Little Boy Lost

By Edith Duven Flaherty

Book Description for Web Page

Corey Wheelock, her best friend Chris, and her adopted two year old son Danny are enjoying a lakeside camping weekend when Danny is kidnapped. Tense days of searching follow; when no ransom note arrives, Corey tries not to fear the unthinkable. But when a handsome private investigator comes to her home with questions about the Christmas night a new-born baby appeared on her doorstep, a new fear is added. Danny is alive and well, but an unknown someone has received a ransom demand for his grandson.
Earl and Yolanda, dangerously incompetent criminals, are not becoming rich and happy as easily as they had hoped. They blunder, they get both careless and unlucky, and almost inevitably their kidnap venture leads to two deaths. A fortune teller/psychic and her slightly retarded brother accidentally become a factor in Dannys safety, and Tommy Logan, the private investigator, suddenly finds his work has become far more exciting than his usual dull routine chores.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 28, 2004
• ISBN: 9781462823192

Edith Duven Flaherty

Born in Massachusetts, Edith Flaherty married a career submarine sailor and spent sixteen years moving, settling, moving again. A lifetime love of reading ended, finally, in an itch to tell her own stories. Several reams of scrap paper later, she has written– (so far) – four novels, The War in Dover’s Landing being the first to be published. Now widowed and living in New Mexico, she has two sons, a daughter-in-law, a grandson and two cats, and continues to write.

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Copyright © 2004 by Edith Duven Flaherty.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

As always, to my dear family.

ONE

Thursday afternoon

This is a really long boring ride, Yolanda commented. How much further is this place anyhow?

Almost up to the Colorado state line. Maybe sixty more miles. Watch the damn road signs, they’ll tell you.

Her reaction was immediate. Shut that mean mouth, Earl Wylie, you aren’t gonna swear at me like that, I won’t let you.

Dammit, she’d better quit talking to him like that—he was sick of all the stupid bastards who loved to put a guy down just because he wanted to make something of himself. Still he probably couldn’t pull this off without her, damn it. What the hell did he know about kids?

Yeah, okay baby, I’m a little tense, that’s all. But she wasn’t finished.

Listen, Earl, do we even know for sure they’re going to Heron Lake? What if they’re going to El Vado, it’s up here too, someplace.

Earl sighed.

We don’t know for sure. That’s why we’re following them, sugar.

She giggled. It’s sort of like something out of the movies, isn’t it honey?

Yeah, sure. Listen, did you get a look at the kid back when we turned onto the highway leaving Albuquerque?

I just saw the top of his head through the back window; he’s got curly blond hair. But I didn’t see his face or anything. Let’s stop for a snack, honey. I’m thirsty.

The timber of his voice hardened slightly.

You know damn well we can’t stop until they do, sugar pie. There’s a bottle of water there on the seat, drink that.

But I thought maybe they’d stop somewhere in Santa Fe. I’m really hungry, Earl.

Christ Almighty, he thought, I wish she had half a brain rattling around in her head, I gotta do all the thinking here. Aloud, his patience sounded strained even to his own ears.

Well they didn’t, baby. Maybe in Española.

I know a great Mexican restaurant in Española, Earl.

So if you’re lucky maybe they’ll know the same one. He glanced at her peevish expression and reined in the irritation. I don’t mean to snap, babe, I’m just nervous about what’s ahead. Honest, you aren’t gonna starve.

I’m thirsty, came a voice from the rear seat. We almost there, Mommy?

Almost, Danny-Banany.

Mommy, maybe I think I have to pee.

Chris laughed, and Corey said, Danny, you peed a half hour ago at the restaurant, remember? We’re almost there, punkin, why don’t you close your eyes and have a nap? Perhaps when you open them, we’ll be at Heron Lake and you can help your Mommy and Auntie Chris set up camp and maybe go wading, okay?

He won’t go in the water unless I’m holding him, Corey murmured. He’s even a little nervous about the bathtub, but we’re working on it.

Chris shifted gears. Or if you’d rather, we can just sit on the bank and watch the minnows swim by. Minnows are tiny fish only as big as your fingernail, Danny. But off course that’s only if you aren’t too tired.

Danny’s blond eyebrows drew together in a frown as he pondered. If he was too tired, he couldn’t help with the tent and he couldn’t go see the minnows. He decided he should nap. He closed his eyes, squinching them in a tight frown as if to hurry sleep. Corey caught this in the rear view mirror, winked at Chris who winked back, and the old Toyota hummed along in the scorching mid-afternoon July heat.

Chris turned to look and saw that Danny was fast asleep. She reached into the back seat and pushed a pillow between the window and Danny’s flushed face, shoved grubby Mikey Panda beneath the pillow for additional reinforcement, then turned back and buckled up again.

Española was well behind them now. The road climbed around towering red cliffs looming above the road like a Martian landscape. The empty spaces, the searing heat, the hypnotic drone of the engine lulled them all into a trance-like state. Corey thought about turning on the radio for a distraction, then decided it might wake up Danny. She couldn’t wake Chris, because Chris had earned this extra day of time-off by overtime hours all week long and was really tired. To stay focused, she began to softly hum snatches of song, running the lyrics through her head, stopping, back-tracking, to get them right. So when the directional sign to Heron Lake State Park appeared she was ready to cheer. Instead, she called out, We’re here, people, wake up, we’re here! Her passengers woke with a start.

By late afternoon they were in the park, exploring down two or three of the dirt lanes that fanned out from the central blacktop road, looking for their ideal campsite. The particular dirt road they settled on climbed and dipped and curved, deeply rutted by runnels of rain that had carved out its own pathways. Danny giggled at every jolt and bounce, and Corey thanked her lucky stars that he never woke up cranky. Both sides of the road held campsites, many of them empty now, although she knew that by Friday evening they would all be occupied.

The sites had been hacked out of the surrounding brush, each site cleared just enough to leave room for vehicles. Each held a newly painted picnic table and bench, each had a small circle of stones for a campfire, and each was still surrounded by enough brush to give the illusion of solitude. Other campers were never really far away but almost no one was crude enough to play a radio, and except for the shrill voices of children the quiet was broken only by the whine of small boat motors out on the lake.

Chris put together a picnic supper. Afterward, she told Corey she was to take a breather after the long drive. Danny, do you want to come along with Auntie Chris while Mommy rests? she said. She took his hand in hers and they went down to sit on the banking and splash their feet in the cool water. A few fishermen were still hopefully trolling the waters. Two or three boats chugged slowly through the water, poles hung over the side, hats pulled forward to shade the setting sun. Her back propped comfortably against a sand-chair, Corey watched the fishermen for a while, then turned to watch as Chris and Danny came back from the water’s edge. I saw the minnows, he crowed, his voice ringing out over the water. But I only put my piggies in the water. My piggies scared the minnows.

Corey gave him a hug, then climbed up from her chair and stretched lavishly. We should’ve put the tent up when we first got here, I guess, she said to Chris. Let’s do it now before it gets any darker.

They erected the tent with practiced speed, given that Danny kept running off with the bracing pegs to use for digging tools. Corey pulled the sleeping bags from the car’s trunk and spread them on the floor of the tent. Then she walked Danny down the lane to the Porta-johns in spite of his insistence that he was a big boy and could go by himself. Once back at the campsite, she scrubbed his grubby hands and face with a succession of Wet-Wipes and bundled him into his pajamas.

Chris, meantime, had added some windfall branches to the small fire she had made, and spread a blanket on the ground near it. Shortly after the sun slipped below the horizon, the day’s heat rose skyward with startling speed, and the evening chill seeped into the air. The comforting warmth of the fire was welcome. They rested in companionable silence for a while, then Chris said softly, Corey, glance over across the road. Check out that rig that just pulled in. I do love those fifth wheels.

They watched a sixty-ish man with thick white hair set out a couple of camp chairs. He called out something to someone inside, but so softly they couldn’t catch a name. There was no response, but blue curtains parted a little and the setting sun reflected the glitter of eyeglasses. Danny came over to where Corey and Chris had stretched out on the blanket.

Can I have a story? he asked. He squirmed into a comfortable position on the blanket between Corey and Chris, Mikey Panda clutched in one hand. Tell me all about how you found me when I was little.

Corey propped the camp-pillow under her head and tucked Danny under one arm.

Well, it was a bitter cold December night in Albuquerque . . . .

No, Mommy, it starts ‘Once upon a time’!

Corey smiled up at Chris, who was pulling a bottle of wine from the cooler chest.

Can’t mess with details, she murmured. All right, Danny boy. Once upon a time in a city called Albuquerque, slap-bang in the middle of New Mexico, your Daddy and I lived in a small apartment and we were all alone. We didn’t have any little boy, we didn’t even have a pussy cat or a doggy. And then, guess what? One cold Christmas night something magical happened. We were sound asleep in our bed when Mommy woke up because she heard the gate squeak the way it always does when someone opens or closes it.

And you thought it was Santa Claus!

I thought it might be.

But it wasn’t! Danny squirmed with delight. It was me! It was me, Auntie Chris!

That’s just who it was, Corey said. She lowered her voice. The almost-transparent eyelids were fighting to stay open.

I didn’t go to the door right away . . . .

Because it might be Santa Claus.

That’s right. But then I opened it a tiny bit, just a little crack, and what do you think?

It was me! In my baby carrier. With my yellow blankie.

It was you. There you were, all wrapped up in a thick yellow blanket, nothing stuck out but your button-nose and your eyes. I could tell you were brand-new, barely arrived in the world, and you were sleeping just as if you were in your own little crib. I looked all around and no one was there. You might have been dropped right down out of the sky.

In my yellow blankie. It came out in a drowsy mumble.

The very same yellow blankie that’s tucked inside your sleeping bag right now, waiting for you. So I picked up the baby carrier with you in it, and brought you into my house and Daddy and I took care of you. And after quite a long while, when no one came to say ‘Give me back my baby’, we knew you were meant for us to keep, to be our very own Danny-boy forever and ever.

He’s asleep, Chris said softly. She stood upright. Hand him up to me, I’ll hold him while you get up.

When Corey came back out of the tent after settling Danny into his sleeping bag, Chris had poured them each a glass of Merlot. Corey tossed a bit of wood on the fire and they sat cross-legged on the blanket and stared into the dancing flames.

After a long moment, Chris said, I’ve never asked you this before. But don’t you ever worry that some day someone might come and say ‘That’s my baby and I want him back’?

I’d just like to see them try, Corey said. After a pause, she added, He’s almost three years old, Chris, I think it would have happened before now, if it was going to.

They sipped the wine and watched the flames shine brightly against the darkening night sky. After several moments Corey added, on a slightly defensive note.

It was a perfectly legal adoption, you know; Lord knows we went through enough bureaucratic red tape to tie up the whole of New Mexico. I thought several times that Jack would blow sky high and queer the whole deal. He was never a really patient soul.

Does Danny ever mention Jack now?

Corey shifted on the blanket, turning her face away from the firelight.

Not very often. He was only eight months old when Jack died, way too young to understand, and now when someone mentions Jack he tells them his Daddy is in heaven helping the angels. I don’t imagine he actually remembers him any more.

It was quiet again. So quiet that the gentle lapping of water against the banks could be heard, and the bits of twigs snapping in the fire sounded loud in the deep woodsy hush. Chris spoke so softly Corey barely heard her.

Sometimes I wonder if it would be easier to bear if Warren and I had had a baby. You’ve at least got Danny to give you a reason to get out of bed mornings.

Corey got up to take the wine from the cooler chest and pour them each a small top-off.

It gets better, Chris. I’m not just blowing smoke, I didn’t believe it either when people used to say it to me, but it does. Time helps. It’s only been a few months for you, remember. I’ve had a couple years to get used to it. Not that I have. Maybe I mean to say, to accept it as something you can’t change. I’m just glad Jack got to enjoy Danny a few months before he died.

Chris twirled her glass around and watched the firelight glow through the deep red of the wine.

I felt so guilty at being angry with Warren for leaving me like that. As if he really chose to be killed by a drunken ass running a red light. And then I’m ashamed of the anger. I was stunned when all the others in the group confessed to the same feelings. Took a big weight off, I can tell you. After a few seconds she added softly, I’m glad we met each other before you stopped coming to the group.

It was full dark now. The fire made a warm circle of light and warmth and high above, stars flickered against the night sky like rhinestones scattered on black velvet.

Me too, Chris. For my own sake even more than for Danny’s. I’m glad he really loves his Auntie Chris, though, since I’m pretty short-changed in the relative department.

Believe me, they can be a mixed blessing, Chris said.

She hesitated, then, with an air of plunging into questionable waters, she said, You should get back into circulation, girl—you know I’ll mind Danny any time. Go gather yourself a bunch of relatives; why shouldn’t you be as aggravated as the rest of us?

Corey laughed, then sobered. Not that easy, Chris. I’m very particular about who’s going to be Danny’s father.

Well sure, naturally. I’m just saying maybe it’s time you started auditions.

Corey drank the last of her wine, stood up and stretched.

Okay, Yentl, I’ll think about it, okay? Meantime, I’m going to bed. Danny will be up with the sunrise and charged with energy to spare. Hand me that flashlight and we’ll take turns for the Porta-johns.

Yolanda was not a happy camper. You should have found a better spot, Earl, this ground is so uneven we’ll probably roll right down into the lake before morning.

Be patient, damn it, he told himself.

I know it is, baby. But listen, we gotta keep an eye on them, see. So the first minute the kid is alone we can make our move. From here we can watch them and yet we aren’t all that visible to the other campers. So this is a good spot, see what I mean?

She ignored him. She hadn’t finished running through her list of grievances.

And I hope you don’t mean we have to live off peanut butter sandwiches and potato chips, for heaven’s sake. We passed a store coming in here, why don’t you go get us some decent supplies?

Okay, Earl thought. Enough, damn it. He was flooded with the same anger he’d felt when his old man threw him out. Stupid jerk, schlepping around with a mail truck, no ambition, no idea how smart people got places in this world. He’d have put the damn money back, once he’d gotten a break. Just one lousy break. Like this one. And she wasn’t gonna bitch it up. His eyes bored into hers until he forced her to look away.

I’m only gonna say this once. Hear me? I already explained why it has to be this spot. And you were damned set on doing the packing, remember? How was I to know you were just talking about your clothes and your make-up? You’re damn lucky I stuck in a few sandwiches at the last minute. And we’ll go to the store when I say it’s okay and not before. All this crap’s been explained a hundred times already, and I’ve had all the bitching and complaining I’m gonna listen to, Yolanda. If you’re smart you’ll keep it in mind.

Her pout was of heroic proportions, but Earl, watching her, knew he’d won this particular skirmish when she wouldn’t meet his eyes. He tried not to dwell on the doubts that were beginning to make his stomach a little queasy. She was so feather-brained, self-absorbed, impulsive, easy to manipulate, making her a perfect patsy but now those same qualities were scaring the hell out of him. She could be dangerous to his safety. To her own too, of course, but Earl wasn’t interested in her safety except as it affected his own. Of course it was that job of hers that made this whole thing possible, but look out for Number One, that was the motto he lived by. Because no one sure’n hell was gonna do it for you.

As if the spat had never happened, Yolanda said, How about I stroll down to where they’re camped and sort-of look things over? I really oughta know what he looks like, you know.

Earl hesitated, then—what the hell, he thought. Well okay, only stay off the path, and don’t go stomping through the woods like a herd of elephants. Sound carries like hell up here, especially over the water. And don’t, whatever you do, let her see you.

I won’t, baby. Not that she’d recognize me now, I was a blond back then, my hair was cropped real short and I was lots thinner. Besides, she probably wouldn’t even remember me after three years or whatever. But I’ll stay well hid.

Yolanda slipped off into the dark, keeping behind the scrub juniper and piñon trees, trying to be quiet. It helped that a few more campers were coming in, anxious to be set up before it got too late. The day’s piercing heat had by now given way to evening’s chill. She could hear the soft murmur of voices, an occasional laugh, as she edged carefully around each campsite, trying to dodge the twiggy branches that snagged her long black hair. She slipped up behind their campsite, and was both disappointed and angry. The little boy wasn’t there.

Slowly, gently, she used both hands to part the branches enough to see the two women as they sat cross-legged on a blanket, sipping something from plastic cups. She studied them both for several moments—the little one with the short haircut, that was her friend Chris something, and the tall redhead in the jeans, that was Corey Wheelock. She recognized her immediately. She hadn’t changed that much from when they took that course together at TVI. ‘What would she think if she could see me watching her?’ she thought.

She clapped both hands over her mouth to stifle a giggle and backed quickly away from their camp.

Reviews for Little Boy Lost

[aliceanna-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Very good children's book. I read a kindle version with none of the illustrations but the author painted such a great imaginative picture that I didn't feel the loss of those. According to the author's note, he was simply trying to convey how the imagination of a young child works in the perception of things such as mirages and the athropomorphization of the creatures the child encounters. The book works brilliantly on that level.