Revenge is Sweet (A Samantha Church Mystery, Book 2)

by Betta Ferrendelli

  Wilson held April a little tighter. “And I know from many conversations we’ve had,” he went on, “That your mother wants nothing more than to have you with her all the time. But the only way she’ll ever be allowed to have you back is for her to be able to make some positive changes in her life. She knows what she has to do. Do you want to know how I know?”

  April nodded without speaking. Wilson could tell she was getting warmer wrapped in his arms. He was silent for a moment as he collected his thoughts. Considering deeply whether to reveal the secrets of his own past to this innocent girl.

  “Can you keep a secret?” he asked.

  He could feel her nodding against his chest.

  “Well,” he began hesitantly. “When I was about your mother’s age I had the same kind of problem she has. I used to drink a lot and it got me into trouble and once I almost lost my job.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Well, because, like your mother, I had a very hard time trying to control how much and when I drank. It was never just a little bit. Just a little bit always became a little bit more and a little bit more until it was too much. And by then it was always too late. And, like your mother, I wanted to stop more than anything ’cause it was hurting the people that I loved most in my life.”

  Wilson rested his chin on top of April’s head. He began to sway lightly back and forth. “I know your mother has tried many times to get a handle on how much she drinks,” he said speaking softly. “She hasn’t had it very easy, April, because it is not a very easy thing to do.”

  “But you did it.”

  A small smiled spread over Wilson’s face. “Well, yes, I did. I took my last drink when I was about your mother’s age. And it wasn’t easy for me either, but I did have the help of a good, good friend. For that I’ve always been grateful. I haven’t had to call on that good friend for many years now, but they were there for me when I needed someone to talk to who wouldn’t judge. And I know if I had to call them again, I would be able to and that’s a great comfort to me.”

  Wilson was silent a moment as he thought, keeping his eyes focused on the door. “April, I tried many times to stop, but for some reason it was a lot easier to go back to drinking than to stay away from it all together.”

  Wilson was quiet as he though a moment more. He continued to sway with April softly back and forth, back and forth. “It’s not an easy thing for anyone to do including me,” he said finally. “And it doesn’t help matters when the people in your life who are supposed to be there to care about you and support you fail to do so. And I know it’s not easy for them either. It’s very hard to continue to give love and support to someone who constantly lets you down.”

  “Do you think my mom really wants to stop drinking?” April asked and her voice was getting distant, heavy with sleep.

  “More than anything else,” Wilson said. “But it won’t be easy, April, because it’s one of the hardest things you could ever do. But I can tell you what you can do to help your mom.”

  Wilson was quiet a moment, taking note that April’s eyelids were getting heavy and her breathing slower. “Do you want to help your mother, April?” he asked.

  The little girl nodded.

  Wilson spoke softly. “Then don’t listen to what other people like your grandmother or classmates or anyone else says about her. Make up your own mind and don’t give up on her just yet. Do you think you can do that?”

  April nodded. Wilson stopped talking and for a long time there was silence in the room. It was all he was going to say. He wasn’t one to lecture and certainly didn’t plan to start now. He didn’t know and couldn’t even begin to speculate how much of what he had just said she would understand, much less retain, but he wouldn’t second guess. He would just leave the conversation at that.

  April stayed wrapped in Wilson’s arms for what seemed hours. He was getting a cramp in his good foot the way it was positioned under her, but he didn’t want to move for fear of waking her. At least his sore foot had stopped throbbing. For that, he was grateful.

  The only light in the room came from the bare bulb overhead and the room felt dank like a tomb, but he felt strangely content. The small amount of heat that emanated from April’s sleeping body and the fleece she wore gave him some warmth. He wrapped his arms a little tighter around April and followed her into sleep, hoping that it wouldn’t be long before they would be found.

  The sound of the door to the small room being opened startled Wilson from sleep. He did not know how much time had passed since he had fallen asleep, but he noted quickly that he was still holding April tightly and the sound hadn’t awakened her.

  Fuzz Face was now standing at the door, the shadow from his big frame falling on their faces. He stepped aside to reveal Juan standing behind him.

  “Hey, fellas,” Wilson said casually, as if greeting old friends.

  Fuzz Face stepped aside and Juan walked slowly into the room. Wilson noticed one of his hands was hidden in his coat pocket, the other behind his back. Juan brought his hand around, and Wilson caught sight of a shiny object that glistened off the light in the small room. It took Wilson only a moment to realize what Juan held in his hand.

  “What are you going to do with that?” Wilson asked, his voice hollow, trying, but failing to keep the fear from registering in the sound of it. Fuzz Face entered the room as the twins filled the doorway. Juan motioned to Fuzz Face with the meat cleaver he held in his hand. “Get the girl out of here.” Juan said, directing his order to Fuzz Face, who did as he was instructed. He took April from Wilson’s arms and handed her to one of the twins. All the while, April did not resist.

  Moments later the twin returned to the room. In his hand, Wilson noticed he held the tape recorder that the kidnappers had used the last time they forced him to make the recording they had sent to Sam. That recording, of course, had been a lie. Wilson could feel his heart as it began to beat hard against his chest, with the revelation that this time whatever they had planned to do to him wasn’t going to be an act.

  Juan shook his head back and forth and said, “Tsk-tsk, Mr. Cole, you’re a very bad boy, a very bad boy for trying to leave here without permission. For that you will have to pay and pay dearly…”

  His voice trailed off, to let it have the desired effect. He went on, “We were going to use this on the fat girl first, but we’ll make sure it’s good and clean when the time comes for Samantha Christine.”

  As Juan waited for the twin to prepare the tape recorder, he pulled up the left sleeve of his jacket to reveal the watch he was wearing. “Nice watch, huh?”

  Wilson recognized it instantly. “That’s my watch.”

  Juan waved him off. “Don’t worry, Mr. Cole, you’re not going to need it anymore.”

  The twin pressed the ‘record’ button and Juan nodded to Fuzz Face and the other twin. Before Wilson knew what was happening, Fuzz Face grabbed him by the neck and forced him face down firmly on the cement floor, pressing his face hard against the floor. Wilson cried out as pain shot through his broken nose.

  “You fucking bastards!” Wilson yelled as the other twin jumped on his back. He helped Fuzz Face grab Wilson’s left arm and spread it out on the floor, the palm of his hand flat against the surface. Wilson tried with all the strength he could manage to pull his arm back and lift the twin off his back, but in his weary condition, he was simply no match for the two men. He closed his eyes and resigned his position.

  “Like I said, you won’t be needing your watch anymore,” Juan said as he brought the meat cleaver high above his head. Seconds later, Juan brought the cleaver down hard over Wilson’s wrist, where his black Omega watch once rested so evenly against his skin. Wilson screamed; the thickness of it captured perfectly on the tape recorded message.

  Juan’s instructions were simple. “Send it to her,” he said.

  Twenty-eight

  Sam found ways to fight her fear and keep busy the rest of the afternoon as she waited for nightfall and the workday to
end. The Canal Island detectives working April’s disappearance had already called twice. She told them everything she knew about the morning she last saw April and Esther as they walked toward the bus. Sam didn’t want to admit she had little faith the Amber Alert would do any good in locating her daughter. April, she knew, was already where the kidnappers wanted her to be. Sam tried desperately not to focus on thoughts of April and Wilson being held somewhere against their will, cold, cramped and hungry. It was, however, almost as impossible to do as telling herself not to breathe. Miserable images of bare twin bed frames positioned against filthy walls in a room somewhere in this city kept filling her thoughts.

  David left a few minutes before five for the city council meeting. He stopped at Sam’s desk just before he left the office. He made her promise again that she would call him tonight. Sam held up her right hand and made the promise, fully intending to keep it.

  She had the address from Sergeant King and figured even though she had never been to the meth house on Chester Street she could find it. Once she found it, however, she wasn’t exactly sure what she had planned to do. But when it came to her daughter, she planned to do whatever she had to do. Second thoughts weren’t an option.

  Sam waited to give David enough time to get in his car and drive from the parking lot. She collected her things and headed up stairs to say good-bye to Anne. Sam realized when she placed her hand over the handle of her briefcase it was cold and clammy. For the first time she began to question what she was about to do and almost considered taking David’s advice and waiting until morning to tell Nick.

  But what would she do all night? How could she make it through the darkness waiting for some kind of message? How could she live with herself knowing that her daughter and Wilson were unaccounted for? She couldn’t. She would go home change her clothes, get the other items and head to Chester Street. When Sam reached the top of the stairs, Anne was just gathering her things to leave. She saw the somber look on Sam’s face, the way her shoulders turned inward and her face sagged with fatigue. It made her stop what she was doing. “Sam, you want to come over tonight?” Anne asked. “You could have dinner with us. I’m going to put a meatloaf in the oven when I get home. You’re welcome to come over. That might help take your mind off things for a little while.”

  Sam had reached Anne’s desk and gave the impression that she was at least considering the idea. Then she shook her head. “Thanks, Anne, but I’m just going home. I need to be there just in case there’s a phone call or something. I can hardly stand to live with myself now. I don’t know what I’d do if I missed that phone call, too.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, Sam, there’ll be plenty of leftovers.”

  The women walked out of the building into a cheerless gray drizzle. Their breath rose in wisps, drifted off and disappeared above them. Anne pulled her coat across her chest and tucked her hands deep in her pockets.

  “They said to expect snow by tomorrow,” Anne said. “Sure will be glad when spring gets here, this snow and cold weather is for the birds. I’m tired of shoveling walks and clearing snow off the car window.”

  Sam nodded and the women walked the rest of the way to their cars in silence. Sam thanked Anne again for her offer. She waited in the Accord until Anne drove from the parking lot and then started the car. She waited a time for the engine to warm up, looking at the radio dial, mesmerized by it and remembering the sound of Wilson’s voice.

  Sam, it’s Wilson. They, uh, they tell me you’re all right. That’s really all I wanted to know, as soon as you were safe and doing okay then, I could live with that.

  The car heater began to blow warmer air and Sam put the Accord in gear and drove from the parking lot. Wilson’s voice remained with her.

  I’m okay too, but not for long.

  She turned off Wadsworth Boulevard and headed west on Sixth Avenue, unaware that at the convenience store on the corner, just before the on ramp to the roadway, the shiny black sedan had been parked, waiting for her to leave. The engine roared to life and the car pulled slowly onto the roadway, merging with the rest of rush-hour traffic. From this distance, they could see the taillights of the Honda Accord and Sam at the wheel.

  She pulled into the parking lot at her apartment, quickly took the stairs and entered her apartment completely out of breath. Morrison greeted her at the door and she picked him up, nestled her face in his belly and carried him into the kitchen. She set him down and opened a can of cat food. Before she could place the food inside the cat dish, something attracted her attention. She set the can on the counter and looked inside. It was a yellow sticky note...

  check the cassette player in your home stereo system

  Sam turned and cast a sideways glance toward her stereo in the living room, refraining from giving it her full attention. She walked slowly toward the unit and looked at the ‘play’ button for a long while before she placed her index finger over the button. She took a deep breath and pressed play. She heard Juan talking to Wilson about his watch. Then she heard what sounded like a struggle, followed by Wilson shouting obscenities. When Sam heard Wilson’s deep-throated scream, she dropped to her knees and buried her face deep in her hands. She began to cry uncontrollably, heaving sobs so great, her shoulders shook. “No! No! dear God! This can’t be happening!”

  A sharp knock came at her apartment door and Sam immediately stopped crying. “Who’s there?” she croaked. She waited and fear continued to build in her chest, making it harder and harder to breathe. “Who’s ... there?” she said again. She waited, uncertain what she should do, stay nearly frozen where she was, or work up the nerve to go to the door and confront whatever awaited her. She eyed the stereo again and slowly got to her feet and forced herself to go to her door. She put her hand on the knob and turned. She opened the door slightly, allowing it to go only as far as the gold security chain would allow. She looked through the crack and noticed a small box wrapped in brown mailing paper on her welcome mat. The black handwriting easy to see against the brown paper...

  for your eyes only

  Sam quickly unlocked the door, grabbed the box and slammed her apartment door shut. She held the box tightly with both hands, her heart thundering so hard in her chest, she was afraid it might burst. Should I call David? Her thought was only fleeting before she dismissed it. She walked to the kitchen counter and set the box down. Slowly she began to open it. The brown paper gave way to a white box. Her mouth went dry as she began to open it, unable to stop herself from thinking of the mannequin hands she found with David the other night. The thought made her hands pause in mid air. No, not again, please, please no.

  Sam took a deep breath and pulled the box top off. Another yellow sticky sat on top of something wrapped in more brown paper...

  why bother with a mannequin hand when you can have the real thing?

  Sam buried her hands in her face and began to sob, trying to speak through her tears. “Wilson, I am so sorry! This is all my fault! How can you ever forgive me!?”

  She willed herself to open the package. One quick look confirmed her worst fears. Wilson’s left, lifeless hand was positioned over crumbled brown paper. Sam covered her mouth with her hands and screamed. She backed away from the counter, ran into her bedroom and slammed the door shut. She stood against it for several minutes, trying to regain her composure. “No,” she finally said in a voice filled with fury and rage. She stopped crying and stood straight up. “No. They will not do this to me! They will not win! No, no, no! April, honey, Mommie is coming. Wilson, I will be there soon! Please, please try to hang on!”

  Sam pushed herself away from the door, opened it and ran back into the kitchen. She grabbed the box tenderly and placed it in the freezer, because she simply was at a loss on what she should do with Wilson’s hand. “Forgive me, Wilson, please,” she said and dashed back into her bedroom.

  Sam changed from her dress slacks and sweater into a black turtleneck and black jeans. She pulled on a pair of black socks and hiking b
oots. She looked at herself in the mirror as she pulled her hair back in a tight ponytail.

  From the drawer by her nightstand, she pulled out a flashlight. She pointed it into her walk-in closet and a spray of light lit up the darkened space. The handle of the flashlight was covered with small rubber bumps designed so that it wouldn’t slip from the holder’s hand. It also had a skinny black strap that she could pull over her wrist.

  She reached into the nightstand and pulled out something else. She didn’t know why she kept it, more for show than anything else. It was one of Jonathan’s service revolvers. The make and model, she hadn’t a clue. He had wanted her to have it. She turned over once, twice in her hand recalling the day her now deceased ex-husband gave it to her.

  “For what?” she had asked him when he put it in the palm of her hand.

  “What do you mean for what?” Jonathan asked and rolled his eyes. “To use it just in case you have to.”

  Sam scoffed at his remark. “Jonathan, if anyone ever came in my house and there was a fight to use this gun, the burglar would end up using it on me.” She had handed the weapon back to him, but he had insisted she keep it. She complied, albeit reluctantly, and had stashed it in the drawer of her nightstand.

  Sam turned the weapon over again in her hand, slipped it back in the drawer and closed it. A lot of good it would do her to carry the gun. She couldn’t remember where the bullets were anyway and she wasn’t going to take the time to look for them. Instead she reached down by the corner of her bed and retrieved an axe handle that Howard had made for her. The stick was about two feet long, thick and sturdy. He had put a smooth finish on it and drilled a hole near the top of the stick just wide enough to draw a rope through. Sam stuck the rope around her hand and gripped the handle. It was smooth to the touch. She tapped it firmly several times into the palm of her left hand. It stung and left a red mark in the center. Satisfied, she turned and left the bedroom.