Safe and Sound

by Fern Michaels

  “Sounds good to me. Ready for breakfast? Maggie cooked this morning, and yours is in the warming oven.”

  “I’m ready. I could eat a bear. Where is everyone? It’s quiet here.”

  “Why don’t we just say they’re out on . . . um . . . assignment. They’ll be back later this afternoon. When you’re done with your breakfast, we need to talk. I have some questions you might or might not have the answers to. Be sure now to save a little of that bacon for the dogs.”

  “I know. I like it that I don’t have to make my own breakfast even if it is just cereal because the milk always tastes funny. I could get used to this,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

  “I hear you! I love it when my husband brings me breakfast in bed on this really pretty tray we got as a wedding gift, and he always puts a flower on it even if it is an artificial one.”

  “He must love you very much to do that,” Ben said.

  “Yes, I think he does, and I love him just as much. I don’t know if I ever told you this, but Abner and I were both orphans. Neither one of us ever had a real family. We grew up in a series of awful foster homes and orphanages. I guess that’s what drew us together, so we each try to be for the other what we missed growing up. I also consider all my friends here at Pinewood part of my extended family. We’re all like sisters to each other.”

  “That’s very sad,” Ben said seriously, “that no one loved you growing up. I had my grandmother, but I don’t think that’s the same as a mom and dad. But on a more positive note, look how good you turned out. And I’m doing okay, too. We can’t be bitter because that just makes you miserable. You have to learn to make the best of a bad situation and look for the rainbow that’s just around the corner. My grandmother told me that, and I think she’s right, don’t you, Izzy?”

  He’s only eight years old. “I agree,” she said, walking over to the kitchen door to let the dogs back in. “Get that bacon ready, but don’t give it to them till they have their own breakfast,” Isabelle said as she set the dog’s food bowls, which Myra had prepared before she left, down on the floor.

  “Break each piece in half, and that way they think they’re getting two treats.” Isabelle grinned as she picked up the bowls and washed them.

  “What did you want to talk about, Izzy?” Ben asked, getting right to the point.

  “A couple of things, but first I got a text early this morning. Your grandmother, Rita, and Irene are on their way home. They did what they had to do and should be here in three days. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Ben’s closed fists shot in the air. The dogs barked, and Isabelle laughed out loud. “I love it when I have something to look forward to. You can count down the hours on your new watch.”

  “The questions?”

  “I think you told me that you didn’t know the numbers of Natalie’s and Connor’s cell phones, right?” Ben nodded. “Do you have any idea how we can get them?”

  Ben pondered the question and started to shake his head no, then exploded in sound. “Actually, I do know how. You could call some of the restaurants they call into for delivery. You could pretend you called in an order and you never got it, then say what number do you have on file? Then you give them an entirely different number and say, that’s where all the confusion comes in. They use Ling Chow for Chinese, Donatelli’s for Italian, and Sweet Ribs for ribs. There are magnets on the refrigerator for all three plus a bunch of others.”

  “You know what, Ben, I never would have thought about that. You really are a genius, you know that?”

  “I know.” Ben giggled, a little-boy sound of pure mirth. Isabelle loved the sound.

  “Do you know where Connor works?”

  Ben closed his eyes as he scrunched up his facial muscles. “It’s a glassblowing place in town. They have a showroom on the main street, but he works in the back of the property in their workroom. I’m not sure. I think the word ‘special’ is part of the name. He only works there a few days a week. He does his pottery and other stuff in the building behind the house. Is it important?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Does he work the same days every week or does he rotate?”

  “Mostly Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. I think those are his favorite days. I’m not sure if he can pick his own days or if his days are assigned to him.”

  “And Natalie?”

  Ben laughed out loud. “Natalie’s job is shopping. And going out to lunch. I’m not making that up. That’s what Connor says to her when they fight, which is pretty much all the time. They never say nice things to each other. And I cannot imagine Connor bringing her breakfast in bed, with or without a flower on the tray.”

  Isabelle laughed at Ben’s witticism, as she was texting Ben’s information to the sisters. She knew that within minutes, they would all have Natalie’s and Connor’s cell phone numbers.

  “So what should we do today, Ben?” Isabelle asked.

  “I need to hit the books this morning. I don’t want to fall behind, so if it’s okay with you, I’m going to go into the study and work until noon. After that, I’d like to explore the farm if it’s okay with you. The dogs can get a good run at the same time. I just love that old barn. I want to climb up to the loft and jump down into a pile of hay. Do you want to join me?”

  “I don’t think so. But I will catch you if you decide you want to slide down that glorious banister in the hallway. Now that’s a whole other experience.” Isabelle grinned.

  “Okay, we’ll do that first,” Ben said, laughing at the thought of coming down the banister headfirst.

  “What’s with that we stuff? You do it. I catch you. End of story,” Isabelle said, as Ben scampered off to the study, the dogs hot on his trail.

  Isabelle cleaned up Ben’s dishes and returned them to the kitchen cabinet. Since she had the morning free now, she had to decide what to do to while away the time. Nothing interesting came to her other than to call her office just to see what was happening. She supposed she could watch some stupid game shows or watch some talking heads on the twenty-four-hour cable news channel saying the same thing over and over about whatever was current on the news. She decided against doing any of that and sat down at the table, her eyes glued to the back door, where she watched a hurricane of autumn leaves swirl about through the glass pane. Her thoughts took her to the sisters as she wondered how they were faring in regard to Natalie and Connor Ryan.

  Nikki and Alexis both felt their phones chirp at exactly the same time. Both looked down at Isabelle’s text. “Well, okay, then,” Nikki said as she stared across the street at Donatelli’s Italian restaurant in the village. “Let’s go play detective, Alexis, but first send off a text to the others that we have this one covered. If we come up blank or they don’t cooperate, we can always try the Chinese restaurant over there on the corner.”

  An incoming text from Annie brought both women up short. Nikki read it and started to laugh. “Myra and Annie are going to pose as Realtors canvassing the neighborhood to see who wants to sell their house to some rich sheik from Dubai who is bringing his genius son to the Institute and needs a house for his son’s staff. Money will be no object. Annie said they stopped at Staples and had some flyers printed to hand out. I don’t think I would have ever thought of that, what about you, Alexis?”

  “Nope. Leave it up to Annie to come up with something like that. It just might work. Greed is a powerful motivator. The big question is, will the Ryans open the door to them?”

  Nikki shrugged as she opened the door to the Italian restaurant. The wonderful odors of garlic, basil, and cheese made her mouth water. She knew that if Maggie were with them, they would already be seated at a table and ready to order one of everything.

  A rotund little man in a spotless white tunic and a cap on his head to protect his hair smiled at them. “We won’t be ready to serve for another hour, ladies. My staff hasn’t reported in yet. I hope you can come back.”

  “It’s not a problem, sir. I’m here to . . . to ask you a question. My name i
s Natalie Ryan. Two days ago, I called in an order, and it was never delivered. I wonder if you would mind checking your call-in orders to see if you have the right phone number for me. I’m a regular customer, and this is the first time this has happened. I’m not complaining; I just want to know what went wrong.”

  “Certainly! Certainly! My apologies. Let’s see,” the rotund little man said, as his chubby fingers pecked at the keyboard. Yes, yes, I see that you are a regular customer. The number we have on file is . . . actually we have two numbers.” He rattled them off, then turned the computer around so that Nikki could see the numbers that both Alexis and she memorized. “The last order placed was for baked ziti, lasagna with a double order for extra meatballs on the side.”

  “My last order two days ago was for three orders of spaghetti and meatballs, three garden salads, and a loaf of garlic bread and an order of garlic knots. And those two phone numbers are the right numbers.”

  The rotund little man looked perplexed. “I can’t explain it. I am so sorry. The only thing I can think of is that my grandson was working two days ago, and if a pretty girl walks in, he forgets what he’s doing. Teenagers,” he said, throwing his hands high in the air as he rattled off a string of Italian that both women knew would not be good for the errant grandson when he showed up for work. “Will you accept a coupon for three free deliveries?”

  “That’s not necessary, sir. Mistakes happen. Remember when you were young and a pretty girl walked in?” Nikki smiled. “Thanks for your help, sir.”

  Outside, in the tsunami of falling leaves that the wind was whipping every which way, Nikki said, “That was almost too easy. We might as well head back to the farm since our job here is done. But first text those numbers to the others. I’ll drive.”

  “I think we’re on a roll here, Myra,” Annie said as she read off Nikki’s text. “I also think things are going to start moving rather quickly. I like these flyers. I think we made the right decision not to have a brochure printed up as opposed to just this one colored sheet. Less for someone like Natalie to read, easier to come to a decision, too. Ben did say she wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier, and the only thing she relates to is money.”

  “Ben is such an endearing little boy. I can’t fathom how his stepparents could have treated him the way they did. He would have been much better off with his grandmother, who truly loves him. We need to do something about that, Annie. I’m talking about fighting for grandparents’ rights. Put that on our list of things to take care of.”

  “We’re going to make it right for Ben, Myra. In the end, that’s all that will matter to that little boy. I don’t care if he’s a genius or is going to graduate from college in two months, he is still a little boy. I won’t rest easy until we take care of those two bloodsuckers. They are or were planning on ‘doing away’ with that child. No matter what words you use, that’s murder pure and simple. And all for money.” There was such hatred in Annie’s words that Myra flinched, even though she felt the same way.

  “So, how are we going to do this? I think Ben said there are nine houses on their street. They are all big houses. Should we just put these bogus flyers in their mailboxes but actually knock on the Ryans’ door? What?” Myra asked

  “They might see us if they’re window watchers, so we’ll knock on doors to be on the safe side. You take one side of the street, and I’ll take the other. If people are home, just hand them the flyer and leave, no conversations. We’ll time it so that I finish my side and join you to hit the Ryan house at the same time. If they open the door, we start a dialogue. Does that work for you, Myra?” Annie asked.

  “It does. Park behind Kathryn and Yoko. Send off a text telling them what we’re going to do. Find out if there has been any activity so far today with the Ryans,” Myra said.

  Five minutes later, Kathryn’s return text read: Nada. No activity on the street at all. I think everyone works except for the Ryans. We’ve only seen one vehicle, and it was a UPS truck. The guy left a package by the door of number 909. He rang the bell, but no one answered, that’s why we think everyone works.

  It only took Myra and Annie seventeen minutes to ring every doorbell on the street, with, as they had hoped, no results. They stuffed the folded flyers in the mailboxes and headed for the Ryan house, where Annie gave the lion’s-head door knocker a loud bang that reverberated up and down the street. When nothing happened, Annie banged the knocker again. And again with the same results.

  “Keep banging it. Sooner or later, they’ll open the door or threaten to call the police,” Myra said as she looked up and down the street. “Maybe we should walk around the back. Ben said Connor has a shed or workroom where he works when he’s home. It’s possible they’re both out there.”

  “Good thinking,” Annie said, and turned and literally goose-stepped to the back of the house. She could hear the hum of a potter’s wheel. She nodded to Myra as she headed for the little building, whose door was standing wide open. Both women could see a man bent over the wheel, his hands all muddy and sloppy.

  “Mr. Ryan?” Annie called loudly. Connor turned, his eyes wide at the sight of the two women.

  “Yes. What can I do for you?”

  “It’s more like what we can do for you, Mr. Ryan. I’m Martha, and this is Alice. We work for a private placement service that handles property for customers from other countries. I see that your hands are occupied, so I’ll just put this flyer on the table, and you can read it later. But I can tell you what it says. We have a client who lives in Dubai. He’s going to be bringing his son to the United States to study at the Institute, and he’s interested in purchasing a house in the vicinity for the staff who will be seeing to his son’s needs. He’s willing to pay top dollar. The truth, is money is no object. We left flyers in all the mailboxes on the street because no one else was home, and the first one who makes an offer is the one we’ll go with, because time is of the essence. Our client is a sheik with money to burn. Having said that, are you and your wife in the market to sell your house?”

  “What exactly does ‘money is no object’ mean?” Connor asked as he shut down his potter’s wheel. He dipped his hands into a bucket of water and washed and dried them.

  “The sheik will pay just about whatever your asking price is, that’s what it means. Or anyone else’s price who calls us. We don’t have time for a bidding war, so first offer gets the prize.”

  “What’s going on here?” a shrill voice demanded as a woman bare of makeup and still in her nightgown marched across the lawn. “Who are these people, Connor? You’re trespassing, ladies. Didn’t you see the sign on the tree?”

  “Actually, no, I didn’t see a sign,” Myra said as she handed the woman a colorful flyer.

  “You want to buy our house?” the woman they assumed was Natalie demanded.

  “Well, not us specifically. Our client is a sheik from Dubai. I just explained all that to your husband. Money is no object. First one on the block to make an offer is the one who gets to sell. As we told your husband, we left flyers in all your neighbors’ mailboxes. You people appear to be the only ones home during the day.”

  “We wouldn’t consider it unless the price is right,” Connor said.

  “According to the assessor’s office, this house is appraised at one point seven million dollars. But real estate has recovered from the recession of late, so it is highly likely that, if you put it on the market, you could get something like two million or thereabouts, though it might take months for it to sell. The sheik is in a hurry to bring his child to the Institute, so as I said, we’ll take the first offer that comes in.”

  “Can you give us a few minutes to discuss this?” Connor asked as he led his wife across the lawn and into the house.

  “Gotcha!” Annie chortled. She looked at Myra. “They’re going to go for it, and their magic number is going to be three point nine million dollars. The nine is wiggle room. Wanna bet?”

  “I know a sucker bet when I hear one.” Myra l
aughed. “But to answer your question, no, no bets. Ah, here they come. Try not to laugh, Annie.”

  “Okay,” Annie said happily.

  Chapter 12

  Natalie and Connor Ryan stood in the open doorway of Connor’s work shed, their eyes glazed as they watched Myra and Annie walk away. They barely noticed that the sky had opened up, and rain was falling in torrents. Both were speechless, which was a rarity, especially for Natalie Ryan. Connor was the first to break the spell. He simply walked through the doorway, toward the house, oblivious to the rain. He was soaked through to his skin. He barely noticed that, either. He was about to slam the kitchen door shut when Natalie pushed her way past him. He looked at her, thinking she looked like a drowned rat. What in the name of God had he ever seen in this woman?

  They stood eye to eye, their soaking-wet clothes and shoes flooding the kitchen floor. The tension in the room was on the verge of going nuclear when Connor stomped off toward the stairs.

  “Come back here, you weasel. We need to talk, and we need to talk NOW !” Natalie screeched.

  “Go to hell and kiss my ass on the way down, you crazy lunatic!” Connor bellowed in return. “Your days of telling me what to do, when to do it, and how to do it are over. Get that through your everything-is-fake head once and for all! Just shut up and leave me alone!”

  “Or what? What are you going to do? Did you forget I have you on record?” Natalie snarled as she squished her way up the stairs behind him.

  “Did you forget that I have a recording of you saying you wanted to do away with Ben? I’d say that’s a stalemate. Now, get the hell out of my way. I won’t tell you again,” Connor said, his eyes blazing as he turned to confront his wife. Natalie had the good sense to back away.

  Inside the master bedroom, the room she no longer shared with her husband, Natalie shed her clothes, dried off, and pulled on a silky, fancy designer sweat suit that did nothing to warm her chilled body. Her brain whirled and twirled as she made her way downstairs to the kitchen, where she brewed a pot of tea. Tea always calmed her down for some reason. All she could think about was three million dollars. Maybe even four million or five million, if they wanted to hold out. She was literally dizzy at the thought. She shook her head to clear it and to remind herself that you get more flies with honey than you do with vinegar, which meant she had to cool her jets and be nice to her husband. She knew he was a hothead, and that he simply withdrew into himself and refused to communicate when he was angry. Well, he was going to have to communicate with her now. This was an opportunity too good to pass up. The only fly in the ointment was the snot-nosed kid. Where the hell was that little shit? She closed her eyes, knowing in her gut that the kid, present or absent, could somehow queer this deal. Her spine stiffened. First order of business was to find the kid and get rid of him, once and for all.