Veiled Threat

by Alice Loweecey

  Anya’s and Giulia’s eyes met.

  “Staff are invisible,” Giulia said. “They’re trained that way. Even at the Wildflower, where guests and staff are semi-friendly, who really thinks about the guy fixing the electrical outlet in the corner when you’re having a heart-to-heart or telling everyone about the greatest thing that just happened?”

  Laurel said, “Or while you’re in the hall, reading the TV screen of what’s happening that day at the resort. Nobody thinks about the housekeeper dusting the furniture two feet to your left. Oh my God.”

  Jimmy said to the officer still seated, “Call the resort and ask the owner for any records she hasn’t given to us already on the head of maintenance and the ski instructor. Giulia, what’s the name of the sous chef?”

  Giulia drew a blank. “I don’t remember.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He wrote on a fresh piece of paper and handed it to the policeman. “Here’s the owner’s private number. Have her courier the records to Frank’s using his name, not the business title. We don’t want to alert the desk clerk, just in case her husband’s the kidnapper.” He looked at the clock. “We’ve got forty minutes to get to the drop address.”

  Anya ran into the laundry room. “I’ll get a box.”

  “Giulia, will you drive me?” Laurel said.

  “Of course.”

  “Wait a minute,” Frank said.

  “Ms. Drury—” Jimmy said.

  Laurel placed her hands flat on the table. “Anya’s as ragged as I am. I wouldn’t trust either of us to drive. Giulia stays calm no matter what, and she’s seen this bastard. She can—how do they say it on cop shows—make a positive ID. Right?”

  “I’ll try.”

  Anya came back with the box taped on the bottom and took a Sharpie from a drawer. While she wrote “Spare lights” according to instructions, Laurel opened the cupboard under the sink and brought out a yellow box of garbage bags. Giulia was about to ask what she was doing when she opened the box’s perforated top.

  “You hid the money under the sink?”

  She shrugged, a banded packet of bills in each hand. “On the off-chance we were robbed, we figured this was the safest place for it.”

  “Smart,” Jimmy said.

  Laurel handed Anya packet after packet, Anya setting them in the cardboard box in rows and layers.

  Frank pulled Giulia aside. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that we’re going to get Katie back.”

  “Jimmy will drive her, not you.”

  “No he won’t,” Laurel said, handing money to Anya without pause. “He said no police. I’m not going to jeopardize Katie’s return.”

  Jimmy looked as long-suffering as any martyred saint. “Ms. Drury, Ms. Sandov, I won’t try to force you into using myself or Detective Kane as your driver.”

  “Good,” Laurel muttered.

  “However, we have a great deal of experience in these situations. Here’s what I propose: Frank and I will park a block away in his car. I’ll have two men stationed nearby, watching for the ransom pickup. They’ll let us know what he’s wearing, what car he’s driving, and which way he’s headed. Then we’ll follow him.”

  Anya stopped packing. “No. If you stop him, there is no guarantee they will return Katie to us.”

  Jimmy and Frank exchanged looks. “That’s not the plan. We’ll follow him to discover where he lives, and stake that place out. He’ll likely make a move with the baby today or tomorrow.”

  “That’s right,” Frank said. “The ransom money from the other kidnappings turned up in places far away from here. He’ll bolt with his wife—if it’s one of the two married guys—to spend it like drunk sailors on leave.”

  “No he won’t, he has a job …” Giulia trailed off. “It could work. The resort closes on Christmas Eve and reopens on January third. Monica told me.”

  The second officer came back into the kitchen. “When I got the resort owner to understand that she needed to handle this as low-key as possible, she woke right up. Said the courier will be at Driscoll’s in an hour and a half.”

  Frank leaned into the archway between the kitchen and living room to look out the window. “Longer. The snow’s not letting up.”

  Giulia imitated him. “Laurel, we have to leave. Is the box ready?”

  “Ready,” Anya said.

  “I’ll get my coat and boots.” Laurel ran into the abbreviated foyer.

  Frank buttonholed Giulia. “Be careful. We’ll be right around the corner. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Don’t worry.” She broke away from him to put on her own boots.

  Anya came over with their coats and the box. “Your gloves are in the pockets.” She handed Giulia a black knit hat and an oversized pair of sunglasses. “Here. A disguise. Drive safely. Don’t get pulled over.”

  Giulia kissed her. “Not a chance.”

  Laurel took the box. “Let’s go. My car’s in our garage.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  GIULIA TRIED DRIVING TWENTY-FIVE miles per hour in Laurel’s Honda crossover. The road disagreed. She lowered her speed to twenty.

  “We’ll get there in time. Don’t worry.”

  “Why aren’t the plows working? School might be out for the week but people still have to get to work. Shit!” She clutched the Jesus Bar above her head as a taxi ran a yellow light less than two feet in front of them.

  “It snows every year, people,” Giulia said at the taxi’s disappearing taillights. “Learn how to drive in it.”

  The light changed. They fishtailed, but the tires caught pavement the moment after. The windshield wipers kept ahead of the storm as long as she kept warm air blasting at it. The back window heater was the only reason the mini-wiper had any effect on it at all.

  “Three blocks. It’s only eight twenty. We’ll make it.” Giulia took one hand off the steering wheel to pat Laurel’s hands, but a patch of ice changed her plan.

  “Stupid street signs are covered,” Laurel said. “I hate winter. I hate these roads. We have to get there. We have to.”

  “We will. Stop that. Here’s the street. I’ve bought books at this bookstore a few times.” She scanned both sides of the street. “No parking spaces. All right, there it is. I’ll double park while you set the box in place.”

  They were the only traffic at the moment. Giulia thanked God for small favors like this. Laurel jumped out, slipped, caught herself, and ran onto the unshoveled sidewalk. Fresh snow covered her boots and the bottom of her coat before she reached the side entrance. She kicked a spot clear and tucked the box as safely out of the wind and snow as she could. Turning right around, she skidded across the street—not checking for traffic—and jumped into the passenger seat.

  “Let’s go.” She slammed the door. “Come on! I don’t want them to think we’re watching.” She jammed her fingers in the seat belt mechanism. “Ow!” The seat belt caught as the car spun its wheels. “Come on, Giulia!”

  “I’m trying.” Giulia gritted her teeth and backed up a foot. She put it in drive and gave it a little gas … a little more … one more spin … and the tires caught. She pulled into the street. Still no traffic.

  “Take my cell,” Giulia said. “Frank will call when they catch up to him.”

  “They can’t risk Katie. They know that, right? She’s all that matters.”

  “They know.” She swerved to avoid a car with a snow-covered back window backing out of a driveway. “Clean it off!” The tires spun again but Giulia found traction right away.

  Laurel shook the phone. “Ring, damn you, ring.”

  “Don’t break my phone.” The brake lights of the row of cars in front of them all lit at once. Giulia pumped the brakes and stopped less than a foot behind the last car. “Is the whole world trying to get to work at the same time?”

  “He’s not calling. Why isn’t he calling?”

  “Sweetie, please stop talking. I have to concentrate on the roads.”

  “Sorry. Sorry,
Giulia. I’m so scared. We’ve got to get her back. We’ve got to.”

  Giulia infused “angry teacher” into her voice. “Laurel, please.”

  The rest of the drive was a horns-blaring, tires-skidding, profanity-laden glimpse of Purgatory. Giulia muttered the old guardian angel prayer because she needed a supernatural jump-start for her driving skills. Two years of riding the bus five days a week had coated them in rust. She muttered it so often she could’ve been beta-testing a new version of the Rosary.

  Her shoulder muscles introduced her to a whole new level of clenched when she finally pulled, without incident, into Laurel’s garage. Thank you, Lord.

  Laurel stared at the dark phone. “He didn’t call.” The frantic energy in her voice drained out.

  “He will. Let’s go inside. He may have called the policeman there so he wouldn’t distract me in that hellbound traffic.”

  They slogged through more unshoveled walks and stomped most of the snow off themselves and onto the porch.

  “For what we pay in fees, each row of condos should have a dedicated cleaning minion,” Laurel muttered.

  Anya flung open the door and wrapped her arms around Laurel. “I was so worried. Come in. I made tea. Giulia, thank you for driving her. Close the door. No, I’ll close it. You two get your coats off.” This time she draped their snow-clumped coats over the nearest chairs.

  “No one called,” Laurel said.

  “He hasn’t picked up the box yet.”

  “What?” Giulia and Laurel said.

  “How do you know?” Laurel clutched at Anya.

  “Mr. Driscoll is on the phone with Detective Kane. He’s relaying word from the two planted officers as they report to Captain Reilly.”

  Laurel tripped over herself running into the kitchen, Anya at her heels, Giulia right behind them. Kane’s phone lay on the table. The screen brightened as the three of them entered.

  “Nothing yet.”

  “Your partner’s back, Driscoll.”

  “Good. Great roads, aren’t they, Giulia? Having second thoughts about the reliable, heated, comfortable bus?”

  “Not on your life. Stick to the topic at hand, please.”

  Jimmy’s voice said something Giulia didn’t catch.

  “Guy approaching wearing gray parka … Nope. He walked past.”

  Laurel sipped hot tea too fast and hissed.

  Jimmy’s voice again. Frank talked over it. “Another man. Dark ski-type jacket. Dark hat with earflaps … Stopping … Come on, asshole, take the bait …”

  Laurel’s mug crashed onto the counter.

  “He’s bending over the stairs … he’s screening the box from the street.”

  Anya and Laurel clutched each other.

  Frank continued with more undertones from Jimmy. “He’s moving. He’s got the box. Come to Frankie, scumbag.”

  Jimmy’s voice: “Shut up, Driscoll.”

  Kane struggled to hide a smile.

  Frank’s voice: “We’re following him. He headed east on Muegel.” A curse interrupted him. “Use the turn signal, moron!”

  Giulia leaned over the phone. “Focus, Frank.”

  “Yes, ma’am. He’s turning onto Lake. Bastard’s making better time on foot than we are on these roads. Shit, Jimmy, don’t brake so hard.”

  “You want me to plow into that pickup?”

  “Just don’t lose him.”

  “I know my job.” Silence. “I’m going to retire to Texas and raise longhorns. As far south as I can get and still be in the States.”

  “You’re years from retirement. Somehow I don’t picture Eileen telling the family that they’re having Crown Roast of Bessie for Christmas dinner.” Frank’s voice got louder. “He’s getting into a car. License plate … Echo Zulu … uh … no, zero … uh … eight … no … shit, he pulled into traffic.”

  “Turn up the defroster while I navigate.” Jimmy’s voice sounded distant.

  Giulia heard the louder hiss.

  “That pickup’s seen better days. It’s snowing harder. Giulia, talk to God, will you? We can follow criminals better if the weather cooperates.”

  “Been doing that all day.”

  “Damn this weather. Shut up, Driscoll. I have to concentrate.”

  Giulia leaned closer, but all she heard was creaks and breathing. She glanced at Anya and Laurel; they were still imitating a piece of sculpture.

  “Dammit, where are the salt trucks?” Jimmy’s voice. “My tires aren’t exactly new—shit!”

  Giulia stared at the phone as though by force of will she could change the audio to a video feed. Only silence came from the speaker. She touched it to revive the screen and confirm that the connection was still open.

  Jimmy’s voice came through at last. “We lost him. That idiot in the pickup must’ve hit black ice. We’re staring at a three-car crash in the intersection fifty feet from us.”

  “Please tell me the kidnapper’s in that pile-up,” Giulia said.

  “No. He got through the intersection before it happened.”

  “Shi—” Giulia stopped herself.

  “We’re coming back. Kane, give what Frank caught of the license plate to the geeks and have them run a search. Be there as soon as we can.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  ANYA HURLED HER MUG to the floor.

  Blue ceramic shrapnel flew across the room. Giulia dodged it; some bounced off Kane’s trousers. Laurel stared at the shards scattered across the pale yellow linoleum.

  No one spoke for a long minute.

  Laurel pushed herself off the counter. “I’ll get the broom.”

  The Valkyrie in rumpled clothes was gone. An old woman in Laurel’s flowing sleeves and skirt shuffled to the laundry room. Giulia picked up the bigger pieces. Anya appeared to be looking at the mess, but when Giulia reached the still-intact mug handle at her feet, Anya was standing there crying silently, eyes not focused on anything.

  Giulia took the broom and dustpan from Laurel and nudged her toward Anya. The two women held each other, Laurel stroking Anya’s hair, murmuring to her. Giulia swept slivers and chunks of mug from under the table, the refrigerator, and as far as the archway to the living room. The other officer held the dustpan for her.

  After dumping everything in the kitchen trash, she hung the broom and dustpan on hooks in the laundry room. She closed her eyes to collect herself, but hate blasted through her instead. It roared in her ears and flushed her skin, louder and hotter than an incinerator. She rubbed the heels of her hands against her temples, taking slow, measured breaths.

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” said Kane.

  Freezing wind rushed into the condo. Two sets of boots stamped on the outside mat. The edge of the wind tickled the back of Giulia’s neck, raising brief goosebumps. The hate fizzled and curled into a ball in her gut.

  “Giulia?” Frank called from the living room.

  “In here.” She walked back into the kitchen as Frank and Jimmy entered it.

  Anya had soaked a dishcloth and was holding it to her face.

  Laurel’s hand rested on the teapot. “Can I make anyone some more tea?”

  Her phone rang. Everyone jumped this time.

  Jimmy yanked out his and hit redial. “Quick, use the earphone and record it. You never know.”

  Laurel fumbled the earbud into her left ear and pushed the buttons on the tape recorder. “Hello?”

  The same voice, angry this time. It shouted for more than a minute without pausing to let Laurel answer. Giulia doubted Laurel could’ve answered. Her face grew paler and paler as the voice berated her; her hand shook. Frank rolled a chair behind her, but she kept her feet until the voice stopped.

  Jimmy said into his phone, “Figures. Someone’s got to be near there. Have them look anyway. Call me back.” He said to the room, “Duquesne this time. I’m amazed he got there in one piece. He’ll be long gone before a car gets through this weather to look for him.”

  Anya pushed Laurel down in
to the chair and took the phone out of her hand. Laurel removed the earpiece and Giulia unplugged the tape recorder.

  “Let’s hear it,” Frank said.

  Giulia fast-forwarded through the first phone call, making Laurel and the kidnapper sound like cartoon mice. When she reached an instant of silence, she released the button.

  “Hello?” Laurel’s voice said.

  “Did you think we wouldn’t count the money you agreed to give us? You didn’t cheat us, silly women laden with sins. You cheated the work of the Lord. What pride you have, thinking you could be faithful with a human made in his image. You can’t even be faithful with money that buys only the fleeting pleasures of sin. You are proof that the ways of the Lord are righteous and only those who serve him in faithfulness are worthy of his highest blessing. Repent before death takes you and you may yet escape the pits of Hell.”

  Tape hiss. Giulia stopped the playback.

  “He didn’t say when he’d call back.” Laurel grabbed at Anya’s hands. “He has to tell us what we have to do next.”

  Frank glanced at Jimmy, who nodded.

  “Ms. Drury,” Frank began.

  “He’s not going to call back,” Giulia said.

  Laurel and Anya turned into deer in the headlights.

  Giulia took a step toward them. “That was his way of saying he’s keeping Katie because you gypped him. To hell with him.”

  Frank stared.

  “Don’t worry.” Giulia put a hand on each of their shoulders. “I’ll get her back for you.”

  “Giulia—”

  She didn’t even bother to look at Frank. “He disguised his voice, but I’m due at the resort in a few hours. I’ll talk to all of them on today’s shift, somehow. I’ll pick up their speech patterns. He talks like you and me but he slips into King James Version speech patterns. I can hear it. I’ll find a way to weasel into their confidence.” The hate in her gut blossomed into energy; Frank’s eternal Red Bulls had nothing on it.

  She kissed both of them on the cheek and headed for the front door. “I’ll call you. Tomorrow at the latest. I know the rules have changed. I’ll work fast.” She yanked on her boots and grabbed her coat.