by Martha Carr
Every part of me fought for a way to stay involved. “My voice,” I said. “He knows my voice.”
Blue Hair said, “Way too much noise distortion for that.”
Chuck said, “I’ll call you when it’s over so you can come get your phone.”
His words hit me like a punch in the gut; a reminder of what I’d lost when I’d come home.
I didn’t miss the heat or the landscape, didn’t miss people shooting at me or wondering if I’d still have all my limbs that night every time I climbed into a vehicle headed out on convoy. I especially didn’t miss the emotional conflict of helping people one day only to kill them the next. What I did miss was the camaraderie, the brotherhood, the belonging.
This was a team and I wasn’t part of it.
I needed to go.
Story still had my keys. I looked around and didn’t see her, but the athletic-looking woman I’d spotted earlier caught my eye. She acknowledged me with a nod, but her gaze was tracking Mrs. Harris, who was being led by Chuck’s partner toward the park gates. If she was who I thought she was, we’d shared mutual friends in high school.
If she wasn’t, she’d still been here and seen things I hadn’t.
I walked in her direction. “Jan Allen?” I said.
She scanned me toes to head. “Reggie Carpenter. I thought that might be you. I heard you were off with the Marines.”
“Six years,” I said.
“You’re with the Elan Police now? Part of the investigation?”
“Private investigator.”
That was exactly the truth and nothing but the truth. I couldn’t help it if her mind filled in connections that weren’t there. “Did you see the whole thing happen?” I asked.
She looked around, took count of her kids, and sighed. “Not sure, really. I told the detectives. They took notes, but it was hard to tell if they thought it was worth anything.”
I glanced toward the parking lot.
From where I stood, the parade of cars flowing out toward the road resembled streaks of color between lush hedges. I did the math. Assuming I could find Story, it’d take about ten minutes to get to the market; we had fifteen before the next call.
I gave Jan an approving look. “You always struck me as the observant type.”
“He was so odd,” she said. The words tumbled out like pent-up sins begging for confession. “I saw him in the parking lot when we were coming in. He got out of an old white pickup; you just don’t see a lot of people coming in alone, you know, so he stood out, but I guess maybe it wasn’t just that. He had this long stringy hair and the way he walked and dressed, he sort of looked like maybe he hadn’t spent a lot of time in civilized company lately. My first impression was homeless or drug dealer. But then I kept seeing him around and how he watched the kids playing, like he was studying them. It gave me the heebies. I tried to keep an eye on him, but he wandered off. Ten minutes later Mrs. Harris started screaming for Rachel.”
Jan’s voice cracked. She took a deep breath as her face turned toward mine. “Rachel’s an adorable little red-headed angel. She’s five.” She paused and looked towards a small gathering of children. “Same as my Brenda.”
“She’s gonna be okay,” I vowed.
She gave me a soft, disbelieving smile. “I hope so.”
I’m not the kind of man to make false promises.
I turned to go. Within several strides, my walk became a run.
I found Story leaning against the Jeep, head down and thumbs tapping away on her phone. She was probably arranging a different date for this evening, given the way our afternoon had gone.
“Hey, partner,” I called, “time to saddle up.”
Chuck had dismissed me, but if listening to other people had been one of my strengths, I’d be practicing law in the family business right about now.
I jumped into the passenger seat.
Based on how she’d driven to get here, Story would get us to our destination faster than I could.
She tilted her pretty head and sighed, then slid behind the wheel.
“Where to now, partner?”
Keeping my head pressed against the headrest, I turned toward her and grinned. I kept my voice light, hoping she’d stay at least mildly interested in something that didn’t happen every day.
“I figured maybe the Farmer’s Market at Heritage Bend.”
Story’s eyes were unreadable behind her big gold-rimmed sunglasses, but she started the engine and shifted into gear.
Indecisiveness wasn’t a problem for this woman.
“Will we be finished after this?” she asked.
The words weren’t so much a question as an accusation.
I said, “We’ve got plenty of time before we need to be at Port of Call.”
She nodded. “Jason’s bringing everyone over on his dad’s Whaler. You don’t mind if we go out with them after lunch, do you?”
I’d have agreed to just about anything right then to guarantee a quick, clean drive.
“Sounds great.”
Truthfully, I couldn’t imagine anything much worse than spending hours on a boat with a bunch of self-entitled trust-fund kids. Story was different, though. Believe me, if you saw the way she looked, you’d know she was different. We shot out onto the road, turning left at a right-turn-only exit. Horns honked. Tires skidded.
Story got us to the market in six minutes flat.
The lot was filled with expensive foreign cars. A beat-up old pickup truck would stick out here, and I didn’t see one. Story parked and pulled out her phone with the same resignation I displayed in my dentist’s waiting room.
I jumped out, headed for the main entrance, and stopped.
I’d be a man, alone, searching for a child in a crowded place. I might as well stamp “Creep” on my forehead and watch anxious parents grab their kids’ hands and part before me like the Red Sea. I needed her with me.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s walk together.”
Her eyes lit up. I felt a pang of guilt.
She hopped out and slid her phone into a back pocket. I took her hand and led her into a crowd that moved at the speed of molasses on a cold day. We were three stalls in and pinned on all sides when I told her, “We’re looking for a five-year-old redheaded girl and a stringy-haired man.”
Story stiffened, but didn’t let go.
The sun beat down from a cloudless sky.
The air smelled of onions, fried foods, and garlic. It took a lot of equipment to turn a parking lot into a combination vegetable stand, restaurant, dog park, and flea market. Maybe Chuck was right about the sound being a generator. I scanned a left-right-left pattern while my mind replayed what I’d heard on the phone, that whoosh followed by seconds of silence and another whoosh.
Story and I walked fast, dodging shoppers as we moved.
My search for anything out of place turned up four people who looked a lot like cops.
My inner clock gauged about four minutes until the call, and I wondered if it’d come on time.
Story jerked my hand and nodded at a little girl with reddish brown hair. Not true red, but close. A man on a phone pulled her along. He seemed angry.
I dropped Story’s hand and followed them into a booth.
A second child, maybe a couple of years older than the first, galloped up and took the man’s other hand, so I took a deep breath and turned back. I immediately encountered two sets of eyes staring my way: Story’s, and Chuck’s partner’s, who’d been with the mother at the Castle.
They stood side by side, one in shorts and a barely-there top, the other in loose slacks and a no-nonsense white blouse. Both wore sunglasses and had their hands on their hips. Neither appeared pleased.
The detective moved first and wove through the crowd in my direction.
She demanded, “Are you trying to get Detective Brown fired?”
Mom always said, if you don’t know what to do, be polite.
I extended a hand. “Reggie Carpenter,” I sai
d. “I don’t believe we’ve officially met.”
She smirked, but shook my hand. “Detective Caldwell.”
“You Chuck’s new partner?”
“Oooh, a real-deal investigator and everything,” she said.
I fake-winced at her sarcasm and tapped my temple.
“I enjoy being his partner,” she said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop working to get him fired.”
I glanced behind her at another man holding a young girl’s hand, and pegged them as father and daughter. So many kids, so many parents, in so many possible match-ups, and all the while Rachel and the stringy-haired man could as easily be miles from here as behind a tent.
I said, “Last thing I want is to see Chuck fired.”
Detective Caldwell snorted. “I’ve heard enough about you, Mister Carpenter, to know the last thing I want to see is you around any of my cases. I suggest you leave this one alone now.” She nodded toward Story. “Maybe go take your daughter here to get some ice cream.”
I smiled genuinely. It was actually a pretty good line, and I’d have complimented the wit if Caldwell hadn’t turned on her heel and stomped off.
Story seemed less impressed.
The daughter crack maybe crossed a line.
Wait, no, not a line exactly.
Words that had been funny a second before stuck in my head while the Detective disappeared among the crowd.
…take your daughter…to get some ice cream.
Ice cream. Ice cream!
That was it. That was the sound I’d heard.
I fought back a non-manly yelp and lost.
The look on Story’s face told me she wanted to be anywhere but here.
I searched for Caldwell. She’d disappeared, as had the cops I’d seen earlier.
“Find Chuck,” I said.
Story said, “What?”
“Call him, find him, tell him the kid isn’t being held here. She’s at Sub Zero.”
Story took a step back. “Tell who what?”
“Call my number. Never mind.” I reached around her and plucked the phone from a back pocket, dialed my own number, and got voice mail.
I handed the device back. “Keep redialing. Tell whoever answers that the kid is at Sub Zero. The ice cream shop. Sub Zero.”
She looked at me like I was crazy. I gripped her forearms. “Please, Story. Just do it. I’ve got to go.” And then I bolted.
The Farmer’s Market took up about a third of an outdoor shopping mall where Elanites could grab lunch, take a kickboxing lesson, get a spray tan or even a bikini wax. On Saturday, the parking lot closest to the road was where they hosted the market.
My internal clock said I had two minutes at best.
I sprinted between tents and across some pavement that led to the other parts of the shopping center. Sub Zero was in the back, sandwiched between a yoga studio and an Italian restaurant. It took me at least a minute to reach the line that snaked outside its front door.
Sun reflected off the glass, turning it into a mirror.
Options played through my mind; some I considered, most I immediately discarded.
The one that stuck moved me away from the window toward the alley at the back that held a separate entrance. There it was, just like Jan had described: an old white pickup. Empty.
I entered the shop through the back door, scanned the area and snatched a conveniently placed Sub Zero apron and ball cap hanging from a wire shelf. I pushed through to the front.
The door swung shut behind me and I heard the whoosh, the sound of liquid nitrogen freezing ice cream. A cloud of odorless white fog bounced off a metal mixing bowl and filtered below the glass that separated employees from ice cream lovers.
And again, whoosh.
Nearly every seat was occupied in the small room, which by my quick count meant twenty-seven people. I searched for red hair and I found it at a table near the front, wearing a unicorn t-shirt and pink shorts and sitting next to a dark-haired woman in large sunglasses. She was dressed entirely in blue, with a tarnished cross hanging low on a chain around her neck. There were three bowls in front of the little girl. Two were empty. She was working slowly on the third.
My internal clock closed me out to zero, but that was for the call. The girl was here. Time didn’t matter anymore.
I stepped around the counter toward the table, studying the woman as I went.
She was in her mid-thirties, with a black backpack on the seat beside her and an empty cup in front. Her chipped nails tapped the table beside a phone. The backpack concerned me. This whole thing had a ring of dumb and crazy, and dumb crazy people are unpredictable and dangerous, especially when a swarm of police invade their space.
I wanted to be close enough to grab the girl if I had to. I maneuvered between the tables, greeting customers and checking to be sure they had what they needed, and finally stopped at the woman’s side.
She startled in my shadow and glanced up.
“How is everything?” I asked.
Her eyes jerked from me back to the window. “Fine. Good.” She leaned left, away from the girl and peered behind me toward the sidewalk.
I stood there smiling. “How about you, little lady? It looks like you’ve got a big appetite today. Would you like some water or something else to drink?” The woman’s legs jittered and bounced. She glanced from the sidewalk to the backpack and then back up at me. “We’re good,” she said again. “Thanks for asking.”
Rachel kept her eyes on her bowl and spoke softly. “No sir.”
Whoosh.
I should have walked away right then, but I hesitated a beat too long.
The woman pulled the backpack into her lap and reached inside.
Alarm bells sounded inside my head.
I wanted to grab Rachel and run.
Hand inside the bag, the woman looked up and studied me from behind her shades. I hoped she saw the Sub Zero hat, the apron and the “I’m just here to please” smile. There were twenty-seven people spread out among the table, half of them kids, and the line of people waiting for fresh frozen ice cream stretched out the door.
This wasn’t the time for a calculated gamble.
I gave her a parting nod and worked my way through the seating area and pushed open the door to the kitchen, where a small dark-skinned man got up in my face.
“Who the hell are you?” he said.
“You the manager?”
His eyes narrowed and his shoulders squared. “I’m the owner.”
I searched for the fastest way to explain. Simple was easiest, so I lied. “I’m with the police,” I said. “I need to borrow your phone.”
“Police my ass!” He nodded towards the kid I’d taken the apron from. “You come in here, scare the crap out of my employees—”
An uninvited surge of anger spiked. I jammed a forefinger into his chest and nodded toward the window to the front. “See that woman with the black backpack? See the redheaded kid with her? That little girl was kidnapped earlier today and is being held for ransom. Unless you want to be an accessory to kidnapping, give me your damn phone.”
His eyes widened. He swatted my finger off his chest and shoved his phone at me.
I dialed my own number.
The owner moved close and whispered, “My people—the customers—should I evacuate?”
I put a hand to his chest and moved him out of the way. “No, you’ll cause a panic,” I said.
The phone rang twice, Chuck answered quick and clipped. “Did you get it?”
It took me a beat to realize he thought this was the kidnappers calling.
I assumed that meant they’d made the ransom drop and he was asking if they’d gotten the money. I didn’t know if they needed the line free for another call.
“It’s Carpenter,” I said. “Don’t hang up. The girl, Rachel, she’s at the Sub Zero ice cream shop. She’s being minded. I’ve got eyes on her but can’t risk getting closer.”
Chuck said, “Give me the layout.”
“Same shopping center, but toward the rear. Minder is a woman, short dark hair, sunglasses and all-blue clothing. She may be armed. There’s an older white pickup in the back.” I glanced at the table. The woman stood and pushed her chair in, then motioned to the girl to do the same. “They’re on the move,” I said. “Did you make the money drop? Did they say where they’d deliver her?”
Chuck hesitated, and I could hear a mixture of anger and fear in the beats between exhale and inhale. “They said we’d find her at the Carrousel at The Castle. I just sent Caldwell and half my team back to where we started.”
I swore under my breath, then told him, “The kid in front of me is a spitting image of Mrs. Harris under a mop of red curls. Whatever game these jerks are playing, I don’t think it involves bringing her back.”
Chuck came the closest he ever had to giving me his blessing.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he said.
I hit End and tossed the phone back to the manager.
The woman slung the backpack over a shoulder, took Rachel by the hand, and with the phone to her ear started for the door.
I’d have blamed myself for setting her on edge and putting her on the move if I hadn’t believed moving was already part of the plan.
They’d gotten their money and now they were running.
I pulled off the apron, tossed the hat to the owner, and slipped between the crowded tables and happy customers.
Chuck and his men would be here soon, but not soon enough.
I could follow the kid and take a chance on spooking the people who had her, which risked them doing something stupid, or wait out back and hope they returned to the truck. I couldn’t imagine that even a dumbass would be stupid enough to return to the truck, so I opted to follow.
The woman tugged Rachel toward the parking lot fast enough that the little girl had to jog to keep up.
I was thirty yards behind and trying not to draw attention.
They rounded the corner of a twenty-four-hour gym.
By the time I reached the spot, they’d disappeared.
I sprinted down the sidewalk to the next corner and my stomach dropped into a free fall.
The woman stood alone at the curb, facing the open door of a utility van.