Lure of Song and Magic Page 7

  “Headset.” He stuck it in his ear and flipped it on. “Call Conan.”

  She found his brother’s name on the menu and hit it. The phone was ringing on the other end by the time Oz covered the short distance to Dot’s and maneuvered into a tight parking space between two dusty pickups behind the café.

  “Got a lost kid,” he told Conan as he switched off the ignition. “Where are you?”

  “Driving back from Bakersfield. It’ll take me an hour to get there. I’ve got equipment with me.”

  “Good. Alert the team. It may be a simple wandering case, but the kid is autistic. Did you learn anything useful while you were out?”

  “Made some contacts. Nothing solid yet.” Conan hung up.

  He couldn’t expect Conan to dig out Pippa’s past in a day, but he was getting a little more desperate with each passing minute.

  Oz realized she was looking at him strangely as they climbed out of the truck. He supposed she had a right to wonder about who he’d called and why. Donal’s kidnapping had been all over the news, so his interest in finding missing children was no secret. That he’d formed a task force to find them was a little more private.

  “CSI?” she asked dryly, leading him through the café’s back door, the one she must have used the other night to sneak up on him.

  The entrance opened onto a hallway with a public phone and restrooms, not a kitchen. The kitchen door was open, but no one was working. A voice barked with authority in the front dining room.

  “Not quite. I just know people.” He didn’t want to explain and miss what was being said about the lost boy.

  People glanced back at them as they entered, but the crowd was focused on the man in uniform at the front entrance.

  “Sheriff Roy Bailey,” Pippa murmured as they found places at the back. “Good man.”

  “We’ve got the horses meeting at Juanita’s,” Bailey was saying. “The search team needs a supply of water for themselves and for the animals, and horse feed if we’re out there long.”

  Two men wearing battered cowboy hats and jeans raised their hands. The sheriff nodded in their direction and continued listing needs and taking volunteers.

  When he seemed to be winding down, Oz spoke up. “Do you have an air crew?”

  “Nope. You volunteering?” In crisp khaki, wearing a holster over his middle-aged belly, the sheriff sent him a hard glance.

  “Tell me when you need it, and I’ll get one here. If you need more dogs, tell me that too. I’ve got a crew coming in with night vision equipment in case it’s needed.”

  People stared. Murmurs rose around the room. Pippa slipped behind him as if he were big enough to hide her.

  “We’ll take all the free help we can get. We ain’t got money to pay anyone,” the sheriff warned.

  “My crew is free,” Oz assured him. “You know the territory better than they do, so I’ll send them to you when they arrive.”

  “Pippa, give him my number so we can keep lines of communication open.” The sheriff put on his hat and nodded at the door. “Let’s move ’em out.”

  ***

  Pippa preferred working quietly in the background, providing water, helping the women arrange food on the open fire pits to serve the searchers as they returned from their fruitless quests. People got lost up here, she knew. In the six years she’d been in town, tourists had fallen off slippery rocks, kids had lost their seats when their horses bolted, and hikers had lost their way a dozen times a year. Any number of minor events could add up to a missing persons report.

  Even the media hadn’t bothered checking out Tommy’s story, it was so commonplace. Although they might later, if the search went on overnight. Or if it was a slow news day. But the town had no newspaper to alert a news crew.

  Except a child who couldn’t communicate was a different problem from more routine searches. Tommy would run and hide from the rescue teams. Pippa fretted about that knowledge, working up her courage. She had no notion that she could actually help, so she prayed they found him before she had to offer.

  Besides, until they found a trail, she really couldn’t help. Even if she knew it would make a difference—which she didn’t—she couldn’t broadcast over the twenty square miles a kid could travel in a few hours. She hoped he hadn’t wandered that far, that he was close by and just hiding, but they’d found only a few footprints that might be his. The dogs had lost the trail half a mile down the path.

  So she distracted herself by watching Oz. Probably a mistake, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Every time she looked up, his square shoulders loomed over the crowd—talking to the sheriff, introducing a tall, lean man who must be the mysterious Conan, handing hundred dollar bills to the women for food. He was just there, a presence felt by all, even though he spoke quietly and did nothing overt to attract attention—for a change.

  Finally, when she ran out of busywork and his tense body language radiated a pain that even she could sense, she sidled up next to him.

  “Is this how they searched for your son?” she asked hesitantly, uncertain whether to bring up the past he never spoke about.

  He shook his head. “In the city, dogs and horses are useless. They sent out alerts and flyers with pictures of the nanny and Donal, checked security tapes around the neighborhood, went door to door. I didn’t even know how long he’d been gone when I returned to find the house empty. They had to judge by the time on a security camera at the gate.”

  The sorrow and guilt in his voice said it all. He blamed himself. Pippa didn’t know his story and couldn’t tell if the guilt was justified, but she knew he didn’t have to be here right now, sharing his hard-earned lessons.

  “It takes a strong man to use his suffering to help others. You’re doing a good thing here today. Juanita was hysterical, but you’ve given her confidence and calmed her down, which helps. She even remembered to tell the sheriff that Tommy had been playing with a dog before he disappeared. Every little bit of information can make a difference.”

  Oz didn’t nod acknowledgment but shoved his hands into his pockets and watched the next round of searchers return.

  They’d found the dog but not Tommy.

  A tall, lanky stranger with sharp cheekbones and eyes hidden behind wraparound shades ambled over to join them. He had arrived earlier, talked to the sheriff, and gone about his business in the same efficient, quiet manner as Oz, distributing equipment and men as needed.

  As he approached now, he studied Pippa but didn’t take time for introductions. “I’ve got the night vision goggles ready to go. It’ll be dark in about an hour. Do I call in the air crew or tell them to wait until morning?”

  “Morning,” Pippa told him without waiting for Oz to reply. If Oz could face his pain for strangers, she could use him as an example to overcome her cowardice for a little boy she knew and loved. “The noise will scare Tommy. We’ll do better to light bonfires and let him come to us.”

  Oz nodded silent agreement, and after sending him a look of concern, the other man wandered off to join his crew.

  “That’s Conan, my brother,” Oz said. “He thinks it’s his fault that his contacts couldn’t locate my son. He overcompensates.”

  “He admires you, and he wants to help. That’s not a bad thing. You’re very fortunate to have family.”

  He cast her a look, no doubt remembering she had none. He shouldn’t need reminding that he was a lucky man.

  Before he could comment, a shout rang out near the front lines.

  “A shoe! We found his shoe! Bring the dogs.”

  Excitement rippled through the crowd. With hope rejuvenated, people threw down their burgers, finished off their bottles of water, and prepared to set out again.

  Pippa took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She didn’t know if she could do this, but she knew deep down insi
de that she had to try.

  “My turn,” she said quietly. “Does your brother have sound equipment in his magic trunk, or shall I fetch mine?”

  Chapter 9

  In the end, Oz derived a small amount of comfort from managing the production just as if he were back in L.A. While dogs and searchers took the path where the shoe had been found, he set Pippa up in a tall chair near a bonfire. He had Conan help form the crowd into a quiet circle far enough away from Pippa that they hid in shadows—for her comfort as much as Tommy’s.

  When the sheriff mentioned a reporter had inquired about the situation, Oz got on the phone and diverted him. The story wasn’t big enough to risk landing on his blacklist, and the media knew he’d return bigger favors later. If that boy was to be found, they didn’t need TV crews terrifying either Pippa or Tommy into running.

  Thinking of Donal and how he loved hot dogs, he passed out more cash for food to be thrown on the grill so a hungry boy might follow his nose.

  Oz did everything possible not to think about coyotes and rattlesnakes and treacherous mountainsides. He even admired Pippa’s technical expertise in helping with the sound equipment. She shocked even Conan with her knowledge, forcing him to adjust his rich bitch opinion of her.

  And then they baited the boy trap.

  Opening and closing her fingers, Pippa looked nervous and uncomfortable as Oz fastened the microphone to her hoodie.

  “I don’t want them counting on me,” she whispered before he turned on the sound. “This is just a shot in the dark.”

  “They’re ready to place hope on the number of times a frog croaks right now. You can’t change human nature. If this doesn’t work, we’ll think of something else. Pretend you’re at the day care.” He hated to shove her out there alone, but there was nothing he could do to make her more comfortable. She’d said children liked the familiar. His presence would frighten the child.

  So Pippa took the chair by herself, a microphone clipped to her shirt, while everyone else hid in the shadows. After a momentary look of panic, she settled down to read from her books. She read slowly and surely, without the drama of an actress, although she changed the timbre for different characters. Her calmness sent a soothing message into the universe.

  Oz stayed in the background, keeping an eye on the production. He heard a few people near the road scoff that she was grandstanding, but Oz suspected Pippa would rather be anywhere except here at this moment. She was simply doing all she knew to do—read because the boy liked it.

  He admired her courage in waiting these long hours, dreading this moment. He’d learned enough about her need for privacy to grasp some small amount of her discomfort.

  And still she sedately read the nonsense words about Tommy Turtle and Billy Bob Bat. Oddly, the crowd of adults quieted, concentrating on her reading just as if they were toddlers.

  He didn’t know how she did it. She was magic. Tension drained from taut shoulders everywhere he looked. Even Tommy’s family quit crying and settled on the ground, cross-legged, listening and praying. Perhaps the reading was a form of prayer.

  A coyote howled in the distance. A dog barked. A nearly full moon began rising over the scrub-dotted hills on the horizon. The aroma of sizzling beef drifted on the chilly breeze, along with the crackle of the warm bonfire. And Pippa’s voice droned through the landscape as naturally as the call of a night bird.

  Despite the spell she cast, the crowd rustled uneasily when they realized she was repeating books she’d already read and Tommy had not appeared. People turned away and muttered among themselves. When Pippa’s confident voice faltered with uncertainty, Oz wanted to break the circle and haul her out of the spotlight. He didn’t think he had a protective bone in his body, but he wanted to shield that frail, fey female from a mob mentality that could turn on her at any moment.

  Juanita and her daughter, Sara, hugged each other, weeping as they rose from the ground. Their neighbors crowded around them, adding words of hope and sympathy that no one felt.

  Conan came to stand beside Oz, not tearing his gaze from Pippa. “She looks as if she’ll shatter into a million pieces any minute,” he said with the same concern Oz was feeling. “She’s not what I expected.”

  Oz snorted, remembering flying fists and feet. “Don’t tell her that, or she’ll break your nose. She’s been badly hurt, but I think this place has helped her heal. She’s trying to return the favor.”

  “I want to know the story,” Conan demanded, crossing his arms.

  “Whenever you find the beginning and I learn the rest.” Maybe, Oz amended, knowing Pippa’s preference for privacy.

  A gasp and a hush fell over a part of the circle farthest from the bonfire. Pippa continued to read, adding a little more emphasis than usual to Tommy Turtle’s dialogue. Picking up on the expectation, the rest of the crowd quieted as well. A horse nickered.

  “And then Tommy Turtle knew his mother loved him best of all,” Pippa said into the microphone, breaking from the story she’d told earlier and inventing a new ending as a small shadow slipped from the sagebrush. “And he came home.”

  Weeping, Juanita and Sara rushed in to scoop up the little boy. He clung to his mother’s neck but kept staring at Pippa. Looking tired and frazzled, Pippa climbed down from the chair and handed the small book to the lost child. She unsnapped the microphone so the crowd couldn’t hear what she said, but the boy took the book and rested his dirty head on his mother’s shoulder as she spoke to him. And then Pippa walked away.

  Jubilation filled the air with shouts and whistles. A woman broke out of the crowd to hug Pippa. Others pounded her on the back.

  She kept walking, past the ring of well-wishers, past Oz, down the road as if in a daze.

  Oz punched Conan’s arm in thanks and farewell and hurried after her.

  He wished he knew what he was doing, but he had no idea what he was dealing with here. He caught up with her easily, tapped her shoulder, and pointed out the direction to the truck. With a blank gaze, she turned to follow his gesture.

  He had no right to touch her. Didn’t know if it would hurt or help if he did. He opened the truck door for her and offered his hand to steady her as she climbed in. She didn’t even seem aware that she took it.

  They drove back to her place in silence. Oz waited for some clue from her, but she offered nothing. He wanted to tell her she’d been brilliant out there, that he wished she’d been around when Donal had disappeared. Except, he acknowledged, even her magic couldn’t have saved a boy who’d been stolen away in a car.

  He allowed himself relief that one small child had been saved from disaster—because this frail woman had known what to do and put herself out there and done it. Not many people would put aside their selfish concerns to help another. He couldn’t think of anyone he knew who would.

  When they parked at the day care, she climbed out of the truck without his aid, but Oz wasn’t ready to let her wander down that path on her own. He followed behind her, and she didn’t object. The moon illuminated the barely discernible rocks laid out to form a walk, but the house was hard to miss once they were past the bushes.

  She didn’t object when he followed her inside. She wandered like a ghost to the kitchen and then stood there as if she didn’t know what to do next. Oz opened the refrigerator, found one of her bottled juices, and poured her a glass. She took it and sipped.

  He would have to start carrying a flask. He needed something stronger than vitamin juice.

  He knew now that Pippa could not possibly have been involved in his son’s kidnapping. It hadn’t made sense before. It made less now.

  What did make sense was the Librarian’s admonition that she could help. He didn’t know how or why or anything else, but Pippa had just lured a small boy back from the edge of disaster. Could she do it for Donal?

  With “The Silly Seal Song”? I
t didn’t seem credible.

  “Will you be all right if I leave you alone?” he asked with concern.

  “I’ll survive.” She didn’t sound too certain, but she’d at least spoken.

  “You’ve been doing little more than surviving for quite a few years, it looks like.” Oz was suddenly angry with her pale face and listless attitude. “You saved that family back there from unimaginable heartbreak. Why aren’t you part of the celebration?”

  She glanced at him blankly and then headed outside to the pool. “It was a very small payment on a very large debt.”

  Grabbing the juice bottle, he followed her out. He needed something liquid, so juice it would have to be. “Explain,” he said curtly. He wanted to know everything about her, but he knew nothing.

  She shrugged and fell into the lounge chair she’d left earlier when she’d received the call. She didn’t move it away from the one he occupied.

  “Karma,” was her explanation.

  Oz made a rude noise. “Then I’d like to know what I did in a former life to deserve losing my wife and my kid. And what I can do to get them back, if it just takes paying some karmic debt.”

  For the first time since they’d left the crowd behind, she looked at him with a degree of interest. “You lost your wife, too? Are you sure your head is nailed on straight?”

  “No, can’t say that I’m sure, some days.” He’d been shell-shocked at losing Alys, but driving to Mexico to recover Donal and trying to find out what had happened had kept his head occupied. He’d learned from that experience—stay busy. But some days… it didn’t help.

  “We can’t stop living because someone else did,” he told her. “I don’t think there’s any way I can pay back the universe for whatever in heck I did wrong. Personally, I think the universe owes me.”

  This time, Pippa snorted. “How have you improved the world?” she demanded. “Do your renowned skills of perseverance and negotiating bring joy to the unhappy or enlightenment to the ignorant? Or do you just put money in a lot of bank accounts?”