[Elizabeth McClaine 03.0] A Stolen Woman

by Catherine Lea

Laney barely noticed. She was already moving, running in the direction he’d indicated.

  With her heart thudding in her chest, she ran to the corner, and stopped. Four streets intersected, north, east, west, and the one she was on. Derelict buildings in each direction. Broken glass, boarded-up windows. Only two streetlights. She walked a few steps, then turned on the spot and shouted, “Kimmy! Where are you, dammit?”

  At least in this weather the druggies and the weirdos and the mentally disturbed were probably inside, staying out of the rain. Or at the party back there. That was one small mercy. At least that’s what she told herself.

  Pausing only to check alleyways and boarded-up building frontages, she pressed on with her heart frozen in fear.

  Then she heard it. If the rain hadn’t let up, she might have missed it. A whimper. Maybe ten yards down the street. She moved cautiously down the darkened street, past dumpsters, past stacks of collapsed cardboard boxes and shapes that might have been people, ducking and peeking between.

  “Kimmy!”

  Then she heard it again. She slipped her phone from her jeans pocket, switched on the light, shone it into what looked like a black hole between two abandoned buildings. And there she was—dirty, saturated, hair plastered to her face, Kimmy sat huddled in a corner, head down on her knees, sobbing.

  Laney moved towards her, one eye watching for movement from the shadows.

  “Hey, babes, what are you doing down here?”

  When she crouched in front of her, Kimmy looked up. Laney had never seen her so forlorn.

  Her mouth was drawn down at the corners. “Wendy?”

  Laney felt her heart seize up. She reached out, stroked a saturated strand back from her sister’s face. “I’m gonna find Wendy, okay? But I can’t do this with you. I’m sorry.”

  Kimmy smeared away the trail under her nose with the back of her hand and sniffed. Even in the gloom of this dingy alley, Laney could see her face light up. She scrambled to her feet, took Laney’s hand in both of hers and tugged her towards the mouth of the alleyway. “Wendy.”

  Back at the car, Laney picked up her phone. She found the number for Sunny Springs and cleared her throat. As soon as the call picked up and a voice announced that she’d reached Sunny Springs, Laney lowered her voice to a terrible disguise, and said, “May I speak to Wendy, please?”

  As she waited for the woman at the other end of the line to check the number, Kimmy’s eyes stayed riveted on her.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, Wendy left our employment today. Can someone else help you?”

  “Ah, I see. This is her credit card facility calling. Do you have a forwarding address for the woman in question?” she asked, rolling her eyes and wondering how bad it really sounded.

  “I’m afraid not, ma’am. Is there anyone else I can put you through to?”

  “No, it’s fine. Can you tell me her other name?”

  “You don’t have that information?”

  “Uh, no. I don’t.”

  “I’m afraid that’s confidential. Is there anything else I can help you with?

  Irritated, she dropped the snooty accent, Laney said, “You haven’t actually helped me with anything now.”

  “Then I’m sorry,” came the reply, and the line clicked dead.

  Laney hung up with a feeling of dread solidifying in her chest.

  Why was Wendy fired? Was she the one who’d hurt Kimmy?

  Only one way to find out. She hit redial again, scrolled through until she found the last known number for Kiddy Leishman, hit the little phone icon. If anyone knew what was going on in that place, it would be Kiddy. An empty ring tone sounded down the phone. It rang five times, then beeped to indicate messaging. Annoyed, frustrated, she hung up, suddenly aware of the silence emanating from Kimmy, aware that the smile had evaporated. Sure enough, her sister was watching her, mouth dropping at the corners, brow forming a peak on her forehead.

  Oh please, not again.

  Laney drew a deep breath. “Babe, she’s not there. I’m sorry.”

  Kimmy sucked in a ragged breath and shrank back in anguish. Any minute now, she’d go hyper. Laney gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “No, wait, wait. Wendy’s probably gone home. I’ll find her, okay? You trust me?”

  A single tear broke and ran down Kimmy’s cheek. Her lip quivered but at least she was listening.

  “Okay, so that’s the plan, right? But I can’t leave you in the car, can I? So, first up we gotta get you in some dry clothes. Then we’re going to someone’s house. She can take care of you while I go find Wendy, okay?”

  Kimmy reached for her, long fingers gripping her arm. “Come?”

  “No, you can’t come with me. You might run off again. And then what’ll I do?” Smiling, she tucked a strand of Kimmy’s hair back and felt the grip loosen.

  “Wendy?”

  “Yes. I’ll find Wendy, okay? Wherever she is, whatever trouble she’s gotten into, I promise I’ll find her.” Laney started up the car. “And boy, she better have a good explanation for all this.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  DAY ONE—11:54 PM—ELIZABETH

  From the street, the Sunny Springs Residential Care Facility might have been mistaken for just another private hospital. That was no coincidence. The construction conglomerate, Aden Falls Life Care, had built the place on the blueprint of their other elder care hospital and nursing homes.

  “A safe and peaceful environment for your disabled love ones,” the blurb had read.

  Which might have sounded good. But Elizabeth had been one of the loudest opponents of the scheme. She’d lobbied hard and used what influence she could to halt the project. After all, wasn’t shuffling the disabled out of the community and into institutions what they’d fought to abolish only a few years before?

  Consequently, she’d been aggrieved when the project had been green-lighted. She’d made her views known to anyone who’d listen—including the local media. Not that that had changed anything.

  Now, driving in through the automatic gates and down between rows of beautifully tended garden beds, widened and easily accessible front doors, she wondered how David Whitcliff would remember her—the woman who almost single-handedly brought the project facility to a halt? The woman who’d publicly called him “a money-hungry miser bent on chiseling cash out of the most vulnerable in society?”

  A warm welcome was the last thing she was expecting.

  Lights were low in the reception area as she pulled into the visitor parking slot. The place looked closed up for the night. But as she got out of her car, the wide glass double doors that led into the front foyer slid apart and a woman appeared, arms tightly folded, peering over at her.

  As Elizabeth closed her car door and walked towards her, she recognized Velma Stanford, David Whitcliff’s PA—a dowdy-looking woman in plastic-rimmed eyeglasses and wearing her customary box-pleat skirt, open-neck blouse, and pale gray mohair cardigan slung around her shoulders. She held out her hand, saying:

  “Mrs. McClaine, I got your message. David’s in his office.”

  Without receiving anything further by way of greeting, Elizabeth followed her through a dimly lit reception area and on into a wide lounge set with chairs and tables in a restaurant setting to the left, sofas and coffee tables to the right.

  Walking one step ahead, Velma glanced back. “We haven’t seen you here in a while.”

  “I wish I could say the visit was strictly social. But it’s not. I’m following up an incident with one of our clients—Kimmy Donohue.”

  A slight falter in Velma’s step slowed her a fraction, as though she’d flinched at the name. “Is that so? Well, I’m sure David is doing everything in his power to address the situation.”

  “That’s very reassuring,” Elizabeth said without emotion.

  “You’re probably fully aware how much our organization appreciates the support your foundation offers our clients. I don’t know where they’d be if they weren’t here.”


  All lip service, if you asked Elizabeth.

  “I’m sure your shareholders lie awake nights worrying about these young people,” Elizabeth replied rather waspishly. It wasn’t as if the corporation running Sunny Springs was doing it out of the pure goodness of their hearts. Elizabeth had seen the first-quarter profit announcements for the year. The investors weren’t short of a dollar or two.

  Velma pointedly ignored the comment. “This way,” she said, indicating a doorway from which light spilled into the hallway. Elizabeth waited while Velma placed one hand on the doorframe, and leaned in. “David, Mrs. McClaine’s here.”

  “Fine. Send her in.” David Whitcliff’s voice. Elizabeth recognized it immediately and felt her hackles involuntarily rise.

  Velma stepped back gesturing as Elizabeth entered the office to find David rising from his desk.

  “Elizabeth,” he said, pointedly checking his watch. “A little late for a visit, isn’t it? What brings you here?”

  “I’ll give you two guesses, David.” She hovered a moment and when David sat again, gesturing toward the chair opposite, she also sat, crossing her ankles to one side while she set her purse on the floor beside her. “I want to know what you’re doing to find one of your clients who’s gone missing.”

  David’s eyebrows rose as if in surprise. “A client? From here?” he asked, pointing one finger to the desk. As if he didn’t know.

  Elizabeth tilted her head. “Let’s cut the BS here, David. I’m talking about Kimmy Donohue. I’m told she was taken off-site by her sister. Without permission.”

  Seemingly abandoning any pretense of affability, he leaned on his elbows, hands clasped at his mouth. “And may I ask who told you this?”

  “No, you may not. Suffice to say I was at my own birthday party where some of the most influential people in Cleveland are still clinking glasses and drinking champagne they didn’t pay for.”

  At this, David nodded once and dropped his eyes to his desk. “I see.”

  She had omitted the fact that the news came via a phone call. To Elizabeth, his reaction suggested that at least one other person back in the ballroom she’d just left was in receipt of the same information. She did a quick mental checklist of guests, wondering who.

  “I’ve also been advised the police haven’t been notified. Is that correct?”

  He opened his hands briefly. “That’s… correct, Mrs. McClaine.”

  “Why not? She’s a vulnerable young woman who depends on this institution for her care. You’ve let her down.”

  David leaned back, placed his pen on the desk, and crossed his arms defensively across his chest. “Mrs. McClaine, I don’t consider Kimmy to be in any danger. She left the premises accompanied by her sister, and while I’m not sure of her exact whereabouts at this moment, I’m confident she’ll be kept safe, and they’ll both be back very soon.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. “How can you possibly think this is acceptable? That someone can remove a very high needs client, without permission, and what? You just expect they’ll turn up when they’re ready? Do you honestly think that’s an appropriate course of action from a facility that’s been charged with her care and safety?”

  “Mrs. McClaine, forgive me, but while I appreciate that you’re concerned about Kimmy, there are some extenuating circumstances I’m not at liberty to discuss with you. Now, if you don’t mind—”

  Feeling her cheeks flash red, Elizabeth said, “Do I need to remind you that my foundation funds this young woman? And several others in this facility?”

  “No, you do not.”

  “So, you’re saying this is the level of care we’re paying for? And we should just accept that?”

  David raised one palm at her. A Stop right there gesture. “Can we just calm down a second?”

  Elizabeth sat back with her head high, mouth pressed hard, while he continued on.

  “For your information, my security people are out searching for them. What do you think I am? Callous? You think I’m not worried?”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me that sooner? And why haven’t you called the police?”

  The man hunched over, briefly cupping both hands over his nose and mouth. “I can’t…” he began, then took a deep breath before sitting back again.

  “Look, we’re doing everything we can to find her. It’s only been a couple of hours, but if we don’t find her by morning, I will bring in the police. Would that satisfy you?”

  Elizabeth gave it a moment. “Tell me what you know about this sister of Kimmy’s.”

  He nodded, decidedly more relaxed now.

  “Laney had applied for guardianship of her sister. Unfortunately, she had no fixed address at the time. Then she was sentenced to six months in Carringway for distributing stolen items. Since it was your trust that was funding her, Kimmy came here. I thought you, of all people, would have known this.”

  A little shocked by the backhanded accusation but unwilling to get sidetracked, Elizabeth redirected the conversation. “How exactly did Laney just walk in here and take her? Surely you had security?”

  “She arrived outside visiting hours. My admissions manager, Velma Stanford, attempted to stop her, but Velma said Laney became violent. For her own safety, Velma stood down and called security. Of course, by then it was too late. Our security cameras picked up Laney taking Kimmy to her car and driving off with her. But I’m confident she will bring her back.”

  “This is totally unacceptable, David. Kimmy is under the care of our foundation—”

  “With all due respect, Mrs. McClaine,” he interrupted. “I’m satisfied the appropriate action was taken under the circumstances, and that Laney Donohue presents no danger to her sister. Now, that’s all I can tell you at the moment. It’s late, and I have work to do. If you don’t mind.”

  Elizabeth felt her anger subside. Shouting at him wasn’t getting Kimmy back.

  “So, where do you think the sister took her?”

  “Last I heard was that Laney was living in some cheap apartment with another ex-con. I’ve asked my security go over there and check the place.”

  “And if they’re not there? Where else would they go?”

  David Whitcliff heaved out a deep, weary breath. “Mrs. McClaine, I wish I knew.”

  ***

  The Associate

  12:34 AM. He had just gotten home. The party was exactly what he’d expected, all the same white-collar criminals and fraudsters posing as honorable businessmen. He knew what they got up to, what mutually beneficial arrangements they made behind closed doors, the kind of questionable deals they cut when no one was looking. In truth, they were no better than that Albanian thug whose grasp he’d fallen into.

  He’d just been preparing to excuse himself and leave when he overheard that conversation coming from somewhere behind him.

  He’d turned his head just a fraction, pretending to listen to Charles McClaine spouting off on some political tirade again, nodding intently, but listening in to what was being said by the woman a couple of feet to his left.

  From what he could hear, Elizabeth had left the party to follow up a missing nurse aid out at Sunny Springs. Her PA had made a joke of it, but the news sent a chill down his spine. He had immediately excused himself from the group, slipped outside, and called the Man.

  “She’ll lift every stone,” he told him. “Everything will come out.”

  “Do whatever you need to,” the Man said and hung up.

  He knew exactly what that meant. It meant he’d have to create a diversion. Like the Westrum one. That would mean contacting that woman again. The very thought of it sickened him.

  But until he found a way out of this mess, what choice did he have? So he scrolled through his contacts, clicked on her name, and dialed.

  She picked up on the first ring.

  “Hello, stranger,” she said.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DAY ONE—11:54 PM—LANEY

  Laney took Kimmy back to the house and fou
nd another pair of sweat pants and a sweater. They hung loose on Kimmy’s slim frame, but at least they were dry. Then she’d collected her lock picks and the thirty bucks she’d hidden under her bed, and they’d headed out.

  Wendy had left Sunny Springs in a hurry. And with some man. And according to the gossip chain, it didn’t sound like it had been her choice. Whoever this guy was, he was rich and Velma Stanford knew who he was. Under the current circumstances, she’d be about as likely to help Laney as she was to fly to the moon. That left Laney only one choice.

  But if she had any intentions of following the plan forming in her mind right now, taking Kimmy along was out of the question. Her only option was to swallow a heap of pride, hold her temper, and keep her mouth shut. Three things she wasn’t exactly known for.

  She pulled the car to a halt right outside the house she’d last visited just over three years back. Not a great part of town, but not the worst. A white picket fence ran all the way across the front of the yard and around the sides. It was the only house on the street that had one. The only house that looked like the owners cared enough to mow the grass and pick up the trash regularly. It still had the same blue shutters on each side of the windows, same carefully tended gardens, same welcome plaque nailed by the front door next to the brass doorbell. Wasn’t always money that made folks proud of their homes.

  No lights on, Laney noted. Though that wasn’t surprising, this time of night.

  She crossed the street, stepped up the front stairs, and peered through the medallioned glass in the front door. No sign of life on the inside.

  Please be home. Please, please be home.

  The first light knock drew no response. She gave it a minute or so, then pounded on the wood panel with the side of her fist. Then she turned on the spot hugging herself while she checked the street again. Right across from her, Kimmy stared back from the front passenger’s seat.

  “You stay there, Missy,” she mouthed, and pointed a mock threatening finger at her sister. She was reaching for the brass bell ready to shake the thing, when a light popped on inside the house and the door opened.