When the Wind Blows

By Marilyn Gardiner

When six-year-old Gilly disappears from school, his frantic mother sets out to find Gilly, herself. She deals with unsympathetic in-laws, underworld characters she never, ever thought to meet face to face, threatening "gifts," and frightening intruders to her home. Is it possible for Molly to fall in love with the detective under such terrifying circumstances?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9781590880999

Book preview

What They Are Saying About

When The Wind Blows

In her suspense novel WHEN THE WIND BLOWS, Marilyn Gardiner grabs you with a mother's worst nightmare and doesn't let up the suspense and tension until the exciting—and satisfying—conclusion. Yet, she manages to weave in a romance amid the emotional roller coaster ride. Be prepared to stay up all night with this one!

—Cheryl Norman, author,

Last Resort; Storms Of The Heart;

Full Moon Honeymoon

http://www.wings-press.com

The romance is subtle and the focus is on Molly's internal struggle to unravel what is and what only seems to be, all the while trying not to fall in love with her fellow sleuth. The scenes are vivid and visual, and this reader found herself racing toward the end along with the heroine. That search being done, the next one will be for Marilyn Gardiner's next book. WHEN THE WIND BLOWS is a fabulous work! A must read for all romantic suspense fans. Highly recommended.

—Anne Carter,

http://www.beaconstreetbooks.com

When The Wind Blows

Marilyn A. Gardiner

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Romantic Suspense Novel

Edited by: Lorraine Stephens

Copy Edited by: Ann Oortman

Senior Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Cover Artist: Chrissie Poe

All rights reserved

NAMES, CHARACTERS AND incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

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 publisher.

Wings ePress Books

Copyright © 2002 by Marilyn A. Gardiner

ISBN: 978-1-59088-099-9

Published by Wings ePress, Inc.

Published In the United States Of America

Wings ePress Inc.

3000 N. Rock Road

Newton, KS  67114

Dedication

For my grandchildren,

all avid readers,

some of whom already show story-telling abilities:

John, Matthew, Stephanie, Brandon,

David, Amanda, E.J. and Dallas.

You are all individual bright and shining lights in my life.

GILLY is for you.

One

Firbin Murphy, the school janitor, had a long skinny neck, his balding head riding on top like the ball of candy at the end of a Tootsie Roll Pop. And, in spite of his lean frame, he had a belly beginning to roll gently over his belt buckle. He pushed open the swinging door, holding the chill of the air-conditioned building separate from the oppressive early June heat outside, and told the office staff, Nobody in the boys’ john. Somebody want to check the girls’?

A young file clerk looked up from her attendance figures and sighed, I’ll do it. This doesn’t balance anyway. She left by the front door and the main hall.

Who didn’t come back from lunch this time? Firbin asked, leaning both elbows on the counter. His eyes followed the swing of the clerk’s hips.

Typing steadily, her head bent, Imogene Wilton answered. Gilly Masters. Cute little first-grader. Black eyes, long black bangs.

He the one whose daddy tried to snatch him in the middle of the night last month?

Imogene stopped typing. Slowly she turned her head to look at Firbin. Yes, she said, doubt beginning to gather at the corners of her eyes. Yes, he is. They’re divorced, she added. His parents.

The front door opened with a soft shwoosh. Dry run, the clerk said, stopping at the counter beside Firbin. Where could that little tiger be? Noon recess was over fifteen minutes ago.

They looked at each other solemnly. Imogene tapped her nails in swift staccato on the dead keyboard and frowned. His mother warned us not to let him leave school with anyone except her. You don’t suppose... Oh, my God.

Hurrying now, she crossed the office and knocked smartly on the door marked Principal. Without waiting for an answer, she opened it and walked in.

MOLLY MASTERS RAN UP the long sidewalk and across the hall of Grover Talmadge Elementary School, her honey-tanned legs flashing in the hot southern sun. She opened the door in the long low modern building and met an icy blast of air-conditioning. The secretary behind the desk jumped.

Mrs. Masters. Have you heard from Gilly?

The beginning of panic hit Molly like a blow to the stomach. Gilly wasn’t here. They hadn’t found him yet. Mutely she shook her head.

Well, Imogene said vaguely. Well...

Mr. Wilder strode through the open door to the principal’s office. Come in. Glad you’re here. Let’s hope we don’t have a problem. He led the way back into his office.

Imogene trailed at their heels nervously and closed the door behind them. Molly stood tense, heart hammering, her eyes on the principal.

Where’s Gilly? Where is my son?

The principal settled his bulk comfortably behind a desk and nodded toward an empty chair for Molly.

She sat, rigid on the edge of the seat, her stomach in a writhing knot. What’s happened to him?

Now, Mrs. Masters. He rustled papers briefly before raising his eyes. We don’t want to get alarmed for no reason. We aren’t exactly sure what’s gong on here, but we’ve checked every room in the building and it doesn’t appear as if Gilly is anywhere on the premises.

Molly stood up, frozen for a second, and then her heart began to beat in a frantic lopsided gallop. Have you called the police?

In just a minute. I want to be sure first— I take it you don’t know where the child is.

Have you called Fred? I asked you to phone him while I was on my way here. The first thing is to find his father.

Mr. Wilder hesitated. Mrs. Masters, why would you think your ex-husband took Gilly? There are other possibilities.

There were no other possibilities for Molly. Fred had taken him. She knew it. What should she do? Thoughts refused to organize themselves in her head. Dear God, what was going to happen? It had to be Fred. She reached across the desk for the telephone and dialed. Her hand was shaking, but she tried to keep her voice firm. If he’s not at the office...

Leaning back in his chair, Mr. Wilder shuffled some papers, tapped them together neatly, and drew a long breath. We have to be careful and not overreact. We can’t make unfounded accusations. He was clearly not anxious to do anything that might embarrass Gil Masters, Gilly’s grandfather. Molly knew he was thinking lawsuit in capital letters.

Good afternoon. Masters and Associates. May I help you? Molly recognized the cool, efficient voice of Fred’s secretary.

Let me speak to Fred, Caroline. There was no need to identify herself, Caroline would know. Caroline knew everyone and everything that went on at Masters and Associates.

Mrs. Masters. I’m sorry, but he isn’t in. He hasn’t returned from lunch.

Where did he go? Caroline, this is an emergency.

Caroline hesitated. I’m afraid I can’t help you. He had an appointment.

With whom?

He didn’t say.

Molly ground her teeth. The perfect secretary, loyal to a fault. Fred could be anywhere. Caroline, please. Gilly is missing from school, and I need to contact Fred immediately.

Missing? Oh my! Of course, I’ll give him the message the first chance I get.

Find him. You know which restaurants he frequents. Find him Caroline. Molly hung up without waiting for an answer.

She put a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. In spite of everything, she’d thought she could protect Gilly from his father. Fred had threatened, but he’d always threatened terrible things. He rarely followed through.

As I said, Mr. Wilder paused and cleared his throat. There are other possibilities. Gilly was last seen in the washroom line. I’ve questioned his two best friends, and they seem as bewildered by his disappearance as we are. He leaned forward. Can you shed any light on where he might have gone?

Molly swallowed a sickish feeling in her throat. She was cold. Terribly cold. And her brain seemed stuck on the fact that Gilly had apparently disappeared into thin air.

His father. Remember, I warned you about Fred, and you said that it was next to impossible to steal a child from school. You said the teachers would be especially aware of Gilly’s whereabouts at all times. You said—

Yes, I know what I said. And I don’t see how Mr. Masters could have had anything to do with this. Gilly’s teacher tells me her class had no visitors this morning and those on playground duty saw no cars parked anywhere near the play area, nor was there an adult who tried to talk to a child. The staff here is very watchful for that type of thing. I can assure you nothing like that happened today.

Molly hunched her shoulders together in an effort to stop shivering. There was no one to call, no one to ask for help. She breathed hard through her nose and straightened in her chair. Mr. Wilder was talking.

May I ask again why you seem so sure your ex-husband took Gilly? Isn’t it doubtful he’d try again considering the publicity the last time generated? I mean, it was in the newspaper and on the local news. I can’t imagine that anyone in their right mind would risk damaging a business, not to mention possibly going to jail, because he is angry at his former wife.

Fred is... he is... he’s... not predictable. Molly drew a long breath. Mr. Wilder, Fred often does things, crazy things, things nobody else would dream of doing, and then wishes later he could take them back. It’s just the way he is.

The door opened. Imogene poked her head inside the room. Telephone, Mr. Wilder. You’d better take it out here. She raised her eyebrows faintly in Molly’s direction and disappeared. Mr. Wilder excused himself and left.

Molly sat in the leather chair and tried to remember the yoga breathing technique she’d learned once. Inhale, hold, exhale slowly, all to a measured count. She couldn’t concentrate.

Gilly couldn’t be too far away. Where could he go? Where would Fred take him? In spite of the chill in the air-conditioned office sweat was forming under her armpits.

Gilly’s class room was right down the hall. She closed her eyes. If you turned left at the first corner, it was the fourth door on the right. She’d been there a month ago for a conference. She inhaled carefully, counting her heartbeats, trying to think clearly. Her brain seemed to be going at warp speed.

Wrinkling her nose, she forced herself to concentrate on the combination of unwashed tennis shoes and chalk dust. Schools had smelled the same when she was Gilly’s age, back in Akron, Ohio. It was not an unpleasant smell. It was safe. Solid.

But not safe enough. Something terrible had happened. Gilly was gone. And Fred had taken him. Mr. Wilder could say all he wanted about Fred not trying a second time, but Molly knew he had.

Inhale. Exhale. Slowly. What to do. Call the police. That was the first thing. But what would Fred have done with him?

He always did the weird thing. There was always some new scheme or wild purchase or crazy idea so that while they were married she was continually off guard.

Like the night she left him. He had come home to their apartment in the middle of the night and awakened her from a sound sleep to tell her they were moving.

Moving? she asked, groggy and disoriented in those first few moments of wakefulness. Moving?

Now, he had said abruptly. Get up and throw some stuff in a bag. Hurriedly he had crammed his razor into a shaving kit. We can be on the road two hours before dawn.

She sat up in bed, fully awake. Not again. Not now when they were settled, finally, and she had a job, and Gilly was in school. We can’t just...

He pulled a suitcase from the closet and tossed it on the bed. You fill that and I’ll get Gilly. Just take the stuff we’ll need tonight and I’ll have mother send Sarah over later to pack. When we know where to send it. He started from the room.

Hey! Wait a minute! Molly scrambled out of bed, her feet thrashing free of the sheets. We can’t go anywhere like this. I have to go to work. Gilly—

We’re going. Get ready.

Fred, I’m not getting Gilly out of bed in the middle of the night to move! Her resolve hardened.

Fred’s eyes narrowed. She’d seen the look too often not to recognize the calculation. He moved to the bed and smiled. A hand came forward, caressingly, and ruffled her short brown waves.

Come on. He’ll wake up halfway to Miami. We’ll tell him we’re taking a vacation. Going to the Keys for a few days. It’ll be like old times for you and me, riding all night and listening to tapes. Just you and me, baby.

At one time she might have softened at the touch of his hand, but now she moved away.

Not this time, Fred. I want to know why the hurry. We don’t need to move. You have a good job with your dad, so it’s not like the other times when we needed money.

Before they moved to town and Fred’s father had given him a position at the plant, they’d moved eight times in four years. Fred had never been able to hold a job and the need for money had sometimes been acute. Molly had quit more jobs with no notice than she cared to remember.

She resisted the urge to squirm. It didn’t take a clairvoyant to tell he was annoyed with her insistence on an explanation. His shoulders narrowed, and he seemed to collect himself, to ready himself for an event of some consequence. A flutter of alarm moved in Molly’s stomach.

Fred flipped a hand in the air. We can talk later. Get a move on.

She fought back her apprehension and sat stubbornly on the side of the bed. I’m not leaving here like some deadbeat running from the bill collector. I’m not leaving in the middle of the night.

He grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her to her feet. Jamming his face close to hers he yelled, Yes—you—are!

Then, in a sudden effort to control himself, he released her and thrusting both hands in his pockets went to stand at the window. Look, it’ll be all right. Mother will take care of everything. And Sarah’s good. She’s taken care of me since I was a kid. She’ll know how to pack all your precious stuff.

He ended with a faint sneer that straightened Molly’s back. The only precious things she owned had belonged to her grandmother: the lovely twelve-place settings of amber depression glass and her collection of sterling demitasse spoons. Their dollar value was not important compared to the luxury in which Fred had been raised, but each piece was priceless to Molly. Usually when Fred ridiculed her precious stuff as he insisted on calling it, Molly felt diminished by the pitiful few acquisitions she’d brought to the marriage. Tonight was different. She was through running.

I’m not going out of this room until you tell me what this is all about.

You’re wasting time. He jerked the curtain back and bent to peer out the window looking in both directions, and then turned to face her. You’ve got about two minutes before I walk out that door. You can go like you are or you can dress, but we’re going. I don’t care how.

Molly looked down at her yellow and pink Tweety Bird T-shirt and long bare legs. She was incredulous. Are you crazy? This is insane!

Look, I’m going and I’m taking Gilly. If you want to come along, you’d better hurry because I’m not waiting.

If anyone has reason to leave, I do! What kind of life is this for a six year old? You’re always getting his hopes up, she waved a vague hand in the air, for some know-nothing idea that peters out before anything comes of it. You make promises that you never keep. You agree to things you have no intention of allowing to happen. How many times have we already forced Gilly to give up friendships and move? It’s called a dysfunctional family trait, Fred. And now you want to jerk him from bed in the dark of night with no warning. If anyone leaves, I’m the one who should take Gilly and go!

His eyes widened as he stood glaring at her. She had never spoken to him like that. Never called up his shortcomings and laid them out one by one. Never shown such blatant disgust. His face tightened. She could see white around the entire black of his pupils.

A curl of something ugly twisted in her gut. He took one quick sidestep into the tiny kitchen and reappeared with a heavy iron skillet in his left hand. He raised the hand high and roared, You’ll do as I say, and came at her. She tried to scramble out of the way, but was hampered by the bed covers on the floor.

Before she could get away, he hit her. The blow rocked her head to one side and brought her stomach up to the back of her throat. She staggered backward and fell over the end of the bed.

Raking her hair out of her eyes, she scooted back against the wall and peered up at him. He hadn’t hit her with the skillet, after all, she realized. She’d be dead if he had. He had hit her with the other hand. His fist. The skillet had been just to terrorize her.

He was breathing hard through his nose, the skillet still held threateningly high. If you ever take him away, I’ll get him back. And I’ll fix it so you never see him again. Ever! He’s my son. He’s a Masters. And with the Masters’ money I can do it. You know I can. He stood over her breathing like an angry bull. So don’t try it, Molly. Do you understand? Don’t try it.

Suddenly, she was frightened. Scared silly. There had been other quarrels, worse than this maybe, and he’d hit her before, but he’d never threatened her with a weapon. And there was a wild fanatic look about him that sent a chill up her spine. In a deep pocket of understanding, she knew that this was only the beginning of the kind of violence of which Fred was capable.

She forced down her fear. She had to think of Gilly asleep down the hall. Deliberately she tamped down her feelings, putting her fright away in a place where she could draw it out later. She could handle Fred. She knew how. She’d done it before.

Pulling herself to her feet she deliberately soothed him, agreeing to go in a few minutes. When she had time to get a few things together, when she’d gotten Gilly up and gathered his belongings, when she’d made a list for Sarah. Slowly she drew the T-shirt over her head.

Hating herself, yet coldly recognizing the necessity, Molly seduced her husband. She watched his face change from anger to lust to greedy impatience. She calmed him with her hands, her voice, with her body until he took her brutally, finally, sweating, panting, and then fell into an exhausted sleep.

She lay for as long as she could force herself to remain in bed beside him. Long enough for him to fall soundly asleep. She felt revulsion and disgust for herself, wifely duty or not, but refused to dwell on it. She’d had to do this often enough to keep Fred from waking Gilly in one of his rages. When she put her mind to it and didn’t allow herself the luxury of getting mad, she could usually keep a firm grip on their lives.

However, lying beside him, ignoring the ache in her jaw, trying not to even breathe lest she awaken him, she realized that she just couldn’t do it anymore. What’s more, she hadn’t liked the stirrings of fear that flooded through her when she saw the look in Fred’s eyes as he deliberately hit her. She knew she couldn’t live with that. And she knew with total certainty that Fred was getting worse. She wouldn’t be able to hide his rages from Gilly much longer. Such a life was not good for a child. How long would it be before he turned his rage on Gilly?

So, when Fred finally began to snore gently, Molly slowly inched her tense body from the bed and crept out of the room. With her heart pounding in her chest, she’d grabbed Gilly and his beloved stuffed monkey from the bed and ran from the house. She didn’t stop to pack, just pulled on a pair of jeans and jammed her feet into the first pair of shoes she saw, snatched a sweatshirt from the hall closet and her purse from the table, and fled into the night.

It had been hard not to, but she did not go back. The vows she took in marriage were important to her. She had taken them in full sincerity, expecting to be married to Fred until the day one of them died. She had loved him so much at first. He could be so dear. And he did need her. Molly knew that. But he had meant what he said about Gilly.

Even though she had not denied him the right to see Gilly whenever he wanted, one night just this past month he had knocked on her door at midnight pleading for her to come back and begin again. When she refused, he’d taken Gilly by force, jumped into the car, and left, laying rubber all the way to the corner. She called the police, of course, and they caught Fred before he cleared the city limits. But when it came time to press charges, she couldn’t do it.

He’d pleaded with her, made promises to get help for his rages, swore it would never happen again. She just couldn’t have him put in jail. He would have gone crazy like any wild thing cooped up, and if the truth be known she was more than a little frightened of the Masters family and the power their money wielded. She told the sergeant finally to forget it; she wouldn’t sign the paper.

The look in Fred’s eyes as he had run from the room with Gilly stayed with her, though, for a long time. Finally she called Mr. Wilder and asked if it was possible to steal a child from school. He assured her that such a thing would not happen. Not at his school.

But it had. Gilly was gone and Fred was responsible. She knew it. No matter what Mr. Wilder said, she knew Fred had taken Gilly.

Molly turned as the principal came into the room. She shook with an inner quaking that she thought would surely tear loose vital organs. She tried twice before she could make her dry lips form the words.

We’ve waited long enough. I’m calling the police.

Two

The police, when they came walking quietly through the halls on thick soles, looked frighteningly big and out of place in a school full of small children. The black guns strapped to their hips gave Molly a feeling of unreality so strong she felt light-headed. A tall man in polarized sunglasses, with curling copper-colored hair, dressed in slacks and a jacket did most of the talking.

I’m Detective Herrick. Are you the mother? He motioned for Molly to sit. Mrs. Masters, has your son ever pulled a disappearing act like this before?

Molly shook her head. A mixture of disbelief that this was actually happening and relief that an authority in matters like this had arrived was so great, she took a deep breath. No. Never.

You’re positive your son didn’t just skip out and run home, then?

I stopped at home on my way here. He wasn’t there.

Firbin nodded to the room in general and offered unsolicited support. Nobody answered when she called the house.

Anywhere else he’d head for? Small boys have a habit of disappearing when there’s schoolwork to be done.

The detective seemed so calm and unruffled that it irritated Molly. They were talking about a lost little boy, dammit. Her little boy.

You’re wasting time here. Molly fought down a flutter of nerves that threatened to choke her. You ought to be out trying to find my ex-husband.

The detective took a single cigarette from his pocket and stroked the sides, turning it one way and then the other. Well now, we can’t be stone-cold positive it was your husband who took him, can we?

Gilly wouldn’t just walk away from school. He loves school.

The cigarette slid through his fingers, back and forth. Maybe he had a fight with a friend or maybe he didn’t have his numbers done. Lots of reasons why a six-year-old boy would want to leave school. Maybe he wanted to go fishing. It’s a good day for it.

Not Gilly.

Are you telling me your little boy doesn’t like fishing? His eyes were busy at the doors and windows as he talked, and he opened the rear office door to peer down the inner hall.

No, of course not. But he wouldn’t go without permission, Molly said to the back of his head. And he wouldn’t go alone. We’ve lived by Lake Elena too long. I warn him almost every day about going down there by himself.

Does he always do just as you tell him, Mrs. Masters? Never kick up his heels a little?

Molly’s voice cracked. I don’t believe this. Gilly is gone and you stand here baiting me. Her voice rose along with a sense of panic. Are you going to look for my son or not?

Slowly he removed his sunglasses and tapped both ends of the cigarette on the counter. Trying to quit, he said with an apologetic half-smile and wedged the cigarette behind one ear. For the first time he turned his eyes directly on Molly. Now that she could see his eyes, they were very blue, alert, and cool. He blinked twice as he looked her over, and Molly had the uncomfortable feeling that he’d seen everything there was to see. Probably knew she had mended an earring with Super Glue.

He squinted his eyes a little, condensing the color. A patient intelligence lurked there. I am looking for your son. And I’ll find him. Believe me. The only thing we disagree about is where. I think I’ll find him in-line skating in an alley somewhere or fishing at his favorite spot by the lake. He shrugged. It happens all the time. Give us a couple of hours and we’ll have him for you.

He beckoned to a short, heavyset policeman standing quietly by the door. Sergeant Reynolds, you take over here. You know what to do.

He placed a firm hand beneath her elbow. Now, Mrs. Masters, I’m going to ask you to help me. If you’ll give your keys to the officer here, he’ll bring your car around a little later. Right now, I’m going to take you home and ask you to wait there in case your son shows up on his own doorstep.

He held up a hand as she started to protest. Freedom isn’t so much fun when you get hungry. We’ll also need a picture and some information. Ever so efficiently he urged her out the door as he talked.

Molly jerked her elbow free, but only found his big hand at her back still easing her out the door and down the walk.

Don’t be condescending. Her tone was sharp. You have to find Fred. The secretary at the plant won’t tell me where he is. But she’ll have to talk to you.

That’s the very next thing. In fact, the call has already been placed.

THE CAR MOVED AWAY, down the street, and away from the school where just that morning, just that noon—she could picture him so vividly—he would have played, laughed, read aloud, and proudly showed his teacher the full page of takeaways he’d worked so hard to finish last night. Molly swallowed and pressed her tongue hard to the roof of her mouth