A suspicious pause. “I’m not sure. Why?”
“I don’t know. I just want to know how she could be working at Sunny Springs only a half hour away, and her mother had no idea.”
“Sometimes, that’s what happens,” he said. “People lose touch. I’ll send you the photograph used when she went missing. Hold on.”
“I’m holding.” After a moment, her phone beeped. She opened it to find a headshot of a sweet-looking blue-eyed, strawberry-blonde girl gazing out at her. Freckles dotting her nose and cheeks. Not classically beautiful, but pretty.
“Got it. Thank you.”
“That was taken a couple of years ago.” In the background, she heard someone speak to him. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I have to go.”
“That’s fine. And thank you,” she said.
She hung up and turned around to find Penny had also hung up.
“That’s a no-go. Apparently, David Whitcliff went out of state for a meeting.”
“One of his employees is shot dead and he’s off to a meeting?”
Penny shrugged. “That’s what the girl said.”
Elizabeth tsked. “What in the heck is wrong with people? Okay, so here’s the plan from here: See if you can dig up any information on who the shareholders of Aden Falls are. Maybe there’s something we missed…and yes, I know,” she said when she saw Penny’s face. “Jennifer Reels would have already raked over that pile with a fine-toothed comb. But with a little hindsight, you might find something she missed.”
“And what are you doing?”
“I’m following the Laney angle. I’m calling the only other person who knew Wendy O’Dell. Chances are it’s another totally dead end. But it’s the only loose thread I’ve got. And that makes it worth a shot.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
DAY THREE—10:16 AM—LANEY
“Do I at least get something to eat?” Laney called out.
She’d been back in the dog cage in the white-tiled room for over an hour now. This time on her elbows and knees, no room to move. Just across from her, Fatso leaned with his back against the wall, picking at his fingernails while he stood guard over her.
Still acting dumb, he folded his arms, huffed, and looked away.
“Listen, I know you’re probably not supposed to talk to me, right?”
A quick glance her way.
“I haven’t eaten in a while. I mean, a cookie? A pack of Doritos? Where’s the harm?”
Still nothing. She groaned and dropped her head to the floor.
“Man, you must get paid a lot,” she mumbled.
Fatso snorted.
She knew it. That was the raw nerve to work on. But where to go from there…?
“Have you been working for this Jerko guy a long time? Like, how do you get into this business? Did you answer a want ad in the local paper?”
“Shut up!”
“Listen, I’m just asking, aren’t I?” No response. “Who is this guy, anyway? Where’d he get the money for all this shit? I mean, look at these places. He must be totally rolling in cash.” She watched him. “Did he steal it? Is he, like, some kind of criminal mastermind like you see in the movies?”
“I told you, shut up.”
“Okay, you’re scared of him, I get it,” she said. Noting the slight flinch, she said, “Is that why you keep working for him? Has to be, I guess. ’Cause no one’s stupid enough to do what you do if you’re not getting paid.”
Obviously irritated, he pushed off the wall and strode to the door to check the lock. Finding it secure, he walked back, leaning his shoulder into the wall this time, with his back to her.
“I bet old buddy boy out there’s getting paid. The guy who keeps kicking your ass. I bet he’s rolling in it. And he thinks you’re stupid enough—”
Without warning, Fatso spun around, flashed over to the cage, and kicked it—flat of his foot inches from her face. The cage jolted back with a clang, slid a couple feet on the tiles, and stopped.
Laney could feel her heart beating in her chest. She was walking a fine line. The plan—the only one she’d come up with—was to piss him off enough to open the cage. But not enough to kill her. It was the crappiest plan she’d ever come up with. But that’s all she had.
“Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to piss you off. But it’s cramped in here. Can you just let me out long enough to get my blood moving in my legs again?”
“You stay where you are.”
She gave it a second.
“Where are you from, anyway? Are you Russian?”
A caustic snort. “Russian? Every American think someone with accent is Russian.” He shook his head.
“So, where are you from? Yugoslavia?” Man, she was really reaching. She shook her head, muttering, “Shit, I don’t even know where that is.”
“You don’t know anything. Kosovo. That is my home.”
“So, why’d you come here? To America? Must have cost a lot just to get here.”
A sardonic grin. “Employment opportunity. Good money. Health benefits.” He chuckled at his own joke.
At last, an opening.
“Is that where Katarina was from? From Kosovo?” she asked, knowing full well she was.
“Yes. From Kosovo.”
“Why did she come here?”
Another sour grin. “Same as me. Employment opportunity.”
“But they lied to her, didn’t they? The job wasn’t what she thought. They told her she’d landed some terrific job, earning great money.”
The corners of his mouth went down. “That is luck. Sometimes good, sometimes not good.”
“Is she still alive?”
He looked her in the eye. “She is back at work. Good luck for her. Not so much good luck for you.”
“Can you at least tell me where?”
No reply. He looked away.
“She took care of my disabled sister. I just wanted to thank her. That’s all I came here for.” When he still said nothing, she said, “How about Wendy O’Dell? She’s a smart girl. Pretty, too. Did she come looking for a job?” And watched for a reaction.
“Her, too,” he said.
Bingo! At least now Laney knew she was on the right track. Wendy had been here. Could still be.
“Is Wendy working here? Like in this place? Or somewhere else?”
This time he ignored her. But at least she’d gotten that much. And he hadn’t told her she was dead. She tried shifting position, trying to relieve the ache in her knees. Failing, she gave up.
“Aw, c’mon, please just let me out for a second. My back’s killing me in here. You’ve got a gun. What am I gonna do?”
“We wait for Njerku.”
“Well, if he’s coming from Kosovo, we’ve got a long wait.”
“Not Kosovo. From Cleveland. Not so long to wait.”
More information. She had to keep him talking.
“Still could be hours. And you gotta eat, right?” A hunger pang twisted her stomach. “A nice big burger, maybe? Juice running down your chin. Big slice of cheese, all that crisp lettuce—”
“Shut up!”
“Yeah, I know. I can’t stand it either. But you can’t kill me until Jerko’s here. How about you just let me out, walk around a little, maybe get a drink of water? Then I promise I’ll get back in the cage.”
Furious now, he rushed across to the cage, whipped out a gun, and shoved it through the grate, barrel pressed hard to the back of her head.
Laney’s heart almost stopped. “You’re not allowed to kill me,” she shouted, desperation and fear squeezing her throat.
“That is what you think,” he said and clicked back the hammer.
CHAPTER FORTY
DAY THREE—11:24 AM—ELIZABETH
Caroline Judemire was standing outside her college, hugging a stack of schoolbooks to her chest and looking back and forth down the street, worried frown creasing her brow. As soon as she saw Elizabeth pull up on the other side of the street, she checked for traffic and step
ped out, head down, walking quickly to the car.
With a snap look around as though she was afraid of being seen, she opened the passenger’s door, slid in, and closed the door.
Fastening her seatbelt, she said, “Thanks for picking me up, Mrs. McClaine.”
Elizabeth hit the turn signal and pulled out. “No problem, Caroline. You might need to give me directions to your house, though.”
Caroline lifted her head, looking out the windshield. “Turn left up here.”
Elizabeth did so. “I guess you know why I wanted to talk with you.”
“About Laney?”
“Actually, it’s about Wendy, the nurse aid at Sunny Springs. What can you tell me about her?”
Caroline focused on the dash and tried to think. “She was nice. Really beautiful. I mean, drop-dead gorgeous. Old guys used to come in to see their disabled kids and end up with their eyes glued on her instead.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. I wondered why she wasn’t a model or actress or something. But she was foreign.”
That surprised Elizabeth. “She was foreign? Like French or something?”
Caroline shook her head. “Eastern European. I think she came from one of those Slavic countries.”
“It never made anyone wonder why someone so beautiful was working at Sunny Springs?”
Caroline’s eyes widened. “Oh, man, we get all kinds working there. Mostly women out of prisons, or…” She tipped her head, searching for the correct term. “…minorities, immigrants. That kind of thing. But not gorgeous ones. Not like Wendy.”
Running on a hunch, Elizabeth said, “Can you describe her? Like, how tall was she? Her hair color?”
Caroline turned her attention to the window while she raked through her memory. “She was taller than me. Long hair—really dark. Beautiful olive complexion. Green eyes. That’s the thing you noticed first about her—she had beautiful eyes. I’d give my right arm for eyes like that.”
A crash of realization sent vibrations through Elizabeth. It’s not the same girl.
“Anything else? What was her English like?”
“It was good, but you know, she left out quantifiers. Like ‘the’ and ‘an.’ So, it wasn’t perfect.”
“Did Wendy ever tell you where she came from?”
“She kept to herself. The only one she really connected with was Kimmy. Maybe if she’d made more friends she could have asked for help when that man came and took her.”
Elizabeth nearly ran off the road. “A man took her? Where? What man?”
“The story we got was that it was her old boss and he’d offered her a new job. But I saw her when she left. She was crying. If it was some great new job, she didn’t look too excited about it.”
“She didn’t want to go?”
“No way. But she didn’t look like she had a lot of choice.”
“Who told you she was going to a new job?”
“Mrs. Stanford. Nobody really believed her, but Wendy didn’t ask for help, so what else could we do? We let her go. Should we have done something else?”
“No. Not at all,” Elizabeth said, wondering if she were eighteen and impressionable, working in her first job, if she’d have done the same thing. Doubtful. Even at eighteen, Elizabeth challenged everything. She’d have been out there, cutting between them and asking questions. “So, you’re saying Velma Stanford was there when she left?”
“Uh-huh. She’s the one who told the man where to find Wendy. Afterwards, Dorothy—that’s an old lady that works there—she said the guy must have been real rich. She said he was wearing a really expensive suit and a diamond ring on his pinky finger. I saw the car. Man,” she said and widened her eyes briefly, “It was a nice car. Boston Celtics plates. I recognized them right away. My dad used to be a fan. Take a right up here,” she said and pointed.
Elizabeth slowed and made the turn. So, whoever took her was from Boston. That’s where she probably was now.
“Do you know how she got the job at Sunny Springs?”
“Not a clue. She just turned up one day.”
“Do you know where she lived?”
“That’s my house just down there,” Caroline said, pointing again. “She never said.”
Elizabeth could have cursed. She had too many more questions to ask.
As they pulled to the curb, Caroline began gathering her backpack and books, ready to get out. “Is there anything else you want to know?”
Where do I even start? Elizabeth thought. But Caroline had probably given her everything she could. So, instead, she said, “You’ve been a great help. Thank you.”
Caroline swung her legs out and hitched up her books. As she got out and went to close the door, she leaned down. “Oh, there was one other thing I almost forgot. Wendy had a tattoo on her wrist.”
“A tattoo? What of?”
“A weird one. Like a barcode. You know, with lines and a number. I remember thinking, ‘Why would you get a barcode for a tattoo?’” She jerked one shoulder. “I guess people do weird things.”
Elizabeth blinked at her. “I guess they do. And thank you.”
The dead girl at the cemetery had had a tattoo burned from her wrist. Delaney had confirmed it wasn’t Wendy O’Dell. How did he know? Or was Wendy just another missing girl, taken by a different man? Was it a coincidence?
There was only one person who might be able to tell her. As Caroline walked on up to her house, oblivious to the relevance of her last words, Elizabeth pulled out, hit the gas, and took off.
If luck was on her side, he’d be in his office. Yes, she could phone. But she wanted to gauge the reaction to this news. And while she could outline most of what she now knew, she’d have to hold some cards close to her chest and watch every word.
Because this whole mess of lies and dirty deals could spring up and hit her right in the face.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
DAY THREE—12:19 PM—LANEY
With the gun still pressed to the back of Laney’s head, Fatso mumbled something in his own language, then jabbed the end of the barrel into the base of her neck before stepping back.
So she’d been right. He wasn’t allowed to kill her.
What a dumb way to find out, she thought. Despite the chill of the room, sweat ran down her temples, dripped off her nose. Relief flooded in so fast she felt dizzy.
After several minutes, he appeared to have calmed down. She couldn’t just crouch here and wait for whatever was coming, so she bit back her fear and tried again.
“Hey, listen. Can you hear me? I’m sorry but I really need to pee.”
Then she silently cursed. What was supposed to be a plan had now morphed into reality. The mere suggestion had triggered pressure in her bladder and now she really did need the bathroom.
“I haven’t been all night. Now I really gotta go. Can you let me out?”
Fatso sniffed and looked away.
“You know who’ll be cleaning up if I pee my pants, don’t you? Ain’t gonna be buddy boy out there.”
Fatso shifted uneasily. He hadn’t left the room, so she figured he also had to pee by now.
“Listen, I’m busting. There must be a bathroom down here. Can’t you just let me out? It’d take, like, a minute. And I don’t feel like being cooped up in here with wet pants.”
His eyes had gone from a dead stare to shifting this way and that. After checking his watch, he sighed, pushed off the wall, and strolled over.
“You can go to bathroom, then back in cage.”
“I will, I promise. Just let me out before it’s too late.”
He took out his gun, finger looped through the trigger guard while he unlocked the cage.
Sheesh! If I’da known it would be this easy, I would’ve yelled this out sooner, she thought wide-eyed, as she shuffled backwards, reversing out of the cage. Knees out first onto the cold floor, she paused, feeling every creaking muscle. She could barely move. As soon as her head cleared the cage, she straightened, flexing her
back and rubbing her elbows.
He gripped her under the arm and jerked her to her feet. “Get up.”
She grunted in pain. “Careful, will you? I been folded up in there so long I’ve gone stiff.”
He spun her towards the door and shoved her. Next thing, she felt the cold barrel end of the gun pressed hard to the back of her head.
“No stupid moves.”
Both hands up, she moved ahead of him to the bottom of the stairway.
“Up.”
One sharp jab in the back of the head with the gun.
“Ow. I’m going, I’m going.” She rubbed at the back of her head where two lumps had now risen. Up ahead was the freezer door, a padlock snapped shut through a hole in the handle.
Dammit!
The sound of keys being shaken out jingled from behind as she cautiously moved up the stairs. Next thing the gun lifted from the back of her head and the jingle became muffled. She figured he was counting through a keyring, searching for the right key.
Now!
She swung around, knocking his hand aside, and the keys went flying. Just as his aghast expression came up to meet hers, she drove the flat of her foot into his chest. But as solid as he was, he hardly moved. Instead, fury flared in his eyes and he grabbed her ankle and tugged so hard her standing leg buckled. To keep from falling, she snatched the rail with both hands. Already she could see the gun coming up. Using the rail for support, she leapt from the stairs, kicking out at him with her free foot.
He ducked back and she missed. Following the momentum of the kick, she twisted on the stairs and fell flat on her face. He grabbed her by the back of the jacket, hoisted her up like a rag doll, and flung her around. She hit the floor on her shoulder. For a split second she slid on the polished floor and came to a stop with her arms and legs thrown wide. Like a raging bull, he charged across and dropped on top of her, legs straddling her, gun pressed hard to her cheek. She stopped flailing and stared up into his hate-filled eyes.
Furious, lips drawn back into a mask of hatred, he grabbed her shirt at the throat and lifted her, jabbing the gun repeatedly into her cheekbone, using it to punctuate each word he spat through clenched teeth.
“You think I am a fool. I will kill you…kill you right here.” Nostrils flaring, eyes burning with outrage, breaths coming short and hard, he shoved her back. “But not now. When Njerku is done with you, you will be mine.”
The Elizabeth McClaine Thriller Boxed Set Page 78