Bounty Hunter Ransom

by Kara Lennox

  “Beronica?”

  “Our new housekeeper,” David explained. “She’s young, and hardly speaks any English, but she’s wonderful.”

  “I didn’t think anyone could replace Esther when she retired, but this Mexican girl is dynamite,” Wayne added.

  “That’s nice, but I don’t need any coffee.” She looked at David. Was he going to say it, or did he want her to? The silence got to her, and she began. “Uncle Wayne, I’m afraid I came here with some terrible news.”

  She repeated what she’d told David. Wayne listened, his face hardly showing any emotion at all—until she got to the part about Sara.

  “You mean to tell me she’s missing?” At Aubrey’s nod, he flew into a rage. “Damn Patti. I never should have let her keep that baby. I could have had Sara taken away, you know. With enough money and lawyers, I could have done it. Every judge in Payton owes me a favor. I could have brought the child here, had her raised right, kept her safe. Instead I let that slut daughter of mine expose my granddaughter to all kinds of evil influences—”

  “Jeez, Dad, come on,” David said, sounding distressed. “You don’t have to talk about Patti that way. She just died.”

  “She was bound to come to a bad end. But did she have to endanger Sara as well?”

  “We don’t know for sure Sara’s in danger,” Aubrey said, surprised by her uncle’s attitude.

  “Of course she’s in danger. She’s the heir to millions of dollars. She’s been kidnapped.”

  Now Aubrey was truly shocked. Sara, his heir? She could understand Wayne cutting Patti out of his will. God knows what she might have done with millions of dollars. But what about David? She looked at her cousin, silently questioning him.

  He shrugged. Obviously this news was no surprise to him. Of course, he had oodles of his own money. Even at his young age, he was a very successful attorney and would no doubt soon be named a partner at the law firm.

  “Beronica!” Wayne bellowed.

  A young, pretty Hispanic woman appeared at the door to the solarium. “Si, Señor Wayne?”

  “Bring me the phone and my address book. El teléfono, y el libro con los nombres?” he asked in some of the worst-pronounced Spanish Aubrey had ever heard. But with the addition of pantomime, Beronica apparently understood, as she disappeared again.

  Wayne turned back to David and Aubrey. “I’m calling the police commissioner himself. Then I’m calling every TV station and newspaper within a hundred miles, and I’m offering a million-dollar reward for Sara’s safe return. We’ll see if that doesn’t get some action!”

  Aubrey’s head spun. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? A big reward will bring out every crackpot in the county.”

  “If it brings my granddaughter back safely, I don’t care.” Beronica returned with the phone and the address book. Wayne thumbed through the much-amended pages until he found the number he wanted, and he started dialing. “We’ll set up a command center here at the house. Aubrey, you’ll be in charge of handling and organizing information as it comes in. Hire some help if you need to. Bring in computers. David, you talk to the bank. Get a million in cash. If I don’t have that much in my ready-assets account, sell something.” He cleared his throat. “Hello? This is Wayne Clarendon. I want Milo Braither on the line, pronto.”

  David took Aubrey’s arm and led her out of the breakfast room.

  “Do you think this is such a good idea?” Aubrey asked him once they were safely out of earshot.

  David shrugged. “I don’t know. But I haven’t seen him this animated in a long time. He suddenly seems like his old self. And, hell, maybe the reward will produce results. It’s hard to hide a baby. Surely someone has seen or heard Sara, and they’ll respond.”

  “Maybe,” Aubrey said, still not sure. But Wayne was going to go ahead with his plans, with or without her help, so she supposed she might as well try to make things go as smoothly as possible.

  “What did he mean when he said Sara was his heir?” Aubrey asked. “What are you, chopped liver?”

  Again, David shrugged. “He didn’t exactly cut me out of the will. He’s leaving me the house. And after he dies, I’ll probably make partner in the firm.”

  A million-dollar house was better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, Aubrey supposed. As for being named partner, David had earned that himself. And that left millions and millions of dollars—going to Sara.

  “He set up a trust for Sara, I assume,” she said.

  He looked at her as if she were crazy. “Are you telling me you don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Of course there’s a trust. And you’re the trustee.”

  Chapter Eight

  Aubrey didn’t have much time to ponder what David had told her. She suddenly became very busy setting up a press conference and a command center in Wayne’s study. By ten o’clock, news of the missing child and the reward was on every TV station, and phone calls began trickling in.

  She was grateful for the frantic activity. If she’d stopped for even a moment, she’d have had to think about Beau and the unpleasant way they’d parted. Instead she sat at Wayne’s massive desk, the phone glued to her ear, logging phone calls and tips into a computer. Each tip had to be connected with the caller’s name, address and phone, in case any of them paid off.

  Most of the tips were so vague as to be useless. And then there were the crackpots, who claimed Sara had been kidnapped by aliens, or that they’d had a psychic vision and the baby was “near the big water.”

  Only one call really stood out, and that one was from Summer—the hostile woman from Greg Holmes’s insurance agency. She declined to give her name, but Aubrey recognized her voice.

  “I’ve been close to Patti for the past few months,” she said, “and I think I know what she did with her baby.”

  Aubrey held her breath. Summer might have been in a position to know more than anyone. “Yes, please continue.”

  “I think she sold Sara on the black market. She needed money really bad. And then, overcome with guilt over what she’d done, she killed herself.”

  Aubrey’s hopes plummeted. She’d never heard a more preposterous suggestion. However desperate Patti had been, she loved Sara fiercely.

  “How do you know she needed money?” Aubrey asked, trying not to tip Summer off that she’d blown her cover. Perhaps if Summer still thought she was anonymous, she would reveal more.

  “She owed money to a drug dealer.”

  So, she did know more. “Which drug dealer?”

  “I dunno. She was paying him off a little at a time, but then he caught her holding out on him. He said if Patti didn’t pay off her debt, he was going to make an example out of her.”

  Aubrey typed in the information as fast as she could. The call was being recorded, so she had a backup, but she wanted to get it down now. This was direct evidence that Cory might be involved in Patti’s death.

  Summer hung up pretty quickly after that, but Aubrey was energized. She had something concrete she could give the police. She printed out the transcript of the phone call. She was about to call Lyle when the intercom buzzed, and she discovered that Lyle had come to her—and he wasn’t happy.

  She opened the gates to let him in. When she admitted him through the front door, the detective stood there scowling at her. His tie was loose, and patches of sweat marred his long-sleeved dress shirt.

  “Do you have any idea the can of worms you’ve opened?” he said without preamble.

  “I know, Lyle, I know. Come in, please.”

  She led Lyle into the living room. “Please, sit down.”

  But he didn’t sit. “A million dollars? What were you thinking? People have gone completely nuts. The police station is flooded with calls. Every bounty hunter in the country is no doubt on his way here, hoping to cash in.”

  She didn’t want to think about bounty hunters, or one bounty hunter in particular.

  “The reward wasn’t my idea,” she said firmly.
“But think about it. If Patti had given Sara to some innocent person to watch, surely that person would have come forward.”

  Lyle pursed his lips and turned away from her, looking out the front window. “That’s another reason I’m here. I truly thought the baby would have turned up by now. But since she hasn’t, we have to consider the possibility of foul play—kidnapping or—” He cut himself off. “Your uncle seems to think his grandchild was the target, not Patti.”

  “Maybe. But I just got an interesting phone call.” She recounted her conversation with Summer. And then she very carefully described her encounter with Cory the previous night, trying to put a spin on it that wouldn’t get her into trouble.

  “That was you?” Lyle asked, incredulous.

  “Oh, so you heard about it.”

  “The bar owner was livid about the damage to his property. Who exactly was it who tore down a solid wood door with a medieval axe?”

  “He quite possibly saved my life!”

  “Don’t tell me. Beau Maddox.”

  “Lyle, you’re missing the point here. Cory was literally beating me up, wanting information about Patti. He threatened to kill me.”

  “Then why didn’t you go to the police right after it happened?” He held up his hand to forestall her answer. “Never mind, I’ll tell you. You were poking your nose where it didn’t belong. You were interfering in police business. What if this Cory were a viable suspect? You probably scared him so far underground we’ll never find him.”

  “What do you mean, if he were a suspect?” Now Aubrey was the one who couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Summer said he threatened to make an example out of Patti. Now she’s dead. You don’t consider that suspicious?”

  “If he killed Patti, why was he so anxious for you to tell him where she was? Your…encounter with him took place after she died.”

  That took the wind out of Aubrey’s sails in a hurry.

  “If he’d killed her,” Lyle continued relentlessly, “he would have been doing everything in his power to turn suspicion away from himself. He wouldn’t have reacted to anything you said or did.”

  Unless he’d planned to kill Aubrey. Then he wouldn’t have cared where he cast suspicion. “The guy’s a loose cannon. At least check him out!”

  “I will, okay? And I’ll check out this Summer, too. Sounds like she had a bit of an ax to grind.” Lyle paused, taking a few deep breaths. Then he glanced through the transcript. “Have you recorded all the calls this way?”

  “Yes. And I have a tape backup.”

  He gave her a look that said he was reevaluating. “Give me everything you have. It’s possible the kidnapper would call in, giving a false tip or whatever. His way of returning to the scene of the crime.”

  Aubrey did as Lyle asked.

  “Look, I’m sorry I blew up at you, okay?” he said when she returned with the transcript of calls. “Maybe I’m a little defensive because I should have taken your worries about Patti and Sara more seriously in the beginning.”

  “Just promise me you’ll do everything you can now.”

  “Of course I will. The whole damn department is on the case now, thanks to your uncle’s arm-twisting. Is he here?”

  “He is, but he’s very ill with cancer. He went to bed a while ago. His hospice nurse gave him pain medication and a sedative, so he’s out.” His brief burst of energy that morning had burned itself out pretty quickly, and the stress of the situation had hit him hard.

  “How about your cousin? David, right?”

  “He’s at the bank, arranging for the reward money.”

  “Okay. I’ll try them both later.” He gave Aubrey a brief, comforting hug and started to leave the room. Then he stopped, his attention snagged by something on the floor. Aubrey followed his gaze and realized he was looking at the same flash of green that had piqued her curiosity earlier. She’d forgotten all about it.

  He reached down to pick it up. Aubrey quietly gasped. It was a set of plastic keys on a green ring.

  “Patti and Sara never came here, did they?” he asked.

  “Not recently.” Aubrey kept it to herself that she recognized the toy, but her mind raced. Why would David lie about his sister’s visit?

  Lyle laid the toy keys on the end table. “Tell David when you see him, I’ll definitely be back.”

  AFTER ANOTHER HOUR of taking phone calls, Aubrey needed a break. She slipped out onto a flagstone terrace through a set of double doors. They used to be delicate French doors with small-paned windows, but now they were solid wood, far more secure.

  David had said Uncle Wayne had become increasingly paranoid after the Peeping Tom prowler incident, adding all sorts of security measures—like the keypad at the front gates, and bars on the windows, and double-keyed dead bolts on every door. Given the value of some of the artwork in the Clarendon home, Aubrey supposed it was better safe than sorry.

  She left the door open a crack so she could hear the phone, then sat on the low wall that surrounded the patio, her back against the bumpy limestone bricks that made up the house. The air was still and muggy, but it was a switch from the stale, climate-controlled air inside, and it was fresh. She inhaled deeply. The scent of honeysuckle filled her nose. She could hear the faint drone of bees as they visited the flowering vine that climbed up one wall of the house.

  She’d forgotten how much she loved this old house, which other than the added security had changed so little over the years. When they were children, she and her brother and cousins had run wild here in the summers like a pack of coyotes, cavorting on the endless expanse of green lawn, playing hide-and-seek in the woods behind the house, or swimming in the huge pool.

  In poor weather, the inside of the house had provided a wealth of entertaining features—two floors plus an attic apartment; a back staircase into the kitchen, perfect for games of cops and robbers featuring daring escapes and dramatic shoot-outs. There was even a dumbwaiter, big enough that a child could ride up and down in it, even though they’d been forbidden to do so.

  Aubrey smiled at the memory. How innocent those times had been, their childish lives so dull they’d had to invent drama to keep themselves entertained.

  Now Aubrey had more drama than she could shake a stick at. And the dumbwaiter, she’d noticed earlier, was being used to store mixing bowls.

  She supposed Beronica simply carried trays up the stairs when the need arose.

  Something brushed against her arm, startling her. She turned her head and came face to face with Beau, who was semiconcealed in a bush.

  “Beau!”

  “Shhh!”

  “You scared me to death. What are you doing, skulking around in the bushes like a cat burglar?”

  “Will you lower your voice? I’m not exactly high on the Clarendons’ list of favorite people. If Wayne or David find me here, they’re liable to have me arrested.”

  “Wayne’s asleep and David’s not here,” she said as her heart rate returned to something close to normal. “As for getting arrested, you better steer clear of the cops anyway. You’re in trouble for breaking that door down at Kink.”

  Beau rolled his eyes. “I was saving your life, in case you’d forgotten.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” She also hadn’t forgotten that Beau Maddox was a mercenary jerk she’d been a fool to sleep with. What had she been thinking? His refusal to look for Sara had swept away any romantic illusions she’d been constructing. “I’m just reporting what Lyle told me.”

  “Listen, Aubrey.” He seemed suddenly serious. “I talked to Craig Cartwright—my old partner?”

  She nodded.

  “Craig’s just about the only cop on the force I totally trust, and he told me something interesting. He said Patti’s supposed suicide looked fishy to him.”

  “I told you that already.”

  “Yeah, but Craig talked to the evidence techs who processed the scene. They said Lyle Palmer’s prints were on everything—all over that car.”

  That
wasn’t a revelation Aubrey had been expecting. “He was the first detective on the scene, though, right?”

  “And he knows better than to touch anything. The uniforms would have ascertained Patti was dead, so there was no need for Palmer to touch anything at all. I’ll admit he’s a sloppy investigator, but that seems excessive.”

  “Are you saying you think he’s involved in Patti’s death?”

  “He had no reason to like her. She blew him off pretty thoroughly that time at Dudley’s, remember?”

  Aubrey did remember. Patti hadn’t just ignored his flirtations. She’d humiliated him in front of his peers, the older cops he’d been trying to impress as a rookie.

  “If Lyle was somehow involved in Patti’s death,” Aubrey said, trying to reason it out, “he had hours and hours to doctor that crime scene before she was found.”

  “He might not have wanted to risk sticking around and being spotted. And maybe he figured he wouldn’t have to. If he made sure he was first on the scene, he could explain away any evidence—fingerprints, hair—that led back to him.”

  Aubrey shook her head. “That’s nuts.”

  “Maybe so. Best case scenario, though, he’s a rotten detective. Which is why you need someone else working this case.”

  “Like you, perchance?”

  He smiled. “Yeah. You were right all along. Sara’s been missing too long now. I’m going to find her for you.”

  Beau looked at her as if he expected her to throw her arms around him in gratitude. Instead she folded her arms.

  “That’s very noble of you, Beau. And I suppose the one-million-dollar reward had nothing to do with your change of heart.”

  His jaw dropped. “The what?”

  “Oh, like you don’t know anything about it. Are you going to stand there and pretend you suddenly developed a conscience?”

  “Aubrey, I don’t know anything about any reward.”

  “And I suppose you’ve been living under a rock for the past few hours?”