All On A Saturday Night
All On A Saturday Night
She inquired to the bartender where Sandy might be and the only response she received was a grunt and a hand thrown in the direction of the backstage area. Kelly felt like an intruder entering the much quieter space. Sandy was sitting on a metal folding chair tuning his guitar. She saw him pluck out a note and then hum in the same tune and for several moments Kelly was struck mute.
Have I done the right thing by coming here?
For all of these years her life had been a tolerable existence. She kept everyone at bay and certainly didn’t associate with anyone from her past. And over those years she had met a lot of people, but no one like Sandy. He had somehow broken through her outer defenses in just a couple days.
Before she could have another thought, Sandy must have sensed someone else’s presence in the room because he looked up. The expression on his face was frozen and unreadable. He sat unmoving his hands still holding his guitar pick poised over the strings. His other hand curled around the strings on the neck.
Kelly felt a rush of color to her face and suddenly felt like her wool coat weighed a thousand pounds. She was ready to speak, she knew exactly what she wanted to say but when she opened her mouth nothing but a squeak emerged. Tears sprang to her lower lids and threatened to spill over. All the while Sandy watched.
“Will you help me?”
ALL ON A SATURDAY NIGHT
by
Courtney E. Michel
BEACON BOOKS PUBLISING
Published by
BEACON BOOKS PUBLISHING
1967 N 500 East Rd
Edinburg, Illinois62531
Copyright 2007 by Courtney E. Michel
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. 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.
ISBN:978-0-6151-9581-0
Credits
Cover Artist: Nathan Tumulty
Executive Editor: Dave Field
Associate Editor: Joan Powell
Copy Editor: Steve Johnson
Proofreader: Peggy Walton
REVIEWS FOR
ALL ON A SATURDAY NIGHT
FOUR CUPS from Coffee Time Romance
“…Ms. Michel has written an edge of the seat suspense tale that kept me up very late. I just could not put it down. The two main characters are wonderfully written and seem so real that I felt I knew them. The plot is fast moving with many interesting twists and turns, and the ending is very surprising, but logical once I thought about it. The supporting characters are equally vivid, especially Sandy’s friend Lola and Officer Ellis. The fugitive pedophile is frighteningly horrible. If you like a suspenseful novel with twists and turns and a good romance also, this is a good choice.”
Maura, reviewer
THREE ANGELS from Fallen Angels Reviews
“Courtney E. Michel deals with the difficult aftermath of child abuse at the hands of her molester... But even though Kelly may seem to be the only one responsible for what is happening to her, there is actually a suspenseful mystery, because someone is dead set against Kelly and Sandy having a future together… It was quite heartbreaking to read as Sandy had his hands tied because Kelly was living in a hell of her own making…”
Katie, reviewer
REVIEWS FOR
ALL ON A SATURDAY NIGHT
(continued)
“…It is a nail biter and, at times, a tear-jerker. I really enjoy reading the descriptions of the characters… I get a clear picture of what they look like and an intimate sense of what kind of person they are… I always feel like I have personal knowledge of the characters and that I am going through the events with them.”
Melody Lyons, founder of
Lyons’ Book Club
DEDICATION
For Christopher,
a brother and a friend.
How wonderful it is to have you home
where you belong.
Our mother is a lucky woman…
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
For Brian Hosey…
It seems like a lifetime ago that I asked you to “be my girl” in this novel. Thank you for your instrumental knowledge of Chicago and for offering up your apartment on Addison as the jumping off point for this book. What can I say, it’s finally finished…
For Dr. Celina Tsang, M.D…
The sassiest family practitioner I know. Enjoy the character with your name and someday promise you’ll let me sit down and pick your savvy,
world-traveled brain.
P.S… you have a wonderful nurse in Heather!
To the girls in the book club (Melody Ippolito-Lyons, Suzie Spada, Mary Ann Mullen and Jan Eden)…
You are the most awesome group of women I’ve met in a long time. Thank you for letting me use your names in this book and for allowing me to dominate the conversation at your book club with my favorite topic… me and my books!
Special thanks to Jerry Lyons and King Eden for also lending their monikers.
And Barb Rowe, whose name isn’t in the book but somehow managed to inspire MountMorris.
Chapter 1
October 12, 1990
“L
ysander? Lysander, come down here for a second.”
Sandy Sinclair threw his pencil down and raked a hand through his thick hair. His mother was calling him, and she wasn’t to be denied. He took one last look at the lyrics he was writing and pushed away from the desk. Taking the stairs two at a time, Sandy arrived down in the kitchen.
There his mother was, standing over a cake with sloppy icing. She’d lit sixteen candles and her smile danced in the wavering light. On either side of her were his two best friends. Tony stood a head taller than Sandy’s mom, his expression bursting at the seams with some secret to tell. Lola held her tiny hands clasped under her chin and she was bouncing on the balls of her feet. She was the first one to break the silence.
“Happy Birthday, Sandy.”
Sandy put a hand on his chest and took a step back. “Wow, you guys—this is great! A birthday party!”
“That ain’t the best part, Sand Man,” Tony said, dancing like a little boy who had to use the bathroom. “Go on Mrs. S—tell him.”
Sandy was confused and a little concerned. He turned to his mother. From her,Sandy had inherited his milk chocolate-colored hair and hazel eyes. But Sandy thought his face was a bit flat, his nose a bit too long. Not like Alexia Sinclair. To Sandy, his mother was beautiful. Greek and exotic-looking, her high cheekbones were sleek and graceful. He was her whole world, a fact that sent his father packing when Sandy was three years old. She was smiling now, with tears in her eyes. In her well-manicured hand she held a single key on a key chain.
“No way,” Sandy muttered.
“Oh yeah, oh yeah!” Tony jumped up and down. “It’s a car, Sandy!”
Sandy rushed to his mother and hugged her tightly. Never in a million years had he dreamed she would get him a car for his sixteenth birthday.
“Come darling,” she whispered, and took him to the kitchen window. Outside the rain had subsided enough for Sandy to see clearly. The car was an older model Ford Mustang, somewhere in the mid-eighties, but to Sandy it was fantastic. Bright white with a red pin stripe.
“Mom—I don’t know what to say…” Sandy was indeed speechless. He felt his mother’s moist lips plant a kiss on his cheek and she shoved the key into his open hand.
“Take her for a spin, Birthday Boy. Just be careful. The rain can make it slick.”
Sandy flipped the keys into the air and caught them. Then turned to Tony. “Here.” With a quick flick of his wrist, he made sure Tony was holding the key. “You and Lola go open her up for me. I’ll be right there.”
The two excited teenagers flew out the back door, causing the curtains around Sandy and his mother to flip wildly in the wind. Sandy grabbed her in another hug and swung her around. “Thank you so much. You’re the best.”
“No, sweetie, you’re the best,” his mother said and ran a thumb across his cheek. “Now go, have some fun.”
Sandy nodded and followed his buddies out the door. Tony had already planted himself in the back seat, leaning up through the console. Lola was in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio. She found some soft rock music on their favorite station. Someday Sandy hoped to hear one of his songs being played over the waves. He slid in easily behind the wheel and sat for a moment.
“Your mom’s so awesome, dude,” Tony exclaimed.
“Yeah, totally,” Lola agreed, checking her make-up in the sun visor mirror, “Does she want to adopt me?”
It took both teenagers a moment to realize Sandy didn’t respond.
“You okay, Sandy?” Lola asked and reached a hand across the empty space of the car and placed it on Sandy’s knee. He turned to her with a wistful smile and said, “Yeah, let’s go.”
“Yeah, baby!” Tony hollered out and laid back against the seat bobbing his head along to the music.
Sandy pulled out of his driveway and onto the street in front of his house. He still couldn’t believe his mother had bought him a car for his sixteenth birthday. No more walking to school or catching the bus. With this knowledge the coming winter didn’t look so bad. Not that any winter in Bellevue, Iowa was anything to look forward to.
The trio talked and laughed as they made their way out of town until Taylor Avenue turned into old Route 104. It was getting darker but thankfully the rain had all but ended. Sandy flipped the windshield wipers off and the headlights on. He wanted to be safe and follow the law. He kept his hands at the ten and two positions and continually looked out his rearview mirror.
Concentrating so much on driving, he was finding it hard to focus on his friends.
Lola was telling a story about a girl in her gym class and Tony was laughing hysterically. Sandy wasn’t sure if the story was funny or if Tony was just still giddy at the prospect of him having a new car.
Sandy glanced sideways at Lola with a smile, to let her know he was listening. She was a pretty girl, petite in every way. From her little button nose to her impish feet, Lola was tiny. Her blond hair hung in ringlets and for this, Tony, who towered over her, called her ‘Lola Bo Peep’. She’d grown up in the house behind and three down from Sandy’s. And he couldn’t remember a moment in his life that didn’t involve her.
Tony had moved to Bellevue from Dubuque almost six years ago when he and Lola were ten. He was long and lanky, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. In a testament to his height, Tony was a whiz on the basketball court. If he could keep his grades up, Tony was surely destined for a scholarship at the University of Iowa.
Looking back at the road, Sandy let off the gas as he approached the back of another car.
“Just pass’em, Sandy,” Tony suggested from the back seat.
“No way, dude. I’m not crashing my car on the first day I’ve got it.”
“Hey, Sandy, we should take a drive through the park. That would be so awesome!” Lola’s voice was full of excitement. She loved the BellevueState Park. It was just about the only thing that kept people in the town.
Once again, Sandy turned to the girl in the seat beside him—but for some reason he couldn’t keep his eyes from traveling to the window in the passenger door and beyond. What he saw flashed by in a second, but the image was burned into Sandy’s subconscious.
“What the hell?” he muttered and immediately applied the brakes.
“Whoa, what?” Tony asked, leaning through the seats from the force of the stop.
Sandy turned the wheel, driving the car onto a side street, and did a U-turn.
“I don’t know,” Sandy said, confused. “I thought I saw something back there.”
“What?” Lola reached forward and grabbed the dash as they completed theirturn back onto the main road.
“I don’t know. Something. Something’s not right.” Sandy wished everyone would just be quiet. If he could think for a moment, he might be able to focus his mind’s eye on exactly what he’d seen. It was a dark shape, framed in the fading light of the day. He’d passed by this spot a thousand times in his life but he couldn’t figure out why today it seemed different.
Sandy pulled his new-to-him Mustang to the side of the road and jumped out of the car. “You guys stay here. I’m going to check it out.”
“Sandy, wait!” Lola cried out as Sandy started walking away. “If you don’t know what it is, how do you know it isn’t dangerous?”
“Just stay there,” Sandy shouted back as he checked the traffic both ways and jogged across the road. “I’ll be fine.”
“Dude!”
Sandy heard Tony yell, but he couldn’t stop his moving feet even if he wanted to. Something was drawing him closer. The rain had dropped the temperature several degrees and he shivered in his t-shirt, wishing he’d thought to grab a jacket in his haste to leave the house. He approached the guardrail on the opposite side of the street, his feet crunching the wet gravel, and he peered over.
The embankment was steep but not a neck-breaking drop. The land stretched downward through an area of thin-trunked trees measuring no bigger than three inches in diameter. It leveled off at the base of a creek, enclosed in a concrete archway built into the landscape. It was an old train trestle, long since abandoned. The tracks, although more than fifty feet away, were at eye level.
They were overgrown with weeds and rusted from years of non-use. But it was none of this that had captivated his attention. Not the landscape or the creek or the concrete archway—but what was huddled inside that archway.
Sandy quickly scaled the railing and started down the incline. His wet tennis shoes slipped, then like an ungraceful ice skater he slid down the incline, bumping his hip and scraping his hand. He reached the bottom with a thump and scrambled to right himself. Somehow the knees of his jeans had gotten wet and he brushed at them with stinging hands. The shape inside the archway never moved and for a second, Sandythought his eyes had played tricks on him.
But no, one step closer and he could see it was exactly what he thought it was. Not an ‘it’ at all—but a ‘she’. A little girl, with her arms wrapped around herself, shivering from the cold. Her long, damp hair was hanging limply from her down-turned head. She either didn’t hear him or she was trying to pretend like he wasn’t there. He went closer to the archway. It would be dark soon and the light would be gone from inside the concrete structure. He needed to help her now, while she could see him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, tentatively.
No answer emitted from the tiny girl’s mouth.
“How did you get down here?”
Still nothing.
“Are you hurt?”
Sandy was mystified. He knew the little girl must be cold and scared and the last thing he wanted to do was scare her even more. He was determined to help her. “My name’s Lysander Sinclair. That’s, um, Greek. My…my mother’s Greek,” Sandy stammered, unable to think of what he should say, “But my friends just call me Sandy. You can call me Sandy.”
The little girl timidly raised her head as if her neck couldn’t fully support the weight. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. He couldn’t tell whether or not she was scared of him. Her face was stoic and as hard as the concrete surrounding them. But there was something else…
Sandy squinted into the gloom. From somewhere overhead, Sandy heard Tony shout out. “Sandy, man, you down there?”
“Oh my God, it’s her!” Sandy exclaimed, ignoring his friend. He could see the little girl’s face now. Complete as if it were as light as day outside. “You’re that girl on the television. I’ve seen you on the news. Everyone’s looking for you. Your name’s Kimmy or Katie—right?”
Still the little girl didn’t move.
“Sandy, please say something!” Lola’s sing-song voice floated down into the archway and bounced off the concrete walls. Disgustedly, Sandy turned back the way he came to show his friends he was all right—and then he heard the girl speak.