Cats, Cannolis and a Curious Kidnapping

by Cheryl Denise Bannerman

  My parents managed to save up enough for me to attend the local college and I got my degree in accounting. Numbers was my thing and I was pleased with my decision to become an accountant. I had always dreamed of having my own company and working for myself.

  My dreams fell to the wayside when I met my first wife during a business trip to Connecticut. She was dominant, vocal, and not one for compromise. I found it exciting at first, especially in the bedroom, but then I realized if I heard her say, “Freddy baby, now you know that’s not what we agreed on” one more time, I would lose it. We never agreed to anything. It was HER way or NO way. No in-between.

  She thought it was too risky to start my own business, and just wanted me to take a secure corporate job with a stable salary. My dreams were crushed.

  Just when I thought her complaining would be the death of me, she succumbed to a tragic death. It happened at a time when we were trying to conceive. The doctors suspected she had a severe reaction to the fertility treatments and the sickness just took over. By the time she got to the hospital, it was too late. I was burying her a week later. I was devastated that we would never have a chance to bring a life into this world. I truly loved her, but I have to admit, the silence was golden.

  Now here I am with wife number two and, once again, the nagging never stops about doing more, having more, giving more time… Ugh! How much can one man take?

  It’s bad enough my wife’s ‘daddy’ runs the chain of accounting firms that I work for and is filthy rich. He also happens to be a self-righteous, entitled prick who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth; which makes for the worst type of boss and father-in-law.

  If it wasn’t for the twins and the pre-nup my wife made me sign, I would have tried to get out long ago. My boys, however, were the joy of my life, with bright fiery red hair, just like their daddy. Coming out of my first marriage without children was a disappointment, so I was cherishing any time with my boys. It was exciting watching them reach the various milestones: crawling, walking, and eventually running. They’re now getting ready to enter the fourth grade.

  Driving from the shore back to the suburbs of North Jersey gave me the time I needed to finalize my plan. Hopefully my message was received loud and clear. I don’t believe in coincidences, and there is no way this woman could know this much about my past.

  I now have the solution to having it all. My wife will die tragically in a boating accident, which I have planned for the upcoming summer break with the family. I stand to inherit millions based on the insurance policy payout on accidental deaths. But now, I just couldn’t help but worry.

  Everything was going as planned… until that stupid book lady. She could ruin everything! Damn her!

  Anyway, for now, I have to get inside to work. I’m already late and the boss… Knock, knock, knock!

  A persistent pair of knuckles rapped on my car window. Knuckles that happened to be connected to the arm of the self-righteous, entitled prick, otherwise known as my father-in-law.

  “Frederick! What the hell? I’ve been looking for you all morning!” he barked.

  “Sorry sir. I had some medical stuff to take care of. I thought I sent you an email yesterday, sir.” I responded like a nervous teenage boy going through puberty. The old man always seemed to have that effect on me.

  “Well, get in there and get to work! You sure can’t accomplish anything from the damn parking lot, now can ya?” he barked yet again.

  As we rode the elevator together in silence, I thought about the night before and the exhilaration I felt right before I said those two magic words that drained me out of my last grand… “Hit Me.”

  The dealer had a slight smirk on his face as he said, “Busted, House wins” in what seemed to be slow motion.

  Driving down to the shore to check out that book lady had exposed me to the best of Atlantic City’s sites, which included all of the Casinos along the shore. I must have hit five or six before I tapped out. After losing a bet on the Giants game last Sunday, I was beginning to sweat a little more than usual. The ding of the elevator snapped me out of my daydream and I headed to my desk.

  Time to make the donuts.

  | CHAPTER 5

  1 week ago…

  “Hello… hellooooooo!” no answer again from the other end of the line. These crank calls are really getting on my nerves. I wish they’d at least breathe heavy and say something inappropriate to get me started! Leaving me hanging is just cruel, and probably the closest thing I’ll get to a date for a while.

  In all seriousness, this week has been hell. Besides the crank calls, I’ve been hearing noises at night, getting strange anonymous emails, and I swear I’m being followed every time I go out.

  Speaking of going out, I should actually be on my way out right now. I had better grab the gift and the pan of cannoli I baked last night and head over to my friend Bonnie’s house, who lives in the next town over.

  Bonnie and I met at the newspaper I work for part-time. She’s having a baby shower for her third kid. Frankly, I think that voluntarily putting yourself through childbirth after the first time shouldn’t warrant a party. I mean really, I’ve seen the childbirth videos. Who chooses to do that? Insane!

  Driving through the suburban neighborhoods with their perfectly landscaped lawns and expensive cars in the driveways makes me cringe. I can only imagine the mortgage and utility bills, all for a big home to parade around to friends. Although, my babies would surely have a field day with over 2,000 square feet of home to run around in.

  I pulled into the driveway of Bonnie’s home, and was greeted by her husband Dave and their two kids. They hugged me, grabbed the gift and tray of cannoli, and ran ahead of me to announce my attendance. I was officially marked present. Now I would spend the next few hours answering questions about my next book, why I am not dating, and why I don’t want children. An Italian woman who could cook and had no man or children was an oxymoron to them. However, I couldn’t hear any of it because of that damn biological clock. Shut up already, will ya?!

  Three hours later, I loaded myself into the car with just my pocketbook, feeling a bit shortchanged, when I got a text message from a strange number. It simply said “Drive safe.” I texted back, “Who is this?” but there was no response.

  I don’t mind a little mystery in my life, but this was getting ridiculous.

  I decided to call Shirlene and get some insight.

  She answered on the first ring. Since I had her on hands-free, her greeting echoed through the car and startled me more than usual.

  “Hey Superstar! What’s shakin’?” she rang in.

  “Oh, just coming from a friend’s baby shower where I was grilled for hours about not having a family, and kindly informed about how my time was almost up to do so. You would think I was dying or something. Maybe I’ll want kids when I’m older. I’ve seen miracle women on the news having kids in their mid-forties!”

  Shirlene roared with laughter and said, “Yeah sure, except it’s called artificial insemination… without a man!”

  “Ha-ha, very funny. I could easily get a man and go on a date if I so chose, thank you very much!” I responded.

  “Of course you could, you’re a gorgeous Italian who can cook her ‘cannoli’ off! Any man’s dream!” she said.

  “Yeah-yeah, anyway, I’m calling to see if you remember the weird red-haired guy from the book signing in New York?” I asked, changing the subject away from my uterus.

  Shirlene didn’t seem to know who I was referring to.

  I went on with my story explaining the weird type of altercation in the grocery store, the crank calls, and strange text messages and emails.

  “What the hell does ‘silence is golden’ mean? What a freak! Did you tell the cops?” Shirlene asked, apparently growing agitated and concerned.

  I explained the laughter at the police station when I tried, which seemed to upset her even more.

  “Nobody messes with my Superstar! I’m headed to your house this e
vening and we can work out a plan, okay?” she dictated.

  “No Shirlene, you don’t have to do that. I just wanted to tell you what was going on. Just in case, you know? And, now that I am saying it aloud, the whole scenario sounds utterly ridiculous. I’m sure I am just being overly paranoid as usual. I’ll keep you informed if anything else happens, I promise,” I pleaded.

  A calmer Shirlene responded, “Okay, luv. But you promise to call me, and the cops, if this freak tries to take ‘crazy’ to the next level?”

  “Absolutely! I’ll call you a bit later. Thanks Shirlene!” Hitting the disconnect button, I wondered what the next level would be.

  * * *

  As I pulled into the driveway and opened the garage door, I anticipated seeing Petra or Tiny running to the window. But nothing.

  I closed the garage and walked through the door that led to the kitchen and still, nothing. No one was running to greet me or brushing up and down my legs. Where was everyone?

  That’s when I saw it, turning the corner into the living room. The entire wall was desecrated. Smeared with photographs of me at the grocery store, outside the house gardening, driving… it was so eerie I got a cold chill up my spine and the little hairs on the back of my neck stood upright to attention. Right above the photos, in red paint, were the words “SILENCE IS GOLDEN.” His message was clear. The tall, wiry man with the red hair wanted me to remain silent about something… but what?

  This was definitely ‘the next level’. Shirlene was right, as usual.

  Remembering why I was headed to the living room in the first place, I looked down in search of my babies. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of stomach when I saw the first drop of red on the carpet. I was convincing myself it was just a drop of paint, when I saw the second drop…

  I covered my mouth with my hand and held my breath. There is no way anyone could be that cruel. I followed the drops down the hallway until the trail stopped in front of the linen closet. I could feel my hands trembling as I reached for the knob and turned it slowly clockwise. The closet door was only open a crack when the seven of them ran out in a panic. Oh, thank God! Distressed meows and loud purring ensued as I bent down to hug them all. My life was nothing without these guys. They were my family and I loved them. In that moment I was beyond thankful the stalker had a conscious, or heart, or whatever made sickos like this tick. In the end, he decided to spare my babies.

  I knew this was the last straw. I could not dismiss this incident. Unlike a crank call, this type of invasion into my life threatened my safety and the safety of my babies. This could not be taken lightly.

  I dialed 911 and waited.

  30 minutes later, my doorbell rang. Tiny was the only one who ran for the door. I scooped him up so he wouldn’t make a run for it, and welcomed the officers inside.

  “Ma’am. You called about a break-in?” said the younger officer with the five o-clock shadow. Either he had just pulled a double or he thought that look was sexy on him. It wasn’t.

  “Come in please, yes, I called.” I responded politely, hoping he could not read my thoughts about his scruffy face.

  “My name is Detective Jim Billings, and this is Detective John Solace. Let’s start from the beginning. When did you notice the break-in? Was anything taken?”

  I recounted my story of returning home less than an hour ago from a friend’s house and guided them into the living room to view the wall. I then told them about the crank calls, strange noises, concerning anonymous emails and text messages, and the feeling that I was being followed every time I go out. When they asked if there was anyone I suspected, I told them the story of the tall, wiry man with the red hair, the encounter in the grocery store parking lot, and how the local police would not take my initial report. I left out the part of the story that included sarcasm and laughter on the part of several officers, as I had no desire of getting anyone in trouble.

  I also told the officers I had no idea who the man was and what he wanted me to stay silent about. It appeared to be just as baffling to them as it was to me. The older detective gave me his card and recommended I invest in a security system. I had never given a security system a second thought after all these years in this quiet neighborhood, but apparently times were a changin’.

  I locked up tight after they left and made the call to the security company I just recently saw a commercial for. Their jingle was stuck in my head and I definitely needed to get the ball rolling on this. The safety of my family is a top priority and if I can’t feel safe in my own home, where could I feel safe?

  After I confirmed the appointment for the next morning and got everyone fed, I pulled out my laptop and set up a new document for a brainstorming session. I had to figure out why I was being targeted by this man.

  As I scanned my brainstorming notes, I noticed the same word pop up several times… book. What could he think I knew, that he needed me to, in his words, stay silent about? Something about this man reminded me of a character from one of my past books entitled The Silent Kill. It was the story of a jewel thief who killed his mistress to keep her quiet, after she stumbled upon his criminal late-night activities. But how could this man and a fictional character in a story be related?

  I knew what I was looking for was bigger than ‘Google’, so I headed to the only place I knew for real answers… the library.

  Before I headed out, I texted Shirlene: “You were right. He leveled up. Call you later.”

  * * *

  Upon entering the library, I headed straight for the Reference section. The library closes in two hours, so I would have to work fast.

  The first step would be to gather the date, location and any other pertinent information from the killer in my book, along with what I knew about my red-haired stalker, so I can narrow the search. I came up with the following: 2011, Connecticut, Cynthia, mistress, murder, poison.

  The killer in my book used a poison that mimicked a heart attack and the coroner never suspected a thing. I did a lot of medical research on this poison and thought it was the perfect escape plan for a criminal. I pulled up my notes from my laptop to refresh my memory:

  “Digitoxin is a cardiac glycoside. It has similar structure and effects to digoxin (though the effects are longer-lasting). Unlike digoxin (which is eliminated from the body via the kidneys), it is eliminated via the liver, so could be used in patients with poor or erratic kidney function. However, it is now rarely used in current Western medical practice. While several controlled trials have shown digoxin to be effective in a proportion of patients treated for heart failure, the evidence base for digitoxin is not as strong, although it is presumed to be similarly effective. Digitoxin exhibits similar toxic effects to the more commonly used digoxin, namely: anorexia, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, confusion, visual disturbances, and cardiac arrhythmias. Antidigoxin antibody fragments, the specific treatment for digoxin poisoning, are also effective in serious digitoxin toxicity.”

  Source: http://www.3dchem.com/Digitoxin.asp

  I was beginning to feel like one of the detectives on Law and Order, and was dreaming about the theme song playing in my head as I walked in slow motion to the microfiche machine… until I was rudely interrupted.

  “Miss, excuse me miss?” a small elderly woman with a crackly voice spoke as she reached out for my hand. “You have to sign up for the machines up front and the time allotted is one hour per session, unless no one is waiting. Also, we are closing very soon.”

  I nodded my head and smiled, as I internally rolled my eyes and headed for the Information Desk at the front of the library.

  After signing up and being explained the rules very slowly by yet another elderly library worker, I headed back to my ‘case’ at hand. The theme song was playing again in my head as I walked.

  Typing in my key words, I was sure the results would punish me with a dozen or more rolls of film to sift through, but the number was only three. I quickly wound the film and began scrolling. After an hour, I was beginning to see do
uble when I came across an article that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention…

  A man who bore a striking resemblance to my stalker was suspected of having something to do with his wife’s death in 2011 in Connecticut. Her death was eventually ruled accidental. Could this be my stalker? The resemblance was uncanny, so I referred back to my notes.

  Pieces of the puzzle were coming together in my head. Based on the article:

  The man’s name was Frederick Talon. He lived in Connecticut with his wife and had no kids. Following the wife’s death, the coroner announced no evidence of foul play or toxins in her system. It was therefore not ruled a homicide, but it was noted that the local authorities had a hunch Frederick somehow got away with murder.

  Maybe it was just one of those hunches cops sometimes had — like sexy TV detective, Elliot Stabler. However, most of the hunches he had, got him into hot water with the captain.

  There were some very distinguishable differences between this man and her fictional book character though. This Frederick Talon guy didn’t kill his mistress, there was no mistress, and he certainly didn’t appear to be a sophisticated jewel thief. He looked more like a malnourished book nerd with no fashion sense.

  Yet, he must think I know something about him that could hurt him in some way. He wants me to stay silent for a reason, right? I have to find this man and notify the police of the name I found in the article. Or maybe I should go to the police first, since this guy is obviously a bit off his rocker.

  I rushed out of the library with a new sense of purpose and pulled out of the parking lot headed for the police station.

  While driving, I couldn’t help but wonder if that handsome older officer who gave me his card, would be working on my ‘break-in’ case. I think his name was Solace… John Solace. What a great name. Similar to Bond… James Bond. While imagining him saying his name in slow motion and slowly removing the handcuffs from his belt…