Darling Girl: A Novel of Peter Pan(69)

“Do they . . . do they wake up?”

He shakes his head. “Not in this world.”

Holly shivers again, and this time it has nothing to do with the breeze.

“Want to know what the police are calling them?”

“No,” Holly says, but he tells her anyway.

“The lost boys.”

“Why are you telling me this?” She struggles to keep her tone even.

He answers with another question. “This morning, I got another call, from a friend on the force. Another boy overdosed. This one had a paper packet in his bag with a name on it. Want to guess what it was?”

This time, he doesn’t wait for her response. “Pixie dust. Sound familiar?”

Impossible. Too late, she tries to control her expression, to keep the horror from showing.

“Descriptions of the dealer have been vague,” he continues, watching her closely. “At one time, the kids say, he must have been quite handsome. Like a movie star. Sometimes he appears to be a young man. Other witnesses describe him as middle-aged. But no matter what he looks like, the police can’t seem to find him. Every time they think they’re close, it’s as if he flies away.”

They stare at each other in silence.

“I think we’re looking for the same man,” he says finally. “And I think there’s a connection between your cosmetics and his drug. I know why I’m looking for him. Why are you?”

“I told you. I think he has my daughter.”

“The daughter you share,” he corrects. “But why now, after all these years? Why is he interested in her now, when you said he hadn’t been in contact her entire life?”

“I don’t know.” And she doesn’t, not really. But if she had to guess, it has to do with the miraculous qualities of Eden’s blood.

He studies her a moment. “We could work together on this. Or . . . I can work alone. I’m good at alone.”

Holly thinks of Eden, what Peter might be doing to her. She thinks of Jack, his gray face. “No,” she says at last. But then she adds the same condition that her mother did. For a completely different reason. It’s possible Peter’s creating drugs for the sheer pleasure of it. But if he’s gone to the trouble to kidnap Eden, it’s unlikely whatever he’s doing is just for fun. So there’s a chance this drug, whatever it is, has a purpose—youth, maybe, or health. It might help Jack and Eden. “I’ll work with you, so long as when we find him, I get to talk with him first.”

Christopher Cooke doesn’t say yes. But he doesn’t say no, either.

“I’ll be in touch,” is what he does say.

Holly waits until he’s ridden off before she goes into the house. And then, far too late, she locks the door behind her.





Chapter Twenty-Six



Jane’s face is grim when Holly returns.

“Whoever that man is, he has a talent for disruption,” she says. She’s pouring whiskey from the bar in the library and hands Holly a glass without asking.

“Well, you certainly gave him the opening,” Holly says, taking a long sip.

“Don’t blame me,” Jane retorts. “How was I to know why he was here? Or that Jack would be eavesdropping? The next time you choose to seek help outside the family, I’d appreciate being informed.”

“I didn’t tell him anything he wouldn’t believe,” Holly says. “Only the bare bones. We weren’t getting anywhere on our own, and Jack’s getting worse. You can see that.” She takes a deep breath, another sip of her drink. Lashing out at her mother right now won’t solve anything. Instead she asks where Jack is.

“He’s upstairs, almost asleep. I gave him a sleeping pill. Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she says, catching Holly’s horrified glance. “It’s perfectly safe. Dr. Shepherd prescribed them for me years ago, and I’ve been taking one every night. Just to take the edge off.”

There’s so much in this statement for Holly to unpack, she doesn’t know where to start. But something else is weighing on her. “There’s more,” she says.

Jane cocks an eyebrow. “It seems there always is these days. Well? Out with it.”

Holly takes a deep breath. “That man—Christopher Cooke. He has a prosthesis under his glove. A fake hand,” she adds when Jane stares at her.

“Yes, thank you, I’m well aware of what the term means,” Jane snaps.

“The day I met him, he was wearing . . .” Holly shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “He had a hook in place of the prosthesis.”

Jane opens her mouth and utters a word Holly until this point didn’t realize her mother knew. “You’re just telling me this now?”

“I thought it was coincidence,” Holly says defensively. “But now I think it has to be something more.” She fills her mother in on what Christopher told her about the drug. The lost boys. Pixie dust.

Jane doesn’t speak at first. She swirls the liquid in her drink. Then, “I’ve wondered . . . there have been times in my life, not many, when . . .”

It’s not like Jane to hesitate, to search for words. Holly holds her breath.

“I knew a dancer, a striking woman. Her name was Lily, but no one called her that.”