Deck the Halls (Holiday Classics)

by Mary Higgins Clark

  “They’re using my story,” Nora breathed.

  “I just brought my mother home from the hospital,” Regan said rapidly. “I’m in New Jersey. I need more time than that.”

  “You can’t have more time.”

  Austin put his hand on Regan’s arm. “Let me go,” he mouthed.

  Regan nodded gratefully. “I’m not a good driver in this weather,” she explained. “Is it okay if my father’s associate, Austin Grady, delivers the money? He’ll drive my car and use my phone. It won’t do you any good if I have an accident.”

  There was a pause. Then she heard a reluctant, “All right. But for your father’s and Rosita’s sake, you better not be trying anything. Yell hello, you two.”

  For a brief instant she heard their voices in the background. We’re getting closer to you, she wanted to shout. The phone clicked off.

  She dialed Fred.

  “I’m going up to Edgewater,” Fred said.

  “And Alvirah and I are going to Fort Lee.”

  “Can I drop the kids with your mother?”

  Regan hesitated. “Don’t they think . . .”

  “I’ll tell them Rosita’s doing an errand with your dad. By tomorrow they’re going to have to be told the truth anyhow.”

  Regan gave him directions to the house. “Give me your cell-phone number. Take down my mother’s. It’s the one I’ll have with me. Austin will be using mine.”

  “We’ll keep in touch,” Fred said. “Be careful.”

  “Weather’s pretty bad out there,” C.B. told Luke as he clicked off the phone. “Your daughter’s too nervous to drive in it, so she’s sending that guy Grady.”

  Regan can drive in any weather, Luke thought. Is Nora all right? Is something else up?

  There was an air of finality in the way C.B. looked around the cabin. He took the keys to their chains from his pocket and laid them on top of the stove, well beyond their reach.

  “When we get the money, you get to go home. Once we’re safely away, we’ll let them know where you are.”

  “Unless you want to kill us, you’d better do it soon,” Luke said, indicating the floor of the boat. The storm outside had intensified, and the boat was rocking with ever-increasing force. The thumping, scraping sound of ice chunks hitting its sides was becoming more frequent. The floor was completely wet.

  “We’ll call from the airport. As soon as we land.”

  “That’s too long,” Rosita cried. “You might not get out until tomorrow.”

  “You’ll just have to pray that we do,” C.B. said. The door slammed behind him.

  At ten minutes of five, Regan and Alvirah parked in front of C.B’s high-rise apartment building. “Here we go,” Regan said as they got out.

  The doorman rang to announce them. Moments later he shook his head. “No answer. He must be out.”

  “His uncle died this week,” Regan said.

  “I heard.”

  “My father owns the funeral parlor that handled the arrangements and has to get in touch with Mr. Dingle. It’s very important. Is there any way I could find out when he’s expected?”

  “The superintendent’s wife cleans his apartment. I could call her,” the doorman offered. “That’s the best I can do.”

  “Thank you,” Regan said. “That’s very nice of you.” She and Alvirah exchanged glances.

  “Hey, happy to help,” he said with a shrug. “It’s Christmas.”

  A minute later he turned back to them. “Dolores said to go up to her place. She’s in 2B.”

  Dolores’s apartment was a cheerful reminder of the holiday season. The tree was lit, Christmas music was playing, the smell of roast chicken was in the air.

  “We won’t keep you,” Regan said hurriedly, “but we do need to be in touch with Mr. Dingle.”

  Dolores, a woman in her late fifties, sounded sympathetic as she said, “Poor fellow. He told me he’s taking a trip to make himself feel better. He was packing when I went up there this morning.”

  “You were up there this morning?” Alvirah asked.

  “Not for long. I brought him some Christmas cookies. He invited me in for just a minute, but he seemed nervous and upset, like he was under a lot of stress. It’ll do him good to get away.”

  “I’m sure it will,” Regan said. Could they be hidden in a bedroom up there? she wondered.

  “This building is lovely,” Alvirah commented as she looked past her. “You have a wonderful view of the river. Is Mr. Dingle lucky enough to have one like this?”

  “Oh no,” Dolores said, smiling with a hint of superiority. “He has one of the small studios that face the street.”

  At quarter after five, snow swirling around him, Fred Torres was standing on the stoop of the shabby, two-family frame house in which Petey lived. Regan had called him after leaving C.B.’s building, saying that the only thing she had learned for sure was that he had left with his suitcases this morning, supposedly for a vacation. Luke and Rosita had almost certainly not been in his apartment.

  Could they be here? Fred wondered as he rang the doorbell a second time. He had already tried the separate entrance to Petey’s basement apartment, but it was dark inside, and no one answered.

  Someone’s upstairs, he thought. Lights were on, and he could hear the sound of a television.

  The door was opened by a sleepy-looking man who appeared to be in his sixties. He was wearing rumpled jeans, an open flannel shirt, and bedroom slippers. He looked as though the bell had just awakened him. He did not seem pleased at the interruption.

  “Are you the landlord of this building?” Fred asked.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I’m looking for Petey Commet.”

  “He left on vacation this morning.”

  “Do you know where he was going?”

  “He didn’t say, and it’s none of my business.” The landlord started to close the door.

  Fred pulled out his police ID. “I need to talk to you about him.”

  The sleepy look vanished. “He in trouble?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Fred replied. “How long has he been living here?”

  “Three years.”

  “Ever had any problem with him?”

  “Except for being late with the rent, not really. I know he’ll come up with it eventually.”

  “Just a couple more questions and I’ll let you go,” Fred said. “Does he have any close friends around here?”

  “If you count that gang at Elsie’s Hideaway, he’s got lots of them. It’s right around the corner. Hey, I’m getting cold.”

  “One more thing. Have you been down in his apartment in the last couple of days?”

  “Yeah, I checked the thermostat after he left this morning. If he isn’t going to be here, no use burning fuel—not at today’s prices.”

  This time Fred did not stop him from closing the door. As he got in his car, Regan and Alvirah were pulling up alongside him.

  “No luck here either. But follow me to Elsie’s Hideaway.”

  Because time was tight, Jack Reilly made the transfer of money to Regan’s car a few blocks from the Queens-Midtown Tunnel. “We’ll be following you,” he told Austin Grady, “but if he directs you the way we expect, our mobile unit will have to drop back. It’s just too easy for them to be seen. We’ve got agents deployed in the buildings along the route. They’ll track you. Good luck.”

  At 5:30 the call came in. “Drive through the tunnel. Stay to the right. Take the Borden Avenue exit immediately after the toll booth.”

  “That’s what we wanted to hear,” Jack said exultantly when Eagle base passed on the message.

  His cell phone rang. It was Regan. “Both the nephew and the painter left with their suitcases today. They told people they were going on vacation.”

  Jack felt a rush of adrenaline. “Regan, I’ll bet you anything that they’re our guys. If they have suitcases with them, that means they’re not going back to where they left your father and Rosita. After they pick up
the money, they’re probably headed to the airport.”

  “If they get away, we may never hear from them again.”

  “We’ll keep them in sight, just in case they do go back to where they have your dad and Rosita, but the minute they hit either of the airports, we have no choice but to close in on them.”

  “Alvirah and I are heading to the bar in Edgewater where the painter hangs out. Fred Torres is with us. Maybe somebody there will be able to tell us something.”

  “Regan,” Jack said quietly. “Please be careful.”

  There was a crash followed by a startling lurch as the boat listed to a twenty-degree angle. Rosita and Luke were thrown to the side. Rosita cried out, and Luke winced as the manacles dug into his hands and ankles.

  “Mr. Reilly, this boat is sinking! We’re going to drown,” Rosita sobbed.

  “No we’re not,” Luke insisted. “I think one of the mooring lines gave way.”

  Less than a minute later, the boat was savagely hurled against the dock again.

  Luke heard a gurgling sound, and water began to bubble from somewhere near the door. As the boat swayed once more, the ring of keys C.B. had left on the stove slid off and dropped to the floor. Desperately, Luke bent as far as the chains would allow and leaned forward. His finger touched the edge of one of the keys, but before he could attempt to grasp it, the boat pitched again, and the keys slid well beyond his reach.

  Up until that moment, Luke had believed they had a chance, but not anymore. Even if C.B. made that call from wherever he was going, it would be too late. The water was rising steadily. Rosita was right—they were going to drown. Their bodies would be found chained like trapped animals, if they were found at all. This tub would be driftwood before much longer.

  I had wanted a lot more years, he thought, as the faces and voices of Nora and Regan permeated his soul.

  From across the cabin, he could hear Rosita whisper, “Hail Mary, full of grace . . .”

  He finished the prayer with her. “ . . . at the hour of our death, Amen.”

  Inside Elsie’s Hideaway, things were hopping. Regan, Fred, and Alvirah took only a moment to orient themselves, then headed straight to the bar.

  Matt the bartender came over to them. “What can I get for you?”

  “A couple of answers.” Fred pulled out his police ID. “You know Petey Commet?”

  “Sure I do. He was sitting right where you are less than two hours ago.”

  “According to his landlord, he left with his suitcases this morning,” Fred said.

  “Maybe he did, but he was here this afternoon. He did say he was going on vacation.”

  “Do you know where? It’s important.”

  “I’d like to help you, but to tell you the truth, he was kind of vague about it. Said he was going fishing down south.” Matt paused. “I don’t know if this means anything, but Petey didn’t seem like Petey today. I asked him about it, but he said he felt like a million bucks.”

  Regan’s blood ran cold. “Can you tell us anyplace where he might have been hanging out between leaving his apartment this morning and coming in here a few hours ago?”

  Matt shrugged. “He takes care of somebody’s boat at the year-round marina in Weehawken. Maybe he decided to check it out before he takes off. He hangs out there sometimes.”

  “I know that place.” Fred flipped open his cell phone. “Get me the number of Lincoln Harbor in Weehawken,” he snapped.

  A moment later he was speaking with the marina office. Regan could see the muscles in his face tighten. Whatever they’re telling him, it isn’t good news, she thought.

  Fred finished the call and turned to Regan and Alvirah. “He took the houseboat out Wednesday afternoon and never came back. The woman I spoke to said he must be nuts. The ice is coming down the river. No boats should be out in these conditions, especially an old tub like that.”

  Alvirah put a comforting hand on Regan’s arm as Fred put in a call to the Harbor Unit.

  Matt, who had been busy making drinks, came back. “I’ve got an idea. Most of these people know Petey, and a lot of them work around here. Maybe they know something.”

  He jumped up on the bar and whistled. The crowd roared its approval. “Free drinks for everyone,” someone yelled.

  Matt waved his hands at them. “You already got free food tonight. Now this is important. Did anybody see Petey Commet around town today before he came in here?”

  Please, God, Regan thought. She watched as people glanced at each other and shook their heads. Then someone called, “When I got off work, I drove straight here. I saw Petey coming up that path next to the Slocum Marina.”

  “That marina’s closed for the winter. Why would he go there?” a customer near Regan mumbled.

  Regan turned to him. “Where exactly is this marina?” she demanded.

  “Go outside and make a left. It’s a few blocks down on the right. You’ll see the sign at the turn.”

  Fred, Regan, and Alvirah raced outside to Fred’s car. He roared out of the parking lot, skidding on the snow-covered pavement.

  “If they’re on an old boat in this weather . . .” Regan didn’t complete the thought.

  “You just passed the turn!” Alvirah cried.

  Fred did a U-turn and barreled down the steep, deserted road that led to the river. The wind-whipped snow reduced visibility to near zero. The road ended in a deserted parking lot. The headlights of the car penetrated the pall of snow enough for them to tell that the marina was empty. There was no boat in sight.

  Fred grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment and jumped out of the car. Followed by Regan and Alvirah, he hurried past the closed marina office. From somewhere off to the left they could hear a thumping, banging noise. Slipping and sliding in the wet snow, they rounded the corner and began to run. The powerful beam of the flashlight revealed a listing houseboat, slamming back and forth against the dock where it was moored. It looked as though it was about to sink.

  “Oh my God,” Regan screamed. “They’re in there, I know it.” She and Fred raced along the dock, Alvirah puffing behind them.

  The line securing the boat to the dock was uncoiling from the cleat to which it was attached, and Fred grabbed and rewrapped it as best he could. “Alvirah, don’t let this come loose.”

  “Dad!” Regan screamed as she made the dangerous jump onto the lopsided boat. “Rosita!” She began kicking the padlocked door.

  At the sound of Regan’s voice, Luke and Rosita thought they were dreaming. They were trying to keep their legs out of the icy water that was swirling along the floor. The bubbling leak had widened to a steady, gushing stream.

  “Regan!” Luke shouted.

  “Hurry!” Rosita screamed.

  “We’re coming,” Fred shouted back. He was beside Regan.

  Together they kicked the door repeatedly. The wood panel finally splintered, then separated. They tugged and yanked at the loose wood until they managed to make an opening big enough to step through.

  Fred went inside first, shining the flashlight into the pitch-black cabin. Regan followed him, wading into the deepening water, horrified at the sight of her father and Rosita chained to the walls.

  “The keys were on the floor under the stove,” Luke said urgently.

  Fred and Regan bent over, frantically feeling around in the freezing water, which continued to rise steadily.

  Please, please, Regan prayed. Please! Near the refrigerator, something metallic hit her hand but then was gone. “I felt them,” she said. “Right around here”

  Fred directed the beam of the flashlight at the base of the refrigerator.

  “There they are!” Regan screamed as she lunged for them. Now the water was up to her knees. She snapped open the key ring and gave one key to Fred. She waded to Luke and grabbed his wrist. The key did not fit.

  Fred turned away from Rosita, and they made the switch.

  This time the keys worked.

  Within seconds, both sets of chains were d
angling. Supported by Regan, Luke stood up. Fred lifted Rosita to her feet.

  “This boat won’t last another thirty seconds,” Fred said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The four of them sloshed through the water and stumbled through the shattered door.

  Outside on the dock, a fervently praying Alvirah was hanging on to a rope that could no longer bear the strain of a sinking houseboat. As the boat slammed against the dock one final time, she braced herself. Summoning the strength she had used to move pianos in her cleaning-woman days, Alvirah held the rope taut until all four were safely beside her.

  Then beaming, she watched as Regan and her father embraced, and Fred wrapped Rosita in his arms.

  I knew he liked her, Alvirah thought happily.

  Austin Grady followed the kidnappers’ instructions to continue east on Borden Avenue and then make a left turn on to Twenty-fifth Street.

  “Then pull over and wait,” he was told. Austin drove slowly on the icy roads. The windshield wipers were barely able to keep up with the falling snow.

  Twenty-fifth Street was dark and desolate, lined with old factory buildings that obviously had been closed for years. The phone rang again.

  “Drive one block to Fifty-first Avenue and turn right. Go to the end of the street and pull over again. Leave the bag on the corner.”

  This is it, Austin thought. At the end of Fifty-first Avenue, he stopped the car, took out the bag with the million dollars, and placed it on the sidewalk. He got back in the car.

  The cell phone rang again. “It’s there,” Austin said.

  “Keep going. Make your left and get lost.”

  Jack was stationed four blocks away. His cell phone rang. It was Regan.

  In a voice that was both tremulous and ecstatic, she said, “We’ve got them! We’re on our way home.”

  Eagle base came on the radio. “Subjects picking up bag.”

  Jack keyed his transmitter. “Let’s nail them.”