Veiled Threat

by Alice Loweecey

  She outlined the ski instructor’s attitude and the masseuse’s conception difficulties. The desk clerk’s 1950s-sitcom attitude about marriage. The maintenance man’s raging paternalism. The combination almost made Giulia hope that one day a happy Maryjane would be able to show off photos of four or five 1950s-style children. Giulia muttered Italian insults at the blank page for the indebted sous chef.

  As famished as she was, she didn’t snarf down the garlic pizza—she took the time to savor every bite of cheesy, spicy, yeasty delight. By ten thirty she began to feel human again.

  The phone rang. She checked the caller ID, hit the mute button on the TV, and put the phone on speaker.

  “Hello, Laurel.”

  “Giulia, you’re awake. Have you found out anything? Did they call you instead of us?”

  “No, sweetie, we’re still working on it. Of course they didn’t call us.”

  The sound of shoes pacing back and forth on a wooden floor came through the speaker. “Nine hours till they call. They’ll call on time, right? Kidnappers always call on time in the movies.” The pacing sounded again. “Christ, we’re in a movie. A fucking Lifetime Network movie—the ones where horrible things happen to women, and sane people change the channel before the second commercial break.” Her voice quivered and broke.

  A deeper female voice on the other end said, “You must stop crying. You’re going to make yourself sick. How will we help get Katie back if you are huddled in the corner?”

  “Hi, Anya.” Giulia bolted a forkful of salad.

  “Hello, Giulia. What is your opinion about that useless piece of officialdom? Do you think he’ll consider the phone call tomorrow morning worth an hour of his valuable time?” A pause. “You are coming too, correct?”

  “Of course I’ll be there tomorrow for the phone call. I’m sure that tall cop won’t show up. Captain Reilly said he was taking charge of this case.”

  “Good. Laurel, please go wash your face. I’ll reheat the soup.”

  Giulia raised her voice. “Laurel, you have to eat. If you need to do things quickly tomorrow morning, you have to have energy.”

  “I know.” Her voice still trembled. “Giulia, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  The sound of footsteps receding, then Anya’s voice, softer. “We are both going to collapse. We spent all day at banks and pawnshops. We tried to get a home equity loan, but we haven’t been in the condo long enough.” The deep voice broke once, but she cleared her throat and continued. “We’re still twenty-seven thousand dollars short. Who knew that a schoolteacher and a soup kitchen owner wouldn’t be able to come up with half a million dollars on short notice? We should have robbed that yobanyi bank instead of begging the loan officers to bend the rules.” She began to sob in earnest this time.

  Giulia said soothing things over the phone until Anya coughed, sniffled, and blew her nose.

  “Sorry.”

  “Stop it,” Giulia said. “Don’t apologize for anything. Have you eaten anything today, or are you too caught up in trying to coax Laurel to eat something?”

  “I am managing. As my grandmother used to say, in Soviet Russia good comrades stay healthy to properly serve the State.” She sighed. “On a normal day, I would probably laugh at that.”

  “You’ll be singing lullabies about the glorious Soviet regime to Katie soon.”

  Anya snorted. “They do exist, did you know that? I found some old music books in my grandparents’ attic after they passed. I’ll translate the best ones for you sometime.”

  “Yes, please. I want to sing them to my future children someday.”

  Anya put on an accent as thick as something from a Cold War propaganda film. “We will find you good Russian farmer with head like barn wall. He will give you many sons to serve the state and not trouble you with much conversation.”

  “That is priceless.” Keep her talking. She needs distraction. “Are there strong, virile Russian farmers in Cottonwood?”

  “If there are, I can find one for you. I have the radar. Barring that, I could haunt the liquor stores to see who buys the most vodka.” She blew her nose again. “I understand that you have your eye on a certain Irish gentleman. The mythical farmer will buy extra vodka to drown his sorrows.”

  Giulia’s Coke went down the wrong pipe. Over the speaker, Anya laughed.

  “You used to be a teacher. You should know that nothing escapes us.”

  Giulia took a deep breath and didn’t cough. “At least you’re not lecturing me on the perils of an office romance.”

  “Do you need a lecture? I will be pleased to accommodate you.”

  “Thank you, no. I’ve heard it all and knew it before things started. You sound so happy about a potential lecture. Do you use that tone of voice with your student-athletes?”

  “They cower in fear when I do. It’s a wonderful sight. I understand that when some of their grandparents meet me they are reminded of the old USSR coaches from the Olympics. They tell all the horror stories the newspapers were full of about the training regimens back then, and I am blessed with model students for several weeks afterwards.”

  “The habit used to trigger an automatic fear response.”

  “Fear is useful for managing recalcitrant youth.” Her voice chilled. “It’s wreaking havoc on us, too. Laurel is wandering the rooms now. I will stop her before she starts crying by Katie’s crib again.”

  “Go. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  Giulia closed the pizza box and finished the antipasto. The former could be reheated.

  Her phone rang as she tossed out the salad container.

  “Frank, it’s nearly eleven.”

  “Yeah, and you’re still up. What did you learn?”

  “That housekeepers work harder than most people, that I want to hire the Wildflower’s decorator, and that penis-shaped vibrators come in a much wider variety than I expected.”

  “What?”

  Giulia laughed. “Part of my day involved restocking the secret gift shop shelves.”

  Silence. Then, “Every reply that’s coming to mind will get me slapped.”

  “I’m glad you’re learning restraint.” She waited for him to splutter. “Calm yourself. When this is over, I’ll tell you about today’s wedding crasher. There is film and I’m on it. Father Christmas knocked out Mrs. Claus.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “I am. If I wasn’t so tired I’d tell you, but Sidney should hear it too. After her wedding, I think.” She stood and walked the living room to keep herself alert. “Here’s what I know: The desk clerk and the maintenance man are married. The desk clerk is unbearably sweet and perky. The maintenance man’s views of women belong in a fifties sitcom. The masseuse made my back feel like I was a teenager again. She’s married to the ski and games instructor and is having pregnancy difficulties. I exchanged two sentences with the sous chef because of the wedding chaos. I’ll corner him in the kitchen or break room tomorrow, even if I have to flirt.”

  Frank laughed. “Speaking as a professional only, your flirting skills need work.”

  “Thank you. I am aware of my dearth of girlish experience. This will be a good opportunity to practice.”

  “The interesting stuff always happens when I’m not around. Did you write out your report for today? I’m not near a pen or paper.”

  “Which begs the question of where you actually are. Sitting in a car in the dark, staking out someone new on the Diocesan assignment list? Perhaps interviewing an unwilling snitch in a shady bar?”

  “You’ve been watching too many old movies.”

  “You still dress like Nick Charles sometimes. Association of ideas.”

  “You’re punchy. Get some sleep.”

  “I’ll meet you at Laurel’s house at seven fifteen tomorrow morning.” She yawned like a cave at the thought of her six-thirty alarm.

  “Want me to pick you up? Oh, right, you have the rental.”

  “It’s a rust bucket and the heater’s spotty, but it
’s infinitely better than the bus.”

  “No argument there.” Frank yawned this time. “See you tomorrow.”

  Giulia shut off the television and put the leftover pizza in the fridge, ran hot water into the empty glass, and immersed the silverware in it. Silence filled her apartment. Even the party animals next door were taking the night off.

  “Cozy” became “desolate.” Christmas did that to her, now that she was on her own. The mini-tree with its generic decorations screamed “lame.” The handful of gifts under it broadcast her “outcast from the extended family” status. The single glass and fork in the sink said “alone” with biting eloquence.

  She thought of Laurel and Anya, of the newlyweds at the resort, of Sidney and Olivier, of Frank’s brothers and their wives and kids.

  She turned off the lights and stood in the middle of the short hall, staring. At her neat bed. At her just-cleaned bathroom. At her spotless kitchen. At her sparse living room. At her entire life encompassed by four hundred and fifty square feet of budget apartment space.

  “It’s still better than the convent and you know it.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  LAUREL OPENED THE DOOR the next morning while Giulia’s knuckles were still on it.

  “Come in, come in, it’s only 7:14, but we’re terrified they’ll call early, do you want some coffee? Holy cats, what did you do to your hair?”

  Even though Laurel’s long hair was pulled back, it still looked wild. Her flowing clothes, which usually moved like calm waves on a pond, fluttered like bird wings on a windy day. Giulia grabbed her in mid-step and squeezed her until she stood still for a moment.

  Laurel broke away. “Don’t do that. If I stop to think, I’ll lose it. I’ll pour your coffee. I’ve got gingerbread creamer. Your boss isn’t here yet. Turn around. I want to see the back.” She took Giulia by the shoulders and turned her around herself. “It’s so long. And wavy. You look like me—well, you would if you were taller and your hair was darker. I like it. Why the change?”

  The doorbell rang on her last word. Laurel dashed to it. “Mr. Driscoll. Come in. I’ll pour you some coffee. We’re putting coats on the bed. Black or cream or sugar?”

  “Black, please. Thank you.”

  Anya came out of the bedroom and held out her hands for Frank’s and Giulia’s coats. Giulia squeezed her, too.

  “Thank you for coming. Christ, people say that at funerals. I would spike my coffee with Black Velvet if I didn’t have to be alert. I would spike Laurel’s too. Giulia, your hair is lovely.”

  “Anya, this is Frank Driscoll. Frank, Anya Sandov.”

  “Pleased to meet you. Where have the police set up?”

  “In the kitchen.” Her lip trembled but she controlled it. “I’ll put your coats away.”

  Giulia started to move toward the kitchen, but stopped when Frank didn’t follow. His gaze was riveted to the framed print over the couch.

  “Why is that tree warped?”

  “It’s not a tree,” Giulia said. “It’s placenta art.”

  “It’s what?” His voice rose on the last word.

  “Shh. It’s an art print made from Katie’s placenta.”

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “Drag yourself into twenty-first century natural art, Frank. Laurel and Anya attended Katie’s birth and brought a special container with them for the placenta. I plan to suggest this to Sidney when she gets pregnant.”

  He looked down at her. “Good God, she’ll bring it in to show us.”

  She smiled. “That’s the point. Perhaps I’ll take you to The Before and After Shop to buy her an appropriate gift.”

  “The what?”

  “Keep your voice down. It’s a new place that Laurel and Anya invested in. Two midwives run it. They sell placenta jewelry, breast-milk soap and lotion, and—my favorite—the hand-knitted anatomically correct pregnancy doll, complete with baby and birth canal.”

  “Good God.”

  She patted his hand. “Clear your mind. It’s twenty-five after.”

  Jimmy and an officer Giulia didn’t know sat at the green-glass kitchen table. Jimmy was talking about triangulation and cell phone towers on his phone. Laurel’s phone sat on the edge of the table, next to a mini tape recorder with an earbud attached. Anya stirred creamer into a cup of coffee; Laurel handed Frank a Santa Claus mug.

  Jimmy nodded at Frank and Giulia, listening to a nasal-sounding voice on his cell phone.

  Anya handed an elf-eared mug of gingerbread-flavored coffee to Giulia.

  Everyone waited. Laurel put the earbud in her left ear and hovered over the phone.

  The snowman clock said seven thirty. The second hand ticked around the dial. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-five. Thirty. Thirty-five.

  The phone lit up. Laurel, Anya, and Giulia jumped. The ringtone started an instant later.

  Jimmy signaled to Laurel. She pressed the Record button on the tape recorder and the green Receive button on the phone. Her knuckles gripped the phone till they were as white as its case.

  “Hello?”

  The sound of a male voice reached Giulia, but not the words.

  Anya clutched Laurel’s right hand.

  “Yes,” Laurel said. “Yes, we have it … yes … yes, I understand … Can we hear Katie’s voice? Is she all right? Please. Please!” Tears ran down her face. She lowered the phone and turned off the tape recorder. “He wouldn’t let me hear Katie.”

  From the opposite side of the table, Jimmy said, “Dammit.”

  Frank said, “You couldn’t trace that call?”

  Jimmy waved “shut up” at him. “How close is the car? Damn. Try anyway. Call me back.”

  He ended the call and slugged half his coffee in one gulp. “Carnegie Mellon.”

  Frank shook his head. “If he’s smart enough to call from a place like that, then he’s smart enough to have used another burn phone.”

  “Which he did. Dammit.” He swiveled his chair to face Laurel and Anya. “Your cell phone company triangulated the call to the campus of Carnegie Mellon. The problem is, of course, that your kidnapper went to any one of a hundred places and bought a disposable phone. With cash, no doubt, and loaded it with the smallest possible amount of minutes. So all your carrier can do is triangulate the call to a narrow area, in this case, Carnegie Mellon. Which has several thousand cell phone users. An unmarked car was only a few minutes away from there, so it’s driving around, but don’t expect too much.”

  “What does that mean?” Anya said, her hands still clenched around Laurel’s.

  “It means we figure the kidnapper will have blended into the student body or driven away by now. Hell, he could’ve called from an idling car. Did you hear any noises like that?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  Giulia said to Frank, “A burn phone?”

  “A disposable one. He’ll have tossed it into a trash can or dumped it in the lap of the nearest homeless guy as soon as he finished the call.”

  “Then we have nothing.” Anya pried Laurel’s fingers off the phone. Laurel sat down hard on the floor, Anya sinking down with her.

  “Not true,” Jimmy said. “We have the recording.” He rewound the tape.

  The little recorder’s speaker hissed and then half of a ringtone blasted out. Jimmy decreased the volume.

  Laurel’s voice: “Hello?”

  A man’s voice: “Are you ready to receive my instructions?”

  Laurel: “Yes.”

  The man: “Do you have all the money?”

  Laurel: “Yes, we have it.”

  The man: “Place the money in a cardboard box and write on the sides and top in large black letters the words ‘Spare lights.’ Go to the used bookstore on 42 Welkin Street and place the box on the ground next to the side entrance steps. Do you understand?”

  Laurel: “Yes.”

  The man: “You may have someone drive you, but do not bring the police.”

  Laurel: “Yes, I understand.”

  T
he man: “Bring the box at eight thirty precisely. That is all.”

  Laurel: “Can we hear Katie’s voice? Is she all right? Please. Please!”

  Four beeps, then nothing. Then a click and tape hiss.

  Jimmy stopped playback.

  Giulia said, “Play it again, please. I want to see if I recognize his voice.” She set down her coffee and leaned her elbows on the table.

  “I heard shoes on a hard floor,” Jimmy said. “Tile or slate. He muffled his voice.”

  When the recording started, Giulia closed her eyes. The voice gave its instructions. She leaned so far over the table the edge bit into her stomach. When it finished, she walked around right next to the tape recorder and said, “Once more, please.”

  Jimmy’s phone rang. He pushed away from the table and took it in the other room.

  This time Giulia heard the rhythm of the kidnapper’s boots on flooring. Of course he was inside; the wind and snow would make it difficult to hear and respond. She pictured work boots on a tiled bathroom floor. She pictured ski boots in the break room. If only she’d looked at the sous chef’s feet when he picked up that tray of used glasses.

  She shook her head when the recording ended. “I can’t narrow it down yet.”

  “Damn,” Frank said. “I suppose it was too much to hope for after only two days.”

  Jimmy returned. “No luck at the university. Too many footprints in the snow, and we don’t have a warrant to check all the trash bins in every building.”

  “Giulia says she’s not sure which guy at the Wildflower the voice belongs to, if it even belongs to any of them.”

  She dragged a hand through her new hair and said to Laurel and Anya, “It’s either the maintenance man, the ski instructor, or the sous chef.” She tugged through a knot. “I need more time.”

  Anya said before Jimmy replied, “We never saw any of the kitchen staff. I remember the games instructor a little. He was happy and full of energy when we participated in one of the activities, but other than that … Did we even see a handyman while we were there, Laurel?”

  Laurel wiped her eyes on a napkin. “Maybe. I don’t remember. We were too busy telling everyone about Katie and having a last pre-parenthood fling.”