Star-Crossed Parents

Hi, Mom, Taylor had written. I know this is going to sound crazy…

Leigh stopped breathing as she read the rest.

No. Impossible.

This had to be her daughter’s sick idea of a joke.

She set the paper down, pulled out an open bottle of white wine and poured herself a glass. She took a long swallow, then read the note again.

I know this is going to sound crazy, Mom, but I’ve been chatting with this really nice guy over the Internet for several months and last week he asked me to come and visit him. Don’t worry, he’s a great person and I’m not in any danger. I’ll call you once I get there.

Love, Taylor

P.S. Sorry about the party…

No matter how many times Leigh read the note, the message wouldn’t change. And yet she still couldn’t believe it. She and Taylor had had so many conversations about the dangers of meeting people over the Internet and the folly of dating someone you only knew through correspondence.

All those late nights when Leigh had assumed Taylor was either studying or researching Cornell…she’d really been chatting with this guy.

And who was he? Taylor had left her no clue. No name, no address, no contact information of any kind. Leigh grabbed the phone again and tried her daughter’s cell phone. She was shuffled straight to the message service.

“It’s Mom, Taylor. I’ve found your note. Please call me as soon as you get this.”

Damn.

How could Taylor have done this? Leigh’s daughter was a shy girl who didn’t date much. Years of struggling with acne had left her self-esteem a little battered where boys were concerned. In a way, Leigh could understand why Taylor had felt more comfortable meeting a guy at the distance the Internet offered.

But why hadn’t Taylor said anything? Their relationship was close, or so Leigh had thought, but she’d had no clue Taylor was carrying on this way.

Who was this guy? How old was he? Was he a predator?

No, no, don’t panic. Stay calm. Think. Focus.

It was no use. One scary possibility led straight to another. Where was her daughter, right now? Still en route? Or had they already made contact?

The very idea had Leigh hyperventilating. Don’t worry, the note had said. He’s a really nice guy.

Well, how would Taylor know? Had she had the guy checked out? Leigh knew she hadn’t.

Oh, God. Please don’t let this guy be some sort of pervert.

Leigh jerked away from the table. The first thing she had to do was phone Kerry. Surely Taylor’s best friend would know all about this.

But Kerry didn’t.

“That’s insane, Ms. Hartwell. Are you sure?”

Leigh read her the note.

“Taylor never mentioned a word about this guy.”

“So you can’t give me a name? You don’t have any idea where he might live?”

“Sorry, I don’t have a clue.”

Leigh could have banged her head against the wall. “I can’t believe Taylor would do something like this.”

“I can’t, either. It’s totally not like her.”

Leigh disconnected the call, more concerned than ever. For a moment she contemplated the bizarre possibility that her daughter had been abducted and forced to compose the note. But there was no sign of any stress in Taylor’s neat printing. No sign of a struggle in the pristine apartment.

She checked her daughter’s room and found it atypically neat. Taylor’s backpack, the one she’d used for school, was missing. So were several pairs of jeans and her favorite hoodie.

Leigh looked in her own room next and found her closet in disarray. Not a good sign. It was usually when Taylor wanted to look older that she borrowed from her mother’s wardrobe.

The computer was the next logical place to go. Leigh and Taylor shared the same password, since it was a family machine, and she had no trouble getting into Taylor’s e-mail account, though it was something she’d never done before.

She groaned at the list of saved messages, almost all of them from someone who called himself PartyMan. Why hadn’t she thought to check up on her daughter sooner? The media were always warning parents to monitor their children’s computer usage.

But Leigh never thought to worry about Taylor. She was such a good kid and there’d been no decline in her marks at school. Wasn’t that one of the warning signs that were supposed to alert parents that their kid might be in danger?

But she couldn’t pinpoint any changes in Taylor’s demeanor or behavior. If anything, Taylor had seemed in higher spirits and even more cooperative these past few weeks. Leigh had attributed this to excitement about her graduation from high school and acceptance at Cornell. Apparently, though, her daughter had been excited about something else, entirely…

An Internet romance.

But was that really what was happening here? Fear crawled over Leigh’s skin and she tried not to think of the many newspaper articles and made-for-TV movies about far more sinister scenarios.

Her daughter had a golden future before her. She had to be all right. She just had to be.

Leigh opened the most recent message from PartyMan and skimmed the contents. Most of the message contained plans for when he and Taylor would finally be together. It all sounded quite innocent…long walks together, picnics, listening to music, that sort of thing. But of course, if this guy was a pervert he wouldn’t be broadcasting his intentions, would he?

Her attention zeroed in on the last paragraph of his message: I’ll pick you up at the bus station. It’s just a few miles from my place. Can’t wait to finally meet you!

Her stomach dipped, and her skin crawled again. “I’ll just bet you can’t wait to meet her, you creep.”

Needing specific details about their plans, she opened the previous message. It was all there. PartyMan’s real name was Josh Wallace—or so he claimed—and he lived in a town called Jefferson in Mount Washington Valley, New Hampshire. He’d given Taylor information on the bus route, and, thank goodness, a home address.

Leigh closed the computer and picked up the phone again. She had to rent a car and go after Taylor right away. She was negotiating a weekly rate, with unlimited mileage, when the doorbell buzzed.

“Okay, that sounds fine. Can you have someone drive the car to this address?” She recited her apartment number and street quickly, as she crossed the room to the front door.

Tina O’Dell, her curly hair in a messy ponytail, arms laden with a huge casserole dish, stepped into the room.

“Party time,” she announced gaily.

Leigh disconnected the call and shook her head. “Afraid not.”

“What—”