Missing Amanda

by Duane Lindsay

  “Then I have something for you.” He reached in his pocket and handed over a small piece of wood.

  “The Queen,” said Braddock.

  “The white queen. I took it from you when you weren’t looking.”

  The next forty minutes were spent silently moving pieces across the board. Both men were experienced, the moves were made slowly and there was no advantage by either side when a very confused Lou Fleener was escorted into the library by a butler.

  Seeing Monk seated at a chess table he said, “You’re not in trouble?”

  “He is,” Braddock answered. He moved a knight. “He’s about to be killed.”

  “Hey, Lou; I’ll just be a minute.” Monk studied the board. Quietly he said, “Here’s the real story, Duke. The police are breaking into Malcolm Warburton’s house right now. They’ve got a warrant. It seems that Lou got a hold of a book that documented your pay- offs to Warburton. It’s all the evidence they need to take him down.” He moved a pawn to block the knight. “And you, too.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Braddock said, but in truth he was shaken. Warburton arrested! He wondered if the idiot would talk, then decided he would. Braddock resolved to have him killed. He moved a rook to attack Monk’s Bishop. Well, he decided; the damage could be contained.

  “There’s also the matter of your kidnaping me,” said Monk. He pushed his Bishop out of harm’s way.

  “What kidnaping? There won’t be any evidence of a kidnaping.” He moved a Knight to attack the Bishop again. “Or a death.”

  “There won’t be a death. Lou will get me out of here.” He moved his Bishop back.

  “Running away, Monk? They say the best defense is a good offense. You’re just moving pieces around. And as for Mr. Fleener... Boys; kill him.”

  There was a rush of activity. Monk and Braddock sat still at the chessboard and watched as all four of the guards rushed forward. They met in a tangled mass near the chair. Lou ran up the back of the chair, using it as a springboard to leap into the scrum, landing on top. He rolled off and started kicking anything showing. Grunts and curses came from the pile as they slowly untangled and got out of the way of Lou’s feet. When the last man struggled up, Lou picked up the fallen chair and smashed it over his back. He stayed down.

  The others were gathering their wits, realizing that a mob attack on this funny little man wasn’t the best idea. Two of them circled right and left as the other faced Lou, who did the last thing they expected. He ran away. He reached the hallway before the startled thugs realized he was running. With a shout, they pursued him.

  Braddock yelled at them to come back but they were already gone. Sounds of violence wafted back, along with things breaking. Braddock cringed at the damage they must be doing.

  “Your move,” Monk said conversationally. He reached for the humidor and helped himself.

  Braddock looked at the board while listening for the sounds of battle. Monk had moved the Bishop so it pinned a Knight and a Rook. Damn him. Braddock seethed but gave up the Bishop, moving the Rook to a spot where it could challenge the Queen in another move. But Monk surprised him by not taking the sacrificed piece. Instead he moved a Knight of his own.

  Braddock studied the board in confusion. What was he doing? What was his plan? A table being smashed sounded from the hall.

  Over the board Monk said softly, “Of course the thing that’s really going to bring you down isn’t even your fault.”

  Eyes still on the Knight—what was he doing? —Braddock said, “What are you talking about?”

  “Your daughter, Amanda.”

  Braddock gaped at him. “What are you saying? I have no daughter.”

  “I know that. And you know that. But the police...”

  “What police? What daughter?”

  “Let me explain,” Monk said. “You pulled me into this by lying to me. You said you had a daughter who’d been taken by the mob. You showed me a picture and everything. And I fell for it because I missed my own daughter, a fact you undoubtedly knew because you did your research well. So, I did mine.”

  Braddock stopped looking at the board, confused. What was Monk talking about?

  “I discovered that you’d gone to Nevada three months ago.”

  “I went there for business.”

  “Right. And some gambling. A nice little week-long vacation. You didn’t take your wife with though, did you?”

  “Adele? Why would I take her?”

  “No reason. But I did some research into unsolved crimes and found out that they’d uncovered a body last month buried out in the desert near Henderson. That’s near Boulder City, by the dam.”

  “I know where Henderson is.”

  Monk smiled. “I’m so glad to hear that. Many people don’t. They didn’t know who the body was, but they knew it was a young girl. Probably eight years old. A white girl, brown hair, she was wearing blue pants and a red blouse when she was found. They were decayed but still recognizable.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a snapshot. He handed it across the board. “She looked like this.”

  Braddock studied it without concern. Where was this going?

  “See? She’s wearing blue pants and a red blouse. Just this week they got a tip from somebody of who that girl was.”

  “Who? And what has this to do with me?”

  “Your daughter, Mr. Braddock. The long missing Amanda Braddock.”

  Braddock gaped at him. “You can’t be serious. You’re framing me for the murder of a daughter that doesn’t exist?”

  “Yep,” Monk said happily. “Isn’t it great? They’ll investigate and the mob guys will say, ‘sure, Braddock’s got a daughter. He accused us of taking her.’ I’ll show them the picture and testify you gave it to me. I’ll tell them I found out it was a set up—you were just preparing an alibi for killing her.”

  “But she doesn’t exist!”

  “Of course not. Not that it matters. See, when we were keeping you busy chasing us, I was making forged documents. I made birth certificates, school records, medical records. I had them placed in the files of all kinds of places. The Orchard Hill kindergarten. Cook County Hospital. Miss Clarkson’s Ballet School. I was proud of that one—it showed imagination. I placed so many records in so many places that you’ll never prove Amanda didn’t exist. I even got a birth announcement into the Chicago Tribune. The police will find it in the morgue.” Monk thought of Angel smuggling the forged and faded article into the newspaper’s back issue files. Angel had been baffled but willing. For another twenty he would have written it himself.

  “You won’t get away with this.” Braddock was staring at Monk in horror. Was this possible? Could he be framed for a murder of someone who didn’t exist? “You’re insane,” he whispered.

  At that moment Lou Fleener walked back into the room. His shirt was torn and he had a smudge on one knee. His thin hair was messed up but otherwise he wasn’t even breathing hard. “Sorry for the delay. I took care of a few others out in the security area.”

  “You beat them? Nine of them?”

  “No, don’t be absurd. I beat up the first four. I threatened the others with a gun. I’m not stupid, you know.” Monk smiled and waved at him.

  Braddock had an idea. “This won’t work! I have a witness that there’s no daughter. Adele! She’ll blow your whole stupid fraud right out the window.” He got up and raced to the door. “Adele,” he yelled as if calling a dog. “Get in here!” Wildly he hurried back to Monk. “She’ll say whatever I tell her to say.”

  “No, I won’t.” Adele Braddock walked into the room. She was wearing a fashionable dress and her hair was done up. Her makeup was excellent and she looked a far cry from the mousy ghost Braddock had intimidated for years. She marched firmly toward him and he found himself stepping back a pace, a fact not missed by Monk who laughed.

  Lou had a shock. Cassidy Adams followed her. Cassidy was equally swell in a white gauzy dress that billowed like clouds. She smiled at Lou as she joined him. H
er expression said, “I’ll explain later.” She took his hand and held it in hers.

  “Adele,” Braddock demanded. “Tell these people the truth.”

  She stood next to him, studying him silently.

  Braddock was un-nerved by the look. How was this happening? How had Adele changed so much? His mind was reeling.

  “The truth? Which truth do you want Ben? That you’ve been cheating on me? How about that truth?”

  “I didn’t... I never,” Braddock gulped weakly.

  “Don’t bother lying; I’ve seen the pictures.”

  Cassidy squeezed Lou’s hand and smiled. “I did that,” she whispered proudly.

  “But Adele; I can explain. First though, they’re trying to frame me. For murder! For a girl who doesn’t exist. They say I killed somebody. Tell them Adele; tell them we don’t have a daughter.”

  Adele sighed. She looked at Braddock as if she’d never seen him before. The ridiculous pajamas, the cigars and brandy, the stupid male posturing. She chided herself for being a victim all these years. Braddock stood before her, his eyes pleading. “He’s right,” she said at last. “I have no daughter.”

  Braddock sagged with relief. For a moment, he thought how foolish he was to worry. Adele could never betray him.

  But she continued, “Because my daughter disappeared three months ago. You told me you’d sent her to Boarding school, but I just found out she’s dead.” Adele shrieked and began to pound on his chest, sobbing. “You killed her, you bastard! You killed my daughter!”

  Monk got up from his chair and said to a shocked and shaken Duke Braddock. “The police will be here in an hour or so. A couple of detectives named Bristol and Cassowary. They’ve been after you for years. They’ve got a lot of questions for you and the missus. She’ll be staying at the Hilton; we booked her a room there to get away from you. I’m sure she’ll have a lot to tell them.”

  Cassidy, still holding Lou’s hand, led him out. On the way, she leaned toward Adele and said, loud enough for Braddock to hear, “That was very well done.” Adele beamed at her.

  Monk tapped Braddock on the shoulder and said, “We’ll let ourselves out.”

  Outside, standing in the middle of the curving driveway, Lou paused to gently nudge Adele into the back seat of a waiting car. She smiled up at him, the semi-assured smile of a middle-aged woman who had no idea what the future would hold. She looked past him at Cassidy and waved.

  “Barbara; I’ll see you soon.”

  “Call me,” agreed Cassidy. Lou closed the door and slapped the roof. The driver regally sailed away.

  “Barbara?” asked Lou. To a certain degree he knew what was going on. Monk had talked through several versions of the plan and he knew the whole Braddock/Amanda swindle. He’d been surprised when Adele Braddock entered, partly because he hadn’t known she existed, partly because she turned on her husband.

  Cassidy’s presence was inexplicable. He felt as if he’d missed a reel somewhere.

  “Why did she call you Barbara?”

  “Because that’s who she thinks I am.”

  “Okay. But why?”

  “Because that’s the way Monk planned it.” She took his hand and studied it. “I was in the den with Adele when you went by fighting those guys. Did you notice me?”

  “I was a little busy.”

  “You were wonderful.” Cassidy made little punching motions with her fists and smiled happily.

  “Cassidy; why are you here?”

  “Because I changed my mind.”

  “About what?”

  “Everything.” She stopped kneading his hand and looked at his face closely, as if studying it. “I’ve been a fool. I thought,” her voice was soft and low, nearly a whisper. “That appearances mattered. I thought that money mattered. I thought...

  She sighed. “I’ve been with Adele for the last two days, getting her ready for this confrontation. I brought her the pictures of her husband cheating on her. I helped her change her self-image. I told her she didn’t have to live the way she lived.

  “But while I was doing that she was teaching me. Do you know that she lived alone for ten-year? She had a husband, but he treated her like less than a servant. She was lonely. At first, I didn’t understand it. How could you be unhappy here?” She gestured at the house, the beautifully manicured lawn, the cars. “But she was. I didn’t get it.

  “Then she told me, ‘Barbara I’d give everything I own to have someone to love.’ And I realized, way too late, that I already have that.”

  “Who?” asked Lou, stupidly. He was feeling very confused here.

  “You, dummy. I’m in love with you.”

  “But... but... “Lou struggled for words. “But the way I look. The way I am. I don’t have any money.”

  “Do you love me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then the rest doesn’t matter. We have enough between us to live really great for a couple of years. After that? We’ll see.”

  Lou’s heart was beating so hard he could hear it.

  Through the roar he heard her ask, “Did you really pull a gun on those other five guys?”

  “No. I beat them, too. I was kind of mad.”

  “About me?” Cassidy smiled and took his hand. “Let’s go. We’ve got a lot of life to live.”

  Chapter 45

  But wait! There’s more

  “Why are we here?”

  They sat quietly in a big red—and new—Packard.

  It was now October. The White Sox, to Lou’s disgust, stayed in second, dropping their final seven games and not even making the playoffs. Cassidy told him it didn’t matter, but secretly he knew she was wrong.

  They sat close to each other in the back seat, still new at being in love. Monk was in the driver’s seat, smoking cigarettes with his arm casually on the sill. The night was dark with a new moon and still warm. Crickets filled the air with their shrill racket.

  “Why are we here?” Cassidy tried again. Monk refused to answer.

  “Just wait,” he told them. “It’ll be worth it.”

  “But...”

  “It’ll be worth it.”

  The road was paved and narrow, a country back road. They had parked under an ancient oak, barely off the shoulder. There hadn’t been a car in a half an hour.

  “Why Iowa?” asked Lou.

  “Davenport isn’t quite Iowa. It’s almost at the border.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Just wait. It’ll be—”

  “...worth it,” Lou and Cassidy said together. They started laughing.

  They’d been living in a rented apartment in a great neighborhood in Milwaukee. Not as posh as the Hilton, nor as large, but less expensive. There was no room service which Cassidy said was her concession to cost control. Monk had spent the insurance money from his mom’s house to rent an apartment nearby. He’d closed the bookstore and spent his time reading novels. He was planning to write a book about his revenge on the mobs.

  “No one will believe it,” Lou said.

  “I don’t care. Sometimes I don’t believe it myself.”

  Lou bought a brand new black and white Chevy Bel-Air with every conceivable option. Cassidy had her eye on one of those new Corvettes.

  “It’s here,” Monk said, sitting up rigidly. Lou and Cassidy stopped cuddling in the backseat to look out the windshield. The headlights of a large vehicle were approaching a mile or so away. Monk opened the door and got out, feeling the cool night air wrap around him. His breath was white mist in the darkness.

  “C’mon.” He went to the trunk and opened it.

  When Lou reached him, he handed over a shotgun. He gave another to Cassidy and hefted a long-barreled rifle. He closed the trunk. “C’mon” he said again.

  “Why do we need these?” Lou asked.

  “What are we doing?” Cassidy asked.

  They followed Monk out into the middle of the road. He didn’t answer as the truck got closer. It was less than a couple of hundred
yards away when Monk raised the rifle, sighted in and fired.

  Three shots and the truck veered, yawed and shrieked to a stop. The radiator screeched and hissed, spewing hot water on the tarmac. Monk made a waving motion and ran forward. Lou and Cassidy looked at each other and shrugged.

  They ran to the truck, arriving as a pair of men began clambering down from a high cab. The driver, cursing, screamed at them. “The hell are you doing! You shot us!”

  “Shut up,” Monk commanded. He pointed at Cassidy. “Please cover them.” To Lou, “Tie them up.” He tossed a bundle of vinyl wrapped laundry line to him. Bewildered, they obeyed, making confused faces. What are we doing? Why are we doing this?

  Monk went around the back and was waiting when they arrived. He was looking up at a pair of huge back doors. He smiled a huge grin, like a photogenic jack o’ lantern.

  “Open them,” he said.

  Lou said, “It’s locked.”

  “Crap. Wait a minute.” Monk ran off forward and they heard him say, “The key. Where’s the key? Because I’ll shoot you, that’s why! Thanks.” He ran back. Slightly out of breath he said, “Here,” and shoved a key at Lou. “Open it,” he said. “Open it open it open it.” He was dancing with excitement, a scarecrow with a rifle come to life and capering.

  Lou shoved the key into a large padlock, slipped off a rusted chain and tossed it into the brush. He tugged at the heavy door latches and pulled. The doors loosened and he pushed them aside. He walked back to join Cassidy and Monk who were staring into the dark interior, Cassidy with confusion, Monk with elation. When Lou got next to him he pulled up a large flashlight and held it up.

  “Here’s your future wedding present,” he announced and snapped on the light. The interior was illuminated by the harsh glare.

  “It’s beer,” Cassidy said dubiously. The light played over huge pallets stacked with cases of beer. “Why are you giving us beer?”

  “Why are we hijacking beer?” wondered Lou. He was less appalled than Cassidy at the gift. Beer was, after all, beer.

  “Climb up. Here Cassidy; you hold the light.”

  Together they hauled themselves into the truck. “Push,” Monk said. Horrified, Lou helped topple an entire pallet of Hamm’s—the beer that made Milwaukee famous—onto the road. Bottles exploded as they hit and Cassidy yelped, leaping out of the way. The light circled and flickered and steadied back on the truck.