, and maybe, at some other time, Ben wouldn’t have minded spending an afternoon talking to her about nothing.
But he didn’t have time. Because of McNair’s admitted reticence, too much had already elapsed. The longer it took him to find Andrew McNair, the harder it would become.
“No.” The lie came easily to him. It harmed nothing to pretend that she was not heavy. The woman’s smile became wider. “No, I hadn’t guessed.” Picking up another one of the cookies she was pushing on him, he took a bite. The cookies, laced liberally with macadamia nuts, were quite possibly the best he’d ever had. Andrea would have killed for these, he thought, chocolate chip cookies being a particular weakness for his middle sister. “And much as I’d like to load up on these, Mrs. Malone—”
“Oh, please, everyone calls me Sugar. I forget exactly why. Sugarland isn’t my given name, you know.”
“I rather suspected that,” he said, smiling. “But as to the reason I’m here—”
“Oh, yes, your reason.” Her smile faded a little. “And once you tell me, you’ll be gone, won’t you?”
He’d met her less than twenty minutes ago. Knocking on her door, he’d been surprised when she’d ushered him in like a long-lost friend. Asking for his name had been an after-thought. It had left him wondering if there was anyone who looked in on the old woman from time to time to make sure she hadn’t given up the deed to the old Victorian house, or its surrounding fields. He hoped that the foreman who managed her field hands was a decent sort.
“I’m afraid—”
Sugar waved away the excuse magnanimously. “That’s all right, Gloria was the same way, flitting in and out before I could so much as blink twice. I expect it’s the same with all young people.”
“Gloria.” He hadn’t expected it to be this easy. Ben maintained a poker face as he asked, “Then she’s been here?”
“Why, yes. Here and gone.” Sugar brushed away the crumbs that had collected on her ample bosom. “But you were going to tell me something.”
Was she really as vague as she let on, or was it all an elaborate act? She seemed genuine enough, but Ben kept his eyes on the woman’s face, watching for a telltale shift in expression as he said, “As a matter of fact, I’m looking for your grand-niece.”
“Why?” It wasn’t a challenge. Curiosity filtered into her eyes.
He began to give Sugar the story he’d rehearsed on his way up here. “I represent Jacob Marley’s estate—”
“Jacob Marley….” She closed her eyes, rolling the name over in her mind. Then, opening them again, she shook her head. “I don’t believe I know the man.”
“No, ma’am, probably not.” Especially since he’d borrowed the name from Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, Ben thought. “But he’s left Gloria a sizable amount of money—”
Sugar clapped her hands together in simple, childish delight. “How wonderful. The poor dear could so use the money. I couldn’t give her very much when she came. She promised to pay me back, but I told her I wouldn’t hear of it. I’m the only family she has, you know.”
“Yes, I do.” Ben tried to press on before the woman became distracted again. “We have no forwarding address for her—”
Fluffy, cloudlike white hair bobbed up and down as Sugar nodded in agreement.
“That’s because she’s not where she used to be.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping for a moment. “Can’t be, you know. Too bad, it made her sad to leave.”
This had to be what Alice felt like, trying to carry on a conversation with the creatures inhabiting Wonderland, Ben thought. Still, he was making some progress. “Do you know where she is now?”
“Not really.” Sugar paused to nibble thoughtfully on one of her cookies. “But she said something about San Francisco. That’s where she went to school, you know. Bright, bright girl.” She sighed as that memory, too, slipped away from her. “Worked in a bookstore during those years. Practically ran the place. Don’t know when she ever slept. The manager liked her, I could tell. Never acted on it, though.” Suddenly realizing that her visitor was no longer chewing, she pushed the plate a little closer still. “Another cookie?” This time, the plate practically landed in his lap.
“Would you happen to know the name of the bookstore?” Gloria had to work, he thought. Maybe she’d touched base with the owner of the store, asking for a job. It was a long shot to say the least, but long shots had a way of paying off if you were persistent enough. Besides, it was a starting point. San Francisco was a big city to wander around in aimlessly.
“Why, as a matter of fact I do.” Proudly, she recited the name of a popular chain that was currently sweeping the country, replacing older, independent stores. “It’s located at Taylor and Turk. Or is it Turk and Taylor? I never know which way to say that.” She looked pleased with herself for remembering the location. “I went there a few times myself. The bookstore,” she clarified,
