Death and Disappearance (A Fina Fitzgibbons Brooklyn Mystery Book 5)

by Susan Russo Anderson

  “There’s going to be more trouble next door.” I pointed across the green. “I suggest you go to the ice cream shop with the boy. Come with us now. No time to get your purse.”

  She was too surprised to say anything more, but clattered down the steps and got into the backseat with her grandson.

  In that way all children have, the child turned to face me, rubbing his eyes. He gave me a shy look and grinned before burrowing again into his grandmother’s shoulder.

  As we pulled away from the curb, I asked the woman if she could direct me to the Maccabee farm, telling her I had the address but I didn’t totally trust GPS in the country.

  “Deirdre’s place? Seven or eight miles from here. Maybe ten.” She pointed north and told me to take the highway to the next exit and turn right. “Keep going a mile or so. Winding country roads lined with heavy woods. You can’t miss it. Property’s fenced all around. Acres and acres of it. Cows in vast pastures. Look for a large stucco farmhouse by the side of the road. Widow’s walk on top.”

  We dropped the woman and the little boy off at the ice cream shop and told her to stay inside.

  No squads in sight.

  “What took you so long?” Brandy asked.

  I told her about our fight with the fat man and the search for Cookie, giving Brandy the address of the farmhouse. “Call Jane and give her an update. And stay inside with the gift shop woman and her grandson until the police get here. Tell Jane to be quick.”

  In the Country

  “I need something from my van,” Clancy said as we sped away. “A larger clip for my Glock.” He looked at me, his face pale and in need of a shave. “Just in case.”

  I nodded. “Better to be prepared for anything, although I’m sure we won’t need it. We’re going to walk in there—it’s a house in the country, after all—and Cookie will be sitting in the parlor, waiting for us. You’ll take her in your arms and we’ll leave. You’ll be in Brooklyn this afternoon.”

  “And whoever took her is going to stand by smiling? The clip’s in the glove compartment. Won’t take long.”

  I drove to the parking lot in the middle of town where I’d seen his car and waited while he grabbed the clip, and we were off, following the directions given to us from the gift shop owner. Funny, I wasn’t scared, just a slight stirring in my stomach. But the stirring turned into hot bile, and I had to stop by the side of the road and ditch my breakfast and whatever food I’d had the night before, Clancy holding me by my collar while I bent over.

  We rode the rest of the way in silence, passing farms and roadside stands. Most of them were still boarded up, but a few had trucks parked outside, and it looked like their owners were setting up for the season.

  Just our luck, the weather changed from bright and sunny, and a mist rolled in from somewhere, covering up the world. I lowered the window and breathed in country air ladened with dew. I turned on the blower to high, but the mist was so thick, I almost missed the exit.

  As I slowed, I looked at the gas gauge—hugging empty. There was a station in the distance, and Clancy jumped out, about to fill the tank while I went in and paid. It was then I remembered I didn’t have my purse.

  “Help me out here.”

  He dug into his pockets and came up empty.

  “I hope they’re the trusting kind,” I said, walking into the store, standing in a line of customers behind the counter. I must have looked and smelled like a toilet on the morning after, waiting my turn, all the while hoping Jane and her team or whoever would get to the farmhouse and we’d walk into the arms of a waiting Cookie standing in front of a mirror and checking out her lipstick. I could feel the sweat prickling my skin while I took deep breaths.

  “I’m investigating the murder of one of your neighbors.”

  The customers in back of me moved away.

  “Your badge?” the woman asked.

  I felt in my pockets. Nothing. “It’s a long story, but I left my purse on the floor of Henry Hudson Fine Arts when this guy was chasing me. Almost caught me, but luckily he wasn’t a sprinter.” My mouth was flapping and my armpits were running like faucets. “You should see the place, it’s a mess. Water everywhere. And this obese guy appears out of nowhere. He tried to kill us. See, he’d tied up my friend, the one who’s standing outside by your pump? Take a look. You can tell he’s been roughed up. And the fat guy’s friends stole his wife. Got her somewhere; I’m hoping it’s in the Maccabee farmhouse. You see, they’ve taken it over. Several of them, the drug lord and his underlings. We’ve got to get there to save his wife. Please, my agency works out of Brooklyn. You can call the precinct. They know me.”

  “Yeah, and I’m Governor Cuomo.”

  I reached in my holster for my cell, watching the woman panic—she must have thought I was pulling out a gun until I showed her my phone. Why hadn’t I signed up for Apple Pay? I punched in Jane’s number. My call went to voicemail.

  “Please, Cookie’s life depends on me, and my gas tank’s empty. She’s down the road at the Maccabee place—you know it? She’s being held hostage. At best. And her death will be on my hands if we don’t get there quick.” I stopped talking, trying to catch my breath, and pointed to Clancy standing with the nozzle in his hand. “That’s her husband outside. I got this big car running on empty and I haven’t hardly slept in four days and I might as well not be here. Hasn’t this ever happened to you?”

  I tried Lucy’s number. My call went to the answering service. Where was Minnie when I needed her? “No one’s picking up at my agency.”

  The woman stared at me, but something I said must have clicked. She picked up the phone in back of the counter. “Al? Got a live one out here.”

  She kept shaking her head and muttering. “I must be the biggest sucker on earth.”

  In a few seconds, a tall man with a slouch shuffled in from the back.

  I told my story all over again.

  “Strange things been happening with Deirdre Maccabee. Came in here two days ago. Distraught. Said someone had been following her. Wasn’t you, was it?” He rubbed his chin. “All right. Give me your name and address.”

  The woman, whose arms were folded, reminded me that it was against the law to drive without a license, and when she said those words, I remembered my glove compartment and ran outside. A few minutes later I came back in waving the registration papers bearing the Fina Fitzgibbons Detective Agency’s address.

  I thanked the man and woman, promising again I’d call and give them my credit card that afternoon. Clancy filled up the tank, and with the sound of crunching gravel, we pulled away into a thick fog.

  Outside

  Because of the low visibility and the twisting country road, I drove at a normal speed. Moisture collected on the hood and on the windshield. Both of us were silent, although I could hear Clancy breathing. I watched as he gripped the dashboard. We could have been husband and wife out for a morning drive. Manicured lawns slid by. Tulips and daffodils grew around trees.

  A few minutes later the Maccabee house with its widow’s walk loomed ahead, just like the gift shop woman said it would. It was lit up from within, a beacon in the fog, appearing suddenly among cows and rolling hills. I lowered the window and felt the drizzle kinking my hair. The smell of pine trees and fresh air made me dizzy.

  Clancy doubled over, holding his head. “What if they’ve taken her someplace else and we’ve come all this way for nothing?”

  “Trust me. She’s here. How I know it, I can’t tell you, but I can feel Cookie’s presence.” As I said her name, tears and phlegm choked me.

  “Then let’s just go in and surprise them. Please.” Clancy was begging me.

  Every second counted, but I had to plan.

  The house was a huge stucco affair, probably built in the late nineteenth century, a box with several chimneys and a widow’s walk on the roof. The grounds were immaculate. As we approached, I could see a white barn with green trim and several other outbuildings. I pulled over to the side of the
road and stopped, my heart pounding.

  “Let’s just plow right in,” Clancy said. “We’ll shock them. We’re already late. They probably have a gun pointing at her head as we sit here, smelling the clean country air, relaxed. And she’s tied up! What are we waiting for?” I could see the panic in his face, his skin beginning to blotch, his eyes large round orbs.

  I shook my head. “First of all, there’s a fence all around the grounds, a gate in front of the house, and from here, it looks like it’s locked. We have to be smart about this. I say we ditch the car and climb over the posts on the side. We’ll walk right up to the front door and ring the bell. They’ll be expecting squads and sirens. We’ll surprise them.”

  I could hear him trying to control his breathing, watched as he stiffened. He didn’t agree, but reluctantly he nodded. “We’ll do it your way.”

  I backed up to where I’d seen a remnant of a road, little more than a cow path, disappearing around a clump of trees. A perfect place to hide the BMW. We lumbered out and I locked the car. I clutched my keys for a second, one of which was a long iron job used for opening Lucy’s front grill. I realized I had no other weapon, that Clancy and I might have to split up, and the key would have to do. I took it off the ring and stowed the rest in my back pocket.

  Looking both ways, we ran across the road, keeping low, creeping around to one side of the house. Clancy found a loose board and we scrambled through the fence.

  I looked up and down the exterior of the house. They weren’t conserving on electricity. It seemed every room was lit up, making it easier to envision the interior layout. There were basement windows, which ran the length of the house. On the first floor, a front porch, entryway, living room, maybe a library on the other side of a hallway, followed by a great room. Then the dining room, kitchen, and pantry. I leaned against the stucco and looked up. There were two floors above the main floor and, on top of the house, the widow’s peak.

  “Let’s just go in, for God’s sake. We’re wasting time,” Clancy said.

  I didn’t answer, but led the way to the back where earlier I’d seen a detached three-car garage. There was a side door and we ran to it, hoping no one would spot us. I tried to open it, but it was locked.

  Clancy brought out a credit card, and in minutes, we were inside.

  Two vehicles were parked side by side, a black Mercedes and the fine arts moving van.

  My stomach did a somersault. I showed him the photo Brandy had messaged me of Jake Thompson getting into his car. It was his vehicle—same tags. We tried the doors. Locked.

  Clancy went over to the moving van, its sides gleaming in the dim light. He touched the hood—still warm. My heart caught in my throat. “Used to transport the contents of Cojok’s apartment.”

  I opened the back of the truck and waited while my eyes adjusted to the dark interior, but Clancy jumped inside.

  “She’s been in here. I know it. I can smell her.”

  We were silent a beat, my stomach churning.

  In the corner near one wheel well lay Jane Austen’s Emma.

  I said nothing, waiting for my heart to stop its racing.

  Clancy scooped up the book and kissed it. He drew out his Glock.

  I knew I couldn’t stop him.

  I followed as he ran to the front of the house, up the stairs and leaned on the bell.

  The damp ran down the side of my face. Heart pounding, my curls wound to their tightest, I stood beside Clancy. We waited a few seconds.

  When no one came, he pounded on the door with the butt of his gun. “Cookie!” The sound of his roaring carried in the heavy air.

  Still no one.

  He crashed his shoulder against the frame.

  No one.

  “Credit card.”

  I wiped water from my lashes. The air was still. I could hear a few birds chirping. No other sounds.

  Clancy was calm. He brought out the card, the Glock in one palm, and was picking the lock when the door was pushed open, sending Clancy reeling backward, almost losing his balance.

  A tall man stood before us. I remembered the description of Stephen’s boss that Al the mechanic had given me—a condescending suit with a slit for a smile.

  “You must be Moses Longfellow,” I said.

  On the Roof

  Moses Longfellow crossed his arms. “Who are you?”

  Clancy pointed the gun at the man’s chest. “I’ve come for my wife.” He didn’t wait but shoved Longfellow in the gut, and the man stumbled backward.

  The art dealer brushed himself off and straightened his tie, his face giving nothing away, his demeanor calm. He told us to follow him and led us past a winding staircase, down the hall, and into a large dining room filled with crystal and china. Without a word, he took his place at a mahogany table, picked up a goblet of water and took a sip.

  The table dominated the room, long and sleek. Above it, a sparkling chandelier was suspended from a high ceiling, the glass scattering random shards of light on the table and walls.

  Standing at the window, his back to us, Jake Thompson had on the same suit I’d seen him wearing the other day. He turned when we entered and stared back at me, making no reply when I said hello to him.

  “I told you there was someone outside, but you wouldn’t listen.” Ina O’Neill. I expected to see her seated at the head of the table. Instead, she was placed on one side, opposite Moses Longfellow.

  Two of the men I didn’t recognize. Tall and thin and sallow-complected, they were dressed in wrinkled black suits. They rose in unison when Clancy and I entered and stood on either side of the woman seated at the head—Lake Cojok.

  One of the cheap suits drew a gun.

  “Put the guns away,” Lake said. “Sit down, Jake.”

  They obeyed. Clancy stood his ground.

  Lake wasn’t smiling. Her eyes were steel. She put down her fork. It rattled slightly against her plate, her only sign of nerves. Her face was unmoving. She wiped her mouth with a napkin.

  Six of them; two of us.

  Just then a woman wearing black and white entered with a platter of food.

  “Not now, Marina,” Lake said. “We won’t need you for the rest of the day. Leave, and take the others with you.”

  The woman backed out, pushing the door open with her rear. It swung for several seconds in her wake.

  No one spoke.

  “Where’s my wife?” Clancy asked. “Tell me and we’ll take her and leave. No questions asked. No shots fired. No one hurt.”

  Like a still small voice from far away, I caught the faint wail of a siren.

  A few raindrops hit the windowpanes.

  The siren grew louder.

  I turned to Lake. “Why?”

  She looked at me like I was a piece of dust.

  Just then one of the bodyguards lunged across the table, his arms outstretched.

  Clancy pulled the trigger and caught the guy in the hand.

  A bark of pain. Blood squirting. He kept coming.

  I stuck out my leg and he tripped.

  “Enough!” Lake said.

  The siren howled. Blue and red lights flashed.

  Pandemonium in the dining room as everyone began to scatter, the glint of silver guns in the hands of Moses Longfellow and the other bodyguard. Lake picked up a table knife. No problem, I could handle that.

  Sudden silence.

  “Cookie!” Clancy’s voice shattered the stillness. He picked up Ina O’Neill by the hair and shook her. “Where is she?”

  “Don’t shoot!” Her voice was like Jell-O.

  Clancy shook her again.

  “Upstairs.”

  Clancy shoved her away. He and I retraced our steps and ran up the winding staircase.

  We heaved up the first flight. Puffing, I saw red and had to stop for breath. Why had I eaten so much? My heart was in my mouth, sweat pouring from me. I could feel it in my armpits, on my back, globs of water creeping down my legs.

  “Hurry!”

  I lo
oked down and saw Lake and a bodyguard on the landing below, not far behind, gaining with every second, their guns drawn, Lake holding a silver blade in one hand.

  Upstairs, Cookie was upstairs, but where?

  We ran through the second floor, yelling her name. But I knew she wouldn’t be there.

  Then I could see it all. Why had it taken me so long to figure it out? “Widow’s walk!”

  We bounded up the last flight, looking for the entrance to the roof, finding it above a rickety set of stairs at the end of the hall.

  I looked back. Lake and the bodyguard were behind us. Gaining.

  Clancy turned and fired. Missed.

  They kept coming.

  We pounded up the stairs. The door to the roof was locked.

  Footsteps kept coming. I heard panting. “Stop. I have the key,” Lake said.

  “Don’t listen to her,” I said.

  Clancy, now a wild man, shoved on the door with all his might, and the lock broke.

  We climbed onto the roof, holding onto the rail. The rain was pouring now and we were drenched. I heard water squish in my shoes.

  Frantic, I looked around.

  Cookie was tied to a chair in the middle of the walk, her whole body shivering. Rain poured in through a broken window. She was soaked, and her strands of hair looked like snakes. Her lips were blue. Her clothes clung to her.

  Shaking with cold and wet, Clancy and I began untying Cookie’s hands just as Lake and the bodyguard burst in.

  Clancy whirled. Fired. The bodyguard fell. Half his face gone, his blood splattered the floor.

  We turned back to Cookie. The rope was soaked; so tight, we were having a hard time.

  I remembered my little Swiss Army knife. Shaking, I drew it out of my back pocket and began to slice through the wet rope when I felt something sting my shoulder.