by Sara Rosett
My heart, which had ballooned with a bit of hope during the first part of his speech, immediately deflated. The fireworks continued, each explosion seeming to further decimate my hopes. All Jenson had to do was make a call, and the place would be swarming with police. He could probably even take me into custody and come up with a dozen charges . . . withholding evidence being the first one.
“You understand, I have to error on the side of caution,” Jenson concluded.
“Yes, I understand,” I said quickly. I had to try and convince him to help. I leaned over the armrest as I said, “But we don’t have a lot of time. Look, I didn’t call you when Ben was . . . taken, snatched . . . whatever you want to call it, because I had no proof. There weren’t any witnesses in the parking lot. No video. I didn’t have the laptop or the memory card, only the purse that you hadn’t wanted. Ben is a grown man. You wouldn’t be able to do much until he’d been gone for twenty-four hours, right?”
I hurried on before he could answer. “And then there was the Angela component. At that time, you didn’t think she’d been murdered, but Ben and I did. We didn’t know for sure, but her death seemed suspicious. I didn’t know if I’d get any help if I came to you. Later, when you reversed course and began investigating Angela’s death as a possible murder, I couldn’t come to you because . . . well, I didn’t know for sure where Ben was. Since he was MIA, that would make him look even more guilty.”
I paused for a breath, hoping I wasn’t muddling the situation even more. “All I’m asking is that you wait until midnight, let me make the exchange with Dwight. Watch it—from a discreet distance without going all Die Hard and calling in a ton of police. If Dwight shows up with Ben and hands him over for the memory card, that will prove Dwight is involved. You can take it from there. I just want to make sure Ben is safe and that my kids don’t get hurt.”
His fingers had been tapping out a quick beat on his ankle as I spoke. When I finished, he considered me for a moment, then said, “Let me make a call.” I opened my mouth, and he held up his hand. “Not for reinforcements,” he said. “This is a . . . delicate situation and, as much as I hate to say this, I think it may fall outside our normal procedure.”
I jumped at the tap on the window beside me. It was Mitch. “This is my husband, Mitch,” I said quickly because Jenson was reaching for something; his gun, I presumed. I opened the door and stepped out quickly, saying to Mitch, “This is Detective Jenson.”
Mitch and the detective nodded at each other. Detective Jenson’s call went through, and he pulled his phone closer to his ear as he spoke quietly.
“Couldn’t ditch him?” Mitch asked under his breath.
“Had to bring him on board,” I said just as quietly. “I think he’s going to help us.”
“That’s good, because we don’t have time for anything else. But don’t you think Dwight will notice you’re bringing a rather large party, considering he only expected one person?”
“This place is crawling with people. Like you said, it’s a carnival. If it was deserted and there was no one here but us and Dwight, I’d be worried, but I think even Jenson can blend in here. And, I’d rather have him close in case something goes wrong . . .”
“Nothing will go wrong,” Mitch said, and I nodded. Despite the conviction in his tone, I still had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was probably a good thing I hadn’t indulged in any deep-fried food. I ignored the churning in my stomach and said, “So, the fountain. What does it look like?”
“Dwight won’t see me or Monica. There’s a gazebo not too far from the fountain.”
I looked around. “Where is Monica?”
“On the roof of the gazebo.”
“Oh.”
“Okay, Mrs. Avery. You get your wish,” Detective Jenson said as he put away his phone and leaned down so he could see out the door. “If I’m to be a part of this affair, you better bring me up to speed.”
I hit the button to unlock the other doors, and we climbed into the van, Mitch taking the seat behind me. He picked up the kids’ Etch-A-Sketch from the floorboard and drew several lines. “Here’s the plantation,” he said, leaning forward between the seats and pointing to a long line on the right. “The fountain is here,” he said, transferring the pen tip to a circle in the center of the Etch-A-Sketch.
“There’s a gazebo to the northwest,” he said, adding an octagon to the upper left-hand side of the screen. “That’s where Monica is. The sidewalks have pathway lighting every two feet or so. There are spotlights on the fountains. There is an interior light inside the gazebo and two spotlights on the lower portion of the gazebo, but no light up around the roof. There are two other fountains,” Mitch said, drawing additional circles near the top and bottom of the screen. “They’re illuminated, but there’s no other lighting.”
Mitch put an x on the octagon. “I’ll be on the roof here with Monica. It’s a good vantage point. The darkness will hide us.”
I looked from the sketch to the grove of oaks brooding beyond the fence. “Where do you think Ben is? He’s probably already here, right?”
Mitch ran his hand over his jaw, then added another square to his drawing up near the plantation house. “There’s a building here behind a screen of bushes, a storage or equipment shed. They might stash him there, or somewhere around the stage, or he could be in a car out here.”
“Or in the crowds,” Jenson said, eyeing the gate, “but people are already leaving, and it will thin out even more since the fireworks are over.”
“Will we be able to get out?” I asked, because as nice as the grounds of Green Groves were, I didn’t want to hang out any longer than we had to.
“I think so. It will take at least an hour for everyone to leave, and then they’ll have to shut everything down. I doubt these gates will close before one a.m.”
He leaned toward the drawing and tapped the square that Mitch had drawn to represent the outbuilding. “Any place to wait around there, besides the building?”
Mitch nodded slowly. “Yes. There’s a large tree and one of those arch things with flowers growing over it,” Mitch said, looking to me for the exact wording.
“An arbor?”
“That’s it. It’s not one of those wobbly ones. This one is made of iron and about six feet tall.”
“Okay, that’s where I’ll be,” Jenson said. He reached for the door handle, but his phone buzzed. He took the call, grunted, then said, “Okay, can you stay on it?” There was a pause, and then he said, “Yeah, I know. I owe you another one.”
He carefully put his phone on SILENT, then said, “That was a colleague of mine who lives close to your sister-in-law.”
Earlier, when I’d run down everything that had happened, he’d asked for Summer’s address and nodded like he was familiar with the area.
“I asked my colleague to drive by the condo,” Jenson continued, and my hands curled into fists. What had he done? Had he tipped our hand?
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Avery. She’s one of the best on the force. She was careful but says that there is a car parked outside the condo with two men in it who seem to have nothing better to do than wait in the parking lot on a muggy night.”
“So it is true,” I said, realizing that I’d hoped Ben had been mistaken. I felt like I did during my bouts with morning sickness.
“Afraid so, which is both a good and bad thing,” Jenson said. “Bad, because it shows that Dwight means business.”
“How can it be good?” I asked, my fingernails digging into my palms.
“It’s good because it confirms one part of your story. So I think we can move ahead with these plans,” he said, pointing to the Etch-A-Sketch. “I’ll watch the exchange, and then take Mr. Fellows aside, let him know I’m anxious to chat with him about day’s events.”
“But the kids,” I said quickly.
“My friend won’t let them out of her sight. If those guys in the car make a move, she’ll take care of it.”
“Are you
sure?” I asked, glancing at Mitch.
“Oh, she’ll be fine. She’s an aikido instructor,” Jenson said.
“I don’t know . . .”
“And she’s got her gun. No one will get through that condo door without her . . . approval, let’s say.”
“Okay, I guess that will have to do,” I said. “Not that I don’t appreciate you calling her, but I’d rather the kids weren’t involved in any way.”
“I understand,” Jenson said.
“Any questions, any concerns?” Mitch asked as he checked his cell phone, making sure it was on SILENT as well. Jenson took the Etch-A-Sketch and looked over it one more time.
“Nope. I’m good.” I was sure the absurdity of using a kid’s toy to plan a swap with a kidnapper would have struck me as funny if I hadn’t been so nervous.
“One thing,” Mitch said, taking the toy back and tossing it on the seat. “Why are you being so cooperative?” he asked Jenson.
Jenson gave Mitch an assessing look, then said, “I’ve got as much at stake as you do. I let your wife walk away with evidence that she’d offered to turn over to me. I told her it wasn’t important. If I don’t want this situation to blow up in my face, my best play is to make sure Ben is safe, your kids stay safe, and that Dwight Fellows is in my custody. That’s the only way for me to salvage this. And,” he added with a bit of a grin, “you may have noticed I’m not exactly a by-the-book kind of guy. I’m okay with dabbling outside the lines as long as it gets results.”
“Understood,” Mitch said with a nod.
They both made moves to leave the van, and I said, “Isn’t it a little early?” It was only eleven-ten.
“You can never arrive too early at the drop site,” Jenson said with a wink. “That’s my motto.”
I waited until the van’s dashboard clock read eleven-thirty. I couldn’t stand it any longer and climbed out of the van. If Jenson, Mitch, and Monica could be early, I could, too. I’d spent the last twenty minutes imagining every possible thing that could go wrong.
I slammed the door, clicked the lock on the key fob, and tightened my grip around the memory card in my palm. It felt good to be moving around, doing something.
I walked briskly down the drive, threading through the thinning crowd under the lights. The celebration was winding down. People were moving toward the parking area and vendors were cleaning booths. Pushing against the trickle of people, I emerged into the grassy area. The stage was empty except for two people collapsing chairs. I wondered where Suzie and Nick were. Would they watch the exchange? I doubted it. They’d probably stay as far away as possible.
The pillars of the antebellum house glowed brightly against the surrounding darkness. People were walking back from the fireworks display, moving at a leisurely pace up the path that ran around the right side of the house. I slowed and moved around the left side toward the gardens, which seemed deserted.
I crossed the bricked terrace and paused at the top of the steps that descended to the gardens, getting my bearings and searching the pockets of darkness. The dolphin fountain was at the center of the gardens. It was well lit and I could hear the burble of water even at a distance. If I stayed close to the fountain, Monica should be able to get everything on video.
Outside the circle of light enclosing the fountain, I spotted the gazebo with its interior lights and spotlights on the flowers mounded around its base. I squinted at the roof, but couldn’t pick out any familiar shapes against the black of the sky. I moved down the steps and let my gaze drift to the outbuilding and the arbor, which were clumps of deeper darkness.
The gardens were classic French style with scroll-shaped beds bordered with low boxwood hedges. Crushed shell paths ran in curving lines that converged on the center fountain. I crunched to the fountain. I certainly wouldn’t be sneaking up on anyone.
I circled the fountain once, feeling the strain of not knowing how many people were out there hidden in the dark. I felt jittery and wanted to hang back in the darkness outside of the lights, but I didn’t want to delay the process any longer, either, so I took a seat on one of the benches that encircled the fountain. I chose the one facing the gazebo and hoped that Monica would be able to get a clear shot. I checked my watch. Eleven-forty.
The water sprayed through the air, sending off little rainbow refractions. Sweat gathered along my hairline and at my armpits, and it wasn’t just because of the sultry night air. I carefully switched the memory card from one hand to the other as I wiped my palms on my jeans. I tried to envision a calm and serene place . . . like the beach, I decided, conjuring up the image of the water flowing in and receding. I focused on that image for a while, then checked my watch.
Eleven forty-one.
One minute? Good grief. This must be what a time-out felt like for Livvy and Nathan. I shifted on the bench and tried to look like I spent the midnight hours in the gardens of antebellum homes all the time. Except for the faint sound of voices coming from the people leaving the event, the garden was quiet. The only other sound was the tumble of water shooting out of the dolphins’ mouths. After a few more minutes, that noise combined with my nervousness had me wishing I’d made a pit stop at one of the porta-potties that had been lined up at the rear of the parking area. I crossed my legs and thought of deserts and cactus and sandstorms.
I tensed as footsteps crunched sharply through the shell walkway. I turned in the direction of the sound, the direction of the house. “Ah, Mrs. Avery, you’re early,” Dwight said as he emerged from the darkness, like an actor walking into the spotlight on a stage. “Thank you so much for coming.” His voice was jovial, and for a second I felt as if I should thank him for the invitation, but I jerked that thought process to a halt. This wasn’t a social occasion.
I stood and said, “There are other places I’d rather be.”
“My thoughts as well. Shall we get on with it?” He held out his hand.
“I want to see Ben.”
He sighed elaborately. “Really? You insist on that old trope?”
“Yes. I don’t care about the photos or selling them . . . all I care about is Ben.”
“You think I don’t know that? Do you know what I used to do? Before I went to Hollywood? I started in politics. ‘Opposition research,’ they call it now. Nice name for digging up the dirt on someone. I know all about you. I know you’re on vacation. I know you brought your kids to the beach, that you’ve never been to Sandy Beach before. I know your husband is on his way, but he’s been delayed. In short, I know that you’re a woman alone, a woman without resources, without help. For all those reasons, we’re playing this by my rules. You’ll show me the photos first, then I’ll show you Ben. Because I heard a nasty rumor that you’ve been running all over town . . . that you didn’t really know where they were. I need to see that there’s actually something on that memory card besides pictures of your adorable children at the beach.”
“The photos are here. I’d be glad to show you, but I don’t have a computer or camera.”
“Here you are,” he said, and unfastened the pearl snap on the breast pocket of his Western shirt. He pulled out a small camera and tossed it to me.
I loaded the memory card and found the buttons to shift the camera into REVIEW mode. I brought up the first picture of Suzie and turned the camera screen toward him. “There they are,” I said, quickly scrolling through the photos.
“Very good,” he said, then called over his shoulder, “Lee, you can bring him out now.”
There was a shuffling sound along the path near the outbuilding, and then a circle of light thrown from a flashlight danced around the ground.
“His face, you idiot,” Dwight shouted, and threw me an exasperated glance as if to say, you see what I have to deal with?
The light bobbed erratically for a few seconds across the boxwood hedges, then came to rest on Ben’s face. He turned away from the glare. He looked so annoyed that I knew he was okay.
I nodded at Dwight, and he nodded back, ex
tending his hand. “Give me the camera.”
“As soon as Ben starts walking.”
“Gawd, you watch too many movies,” he said, frustration lacing his tone. “Okay.” Dwight waved his hand at Ben. “Come on down here. Lee, you stay there.” Under his breath, he added, “where you can’t muck things up.”
I swallowed and slowly began extending my hand as Ben crunched down the path. When he entered the circle of light around the fountain, I fully extended my arm, and Dwight snatched the camera. I turned to Ben and gave him what I’m sure he would classify as a smothering hug.
“I’m so glad to see you,” I said, then rushed on as I pulled back to look at him. “What were you thinking at the hotel parking lot? Going off alone like that? If I hadn’t followed you . . .” I trailed off because Ben had gone tense and suddenly had a strange look on his face. My back was to the fountain, but Ben was staring over my shoulder in that direction.
“Folks, we’re not finished here,” Dwight said.
I turned and sucked in a breath. Dwight had added one accessory to his Western wear. If only it had been one of those clichés, like a bolo tie or cowboy hat.
He held a gun, a sleek black model.
Chapter Twenty-one
“Where did he get that?” I asked. His jeans were way too tight for him to have had that gun hidden away in a pocket.
“Waistband at the small of his back,” Ben whispered.
Dwight slipped the camera into his breast pocket, then used the same hand to remove a phone from a clip at his waist. “I have something I know you’ll want to see.”
He tapped the screen a few times with his thumb, then turned it toward us. “Recognize that?”
“Yes,” I said, my heart beginning to thud. It was Summer’s front door at her condo. The lilac door and sea-foam blue trim were distinctive. I recognized it from pictures Summer had sent us.
“This here is a handy thing,” Dwight said, his voice billowing with smugness. “It’s a live video, coming from a car parked in front of your sister-in-law’s condo. I have two men there who will break in and take your kids, if you don’t do as I say. Now, let’s finish this up. You’re going to do what mothers always do—the noble thing. You’re going to sacrifice yourself for your kids.”