by Mary McBride
“Let it ring,” he said.
“Wait, Sam. I was supposed to tell you to call Charlie. He said he was at home. I’m sorry. It sounded important.”
“It damn well better be,” he muttered, glaring in the direction of the phone and lowering Laura to the floor before he stalked to answer it. Then, after barely thirty seconds of conversation, he pointed to the light switch on the far wall and ordered Laura to hit it.
“Why?” she asked.
“Just do it,” he snapped. “Now.”
She was reaching up to the switch just as the window over the sink seemed to explode and glass flew everywhere.
“Get over here,” Sam yelled into the phone almost at the same time that he yelled for Laura to get down.
Not needing to be told once, let alone twice, she was already halfway to the floor, intending to make herself one with the linoleum. Sam hit the light switch, then crouched beside her in the dark. She wasn’t sure if it was his heart thundering or her own. Probably both.
“It’s Artie,” she whispered. “Isn’t it?”
“No. It’s Janey.”
The squad car screeched into the driveway a fast five minutes later, but in the meantime Sam had moved a terrified Laura to the relative safety of the interior hallway, even though he was already convinced that the shot, like the curling iron and the vandalized tomatoes before it, was just an isolated warning. He really didn’t expect Janey to try to come into the house and finish what she had started.
“Sam!” Charlie’s voice sounded just outside the shattered window. “You okay in there?”
“Yeah. We’re fine.”
“Well, if she was here,” Charlie called, “she’s long gone now. Probably parked over at the Beeman place and cut across their field.”
Beside him, Laura whispered in a tiny, frantic voice, “She’s gone? Is that what he said? It’s okay to get up now? Are you sure?”
“Stay here a minute, just in case,” Sam said.
He flipped on the light in the kitchen and surveyed the glass-littered sink and countertop and floor, hardly concerned about the mess when he considered the alternative. Only moments before Janey had fired, he and Laura had been perfect targets, standing at the window, kissing, tearing at each other’s clothes, oblivious to everything but the heat roaring between them. He should have had more sense than that.
“Oh, my God.” Laura stood nearby, her fingertips lightly touching his arm. “Oh, Sam.”
From her tone, it was obvious that she had reached the same conclusion. They were lucky to be alive. Then Charlie came in the back door, and the three of them stood there, pondering the wreckage.
“Hell, I knew something was up when I heard that Janey was making a damned nuisance of herself at one gun shop after another this afternoon,” Charlie said. “I guess I should’ve come straight over here when you didn’t call me back right away. I’m real sorry about that, Sam.”
“Not your fault. You couldn’t have anticipated this.” Sam waved a hand across the glass strewn floor. “Nobody could,” he said, contrary to what he was telling himself, that he should have anticipated it, that he should have realized that Janey was capable of anything. Even this.
“You’re going to arrest her, right?” Laura asked, picking a shard of glass out of the sink and dropping it into the trash.
“Well…” Charlie murmured. “That all depends on what sort of evidence we can come up with. And mostly it depends on Sam, here.”
“On Sam? What do you mean?” She looked to Sam for a reply.
“He means if I decide to press charges, Laura.”
“You have to,” she insisted. “You can’t let that woman get away with this.”
“It’s pretty hard proving what actually happened here, ma’am,” Charlie offered. “There’s what we all know, but that doesn’t count for squat without the physical evidence.” He stretched out a foot to take a swat at a piece of glass. “The sheriff, Sam’s replacement, isn’t one to waste manpower on hunting and gathering if it doesn’t get him a spot on the front page of the paper or his face on the six o’clock news.”
“The woman is crazy,” Laura said. “Good Lord. There’s no telling what she might do next.”
Charlie shrugged helplessly.
“Well, we’re not going to wait around to find out,” Sam said. “Get your stuff together, Laura. Charlie, do me a favor, will you, and call the board-up people and have them send somebody over here as soon as possible to take care of that window?”
“Sure thing, boss,” the officer replied. “If they can’t get to it tonight, I’ll see to it myself.”
“Thanks. And one other thing. See if you can locate Wes Gunther and give him a heads-up on this. Tell him he might want to think about trying to get custody of his daughter, at least for the time being.”
“Right,” Charlie said. “You got any idea yet where you’ll be?”
Sam shook his head. “No, none, but I’ll let you know when we get there.”
There turned out to be an antiquated motel, or more precisely a little clutch of pine-log tourist cabins, called Havenrest. The middle “n,” Laura noticed, had burned out on the blue neon sign, but “Have rest” wasn’t such a bad name for a place where they could safely hide out from rotten Artie and crazy Janey.
She followed Sam into the larger log cabin designated “Office” where an elderly gentleman sat watching a silent baseball game on an ancient console television that was nearly as big as the cabins out back. When he saw them come through the door, the man hauled himself out his rocking chair and called out hoarsely, “Hortense, we’ve got company.”
“Evening,” Sam said.
The old geezer cupped a hand to his ear. “What’s that?”
“I said good evening,” Sam repeated, louder this time, but to no avail. The man stared at him blankly.
A little gnome of a woman with a cloud of snow white hair emerged from a door behind the registration desk. She reminded Laura of Mrs. Santa Claus until she boomed out, “It don’t do no good yelling, young man. His battery’s dead.”
“What’s that?” the old man said.
The little woman shot him a fierce and no doubt well-practiced glare that immediately sent him shuffling back to his rocker and the muted baseball game.
“We’d like a room,” Sam said.
“You would, would you?” She trained an equally fierce glare on Sam, arced it toward Laura briefly, then back to Sam. “Are you kids married?”
“No,” he said.
“Yes,” Laura piped up at the same instant.
“Well, which is it?” she demanded while she gripped her registration book like a holy relic. “I don’t mind waiting while the two of you get your stories straight.”
It seemed fairly obvious to Laura that the woman wasn’t going to let them set foot in one of her precious cabins if they weren’t man and wife, so she gave Sam a little nudge with her elbow and was about to cross her fingers behind her back and lie like a rug when he announced, “We’re not married, ma’am. If that’s a problem for you, we’ll just go someplace else.”
Laura was ready to turn and walk out the door they had just come in when the woman let out a whoop and said, “Good for you! I like an honest man. And if you’re smart, you’ll stay that way, too. Single, I mean. You, too, Missy. The both of you.”
“What’s that, Hortense?” the man in the rocker shouted across the little lobby while he tapped at the contraption in his ear.
“Your battery’s dead, Herman,” she yelled, then muttered under her breath, “Been dead since I married you, you durn fool.” She gave a snort and turned the registration book around, then handed Sam a pen. “Sign right here, young man.”
The woman didn’t bat an eye when Sam signed the page with a sweeping “Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Hamilton” or when he counted out the forty-eight dollars for the cost of their accommodations.
“Cabin Six,” she said, pushing a key across the countertop. “Don’t worry about maki
ng noise. Herman over there won’t hear and I won’t mind one bit.”
“We’ll be quiet,” Sam said, grasping Laura’s arm and leading her toward the door. “G’night.”
“And you remember what I said about staying single,” the woman called.
As the door closed on the office, Laura could hear poor old Herman inquire once more, “What’s that?”
Laughing, she slipped her arm through Sam’s as they crossed the parking lot, suddenly feeling lighter and brighter, not quite so hunted anymore. “I don’t think Hortense is too keen on holy matrimony,” she said.
Sam grinned and cupped a hand to his ear. “What’s that?”
She laughed harder, clutching his arm tighter. For somebody in a world of trouble, Laura marveled that she could do anything but cry. And now, because of her, poor Sam was in a world of trouble, too.
Cabin Six turned out to be set off from numbers One through Five by a dilapidated playground where the sandbox was full of leaves and paper trash, where gangly weeds had sprouted up beneath the swing seats that hung from rusty chains. It had probably been years since any child had played here, since little feet had worn the ground to dust along the bottom arc of a swing.
She had a sudden vision of her father, standing behind her, pushing her shoulders, sending her higher and higher toward the sky while he laughed and told her to point her toes and kick the devil out of the clouds. His face appeared so vivid, so real in every detail that it surprised Laura since the image of her father had been excised from all family photographs for decades, the way his name had been banished from all conversation.
For one bleak, nearly unbearable moment she missed him terribly.
Sam stopped all of a sudden. “What’s wrong?” he asked, turning her to him and searching her face.
All she could do just then was shake her head. Even so, it didn’t dislodge the poignant vision of the young, smiling Oliver McNeal. Daddy.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, tightening his grip on her shoulders. “This is the last place on earth anybody would look for us, Laura. And even if they did, I wouldn’t let anybody hurt you.”
“It’s not that.” She could barely speak for the sudden lump in her throat. “It’s… I was looking at the playground and thinking about my father. I haven’t thought about him much. Not really. Not in years. And now suddenly…”
Hot tears welled up in her eyes. Laura swiped them away. “This is so stupid. I’ll be fine.”
“Is he dead?” Sam asked.
“What?”
“Your father. The first man to walk out on you.” He thumbed a tear from her cheek. “Is he dead or alive?”
“I don’t know. My mother never talked about him after he left. She got angry if I asked.”
“Do you want to know?”
Laura blinked. “I never thought…”
“Well, think about it,” Sam said. “That’s what I do, you know. Find people.”
Suddenly the mere idea that it might be possible to find him, to somehow reattach her dad to all those mutilated family photographs, seemed to lift a burden from her heart.
She could feel a smile actually take possession of her lips.
“Oh, Sam! You really could find him, couldn’t you?”
He nodded.
“I don’t have all that much information about him. What would you need? Name, date of birth, Social Security number? Maybe I could…”
“Slow down.” He pulled her arm through his and continued toward Cabin Six. “We’ll get started on it tomorrow, okay? In the meantime… Home sweet home.”
Sam turned the key in the lock and pushed in the knotty pine door. He stuck his head in, looked around, then stepped back to announce almost gleefully, “What a dump. You’re really going to love this, honey.”
Thank God for gold shag carpets, lava lamps, and bedspreads decked with pink flamingoes, Sam thought. He had sensed a sadness coming over Laura as they crossed the parking lot, and he simply couldn’t bear the idea of her being sad. It made his heart feel like a rock in his chest.
For the first time since he’d gotten his crummy P.I. license, he took some real pleasure in the occupation. He’d find her father for her, hopefully not in some cemetery, but alive and eager to make up for all the damage he’d done to his little girl. In the meantime, however, there was this godawful room to delight her. If it hadn’t, Sam decided, he would’ve stood on his head in a knotty pine paneled corner and whistled “Dixie” just to make her smile.
And smile she did, just like a kid in a candy store.
“Oh, Sam. Look at this.” She held up a queasy green plastic ashtray, molded in the shape of a boomerang. “Isn’t it great?”
“Great,” he echoed as enthusiastically as he could.
“And look at this TV,” she exclaimed. “Rabbit ears! Do you believe it?”
“I wouldn’t turn it on, if I were you,” he said. “I’ll bet it only picks up The Twilight Zone.”
She shivered, more out of delight than fright, then continued to happily explore their pine-paneled environment while Sam took a seat on the edge of one of the twin beds and reached for the big, black rotary phone on the nightstand.
“I’m going to call Charlie and let him know where we are,” he said.
It occurred to him, though, that he also wanted to ask some questions regarding Janey’s whereabouts that he really didn’t want Laura to overhear for fear they would spoil her current mood, so he delved in his pocket to see how much change he could come up with. Five quarters weren’t going to get them a feast from the vending machines, even at ’50s prices.
He waved a five-dollar bill in Laura’s direction. “Think you’ve got the strength to ask Herman for some change?”
She tugged at her earlobe. “What’s that?” Then she laughed as she took the money from his hand.
“Very funny. I’m starving. Why don’t you see what you can come up with in the way of dinner from those vending machines in the office.”
“You got it.” She laughed again as she headed for the door. “I’m a vending machine kind of girl, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Sam smiled. “I noticed.”
He noticed, too, that when Laura left, she took all her weird, sweet magic with her and the room reverted to what it truly was. A dump. He couldn’t help but think that’s how his whole life would look without this woman in it.
Laura stood with a handful of quarters in front of the vending machines, trying to decide whether Sam, with his gourmet tendencies, would prefer barbecued potato chips or plain, ruffled or flat, when she happened to glance at the screen of Herman’s television just as the baseball game blinked off and was replaced by a headline reading Special Report.
Suddenly, on the screen, was someone who bore an amazing resemblance to Sam’s friend, Officer Travis. A local reporter was holding a microphone in front of his worried face.
“Turn it up,” Laura said.
“What’s that?”
“Turn it… Never mind.” She pocketed her quarters, hurried around the old man’s rocker, and turned up the sound herself.
…and in your opinion, then, the woman is indeed armed and capable of carrying out her threat? Is that correct, Officer?
That’s correct. We have reason to believe that she is in possession of at least one firearm.
And the child the Sayles woman is holding hostage? Can you give us any information about that?
The hostage is a female, approximately three years of age. Samantha.
Her own daughter, is that correct?
Yes.
Exactly what is the woman demanding?
I’m not at liberty to say at the present time.
We’ve heard rumors that it has something to do with Sam Zachary, the former county sheriff. Can you confirm that?
No comment.
“Oh, my God,” Laura gasped as the reporter turned a somber face to the camera.
And so the nightmare of little Samantha continues. We’ll break
in with further developments. Back to you in the studio, Paul.
Chapter 12
Sam got pulled over for speeding, which was exactly what he’d intended when he jammed his foot hard on the Blazer’s accelerator and sent cinders flying as he peeled out of the motel parking lot. The Havenrest was hell and gone on the opposite side of the county from Janey’s house, which was the exact reason he had chosen it. But now that he needed to get back there, it would have taken an extra fifteen minutes without a police escort.
“This isn’t your fault, Sam,” Laura said as if she were reading his mind. “You couldn’t have known she’d do something so completely off-the-wall.”
He kept his eyes on the road and the flashing lights mounted on the cruiser just ahead. “It is my fault. I should have suspected something like this with Janey getting more unstable every day. If anything happens to that little girl…”
“It won’t. I’m sure of that. It’s just Janey’s sick way of getting your attention.”
“Well, she’s got it.”
Sam scowled through the windshield, not knowing what to expect once he arrived on the scene, feeling helpless in the face of Janey’s demands, whatever they turned out to be. He only knew one thing. Nobody was going to get hurt during this debacle. Not Samantha and not Janey, either. He’d do whatever he had to in order to prevent that.
He tried to imagine all the possible scenarios that awaited him, running them through his head, deciding how he might deal with each one, all the while knowing it was an exercise in futility when it was Janey who ultimately would decide the outcome of tonight’s events.
Predictably, the scene was utter chaos when they arrived with countless sheriff’s department vehicles, two EMS units, and three local television trucks, beaming the entire Chinese fire drill back to their stations. God only knows how many civilian gawkers there were, sitting on hoods of cars and camped out in lawn chairs. Even that lousy ambulance chaser and quick-buck artist, Louie, had arrived with his snack truck, ready to serve the curious masses coffee and doughnuts at inflated prices.