Walter leaned against the wall. He sniffed and pinched his nose. “I know. It’s just that Trina had such a hard time getting pregnant and then Kenny required a transplant. I lost my child, my family. I had nothing left.” He pointed a finger at Chuck. “Do you know how many older couples want a child? And how about all the young girls who get pregnant and wait too long for an abortion but don’t want the baby? Would you rather they have abortions or abandon their newborns? We saved so many babies. Don’t you see, Chuck? We rescued those girls, provided proper medical care. Paid them after delivery. Everyone was happy. Don’t you understand?”
“Then why kidnap me if the operation is legit and does this much good for the community?”
“Not my idea. The higher-ups got wind of your snooping. They knew you took critical photos in the office building, and I told them about your nasty habit of investigating.” Walter hung his head.
Did he have more to spill? In case he was rescued, Chuck wanted as much damaging evidence as he could gather. “Tell me everything, Walt.”
“There is one more thing. At times we receive requests for special kids. Would-be parents are in a hurry or have gender or ethnic specifics. Then we’d…take babies from women in the, um, poorer areas of town.” He swallowed, tugging at the neck of his T-shirt.
“You’re despicable. How could you think that was OK?”
“You don’t have to plunge the knife any deeper. My guilt mounts day by day. That’s why I want the money. I have to get out of the country—” He turned and hit the same area of drywall he’d punched before. The hole widened. Visibly shaking off the dust, Walter fished a small phone from his pocket.
“One last question. Why did you need terbutaline?” Chuck asked.
“Where’d you hear that word?”
“A guy mentioned it to that lawyer in my building, and I noticed a blister package in the house in Mexico. Who has asthma?”
“Terbo, we call it. Not for asthma in our world. It’s a handy drug we use to delay premature labor in our girls.” Walter pointed to the far wall as he kicked the crumpled note across the floor. “Stand over there. I’ll let you know when to start reading.”
Confession time over, Chuck followed Walter’s directions. Propped against the wall, he smoothed out the note and read the penned words. After adding the details Walter requested, he stared at the man’s phone, sure it would be the last time his wife saw him alive.
He smiled.
46
Muted colors of dusk spread across the sky bringing beauty to the eye and a song to Lela’s heart. Six hours at her father’s bedside had robbed her of stamina, but inner peace overrode her tiredness.
Before she returned to Beth’s, she stopped at a strip mall drugstore for deodorant. While waiting for her change from the cashier, a chime indicated the door opening. She glanced toward the entrance as a gray-haired woman hobbled out. Could it be Margie? The woman’s build and peculiar stride matched.
Lela gathered her sack and dashed out the door, searching the area. A young woman with two toddlers. Group of teenagers. Three men heading down the sidewalk. Where had the Margie look-alike gone? Lela peered in windows of the small stores on either side of the drugstore. She scanned the parking lot. No royal-blue sports car, but Margie could’ve ditched it and have a different vehicle now.
No one resembling Margie in sight. Lela returned to her truck and drove to the IRO offices where she waited in a chair in front of Sadie’s desk while her friend concluded a phone call.
When Sadie hung up, she said, “Hi, Lela. Good to see you. How can I help?”
“Two things. First, did you locate Margie Knox? I thought I saw her at a shopping center about thirty minutes ago.”
“Sorry. No hits on her credit cards, but I do have information on the barber deaths you asked about.” Sadie slid a folder across the desk. “I checked the towns of Oceanside, Carlsbad, and Encinitas. You were correct. During the timeframe you gave me, a barber died in each one. All deaths recorded as apparent accidents.”
Lela opened the folder and scanned the details Sadie provided. “Peter French from Oceanside died after he fell off a ladder while cleaning out the gutters of his shop. Edgar Urban, Carlsbad. Hit when he stepped in front of a car while crossing the street outside his establishment. And Domingo Diaz from Encinitas went home, then swam in his pool and drowned forty-five minutes later.”
She chewed her lower lip and closed the folder. “According to Freddy Ellis, his father fell down the stairs at home after eating poisoned chocolates. These three men could also have been poisoned. They left their shops, none the wiser. Without additional information, their deaths would have been reported as accidents.”
“Could it all be coincidental? We have no evidence to pass on to the police,” Sadie said.
“I know. Therefore, it’s imperative I locate Margie and make her confess to all the murders. No wonder she was visibly upset when I found Freddy’s address in his wallet. She knew he suspected her of poisoning his dad.”
“Are you sure it was Margie at the store today?”
Lela shook her head. “There was something familiar about the woman, although she had silver hair instead of red. It could’ve been a wig. She was short, rotund, and walked with a hitch, favoring her left hip, just like Margie.”
“I’ll keep checking. She’s bound to show up eventually.”
“Thanks for your help. Does Bowen know you’re assisting me?”
“Yeah. He’s OK with it as long as I don’t neglect my other research.”
Tapping the folder, Lela searched her friend’s face. In a short time, Sadie had become more than a colleague. Serenity surrounded her, spilling over onto anyone close by. Lela breathed deeply as if to draw in a morsel of that desperately desired peace. Chuck—still missing. Margie—bumping off barbers left and right. And she was about to meet Jay's mother.
She just wanted quiet time in her room to read the next chapter of Corinthians.
Lela smiled at Sadie’s quizzical expression. “Don’t mind me. I’m daydreaming again. Next question. Have the agents discovered anything of value at the homes of Walter’s cronies?”
“No. Although they have their names, they’ve only located Harry Mason’s apartment. He hasn’t been there for over a week. His mail’s piled up, but neighbors weren’t helpful. The thugs have done a good job of covering their tracks. Their names don’t appear on any rental or lease agreements. We’re also having a hard time cracking through the shell corporation’s system. I’ll call if we find the other residences.”
“Let me know if Jay and I can take on any of the research.” Lela picked up the folder and stood. “Thanks, Sadie. How are you feeling these days?”
Sadie rubbed her belly and relaxed into the chair. “I’m restless and a little tired. Baby’s kicking a lot, as if he thinks he’s a soccer player.”
With a grin, Lela waved. “Take it easy.”
“I will. At least I don’t have to physically catch the bad guys.”
“But the information you provide is always valuable. Adiós.” Lela closed the security door and paused. Should she ask Sadie is she could go to church with her and Bowen on Sunday? Her friend would love to hear that she was studying the Bible.
Later. She needed more time.
Lela drove to Beth’s house, her soul a little brighter for being in Sadie’s company and for acknowledging that she wanted to worship.
The setting sun reflected off the downstairs windows as she parked next to Jay's pickup. She entered the house without being seen and rushed to her room to freshen up for the evening meal.
After securing her weapon and holster in the closet, Lela brushed her hair. No ponytail tonight. The long dark waves tickled her cheeks and made her face appear thinner. Would Jay notice?
Blushing, she tossed her hair over her shoulders and slowly descended the stairs. Voices drew her to the sunroom. She smoothed her shirt front and entered. For some reason, she wanted to make a good impression on Mrs. Vashon.
<
br /> “Lela, come meet our mother.” Jay led her to the couch where the children circled an older version of Beth. Bright blue eyes, salon assisted blonde hair, and the same high cheek bones.
The girls moved to make way, but Sean remained close to his grandmother’s knees.
“Pardon me for not standing, my dear. I’m Ruth. Pleased to meet you, Lela.”
Lela shook the proffered hand and was amazed by her soft skin. “Hello, Mrs.—”
“If you call me Mrs. Vashon, I’ll have to call you Mrs. Ortiz.”
One peek at Jay, and his downcast eyes and hands held behind his back confirmed that he’d told his mother a lot about her. Had he stopped at her being a widow?
Beth interrupted Lela’s uncomfortable thoughts. “How about we adjourn to the dining room? We’ll eat in style to welcome Mother.”
The meal passed in a blur of laughter and chatter. Questions and discussions about Ruth’s European trip. Praise for Ilsa’s last meal—she’d prepared the food and left for Mexico that afternoon—and the girls’ banter with each other and their grandmother.
No one mentioned Chuck, but his absence seeped into the corners and filled the gaps in conversation like an encroaching flood.
Throughout the meal, Lela said little.
Ruth’s presence altered the family dynamics profoundly. Beth relaxed more often. The girls, although generally well-behaved, excelled in witty conversation and good manners. Even Sean required less guidance from Olivia.
While Jay ate, he offered an occasional comment, but the smile on his face eloquently conveyed his contentment. Shoulders back, brow clear. Yup. Burden lifted. A mama’s help always made life easier.
The sole blip in the evening occurred every time Lela glanced at Ruth. The older woman’s eyes drilled into her core. The scrutiny gave Lela chills one minute, flattered her the next time. Why the interest?
Lela chose not to find out, and when the others moved to the sunroom to play table games, she excused herself and bolted to her room. The family needed together time, which they could better experience without her.
The Bible Jay gave her lay on the side table. She pulled off her boots and made herself comfortable among the bed pillows. A perfect time to continue her study. As she opened the Bible at the ribbon-marked page, she recited her verse from memory. “‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.’”
Chuck’s handwritten notes proved especially useful in completing her study of the road to salvation from the book of Romans
An hour passed while Lela read the Scripture references and mulled over Sadie and Bowen’s words of encouragement the past year. Jay's conversation the previous evening also entered the mix accompanied by the pleasant memories she recalled from going to church with Abuelita, her grandmother. She stifled a yawn while closing the Bible. Jay said praying was like talking to one’s dad. Did she have to kneel? Clasp her hands? Sit, stand, what?
Stand.
“All right, here goes. God, um, this is new for me. I suppose you know that.” She wandered to the window, hands spread. “I don’t know what to ask for or what to say. Please help me. I can’t do this on my own.”
Staring out the open window, she allowed the cool night air to calm her spirit. In that moment, she sensed words long confined in her heart breaking free and soaring upward. Eyes to the heavens, she sighed. “Thank You, Father God. Please forgive me and accept me as a follower of Your Son, Jesus Christ. Guide me in my future studies.” She grinned, remembering Jay's line. “I’m a work in progress, too. Amen.”
Later, with the covers snug under her chin, Lela closed her eyes. Her final thought was of Jay. Tomorrow, she’d tell him of her commitment and ask if she could accompany him to church on Sunday.
47
Blindfolded, hands taped together behind his back, Chuck limped with small, unsteady steps as Walter prodded him forward. “Where’re you taking me?”
“Keep walking. I’ll tell you when we get to the stairs.”
Other than his own shuffling footsteps, Chuck heard nothing. Were they alone in the house? Come to think of it, since Victor delivered breakfast that morning, the house had been quiet.
Walter grabbed his arm. “I’m opening the back door. Don’t make a sound—wait, maybe I should tape your mouth, or knock you out.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’ll keep my mouth shut.” The barrel of a gun shoved in his side prompted Chuck to flinch. “Promise.” Even if he couldn’t see where they were going, Chuck wanted to be conscious to remember sounds and movements.
Walter opened the door.
Bright light penetrated Chuck’s blindfold. From his earlier escape attempt, he knew there were five steps down. Although he couldn’t see them, being aware they were in front of him affected his sense of balance. He teetered, but Walter’s firm grip prevented a fall.
“Careful, Chuck. Step down now. And again, again. Two more.”
On firm ground at last, Chuck said, “Whew.” Strange how the fear of falling blindfolded was worse than the threat from Walter’s pistol.
Like writing in his journal, his mind recorded every action. Tall grass tickled his calves. Twelve steps across the yard. Seven steps on the gravel driveway. Car door opening. Shoved into the backseat. The sedan he’d seen parked in the driveway?
“Lay down. If you even raise your head, I’ll dump you in the trunk.”
“I’ll do as you say.” Chuck could gather more data if he remained in the car. He laid down with his head on the driver’s side of the car. Then he shifted onto his side, and by scrubbing his face against the cloth seat, he moved the blindfold a half-inch. He scooted backward to elevate his head against the door, which provided a partial view out the opposite side window. If Walter checked on him, he’d see his legs on the seat, and assume he had obeyed.
Walter started the car, inched down the driveway. Turned right onto the street. He must have opened the gate earlier.
The blindfold’s altered position allowed a slit of vision through which Chuck glimpsed blue sky, tree branches, and electrical wires flash by. The vehicle slowed, veered right, sped up. Stopped. Engine sounds from other vehicles, a horn, and distant voices. Waiting at a traffic light?
Chuck resisted the urge to sit up. “Where are we going? Why are we leaving the house?”
“None of your business.”
The subtle difference in Walter’s tone, less stressed, leaving the house, apparently without the other guys’ knowledge, all pointed to a major shift in the kidnapping scenario. His old friend no longer threatened Sean. Instead he’d demanded a ransom. He’d stopped insisting Chuck reveal where he’d hidden his documentation, the reason Chuck figured he’d been abducted in the first place. Had Walter betrayed his boss and ventured out on his own?
“Um, Walter, are we meeting up with Victor and the others at the new place?” The answer might hold the key to his future.
But the man turned the radio on and kept driving.
Chuck paid close attention to his surroundings. Wait. Hadn’t he just seen those orange sneakers hanging on the electric wire? Were they circling the block over and over? Yes, there was the same dead tree with a large nest in its branches. And an American flag fluttering on a pole.
Aircraft droned overhead.
They hadn’t left the neighborhood.
After another turn, Walter slowed. The car bumped over rough terrain and then stopped.
“We’re here. Keep quiet, and you won’t get hurt.”
Anxiety forced bile up Chuck’s throat. He swallowed and rubbed his face against the seat to shift the blindfold back in place. Success.
Would captivity without Walter’s cronies be better or worse?
Walter lugged him out of the car. Chuck strained for any clue that would indicate where he was. Faint traffic sounds. Birds chirping. Leaves rustling in the breeze that swept over his body. Nothing of significance.
Hands on Chuck’s shoulders, Walter pushed him forward. Grit in
his sandals. No lawn. Not another house?
A key scraped in a lock. Hinges squealed as a door opened. Cool, dank air brushed his face. Odors of mold, rancid grease. Animal urine. What new prison awaited him?
“Quit being so tentative, Chuck. I won’t let you fall. Take six steps.”
Walter released his hold and closed the door.
Dark as night. “Where am I?”
“Don’t worry about it. After Beth gets the video, and I have the money, you’ll be home with your family. Don’t make me regret doing this.” Walter forced Chuck forward until he reached a wall. “Turn. Sit, and I’ll remove the blindfold and tape from your hands.”
“Regret what? Freeing my hands or taking me away from the others?”
No answer, but Chuck knew he was right. Definitely a change of plans, which might exclude Vanessa Gaines altogether.
“Hold on a sec. I forgot something in the car.”
Light hit Chuck in the face as Walter opened the door. Take advantage of his absence to escape? But the door shut before Chuck could move.
Seconds later, Walter returned. He yanked the blindfold off and then cut the tape binding Chuck’s wrists.
Flexing his aching joints and caressing his stinging skin, Chuck blinked to adjust his vision to the dim interior. Here’s my chance. Walter didn’t have his gun out when he bought me in. Can I overpower him? On his haunches, Chuck squinted into the gloom.
“Hey, sit down. Should I tape your hands again?”
“No. Please don’t.” Wait. Walter probably won’t stay here long. And then….
Walter set a plastic bag on the floor. “Here are a couple of bottles of water. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Don’t try anything stupid, like calling for help. There’s no one around. If you escape, I’ll go after Sean for sure. Maybe take one of your pretty little girls, too.”
Although Chuck couldn’t see the man clearly, he imagined a sneer on Walter’s face. Considerate and verging on kind one minute, obnoxious and cruel the next. “Don’t harm my family. I’ll behave.” For now.
Chuck waited until he was certain Walter had gone then examined his surroundings. An old building, dusty and littered. He encountered two locked doors, leaving him access to three rooms, void of furniture. A metal counter with a sink ran along the back wall of one room. He turned on the cold faucet. Water dripped for a few seconds then gushed out. Now, that was a surprise. Chuck turned it off. He could function with running water for a long time. The question was, would he have to? Would Walter let him go when Beth paid the ransom?
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