Stardom Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mystery #12

by Connie Shelton

A horn blared as String pulled out into traffic without looking. I gripped the edge of the seat, ready for anything. With whatever pills he’d taken, he now had the attention span of a gnat. His driving was all over the place and from what I’d gleaned of the phone call he’d just made, so were his verbal skills.

  We’d pulled into the parking lot of a truck stop east of Flagstaff, where String had pulled out the new cell phone and called a number that he’d written on a small scrap of dingy paper.

  He addressed the person who answered as Stein and then he rattled off a bunch of paranoid nonsense about seeing cops following us. I glanced around, hope being the eternal thing that it is, but didn’t see a single sign of a lawman.

  String went into a rant about killing Cristina if he so much as saw any cops around. Gee, that was a comforting thought. One traffic officer and I’d be toast.

  The other person must have said something about that because String’s next line of talk was about the money—he reiterated that it was to be five million dollars, cash—and then he told them he would call back and he ended the call abruptly. He tossed the phone into a trash barrel and off we went.

  Now we were in the middle of town, the town where my mother-in-law lived, the first place we’d been, so far, where I might be reasonably sure of finding a safe haven. String passed the exit that would have led to Catherine Langston’s home, then another before he decided to get off the Interstate.

  “There’s a Radio Shack,” Mole said, pointing to a small strip-mall on the right.

  String whipped into the lot, barely braking, drawing another blare of a horn from someone. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to survive his driving, let alone the whole ransom mess.

  He parked in front of a grocery, at least two hundred yards from the wide windows fronting the electronics store. I had to give him credit for making a few smart moves along the way.

  “Kid, you’re coming with me,” he said, turning to face Ollie. “Mole, you watch her.”

  Mole turned to face me, picking up the pistol that had been resting in his lap, while String tucked his own into his waistband and covered it with his shirttail. String pocketed the keys to the Explorer and I watched Ollie follow along with him toward the buildings.

  My legs were achy and cramped from the hours of sitting and I gave them a little stretch. But I managed to kick the back of the driver’s seat, which Mole found suspicious. He trained the gun on me and growled.

  “Hey! I’m sorry you and String argued. I’m sorry that you don’t have your millions of dollars yet. But don’t take it out on me. I just need some exercise.”

  He looked momentarily taken aback by my tone. I wondered if I’d pushed a little too far, but he relaxed.

  “Take ’em awhile to get those phones,” he said. “We could walk around the parking lot, I guess.”

  “Really?” The small act of kindness was so unexpected that I nearly teared up.

  “Sure.” He got out first and came around to open my door, after I’d tried it myself. The SUV had those stupid backdoor locks that don’t let kids escape their parents or hostages escape their captors. The pistol clearly showed through the pocket of his windbreaker, and his hand very obviously held a strong grip on it. Acts of kindness were not to become the norm, obviously.

  “Stay near the car. I don’t want no trouble with String, he catches you outside.”

  I glanced around the parking lot. Clearly, any possibility of my running away was nil. This early in the morning the lot was merely dotted with cars—no cover for me if I should dash, virtually no one around to hear a commotion. I wasn’t about to test Mole’s proficiency with the gun. He’d never bought into String’s insistence that I be unharmed and I felt sure he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot me down if I challenged him. Plus, the vision of Billy’s quick demise and his body out in the desert worked wonders to keep me in line.

  My legs were so stiff from inactivity that I was doing well just to hobble around. I made a couple of small circuits, pacing off the yellow lines of a few parking spaces, tracing my way back. As my ankles and knees began to feel more flexible I did a few stretches and toe-touches. Mole stayed with me the whole time, nudging the gun against my side once or twice just to reinforce who was in charge.

  “Back inside,” he ordered after about five minutes.

  Obviously, he didn’t want me to stretch my muscles enough and get brave enough to make a run for it. Since I’d mentally been mapping out a route between cars that involved alternately running in a zig-zag pattern and dropping for cover, working my way toward the entrance of the supermarket, his concern was probably well grounded.

  When I didn’t move to obey, he walked up close and faced me, as if we were lovers having an intimate conversation. His breath reeked. I wondered if it would be feasible to request that someone grab us all some toothbrushes. My own mouth was none too fresh, either. I took one giant step back and walked briskly to the SUV.

  At least twenty minutes went by before String and Ollie came out of the electronics store. They took their seats and minutes later we were westbound out of Flagstaff.

  Tension permeated the atmosphere in the SUV. String, clearly, wasn’t happy this morning. He snapped at the others whenever anyone spoke. His driving was still erratic, keeping everyone else on edge. Even Ollie, the acquiescent one, sat at his end of the back seat tense as a cat.

  I chafed at the fact that we were leaving the city where I might have found safe refuge with Drake’s mother. All the should-haves ran through my head. I should have bailed when we were at the side of the road in the dark last night. I should have run for it, just now, while only Mole guarded me and I was out in the open. I should be more alert to every opportunity. I know that kidnappings rarely turn out well for the victim. And in this case it would take only one misplaced word from Cristina Cross’s world to let these desperate men know that they had the wrong woman.

  Charlie Parker was worth nothing to them. My stomach went into somersaults every time I thought about what String’s reaction would be as soon as he figured that out. My leg bounced restlessly until I forced myself to calm down. Nothing would be gained by letting them see that I was doing some heavy thinking here.

  A highway sign appeared, indicating the turnoff for the Grand Canyon. String slowed. Made the turn. I had a sickening vision of the massive drop-offs, the unending miles of wilderness and millions of places where my body would never be found. I couldn’t let that happen.

  Mole and String controlled all the pistols. Somehow, the very next time we stopped, before we ever got to the precipice, I had to get one of the weapons. I’m a fairly decent shot at the firing range. I’ve experienced a couple of close encounters with people, and I’ve been lucky enough that I was never forced to shoot with intent to harm. But that mindset must change. I had to be ready. To save my life I needed to make up my mind that I could and would kill all three of them.

  String drove the Explorer another half mile and found a spot in the middle of nowhere to pull off the road. He growled something at Mole, who turned in his seat and trained his gun straight at me. I couldn’t even sneak my left hand over toward the door handle without being seen.

  Meanwhile, String stepped outside. A blast of heat whooshed in, replacing the comfy air conditioned air. Both Mole and Ollie lowered their windows to make the breeze carry through. I watched String.

  He pulled out the little scrap of paper again, dialed the number. It was picked up almost immediately.

  “You got the money?” he asked.

  Unlike the other times he’d called, he let the other person speak for a second. They must have asked for verification that I was all right because String turned around and aimed the phone’s little camera lens at me. He snapped it and started talking again.

  “There. You happy? Good. This afternoon. Barstow. I’ll call again with the exact time and location.” He hung up before the other person could say anything more.

  A hundred thoughts went through my mind but the one tha
t rang loudest was: They’re agreeing to pay?

  Chapter 25

  Drake got off the phone with his mother. He’d told Catherine exactly what Kingston had advised. Stay by the phone in case she should hear from Charlie. Get both of them to a safe place if Charlie should show up. He’d swallowed hard when he had to admit that his wife was in the hands of some pretty desperate men.

  Catherine, bless her, didn’t ask too many questions. After the initial shock she’d rallied like a trouper and said she’d be ready. She had a friend who was the former police chief. They would go to his house.

  “How long before we hear back from them, do you think?” he asked Kingston.

  The agent shook his head. “No idea. A few hours? Or it might not even be today.”

  He looked at Drake with genuine empathy. “Grab a shower if you want. Get some rest.”

  “I’ve already slept longer than I thought possible,” Drake said. “But a shower would be good.”

  “I’ll monitor your cell if you want,” the agent offered.

  Drake handed over his and Charlie’s phones and went back to his own room. With a disposable razor, gratis from the front desk, and the tiny bottle of shampoo in his room he managed to become presentable. When he got back to the command room things had settled into a lull.

  “This is the boring part,” Kingston said. “Unless we get a report from law enforcement somewhere in Arizona, all we can do now is wait for their phone call.”

  They had pulled chairs from several of the other motel rooms, those stiff upright things that defy one to settle down comfortably. Two agents continued to monitor the computers but it didn’t seem there was much to watch at the moment. Someone came in at one point with a bag of fast food breakfast sandwiches. Everyone except Drake reached for them eagerly.

  An hour went by, feeling more like a day. Drake stared at the readout on his cell phone about every five minutes. No amount of willpower, it seemed, could make it send Charlie’s voice over the airwaves to him. Another hour was creeping along when Kingston reacted to another vibration from the producer’s phone that he kept in his pocket.

  “Yeah, I’ve got the money,” he said. “But I want to see that she’s alive and well.” He looked at the tiny screen on the phone and aimed a thumbs-up toward his team.

  “What—” He lowered the phone. The line was dead.

  “I started to ask what time,” he said.

  He handed the phone over to Drake. The picture was skewed and dark, but it was definitely Charlie. She had a surprised look on her face but she didn’t seem to be harmed. He studied it for a full minute before reluctantly handing it back to Kingston, who folded the phone and put it back in his pocket.

  “Barstow,” Kingston said. “That’s where they want the money brought. Get me the logistics.”

  The agents on the computers tapped away furiously at their keyboards.

  “There are a couple of small regional airports,” Drake said. “I’ve flown some jobs in that area but it’s been a few years ago.”

  “Helicopter’s not going to be the quickest way to get out there,” Kingston said. He chewed at his lip. “Not practical to take a whole team anyway. We’ll get some of the California offices on it.”

  “But you’re the one negotiating—”

  “Right. I need to stay on this phone. Be the one to take their calls.”

  “I can fly you out there. We could meet up with the other teams.”

  Kingston debated that. A long minute went by. Then another.

  Drake felt like every nerve in his body was twitching.

  Kingston shook his head. “No go. Our resources are better utilized if I stay put and keep this command center set up. I can take calls from the kidnappers and then coordinate with agents on the ground in California.”

  He turned to one of the other agents. “Tighten the net. I want to know if that SUV is spotted. The most likely, most practical way into Barstow from Arizona is on I-40. Make it clear that the vehicle should not be approached. These guys are going to get antsy as the payoff time gets closer. Do not—repeat it when you give the order—do not let anyone stop that car.”

  “I could head that way,” Drake said. “Surveillance by air. They won’t suspect a civilian aircraft . . .”

  The agent appeared to give it some thought but shook his head, nixing the idea. “I’ll brief Stein on this latest development, too, and make sure he’s keeping the actress and her publicist under control. Last thing we need right now is for some gung-ho paparazzi to broadcast a picture of the real Cristina Cross stepping out of a club somewhere in London.”

  Chapter 26

  My head spun. Cristina Cross’s producer or family had actually agreed to pay five million dollars? Did they not realize that she wasn’t here? Why would they agree to pay to get me back? Surely, Drake was in touch with the authorities by now. Surely Gina at the bank had identified me as the hostage. I couldn’t figure out what was going on.

  And Barstow? I had no idea why String chose that location but maybe it made sense. It was no one’s home turf. Neither the producer nor the gang had ties there, as far as I knew. I’d been through Barstow once, years ago. As I recalled there were several highways in and out, which would give the gang plenty of choices for their getaway. Maybe String had actually thought this through.

  The upside was that, barring everything going horribly wrong, it looked like I might actually get traded for a truck full of cash and could go back home without having to shoot anyone.

  String got back into the Explorer and started the engine. He had a goofy smile on his face and I couldn’t tell if that was from the anticipation of a multi-million dollar payoff or if the drugs were still in his system.

  “I’m hungry,” he announced. He turned around and found a McDonald’s in the last town we’d passed through.

  As soon as I smelled that eau de French-fry coming from the exhaust fans at the place, my stomach growled in anticipation. Once again, he parked in an out of the way spot, left the engine running, and sent Ollie in for the chow. As soon as everyone had rummaged for burgers and fries we were back on Interstate 40 again.

  “I don’t like this,” Mole said. “Being on this highway. Too open, too many cops.”

  I hadn’t noticed a single law enforcement vehicle in ages. Trust me, I’d been watching and hoping.

  “You got a map?” String challenged. “Find us another way to Barstow.”

  Mole pouted in his seat but String stayed with I-40. His medication must have worn off because once he’d downed the lunch he began to act sleepy. The SUV drifted toward the shoulder a time or two. Mole dozed fitfully in his seat. Ollie noticed about the same time I did, that we’d nearly edged into the side of an eighteen-wheeler.

  “Hey, String, watch out!”

  Ollie’s shout and the deep horn of the tractor rig startled him upright again.

  “Maybe we should pull over somewhere and get a little sleep,” Ollie suggested.

  Thank you.

  String grumbled, reaching for the pills in his shirt pocket. He tipped two into his still-crimson hand and aimed them for his mouth. Ollie noticed, a moment too late, that they were the small white sleeping pills he’d been giving me, not the uppers he’d taken earlier.

  “Shit, String! Now you’ll be asleep for sure.”

  The boss didn’t like the kid calling him on his mistake but at least he had the good sense to take the next exit and pull over.

  “I’ll drive,” Mole said.

  “The hell with that,” String argued. “You were falling asleep too.”

  “What about the Kid? Let him do it.”

  String seemed to consider it. “Nah. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

  I doubted that but wisely kept my mouth shut.

  Ollie sipped at the soda he’d had with his lunch. “I gotta take a leak,” he announced.

  “Me too,” Mole said.

  Actually, I did too, but we’d stopped at the edge of an open field on the
outskirts of some town that looked like it consisted of ten houses, a few eating establishments, a bank and a gas station. The midday rush hour seemed to be on; a vehicle passed us every couple of minutes, interstate drivers looking for a lunch break. There was no way I was going to squat beside the SUV here in front of half the world.

  Mole and Ollie got out and stood with their backs to the car—thank goodness for small favors. String’s head was already lolling against his headrest.

  And that’s when the solution came to me. I reached into my jeans pocket and fished out the little pills I’d hidden away. With a wary eye on String, I gently lifted the lid of Mole’s drink cup and dropped two of them in. One more went into Ollie’s.

  Now I just had to figure out how to keep anyone from driving this thing back into the thick of the Interstate traffic.

  Chapter 27

  “I can’t stand this,” Drake told Ron over the phone. A light breeze wafted past the shady spot where he stood. He’d walked outside the motel room and filled his brother-in-law in on the last ransom call, the possibility that Charlie was in Flagstaff, the FBI’s move to start covering Barstow, California, as the probable ransom drop point. “She’s out there and there’s not a damn thing I can do.”

  “I know. I hate it too,” Ron said, after relaying the information to Victoria.

  Drake could hear computer keys clicking in the background.

  “I’ve got the maps up online,” Ron said. “I think Kingston’s right about not heading out there with your aircraft. It’s a long way, a lot of empty desert.”

  That information didn’t help.

  “Maybe I should just head back to Albuquerque. I’m not accomplishing anything here.”

  “It might not feel that way, Drake. But if you weren’t there we wouldn’t even know as much as we do. We’d both be sitting here in the dark. Probably wouldn’t hear anything at all until after they have her back.”

  Drake sighed. Having her back. That’s all he wanted. He could pass up all the action if only that were a sure thing. But, could he skip all the drama and not know if they were getting close to finding her? Not know if she were safe, if there were a hitch with the ransom drop, if . . . He couldn’t bring himself to consider the worst-case.