Lost and Gowned

by Melissa F. Miller

  We scrabbled to our feet, and my dad tossed me the packet of antacids as the metal door rolled up. No time. I tucked the bag into the bodice of my dress and smoothed the silk. I kicked two of the half-empty water bottles toward the wall behind me and tried not to cry at the fact that we’d missed our chance.

  “—going to regret this!” A man was shouting.

  The metal scraped to a stop to reveal our captor, gripping his trusty baseball bat with one massive hand and the upper arm of a man wearing a black suit with the other.

  The big guy gave the man in the suit a solid push. He stumbled into the pod. Dad caught him and steadied him on his feet.

  My mother strode up to the opening. The big guy thwacked the bat in his hand and made a guttural sound of warning. Mom was not impressed.

  “Now, you listen here young man, you can’t hold us like this. It’s inhumane. Tell Herk I demand to see him, right now!”

  The guy chortled. “Mr. Hercules will see you when he’s ready. Not before the money is delivered. Tick tock.”

  The mystery of whether the muscle-bound goon spoke English was solved, but I sort of preferred it when he didn’t.

  Mom didn’t blink. “Food. Fresh water. Access to a bathroom. Or no money. I don’t know what Mr. Hercules promised you, but I trust you can do the math to figure out your cut of nothing.”

  For a moment it looked like he was hard at work on his zero division skills. He scrunched up his face as if he were in pain. Finally, he nodded.

  “I will bring peanut butter crackers. More water.”

  “What about bathrooms?” she insisted

  He pointed to an empty water bottle near her feet and gave her an evil smile. She made a disgusted mew, but I could barely contain my glee. The promise of more water and crackers meant he’d be returning—with his hands full. He might even leave his trusty bat behind.

  “Lots of crackers, please,” I said in my most charming voice, even though I couldn’t imagine choking down a cracker at this point.

  He eyed me with something like pity. I was sure I did look fairly pitiful. I blinked back at him.

  “I will bring crackers and other snacks from the vending machine. As much as I can,” he promised.

  I smiled. “Thank you. Please hurry.”

  He nodded, fixed his scowl back in place, and rolled down the door and locked us inside.

  My father turned to the newcomer, who hadn’t made a sound since being shoved inside the pod, and stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Bart Field. Who are you?”

  “Colin Morgan, sir. I know who you are.” He shook my dad’s hand then nodded to Mom. “Mrs. Field.” He turned to me. “Ms. Field.”

  I didn’t really have patience for the niceties. “Were you sneaking around the resort today?” I demanded.

  “Yes, ma’am. Well, no, ma’am. I was present on the premises doing surveillance.”

  At the word ‘surveillance’ my mother’s hand floated up to her throat. Dad looked a little gray.

  “Surveillance? Who in the hell are you and why are you spying on my wedding?”

  He stood up straighter and lifted his chin. “I’m Special Agent Colin Morgan, Criminal Investigation, Internal Revenue Service.”

  “The IRS has special agents?” I asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, we surely do. I’m assigned to the Legal Tax Crimes task force.”

  “Legal tax crimes?” Suddenly the light began to dawn. “You track down tax evaders, don’t you?”

  “Affirmative, ma’am.” He glanced at my parents, almost apologetically.

  I sighed. “Okay, fine. Tell me you have a gun.”

  Special Agent Morgan coughed into his fist.

  “Seriously?” I said.

  “Some special agents do carry weapons. But, um, I’m a SA-CIS.”

  “And I’m a potato, if we’re playing a nonsense word game.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. A SA-CIS is a Special Agent—Computer Investigative Specialist. I have advanced training in computer forensic investigations. That’s how I tracked your parents down,” he said with a little more gusto than I considered to be polite, given the circumstances. He must have realized his mistake and turned to my parents. “Sorry about that, but you were hard to pin down. I can’t believe I finally did it!”

  “Good job, Special Agent Morgan,” my dad said, giving him a congratulatory slap on the back.

  Mom nodded her approval. “We slipped up when we came to the wedding, didn’t we?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I hate to interrupt, but if you don’t carry a gun, why were you skulking around in the shadows?”

  He turned back to me. “I had a gut feeling your parents would come to your wedding, even though they hadn’t been invited.” He sniffed with disapproval, then said, “But I couldn’t get the task force to sign off on sending a pair of agents. So, here I am.”

  “There’s a task force devoted to me and Bart?” my mom asked.

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. You’ve proved to be very wily,” he assured her.

  Mom beamed. “Thank you, Special Agent Morgan.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Please tell me you called for back-up.”

  He grimaced. “Uh. That’s not really how it works.”

  “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ Geez, Special Agent Morgan, Dad at least contributed antacids. You’re just dead weight.”

  “Antacids? I don’t understand.”

  “Rosie here’s going to make an explosion,” my father told him proudly.

  I stifled a groan and retrieved the package from the bodice of my gown. “Hand me that water bottle, please, Mom. We need to get in position and be ready this time.”

  Chapter 20

  Sage

  Roman, Dave, and I arrived at Uncle Jed’s before Thyme and Victor got there. So we circled the gated facility once, slowly, looking for any sign of Rosemary or the pickup truck but saw nothing. Nothing other than the fact that the entire place was fenced and impenetrable by car.

  I looked out the window and half-listened as Dave and Roman went back and forth as to the likelihood of successfully crashing the car through the gate.

  “It’s not possible,” Dave said with an air of finality.

  “You’d think so. But then again, Sage did manage to drive a golf cart through a window,” Roman countered.

  “I don’t recommend it,” I piped up at the same time that Dave said, “Your girlfriend is a maniac.”

  All three of us laughed harder than the situation warranted. But we needed to release some tension, and laughing was better than crying. Or putting my head between my knees and hyperventilating.

  When the guffaws and giggles faded, I grew serious and said, “Dave, there’s something I want to say before Thyme gets here.”

  He twisted around in the driver’s seat to look at me square in the face. “I’m all ears.”

  Beside him, Roman gave me an encouraging smile.

  I took a deep breath. “I was wrong to help my parents sneak into the resort so they could watch your wedding. I’m sorry I did that.”

  He looked at me for a long moment, then he shook his head. “No, Sage, you weren’t wrong. You wanted your mother and father to be here for the wedding. Your instinct was right. It’s been bothering me that my parents would be here, but Rosemary’s wouldn’t. Our marriage is the union of our families, after all.” He smiled gently. “But, you may have gone about it all wrong.”

  I opened my mouth to protest that I hadn’t had a choice, but I clamped it shut before the words could escape. It was like Roman and his stepmom loved to say, ‘You always have a choice.’ I’d had another choice. I just hadn’t had the nerve to make it. Besides, nothing undercut an apology like defending the very thing you were apologizing about. I’d come off sounding worse than Dylan and Skylar.

  “Thanks for being so understanding,” I said smiling back at him. I could tell my smile was wobbly, but it was the best I could manage. At least I wasn’t crying.

  “Don’t thank
me yet. There’s a good chance Rosemary’s going to wring your neck when this whole mess is over.”

  We all burst out into another round of too-long, too-loud laughter. I had to wonder whether he was right, though. If Rosemary didn’t share her fiancé’s philosophy, she might just blame me for ruining her wedding.

  Although, I supposed I’d have to share the doghouse with Herk the Jerk. Who kidnaps a bride right before her wedding? Well, aside from the Dread Pirate Roberts in The Princess Bride, I mean. But trust me when I say Herk the Jerk is no Westley the Farm Boy/Dread Pirate Roberts.

  I glanced out the window and saw Victor pulling into the gas station. “They’re here.”

  “Their car doesn’t look any more capable than this one of crashing through that gate,” Dave observed.

  Roman said, “What we need is a battering ram. I don’t suppose anyone has one?”

  “No,” I told them as Victor parked next to us and Thyme clambered out of the car eating a granola bar, “what we need is an ultra-flexible person who can climb like a monkey. And it just so happens we do have one of those.”

  We all tumbled out of the Camry and gathered between the two cars so Dave could bring my sister and Victor up to speed.

  “The storage facility is secured by a fence around the perimeter. Two gates—one at the front entrance just across the way, the other around back—provide access if you have the code to punch into the little keypad. We obviously don’t have Herk’s code, so that’s not going to be our way in,” Dave said. He sounded the way I imagined a football coach would talk to his team before a game. I half expected him to whip out a white board and start drawing Xs, Os, and squiggly lines.

  “I suppose one of us could drive right up to the gate and press the intercom button,” Victor suggested. “This Herk character has never met me.”

  “Or me,” Dave agreed.

  “He hasn’t met me either. And it’s not completely crazy. We could say we were just driving by and wanted to check out the place to see if it would work to store … I don’t know, our boat or some furniture, whatever,” Roman added. “But I think Sage was going to suggest Thyme climb the fence.”

  Thyme eyed me over her granola bar. “Oh, really?”

  “I mean, you could, couldn’t you?” I asked.

  She gave a little shrug. “Probably.”

  “You’ll have to anyway,” Victor told her. “You and Sage won’t be able to come in with us. Depending on who comes to the gate, you might be recognized. You two go to the back gate and get over the fence while we provide a distraction.”

  I had several questions. “One, how am I getting over the gate? I’m not a yogi. Two, assuming we get over, then what? We have no plan. Three, what about Thyme’s suit guy? Where is he in all of this? Did a hit on his license plate come back yet?”

  “That’s way more than three questions,” Dave informed me.

  “They’re multi-part questions.”

  Thyme shifted her weight from side to side, restless and eager to move. “I’ll help you get over.”

  I threw her a skeptical look.

  “You can do it, Sage. I promise.”

  “Okay,” I said reluctantly. “But what about my other questions?”

  Dave chewed on his lip for a moment before answering. “To answer your third question, the plates came back registered to the federal government. I don’t know which agency yet. Let’s assume our friend in the suit is not working with Herk, but also not necessarily an ally.”

  “He’s after our parents,” Thyme said.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But if he is, let’s hope he shows up soon with the cavalry because to answer Sage’s second question, I guess we’re winging it.”

  We looked around the tight circle at one another. A detective, a nanny, a fitness trainer, a reporter, and a caddy. We weren’t exactly a commando dream team. Their faces reflected my own worry.

  It was Roman who broke the tension. “Hey, come on. All five of us have faced down crazier odds than this. We got this.”

  Roman’s infectious optimism was one of his best qualities. I just hoped it wasn’t misplaced.

  Chapter 21

  Thyme

  I studied the fence. It was six feet tall, made of black metal. The surface was slick and slippery, so not exactly ideal for getting a foothold, and the spear-shaped finials that topped the railhead were, well, pointy. They weren’t so wickedly sharp that they’d impale a person or anything, but they definitely wouldn’t provide a comfortable landing. I scratched my chin and considered my options.

  Sage was standing a foot or so behind me. She leaned forward and whispered, “What do you think?”

  What I thought was I should be able vault myself over the fence, but I wasn’t so sure about Sage.

  What I said was, “Oh, this is going to be a piece of cake. I’m just trying to figure out the best way to do it.”

  She moved forward to stand closer to me. She looked up at the fence. “I don’t know, Thyme …”

  Roman would’ve given her a pep talk. Dave would’ve reasoned with her. Victor would have comforted her. And, if Rosemary had been here, she probably would have ordered Sage to get her bony butt up over that fence. But I did none of those.

  Sage had only been eighteen months old when I was born. We’d grown up being mistaken for twins by parents at the homeschooling co-op, members of our mother’s gardening club, lifeguards at the public beach. Pretty much everyone. Sure, I was close with Rosemary, but I knew Sage. I knew what she loved and what she hated. I knew what brought her joy. And I knew her deepest fear—letting down someone she cared about.

  So I took both of her hands in mine and stared straight into her eyes. “Listen to me. You’re going over that fence with me because I’m afraid to go over it by myself. I don’t want to be trapped on the other side alone with the man who kidnapped my sister.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but I went on. “It doesn’t matter that my boyfriend, your boyfriend, and a police detective are going to come cruising through the front gates. It doesn’t matter if mom and dad are there. None of them explored the woods behind the house with me every summer. None of them—not even Rosemary—knows about the year I was afraid to sleep in the dark. I need you there. So we’re going to figure out how to get you over that fence, and we’re going to do it fast so we can rescue our sister and celebrate her wedding. Okay?”

  Sage looked at me for a few seconds then a little smile spread across her face. “Okay.”

  I smiled back. That settled, I returned my attention to the fence. After a moment, I had my plan worked out.

  “I’ll go first and balance on top. That way, if you need any help, I’ll be able to reach down and give you a hand.

  She looked at the fence and then at me. “How exactly are you going to sit on that fence? It has spikes on top!”

  “Don’t worry about me,” I assured her. “You just do what I say.”

  She nodded her agreement. I slipped off my sandals and approached the fence in my bare feet. Then I turned, stood with my back nearly touching the metal rails, and squatted, planting my hands on the ground. I ignored the loose gravel cutting into my palms as I lowered myself into crow pose with my knees balanced alongside my elbows.

  Once I was sure I had a sturdy base, I scissored my legs straight up then let them rest against the fence. I held the handstand until I felt my toes grip onto the thin metal bars behind me, about four inches below the railhead.

  “Holy crow, I hope you don’t expect me to do that,” Sage muttered. Then she walked over to the gate and started to read out loud the directions posted on a small sign above the keypad, “Press star then your four digit code then pound. Wait for the gate arm to rise completely before driving your vehicle through. Hmm.”

  I ignored her babbling and tightened my core muscles to prepare to execute a hanging sit up. I knew it was going to be considerably harder to accomplish hanging by my toes than the position I was familiar with: knees over a pull-up bar. Bu
t the movement would be the same.

  As I crunched up, I stretched my arms forward and grabbed the finials, using them as leverage to hoist myself up the remaining few inches until I was balancing atop the fence.

  Meanwhile, Sage was now mumbling to herself and pressing buttons on the keypad. “Okay, first the star button. Let’s see? We’ll try 4-3-2-1 and then the pound sign.” She stepped back and looked expectantly at the gate. Nothing happened.

  I was concentrating too hard on keeping my balance to ask her what the devil she thought she was doing. My arms quivered slightly as I slowly stood with my feet planted, straddling finials on both sides.

  I was still catching my breath when the pneumatic gate arm shuddered to life. The vibration knocked me off the fence, but I landed in a low crouch on two feet, panting with exertion and surprise.

  Sage picked up my sandals and sauntered through the open gate.

  “How’d you know the code?” I demanded breathlessly.

  “I didn’t know the code, but I know human nature from when I used to work in forensic accounting. Most people picked lousy passwords like 1-1-1-1 or 1-2-3-4 to secure really important things like their life savings or their retirement accounts. So, I figured it was a sure bet someone would use something lame like 4-3-2-1 for the password to a storage yard.” She grinned at me. “And I was right!”

  I gave her a sidelong look. “Well, why did you wait until I was climbing that blasted fence? I could have just walked through, too.”

  She flashed me a mischievous grin. “What’s the matter, Thyme? You’re the one who said it would be a piece of cake to vault over the fence. You eat your cake your way, I’ll eat mine my way.”

  I just shook my head at her, determined not to let on that most of my muscles were quaking, and the few that weren’t were going to be on fire in a few hours. “Let’s focus on finding Rosemary and getting her out of here. If you have any other brilliant insights into human nature in the meantime, feel free to share them, okay?”