by Lucia Sinn
As she turned off the highway and headed up the hill toward home, she saw a brown Dodge Intrepid parked directly in front of her house. She knew that car too well. Heart hammering, she drove along the path leading to her garage and cut the ignition.
She ran up the back steps and entered the kitchen, momentarily comforted by its warmth and the rosy smell of potpourri.
She’d just flicked the light switch when the front door bell rang. She walked to the hallway and looked out onto the porch, not surprised to see a thatch of red hair glowing in the light from the street corner.
Her stomach did flip flops as she opened the door. McAuliffe at her house had always meant trouble in the past. No reason to think it might be any different this time.
“What’s up?” she asked.
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Just need to talk.” For once, he wasn’t wearing a wrinkled trench coat, but his short sleeved, brown cotton shirt, loose fitting khakis, and scuffed brown loafers still gave the same effect: a man who gave little thought to his appearance.
“Have they found Doug?”
“No.”
“All right. Come on in. But give me a minute,” she said, stashing her purse on the desk. “Would you like some hot chocolate?”
He smiled. “You remember what I drink?”
“Of course.”
“Well, then. Yes. That sounds good.”
Cara motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen. “All right. Tell me. What’s going on.”
“Angie Cabella has gone missing.”
His words hit like a thunderbolt. Cara put her hand to her ear, hoping she had misunderstood. “What are you talking about? How did it happen?”
“We’re not sure. Tony’s mother had hired a bodyguard who thought he saw her at recess, but when he came to pick her up after school, she was gone.”
Cara felt a darkness rising up from within, almost like the murky water filling her lungs at Cataract Lake. She shook her head, trying to ward off feelings of dread.
“How could her teacher not have noticed an empty place at Angie’s desk?”
“They had a substitute teacher. And they had a guest speaker that day, someone from Junior Achievement. In all the switching around, they didn’t realize Angie wasn’t there. In fact, they aren’t sure when she actually left. Her cousin, who’s in the same school, was wearing a pink outfit like Angie’s, so they got the two confused.”
“So why are you here? Do you think I would know where she is?”
“Not you, directly. But there’s another problem. Tony Cabella left home yesterday afternoon and hasn’t come back. His wife, Gail, says she doesn’t know where he is. We were hoping you might have some idea.”
“Me? Why would you think that?” Although her mind was churning, Cara managed to fill a measuring cup with hot water and put it in the microwave, then got a couple packs of powdered mix from the cupboard.
McAuliffe waited at the small round kitchen table, while she stirred each of them a drink, then sat down to face him.
“Tell me,” he said. “Was there anything personal going on between the two of you? I mean other than just helping his daughter with her diabetes?”
“Of course not.”
McAuliffe regarded her closely. “Naturally, I’ve talked to all the family. The grandmother is hysterical and so is the aunt. So I can’t get anything very coherent out of them. Gail Cabella is a wreck, too, because Doug is still missing. But she tells me that before Tony left , he said something about you and him—that you’d been trying to rekindle your old romance.”
Cara choked on her cocoa, burning her lip. McAuliffe reached for a paper napkin and handed it to her. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“What have I ever done to that woman?” Cara said, more to herself than to McAuliffe. “I almost got killed trying to find her son. And now she accuses me of trying to seduce her husband.”
“I know, I know. But you must understand. I have to check these things out.”
“So you think maybe Tony is here? And Angie, too? ” Cara waved her hand toward the back stairs. “Take a look around, check my bedroom.”
“No, that won’t be necessary.” McAuliffe ducked his head, looking sheepish. “I know you’re in love with John Drakos and you’re not fool enough to be mixed up with the likes of Tony Cabella.”
“Sounds like you don’t think too much of Tony.”
“You’re right, I don’t . I knew very well he wouldn’t be here, but it sure would have made everything a lot simpler if he was.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Cara said. “Tony wouldn’t kidnap his own daughter.”
McAuliffe said. “I don’t think Gail is telling me the whole story. As you probably know, kidnappers often tell parents their phones are being tapped, that they’re being watched, and if they call the police, their kid will be dead.”
“Yes, but someone did call you. “
“But it wasn’t Tony or Gail. It was the grandmother. And when the aunt went over today to find Tony, she found Gail half drunk and claiming she didn’t know where he had gone.”
“Isn’t it possible he got a call from the kidnappers and had to leave before Gail sobered up?”
“Anything is possible. Someone might have taken advantage of Doug’s disappearance in order to kidnap Angie. A little girl like that, you never know. Could be some pervert.”
Cara felt a chill spread across her chest and down her arms. “How could anyone want to harm such an adorable child?”
McAuliffe pressed his fingertips together. “Okay, that brings me to my next question. How are you and Drakos getting along?”
“We’re getting along great. Just because we don’t live together doesn’t mean what you think. Right now, I just need my own space.”
“And John is satisfied with this arrangement?”
“Yes, I think he is.”
“Did you know he followed you to McDonald’s the day Doug was kidnapped?”
“Yes. He told me all about it. It was just a silly misunderstanding.”
“When, exactly, did he tell you?” McAuliffe rested his eyes on her, unblinking.
“Right after you’d been to his office. Don’t look so surprised, I know all about that.”
“So we agree that John was…is jealous of Tony. “
“A little. That’s natural isn’t it? How would I feel if John was all of a sudden doing favors for his old girlfriend, Janice Carson?”
“You mean that nurse who was writing prescriptions and signing his name? She’s lucky he paid a lawyer to keep her out of jail. Have to admit she’s a looker, though. Of course, you would be jealous if you thought he was seeing her again. Anyway, you told me earlier that you met Tony for lunch. Why did you do that if you knew it would look bad to Dr. Drakos?”
“It was part of my job. Tony’s on the board of directors. The Cabellas are heavy contributors. I couldn’t possibly refuse to help him out.”
“And there was absolutely nothing more going on with you and Tony?”
Cara felt like someone who’d been stopped for a random body search in an airport security line. There was no reason for McAuliffe to be hinting at some deeper relationship between her and Tony. And she didn’t like being put on the defensive.
She stood up and flattened her palms against the cool tile of her kitchen counter.
“What does all of this have to do with Doug and Angie’s disappearance?”
“If John was jealous, it’s possible he wanted to cause trouble for Tony.”
“Are you forgetting that Tim tried to kill me? You think John would have been part of all that?”
“The attempt on your life may not have been planned. Let’s suppose he hired Tim to make trouble for Tony. Let’s say he hadn’t expected you to follow them out to Cataract Lake. Or for Tim to panic when he found you spying on them.”
“That’s bizarre. I don’t know how you could think such a thing.”
“Just out of cu
riosity, do you think he would have told you that he followed you to McDonald’s if I hadn’t questioned him about it?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, does it? He was ashamed of himself. But that doesn’t make him a kidnapper. You can’t possibly consider John a suspect. You’re grasping for straws. Why can’t you accept the fact that Doug comes from an extremely wealthy family, and is a reasonable target for kidnappers.”
“You’re probably right. But I can tell you, jealousy can do strange things to people.”
“I suppose it would, if a person were mentally unstable. Which John is not.”
McAuliffe stood up. “All right, fine. I’m sorry to have upset you. But if you hear anything at all from Tony, let me know immediately.”
“Of course. But I can assure you, he won’t be calling me. If you don’t believe me, you can put a tap on my phone lines.”
“No, that would be ridiculous.” McAuliffe took his cup to the sink and rinsed it under cold water. “Sorry to have bothered you, Cara.”
Cara watched the Intrepid disappear into the shadows and slowly out of sight. A cloud of gloom enveloped her as a gust of air rattled the windowpanes. The thought of Angie in the hands of a kidnapper brought tears to her eyes. She wished John were with her now, to share her worries. But when she picked up her cell phone to punch in his number, McAuliffe’s questions replayed in her head. Would John have confessed to following her to McDonald’s last Saturday if he hadn’t been seen by the police and confronted by McAuliffe? And should she trust him now?
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
ERIC
HIS FATHER’S SECRETARY, Hazel, couldn’t understand why Eric preferred staying in a place overrun by tourists instead of the company condominium on South Padre Island, and had instructed him to get his ass up to the northern end of the island, pronto.
Eric took an anti spasmodic immediately, but his stomach still cramped with anxiety as he checked out of the Holiday Inn. Ever since the phone call from Tim, Eric had felt himself being sucked into an undertow of depression. He’d dealt with his dysthymic disorder over the years with medication, shrinks--and lately--surfing. It helped when he stayed in strange motels where no one might know him as the failed Krueger who hadn’t made a name for himself in banking or oil or politics. And today, of all days, he hadn’t wanted to be recognized as the father of a kidnapped child.
He had enjoyed the anonymity of sitting at the cabana centered between two of the motel’s swimming pools, listening to bongo music and breathing in the dense air smelling of chlorine, saltwater, and coconut oil. When he tired of that, he could walk past rows of gray haired couples sipping Pina Coladas and youthful parents with happy, squealing children, and no one paid him the slightest bit of attention.
He paid his bill with cash and climbed in the new red Dodge pickup truck he’d just bought—another attempt to disguise his identity. No one would expect to see him driving such a vehicle, and anyway, it was great for transporting his surfing gear.
South Padre Island was often buffeted by strong winds swirling from every direction. Today, a cold northwesterly sent sprays of sand across the beach and stirred up mammoth waves. When Doug was three, he’d been so terrified of the mysterious forces that plucked food and toys from his small hands that they’d never taken him back to the island again.
Eric drove up Padre Boulavard past souvenir shops and pastel condominiums. Turning right toward the ocean, he stopped at a tall gray stone building with sapphire windows along the outer edges of all twenty stories, directly facing the beach. A jumble of unhappy memories crowded his brain at he looked at the familiar structure.
He and Gail had stayed here right after she’d met Tony Cabella, although at the time, he didn’t know she’d already begun their affair. They were at the point where they slept in separate bedrooms and had little interest in what each other did, although he had been mildly curious as to why she sometimes left for the beach at ten o’clock, and came back at five o’clock without a sunburn. Once, when he asked, she’d told him she sat under a beach umbrella and read books. After the divorce, Eric finally figured out that Tony had been staying at a nearby motel on those days.
After Gail and Tony married, and Doug had shown Eric the wedding pictures on his phone, he’d been startled to recognize Tony as someone who had frequently sat near them at The Jolly Roger, a restaurant overlooking the causeway between the island and Port Isabel.
Eric punched in the security code at the gate, and parked his car in the visitors' lot instead of going down into the garage. He entered the dark, quiet lobby where a large arrangement of orchids, lilies, and tropical foliage was placed in the center of a round marble table.
A slim young Hispanic man wearing a navy golf shirt embroidered with a gold Padre Shores emblem stood behind the front desk. “Good morning, Mr. Krueger. We’ve been expecting you. There are two gentlemen waiting for you in the apartment.”
Eric asked, “When did they arrive?”
“Just an hour ago. Your father’s secretary said it would be all right. Do you need a security guard to go up with you?”
“Of course not. Don’t worry.”
Seconds before Eric reached the elevator, the door slid open and he stepped into a richly paneled compartment that smelled of mahogany and wool carpeting. Smoothly, he was jettisoned to the twentieth floor which opened directly into a small foyer with dark wood parquet floors and an oriental rug. He followed a hallway past the bedrooms, and entered a large airy room with a vaulted ceiling and a wide sweep of windows overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. To the far left, two men holding oversized tumblers full of whiskey and ice were seated at the wet bar. Eric clenched his teeth at the sight of them with their cocky grins and air of importance.
Bud Gunderson had worked on the Krueger ranch for twenty seven years. He was about five foot eight inches and although skinny as a bar rail, he was hard bodied and sinewy, with a sandy thin mustache, pointed chin, and small, unevenly set hazel eyes. Known to be one of the best shots this side of the Rio Grande, he wore a red cotton shirt with cuffs folded under, tight dark blue jeans and scuffed cowboy boots.
His sidekick, Jerry Gonzales, was thickset and swarthy, supplying needed bulk to the partnership. His expertise was known to be the sharp quick thrust of a switchblade. His black chest hair glistened with sweat beneath a blue denim shirt open to the waist, splotched with damp underarm patches.
Eric sat at the far end of the bar, putting as much space as possible between them and him. All that high octane testosterone made him feel inadequate.
“You want a drink?” Bud got up and walked behind the counter.
“Where’s Mary Elena?” Eric asked, knowing that they always brought a maid with them to the island.
“We told her to take the day off,” Bud said. “We don’t want nobody to know what’s going on.”
“I suppose that’s best,” Eric said. “And just fill that glass with ice water.” He wanted a shot of tequila in the worst way, but he knew Bud would observe his intake and report back to his father on every drop of alcohol he consumed.
“Now let’s go over this whole thing again,” Bud said. “We know you got a phone call. Tell us exactly what this fuckin’ bastard said.”
“Not much to tell,” Eric said, and went back over his brief conversation. with Tim.
Bud cracked his knuckles and looked out over the bay where the sun was setting in a brilliant, salmon streaked sky. “And you did talk to Doug, right?”
“Yes, he sounded scared, but they said he was fine. That they’d call me soon. So, do you guys have the cash?”
Bud rattled the ice cubes in his glass. “Don’t worry. We’ll handle this like cake.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“We can get the cash if we need it, but I don’t think we will. We’ll get rid of him any way we can--gun, knife, it don’t matter. Then he goes into the ocean. We’ll handle this our way, in private. We don’t like that kind of publicity and any
way, you never know, the guy could get off if it went to trial.”
“But that’s easier said than done. I’ve never heard of a kidnapper getting killed. It’s usually the kid that’s found dead. These guys aren’t easy to catch.”
“We’ve checked with our sources about this Tim. He’s nothing but a dumb hick. Hasn’t done any prison time. And the guy he’s hooked up with is some poor Mexican. A couple of pussies.”
Eric shook his head, unconvinced. “If they’re so dumb, how’d they get this far with Doug?”
Bud leaned forward. “Did you hear what I said? They’re jerks. We didn’t notify the FBI or police when you told Hazel about the phone call. It could be all over the news in a heartbeat if we did. The cops would muck it up. We decided it would work better if these guys brought Doug to the island. It’ll be easy to track them down and corner them once they get here. We don’t want them caught, we want them dead.”
“You’re talking about murder, right? Do you really think it’s worth the risk? I don’t give a shit about a million bucks and neither does the Old Man. He’ll never miss it. Why go to all this trouble?”
“Because. Nobody gets away with doing this to a Krueger. It’s as simple as that. And don’t worry. We know how to cover our tracks. This won’t be the first time we’ve helped your old man out. Anyway, the minute the guy sees all that money, he’ll want more and we’re not going to screw around with him. We know what we’re doing. Now come on, have a drink, relax, and wait for this jerk to call.”
“All right, guess I’ll have a beer.”
“Sure. Corona?” Bud sprinted behind the bar and pulled a dish of lime slices from the refrigerator, opened a long necked bottle, and set it before Eric. “I hear Gail married a wop,” he said. “How did she get hooked up with him?”