“Well?” Luke asked him.
“Not bad,” C.B. said. “It might do.”
“Scary around there!” Petey exclaimed. “I told C.B. to lock the car doors.”
“I think your daughter should be plenty worried by now,” C.B. said. “Do you think it’s too late to call?”
“Somehow I doubt it,” Luke said.
Regan was sitting by a sleeping Nora when the cell phone rang. Please let it be them, she prayed, her heart pounding. She picked it up. “Hello,” she said quietly.
“Did you recover the money?”
Regan stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” C.B. said angrily, “we could tell there was a tracer in the duffel bag. Don’t do that again. Have another million ready, or you’ll regret it. I’ll call you at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Here’s Daddy.”
“Regan, at this point, I’m seeing red. Do as he says and get us out of here.”
The line went dead.
Saturday,
December 24th
Fred had heard from Regan shortly after midnight. She’d told him about the kidnappers’ call, and how they had warned her not to have a tracking device in the next ransom delivery. She hadn’t spoken to Rosita, but her father had said, “Get us out of here.”
After the call, Fred had tossed and turned on the couch. If the next drop doesn’t work, they’ll give up, he thought. And they won’t leave witnesses.
At 3:00 A.M., he had taken the blanket and pillow and stretched out on top of Rosita’s bed. Before long, he was joined by two troubled little boys who curled up against him and fell back asleep.
“Mommy’s sick, isn’t she?” Bobby had asked quietly when they woke up.
“Maybe she got sick like Grandma did, and went to Puerto Rico without us,” Chris suggested.
“All your mommy cares about is getting home and being with you guys,” Fred said reassuringly. “But Mrs. Reilly really needs her now.”
“She won’t stay with Mrs. Reilly tomorrow, will she?” Bobby asked.
Tomorrow, Fred thought. Christmas Day. What could he possibly tell them if she wasn’t back then? And what was he going to tell Rosita’s mother when she phoned to wish them a merry Christmas, as she almost certainly would.
To help pass the time, he took the boys out to breakfast, but they turned down his offer of another trip to Sports World.
“We should be there in case Mommy gets home,” Chris said solemnly.
Ernest Bumbles woke up on Christmas Eve in what was for him a very grumpy mood. He still hadn’t been able to catch up with Luke Reilly, even though he had stopped by Reilly’s Funeral Home twice yesterday—once in the afternoon and again in the evening.
“A gift deferred is a gift denied,” he told Dolly as he packed his suitcase for their annual trip to his mother-in-law’s.
Dolly knew all about Ernest’s passionate nature. When he felt something, he felt it with all his heart. When he wanted something, he let nothing stand in his way. That’s why, year after year, he had been unanimously reelected president of the Seed-Plant-Bloom-and-Blossom Society. But he was also a caring man. It was no wonder he never had a plant die on him.
“Bumby,” Dolly said gently. “We’re not leaving until late this afternoon. Why don’t we drive by Mr. Reilly’s house and ring the bell on our way out of town?”
“I don’t want to seem like a pest.”
“Oh, hush. You never could.”
Nora had awakened to hear Regan talking to Luke’s abductor. When the brief conversation was abruptly terminated, Regan told her, word for word, exactly what had been said.
The bedside phone rang almost immediately.
“They can’t know there was a tracer in that bag,” Jack said firmly. “They’re bluffing. I wouldn’t be surprised if the guy on the boat accidentally dropped it into the water.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised by that either,” Regan said, “but my mother is adamant that there be no tracer in the bag this time.”
“I understand,” Jack said. “Regan, remind your mother that it’s a good sign you talked to your father again. When he spoke to you, he said, ‘I’m seeing red.’ Is that an expression he uses when he’s angry?”
“I’ve never heard him say that in my life,” Regan said. “Neither has my mother.”
“Then he’s definitely trying to tell you something,” Jack said. “See if you or your mother can make the connection.”
Regan and Jack agreed to talk in the morning, then Regan had phoned Alvirah and Fred.
It was another near-sleepless night for her and Nora as they tried to make sense of what Luke had said and to remember what Regan’s favorite book had been as a child.
Nora said, “Regan, when your father came home from work, you always ran to him with a book in your hand. I just can’t remember what your favorite one would have been. Could it have been one of the fairy tales? ‘Snow White,’ or ‘Sleeping Beauty,’ or maybe ‘Rumplestiltskin’?”
“No,” Regan said. “It wasn’t any one of them.”
Around dawn, they both dropped off into a light, uneasy sleep.
Neither one of them had wanted breakfast. Then at eight o’clock, Nora was taken for X rays. When she returned to the room at 9:00, Regan went down to the cafeteria and brought back containers of hot coffee.
“Regan, while I was waiting to be x-rayed, something came to me that I think is important,” Nora said after she took the first sip.
Regan waited.
“It is absolutely weird that a scenario from one of my early books was used for the ransom drop yesterday. That card with your father’s picture was signed ‘Your number-one fan.’ If that person is the kidnapper, it’s possible he’s familiar with all my work.”
“That’s very possible,” Regan agreed. “In which case we’re dealing with an obsession. But what are you saying?”
“As I lay there, it came to me that I wrote another kidnapping story, a long time ago.”
“You did? I never read it.”
“I wrote it when I was pregnant with you,” Nora recalled. “It was a short story, not a book, but it described in detail a ransom drop in Queens.” She bit her lip. “My doctor had ordered bed rest when I was working on it, and I remember that Dad came up with the suggestion for the location of the drop. He drove out there, took pictures, and drew a map, even to the point of marking the best place to leave the suitcase of money. I was paid all of one hundred dollars for the story when it was published, and Dad joked that I should give him half.”
Regan smiled briefly. “That sounds like Dad.” Despite the stab of pain that hit her heart, she felt a surge of hope. “Mom, suppose you’re right and the kidnapper is a pathological fan who’s acting out your plots. It’s very possible he’s somehow gotten his hands on that story and will use that plot for the drop tomorrow. If we knew ahead of time the kind of directions he’s likely to give me, the police can stake out the route beforehand without being visible. Where in Queens was the ransom drop?”
“God, Regan, it was so long ago, and as I said, Dad researched it for me. All I remember is that it was near the Midtown Tunnel.”
“You must have a copy of the story.”
“It’s home somewhere in the attic.”
“What about the magazine it was in?”
“It bit the dust a long time ago.”
There was a tap at the door. The doctor breezed into the room, a holiday smile on his face, a batch of X rays under his arm. “Morning, ladies,” he said. “How’s my favorite patient?”
“Pretty good,” Nora said.
“Good enough to go home?”
Nora looked at him, surprised. “You were pretty insistent on my staying for at least three days.”
“You had a nasty fracture, but the swelling is going down nicely. The X rays look okay. You must be anxious to get out of here. Just be sure to keep that leg elevated.” He turned to Regan. “Maybe next year, you and your parents will make it to Maui for
Christmas.”
“I hope so,” Regan said. More than you can imagine, she thought.
When he left the room, Nora and Regan looked at each other.
“Regan,” Nora said, “run and get the car. I’ll get checked out of here. There are an awful lot of boxes in that attic.”
At five of nine, Alvirah was in the forefront of the throng of last-minute shoppers waiting for Long’s department store to open its doors. Unlike the others, she did not have a list of gifts to buy, most of which would probably be returned forty-eight hours later. She had already phoned Fred to ask about why Rosita had told him Luke “always kept his cool.” He assured her that Rosita was only referring to humorous situations.
At 9:01, she was on the down escalator, headed for the basement. Fast as she was, there were already shoppers at the counter where the Christmas knickknacks had been further reduced to almost giveaway prices. They must have slept in the aisles last night, she thought, as with mounting impatience she waited to get the only salesgirl’s attention.
The customer ahead of her, a thin, white-haired septuagenarian, was crossing names off her shopping list as she handed one picture frame after another to the clerk. “Let’s see. That takes care of Aggie and Margieand Kitty and May. Should I get one for Lillian? . . . Nah, she didn’t give me anything lastyear.” She picked up one of the “Jingle My Bells” frames. “Disgraceful,” she proclaimed. “That’ll be all.”
“Are you Darlene Krinsky?” Alvirah asked the young saleswoman when she finally got her attention.
“Yes.” Her voice was wary.
Alvirah knew she had to make it fast. She took out the frame she had purchased the day before. “My friend is in the hospital.” That might get her sympathy, she thought. “Someone left one of these frames for her on Thursday night and didn’t sign his name. We think he may have bought it when he was on the way to the hospital, because we know he was carrying a Long’s shopping bag with some red clothing in it. He’s a man of medium height, with thinning brown hair, and about fifty years old.”
Krinsky shook her head. “I wish I could help you.” With her eyes she indicated a group of teenagers who were waving the knick-knacks they had selected, anxious to get her attention. “You can see how crazy it is around here.”
“He was carrying an old wallet and may have counted the change out very carefully,” Alvirah persisted.
“I’m sorry, I’d really like to help, but . . .” She trailed off. “I hope your friend feels better.” She took a Santa Claus music box out of the hands of one of the teenagers.
It’s hopeless, Alvirah thought dejectedly as she turned away from the counter.
“Wait a minute,” the clerk said softly to herself as she started to ring up the music box.
As Alvirah reached the escalator, she felt a tap on her shoulder. “The clerk at that counter is calling you,” a young man said.
Alvirah rushed back.
“You say he had a bag with red clothing in it? I know who it might be. One of the guys who plays Santa Claus was down here the other night. I’m sure that was the frame he bought. He tried to get an employee discount.”
That’s got to be him, Alvirah thought. “Can you tell me his name?”
“No. But he might even be upstairs now. The toy department is on the third floor.”
* * *
“You must be talking about Alvin Luck,” the manager of the toy department, a pinched-faced man in his late fifties, said to Alvirah. “He was working here Thursday evening, and no doubt was carrying his uniform home to press. We insist that our Santas set a good example for the children.”
“Is he due in soon?”
“He doesn’t work here anymore.”
“He doesn’t?” Alvirah asked, dismayed.
“No. He turned in his uniform yesterday. When we hired him, he made it very clear he couldn’t work on Christmas Eve.”
“Was he here last night?”
“No. He left at four o’clock.”
“Would you have his address or phone number?”
The manager looked sternly at Alvirah. “Madam, we have total respect for our employees’ privacy. That information is strictly confidential.”
Jack can get it in a minute, Alvirah thought, as she thanked the man and rushed to a telephone. And anyhow, he’ll take over from here. If Alvin Luck is involved in the kidnapping, Jack will find out fast.
Alvin Luck and his mother handed their tickets to the usher at the door of Radio City Music Hall. Since he was a child, it had been their tradition to take in the Christmas Spectacular on Christmas Eve, and then treat themselves to a special lunch. In the old days they had dined at Schrafft’s, and they both agreed that things weren’t the same since that venerable purveyor of chicken à la king had closed its doors.
After lunch, weather permitting, they would take in the sights of Fifth Avenue.
Today they thoroughly enjoyed the show, lingered over lunch, and then prevailed on a security guard to take their annual picture in front of the tree in Rockefeller Center. All the while they were blissfully unaware that half the police department in New York City was on the lookout for them.
It was nearly 11:30 when Regan, with Nora sitting sideways in the backseat of the car, her injured leg across the seat, pulled into their driveway in Summit, New Jersey. Alvirah and Willy were in a car right behind them.
Alvirah had phoned Regan as soon as she hung up with Jack and told her about Alvin Luck. “Jack will call you the minute they find him,” she promised. Then, on learning about Nora’s short story, she had instantly volunteered to help in the search through the boxes in the attic.
Leaning on her crutches, with Willy on one side and Regan on the other, Nora made her careful way along the walk and into the house.
“When I left here Wednesday evening, I never dreamed I’d come back this way. Or without Luke,” she added, her tone flat.
The house seemed dark and somber. Regan quickly moved around, turning on lights. “Mom, where do you think you’d be most comfortable?” she asked.
“Oh, inside.” She gestured toward the family room.
Alvirah took in every detail of the place as they followed Nora past the living room to the back of the house. The large kitchen spilled into the high-ceilinged family room, inviting with its generous couches, big windows, and open-hearth fireplace. “This is lovely,” she said admiringly.
Nora hobbled over to the wing chair. Regan took her crutches, and when Nora was settled, helped lift the leg with its heavy cast onto the hassock. “Whew,” Nora said with a sigh as she leaned back. “This is going to take some getting used to.” The tiny beads of perspiration on her forehead were a testimony to the effort it had taken just to navigate the short distance from the car.
A few minutes later, after Willy and Regan had brought a half-dozen boxes down from the attic, they were all busy looking for the manuscript or magazine copy of the short story Nora remembered being titled “Deadline to Paradise.”
“I thought I’d kept every piece of research, every version of every manuscript, every outline, even every rejection slip from the early days, “Nora commented. “So where is it?”
As the four of them sifted through the stacks of papers, Alvirah told them about tracking down Alvin Luck. “I can’t believe that anyone who’s been working as a department store Santa Claus could be part of all this,” Nora said. Then they all fell silent. Half an hour later, Willy and Regan went back up to the attic to bring down more boxes. But it was a fruitless effort. At three o’clock, Nora said dispiritedly, “I may as well admit it. If a copy of that story still exists, it isn’t in this house.” Then she looked at Regan. “Why don’t you call Rosita’s and see how her boys are doing? I’m worried about them.”
From Fred’s tone, Regan could tell immediately that it was not going well. “They’re worried that their mother is sick,” he told her. “All I’m trying to do at this point is keep them distracted. I even opened the package of books your mother
sent them for Christmas and read to them. Those, at least, they really enjoyed.”
“I’m glad they liked the books,” Nora said after Regan reported what Fred had told her. “I had Charlotte in the children’s section of the bookstore put them together and send them over for me.” She paused. “Wait a minute. She also sent me videos of some of the hot new movies for kids. I was going to give them to Mona.” Nora gestured toward the neighboring house. “Her grandchildren are coming for a visit next week.”
She looked at Regan. “Why don’t you take them to Chris and Bobby? Then if you get a chance to talk to Rosita at four o’clock, you can tell her you just saw the boys.”
Regan looked at her watch. She was supposed to receive the next phone call at four. It wasn’t much more than a fifteen-minute drive to Rosita’s. That gave her over an hour to get there and back. She knew her mother wanted her to be home when the next call from the kidnappers came. She said that just knowing her husband was on the other end of the phone made the nightmare seem a little less hopeless.
Alvin Luck and his mother could not have spent a better day together. That is, until they got home and found two detectives waiting for them.
“May we speak to you inside?” they asked.
“Sure, fellows, come on in,” Alvin invited. With the security that comes from having led an absolutely blameless life, he was thrilled that real-life detectives had come to talk to him. Maybe something had happened at Long’s, and they needed his help.
His mother did not share his excitement. When the detectives asked permission to look around the apartment, she glared at Alvin for granting it.
Sal Bonaventure, the detective who went into Alvin’s bedroom, whistled softly when he saw the accumulation of crime literature that was stacked floor to ceiling. Piles of manuscripts crowded the shelves over the long table that served as a desk. In addition to a computer and printer, the table held dozens of books and magazines, most of them clearly very old. A stack of novels by Nora Regan Reilly, many of them lying open, was near the computer. Bonaventure saw that the pages were heavily annotated.
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