My sister Ruth had insisted on staying with me for the remainder of the day, lending both physical and moral support as we plastered public buildings and business establishments in Crofton with Timmy’s poster, with the full cooperation of the various merchants. With her help, we finished in time for me to hustle back to Annapolis to pick up Chloe and Jake from school.
That evening, because they taunted me with it, I knew that Connie and Dennis were sharing a hot King Ranch chicken casserole with Emily and Dante, one of a half-dozen casseroles now overflowing Emily’s freezer courtesy of the ladies of St. Catherine’s Episcopal Church. Meanwhile, at our house, Ruth helped me fix dinner, or at least what passed for dinner those days: pizza. I dumped the ingredients for pizza dough into the bread machine, punched a button and let it do its thing, while Ruth kept her mind off things by chopping up assorted toppings.
After dinner, Ruth supervised bathtime upstairs, then picked up reading where I’d left off in the first Harry Potter. We’d been reading Sorcerer’s Stone to the kids for what seemed like ages-Emily thought that Goblet of Fire was too violent. Downstairs, Paul helped clean up the kitchen, debriefing me on the press conference Ruth and I had missed that afternoon.
“I wish there were more to tell, Hannah, but at least there’s no really bad news. Ron Powers reported that the Anne Arundel County police were still reviewing the shopping center videotapes.” He handed me a dirty plate. “They’re pretty bad quality, apparently, having been erased and taped over many times. Then the FBI profiler from Quantico made a statement suggesting that Timmy’s kidnapper may have no intention of returning him to us.”
“Oh, no,” I moaned, feeling the pizza turn over in my stomach. “Poor Emily. That news must have really stung.”
Paul grunted and handed me another plate. “Very disturbing. According to the profiler, when the victim is an infant, and the infant is abducted by a nonfamily member from a hospital or other location, not from a home, the abductor’s motive often is to raise the child as her own. There have been cases of women who faked a pregnancy, then stole a child in an attempt to strengthen a crumbling relationship with a significant other. And other women who have miscarried, then snatched a baby to fill the void of darkness and despair brought on by the death of that child.”
I retrieved the box of dishwasher soap from under the sink, poured some into the soap cup, twiddled with the dials, and slammed the door shut over the dirty dishes. “Damn! If that’s the case, how will we ever find him? Or her.” I’d been imagining the kidnapper as a man for so long that switching to the image of a woman was a major paradigm shift.
“Agent Crisp told the reporters that the FBI is checking hospital records,” Paul continued. “They’re trying to identify women who have lost children recently. At the press conference, Crisp urged the public to report anyone who has turned up unexpectedly with a baby, particularly if they haven’t appeared to have been pregnant.”
I grabbed a broom and started attacking the bits of cheese and vegetable scattered over the tiles. “It seems like such a long shot.”
Paul smiled grimly. “I agree. But the other bit of news is more positive. According to Dante, Phyllis Strother is starting a reward fund for Timmy’s safe return, and has contributed ten thousand dollars to kick it off.”
I dumped the contents of the dustpan into the trash can. “Paul, that’s wonderful! I take back every snide remark I ever made about the woman.”
“The bad news is that the cops are dead set against it, the FBI included. Ron Powers in particular is concerned that offering a reward will result in a flood of false leads that will take valuable time away from the search for Timmy.”
I began to work on the area nearest the stove. “But, Paul, only one tip needs to pan out! Just one! If a reward helps motivate somebody to turn in the kidnapper, then I’m all for cleaning out our savings account to do it.”
“I agree, and that’s what I told Agent Crisp, especially since Emily and Dante are so keen on doing it.” Paul gently removed the broom from my hands. “Sit down, Hannah. You’re sweeping the pattern clean off the linoleum.”
“We don’t have linoleum.”
“Well, sit down, anyway. Have some wine. Chill.”
I plopped down in a chair, folded my hands primly on the table in front of me, and asked, “How does putting together a reward work, exactly? We can’t set a table up in front of the Safeway and solicit donations, can we?”
“We’ve asked Jim Cheevers to help us sort that out. We need to make sure the terms of the reward are clear, otherwise we could get sued. It’s happened. Jim recommends setting up a separate bank account for the donations, which somebody outside the family will control, of course.”
“Do you think Hutch will be willing to do that? Ruth mentioned that he’d asked if there was anything he could do to help.”
“Did someone mention my fiancé?” Ruth asked, wandering into the kitchen and waggling her magnificent 1890s-style engagement ring in my direction for what seemed like the umpteenth time.
Without asking, Paul refilled Ruth’s wineglass and handed it to her. “We were wondering if Hutch might be interested in managing the reward fund for Timmy.”
“I’ll ask, but I’m sure he’ll say yes. Should I call him now?”
Paul nodded. “If he’s willing, please tell him that Cheevers will get in touch with him.”
“So many people have expressed concern over Timmy, Hannah. I know they’ll be willing to contribute,” Ruth said, digging in her purse for her phone. “That reward fund will go sky high!”
Paul set his wineglass down on the kitchen table. “That may be true, but Agent Crisp advises that we settle on an amount for the reward in advance and keep it there. Otherwise, we might have tipsters waiting around for a more lucrative offer before calling in.”
I gaped at my husband. “They’d do that? How appalling.”
Cell phone attached to her ear, Ruth disappeared out the kitchen door, slipping into the backyard and the cool of the spring evening. Paul barely had time to refill our wineglasses before she was back, smiling with satisfaction. “Well, that’s settled. Hutch will manage the reward fund.”
“That means a lot, Ruth. Thank you.”
Ruth joined us at the table. “I need to tell you something, Hannah. Upstairs just now? Jake asked me about the search for Timmy, and I didn’t know quite what to say. So I simply told him that the police were looking everywhere for Timmy and that we hoped his baby brother would be home soon.”
I felt my eyes fill with tears. “What else can we say? You did great, Ruth.”
We sat quietly with our thoughts, sipping our wine. After a few minutes I rose and set my empty glass in the sink. “I’d better go upstairs and tuck them in.” On my way out of the room I stopped behind Ruth’s chair, stooped, and gave her a hug. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help, Ruth.”
Upstairs, I found Jake already asleep, thumb in mouth, a habit I hoped he’d outgrow one day. On the floor next to his bed lay his blanket, all in a heap.
In the next bed, Chloe had pulled her covers up to her chin, and she appeared to be sleeping. But when I drew closer, I noticed her eyelids quivering. The little scamp was faking it.
I picked up Jake’s blanket and covered him with it. “Oh dear,” I muttered as I tucked the blanket around Jake’s solid, future soccer-player body. “Chloe’s already asleep so I can’t tell her good-night.”