by Shannon Hill
Someone had also provided a couple boxes of kleenex.
Boris and I sat at the foot of the table. No one had invited us. Of course, cats never wait for an invitation.
Everyone but Rucker had a list of questions for Kim. No surprise, Breeden and Harry had the best-organized ones.
It’s peculiar, but getting arrested takes the strain out of some people. The worst, they figure, is over. From there on out, it’s technicalities. Paperwork. The Day of Judgment may not be at hand, but it is in sight.
The way Kim looked, she’d have preferred death by fire ants.
“It all started because of Tanya Hartley,” Kim began, in a tone that I only then realized had been creeping steadily into her voice over, say, the last ten months or so. A vaguely mosquito-like whine of dissatisfaction. Nothing unusual about that. Crazy is a small town. Lots of unhappy to go around. But it was new in Kim.
Harry cleared his throat. “Go on, Miss Lincoln. It’s to your advantage to tell us everything.”
Kim’s eyes filled with more tears. Pretty eyes. Pretty girl. Only child. The water-swamped eyes moved from Skip to her parents, roved from Harry down past Breeden and Rucker to land on Tom for a microsecond or two, and then her gaze hit me.
It was a begging look. The civilian in me wanted to soften. The cop in me, which takes up a lot more room, gave back the Littlepage Glare, and then some.
Kim studied her hands, and told us…everything.
***^***
It started back around Labor Day, right after the girls of Crazy decided to imitate Lady Godiva and go gallivanting down Main Street in the altogether. Which is a long story in and of itself. So there Kim was, alone at the picnic, no boyfriend, no home of her own, and no prospect of either. Dead-ended in a dead-end two-stoplight town. And you have to be generous to give Crazy that second spotlight, since it’s technically out by the little Food Mart plaza. Come to that, the stoplight in town is just a four-way blinker where Spottswood Lane meets Main Street, and that’s only because Littlepage Elementary’s at that intersection.
So there sits Kim, single and no longer loving it, tired of county boys and county men and county ways. Thinking that she’s at the age when all the girls she went to school with are married with kids, or divorced with kids, some of them for a second time. Who else in town could say that? Only the sheriff—that’d be me—and Marge Turner. And even Miz Turner had a man. A divorced one, sure, but a man. And the sheriff had been engaged once, even if it’d been broken off not so long before the wedding.
I’ll say right here that, in retrospect, it was my pride more than my heart that took the beating on that one.
To make matters worse, there was Tanya Hartley, Doc Hartley’s lawyer daughter, parading Tom Hutchins around like he was a diamond bracelet. Flouncing and flaunting. She’d gotten herself off the list of “Poor Things” whose marital prospects had dwindled.
Then, as Kim poked at the potato salad, Tanya came over. Cheerful and charming and smug. Told Kim not to worry, she’d find a good man too.
Enough, Kim said, was enough. She was sick to death of her mother fretting about never being a grandma, and sick to the point of screaming over all the tut-tutting people had begun to do when they asked about her love life. Now here came Tanya Hartley, patting her on the head. It occurred to Kim that this would be the rest of her life if she didn’t get a man or get out of the county or both. Tsk-tsk, tut-tut, poor thing. Next thing you knew, she’d be collecting teacups or cats or worse, and then she might as well be dead.
And Tanya wasn’t even as pretty as her. Not really. She had better make-up and clothes, but she wasn’t really prettier. And no smarter. Just went to law school and all. That didn’t make her smarter. Fancier. That’s all Tanya Hartley was.
Tom at this point was looking more and more like a statue.
I’ll add here that Tanya and Kim were at high school at the same time, and, apparently, had some issues we didn’t know about.
We knew now.
***^***
Privacy at home being impossible, Kim decided to check out a few online singles sites down at the internet café in Gilfoyle. The Christian-only ones involved too many questions about faith and religion. The subscription ones asked questions that seemed silly. Finally, she ended up at a forum for professionals seeking relationships. It was much more informal, not quite like Facebook, but not nearly as clinical as a few of the best-known dating sites. A relaxed place to browse pictures, profiles, and interests. She privately messaged a dozen or so guys over the first few weeks, got a few private messages herself. Soon she was chatting to a couple of guys every other day or so.
One of these guys was John Emmitt.
Like her, he hailed from a town so small you couldn’t sneeze without hitting someone you knew. Unlike her, he’d gotten out of Nowhere, PA, which he had listed as his official birthplace. Gone to college, but there’d been no decent jobs, so he’d gone into the service. Something Kim respected, since around here at least half the men have done a stint in some branch or other of the armed forces. He’d done well enough, but there was no money in the military, at least not at his level, and he’d taken his skills to the civilian world. A buddy had hooked him up with a security consultant. He’d liked the work, the travel, the money.
I was sensing a trend with this guy.
By Halloween, Kim felt she’d met someone special. Someone who could offer her a lot more than anyone around here. He was ready to move to the next level, he’d told her. Find someone to settle down with. Use his savings to maybe buy a house someplace cheaper to live than the US, maybe down in Panama or the Caribbean. He had good savings, though he was only in his mid-thirties. Another five-six years, he’d be ready to head to his own patch of paradise.
By mid-November, he was telling Kim she’d be welcome to come along, in their now-daily hour-long phone conversations. She was fun, she understood the kind of place he’d come from, she had the same frustrations with all the expectations, the small-mindedness, the hemming in of hopes based on what was probable instead of what was possible. They both loved the beach, the ocean, the sight of palms swaying in the breeze, and think of the good life they could have, he’d told her, if they opened up some touristy little bar or boutique. With Kim’s great people skills, it’d be a sure success.
She beamed with pride when she told us he’d said that.
They met the weekend after Thanksgiving. Down in Key West. It had been perfect. They’d talked as if they’d always known each other. Soulmates, Kim said warmly. Incomplete people, at last made whole. She knew all about his co-workers, his uptight sisters, his neighbor who never turned down the volume on the TV. She’d heard every story about his childhood in a tiny town, so like the stories of her own childhood in Crazy. They had no secrets.
A couple of weeks later, John had called her. They’d been talking about saving up for a few years to make their dreams come true. What if they didn’t need to save up? What if they could put together a huge stake, all at once? It’d be easy, no one would get hurt, and no, they wouldn’t have to play the lottery. One of the things he did for work was deal with kidnap and ransom policies. Mostly overseas stuff. No one would really even be out any money. The insurance companies made more than enough profit to cover an occasional big loss like that.
Kim had laughed. He’d told her he was serious. If they were going to have the life they wanted, tropical bliss and ease, they’d need a lot of money. A few hundred thousand, minimum, to be safe. How much did she have in her 401K?
Kim had told him he was crazy. It was a crime. Something would go wrong. It’d be easier to wait, and save. Wouldn’t it?
And then she’d come over to my house, to return some yoga DVDs, and there I was with a little Van Gogh on the wall, and a Degas, a real one, not a print, and when she went home, what did she have? A Monet print she’d gotten at a department store. It wasn’t even a good Monet print. Not that she cared about art, but how was it fair some people ha
d all that, and she’d gotten nothing?
It wasn’t fair. It also wasn’t an excuse.
I interrupted at this point to say coldly, “I’d have given you the damn Degas to sell, you know.”
She said something very rude about the Degas.
She’d called John that night outside the internet café, parked in her car with a cup of coffee going cold in her other hand. “What about a robbery? I know someone who has art, like good stuff. And pearls, antiques, worth a lot.”
My stomach flipped. Those were the pearls Aunt Marge had passed to me on my sixteenth birthday. They’d been in the Turner family for over a century.
John had contemplated it. He said he’d look into it, and took down my name and information.
He had called back two days later, excited. Why had Kim not told him I was not just fostered to someone rich, I was blood-related to someone rich? Two someones? I was perfect for the kidnap scheme. Kim knew my movements, my habits. I had family who’d pay up, and also happened to have a K&R policy at his very company, and what could be more perfect? I’d sit in some backwoods shack a couple of days at most, they’d have their money, and it’d be off to sunny St. Bart’s, or wherever they wanted. They could ask a million dollars for my ransom. Two, even!
Maybe, just maybe, Kim said, she’d have told him to go to hell. But that very day at work I’d told her off for coming in late, like there was any work to come in for. And John had gotten her Tiffany earrings. Real Tiffany. He’d used some of his precious savings. It proved he didn’t want money just for money, if he’d spend it like that. He wanted to make her happy. Make them happy.
“I didn’t just say yes to him,” Kim told us earnestly between sniffles. “It tore me up for days, thinking about it.”
Boris, lounging on the table in front of me, twitched his tail hard, twice.
***^***
For John Emmitt, the plan had been simplicity itself. He’d be easily able to get the ID and cell phone of the guy who handled the Eller policy. They went to the same gym. He handed in his resignation, two weeks’ notice, just before Christmas. He told them he’d lined up a private job with a fictitious someone in Key West. Nobody at work would think twice about him by the time the New Year rolled around. All Kim had to do was find a couple of local boys who knew a good hiding spot and didn’t mind tossing me in the back of a car or truck. It was even John’s idea to use a tazer.
It was Kim who said she’d have to go along, because Boris would cause trouble if she wasn’t there. He knew her. Trusted her. Took treats from her. John had laughed. How much trouble could a cat be?
Kim told him.
Finding local boys was not a good idea. Anyone in the county would hesitate. But Kim still talked to an old boyfriend now and then. Doug Winston knew some rough people. If there was money in it, he’d stay quiet. His HVAC repair business wasn’t doing too well. Out of two million dollars, she and John could easily spare half a million for the hired help. Even better, she knew Doug well from their dating days. He was not the type to let physical harm be done. He hated physical violence. Wasn’t in him. Not a mean bone in his body.
She said that like it mitigated the crime.
The kidnap would take the shine off me, too. She’d been understanding when I passed on the Eller inheritance, and it wasn’t like there was much Turner money left for me to get someday, but I was now in with the Littlepages. They were just as rich as the Ellers, and the only Littlepage left liked me. He’d be sure to give me more than just an acre of land or a few keepsakes from my mother’s childhood toy box. Might even be I’d someday come into Littlepage money. And I didn’t even want any of it. Didn’t see what money could do. Get someone out of Crazy, and keep them out. Get someone to a warm white beach by a sea the color of John’s eyes, start a business and a home where it was flip-flops and swimsuits nine months a year.
So Craig and Doug had come, and she’d hidden in the back of Craig’s truck, and then it was just a matter of using one of the spare tazers from work, and tossing Boris treats and familiar pet names to distract him from causing bodily harm until they could get clear. She was back in the house in no time, her parents none the wiser, and Craig and Doug switched to Doug’s old car out by Grenville, and came back for Craig’s truck later, and it was done. All over but the waiting.
Tom rose abruptly, and stalked out. Harry nodded to the stenographer. “We’ll take a break,” he said quietly. “I think we’ve heard all we can handle for now.”
17.
We took our break. A couple of Vernon’s boys sat in the big meeting room with Kim while the rest of us walked outside to enjoy the fresh air, or down to the vending machines to drown our sorrows in junk food. I caught up to Tom in the parking lot. He was kicking the hell out of the front tire of the cruiser.
“I should’ve seen it,” he said when I sat on the hood. “Should’ve seen it. She wasn’t right. She wasn’t right for weeks.”
“It was the holidays, they drive everyone nuts.” I sighed. “But yeah, we should’ve seen something. I should’ve, that’s for sure.”
“No, Lil, you shouldn’t. You trusted her. We all did. But when you were gone… When you didn’t come back after they got the ransom…” Tom kicked the cruiser, and punched the door for good measure. Ouch. “Dammit! She was too freaked out. Too crazy. I should’ve seen! And I didn’t!”
Boris slithered onto my lap for warmth. He meowed. He almost sounded pitying. I kept my peace. I knew why Tom was being so hard on himself. He thought his crush on Kim had blinded him to her deceit. Maybe it had, but it was equally likely it hadn’t. Having your boss kidnapped is a pretty good brain-scrambler.
He cast me a despairing look, his big shoulders curving down. “Lil, swear to God…I thought I’d be sick. Like I never saw her at all before.”
I nodded, and let him rant it all out. Better to me than to Tanya.
He’d run out of words, finally, and Harry wandered over. He’s a well-dressed, sharp-witted man, never short of a caustic comment, but even Harry seemed subdued by all Kim had revealed. He leaned listlessly on the cruiser near Tom. “I can only hope,” he said, “that she will tell us where to find this man.”
Tom brightened. “She’s got to. She’s gotta know by now he used her.”
“She’ll never give him up,” I said sadly. They both turned to look at me, surprise wrinkling up their faces. “Look, you can tell she’s stupid in love. She won’t point a finger at John Emmitt. I guarantee it. Not without more leverage than we’ve got. We’ll have to find him on our own.”
Tom stammered, “B-b-but he killed those men!”
I bit the inside of my mouth and looked down at Boris’s furry head. He snuggled closer.
My worst fear finally dawned on Tom, and Harry. Harry groaned, and flung down his unlit cigar. Tom cried out, “No! I won’t believe she’d do that! Not that!”
“A week ago,” I said slowly, “you’d have said she wouldn’t be part of a plot to kidnap someone.”
Tom shook his head vehemently and stomped away. Harry sat next to me, and pulled out another cigar, closed the monogrammed gold case and slid it back into a hidden pocket. “These will kill me,” he said without his usual acid. “I think I might be glad to go, at that.”
I glanced at the building. Breeden was waving for us to come back in. “You know, I even had you on a list of people to suspect.”
Everyone else on that list would’ve been offended. Harry merely smiled. “Good girl.”
***^***
The rest of the story we mostly knew. Except that John had evaded Kim’s questions about where I was, why I wasn’t home, what was going on. John assured her it was all taken care of, Doug and Craig would never reveal a thing to a soul. That was not the point, Kim had said. I wasn’t supposed to get hurt. I’d been missing too long. What had he done?
He’d done nothing. He insisted it had been Craig and Doug. They’d not told him where they’d taken me. For his own safety, so he could honestly den
y knowledge if it became necessary. So he couldn’t help her. He didn’t know where I was any more than she did. If things had gone…wrong…it wasn’t on him. Or her. It was on Craig, and Doug. The people Kim had found.
It turned out guilt was a better diet than any other Kim had tried. Pounds dropped off her in days. When Craig’s body was found, she’d called John in a panic. Lying low for a couple of months was not easy when she had to look at me every day, but it got downright impossible when people turned up dead. John had soothed her, told her he’d picked up their share of the money from Doug as planned, at the truck stop where Craig once worked. What happened after that, he could not say. She had to be patient, stay calm. It would be okay.
“It’s not okay,” I said, startling her. “Doug Winston’s dead too.”
Kim lost all trace of color. She swayed in her chair. It’s odd, how distant I was, watching her. Gauging the impact of my words, and the nature of her reaction.
“Where’s John Emmitt now?”
She shrugged.
Breeden slapped down our sketch. “The TV stations have this, Miss Lincoln. You can make this easy or you can play tough, but he will get caught. You want to ask yourself how you can help yourself here.”
Dumbass. Kim might have loved and left plenty of guys in her time, but she thought this one was her True Love. She was going to pull a total Tammy Wynette and Stand By Her Man.
Sure enough, Kim recoiled. “No! He ain’t bad! He ain’t that way!”
I lost it. My chair flew back, I was on my feet, and I didn’t give a hunk of cat poo for the rules. “Are you really that stupid? He stole! He lied! He kidnapped! He killed! And you know it! Or you wouldn’t have run, and you wouldn’t have called me to come get you! Because you know I’m stupid enough to do the right thing instead of leave you to rot the way they left me!”
Whoops. Said too much. Nothing like humiliation to shut me up. And make me sit down.
Crimson, Kim burst into tears. God Almighty, that girl can cry.