One Fool At Least (The Madeline Mann Mysteries)

by Julia Buckley

  “But Finn is dead, Pat, and Ardmore got shot. Can I call Libby’s cell phone?” I asked.

  “Sure.” He handed me his own phone. “Just press number one.”

  I did. With growing dread I heard “the number that you have dialed is currently unavailable….” I clicked off and handed it to Pat. “She seems to have it off.”

  “That’s odd. But sometimes she doesn’t check it.” He didn’t seem urgent enough to me.

  “Pat, something’s wrong here.”

  “I know, I know. It’s so crazy, Maddy. You must feel like you’re in a nightmare.”

  He looked at me, brow creased with worry, and I saw Jack in his face and suddenly loved him. I put my hand on his shoulder and said, “I just want to see that they’re okay.”

  “Right. We’ll be there in a couple of minutes. Should I call Chief Hendricks?”

  I sighed. “Well—no. Because if I’m wrong it would be more than embarrassing. Maybe it would even damage your reputation, and I certainly don’t want that. Let’s just find them and regroup.”

  Pat drove, quickly but safely, into downtown Grand Blue. I scanned the streets for Shea family members or for a glimpse of Slider’s telltale hair, but saw nothing. Pat was pulling into a parking spot near Flanagan’s when he said, in a relieved tone, “There’s Libby.”

  I looked where he was pointing and saw her walking swiftly down the street, away from us. I recognized the red windbreaker she’d been wearing when she stopped at the cabin, as well as her pretty brown ponytail. “Okay,” I said. “Why don’t you go check in with her? I’m fine.”

  Pat hesitated, then nodded. “You’re okay here in the car. Just stay put now, all right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He got out and trotted in the direction that Libby had gone; Libby, however, was no longer visible. She had apparently gone through one of the shop doorways while Pat and I were talking.

  I sighed and looked toward David Kirk’s office, which was a few doors down in the other direction. And I saw Molly. She was in the big front window, looking out, and then suddenly she was gone, almost as though some unseen puppet master had yanked her away. It was one of the strangest things I’d ever seen.

  Naturally I wanted to obey Pat, and I certainly didn’t want to anger Jack by doing anything dangerous. But in all honesty I wasn’t thinking of danger just then; I just felt that something wasn’t right, and that I needed to go toward Molly. It wasn’t even really a conscious decision that had me slipping out of the car and pulling my crutches after me. I crutched toward the door of Kirk Financial, as the gold letters on the window told me, and peered inside. That’s when I knew something was wrong. No one was there, not even David Kirk himself, who should have been sitting behind his handsome desk.

  “Huh,” I said.

  “What’s wrong?” asked a voice, and I jumped about two feet in the air. By the time I landed I realized that it was Mike, who had wheeled soundlessly up next to me.

  “Whoa! You scared me,” I said.

  “Why are you here? Didn’t we leave you at the cabin?”

  “Change of plans. Did Molly go in here?”

  “Yeah. She’s with Slider. Mom and I both had our own errands to run.”

  “Uh huh. I don’t see anyone in there now, actually,” I said. “And yet I could have sworn I saw Molly a minute ago.”

  Mike was looking at me, so I ventured some eye contact, even though I knew it would give me away.

  “You think something’s wrong,” Mike said immediately. “What happened? What’s going on?”

  “Let me go in there and just see something,” I said. “You watch me through the window. Make sure I don’t get sucked into a black hole or something.”

  “Sure,” Mike said, bemused.

  I went through the door of Kirk’s office. It opened and closed soundlessly. As I had noted from outside, the room was empty, and so silent I began to feel nervous. It was a silence filled with vibes, and none of them were good. I crutched across the carpet to a little closet, which I opened to find some coffee supplies and a jacket hanging on a hook. Neat and tidy—no bloody weapons.

  I moved down the wall, wondering if there were another doorway—there had to be some sort of back room with a washroom and kitchen and such, didn’t there? Before I could find out, something horrible happened. I heard a loud chirping sound, louder than any church bell that ever rang, it seemed to me—and it was my cell phone.

  “Geez,” I whispered automatically as I reached into my pocket to turn it off, and suddenly David Kirk materialized in front of me with a wide smile.

  “Hello,” he said. “May I help you? Oh—I know you. You’re Madeline, right?”

  “Yes. Hello,” I said. My throat was suddenly so dry I could barely force out words. I made my lips stretch into a return smile. “I was looking for my niece. Molly. Have you seen her or Slider? I suppose you’ve heard Slider is back in town?”

  “Why, yes, I had heard that. I actually haven’t seen them, though,” he said.

  I paused. What to say now? He was lying, I was sure of that. His face was white and taut, and his fingers kept flexing as he held his hands at his sides.

  “Oh. Well, I’m sorry to disturb you. Say, you wouldn’t have a ladies’ room I could use for a moment, would you?”

  His face, if it was possible, turned a bit whiter. “Uh—no. That is, it’s out of order. So I’m sorry, but I can’t let anyone in there right now.”

  “I see.”

  There was an awkward moment, a moment out of time, where we looked at each other and we both knew the truth; I knew that he had Slider and Molly and he knew that I knew, and yet I somehow couldn’t muster up the pepper to confront him with what I felt in my gut. “Uh—well, the thing is—I thought I saw Molly a second ago,” I ventured. “Right there in the window. So I came over to find her. Her parents are looking for her, just outside.”

  “Well, I’ll be sure to tell them if I see them,” he said weakly, looking ready to hurl, as Fritz would say.

  “Right,” I said. I stole one more glance down the hallway, at the closed doors there. There was no way I could storm the doors, not with the damned crutches. But I could get reinforcements, by golly I could. I thanked David Kirk and crutched back to the door, where Mike sat waiting tensely in his chair. I waved Mike down the sidewalk, away from the window, and I followed him. “They’re in there, Mike, I know they are, but he says they’re not. And here I am on crutches, and you’re in a wheelchair, and we need some help.”

  “Hand me your cell,” Mike said. “I’ll call Dad.”

  He did, then shook his head. “He must be on the line. I’m getting his voicemail. I can try again in a minute.”

  “No, no, we want to act now. Call someone else. Tell him to call David Kirk. Or to have his wife call him. Tell him to find some reason to get David Kirk out of that office.”

  Mike nodded. He dialed again, spoke briefly into the phone, then clicked off. “Okay. My friend Andy will do it. He does this great Chief Hendricks impression. He’s going to pretend to be the chief.”

  “Oh, geez,” I said. I’d worry about the trouble I was causing later. “Can you go around to the back?” I asked. “Just in case he tries to sneak out that way. I’m going to stand on the corner here and watch his door. Then we’ll see what happens.”

  Mike agreed, and wheeled himself briskly down the sidewalk, then turned left into the alley. I hid myself in the shadow of an awning over a video store and kept my eye on David Kirk’s door. I watched for five minutes and then the glass door moved outward and David Kirk appeared, looking sweaty. He shut the door firmly and locked it with a key that he stowed in his pocket. He stared through the door for a moment, then turned and jogged down the sidewalk in the direction of Flanagan’s.

  When he was out of sight I crutched back to the door and tried it; it was indeed locked. I examined the lock; it was an old clunky thing, and possibly worth a try with a few things I had in my bag. I went through an
d found a bobby pin, which I managed to break in the lock in a matter of seconds.

  “Darn it,” I said out loud. This did not make the lock any less solid. The whole door seemed to be made of oak.

  “Darn it,” I said again. Then I realized this was not a profitable activity. I decided to find Mike and see what ideas he might have.

  I crutched to the alley, turned left, and then peered into the little lot behind the storefronts. There was a back door to “David Kirk, Accountant,” but Mike was not there, nor was he in the little rutted road that connected back to the next intersecting street. “Mike!” I hissed. I could see wheel marks in the gravel that were obviously made by Mike’s chair, but he had disappeared. Teenagers nowadays, I thought vaguely. Always disappearing on you. Of course, Pat and Libby had disappeared, too, and Pat knew of my urgency. He also thought, though, that I was safely seated in his car.

  I sighed and weighed my options. I still believed that Molly Shea was in that building. I believed Slider was there, too. I believed they might be hurt or somehow silenced, or they would have somehow responded to the sound of my voice. My only helper had disappeared, and my back-up was not on the horizon. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Jack. I listened to the ringing with a growing sense of dread. “For gosh sakes!” I said as loudly as I dared, leaning on my crutches dejectedly.

  Then I did a truly desperate thing. I dialed another number and waited. This one, as luck would have it, was answered by the one man I was looking for, a man who would know what to do when faced with a series of obstacles: my brother Fritz. I dialed, wondering if the mountains would prevent long distance calling….

  “Fritz,” I said, relieved when my brother answered the phone. “Thank goodness I found you.”

  “Madman? Hey, how’s the honeymoon? Did Jack let you out of bed for good behavior? Or are you calling from the mattress? And if so, why? Don’t you hear angels sing, Madman?”

  “Fritz, shut UP!” I said. I looked around guiltily, but I was as alone in this alley as a person could get. “Listen, I need your help.”

  “Sexual advice? A new position?” my brother guessed.

  “Fritz, please! I’m in trouble, and I need your bizarre mind.”

  “Oh for God’s sake,” Fritz bellowed. “Are you getting yourself killed again, Madman?”

  “Not if you’d shut up and help me.”

  “What?” He was pouting now, and probably a bit worried.

  I told him the story quickly, just as little as I could to paint the current picture: Slider in trouble, attempted murders, suspected accountant, missing kids, missing Mike, locked office.

  Fritz sighed theatrically, and even thousands of miles away I could picture his face. Then he grew thoughtful. I sensed he was stroking his mustache. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You’re in some godforsaken mountain town in some gravel-ass alley. You want to get into a building before the bad guy returns. Because you are Madman, you are doing this when every able bodied male is far away.”

  “Yes, Fritz. Save your judgment and give me a plan.”

  “Is there a window? In the door or near it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you said you’re on crutches?”

  “Yes—don’t ask, it’s a long—”

  ”Break the window with a crutch, Mad.”

  “What?”

  “Break it. If you’re right, the cops won’t care, right? If you’re saving a life. If you’re wrong, you get your loving husband to pay the damages. Say the pain pills went to your head.”

  I stood there a moment, taking this in. He was right. Dog my cats if Fritz wasn’t right. “You’re right,” I said. “That’s exactly what I have to do.”

  “Go, Madman. I’ll stay on the line to make sure you aren’t killed. Mom would be very pissed if you were killed.”

  I didn’t bother to question why the rest of the family wouldn’t be pissed, but set the phone on a nearby “waste only” bin, went to a back window of David Kirk’s office, took aim with one crutch, and smacked. A loud noise, nothing more. “Harder, Madman!” Fritz’s voice yelled out of the phone.

  I thought of everything that made me angry: falling off the plane; getting kidnapped and being afraid; Slider’s abusive father. I cracked the crutch against the pane and it shattered inward in an explosion of shards.

  “Yeah!” said the phone.

  I leaned over it. “I’m going in,” I said.

  I used my crutch to hit away any murderous looking glass at climbing level. Then I tossed the crutches in; finally I hoisted in myself, sitting on the ledge and then swinging my legs over, easing down onto my good leg. I was inside, in a back room that looked like a tiny break room–a coffee maker and little fridge sat on a wall-length counter. A tiny round table sat in the middle of the room. A mug that said ACCOUNTANTS DO IT BY THE BOOK sat on the table, a ring of coffee still staining its interior.

  My gaze skimmed the room. A closet in the corner hung partly open. I feared to look inside, but I limped over, crunching some broken glass, and peered in. Only a broom, a mop and a bucket were inside, along with a vague odor of vomit. I wondered if David Kirk or one of his patrons had thrown up, and then I picked up my crutches and left the room, my shoes crunching with each step.

  Down a little hallway, my vibes growing stronger, and then a closed door in front of me, the main room to my left. I tried the door; the handle turned and I looked inside. Molly and Slider lay on the floor, their eyes closed.

  I screamed. I dropped my crutches and moved forward, unaware of any pain, until I was kneeling between them. “Molly? Slider?” I asked, feeling Molly’s neck for a pulse. When I felt her heartbeat I suddenly became conscious of my own beating heart, hammering away against one of my ribs. “Oh, God, don’t die,” I said.

  Slider stirred next to me. “Slider?” I shook him, not gently. “Slider? Are you okay?”

  He opened his eyes and squinted at me. “What the hell?” he said.

  “Slider!” I pulled on his arm and he sat up, holding his head. “Shit, man,” he said groggily.

  “What happened? What happened to you and Molly?”

  “Molly?” He looked next to him and his faced seemed to crumple. “Moll? Babe, are you okay?”

  He looked at me with moist eyes. “He tazed me! He tazed me, the fucker, and he must have done it to Molly too!”

  “I just saw her, not half an hour ago,” I said. “So he did it recently.”

  “I’m gonna kill him,” Slider said. “He killed Finn.”

  I felt chilled and suddenly fearful. “Let’s go. Can you carry her, Slider?”

  He stood, shaky but growing stronger. “Yeah, I think so. She’s not heavy or anything.”

  He helped me up. “Let me get your crutches,” he said. “Are your legs okay?”

  “Yeah. Let’s get out of here, Slider, he’s coming back.”

  The fear of getting touched by Kirk’s tazer, or something worse, was practically paralyzing me. “Come on, this way,” I said.

  Slider lifted Molly over his shoulder and followed my halting steps to the back room. This time we were able to leave by the door. Just as we were closing it I heard a key turning in the front lock. “Shit!” I said. “He’s here, he’s here!”

  There was no way we were going to make it; Slider was holding Molly and he certainly couldn’t hold me. We turned and Mike was there in his wheelchair, and in an instant he read the problem. “On my lap,” he said. “Slider, you push!”

  I heard Fritz yelling “Madman?” from the phone still on the garbage can. I grabbed it, said, “Call you back!” and dropped into Mike’s lap, my crutches across the arms of the wheelchair. Slider, strong as a Sasquatch, pushed Mike’s chair while he held Molly over one shoulder, and he ran while he did it.

  We moved, the strangest cluster of people ever assembled, down the gravel road, out to the alley, and back out to Main. We rolled across it, away from the accountant’s office, and over to the other side of the street, where
Slider ran hell bent for leather down the sidewalk. Halfway down we met Pat; he took Molly from Slider. “What happened?” he yelled.

  Before we could answer David Kirk came out of his office. It took him only an instant to spot us, and he smiled weirdly at me. Then he lifted a gun and aimed it in our direction.

  “Gun!” I yelled, and Pat ducked with Molly into a doorway; Mike pushed me down and rolled into the back of Slider’s knees, knocking him down next to me just as a shot pealed over our heads. “What the hell is he doing?” I yelled. “He’s crazy!”

  Slider looked at the wall behind us. “You just saved my fucking life,” he said to Mike.

  “Get in the doorway,” Mike bellowed, and we did it, Slider and I, crawling to join Pat, who was rubbing Molly’s hands. Mike rolled down to the next awning. Some curious people had darted out to see what the problem was, but when they spotted Kirk’s gun they disappeared again, yelping in fear or surprise. I saw many of them taking out cell phones, and soon Chief Hendricks appeared with one of his henchmen; his car came gliding up near the office, between Kirk and us civilians in our doorway foxhole; he and his man got out, took cover behind their doors, and drew their weapons.

  “Put the weapon down,” boomed Hendricks. The guy did not need a megaphone.

  A back-up car appeared farther down the street and started rounding up gapers. Officers boomed their orders, threatening arrest.

  David Kirk stood where he was, glaring over at us. “I didn’t do anything,” Kirk said.

  “Seems to me you just shot off that weapon, Kirk,” Hendricks said. “Throw it down, or we shoot.”

  Kirk shrugged, threw his gun down on the ground, then turned and ran back into his office, slamming the door. The police stormed it, but they lost valuable moments trying to break it down. Then they shot the lock and went in; even from a distance I knew that Kirk was gone, out the back the way we had gone moments earlier.