“That is not so very long. She will be back to school in a week or so, ja?”
The officer consulted his computer and nodded but didn’t commit.
“We’ll be done about the same time, then. Just make sure you don’t forget about the car—take it home, not the train.” She laughed lightly, waved, and left.
She laughed as though I had been left with, I don’t know, a parent, or something.
I gave the officer my biggest eyes, but he was unmoved.
“I will need to make a few calls.” He looked toward the coffee machine on the far side of the room. “Have coffee while you wait. And a croissant. There are plenty.”
I helped myself to the croissants and put a couple in my bag, not knowing exactly how the food thing worked in the French prison system. Hoarding food was never a sign of mental balance, but then, going without food also disrupted my mental balance.
I nibbled my croissant quietly until he was off the phone. “This was really out of character for me, I swear. But I was starving and she took my wallet.”
“Oui. The witness agreed. And she had the passports of several other passengers who had reported a similar crime.”
“So then I did a good service?”
“Would have been better to not kick her. She has a right not to be kicked, you know.”
“I didn’t kick her very hard.”
He shook his head. “No, no, that doesn’t change anything. Your property was recovered, and then you assaulted her. That is a separate crime. She is being kept in another room, with another officer, and you are here with me, because they were two separate crimes.”
I chewed thoughtfully. The movies did not lead you to believe that beating up a bad guy was a separate crime. I wasn’t liking that particular difference between reality and the movies.
“Do I get to call a lawyer?”
“Do you know a lawyer in France?”
“No.”
He shrugged. “Then who would you call?”
“Good point.” I started in on my second croissant. I was going to be here awhile.
The officer left, and I finished two more slightly stale and very buttery croissants. About fifteen minutes later, he returned to the room. “I see you have already been in trouble once today, yes?”
I nodded.
“That is a problem.”
“What about the pickpocket? Is she pressing charges or whatever it is they call it here?”
“No. As a matter of fact, we explained a little bit about what trouble she was in, and she decided that instead of pressing charges against you, she would work with us a little bit.”
“Like turn state’s evidence?” I sat on the edge of my seat. If I had just unraveled a criminal ring, they would have to let me go.
He smiled, like a dad would. “Something like that, mademoiselle. What I need to do now is walk you to your car and see you safely away. You now have two marks against you on the record, so you need to go home now, you understand?”
I exhaled slowly. “Yes, I do understand.”
He walked me to the Saab, lecturing me on good travel behavior.
I banged the keys against my leg as we walked, in tune with the song in my head. I was hitting the road, Jack.
I beeped the lock, and the officer opened the door for me. “Next time you’re arrested and forgiven and a policeman gives you good advice about traveling instead of locking you up, try to listen, yes?”
“Yes, sir.” I grinned up at him and shut the door.
He frowned at me as I drove off. But I was never coming back to Nice, France, so it couldn’t possibly matter.
The only thing between me and my sister now was most of France, the English Channel, a couple hundred dollars of tolls and fuel, and England. I would have preferred setting out on this trip with money in hand, but I’d get it figured out.
I started with a trip to the nearest ATM to take out my daily limit. I didn’t dare check the balance, afraid of what my sister’s escapades had done to our hard-earned savings. But, I promised myself the cash was just for food, which couldn’t always be had on a credit card. Gas and tolls and the rest were going on the trusty Visa.
What Mom and Dad would say when they saw the total at the end of the month was something I would put out of my mind.
I also got gas and ran to a grocery store to fill the passenger seat up with fresh fruits and veg and lots of Coke. No more starvation-fueled assaults for me.
I munched a little tart apple with pink flesh as I followed signs north and plotted my next move. There was a long line at the first tollbooth, so I pulled out the phone and logged on to see what Drew had been up to.
I wasn’t part of my sister’s Google Eloping Circle, but she had posted a selfie in front of a really big old house…not quite a castle, but it was stone, and there were other tourists at it, so it had to be some kind of cool historic thing.
Likely one of the cool historic places we had planned to visit together when school was over, which made this stinking elopement of hers even a bigger pain. How dare she run off and get married, or whatever it was she was doing, when we had so many plans together?
The sun went down around six in the evening, after several toll roads and one bathroom stop. My fruit stock was still solid and I wasn’t out of Coke yet, so I soldiered on.
I could make it to the channel by midnight, at the latest, if I didn’t stop again.
And I did.
It took some driving to find the port with the ferries for car crossings, but eventually I found myself at the water’s edge in a long queue of cars. I bought a ferry ticket with my phone app and closed my eyes. I had seven hours to sleep before the ferry sailed off.
Of course, a second later my phone rang.
I grabbed it with my eyes closed. It slipped from my fingers and stopped ringing. I rubbed my eyes and clicked on the dome light. It was really dark outside. A lot scarier with my light on than off. I found the phone under the passenger seat.
The call had been from my parents.
What time was it back home?
I couldn’t do the math right now—too tired—so I just pressed the little green phone picture to call them back.
“Mom?”
“Dani, what is going on? Visa just called me and said that your card was used in France, in Wales, and in Nepal today. Did you lose it somewhere?”
“Mom, it’s after midnight.”
“Oh! I am so sorry. But seriously. What happened to your card? You are in Sweden, not France, Wales, or Nepal! I had them cancel it. Your new cards will be at the school in four days, they promised. You don’t need them before that, right?”
I swallowed. Hard. I had 375 euros cash, which I probably couldn’t spend in the UK, and even if I could…would it be enough? “Did you really already cancel it, Mom?”
“Of course I did, sweetie! I can’t let them run up a bunch of debt for you.”
I had to tell her, right? I know I did.
“How many charges are they going to deny?”
“What do you mean, honey? All of them.”
“But it was travel weekend, Mommy. And I don’t know where all Drew went. She might have gone anywhere.”
“Didn’t you travel together? Hasn’t she told you where she went? What do you mean travel weekend?”
“No, she didn’t go with me, and, um, she’s kind of taking an extended travel weekend. But, you know, she can’t have gone to Nepal, right? So maybe just fight those charges until we know?”
“Dani…”
“Mommy?”
“What are you hiding?”
“Er…wait a second. Aren’t you supposed to be off the grid right now?”
“As a matter of fact, I am, my dear. I ran to town, though, and turned on the cell phone just to check on you kids, and this is what I found. But don’t change the subject. You only call me Mommy when you’re lying. Though now that I’ve said it, I wish I hadn’t. Next time you’ll remember not to.”
Deep
breath. Another deep breath. “I’m in France right now, on my way to Scotland trying to find Drew.”
Mom was silent.
“Did you hear?”
More silence.
She was praying. Hard.
“I’m fine, though. I’m in line for a ferry right now, and I’ll be in the UK tomorrow.”
“You’re in France and your sister is in the UK, and I just canceled your credit card?”
This time I was silent. She sounded like she was crying.
“I just stranded you in a foreign country without any money?”
“No, no. I have money. It will be okay.”
“What are you doing in France?” She was yelling now, so whatever brief moment of grief she had for cutting off my resources had been stuffed deep inside.
“Things got a little hairy, Mom, but it’s going to work out.”
“Listen up.”
I held my breath.
“I want you to get out of line for that ferry right now and get on the train back to the school. Don’t pass go, don’t collect $200, do you understand? That school had no business letting you leave. I will call you in the morning—your morning. And if you’re not on the train to school, things will get very serious, you hear me?” There was a sharp edge to her anger, spurred on no doubt by having to cross the Atlantic Ocean via cell phone. She was far, far away and could not take our cell phones, restrict our car use, unplug the Internet…nothing. None of her go-to disciplinary actions had any weight right now.
“Mom, I can’t get out of line, there are too many cars behind me.”
“Did you say cars?”
“Yeah, I’m in the school car, and there are too many behind me.”
“What time is it there, Dani?”
“It’s almost one.”
Mom inhaled through her nose. It sounded painful.
“I will be calling the school at exactly 8:00 a.m. your time, and every five minutes after that until someone answers, do you understand?”
I understood, but it wouldn’t change anything. By then I’d be halfway across the channel. “Hey, Mom, I don’t know how much money Drew has spent from the checking account. Could you wire us some money, since the Visa is kaput?”
“Absolutely not. Under no circumstances, and in no way, will I be wiring you money. Not even if you find yourself under arrest in some seedy French prison, do you understand?”
I did. And I didn’t need to mention I had been there, done that, twice already today.
“Yes, Mommy.”
“You are in serious trouble, young lady.”
My phone died, which she would take as me hanging up on her, which was just as well. I stuck my phone into the charger kit thingy and closed my eyes. At least that was over and I could get a little sleep now.
Isaac Daniels 7
I’ve not made a habit of flying in private planes. But I have done it a couple of times before, and I couldn’t help but notice that Stina’s plane was kind of small. I took one of four leather seats and stretched my legs out. I pitied Dani stuck in the car with Stina, but I tried to comfort myself that at least they’d get home safely.
I put Dani’s police situation out of my mind. Stina would take care of everything. She could make mincemeat of a Segway-riding French airport policeman.
“So, Karl, this your plane?” Si leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
When I said Karl looked like a Viking, I didn’t mean he had a horn helmet or anything, but he was a bruiser, and very redheaded. I hadn’t met many redheaded Swedes, but this was definitely one of them. Also, he had crazy bushy muttonchops, which pushed him well over the edge on the looks-like-a-Viking scale.
“It’s the family plane.” Karl was just leaning back, arms behind his head, surveying the airport. He didn’t look like he was in any kind of hurry.
“Your folks?”
“Farfar’s plane.”
“How come he lets you fly it?”
“A man’s got to work, ja?” He smiled. “I like to fly. I get to fly the family plane. Perfect job.”
Si’s eyes lit up. “I couldn’t agree more. Smart of you to be born into this family instead of a family of pastors and missionaries.”
“Or judges,” I couldn’t help adding. It probably wouldn’t matter if I was tenured at an Ivy League school someday. If I wasn’t a judge, I wasn’t going to measure up to Dad and Grandpa.
“Law in the blood, Ike?” Si asked.
I shuddered. I hadn’t been called Ike in a long time. “You could say that.”
“Then why did you go into religion? Seems like a dumb idea, if you ask me.”
“My dad would agree.”
“He’s one to judge.” Si laughed hard at his joke and slapped his knee.
“Exactly. He is a judge.”
“I had a feeling. That’s why I said it. But, why religion? It seems weird to be all obsessed about religion and not have a real job, like a pastor.”
“Teaching is a real job.”
“But at a place like Tillgiven? Did you just get bit by the travel bug or something?”
“Something like.”
“I wouldn’t ever do what you do.” Si leaned back, his smile plastered across his face but not reflected in his eyes.
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to go pro. I want to surf all the big competitions.”
“Surf a lot back home?”
“Yup. Tonga is amazing for surfing.”
“How’d you end up with a name like Sioeli?”
“Born and raised on Tonga. Sioeli was the first native preacher on the Island. My parents liked that.”
“Do you consider yourself a third culture kid? Or a Canadian?”
“Who needs labels?”
“Everyone needs labels. It’s just a thing people do to each other. To themselves. What do you say? Third culture kid?”
“Sure. But mostly I’m Tonganese. I went to the local school from kindergarten to graduation. I’m fluent in the language. And I surf. Serious surfing.”
“And…” I gave him another long look. His body posture was defeated, his eyes, even sadder. He raked his hand through his thick hair. “And you can’t stay there now that you’re done with school. Am I correct?”
“No. You aren’t. I’m a citizen of Tonga. And of the commonwealth, both through my Canadian citizenship and my Tonganese citizenship. I can live wherever I want.”
“But they sent you to Sweden and you ran away?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To surf.”
“Is that really all?”
Si reclined his chair and closed his eyes.
So, it wasn’t all. But he wasn’t going to tell me right now.
Karl’s pilot microphone crackled into life. “It’s a two-hour flight from Nice to Vaxjo, where you will be connecting to the train for the rest of your journey. Sit back, relax, and help yourself to refreshments in the mini fridge.”
I was glad that Si had shut down, in that at least it meant he wouldn’t be trying to snag a drink from the fridge. But it was clear that something had happened back home that upset him. Hopefully in the next two hours, I could find out what it was.
However, two hours wasn’t any time at all. Not when you had completely exhausted all internal resources and had spent the last two nights sleeping in a car. So, I slept about an hour and a half of the flight, and Si slept the whole thing.
Karl got us safely out of the airport and on our way to the train, where I fully intended on doing a better job of helping Si through whatever crisis he was having.
Si took the window seat on the train, and I sat next to him.
“Are your parents headed back Stateside permanently?”
“No.”
“We’ve got another hour and a half together before we get home. Why not just tell me?”
“We’re Canadian.”
“Are they headed back to Canada?” I chalked my mistake up to fatigue and hoped I
hadn’t put too massive a wall between us. This one-on-one stuff was what made teaching at small schools worthwhile.
“Does it have to do with the mission organization in some other way?”
“Kind of.”
“How so?”
He pulled his hood over his head and turned to the window. A hard nut, but I had a feeling I had taken the measure of the situation, so I didn’t push him. Tonga was his home. Period. End of sentence. He was born and raised there with the locals, and for whatever reason, he didn’t get to go back. Sometimes policies stank. “I’m sorry.”
“There are worse things. Besides, what would I do in Tonga for the rest of my life?”
I was tempted to answer something like “Anything you want.” But I had an acute case of ignorance regarding the Tonganese economy. Most likely there wasn’t any work for him there. “So, how does a person go pro in surfing?”
“Hard work.” Si grinned again, a little of the old light coming back to his eyes.
“I’m guessing time spent in Sweden doesn’t help.”
“You’re guessing right.”
“Headed to Hawaii after this?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll have to figure it out, though. Bible school doesn’t last forever.”
“Nope.” I left it at that. At seventeen, being forced out of your home country was a pretty insurmountable crisis, but, likewise, at seventeen, becoming a professional surfer was a reasonable career choice. Si would be fine.
I was about to close my eyes for another hour of rest when Si lurched forward. “Are you okay?”
He started to shake, and his face went very pale. He looked at me, and then his eyes rolled back in his head. My day class of CPR was a long time ago, but I could tell this was a seizure. I wanted to lay him down in the aisle, but it seemed impossible to drag him over the arms of the seats, so I reclined his seat.
I held his arms at his sides. He shook, but not violently. A fear swelled from my gut to my brain, and almost overwhelmed me. Dear God—I cried out to him in my head, knowing, or hoping I knew, that he could hear—help this kid not die.
Hard to Find: A Tillgiven Romantic Mystery Page 9