What Janie Found Page 7

  All she had to do was visit Stephen. Soon.

  He’s bound to be in class or at work during the day, Janie thought, so I’ll have lots of time on my own. Time to scout out—

  “Janie!’” called her mother from the bottom of the stairs. “Sundaes are ready! Chocolate is hot, ice cream is cold!’”

  Janie knew what she would see when she reached the stair landing. Her mother—silvery haired; rings swinging loose on her fingers because she had lost so much weight—would be beautifully dressed, probably in a suit: a long slim jacket, a bright silk blouse, a beautifully tied scarf and pin. She would be looking up the stairs, ready to smile.

  Miranda Johnson must not have an inkling of Janie’s plans. Neither must Reeve. Certainly not Brian.

  Let them think she was worried and heartsick because her father wrote a check now and then. Don’t let them figure out that she had a way to reach her kidnapper by herself.

  I must have no expression on my face, Janie told herself, except pleasure at the taste of chocolate. “Coming!’” she called.

  In the kitchen Janie accepted her sundae, sat in her chair at the old oak table opposite Reeve and managed to hang on to her spoon without flipping it through a window or up at the ceiling.

  Every muscle and joint in her body twitched, as if her intent were to run all the way to Colorado. She wanted to leap up on the table and tap-dance, trampoline, do acrobatics. “No, thank you, Brian,’” she said politely, “no marshmallow sauce.’”

  Her mother was saying, “Fifth! Reeve, that’s wonderful. Are you going to become a driver, do you think, or stay on as pit crew? I don’t think I want you to drive. It’s quite dangerous, isn’t it? How fast do they really go?’”

  Reeve lied about how fast they really went. His lies were comforting and sane and reasonable. But they were still lies.

  Janie marshaled her own lying powers. Her father was relatively stable right now, and she could probably convince Mom that she, Janie, required a rest and a change of pace. That part probably wouldn’t be hard.

  The hard part was coming up with a reason to visit Stephen.

  He’s my brother? I love him? I miss him?

  No, because she and Stephen had despised each other during her short life as Jennie Spring last year. He’d thought she was a spoiled brat, and when she returned to Connecticut as Janie Johnson, he’d said that proved his point. Janie had acknowledged a certain amount of spoiled brattage in herself and when Stephen was home over Thanksgiving and Christmas, had admitted it to him. They’d actually gotten along—for two days.

  How about this? she thought. I want to go to college in Colorado. Every Connecticut teenager goes through a Colorado stage. Mine just began. What better way to decide on a school? Go and stay with Stephen.

  Mom won’t let me stay in his actual room but Stephen must know some girls, and I can stay in their room. Or in a hotel.

  Okay. Would Stephen say yes? He might not. Stephen was difficult at best. And his best did not show up that often. Stephen was outstanding at being his worst.

  What if he said no?

  She had to think of a way to do this so that he’d jump at the chance to have her.

  Brian.

  She would use Brian.

  Brian adored Stephen, and missed him terribly, and often compared him to Reeve, which Janie did not think was fair to either of them. She would say to Brian, I want to go to the university in Boulder, like Stephen, and of course I need to see the campus and talk to people, and why don’t you and I fly out to Boulder for a few days?

  Her New Jersey parents would go all warm and cuddly at the idea of their two sons united out West and in the presence of the lost sister. They’d be thrilled that Janie wanted to go to school where Stephen was; automatic big-brother care would be part of the college package.

  Nobody would consult Stephen; they knew better. Stephen didn’t do care packages.

  The lies were shaping up well.

  Once they were in Boulder, she would suggest brotherly activities; Brian and Stephen must hike, or white-water raft, or whatever they did out there.

  She, Janie, would be hunting.

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  The following morning, the weather was dull and gray.

  Brian sat with his book on the Trojan War open to an illustration from a vase painting: Achilles fighting Hector, orange on black. They were immense men, with great jarring rectangular muscles and fierce jutting chins.

  Janie’s voice, bright and quick as a chipmunk, spattered at him.

  Did she always sound like that?

  Brian tried to think clearly.

  Hardly anybody in the Trojan War tried to think clearly. They just slaughtered each other. Brian, however, liked to be clear. He liked his facts orderly, and chronological, and carefully laid out.

  “But Janie, you’ve always wanted to go to UConn,’” he said, “so that you’d be only an hour’s drive from your parents. Colorado is two thousand miles away. And you and Stephen don’t get along all that well.’”

  “But don’t you want to visit him?’” said Janie.

  “I’d love to,’” said Brian uneasily.

  Last night, she’d been seething. Calling the kidnapper vicious and rotten. Drenched with tears, using up half a box of Kleenex. She’d been shouting and slamming her hands on the floor.

  Now all she wanted was a few days’ rest in Colorado? Since when had Stephen ever been restful?

  And why was she talking in this cheery little voice?

  “But you’re right,’” he said slowly, “that Mom and Dad will say yes. They’ve really loosened up this year.’”

  Not only was Jodie already packing for college, Mom herself had gone back to school, taking a full summer semester along with working. Dad had started traveling for his job, which he never used to do, fearful of being away from the kids. Kidnap fear had been set to rest, and Dad was thrilled with his travel, with the being-away time, no need to check on each child before he made a move. But while Brendan was going to sport camps, Brian was just filling time with Janie’s kidnap family. Brian knew his parents would let him go anywhere.

  He watched Janie carefully. Then he said, “I’m not sure Stephen wants us out there. He’s kind of separated himself, you know. Dad says it’s a way to leave the kidnapping behind.’”

  Janie did not seem to care whether Stephen wanted them or not. “I’d wander around the campus,’” she said airily. “Have an interview, check things out. You and Stephen would have adventures together. You know. Backpacking. Canoeing.’”

  “I only like to read about adventure,’” said Brian. He tried to figure out a connection between the file folder and this giddy travelogue, but he couldn’t come up with anything. “And Stephen’s working full time plus going to class; he can’t fit that in.’”

  But how he’d love to visit Stephen. He’d never been west and he’d only flown twice. To cross the Great Plains! See the Rocky Mountains!

  Already Brian was losing interest in the Trojan War and wondering where he had put his Journals of Lewis and Clark.

  “Please, Brian?’” coaxed Janie. “Call Stephen for me?’”

  Brian turned pages as if he might find a clue in the history of Troy. Finally, unwillingly, he said, “Did you find something else in that folder after Reeve and I went to make sundaes?’”

  “Don’t be silly!’” Janie tilted her head from side to side like a robin wondering whether to sing or eat. “Of course I didn’t. You saw everything in it, Brian. Everything. No, I’ve put that behind me. I think a trip out West would be such fun. Think how relaxing it would be. And you and I deserve a rest.’”

  “What did you find?’” said Brian.

  Janie reached for her hair, a nervous habit she was not aware of, gripping the entire red bush in one hand and making a topknot with which she dusted her forehead.

  “If you lie, I’m not calling Stephen,’” said Brian. “I’ll call Stephen only when you tell me what el
se was in the folder.’”

  Brian reminded Janie of Lizzie. Brian and Lizzie were both really smart. Really quick. Plain basic types like Janie and Reeve could always get cornered.

  She didn’t have time for this.

  All kinds of things threatened to trap her.

  Her father’s illness: He was stable right now. Tomorrow she could say, I need a break; and her mother would say, Yes, you do, darling.

  But if her father got worse—and the only thing worse was death—Janie wasn’t going anywhere. And if he got better—

  Janie shivered at the thought of her father getting better. If he could talk, she would have to ask. She didn’t want answers from him this time.

  She wanted answers from the source.

  Hannah.

  And Lizzie’s wedding was coming up; Janie could not be away for the wedding. Nobody would let her be away for the wedding.

  And the date on which the check was to be written was coming up, and this was the time H. J. would be getting hungry. Perhaps literally hungry. Perhaps desperate and angry and frantic for that money.

  Janie didn’t want Brian to be anything but her passport to Boulder. She hoped for a timely interruption: a phone call, a mother returning, Lizzie with fabric scraps.

  But nothing happened.

  Nothing except that Brian really was smart. Probably one day he would be a law partner in Lizzie’s firm, and together they would destroy whole corporations. Brian closed his book, changed his position and looked hard into her eyes. “I did wonder about something, Janie. The checks have to be mailed. Is the address in there? Do you know where Hannah lives now?’”

  Janie tried to look blank.

  “Is it Colorado?’” said Brian.

  Janie let go of her hair. She let go of her sparkle. She said, “Boulder. Hannah Javensen has a post office box in Boulder.’”

  Brian was glad he was sitting. Glad Janie was so busy with her hair.

  The kidnapper in Boulder.

  How grotesque, how sickening, that all unknowing, Stephen had been near her, breathing her same air, all these months.

  The air in Brian’s lungs felt filled with fungus and fever, as if Hannah had infected him.

  Again he struggled for clear thought.

  Back when Brian’s family had first learned that a woman named Hannah Javensen had stolen Jennie, they were told that Hannah had been in a dangerous cult.

  Brian, of course, had gone straight to the library to read everything he could find about cults. A cult, it turned out, was a group of people with a job: Get a victim. Drain the personality. Siphon off the soul. Keep the body for your own use.

  If Hannah was still in a cult, it was truly dangerous to be in touch with her. A cult’s mission stayed the same: Suck those kids in. Keep them. He and Janie must not get near her.

  On the other hand, Hannah could have become part of ordinary society. It was possible that she had a job where no history or Social Security number was required. She might just be a person who watched her favorite TV shows and brushed her teeth, walked the dog and liked Chinese restaurants.

  But she might not be.

  And no matter what, Brian didn’t want anything touching Stephen. “What are you going to do?’” he said thickly. “Stake out the post office box?’”

  “I’m just going to look,’” said Janie.

  “There’s no such thing as just looking. We find her, we’ll end up talking to her.’”

  Janie hid behind her hair.

  “Your father made absolutely sure Hannah couldn’t know where you live, Janie. He sent all that money from a distance! Changed his name—even changed her name. He doesn’t want anybody to be in touch. We have to trust his judgment.’”

  This, Brian realized immediately, was ridiculous. The fact that the file existed proved that Frank had lousy judgment.

  “I’m not three years old this time,’” said Janie. “Hannah can’t take me for another ride. I want answers. I’m getting them.’”

  “So you are going to talk to her.’”

  “Of course not, I told you, I just want to see her.’”

  “You’re lying. You want to talk to her. I can’t let you. It’s dangerous. It’s wrong.’”

  Brian’s life was built on being the good guy. The son who helped his mother shop and his father change the oil; the brother who softened family fights; the classmate who, when somebody asked a particularly stupid question, rephrased it so that the teacher would answer kindly and nobody would laugh.

  Finding Hannah was not the act of a good guy. The only good thing about Hannah was that she was not in their lives.

  He said, “I’m telling.’” The two words made him feel little and stupid and helpless.

  “Like who?’” said Janie. Her voice was hard and thin, like brittle cracker. “You can’t tell my father, he’s in a coma. You can’t tell my mother, she’ll fall apart. You can’t tell your mother and father, they’re too thrilled with their new lives. If they’re forced to face a real live Hannah and a real live trial, their new lives are down the tube. You can’t tell Stephen, he’d be first on the phone to the FBI. There’s nobody to tell, Brian.’”

  “A million things could go wrong,’” he protested.

  “She’s just some middle-aged wreck of a woman who probably can’t even bag groceries.’”

  “Then why bother?’” shouted Brian. He flung the book across the room, and that was rare for him; he didn’t have much of a temper. He wasn’t sure whether he was angry or afraid.

  “This is my life Hannah took and threw off the cliff,’” Janie shouted back. “I have the right to close in on her. You promised you’d call Stephen if I told you what else was in that folder. I told you. So are you going to call him?’”

  There were so many ways in which this could explode. He had to stop her. They would all slide off the cliff again, and Hannah was the type to escape and stand at the top laughing while the others fell.

  “I’m telling,’” said Brian.

  “There’s nobody to tell!’” said his sister.

  “Reeve. I’m telling Reeve.’”

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  When she was surprised, Reeve’s grandmother would say, “I’m floored!’”

  Now Reeve knew what it meant. He felt as if Janie had used a martial arts hold and thrown him flat on the floor of Mr. Johnson’s office.

  What was this insanity? Meeting her own kidnapper? By herself? In a strange town?

  “Just looking’” was not worth a trip to Colorado. Anyway, if she “just looked’” at middle-aged women who had post office boxes, how could she be sure she had the right one? She wasn’t just looking. Of course she meant to talk to Hannah.

  “Janie,’” he said, incredulous, “you can’t do that. Hannah’s off-limits. Finding her is a really crummy idea.’”

  Actually, it was a really exciting idea. Hunting Hannah down would be like racing: Janie was pressing her foot to the floor, and nobody loved speed and danger more than Reeve. But this was out of the question.

  “I can handle it,’” said Janie.

  “But what if something goes wrong?’”

  “What could go wrong? I’m just going to look at her. She won’t know who I am.’”

  “That’s not a good enough reason to fly to Colorado,’” said Reeve. How could Janie be this stupid? “If you want her to have money, mail it to her. What’s looking going to accomplish?’”

  “Okay, fine. I am going to talk to Hannah. When she picks up her check, I’ll be waiting.’”

  Reeve was appalled. “But what would you say to her?’”

  “She’s the one who’s going to say things. I’ll be the one listening. I want to know what happened.’”

  “We know what happened,’” said Reeve irritably. “Forget your dumb questions. What if Hannah wants to come home with you or something? What if she wants to be at her father’s hospital bed? What’s your mother supposed to do when her criminal daughter show
s up? Janie, don’t be selfish.’”

  “I’ll do what I want!’” she snapped.

  He stared at her. This is Janie? he thought. Sweet good Janie?

  She read his thoughts. “I am sick sick sick of being the good guy! I want to know what happened. I want to look into her eyes. I want answers.’”

  “Janie, there aren’t any questions left,’” said Brian.

  “You don’t have any questions?’” said Janie to her brother. “You don’t want to know why? Why me? Why us? Why that afternoon? Where was she going? Why didn’t she take me the rest of the way? What did she think would happen to you guys? To your mother and father? What was worth the risk? What was the plan? You don’t want to ask any of that?’”

  Oh, Janie, thought Reeve. None of the answers could be good.

  So, Frank, he thought dully, what was your point—keeping that file? You had to know that one day somebody else would read it. What was your plan, Frank?

  But this was a nightmare without a plan. It was a Slinky on a staircase, curling down to the bottom, nobody stopping it.

  Brian was correct, of course. Any one phone call to any one adult would stop it.

  But Brian was also correct that the four parents couldn’t and shouldn’t have to endure anything more.

  My parents? Reeve wondered. They’re pretty immersed in Lizzie’s wedding and anyway, if I asked for their help, they’d dial 911. There’s Lizzie herself, but she’d just call Mr. Mollison. Once the FBI finds out, everyone we need to protect is exposed.

  “There are laws,’” he said confusedly. “About checking accounts.’” Reeve didn’t have one. He wasn’t sure of himself. “You can’t write a check on your father’s account, Janie.’”

  “Yes, I can.’” She was feverish with her plan. “I have my parents’ power of attorney. It’s a legal form you fill out at the lawyer’s office. It decrees that if a person is incapacitated, you take over.’”

  This didn’t sound right to Reeve. Janie was a minor. Could you grant such power to a kid? Your own kid? Or, actually, in this convoluted case, somebody else’s kid you were just pretending was yours?