Ryan turned his head away without answering.
“Let's get back to Megan,” I suggested. “This woman gives you a message with a phone number for you to call⦔
“And when the phone is answered, it's Megan,” Bonnie continued. “She didn't say very much, other than wanting her bear. And wanting to go home,” she rolled her eyes. “Then this guy takes the phone away from her and tells me that if I call the police, I'll never see her again. That he's watching and will know if any strange cars come down to the lake.”
We all looked towards the windows. I wished there were curtains, blinds, anything to cover up those blank, transparent squares.
Bonnie fished a tatty kleenex from inside the sleeve of her shirt and blew her nose. “I'm not about to take chances with my daughter's life.”
“Who is he? What does he want?” Will repeated. I squeezed his hand. After a moment, he squeezed back.
“Relics,” Bonnie stated flatly.
“The artifacts we found?” My voice squeaked. “But how does he know about them?”
“I don't know. But that's what he wants. He says if you'll give them to him, he'll give back Megan.”
“What about his voice?” I pushed her. “Did you recognize it? Was he young? Old?”
She shrugged. “I couldn't tell. The line was terrible, all static and fuzz. Mrs. Smith did tell me something interesting,
though.”
“I thought you said you didn't talk to her?”
“Not about the note. I didn't want to tell her anything about that, I was afraid she might go to the police. But she saw I was upset when I was leaving. She wanted to give me a cup of tea.” Bonnie giggled wildly.
“What did you say to her? How did you explain what was going on?”
“I told her that I was running away from my husband, that he beat me up⦔
“That's not true,” Ryan shouted. “Dad never hit anybody.”
“I had to say something,” Bonnie soothed. “It was the only thing I could think of. I told her the phone number was my lawyer's. She was very understanding. She said Hank had run away from his folks too, before he came to live with his grandfather. But that's not all. When I said that I'd met Hank down here at the cottage, she told me he was real close to Dr. Finch. That he'd worked for her last fall on a dig down south.” She leaned back against the cushions, then winced and tugged at the back pocket of her sweatpants. “She gave me this.”
“What is it?” I reached for the tattered paperback.
“It's a guide for students helping out on an archaeological site.”
I thumbed through the pamphlet. There were pictures of tools like the ones I'd seen in the shed in the woods, and diagrams of excavation pits. “I wonder if this comes from the site she's accused of looting?”
“Maybe Hank stole stuff from there too, and Marilyn was taking the blame for him. They're cousins, after all, and she probably has more chance of defending herself than he would,” Will suggested.
I held up a smudged photograph of a field pockmarked with craters. “The clearing where I found Hank's tent looks just like this.”
“That trunk of relics you found must have come from there.” Bonnie's voice rose with excitement. “The survey must have identified that field as an archaeological site. Hank dug up the relics and was storing them here until he found a buyer. He had a key, remember? You came before he could fetch them. He must have figured taking Megan was a sure way to get
you to give them up.”
“You think it's Hank who has her?” Will asked.
“Of course. He would be desperate to get the artifacts. They're worth a lot of money for a kid like him if you know the right people to sell them to. That's why he was nosing around the museum, looking for leads. What did you find exactly? Pipes? Jewellery?“
“Both of those,” I nodded. “And a bag full of bones.”
Bonnie whistled. “That's what he wants then. I know,” she jumped up. Ryan sank back down against the arm of the couch. “Your cousin found the relics dug up and brought them here. Hank came after, they argued and he killed her.”
“Don't, Mom,” Ryan pleaded. “Don't talk about her.” His lips trembled.
Bonnie put her arm around him. “Okay, Champ.” She looked at us, but nodded. “That's what must have happened,” she whispered.
I shook my head. “Couldn't be. Hank was at the store when we stopped there, so he couldn't have been here then. And if he killed her, you'd think he'd show some sign of that. He's too young to hide his emotions that well and to pretend that she's still going to turn up. Remember: he told us about the phone call from her friend, that she was going to be late arriving.”
“A lie to keep you from getting suspicious,” Bonnie suggested.
“Besides,” Will added. “He couldn't have Megan. I saw him get into the ambulance with his grandfather about the time you say she disappeared.”
Bonnie sighed. “Well, whoever it is, he wants those relics.”
“Are you sure you didn't recognize his voice?” I asked.
“He hung up as soon as he said what he wanted.” Bonnie took the bear from her son and unwound the ribbon, smoothing it out between her fingers. “What difference does it make, anyway?” She looked up, suddenly frightened. “You wouldn't keep those things hidden, would you? You will help me get Megan back?” Her voice trembled.
“Of course we will,” I said. “It's not right to sell them, but as long as Megan is in danger, I don't see what choice we have.”
“Unless we can figure out who's got her and come up with a plan,” Will pointed out.
We sat in silence for a few minutes. Bonnie kept glancing at her watch and then back to the door.
Will finally spoke again. “Maybe Rosie's right about Roger Markham. Maybe Marilyn wanted to report the site to the authorities once she realized what was there. Roger was afraid of wasting time and losing out on his deal; he'd be happy to bulldoze all that history into the ground. Then again, she knows what the artifacts are worth; maybe she thought she could exchange them for what she'd sold down south, or use them to pay for her legal costs. If she did that, she wouldn't have to sell the land. They had an argument and he killed her.”
“That makes more sense,” I agreed. “Except that I'm the one who owns the land, so I would have to make decisions about the site. Killing her wouldn't get him any closer to getting legal access to the deed. And why would he take Megan?”
Before anyone could answer this question, Ryan jumped
up.
“Listen,” he said. “I hear a car.”
Will strode to the back door. “Someone's coming,” he said.
“Megan!” Ryan ran to the back door.
“Come back here,” Bonnie shouted.
He stopped and turned around.
She lowered her voice, “I don't want you to get into any trouble.”
“What do you mean?” The boy reluctantly returned to his seat. Bonnie grabbed his hand and squeezed. “He might have a gun.”
“We should do something,” I insisted. “Not just wait here like sitting ducks for whoever-it-is to tell us what to do.”
“I'll see if I can find a knife.” Will rummaged through the kitchen drawers.
I picked up the poker and went to stand on one side of the hall entrance, hidden from the view of anyone coming in the back door.
“Don't,” Bonnie pleaded. “If you try to stop him, he won't tell us where Megan is. I won't get her back.”
Will slammed the drawer shut. “We'll make him tell us.” He ran his finger along the blade of a fish gutting knife. “This is plenty sharp.”
Bonnie's voice rose, “Don't be crazy, Will. Hank or Roger
or whoever will be desperate. He's got nothing to lose after kidnapping my baby. Someone will get hurt and I'm afraid it will be her.”
I lowered the poker. “She's right, Will. We'd better just give him the trunk and be done with it. Once we've got Megan, we can contact the police. Once they know who, and what, to look for, he won't get far.”
“Thank you, Rosie,” Bonnie said. She brushed away tears.
“He's coming,” Ryan whispered. He sank down, peering over the back of the sofa at the back door.
I reluctantly returned to my chair by the fire. It needed stoking. I was crouched in front of it when the back door crashed open.
“Hello,” Hank carolled. “Everybody home?”
He didn't look very frightening. His eyes were red and his hair had come loose from its elastic binding and hung in long black greasy strings on either side of his face. His denim jacket was unbuttoned; he wore the same sweatshirt and jeans he'd had on the day before. Over one shoulder dangled an empty canvas backpack.
The gun in his hand, though, meant business. He waved it at Will. “Go and sit with your wife,” he ordered. “I want you all where I can see you.”
Will grimaced, but did as he was told.
“And you can put that poker on the floor and just scoot it my way,” Hank continued. “Best to keep temptation out of reach.”
“Where's Megan?” Bonnie hissed. “What have you done with her?”
“She's all right,” Hank grinned.
“You've got her?” I burst out. “Why?”
He spoke to Bonnie. “You told them what I want?”
She nodded. “Rosie said you can have them.”
“Good.”
“What I can't figure out,” Will interjected, “is how you managed to be in two places at once: with your grandfather in the ambulance and abducting that little child at the same time.”
Hank smirked. “I have friends, you know.” He stepped
further into the room and caught sight of the booklet lying on the coffeetable. His brow furrowed.
“Where did that come from?” he demanded. “How did you get hold of it?”
“Mrs. Smith gave it to me,” Bonnie said. She was leaning towards Hank, her eyes wide, staring.
“Mrs. Smith?”
He was clearly puzzled.
“The woman tending the store for your grandfather.” Bonnie enunciated every syllable, her tone flat. I looked at her curiously. She was trying to convey a message to someone, but I couldn't decide whether it was to us or to Hank.
“You're lying. You were snooping around in my house.”
“I was not.”
“You had to. To find this.”
“Why would I lie to you?”
“Stop it, Mom,” Ryan cried. “Stop fighting. You're always fighting.”
“Keep out of this, Ryan,” Bonnie ordered. She tried to shove him down on the seat, but he wriggled away and stood at the end of the sofa, arms crossed, staring at her.
She softened her tone. “I'm upset, honey. I'm worried about Megan.”
“If you hadn't brought us here, none of this would have happened,” he accused her.
She looked stricken. I crept over to put my hand on her shoulder, to comfort her. She shook it off.
“Don't say that, Ryan,” she pleaded. “I feel so bad about all this. Don't make it worse.”
“Megan and I didn't want to come with you. We like our house. We like living with Daddy and Lynne. We said so, but you wouldn't listen. You never listen.”
He ran across the room. Hank caught him and held him at arm's length so the boy's whirling fists wouldn't touch him.
“Let go of me, Hank,” Ryan yelled.
“Let him go.” Bonnie screamed.
Hank did.
“I hate you,” Ryan said. “I hate all of you.” He ran into the bedroom and slammed the door behind him.
Bonnie put her face in her hands and began to rock as I'd seen Ryan rocking on the dock hours ago. “I can't stand any
more,” she cried. “I just can't stand any more.”
“Should I go to Ryan?” I wondered aloud.
“Only place you're going,” Hank said, “is to get me my trunk. Where is it?”
I gestured to the other door. “In Marilyn's room. Under the bed.”
He giggled. “You've got to be joking. She had the stuff under the bed all along?”
“Didn't you know it was there?” Will asked. “Aren't you the one who put it there in the first place?”
Hank ignored him. He pointed the gun at me. “Go and get it. And don't try any funny stuff or you'll never see Megan again.”
“All right, all right.” I edged around him and went into the bedroom. He backed down the hall, so that he could keep an eye on Bonnie and Will in the living room while, at the same time, he could check on me. From the bunk bedroom came the sound of sobbing. Everyone ignored it.
I knelt down and felt under the bed. We hadn't pushed the trunk in very far; I caught the handle right away. I leaned back and pulled. It scraped along the floor.
“I can't pick it up,” I told Hank. “It's too heavy.”
“Drag it out here, then.”
I did as he said, crawling backwards on my hands and knees and pulling it along behind me. The metal bands on its corners carved furrows in the soft wood floor.
“Where's the key?” Hank asked. He was practically dancing with excitement.
Will took it from the bowl on the mantel where he'd put it for safekeeping earlier.
“You go get it,” Hank ordered me.
When Will handed me the key, our hands touched. He held my fingers for a second and smiled. I tried to smile back.
“Open it, open it,” Hank gestured with the gun. “I haven't got all day.”
Even Bonnie was curious about the trunk's contents. She knelt on the couch, her hands clasped together, leaning forward to see what had endangered her daughter. All that could be seen was the quilt.
“We'd better take that too,” Hank said. He let his pack slide
to the ground and nudged it towards me with his foot. “Put everything in here. And be careful.”
The quilt provided a cushion on the bottom of the canvas bag for the other objects. One by one, I brought them out and packed them in: the newspaper-wrapped pieces of pottery, the shoeboxes of arrowheads and pipes, and the two store gift boxes, one rattling slightly as the corn kernels shifted in the pot, and the other full of beads, rings, and the shell necklace.