by Maggie Pill
“Is it her?” Barb asked.
“Yeah. She’s got the box.”
Retta had a Chico’s shopping bag that she held a little behind her, as if to keep it from being snatched away.
“Get the car,” Barb said in a low voice. “Bring it to the east side of the building, where they can’t see you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Get us all out of here together,” she said, adding, “If we’re lucky.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Barb
After Faye left the diner, I listened closely to what went on behind me. Retta approached the table where Darrow sat and said something in a low tone. A rumbly bass voice responded, ordering her to set the box on the table. I couldn’t make out her reply, but from the tone I surmised she refused to give up the box until they demonstrated willingness to let Darrow go.
Faking a cough, I turned away from the table to get a glimpse of the scene. Retta stepped back, holding the bag behind her as if that would stop the brute who was rising from the bench seat with a menacing expression. He loomed over Retta’s petite form like a skyscraper over a chapel. My sister raised her chin and stood her ground.
Retta was wise to refuse to hand the box over without assurance of good faith, but I doubted she’d get her way. All the guy had to do was reach out with one ape-arm and take the bag from her. No one in the place looked likely, or able for that matter, to stand up to him. It was up to me to throw a surprise into the mix.
Rising, I tossed cash on the table for the bill then turned, pretending to notice Darrow for the first time. In my best too-loud, old-lady voice I called out, “Winston?”
Darrow looked at me hopefully. His captors looked at me unhappily.
“Honey, it’s been ages since I’ve seen you!” I hurried toward him, arms raised. “Come here and give me a hug!”
Everyone in the restaurant, customers and staff alike, turned their attention to us. There were grins all around as I stopped, put my fists on my hips in apparent irritation, and urged, “Don’t get all macho on me, Winston Darrow. I need a big old cousin hug right now!”
I’d gambled Darrow’s captors wouldn’t know how to deal with a doting relative, and I was right. Though he glared, the big man moved out of the way and let Darrow step into my embrace. As I hugged him I whispered, “Faye’s outside. Get in the car and don’t stop.”
Getting the idea, Retta set the box down on the table with a thump. “Here are the Girl Scout cookies you ordered,” she said, her voice a shade higher than normal. “You enjoy, now!”
Darrow was already moving toward the door, and Retta and I followed. The two men hesitated, unsure what to do with a half dozen smiling observers looking on. As we exited the building, Faye pulled up beside us, and we piled in. Though she’s usually a cautious driver, she hit the accelerator before we got the doors closed. Wheels slipping on the snowy surface, we took off like the old bats the kidnappers were no doubt calling us at that moment.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Retta
It was reassuring to enter the diner and see Faye and Barbara acting the part of ladies having a casual lunch. All the way over, I’d told myself that meeting the kidnappers in a public place would be safe, but Winston’s desperate voice on the phone had made that hard to believe.
When Barbara Ann made her move, I followed her lead. The bad guys froze as we turned away, unsure what to do. I’d handed over the book, but they were losing their victim. While they puzzled out whether to make a scene, we jumped into the car and left. It was priceless.
As we drove away, questions rose in my mind. What if they chased us? Could we escape with “Fifty-five Faye” driving? What was this all about, and how did it relate to the murder of Winston’s wife?
The first question was answered right away. Looking back, I saw the two men exit the diner, stumbling in their haste. They climbed into a whitish sedan, and as we turned the first corner they were backing out of their spot in a big hurry. “They’re coming after us,” I warned.
“Why?” Faye asked. “You gave them the box, right?”
“Just drive!” Winston ordered. “They’ll catch us!”
“Maybe not,” Barbara said, pointing. The lights of a police car showed at an intersection ahead.
“I said no police, Barbara. Did you call them anyway?”
“They’re out looking for Win,” she replied.
The car hit a chunk of frozen mud, and we all grabbed for a handhold. As Faye clutched the steering wheel with both hands to avoid skidding into a ditch, she said, “This is good. They can take Win into custody—”
“No!” Winston’s shout echoed through the car, scaring us all. Putting a hand to his forehead, he began again in a pleading tone. “Not the Bonner County cops!”
We looked ahead to where the cruiser sat sideways in the road, positioned to monitor passers-by. Winston’s voice broke as he begged, “I’ll explain later, but don’t let them have me!”
We didn’t have long to make a decision and typically,
everyone waited for Barbara to do it. “Okay,” she said
reluctantly. “You two make like a couple.”
Winston and I obeyed without question, as people tend to do when she uses that tone. In a partially unzipped gym bag on the floor, I spotted a black knit hat. Grabbing it, I scooted to Winston’s side of the car and used it to cover his hair and forehead. “Glasses!” I said to Barbara, and she took off her black-framed specs and handed them over. After I put them on Winston, I wriggled in close. He flinched when I bumped his little finger, which stuck out at a forty-five degree angle. I wasn’t bad, though. In thirty seconds I’d made him as unlike his mug shot as I could manage.
When we reached the patrol car, Faye stopped and rolled down the window. A fresh-faced deputy approached, thumbs in his belt. “Hi, folks.”
“What’s the trouble, Officer?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.” Glancing into the back seat he asked, “What happened to your face, sir?”
Before Winston could answer I said in an outraged tone, “We hit a deer last night over near Alanson. The airbags didn’t deploy, and his poor face hit the steering wheel.” Patting Win’s arm I added, “I’m going to call those lawyers downstate that promise to get you money. It’s a crime what the auto companies get away with!”
The guy’s interest waned and he stepped back. “You folks can go on your way. Have a good day now.”
He looked back the way we’d come, and his eyes lit with interest. Peeking out the back window, I saw that the driver of the white car had come over a rise, seen the sheriff’s car in the road, and made a U-turn. Sprinting to his cruiser, the deputy started the engine. Soon the cherry lights came on and the siren wailed. Without another glance at us, he was gone.
“That’ll keep them from following us home.” I handed Barbara Ann her glasses and returned the hat to her little bag of emergency supplies. I noticed a paintbrush in there and wondered what good that would do if her car quit. You can trust Barbara Ann to be prepared for anything, though.
As Faye drove on, Barbara turned to Winston with a questioning expression. He was tense beside me, his face ash-colored and his mouth clamped shut to slow the quiver that had taken over his bottom lip.
“What’s going on here, Mr. Darrow?” Barbara demanded. “Who are those men?”
“They were going to kill me!”
Barbara looked doubtful, and Faye’s split-second glance in the rear-view mirror indicated something similar. He turned to me, seeking a friendly face.
“Why, Winston?” I kept my voice sympathetic. He needed understanding, not anger.
“I don’t know, honest!”
A look passed between Faye and Barbara Ann. “Tell us what happened since we saw you last.”
“The guy who grabbed me, George, met me outside the sheriff’s office. He said he was with the FBI and he needed to talk to me about Stacy’s death.”
“George is the one
with the eyebrows?” Faye asked.
“Yeah. He had a badge and all, but instead of interviewing me like he said, he drove out to where Carlos, that’s the big guy, was waiting in the white car.” He shivered against my shoulder. “George is bad enough, but Carlos likes hurting people. Really likes it.”
Barbara wasn’t buying it. “The sheriff thinks you arranged all this as a way to escape arrest.”
Winston held up his damaged hand. “Would I let someone do this? Wouldn’t I just take off before the cops knew I was gone?”
“Okay. Tell us about this book.”
Winston’s voice shook as he answered. “They didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t know anything about it.”
“You don’t recall stealing a book from Max Basca?”
“I didn’t! I never knew anybody named Max!” His voice rose again, and his breathing became rapid and shallow. “I would have told them if I could! They—they hit me. They said they were going to kill me. Even after Retta said she’d bring the lockbox, they laughed about how they’d take it away from her, and she wouldn’t be able to stop them.”
“Calm down,” Barbara said. Her eyes met mine, acknowledging that Winston was close to breaking down completely. “Now that they have what they want, they’ll leave you alone.”
“No, they won’t!” His voice turned to a wail. “When they started hurting me, I made up a story about a book in a lockbox at the house.”
Anger swelled in my chest, rising up my neck and burning my cheeks. “You mean I risked my neck to bring you something that isn’t what they want?”
Tears leaked from the edges of Winston’s eyes and he wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I didn’t know what else to do! They were going to take me to the house so I could get the book. But once they knew I really don’t know where it is, I was scared of what they’d do.”
“So you made up a story.” Barbara’s tone said she’d expected no less of him.
“Right. I told them the cops were watching the house. I said my girlfriend could go there, make up some excuse to go inside, and get the box for them.” Here a trace of the old Winston appeared. “I thought you ladies might think of a way to help me get away from them, and you did.”
“And now they’re after all of us,” Faye said grimly.
His tone turned whiny again. “I was scared!”
Barbara sighed. “Sheriff Idalski can protect you until this gets sorted out.”
“No!” Winston’s whiny tone disappeared. “One of the local cops is helping those guys.”
“Listen, Darrow—”
He raised his crooked finger under Barbara Ann’s nose. “How do you think they found out where I was and when I’d be released? George has somebody on the inside!” He lost a little steam as he went on, “He bragged he could have had me killed anytime he wanted.”
“We can talk to—”
He interrupted Barbara’s attempt at logical argument. “I’m paying you to help me, not to hand me over to crooked cops.” He fumbled for the door handle. “Just let me out. I’ll get away without your so-called help.”
Braking suddenly, Faye cranked the steering wheel to the left. The car’s back end slewed a little as she turned down a skinny road that apparently had no name. When we were no longer visible from the main road, she stopped and turned to face Winston. “We’re investigators, Win, not bodyguards.”
He calmed a little, but not much. “Then investigate. Find out who at the sheriff’s department is helping George and Carlos. Until you do, I won’t go back there.”
“We could go to Millden County,” Barb suggested.
“And then what?” Winston shouted. “The Millden sheriff will turn me over to Bonner County!”
“He’s right, Barbara,” I put in. “Professional courtesy. Why would they believe Winston without proof?”
Winston tried to cross his arms, bumped his damaged finger, and winced. “If I had proof, I’d give it to them.”
“If you take the book to the police, they’re more likely to believe your story,” Faye suggested.
He waved his hands in frustration. “I keep telling you, I don’t have the stupid book. I don’t know what they’re talking about!”
Despite further questioning, Winston held firm to the claim he had no idea which of Stacy’s books might have brought about recent events. In the end the four of us began sounding like talking heads on a 24-hour news channel, chewing a few scraps of information in endless, useless speculation as to what was happening and why.
When Barbara asked for the tenth time where the book might be, Winston put his good hand to his forehead and massaged. “I—don’t–know. Get it? Maybe if I had time to think, I’d remember something.”
Gesturing at his bruised face I said, “At least the police will have to believe someone hurt you.”
The panicky note in his voice returned. “So they’ll add theft to the crimes I supposedly committed. They already thought I killed Stacy. Now they think I faked a kidnapping to get out of Michigan. They’ll just assume I stole this guy’s book, too.”
He was right. I turned to my sisters. “Can we at least discuss the options before we decide what to do?”
They weren’t thrilled with the idea, but neither of them rejected it. After a moment Faye asked, “Retta, do those guys know who you are?”
I looked to Winston, who gulped before answering, “I never told them your last name, and in my phone you’re listed as Ray’s Automotive.”
It was hard to be reminded that he’d lied to me and to his wife. I’d trusted too easily what this man told me, fooled by his charming ways and handsome face. Never again! I vowed.
Acting without Barbara’s input for once, Faye put the car into gear, made a U-turn in the road, and announced, “We can’t just sit in the open like this. We’ll talk further at Retta’s house.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Faye
Retta’s classy brick home is located a few miles out of town, isolated from its neighbors by trees and protected by an alarm system due to her deceased husband’s familiarity with statistics on home invasions. Entering Allport would have committed us to turning Winston over to some legal official, and while I was pretty sure we had to do that soon, I suspected it would be better if he came to the realization on his own.
When we pulled into the drive Retta got out, unlocked the side door of the garage, and went in to press the button that made the big door open with a low rattle. Pulling the car inside, I shut off the engine, and Retta closed the door behind us. Inside the house, Styx was already scratching an excited welcome on the back door.
“Somebody wants to go out,” Retta sang as she opened the door—or tried to. Styx is a little dense and never gets the idea that the door can’t swing inward with him in the way. Once Retta convinced him to back up a little we went inside. Knowing what was coming, I prepared myself. Styx, a brown Newfoundland hovering at a hundred forty pounds, is huge, with the temperament that earns Newfs the nickname, “gentle giants.” He has his own method of greeting friend and stranger alike. Standing up on his back legs, he puts his huge paws on the person’s chest and waits to be hugged. Some find it endearing. Barb does not.
Styx began with Retta, who took his massive head in her hands and scratched his ears. “You’re such a good baby.” Assured she still loved him, Styx moved to greet me and then Win, giving us each the chance to stagger under his affectionate weight. After we’d gamely taken our turns, Styx turned to Barb, who gave him a sharp “No!”
With a look that said it was her loss, Styx scooted past her. In a few seconds we heard the doggie door at the back of the garage swish open and closed as Styx entered the fenced back yard.
Retta refilled the dog’s water bowl and food dish then turned her attention to setting the alarm system. “I don’t use this very often,” she muttered. “Hope I remember how it works, or we’ll get a call in about thirty seconds.” Apparently she did everything right, because her phone remained silent.
“I’ll make us some coffee.” Retta moved into the kitchen, where half of her remained visible over the breakfast bar. Barb and I took off our coats and hung them on hooks near the door. Turning to take Winston’s, I saw that he’d collapsed onto Retta’s meant-for-people sofa in the living room. Arms folded across his chest and chin sunk into his collar, he looked like he might barf on Retta’s cream-colored upholstery. He still cradled his right hand with the other, and the dislocated finger looked swollen and painful.
Going to Retta’s bathroom, I found medical tape and some OTC pain pills and returned to where he sat. Leaning down, I examined the finger. “I can put that back in place and tape it to the next one to stabilize it,” I told him. He looked up at me, horrified, but I added, “I raised three boys. This isn’t my first time as emergency nurse.”
“Will it hurt?”
He wouldn’t have responded well to a truthful answer, so I simply handed him three pills. While he was swallowing them, I wrenched the finger back where it belonged with a decisive movement. He yelped, but it was over quickly. Win looked away as I taped the damaged finger to the next one. When I finished, he laid the hand on his stomach, blinking rapidly.
Barb was in no mood for his vapors. “What was in the lockbox Retta gave those guys?”
His answer came in a monotone. “The deed to the house, an insurance policy, and some other stuff.” He touched his swollen eye gingerly with his good hand.
“And you’re absolutely certain you don’t know what they want?” Doubt was apparent in her expression.