The two men were already ignoring her, muttering spurts of words to each other, using a cell phone in staccato tones she didn’t even attempt to understand. She sank on the bed, thinking about Henry. He was so cautious and considerate. He wouldn’t have left her this way without being forced to do it.
Gwen sat beside her, took her hand.
The men came over, didn’t even look at Carrie. Instead, Agent Bell spoke to Gwen. “Stay on her like glue. They got past us and somehow tricked King. Probably got Jorgenson too. Must have surprised him when he came in to put the purse in the tub. So, Officer Talbot, this is a heightened alert. It’s real danger, as Brad Jorgenson could, God willing, probably tell you right now, wherever he is.
“Listen carefully, both of you. Difficult as it may be for you, Ms. McCrite, you have to carry on as if nothing has happened. We need more present information about these Elderhostel folks, and you’re our best chance for getting that from the inside. So go to supper, go to that meeting. See if anyone is missing. Listen, listen, listen.
“Talbot, I don’t care how you cover your presence, maybe you’re a niece, but stick with her. Report to me as soon as you notice anything, and for sure report between supper and the meeting.”
Gwen nodded, then bolted the door after the men had hurried out.
“Well,” she said, sitting on the bed again, “shall we go down to supper?”
Carrie ignored her. She was trying hard to remember her prayers and the Bible verses she’d read only minutes ago.
“Carrie?”
“I...I...”
The room was quiet for what seemed like a long time, then Gwen said, “You love him a lot, don’t you?”
Carrie stared at her and nodded as fat tears made rosy spots on her clean pink shirt and love for Henry washed over her like a baptism. Without more thought she answered Gwen in words from the Bible, “With an everlasting love.”
“Good,” Gwen said, “because I can sure tell he loves you. So, let’s go to work and get our men back safely. Let’s have supper and start watchin’ all the folks.”
Greta stood at her usual post near the restaurant door, and Carrie, who was sick with worry and sure she couldn’t eat, said a weak “hello.” Then, realizing she needed to explain the presence of a stranger, she introduced Gwen as her niece, said Henry wasn’t feeling up to coming out this evening, so could Gwendolyn perhaps take his place?
Whatever she said must have made sense, because Greta, who seemed distracted herself, barely nodded and said, “Of course.” Her eyes went back to surveying the room.
Carrie noticed Greta’s frowning focus on the group of Elderhostelers and began to feel more alert as she, too, made a survey of those present in the dining room. At this moment her best help for Henry would be observing and, as Agent Bell had said, listening.
Well, well now. She attempted a small laugh and said to Greta, “I see Marcus and Martha aren’t here. They were pretty friendly at lunch; I bet they’ve gone off on a date. I am disappointed, though. I wanted to ask Marcus about Mary.”
Greta jumped as if she’d been poked with a pin and her gaze now focused on Carrie. “Mary?”
“I knew her a very long time ago, and I wondered...” Carrie let her voice trail off.
Greta stared at her, a look that made Carrie’s spine shiver, said “Excuse me,” and disappeared into the lobby.
“Was that smart?” Gwen murmured. “You may have stirred something up.”
“My intention,” Carrie answered. “Did you notice? She has some kind of bee in her bonnet. I wonder why. And we can’t just sit on our hands all evening and play lady. I didn’t realize she’d react like that, though, and now I’m wondering why she did.”
All Gwen said was “Um-hmmm.”
“Now I’m hungry,” Carrie said. “Let’s eat.”
They went through the buffet, then chose a small table near the back wall of the dining room so they could watch all the Elderhostelers. Carrie spoke in low tones to Gwen, who didn’t know the group. “As I said to Greta, Marcus Trotter isn’t here. Henry and I learned at the historical society this afternoon that he grew up in Hot Springs but has concealed that fact. Did the FBI guys tell you?”
“They were trying to bring me into the picture while we raced over here but were pretty distracted by the circumstances. Maybe you’d better give me the whole story.”
So Carrie talked between bites, at times ignoring the well-remembered admonition from her father: “Don’t talk with any food in your mouth.” Manners were secondary right now. Everything was secondary to finding Henry. And Officer Jorgenson, of course.
“...And Martha Jones is a widow from Eugene, Oregon. Maybe it’s just a harmless flirtation going on, but I wonder...oh, oh, there are Jason and Eleanor, headed our way. How can I explain...?
“Hi, Carrie, Gwen,” Eleanor said. “Where’s Henry? Shoulder bothering him, poor dear?”
Carrie’s response cut off Eleanor’s next words as she said, “You two remember my niece, Gwendolyn? And you must remember our experience with Habakkuk Culpeper at the Ozark Folk Center last spring? Well, this is like that, only Henry is taking my place this time.”
Shock flashed across both faces. The coded explanation had been understood. Eleanor and Jason remembered the danger Carrie had been in last spring at the Ozark Folk Center when she was taken prisoner by a man bent on evil. Back then all four of them, Carrie, Henry, Jason and Eleanor, worked together to help solve a murder and save a missing child.*
But her two friends were troupers.
His voice lowered, Jason said, “What can we do to help?”
Gwen may have been surprised by the conversation and the added complication of two more people, but she was a trouper too. “Meet us in your room, fifteen minutes.”
Smiling, Eleanor waggled her fingers at them as if she didn’t have a care in the world, and she and Jason went back to their seats with the Elderhostel group.
It was a tense quartet that sat facing each other on the edges of the beds in Eleanor and Jason’s room.
“Do you think Henry has been kidnapped?” Eleanor asked. “What is the FBI doing about it? What can we do?” She looked at Gwen.
“They’re searching for him and for Brad Jorgenson. I’m going to call Bell now and bring him up to date.”
She punched buttons on her cell phone. “Agent Bell, this is Officer Talbot. I thought you should know that Marcus Trotter wasn’t with the Elderhostel group at supper, and a female member, Martha Jones, a widow from Eugene, Oregon, is missing too. They were together at lunch today, and the group assumes they have become an item and are off on a date.
“Yes, she’s here. Any instructions? Um hmm. Any idea who you’d like her to talk to especially?” There was a long pause while Gwen listened. “Yes, I see. I’ll call again after the meeting. Oh, Agent Bell, I keep an emergency overnight bag in my locker at the station. If I stay with Carrie, I’ll need it. Could you...? Thanks. See you then.”
As soon as the connection was broken, Carrie said, “Who am I supposed to talk to?”
“Greta. Agent Brooks learned that Greta is Marcus Trotter’s sister. She’s much younger, sort of a second family for his parents, and her given name is Greta Mary. She went by Mary in school, but changed to Greta as an adult. She’s married to a man named Stephen Hunt who’s a reporter for the local newspaper. They’ve always lived in Hot Springs.”
“Well, well,” said Carrie. “No wonder she reacted when I mentioned the name Mary.”
“I’d say her reaction was mild, considering, but still unusual. Why didn’t she challenge you or simply explain who she is, say something like how much you’ve changed or she’s changed or comment that she didn’t remember you? But it was still foolish and dangerous to mention the name, plus now you can hardly talk to her productively.”
“Why not?”
“She’ll think you know she’s Trotter’s sister. You’ll get nothing from a conversation with her now if she has half a brain. Did
you suspect she was Mary Trotter, by the way?”
“Of course not, but I still might talk...”
“No. Pointless. And too dangerous.”
“How can I think of danger for myself when Henry and Officer Jorgenson are missing?” Carrie said. “And I’m sure the four of us will be able to help find them. If we stick together, we won’t be in any danger.
“Oh, my goodness!” Carrie hit her forehead with her palm. “I didn’t tell Agent Brooks that I found the name ‘Henry King’ in one of the Hot Springs High School yearbooks. It isn’t our Henry, of course, and it didn’t seem important at the time—just a coincidence—but now I’m wondering, especially since Henry’s room was searched so thoroughly, if Trotter might not think the two Henrys are the same. It almost seems as if he believes the Hot Springs Henry King has some knowledge of the hidden money that he, Trotter, doesn’t have, and he’s trying to find that information for himself.
“We know Everett didn’t have specific information. His search was too random and mostly unsuccessful. His words to me also indicated he was angry that he would have to do a lot of searching in the Fordyce basement before he found all the money. He thought his father had put it inside baking powder tins and hid it many places.
“Melodramatic as it sounds, there must be a treasure map or instructions of some kind. What I’m wondering is if we can’t somehow make Trotter think I have the information he needs and draw him out that way. Then maybe I can offer to trade information for the return of Henry and Brad.”
“Whoa,” Gwen said, “no way! You three simply cannot get involved here. I forbid it, and Bell would have my badge if I allowed it.”
“You forget something,” said Jason. “There are three of us, and...”
For a minute everyone stared at Gwen and she stared back. Carrie’s mind was whirling, and, she assumed, Jason and Eleanor were thinking just as rapidly. She was sure all three of them would be watching for opportunities to help Henry, with or without Gwen’s approval.
“So,” Carrie said, “we’ll all head to the meeting early. Gwen, as a newcomer you can chat with Greta, pretend you want to know more about Hot Springs, ask questions about bookmaking—how it worked, what it was like in the gambling clubs during the 1960s.
“Eleanor, why don’t you stay with Gwen? You’ll be able to provide back-up questions if needed, maybe show prurient curiosity about sin in ‘Sin City.’
“I’ll cozy up to Oneida Bradley, Martha Rae Jones’s cousin. Jason can take on Sim Simpson, Marcus’s law partner. Sound like a plan?”
After hesitating a moment, Gwen relaxed and said, “Sounds just like what Agent Bell would want us to do. But remember, no going off alone for any of us. Bathroom trips only if absolutely necessary. Watch out for anyone getting too close to you or brushing against you. Stay with the group. There are still too many unknowns, so we must be triply cautious. We’ll come back here together as soon as the meeting is over and tell Agent Bell what we learned.”
Everyone nodded and, huddling close, they headed for the meeting room.
It took only a few minutes for Carrie to decide Oneida Bradley was the most boring woman she’d ever listened to. But, hoping something would come of it, she waited more or less patiently through a long list of complaints about life since the death of Mr. Bradley. Finally, while Oneida took a breath, Carrie said, “Guess your cousin Martha has found a boyfriend. Did she and Mr. Trotter know each other before or just meet?”
This time the chatter was more productive. “Oh, Mattie knew him before, years ago. She was originally from this area, though she doesn’t want people to know that. It wasn’t a happy time for her. Hot Springs went through some awful things back when she was growing up, and her daddy was killed because of it. At least Mattie says he was killed. I’ve heard talk in the family that it was suicide. He was doing something criminal and about to get caught. Anyway, she’s bitter about it all and doesn’t like to be reminded. That’s why I was so surprised when she called and invited me to attend this Elderhostel with her. When I asked how she felt about coming back here, she just brushed it off. ‘I’m curious,’ was all she said.”
“When were she and Mr. Trotter friends? In school?”
“You know, I’ve wondered myself but doubt it. Mattie went to a private school, and I hear she didn’t mix with other kids much. That’s just Mattie—she’s still like that.”
“Does any of her family live here?”
“I think all the family is long gone from this area.
“Say, Carrie, could you partner with us when we go to the crystal dig on Thursday? Mattie needs friends, and I’m sure she isn’t really interested in Marcus. She’s so lonely, has been almost a recluse since the death of her husband. She always was subject to depression anyway. Add mourning for her husband to that and oh, my. I could tell from her phone calls, you know, and from what her daughter said. That’s one reason I agreed to come to this Elderhostel with her, though it seemed a long way to travel for something I wasn’t especially interested in, to begin with at least.”
Just then Greta asked everyone to take their seats for the program on how to find good specimens at the crystal mine. Oneida went to sit with Sim, and Carrie saw that Eleanor, Jason, and Gwen were saving her a place at the end of the back row.
Carrie joined her friends, and while Greta was giving the next day’s schedule and introducing the speaker, she tuned the words out and began another silent prayer.
Chapter XXII
Henry
The gentle knocking preceded Eleanor’s voice. “Henry, Carrie? It’s me, Eleanor.”
He’d been listening to Carrie sing in the shower, his heart soft and warm at the words of a hymn he remembered from childhood. Things were going to be all right after all.
Humming along with Carrie, he stepped carefully past the mess in his room to open the door. Eleanor and Jason probably wanted to eat supper with them.
A hotel housekeeper holding a parcel brushed past him and said, “Laundry delivery for Ms. McCrite.” Almost immediately someone shoved a large canvas laundry cart into Henry, knocking him aside. The cart tilted and towels spilled out.
He recognized the man pushing the cart at once. He was wearing white pants, a shirt with the hotel logo, and had a paper kitchen hat pulled low, but it was Marcus Trotter who faced him. The gun Trotter held was also recognizable. It was most likely Brad Jorgenson’s.
Henry’s trained reaction was quick. He threw himself sideways against the wall and kicked out, but, behind him, a woman’s voice that didn’t sound at all like Eleanor now, said, “No, none of that. I can easily shoot her in the shower.”
So he froze, watching Trotter while he cursed himself for not being more cautious about opening that door. He had to take action quickly but hadn’t decided what he could do when he felt the needle prick his arm. Oh, God, they were going to put him out.
Henry waited, motionless in a tableau of horror, until the tableau grew fuzzy and the hymn from the shower changed to “Just a Closer Walk with Thee.”
Had to do something...couldn’t...couldn’t seem to move.
He was shoved sideways and tumbled into the bottom of the laundry cart like a rag doll. Trotter and the woman lifted the cart upright and towels came in over him, some of them damp. The cart rolled, his room door clicked shut, and Carrie’s singing went silent.
He was conscious enough to know he was bumping along, moving down the hallway—only a short distance. Then he heard clanging noises that sounded like a freight elevator. Whirring. A jerk and bounce. The elevator stopped.
The cart fell over, and he and the towels tumbled out. Two people tugged and lifted him into a wheelchair and tied him in. Two people, Trotter and the woman. Carrie must be alone and safe. Oh, God, she had to be safe.
His neck was no longer able to support his mushy head, and it flopped sideways. He felt himself drool. Then he gave in to the drug and passed out.
The darkness was total. He’d been hearing buzzing noise
s in his ears for some time, had swallowed and swallowed, trying to fight the buzz. No good. Felt fuzzy-buzzy...awake enough to know his left shoulder ached, to feel his pulse banging painfully inside his head. At least he was alive.
Alive where?
He took a slow inventory of each part of his body, then used all the working parts to try to identify his surroundings.
He was sitting in some kind of metal container with his head stuck through a hole in the top. Rolling his head around proved that. All the rest of him was inside the container.
He felt fuzzy. Fuzzy-buzzy. His chuckle wobbled like a bad recording.
“You’re locked in a steam cabinet,” said a voice out of the darkness.
Huh? It took a minute to react. He fought nausea, disorientation, grogginess, and finally said, “Wha...what?”
“Steam cabinet. I got here the same way you did, laundry cart, wheelchair. It’s Officer Brad Jorgenson in the steam cabinet next door. From what I heard the two of them say, you’re Henry King? Sorry to be meeting you this way, Uncle Henry.
“You feel kinda weird, I’d bet. Don’t worry, it’ll pass. For a while I’ll do the talking, okay? Wished I had someone to talk to me while I was coming back from buzz-land.
“We’re in one of the vacant bathhouses, Quapaw, I think. I’ve been able to see around when they come in and light the lantern. Old bathhouse equipment is stored here, including these steam cabinets.
“An unused steam cabinet makes one heck of a good prison. I don’t know why law enforcement agencies haven’t thought of that. But then, it would be cruel and unusual punishment, I suppose.
“If you think it’s bad now, just wait until you have to pee! I hope you didn’t drink much today. You’ll sweat some of it out, though. Hot inside these things.”
“So you’re...Brad Jorgen...son. I suppose this is where you’ve been...all ‘long?”
“Yep. Came up behind me when I was putting Ms. McCrite’s purse in the bathtub. Only place I could think to leave the thing, considering its condition. I was bending over. You can imagine where she got me. The woman is, or was, a nurse. She knows her drugs. Hope she doesn’t decide to kill us with them. I have no doubt she could.”
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