Shelby Rae's scent is everywhere on the beach. She spent the morning supervising the caterers and the people setting up the charming striped beach cabanas. Her shoes were most inappropriate, with short heels that sank into the sand and dirt. She directed everyone with one hand because in her other she carried her ever-present tumbler of half lemonade and half sweet tea.
I peek beneath the overturned canoes and the pile of inflated inner tubes. No one is under either of the docks, though there is a shocking amount of debris. I'm appalled that guests would be so uncivilized.
The cabanas are more interesting. There's nothing of note in the first one except a pair of child's swim goggles that look small enough to fit the irrepressible Jocko. But Shelby Rae’s scent is strongest in the second cabana. The cord that's supposed to be stretched across the inside for hanging things dangles to one side. There's a scarf, too, that I recognize. Shelby Rae is very fond of scarves, and the last time I saw her she was wearing this one in her hair. But more telling is the heeled sandal and the half-filled tumbler partially buried in the sand. The lid is askew and I can smell lemons, but something stronger too. Gin, perhaps? Shelby Rae was definitely here. But is this the last place she was before she disappeared? Had she gone for a late swim?
Even more interesting is the long slit in the canvas at the back of the tent.
I have to let Erin know what I found.
No sooner do I start to leave the cabana than I hear Jocko's sad whimper outside the tent's flap door. He hasn't figured out how to get inside, and after a moment, his black proboscis is right there in front of me, underneath the canvas, looking like some unpleasant, wet bug.
I know it's a defect in my nature, but I can't help myself. Quicker than a flash, I extend one claw and give his snout a quick swipe. Not a serious swipe, really.
Jocko's yelps produce the desired effect. A few moments later, Erin comes running to see what the disturbance is about. Jocko isn't so useless to me after all. I emerge, a silent wraith, from between the cabana's flaps. Erin shines the blinding flashlight on me, and I slip back inside so she'll follow.
"What's this?" The flashlight's silver glow fills the interior of the cabana.
She picks up the tumbler gingerly with two fingers, then drops it again and takes a small step back. I'm glad she realizes it might be evidence. In case she hasn't seen it, I raise up and push the slit at the back with my front paws. She sweeps the light over the slit, the shoe, and the scarf, as well. Her breath quickens, and I can tell she's in distress. To comfort her, I come back and rub against her leg to let her know everything will be all right. In return I receive an absent-minded stroke down my back.
"This doesn't look good. We have to tell Dad."
* * *
With Trouble and Jocko following behind, Erin went back up to the house to find her father. She wasn't sure what to think about Shelby Rae’s things she'd found in the cabana. It didn't seem out of the question that Shelby Rae had simply forgotten her scarf and shoe there, but Erin didn't remember seeing her in either the lake or the pool. Shelby Rae didn't like swimming in the lake and was terrified of the Jet Skis. Since she and Bruce had gotten married, she'd only been out on the lake in a boat a few times that Erin could remember. That was just fine with Erin. Both she and her father loved to go fishing together, and he would often take her out in the cabin cruiser with MacKenzie and some other friends if she asked. When Shelby Rae was around, she made sure everything was about Shelby Rae. That's why Erin had been surprised to hear in the middle of their argument that she was unhappy, and that her father wasn't spending more of his free time with her.
It was true that he wasn't around much. If he wasn't at the dealership, he was golfing or involved in some civic project. Could it be that he had also finally tired of Shelby Rae's neediness, her childishness?
When Erin discovered him a few minutes later in his office, his face drained of color, she knew that wasn't the case.
A piece of creased paper lay open on the desk in front of him. Her strong, determined father looked as though he might faint.
Erin rushed to his side. "Dad! What's wrong? What is it?"
As he picked the paper up to hand it to her, a ring clattered onto the desk. Shelby Rae's diamond and platinum wedding band. Erin took the note and read.
We got your pretty wife. If you call police we will know and she will die. She is safe for now. Put 50 thousand dollars cash in a bag and leave it on the blue drum in the barn on the old Stratton Farm. Don't bring anyone with you. If its not there before noon tomorrow you will get your wife back dead.
"Is this some kind of joke?" Erin looked at her father's stunned face. He shook his head slowly.
She laid the paper on the desk. "Who would do this? We have to call the sheriff, Daddy. Right away. They can't have gotten too far." But talking to her father was like talking to a statue. He stared, watching her face as though hoping she didn't see the same threatening words on the page that he'd just read. Leaning over the desk, she studied the crude, carefully worded statement. Ransom notes only showed up in movies and books, yet here was one right in front of her. And it was talking about Shelby Rae. A dead Shelby Rae.
The wedding band glittered in the lamplight. It was puzzling that the kidnappers had sent it instead of an earring or shoe or piece of clothing or lock of Shelby Rae's hair. The ring was easily worth a few thousand dollars—not a fifth of what Shelby Rae's flawless two-carat diamond was worth, but plenty. Would they really kill her if they didn't get the money?
"Even if you pay them, you don't know that they'll bring her back. We can't handle this on our own."
"Why would someone take her and not me? I don't get it."
"We'll get her back, but we need help. The police might already have an idea of who would do such a thing."
"It could be anybody," her father said. "Someone who has a grudge against me. Or against Shelby Rae." His handsome face was rueful as he looked at Erin. She knew she wasn't going to like what he was about to say. "I know you two have your differences, but she really does care about you. She's tried to be good to you."
It wasn't the time to get into it with her father about how Shelby Rae had changed their relationship in recent years. He'd never been a hands-on father, or an attentive husband, for that matter. Her mother, Rita, had been Erin's best friend, the person she most wanted to spend time with, and only later did she realize how little her father had been around while he was trying to grow the dealership. After her mother's death, they'd gotten closer—at least until Shelby Rae started hanging around. It had almost been like he'd wanted Shelby Rae to mother her, before he and Shelby Rae had gotten together. There was a dark, half-buried thought in the back of her head that perhaps he and Shelby Rae had begun a relationship even before Shelby Rae had decided Erin needed a friend. Maybe even before her mother's death.
No, I won't think about that.
"I really think we need to call the sheriff. Maybe we don't even have to make it official. He can just give us some advice."
"Abel Bowen is a friend, but it would be unethical for me to hide the fact that there's been a crime. I'm going to pay the ransom. That's the end of it."
Erin was stubborn, and she knew whose genes had made her that way. There was no use arguing with him.
"They said noon tomorrow, right?" Erin picked up the paper, which seemed old, and smelled a little musty. If the police did get involved, they would find the paper covered with her and her father's fingerprints, which wouldn't be helpful at all. "You're not going to take the money out there tonight, are you? I want to go with you if you are. They could be waiting, Daddy. They could hurt you, too."
"I've got the cash. If I do it tonight, maybe they'd get her back before morning." He sighed. "God only knows where they're holding her."
As though he knew they were talking about Shelby Rae, Jocko, who'd been watching them, gave a sharp bark.
Her father leaned down and scooped the small dog into his arms. Jocko immediately w
iggled against him and started licking his face excitedly. "I know, buddy. I know. We'll get her back soon."
The reality of the situation washed over Erin, and she suddenly felt very sorry for her father. Shelby Rae could be dead already, and the kidnappers would get their money whether she were alive or dead. They'd kept the more expensive ring, and now would have another fifty thousand dollars.
"They said she's safe, Daddy. We don't have any choice but to believe them. When we get her back..." She tried her best to sound positive. "Maybe we should call the police then. Because what if they decide to do it again? They might take you, next time."
"Or you," he said, finishing her thought. "When the dealership took off, your mother was worried that someone might try to kidnap you, and I didn't take her seriously. If something happened to you, too, I couldn't bear it."
Moved, and a little shaken by the emotion on his face, Erin put her arms around her father. He hugged her more tightly than she could ever remember him hugging her before.
* * *
Erin made coffee and they sat at the kitchen table discussing all her father's ideas about who might have taken Shelby Rae and why.
He was focused on business associates—a transmission specialist he'd had to fire the previous month, and even the owner of the other big car dealership in the county. There were rumors that he was financed by some shady people from out East, who were also in the local marijuana trade. Erin mentioned Bryn Owens, but her father rejected that idea.
"She's hurt and still grieving. I don't think she's dangerous." The look in his eyes reminded her that he also knew a lot about grief.
Erin didn't mention Noah Daly, but the idea that Noah might be involved nagged at her. Given who his father was, it wasn't impossible.
By the time her father made her go to bed at three a.m. they were no closer to an answer.
* * *
Erin woke early after only a few hours sleep, anxious to know if anything further had happened with Shelby Rae. Trouble sat in an open bedroom window looking outside at the gloomy morning, his tail swishing languidly. She vaguely remembered a tussle at the foot of her bed in the night. A lonesome Jocko had wandered from his bed on the floor in her father's and Shelby Rae's empty bedroom to jump onto her duvet. But Trouble was already settled in the place he'd claimed after Tammy Lynn left for Italy, and he'd hissed at Jocko. Erin had been too tired to referee, but had heard the cat's paws thump lightly on the floor as he jumped off the bed. The swish of his tail this morning told her he was still irritated.
Jocko was now curled on the bed, nose to tail. Shelby Rae rarely went anywhere without him. Had he been in the house when she was kidnapped? It made sense that he wouldn't have wanted to be outside during the fireworks.
After she showered and made her bed, Erin put her damp hair in a ponytail, dressed in shorts, a T-shirt, and light hikers, and went downstairs. The house was quiet. Any other day her father would be in the workout room on the treadmill, but when she walked past the high-ceilinged family room, she spied him splayed awkwardly across the couch. He was dead asleep, a half-empty bottle of single malt and a glass of the amber liquid on the coffee table in front of him. He wasn't much of a drinker, and seemed to Erin like the last person in the world who would turn to booze in a stressful situation. Maybe his life with Shelby Rae had changed in some way since Erin was last home at Christmas.
When Jocko came running down the stairs headed for the family room, Erin grabbed him and whispered that he needed to stay with her and come eat breakfast.
In the kitchen, she gave him the lamb and rice mixture Shelby Rae cooked up every few days and kept in the fridge. Trouble got wet cat food that he sniffed at and ignored. When she substituted a generous helping of steak left over from the party, he contentedly began to eat. The cat definitely had a refined palate. She put on a fresh pot of coffee, knowing its smell would eventually wake her father. While it was brewing, she ate a protein bar and some blueberries and strawberries the caterers had left behind.
Where was Shelby Rae being held and who had her? The whole situation felt strange. Well, stranger than she thought a kidnapping might feel. That the kidnappers had referred to the "old Stratton Farm" was a huge clue that it was someone local. A stranger would have no idea that the land with the abandoned, burned out double-wide would be called "the old Stratton Farm." There were no signs, and the last Stratton had died off five years earlier.
Seeing how upset her father was had struck at Erin's heart. Maybe there was some jealousy there, but she knew that was not the better part of her. It hurt her to see him so unhappy, and she wanted to do everything she could to fix it. It helped that she had plenty of time on her hands and a natural curiosity that MacKenzie teased her was closer to nosiness. She had a few hours until he delivered the ransom. How much could she do?
"Let's go guys." After screwing the lid onto a travel tumbler of black coffee, Erin went out the kitchen door, Jocko and Trouble following behind.
Chapter Four
As soon as we're on the path to the lake, I trot ahead to the brush behind the cabana where I discovered Shelby Rae's shoe and scarf. I dislike leaving humans behind, but sometimes they're simply too slow. One should forgive them for not being quite as smart as a cat I suppose, but mysteries could be solved with greater alacrity if they paid better attention to what I observe.
Erin continues down the beach, walking toward the far dock, obviously gripped with the notion that Shelby Rae was taken away in that direction. But it doesn't make sense. Whoever took Shelby Rae must have gotten away on foot, to a car parked nearby. The partygoers would've noticed a boat, and none arrived during the day. Shelby Rae, for all her extravagant femininity, is not at all petite like that darling British waif, Emma Watson. And she's taller and more zaftig than Erin. This is all to say that it must have been a person of some strength who carried her away.
Fortunately, that dreadful canine is following after Erin. It was an act of pure pity on my part to let him onto the bed last night. There I was, in the middle of a satisfying grooming of my magnificent tail, and he appeared out of nowhere. Plonk! There went my concentration.
I'm not heartless. One senses that such creatures are driven by pure emotion, unlike me, who is nearly all intellect, except for my careful affection for certain humans. Jocko is miserable with missing his human. Having spent time with the noisy woman, I have no idea why, but I am familiar with missing my own human, Tammy.
I slip into the brush behind the cabana. I like the solitude of these Kentucky woods. They're pleasantly cool in the morning in the way the woods are only on fall and spring mornings in Wetumpka. As I make my way through the flora, my sleek fur mostly repels the burrs and briers that bother other creatures. All about there are broken twigs and crushed wildflowers, signs that someone else, someone larger than I, has recently been this way. But whether it was a human or a deer or a large canine, I can't say.
In the distance, Erin calls my name. If I'm going to do my job of finding out who took Shelby Rae, there's work I'll need to do on my own. If there hadn't been so many people around yesterday, I might have noticed Shelby Rae's abduction.
Thirty feet or so into the trees, a path opens up. Just shy of the opening, I spy something incongruously large and white lying in a pile on the ground. It's formless but not large enough to be a person. My whiskers shimmy with anticipation, and my stuttered vocalization is involuntary. Getting closer, I see it's a swath of gauzy white fabric littered with dirt and irregular red-brown splotches. I give the fabric a careful sniff and recoil. Human blood.
When I lean in again, something crashes through the brush behind me, and I leap to safety. I'm not one to be pounced upon, and I have a good idea what or who it might be.
Jocko springs into the clearing and lands on the bloody fabric. Given that it smells strongly of both Shelby Rae and blood, he no doubt sussed it out from a distance. From my perch on a birch tree stump, I find myself rather admiring the scamp. That is until he drags th
e clothing back into the woods, catching and tearing it on everything in his wake.
Canines have no respect for the chain of evidence. Idiots.
A minute later the fool adds insult to injury by dropping the thing at Erin's feet, and receiving all the praise and accolades that should have come to me. Traitorous wretch! I can see I'm going to have to stop going so easy on him if I want credit for my sleuthing.
* * *
“Daddy!”
Erin opened the kitchen door, anxious to show her father Shelby Rae's swim cover-up that Jocko had dragged out of the woods. She called for him again.
"We're in here, Erin."
It wasn't her father that answered, but it was a voice she recognized. What was Julie Berry doing at the house at 8:15 in the morning, the day after Shelby Rae's kidnapping?
Julie stood grinning over Erin's father holding a tray containing a mug of coffee, a small glass of tomato juice, and an egg on toast. Was it Erin's imagination, or had the vodka bottle been moved from the liquor cart to the side table? Was the tomato juice actually a Bloody Mary? Her father sat on the edge of the sofa and looked up from his hands, bleary-eyed.
His eyes widened when he noticed Erin. "Dammit, what time is it?"
"Quarter after eight." Julie and Erin spoke at once. Julie gave a self-conscious laugh.
"I rang and rang the bell, but no one answered, so I let myself in the kitchen door. I hope that's all right." Julie gave Erin an innocent, pleading look. "Your daddy looked like he'd had such a rough night. I made him just what my daddy taught me to fix up for the morning after one of his nights out with the boys. Good protein, some caffeine, and just a lick of the hair of the dog."
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