Weasel looked at the elderly woman and shook his head slowly. “Dude,” he said. “This is some sensitive work here. I can’t work with negative vibes draining my energy levels, you know? Maybe if we could like fire up a joint together or something sometime, you could find something to like about me.”
Old Mrs. Talluchi glared at Weasel.
“Weasel, just do it please! Time is of the essence here!”
“All right, all right!” he said, turning his attention to the computer. “This thing connected?” he asked, then apparently answering the question for himself, looked over at me again. “Okay, so like Jake has your phone and you have his?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Let me see it,” he said.
Arnold had left his chair and was now standing behind Weasel, looking over his shoulder. As Weasel inspected Jake’s phone, Arnold was watching. When Weasel turned back to the computer and typed something in, Arnold leaned even closer.
“Can you circumvent the A5 algorithm?” he asked.
Weasel grinned up at him. “My brother!” he cried. “Pull up a chair and let us get to work!”
Apparently Arnold had said the password into Weasel’s good-natured karmic neighborhood.
“I don’t know shit about hacking into cell phones,” Weasel confided. “Do you?”
Arnold nodded shyly. “Well, not personally, but I spent a little time at the Technion Institute in Haifa a few years back. They were working on tightening the encryption then. I don’t suppose much of that is relevant now, but have you tried this site?” Arnold reached across to type something into the computer.
“Damn, Sam!” Weasel cried. “Would you look at that!” He studied the screen a few moments, then looked up and grinned. “We’ll have this puppy up and running in no time!”
“Weasel, what are you doing?” I asked.
“Dude, this is going to be so totally awesome! We’re going to change the settings on your phone, then switch phones with Jake’s by changing the numbers. His features will be automatically updated through Big Bro, the global positioning option will be activated whether the phone’s turned on or not, and we’ll be set.”
“Big Bro?”
Weasel rolled his eyes and grinned at Arnold. “Big Brother, you know, dude, 1984, George Orwell. The cell company’s satellite!”
“Oh,” I said, nodding like I got it.
“Then we hack the phone, read the GPS coordinates and go pick up the boy!”
I looked over at Arnold, who nodded like he’d understood every word of Weasel’s explanation. “How long will this take?”
Weasel, back at the keyboard and typing away, cackled. “Arnie showed me a shortcut. It shouldn’t take us more than twenty minutes.”
I looked up at the clock again—3:16 p.m. What if she’d taken his phone? What if it was lying in a field somewhere, miles away from their location? Was Jake still alive? If he was, how long would Bitsy let him live before she killed him?
Chapter 15
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I said, looking up from the map. “He’s out off Harmon Road. Isn’t that where the…”
“Proctor place is,” Nina finished. “Jake’s somewhere on the Proctor estate!”
“Maybe,” I said. “At least that’s where the phone is. If we’re lucky, Jake’s there too.”
I tried to remember what I knew of the huge estate. Set on fifty-three acres, the original home had been built over a hundred years ago and used as a summer house for the wealthy Proctor family. Over the years several additional homes had been added to the site to house additional extended family. Outbuildings and barns peppered the land, built to support the more recent and failed attempt to start a winery. It was a logistical nightmare for someone planning a rescue mission, but it was the perfect location for someone who wanted to stay hidden.
I looked back down at the map and sighed. Nina had to be right. There were no other properties with homes along that road. It was a perfect hiding place—remote, secluded and full of alternatives. Damn!
“You know,” Arnold said, “I almost bought that place a month ago. I have the plat map of the property, a real estate booklet showing the buildings and their floor plans and some pictures. Do you think those would help? They’re sitting on the desk in my room at the hospice.”
Spike stood up and grabbed her keys from the hook by the back door. “I’ll go get them,” she said. “Arnie, call and tell them I’m coming, okay?”
The little man nodded. He looked pale suddenly and worn-out. Aunt Lucy seemed to notice this, too, because she put a protective hand on his shoulder.
“You can call from the bedroom,” she said firmly. “But then you must have some soup and a nap.”
Arnold might have thought about protesting, but Aunt Lucy circumvented this by issuing a string of commands to Nina and Weasel while leading her patient gently but firmly from the room.
With a worried look on her face Sylvia Talluchi watched the elderly couple leave. “We must watch him,” she murmured to me quietly. “His spirit is light. I don’t think he has much longer.”
Lloyd whined and barked once, a shrill yip quite unlike his usual bark. He was watching the doorway leading from the kitchen to Aunt Lucy’s bedroom and standing beside the pallet where Fang lay, clearly torn between the two loves of his life.
“They’ll be fine, Lloyd,” I said, walking over to pet his head and scratch behind his ears. “She’ll be back in a few minutes. You stay with Fang.”
Fang raised her head and growled softly, probably wishing the overly anxious father-to-be would indeed follow his adopted mistress. Fang didn’t seem like the type of woman who took kindly to smothering attention.
I found myself pacing around the kitchen, out onto the back porch and back inside again. I needed a plan for finding and rescuing Jake. I walked through the house, circling each room, and finally wound up following the basement steps down to Uncle Benny’s old workshop.
I surveyed the room, running my fingers over Uncle Benny’s workbench, feeling the metal and wood surfaces and missing the man who had become a second father to me. I crossed the room, sat briefly on the worn sofa that was his home base during baseball and football season. I closed my eyes and tried to think. I was one woman trying to save one man from a dangerous mixture of professional killers.
I closed my eyes and had a sudden memory of fishing with Uncle Benny. It was the summer after my parents had been killed in an airplane crash and I was a grief-stricken teenager. I blamed myself for my parents’ deaths, thinking that somehow my anger at them for leaving me and my burgeoning attempts at autonomy had somehow caused their airplane to fall from the sky. I was miserable and Uncle Benny knew it.
He never forced his wisdom upon me, never tried to hurry my grieving or argue me into moving on with my life. Uncle Benny just sat quietly by my side and waited throughout the long months of my recovery.
On this one day in particular, we were in his skiff, floating quietly in the middle of Kerr Park Lake. Our rods trailed in the lazy wake of the drifting boat. Cicadas sang songs of midsummer heat, and the occasional fly buzzed our ears.
Mango, my ten-year-old mutt, lay in the bottom of the boat, snuggled up as close to me as possible. Her head rested on my foot and even when I moved it, she followed, plopping her heat back on top of my toes as soon as I resettled.
“Why does she keep doing that?” I asked. “She won’t leave me alone. It’s a zillion degrees out here and Mango has to keep her head right on top of my foot. I’m hot!”
Uncle Benny looked at the elderly cocker spaniel and smiled gently. “Why, Stella, she’s only doing what she has to do.”
I hadn’t expected an answer. I looked over at my uncle, waiting to hear what would follow.
“Dogs are like people. They only do what they feel they must do in order to survive.”
When Uncle Benny didn’t elaborate, I couldn’t help asking, “Mango won’t survive if her head isn’t on my foot? Why?”
> Uncle Benny chuckled. “No, cara, it’s not that Mango won’t survive. She will. She’d be fine, in fact. She just doesn’t believe it, that’s all. You see, if you want her to change, you must first understand why she feels she must keep her head on your foot or die.”
I remember thinking my uncle was nuts.
“Look at things from Mango’s point of view,” Uncle Benny added. “She is a happy dog in a happy family. Everybody loves her. Then one day, two of the three people in her life disappear and never come back.”
Uncle Benny stopped for a long moment, watching as I reached out to stroke Mango’s hot black fur. Mango, sensing something in my touch, sat up and began licking the salty tears from my cheek.
“Mango can’t understand our words,” Uncle Benny said softly. “She doesn’t know what happened or why. All she knows is that she doesn’t want to lose you. That’s why she has to keep her head on your foot.”
Years later, when I became a cop, I used Uncle Benny’s philosophy on a daily basis. Once I understood Why, I could understand Who or How. It wasn’t going to be any different with Bitsy. Why was Bitsy so certain Jake and I were against her? Why did she think she needed to hold him hostage in order to get me to bring her the microchip?
I got up and walked through the laundry room entrance into Aunt Lucy’s laboratory. Baby Blankenship was awake and lying up in her hospital bed talking to Sylvia Talluchi.
“Do you know I worked as a car hop down at Miller’s Drive-In?” she was saying.
“All through high school, up until I met Milton,” she added.
“My father,” Sylvia said. “He wouldn’t let us outta his sight. I had to sneak just to see the movie down at the Saturday matinee!”
“You were such a pretty girl,” Baby said. “Your father was smart!”
When they saw me standing at the edge of the curtained doorway, Baby’s smile grew even wider. “There’s my girl, now,” she said. “Brenda, come in here!” She turned to Sylvia Talluchi. “She’s so bashful these days. I tell her, who cares if you’re rich or you’re poor. Money isn’t everything!”
I frowned. Why would Brenda Blankenship worry about money? The Blankenships lived in one of the nicest homes in town. Bitsy had never lacked for a thing while we were in school. She was always dressed in the latest hot outfit. She’d even driven a candy-apple-red mustang, given to her on her sixteenth birthday.
I hesitated. “Money’s not everything?” I echoed.
Baby looked to Sylvia again. “I tell her everyone will understand, but she just doesn’t listen. I gave her everything I had. What else could a mother do? At least he didn’t go to prison.”
I approached the bed. “Who, Baby? Who didn’t go to prison?”
Baby frowned, held her finger to her lips and shushed me. “Benton,” she whispered.
“Benton?” I repeated.
Baby frowned up at me. “Hey,” she said. “You aren’t who you are!” She studied me harder, squinting as she tried to place me in her memory. “Who are you? Where is my girl?” Baby’s voice rose as she became more anxious.
Paint Bucket appeared in the doorway, a glass of water in one hand and a small paper pill cup in the other.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, smiling at Baby. “How’s my favorite girl?”
Sylvia Talluchi seized my hand with her talonlike fingers and yanked me out of the makeshift bedroom.
“You upset my patient!” she cried in a hoarse whisper. “What’s the matter with you, eh?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was just trying to—Who’s Benton?”
Sylvia scowled. “Her son, Benton. Bitsy’s father.”
“Bitsy’s father?” I tried to remember Bitsy’s father and couldn’t come up with a face. “I thought Bitsy’s father died when she was little? Wait a minute. I thought Brenda was Baby’s daughter. You mean she’s her daughter-in-law?”
Sylvia cast a worried look back toward the curtained-off area and shook her head. “Benton was Baby’s son, but no one talks about him anymore. It was such a shame. Such a waste.”
“What happened?” I could feel myself getting increasingly anxious as the knot of details surrounding Bitsy and her family grew more complex. This was taking up valuable time, time I didn’t have.
“Benton had a gambling problem. By the time Brenda found out about it, he was in trouble with the loan sharks and was on the verge of losing everything he owned. He was stunnade!”
Sylvia made a gesture that left no doubt as to her opinion of Benton Blankenship.
“He ran like a yellow dog! He left his wife and small baby with nothing but the clothes on their backs! It was a disgrace!”
I stared at Sylvia, not believing what I was hearing. “But they lived with Baby. Brenda is still in the house. I don’t understand.”
Sylvia shrugged. “What is to understand? Baby took them in. What else could she do? Brenda worked in the bank and they tried to pay off the debt.”
“But we all thought Bitsy was rich. She had the clothes and the car. How…?” I stopped, realizing how hard Baby and Brenda had to work to make Bitsy’s life look easy and privileged.
“Did Bitsy know?” I asked.
Sylvia Talluchi shrugged. “Who knows?”
If she had known, I thought, she never let on. None of us ever saw Bitsy as anything but carefree and air-headed. Only years later did I learn she was brilliant and playing at being stupid so she’d fit in with the popular kids. If she’d been that concerned about her image, imagine how she’d feel if people learned about her father.
“Listen,” I said, “I need Baby’s necklace. I figured if I exchanged the one I’m wearing for the one Bitsy gave her, she wouldn’t get upset. But I didn’t expect her to think I was Brenda. I need to go back in there. Will you help me?”
Sylvia Talluchi eyed me warily. “I do not think you should go back in there at all,” she said. “Give me the necklace. I’ll take care of it.”
When I hesitated, Mrs. Talluchi reached up, grabbed a lock of my hair and yanked my head down hard until we were face-to-face at her eye level.
“Look, kid, I know you think I’m a crazy old woman, but I’m all you got at the moment. Now give me the necklace!”
Three minutes later I was walking up the stairs to Aunt Lucy’s kitchen, Baby Blankenship’s necklace in my hand. I was examining it, looking for anything that could resemble what I supposed was a microchip, when Aunt Lucy found me.
“Arnold wants to see you,” she said.
I looked up and was shocked to see how tired and worried she looked.
“Is he worse?” I asked.
Aunt Lucy seemed puzzled for a moment. “Worse?” she repeated. “No, Stella. Arnold isn’t worse. He is just very, very tired. It is hard sometimes to die.”
She turned and began walking back down the hallway with me close behind her. When we reached her bedroom, she stopped outside the door and cautioned me. “Don’t stay too long. He wants to help but…” Her voice trailed off as she slowly opened the door to reveal a small form lying in the middle of her bed. Fang lay at his feet, guarding her new friend.
“Stella,” Arnold called. His voice was barely above a whisper. “A friend of mine is going to bring you some tools that might help tonight. Do you need manpower?”
I shook my head. “No, Arnie. If Bitsy found out it would be disastrous. I need to go in alone. It will be easier to slip in that way.”
Arnold’s bright-blue eyes were dull with pain and the medication used to fight it. He nodded as his eyes slowly closed, and he seemed to be sleeping.
“Thank you, Arnie,” I whispered.
“It’s…nothing,” he answered.
Aunt Lucy was sitting on the bed beside him when I left the room. She was holding Arnie’s hand and crooning a tune that sounded vaguely familiar. It wasn’t until I had almost reached the kitchen that I recognized it. “Keep on the Sunny Side.”
Spike arrived a few minutes later carrying a portfolio stuffed with brochures
and information about the Proctor estate.
“Stel,” she said. “I’ve got something else for you. While I was picking up Arnold’s portfolio, one of Arnold’s employees arrived. He said to tell you to look in Aunt Lucy’s back alley trash can right after as it gets dark.” She looked outside at the overcast sky and turned back to me. “That shouldn’t be too much longer, huh?”
A frisson of adrenaline lifted the hairs on the back of my neck. Darkness wouldn’t come soon enough.
I spent the next two hours poring over maps and floor plans before deciding on my course of action. Nina and Spike would have to come along, as getaway drivers and lookouts if nothing else. There was just no way I could search the entire Proctor estate, find Jake and escape without help.
As soon as it was dark enough, Spike and Nina retrieved the heavy box from Aunt Lucy’s back-alley trash can. Arnold Koslovski had played high-tech Santa Claus.
“Would you look at that!” Spike cried, holding up a set of night-vision goggles.
“I claim this thing!” Nina called. “It’s like, totally too cool! What is it?”
I took the small, gray device she held in her hands and inspected it.
“See all those cute little twinkle lights?” Nina added. “I bet they do something way interesting.”
“Nina,” I said. “This is too cool! Do you know what it is? This is a universal RF transmitter locator and minibug detector. If Bitsy uses her cell phone or any communication device, this thing will not only pinpoint her location, it’ll listen in! It’ll detect any surveillance devices, too. Oh, this is great!”
Nina turned to Spike, her face glowing with excitement. “Honey, wouldn’t this be cool in our new house? We could like, always know who’s knocking at the front door. We’d never be interrupted when we’re…well, you know! We could just turn this on and listen to what they’re saying. That way we’d know if it was the Jehovah’s Witnesses or one of your cop friends coming to visit!”
Spike actually blushed. “Whatever you want, baby,” she murmured.
Nina started to giggle, clapped a hand over her mouth and looked dismayed. “Oh, man, I’m sorry, Stella. For a second I guess I forgot about how serious—I mean, before Jake got—Well, I think Spike and I found a house. Next door to Mrs. Talluchi…It’s perfect and it’s not far away, either.”
What Stella Wants Page 24