Sour Grapes

by Jeff Shelby

  I leaned back against the couch and closed my eyes. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I told Mikey I’d get the money, just in case we need it for the ransom. But I said we need to buy some time when the kidnapper calls, see if we can get any other info from him. Or her.”

  “You don’t even know if it’s a man or a woman?”

  I opened my eyes. “They’re using some kind of voice-changing device,” I said. “At least that’s what Mikey said.”

  “I don’t like this,” Gunnar said, shaking his head. “This isn’t something you guys should be trying to deal with on your own, regardless of whether it’s a legitimate kidnapping or not. You’re not law enforcement, Rainy. You know that.”

  “And you know who the law enforcement is in this county,” I pointed out. “You really think Sheriff Lewis could do a better job?”

  He didn’t respond because he knew the answer.

  “And like I said before, I really don’t think this person is serious. The details don’t add up.”

  “Maybe Dawn kidnapped the guy and is forcing him to cook at the Wicked Wich,” Gunnar said, only half-kidding.

  I actually smiled. “Doubtful. The grill is visible from the bar; I think we’d see him.”

  “Good point.”

  “You know, the old owner stopped by today,” I said slowly. I hadn’t originally mentioned Lance because I’d been focused on telling Gunnar about the statue, not the kidnapping.

  “Lance?” Gunnar said. “Lance Larson?”

  I nodded. “He seemed really upset over Kenny.”

  “Well, that makes sense,” Gunnar said. “They worked together for a while, from what I recall.”

  “Yeah, but there was something else.” I stared at the empty carton in my hand. “He said the statue and the kidnapping were connected.”

  Gunnar’s brow creased. “So? They are, aren’t they?”

  “Well, yeah,” I said. I set the empty carton on the coffee table. “But no one told him that.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “Chuck told him that Kenny had been kidnapped, but no one said a word about the caller saying they had the statue, too. But when Lance heard the news, he equated the two. He said whoever was responsible for the kidnapping and the theft were pure evil.”

  “That is a little odd,” Gunnar admitted.

  “So it made me wonder...could Lance somehow be responsible?” I asked. “I mean, he’s definitely upset about losing the restaurant. He told me as much the other day, when he stopped by and dropped off some stuff for Mikey.”

  “So you think he stole the statue and kidnapped his ex-chef because he was angry over the restaurant?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Maybe Kenny hasn’t been kidnapped at all. No one has verified he’s missing. He lives alone, he has no family in town. Calls and texts have gone unanswered but that doesn’t prove anything. Maybe he’s out of the country. Maybe he got a new number. Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk.”

  Gunnar had set his own carton of food on the table and was staring at his hands.

  “What?” I asked, immediately sensing that he was thinking about something. I scooted closer to him.

  “The statue,” Gunnar said. He rubbed his fingers over his knuckles, still lost in thought.

  “The statue,” I prompted. “What about it?”

  He finally looked up. “It wouldn’t be the first time Lance Larson has stolen a statue.”

  EIGHTEEN

  THIS WAS NEWS TO ME.

  “Lance Larson has stolen a statue before?”

  Gunnar sat back on the couch and folded one leg over the other. “Back in high school.”

  “Tell me,” I demanded.

  “It was a homecoming prank,” he said. “Happened a few years after I graduated, but I can’t remember the specific year. Our rival, Greenville, has this tiger statue in front of the school. And every year, kids would go over the night before the game and mess with it. TP it, or dress it up. Some kids used silly string on it, too, but that was after I graduated, too. Anyway, one year they decided to go a little farther. The rivalry had amped up a bit and so the night before the game, some kids went and stole the statue.”

  I didn’t grow up in a small town so hearing Gunnar explain this to me was a little like listening to the rituals of some faraway culture. My own high school had been massive, and our football team hadn’t been particularly good. Our rivalry with one of the neighboring schools consisted solely of taunts at games. Defacing and stealing statues? No one would have thought to do that at my high school. Because no one cared enough.

  “How did he steal it?” I asked. “Wasn’t it like bolted to the ground or something?”

  “Nope. It was just a big wood-carved tiger. Some alum donated it back in the 70s, I think.”

  “So what happened? Obviously they found it,” I said, picturing the tiger I’d seen out in front of the high school on the few occasions I’d driven by. It was still there, in all of its faded glory. Based on its appearance, I was pretty sure it was the one Gunnar was talking about.

  “Someone ratted,” Gunnar said with a smile. “Felt guilty about stealing the mascot and went to the principal.”

  “And Lance was responsible?”

  “He never owned up to stealing it,” Gunnar said. “But it was found in his garage.”

  I let out a low whistle. “Did he get suspended or punished in any way?”

  Gunnar smiled. “He had to bring it back to Greenville. And then he had to give a formal apology to both schools. They made him do it at an assembly. Stood up with a microphone and everything. I think he had to perform a whole bunch of community service, too. Specifically for Greenville High.”

  “What about the other kids who were responsible?”

  Gunnar shrugged. “No one else admitted being involved, and Lance refused to name names. So he took the brunt of the blame, even though everyone assumed others had a hand in it, too.”

  I mulled all of this over. I could see a high school kid protecting his friends and taking the fall, especially if he knew the punishment wouldn’t be harsh. And sure, he’d had to perform community service, but it wasn’t like he was suspended or expelled, and it didn’t sound as though it had gone on any sort of permanent record.

  “This sort of sheds new light on things,” I finally said. I stood up and grabbed an open bottle of wine and two stemless glasses. I poured them each half full and then walked them back to the sofa.

  “Need a drink after all this?” Gunnar asked with a wry smile.

  “I’m thirsty,” I said, downing a mouthful. “And wine was the closest thing available.”

  He chuckled. “If you say so.”

  I settled back down on the couch next to him. My sense of urgency, to quickly shower and head back to Mikey, had abated a little. Because if Lance was responsible for the missing statue, maybe the whole kidnapping thing was a hoax. The statue was still missing, of course, and needed to be found, but not worrying about having someone’s life at stake was a bit of a game-changer, at least in the stress-inducing aspect of the whole thing.

  I sighed. What if I was wrong, though? I didn’t like the idea of playing Russian Roulette with someone’s life, purely because I harbored a few doubts.

  “What’s wrong?” Gunnar asked.

  I stared at the burgundy liquid in my glass. “I don’t know what to do. What to think.”

  Gunnar thought for a minute, staring into his own half-empty glass. “I’ll tell you what I think,” he said.

  I looked at him, eager for his opinion, his advice.

  “I still think it was Dawn.”

  “Really?” I frowned. “Even though we know Lance is capable of stealing statues, especially since he’s stolen one before?”

  “I know,” Gunnar said. “But Dawn still makes the most sense.”

  “She wouldn’t kidnap a stranger. Even she isn’t capable of that.” I tried to sound more adamant about this statement than I actually felt.

  “
Let’s put the kidnapping aside,” Gunnar said.

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Not because it’s not important,” he said. “But let’s just focus on one thing at a time.”

  “Even if they might be connected?”

  He sighed. “Can you hear me out, please?”

  “Fine. You think Dawn stole the statue.”

  He nodded emphatically.

  I wasn’t seeing it. Why was he so sure she was the one responsible, especially after what he’d just told me about Lance? Why even bring up that story in the first place?

  “Why?” I asked.

  He sighed again, a deeper one this time. “Because Dawn is angry about losing Mikey. Because Dawn has a temper and is capable of doing a lot of vindictive things.”

  I couldn’t argue with any of this.

  He hesitated. “And because I saw her vandalizing the restaurant.”

  NINETEEN

  “YOU SAW DAWN VANDALIZING the Cow & Vine?”

  Gunnar nodded.

  I tried to process this bit of news. And failed.

  “I need more wine,” I announced, standing up.

  I crossed the room and grabbed the open bottle from the dining room buffet. I brought it back to the table and poured the remaining wine into our glasses.

  I sat back down and took a long drink. “Alright, tell me.”

  “It was a few days ago,” he said. “I’d gotten a call from a buddy of mine, Jasper. He owns the thrift shop over in Winslow.”

  I knew the thrift shop. It was right next to Mikey’s restaurant.

  “Anyway, he called to let me know he’d gotten a whole bunch of used tools and gardening equipment in. He knows I’m always on the lookout for those kinds of things so he wanted to give me a head’s up. He wasn’t gonna hold any of it for me, but he told me to come by the next morning and I could have first dibs.”

  I took another sip of wine and waited for him to continue. The wine was at least doing its job; I felt more relaxed than I’d been all day.

  “I drove in pretty early that morning, probably around eight o’clock. Anyway, as I was pulling into Winslow, I noticed a car in the restaurant parking lot.”

  “It was Dawn?” I said eagerly.

  He shook his head. “No, it was someone from out of town. Kentucky. They were on their way to Richmond and had gotten a flat tire.”

  There were an awful lot of flat tires happening around town. I wondered if they’d had a nail puncture their tire, too.

  “It was an older gentleman and his wife so I stopped and helped them get the spare on, told them where they could go to get a new tire.”

  This sounded just like Gunnar, always willing to help out.

  “Anyway, they went on their way and I was all ready to head to the thrift store when I saw someone peel out from the back lot, behind the restaurant.” He paused, his eyes meeting mine. “It was Dawn.”

  “And you saw her damaging the restaurant?” I wondered why Mikey hadn’t said anything about this. If she’d broken a window or destroyed the property in some other way, I’d think it would come up in conversation. Even if he didn’t know who was responsible, he should have at least mentioned it to me, especially with everything else that was going on with the restaurant.

  “No, I didn’t see her do anything,” Gunnar admitted, sipping from his newly filled glass. “But I drove around back after she left, just because I was curious.”

  “And?”

  “Now, I’m not saying she did it, because I didn’t see her,” he warned. “But the back door had been egged.”

  “Egged?”

  Gunnar nodded. “A whole dozen. Whoever did it left the empty carton there.” He sipped his wine. “I cleaned it up. Figured the sooner I got it off the door, the better.”

  Of course he did. Because he was Gunnar.

  I sighed and slumped back against the couch cushion.

  “What?” he asked, eyeing me. “You look upset.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s an awful lot that points to Dawn being the one responsible,” I said. “But then there’s Lance. He has literally stolen a statue before!” I paused. “And I hate to keep pointing it out, but Charlotte has a motive, too.”

  “But no way to do it,” Gunnar reminded me.

  “That we know of,” I said. I covered my face with my hands. “I have no idea who is responsible. None. And the clock is ticking. Not just for recovering the statue, but the whole kidnapping thing, too.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “If there even is a kidnapping.”

  My head hurt. And it wasn’t from the wine I was sucking down.

  My phone started ringing and I pushed myself off the couch to get it.

  It was Mikey, and my heart skipped a beat. What did I miss by sitting home and having dinner with Gunnar instead of rushing back to the restaurant?

  “Still no word,” he said, a little breathlessly.

  Relief flooded me. Although, if I were being honest, this news didn’t take me completely by surprise.

  “Look, I know you were planning on coming back here but I need to go home,” Mikey said. “I haven’t slept in two days. I’m a wreck. I literally can’t think straight. But staying here and waiting is pointless.”

  “I can come to your house,” I said quickly. “That way I’m there if they call. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I’ll turn my volume up on my phone and I’ll call you if I hear from them.”

  “I know I don’t have to come over,” I said, “but I want to.”

  The line buzzed. “I think you should stay home,” he said quietly. “Get some sleep. Recharge. We have so little to go on, and I don’t think waiting until morning is the worst thing.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was trying to convince me, or himself. “I don’t know...”

  “I do,” Mikey said, his voice firm. “You’ll be the first person I call if I hear anything. And we can meet up tomorrow morning, figure out what our next steps are.”

  “About the statue?”

  “About everything.” He sighed. “The statue and the restaurant are the least of my concerns. If someone is in danger, we need to focus on that. We can always move the opening, and the statue is replaceable. People are not.”

  Mikey and I said our goodbyes and I hung up. But I kept the phone cradled in my hand and stared at the blank screen.

  “Everything okay?” Gunnar asked.

  “I have no idea,” I said honestly. “Mikey doesn’t want me to come. He’s going home. He said he’d call if he heard anything, and that we can just start fresh in the morning.” I closed my eyes. “My brain hurts.”

  “You know what I think?” Gunnar said gently.

  I looked at him. “What?”

  He took the phone from my hand and set it down on the table. “I think you’re in no condition to go anywhere or help anyone tonight. You’re exhausted. You’ve had a little too much wine. The best thing for you to do is to get a good night’s sleep and tackle this in the morning.”

  “But what if something happens?” I asked.

  “That’s out of your control,” Gunnar said. “And I’m not sure you’re equipped right now to do anything about it.”

  I hated to admit it, but Gunnar was right. I was tired: physically, mentally, and emotionally. Mikey hadn’t received a phone call yet, and even he had decided to call it a night and go home. The fact that we didn’t have any direction from the kidnappers led me to optimistically believe that Kenny would be safe for a little while if he was, in fact, in any danger... safe until we got further instructions on how to move forward, at least.

  “Alright,” I said, finally relenting.

  Gunnar smiled, then stood up with both of our empty wine glasses.

  “Thanks,” I murmured.

  “For what?”

  “For taking those to the kitchen.”

  “Oh, I’m fillin
g these up.” He grinned. “Because I think you’re gonna need it.”

  TWENTY

  A CONSTANT BUZZING sounded in my ears.

  I winced as I opened my eyes, trying to figure out where the incessant noise was coming from.

  Bleary-eyed, I fumbled for the source, my hand swiping across the nightstand before finally making contact with my phone.

  One glance at the name displayed on the screen and I was immediately wide-awake.

  “Mikey,” I said. “Did you hear from them?”

  “No.” His voice was almost shrill. “They never called.”

  I blinked a couple of times, trying to adjust to the brilliant sunshine streaming through my window. I was wrapped in my comforter like a caterpillar in a cocoon.

  “It’s still early,” I started to say but he cut me off.

  “It’s ten o’clock!”

  I twisted free of the sheets. I’d slept until ten o’clock? I rarely slept past seven most days. Bits and pieces started coming back to me from the previous night: sitting with Gunnar, cracking open—and finishing—another bottle of wine. And him tucking me into bed before he left for the night. I’d asked him to stay but he refused.

  “You need your sleep,” he’d told me.

  Clearly, he’d been right.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Mikey said. “How am I supposed to help Kenny if I don’t know where to bring the money?”

  “Wait a minute.” I sat up, trying to ignore the slight pounding in my temple. It was a good thing I’d eaten so much Chinese food; otherwise, I would have had a raging headache from the amount of wine I’d consumed. “What money?”

  “The ransom,” he said impatiently.

  I frowned. Was I forgetting part of our conversation from the previous night? Had he called since then but I wasn’t remembering? Had he made contact with the kidnapper? Did this mean we really were dealing with a kidnapping and a theft?

  “I know there was a ransom,” I said, trying to clear my head. “But you’re talking about it as though you have it.”

  “I do.”

  I cradled my head in my hand. “I’m so confused.”

  “I went home last night like I said I was, and I tried to sleep but it was impossible. I kept worrying that I would miss the phone call. I got up early this morning, before dawn, and figured out a way to get a cash advance on my credit card. Because it was such a large amount, I couldn’t withdraw it from an ATM but they went ahead and transferred it into my bank account. It should be available sometime today.”