Crimes Most Merry and Albright

by Larissa Reinhart

  The number one rule in escaping an abduction is to never get in a car with anyone. Number two was never to panic. Keep a cool head. I couldn't remember number three, but I imagine it was to run. I couldn't run. I also couldn't see with my coat and scarf pushed above my chin.

  So I panicked.

  I squealed, kicked, and thrashed, trying to yank out of their grasps while they exclaimed loudly of my inability to hold my mulled wine.

  "Don't tussle so," said Gentz. "You are making it very difficult to carry you."

  "Kind of the point," I shouted. My heel caught Oddjob's knee. He grunted and tightened his grip on my waist.

  "Really, Miss Albright," said Gentz. "Calm down. We're just taking you somewhere to talk."

  Above my scarf, a group bobbed in view. People waiting in line at the churro stand.

  "Help me," I called through layers of down and wool. A nearby speaker churning out holiday favorites and drowned out my words.

  I struggled harder, trying to catch their attention. My scarf slipped. The entire line leaned against the stall, waiting on churros. Eyes down. Focused on their phones. A lone toddler looked up and caught my squint. Then refocused on the screen his mother held.

  I craned my neck above my coat, trying to find Nash. He'd been right behind me. Igor wasn't around either.

  Shiztastic. Nash had been waylaid by Igor, while I was stuck with Gentz and Oddjob.

  Unless Nash had gotten annoyed enough not to follow me and had no idea that I was a kidnap victim.

  "Quick," said Gentz. "In here. We'll get her later."

  I swung my legs out. Before I could jerk back to attack their knees, Gentz dropped my arm and yanked open the door of a porta-potty. Oddjob tossed me inside.

  My hands flew forward to prevent from falling into the dark hold. My palms thudded against the back wall. The door slammed. I rammed the door, but something lodged it shut. Inside the rank box, I banged on the door and walls, screaming to be let out. The beeping sound of a large truck backing up covered my screams.

  Above me, a chain rattled. Something heavy thwacked the walls. The truck made a grinding sound and the box shifted.

  "The hey?" I braced myself against the door. And felt the ground fall from my feet. Without my feet ever leaving the ground. Which must be how a dog experiences an elevator.

  "Let me out," I shouted and pounded on the door. "I'm inside."

  The box tilted and swayed. My stomach flipped, and I breathed through my mouth in tiny, rapid sips. Of foul-smelling air. Lightly scented with some kind of lavender spritz.

  I was claustrophobic. Stuck in a portable toilet that hung in mid-air. Even worse than my nightmare where I was stuck in a tiny aquarium filled with baby sharks. I couldn't breathe in either one. But the aquarium probably smelled better.

  Pressing my face against the crack of light rimming the doorway, I sucked in fresh air. I clawed at the door, not caring how high I was suspended. I kicked the door, managing to widen the crack at the bottom. But whatever wrapped the box held the door shut. Necessary in porta-potty transportation, but a defeat if you're stuck inside while it's swinging above Black Pine Lake.

  Failing all other options, I sank to the sticky porta-floor and squatted by the door. Despair won out over disgust and gave in to tears.

  Gears ground and a motor roared. The box reeled, sloshing me and the rest of the porta's contents. Feeling sick, I pressed my hands and feet against the doorframe and prayed nothing would spill from either place. The elevator feeling reappeared, but this time we descended. Quickly. Too quickly. I sucked in air by tiny sips, telling myself that as porta-potty deaths went, crashing was better than death by suffocation.

  Didn't help.

  The stall slammed into the ground. I fell over, landing on my side on the sticky floor. The porta stayed upright. The ground beneath it felt solid. I pushed to my feet. And yanked off a piece of toilet paper stuck to my puffy coat.

  Later I would need a ten-thousand-hour shower and possibly all the hot water in Black Pine to do so, but for now, I needed to get out of this damn stank-house of a coffin and find my sister before Gentz found her first.

  Eleven

  #NoToNutballs

  I stayed wedged against the door, ready to pop out. With the sound of the chains hitting the ground, I flew out of the door. Tripped on a rising contraption and fell on a metal floor. The steel felt like ice against my face. But clean ice.

  At least, cleaner than my most recent floor experience.

  Rolling onto my back, I gulped crisp, wood-scented air, and watched a bracketed lift swing overhead. Surrounded by porta-potties, I lay on the bed of a truck with an attached crane. Gathering my senses, I heard shouts and calls from the crane operator and another man moving the portable toilets.

  Gentz must have thrown me inside, knowing the stall was about to get lifted. Was he hoping to transport me to a dump station where he would interrogate me?

  The truck bed was already crowded with portable toilets. Before one crashed on me, I hopped up. Slipping between the plastic booths, I made my way to the side facing the lake, away from the parking lot. Grabbing the edge of the truck bed, I swung to the ground and crept around the truck. A black Mercedes was parked at the edge of the lot. Igor leaned next to it, speaking to someone through the window.

  Probably Gentz. I pressed my lips together and tasted toilet filth. While I spat on the ground — while trying not to puke — shouting caught my ear. Angry shouting. Glancing up, I saw another porta-potty flying overhead. For a moment, I gazed in wonderment, imagining myself inside. The shouts I heard jolted me from my reverie.

  I recognized that voice. Nash. Screaming at the crane operator. Something about a woman inside…

  Nash had the wrong porta-potty.

  Or the wrong woman.

  Jumping to my feet, I sprinted toward the voices. And halted. A tiny figure in a camo puffy coat snuck between cars toward the Mercedes.

  Remi. I knew she'd never take a nap without threats or handcuffing. What in the hellsbah was she doing? It looked like she was going to approach—

  I bolted toward the parking lot, calling Remi's name. The girl in the parking lot halted, then slipped behind a truck. Igor's bent form shot up from his window lean. He dashed around the Mercedes. The front passenger door opened and Oddjob dislodged himself from the car. Both hurried toward me. I slowed my run, my gaze on the parking lot, searching for Remi.

  "Remi," I yelled. "Find Nash."

  She'd disappeared. I blew out a breath and glanced behind me, looking for Nash. Surely he'd heard me. I gasped. A crowd had gathered. The suspended porta-potty swung wildly over the lake. Inside the cab of the truck, two men fought. The crane moved erratically, shaking the toilet like a dog on a stuffed toy.

  "Nash?" I called. "I'm—"

  A hand landed on my arm, whipping me around. "Gentz wants a word with you."

  I shrieked, then forced myself to act cool. I didn't need Remi leaping out to save me. Taking a breath, I assumed my Warhead Girl character and gained courage. "Back off."

  My eyes scoured the parking lot as I walked toward the Mercedes. I wanted Gentz to leave before he saw Remi. If he thought I wouldn't talk, he might try Remi. He probably thought he'd more easily gain the information from her.

  He didn't know Remi.

  Reaching the car, I jerked open the rear passenger door. Inside, Gentz leaned toward me. "Miss Albright, I'm surprised to see you. We planned to pick you up at the next pit stop." He chuckled. "I thought you'd be otherwise occupied."

  Even the real bad guys use bad guy humor. The Hollywood writers I knew would've enjoyed that line.

  Instead of resorting to Julia Pinkerton's snark or Warhead Girl's anger, I collapsed on the seat next to him. "Let's go."

  "Go where?" Gentz sniffed then grimaced. "We couldn't find the necklace at your father's cabin. My team checked carefully."

  I shuddered at the thought of Gentz's men searching my father's home. I was glad we had quickly moved
the dogs and Remi to Tiffany's. Except Remi had somehow escaped.

  "I'll tell you where it is." I peered over his shoulder into the parking lot. Spotted something dart between cars. We needed to get away before Remi tried to come with me. "But not here."

  "Fine." He snapped his fingers and Igor started the car. "We'll go to our hotel. I'm glad you're seeing reason. You'll be rewarded, of course."

  "I don't care about that," I mumbled, focused on the parking lot.

  "My client pays very well. But that's your decision." Gentz shrugged, pulled out his phone, and turned away from me.

  I hoped Remi had heard me about finding Nash. She thought this was an adventure. These men were dangerous. They didn't care about the destruction of the cabin or the risks to our lives, let alone the fact that this stupid necklace was special to my family. They were just doing a job. Hired guns.

  I knew contract killers, heavies, cleaners, or what-have-yous were a real thing. But I thought they'd take their work more seriously. Like stick with organized crime, spy rings, and whatnot. Not work for nut jobs who wanted show biz memorabilia.

  I hated the thought of a wacko with a necklace representing vigilante girl power. There were enough screwballs on Youtube and the like, inciting more lunatics to violence. The psycho would probably piece clips from the movie into his nutball act. And I'd be forever associated with his fanatic cuckoo ways. That could possibly harm other people.

  The nutball association was enough motivation to keep the necklace out of this maniac's hands. I was no longer a star, able to use my Hollywood pedestal (and my own minions) to keep the crazies away from the necklace. I was out in the real world. Apprenticing as a private investigator. Trying to be one of the good guys.

  There was no way I would give up this necklace.

  But first Remi's safety. I'd let Gentz think I was willing to deal. That his threats had worked. Then…

  A loud splash and a long scream halted my thoughts. I turned in the seat toward the rear window. Although still positioned over the lake, the crane no longer held the porta-potty. A man leaped from the cab and ran to the edge of the lake.

  Nash.

  He must have thought I was still in the porta-potty. Horrified, I watched his hat sail off. Then his coat.

  Holy shiz. I shoved my hand in my coat pocket, searching for my phone. Scrabbling through my pockets, I realized it must have fallen out inside the porta-potty. I punched the window button.

  "Unlock my window," I cried. "I need to—"

  "It's too cold for that," said Gentz.

  "Nash thinks I'm in the lake." I turned to Gentz. "He's going to jump in. It's freezing. Just let me yell—"

  "He won't hear you, Miss Albright," said Gentz. "It's too late. Besides, we have an appointment to make."

  "Nash could get pneumonia," I pleaded. "Turn around. Please. He'll do anything to save me. He might drown."

  Gentz gave me a long look. He tapped the driver's shoulder with his bandaged hand. "Brian, did you hear that?"

  "Thank you." I clasped my hands together. "It'll only take a few minutes. Then we can go wherever you want and deal with the—"

  "That means the police and emergency vehicles will be here soon. Step on it, Brian."

  Twelve

  #TheDon’tComeInn

  Brian — Although I still thought of him as Igor — sped through downtown Black Pine toward the outskirts of town. Slowing, the Mercedes' headlights swept over a dirty snowdrift beneath a neon sign advertising the Dukem Inn. We pulled into the motor lodge. The motel had been painted white and made to look like an alpine lodge with faux brown shutters around each rooms' windows. Under strings of Christmas lights, the white appeared mustard yellow. Tired fake flowers peeked from snow-covered window boxes. Next to the outdoor pool, an old purple Christmas tree listed against the chain-link fence.

  A restaurant and bar with the same name shared a parking lot with the motel. Also Alpine-y, mustardy, and more than slightly cheesy. It could have been cute if someone had bothered with the upkeep.

  "The Dukem Inn? Why aren't you staying at Black Pine Resort?" I said to Gentz, then mentally kicked myself. Of all the stupid questions.

  "You don't approve of our accommodations?" Gentz smirked. "When not on assignment, I'm sure I'd prefer Black Pine Resort. Maybe next time I visit."

  I flopped against my seat.

  Gentz chuckled with his throaty rasp. "You hope there won't be a next time. I see. Well, this meeting will determine that. Give JJ the necklace and we'll leave."

  "Is that your boss?"

  Gentz shook his head. "My director is extraordinarily busy. JJ is one of his assistants. The department is appropriations, I believe."

  Again, with the dry chuckle. Gentz needed a throat lozenge. Or morals.

  "And don't think you can appeal to JJ with stories of mistreatment or mishandling," continued Gentz. "JJ believes in our leader's mission. And is paid extremely well for services rendered."

  Great. Really looking forward to meeting this JJ.

  Brian parked the car before a room at the end of the motel. Far from the front desk, restaurant, and sad Christmas tree. By the dark windows lining this end of the long building, I didn't have much hope of anyone hearing us. By the look of the motel, I didn't have much hope of anyone caring.

  Heaving a sigh, I followed Gentz and the minions to the motel door. He knocked, used an actual key — didn't know those still existed — and pushed open the door. Before my mind could register all the plaid in the room — wallpaper, bedspreads, curtains — I noticed the woman sitting at a table. A youngish woman, probably in her early thirties. With balayage hair pulled back in a loose braid and a deliberately messy bun. Wearing couture. I was sure of it. With her long legs and athletic build, she could pass off any ready-to-wear. But with the side ties, puffy sleeves, and bohemian vibe, it spoke of a designer I followed.

  "OMG, MaisonCléo," I murmured, not able to help myself.

  The woman smirked.

  I cleared my throat. "You're JJ?"

  "You sound surprised," she said, her voice slightly tinged with SoCal upspeak. A Southern Californian.

  Great. She must work in the industry, too. Which meant so did her boss. Did Gentz and JJ work for Manganoid?

  Behind me, Gentz gave orders to the trench coat brothers. The wind whipped inside, and the door banged.

  "Have a seat, Maizie." She wrinkled her nose. "Or do you want to change first? Mr. Gentz told me where you've been."

  I clamped my lips together. Why was I allowing myself to get distracted by fashion? I was on a mission. She might look like an Instagram model, but JJ was no better than Gentz. Or her crazy-pants boss.

  "I'm good." I found it easier to lie using Julia Pinkerton's character. As myself, I wasn't believable. "Let's get this deal done."

  "Are you sure?" JJ wrinkled her nose. "'Cause like, I find it kind of hard to concentrate. You reek." She moved to a closet, flicked through some hangers and pulled out a white silk dress. Off-the-shoulder with a flared ruffle gathered at the yoke. Lying it over her arm, she approached me. "I didn't bring much with me. How about this?"

  "So inappropriate for winter weather here," I murmured. Found myself stroking the silk and yanked my hand back. "Bevza. In Black Pine. Ridic."

  "You know your fashion." She handed me the dress, bent down, and dangled a pair of square-toed, white silk mules. "I even have the kicks."

  "It's beautiful." A knot formed in my throat. Partially due to my recent lack of accessible fashion. Partially due to the thought of Nash swimming in an icy lake for the partner he wouldn't find in a submerged toilet. Maybe placating JJ would help. I shrugged. "Fine."

  "Why don't you shower while you're at it." JJ hitched a thumb toward the bathroom.

  She was one smug baddie.

  "I just want to get this done. My partner could be drowning at this very minute." And I didn't know if Remi had found him or was now captain of a pirate ship. You could never tell with Remi. "I've got more
important considerations than the state of my ensemble."

  "I'd be worried about all the germs after your toilet adventure, but whatevs. However, know this, you're not going anywhere in a hurry. Not until we have the necklace and it's been authenticated." JJ crossed her arms. "Then we'll see. So might as well get comfortable. It'll be a long afternoon."

  My spirits plummeted. But not my stench. "Fine." I stalked to the bathroom.

  Thirteen

  #NoSleighbellsJustSchnitzel

  I appreciated the hot shower and the Bumble and Bumble products. However, the dress barely fit me — I was built more for bearing children than athletics — and it left me freezing. JJ had taken my coat, clothes, and shoes, leaving me dressed for wintering in St. Tropez, not Black Pine.

  Hugging my bare arms, I shlepped out of the bathroom.

  "Better. I can't believe how awful you smelled." JJ waved at the table where she sat. "Gentz brought us lunch. The restaurant has decent food."

  Food? What was this? Some kind of temptation in the wilderness of Black Pine?

  Shivering, I stopped before the table, eyeing the plates of bratwurst, potato salad, pretzels, and schnitzel. Not your usual Black Pine fare, but I suppose it went with the Alpine theme.

  I got it. JJ and Gentz were good-copping/bad-copping me. Weakening me so I would give up the death necklace. They certainly figured out how to break me. Couture, hot showers, and a carb fest.

  "I'm not hungry." My stomach growled. "I had a donut at the Winter Market."

  "Chill already. I told you, you're not going anywhere. You might as well eat.” JJ waved at the food. "I saw you don't have the necklace on you. While we eat, you can tell me where to find it."

  I'd taken the death necklace into the shower with me, figuring JJ would search my stuff. The dress was more than form-fitting so I couldn't hide it on me. Smart on her part. After showering, I used the noise of the hairdryer to cover the sound of me hiding it in the tank of the toilet.