by Cait Jarrod
Pamela and Donald sat on the couch beside Celine, Pamela leaning against him. “Yeah?” She looked up at her father, waiting for him to explain.
Donald cleared his throat. “I should have talked to you first, but I couldn’t wait, and it just came out.” He hesitated.
Celine gasped, and Pamela followed her line of vision.
The sparkle of the rock was much larger than the gleam that came from the ice. “Ohmygod.” Pamela’s hand covered her mouth. “Finally!”
Donald and Marge laughed. Pamela embraced her father, then moved to Marge and with one arm gently hugged her. “No more pretending for me. It’s official now. You’re my mom.”
“Well, one of them. Always have been.” Marge’s face glowed. Still, something was missing. Jake needed to be here. She wanted him to share this with her.
“Got any more hamburgers?” Paul asked, heading into the kitchen, not waiting for an invitation.
“On the table. Iced tea and soda are in the fridge,” Steve said, around a mouthful of food.
Back on the couch, Pamela smiled at her dad. “I’m happy for you.”
“Me too, baby girl. I think I can put up with her.” They laughed and looked at Marge who had closed her eyes.
“I’d better get her home. I’ve worn her out.” He kissed Pamela’s cheek and crossed to Marge where Steve was already helping her off the couch. Steve kissed Marge’s cheek and shook Donald’s hand. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you, son, and thank you for taking care of my daughter.”
“I only did a small part. Jake’s the one.”
Donald sent Pamela a sideways glance. “Yes, I believe he is.”
“I’m happy,” she smiled.
Marge sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m so worn out.”
“That’s okay.” Pamela patted her arm affectionately. She was wiped out too.
Donald shook Paul’s hand and kissed Celine on the cheek. “Take care of my baby girl.”
“I will and congratulations.” Celine smiled.
The four of them watched Pamela’s dad and future stepmother walk down the sidewalk toward the car. “Everything is the way it’s supposed to be. Almost.” The three of them looked at Pamela.
“Got something you need to tell us?” Paul asked as his eyebrow lifted. At least his gaze wasn’t narrowed like Steve’s.
Briing. Briing.
“I’ll get it,” Celine said before Pamela had a chance to react.
Pamela turned her attention back to Paul. “Nope.”
“Keep it that way,” Steve grumbled and walked back to the loveseat.
“He’s taking this big brother act too far, Paul.”
Paul tucked his chin. “You’re telling me that’s an act.”
She rubbed her cast-covered shoulder. “Maybe not.”
“Charlene’s on the phone for you, Pamela.” Celine handed her the portable. “I’ll get your pain medicine.”
A few minutes later, Pamela ended the call and sank onto the couch, feeling like she was in a daze. “Charlene said everything was going well, but she really needs me to come in tonight.”
Steve leaned forward, his arms on his knees. “Why?”
“Something about the money? I really didn’t catch what she was saying. I’m too exhausted to think.”
Celine handed Pamela her meds and tea. “Want me to take care of it?”
Pamela swallowed and shook her head. “No, I’ll go in the morning.”
“I have a flight out in two hours. I’d better get going.” Steve shook Paul’s hand. “Tell Jake I hope he’s better soon.”
Paul nodded. “I will.” He held Steve’s hand tighter. “You know, he’s one of the good guys.”
Steve cut his eyes to Pamela, then back to Paul. “Maybe. Gotta go.” After a peck on Pamela’s cheek, then Celine’s, he left.
“I’m beat. I’m going to bed,” Pamela said around a yawn.
“I’ll clean up, then sleep in the guest room. Do you need any help getting into your pajamas?” Celine asked.
Pamela hadn’t broken her shoulder as Steve had thought, but her humerus just above her elbow. Now, her arm was bent at the elbow and covered in plaster. She had to wear it several weeks, so she might as well get used to changing her clothes on her own. She’d have to cut the armholes out of a couple shirts and pajama tops. “I’m good.”
“I’m sacking out on the couch. We’ll go see Jake in the morning.” Paul grabbed a pillow and blanket from the closet.
“Thanks, guys.” Pamela climbed the stairs, wishing Jake were there.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Paul rounded the curb, drove up, braking with a slide of the tires in front of The Memory Café.
This morning, Pamela and Paul had visited Jake, and then, her mother. The coloring in Jake’s face was much better than yesterday, and the doctors said he should be released within a day or two.
Vivian was another matter. Her white blood cell count was elevated. And until they figured out why, her stay would be extended.
Paul opened the Jeep door for her, and she slid out. “I’ll be back at one o’clock to take you home.”
Pamela knew better than to argue. At the hospital, Paul had said he was afraid she was overdoing it, and Jake had agreed. She was fatigued, but she needed to see her café and check on whatever Charlene had mumbled about last night. “Okay.”
He kissed her cheek and watched her walk toward the café.
“Go already. I’m okay.” She smiled, waving him on.
Paul nodded and hopped back in his Jeep once he saw Mark McDowell, A.K.A. Panama Jack, open the front entrance to The Memory Café.
She stepped over the threshold, and Mark enfolded her in his arms for a moment. “Pamela, how’s the shoulder?”
“Boss.” Sue interrupted, dropping her tray on a nearby table before she crossed to Pamela. “How the heck are you?” Sue eyed Pamela’s shirt, minus a sleeve, a cast in its place. “Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you come to work in jeans and tennis shoes.”
“I wouldn’t now, but I wasn’t about to put a hole in one of my dresses to come to work. Has everything been running okay here?”
Pamela smiled. Sue was always so full of energy. “I’ll tell you how I am.” Sue patted Mark’s stomach with the back of her hand. “Great. I get to see this guy every morning.”
Pamela looked back and forth at the two of them. Were they having a fling?
Sue giggled and waved her hand. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m too old for our boy Mark here, but he’s great at making sure the café is safe.”
Pamela wondered, why would he do such a thing? She decided not to ask. The old saying, you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth came to mind. “Thank you.”
“Not a problem.”
“I need to find Charlene.”
“In the kitchen. She’s a jumpy one,” Sue clucked, then gave Pamela an air kiss before checking on her customers.
Mark crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall.
“Are you the café’s bodyguard?” Pamela asked.
“Yep, Jake’s orders.”
“Since when?”
“Since, this whole mess started.”
Well, that explains why Jake wasn’t worried about the café. Pamela pushed the kitchen door open.
Charlene looked up from slicing tomatoes, but didn’t meet Pamela’s eyes. All the color drained from her face.
Pamela twisted, looking behind her. No one was there. Why was Charlene scared to see her? “Hi, Charlene.”
“Hhii, Paam—” She cleared her throat. “Hi, Pamela.” She looked back down at the tomatoes. “How’s your shoulder?”
Charlene had been a little odd when Pamela interviewed her, but she chalked it up to interviewee nerves. Marge’s reference check on her came back with rave reviews, so she’d figure she would deal with a little jumpiness to keep the food quality up to par. Now, she ne
eded to figure out why Charlene had called her about The Memory Café’s finances. “About your phone call last night?”
Charlene dropped the knife on the floor and quickly picked it up. “Um, yeah, the bank called and wants you to come over today to talk to them.”
“Who called?”
Charlene studied the tomato she was butchering. “I don’t remember.”
Pamela shrugged. “I’ll get Paul to take me over when he picks me up.” She headed for the door.
“No!”
Pamela faced Charlene. “No?”
“I mean, they asked for a meeting this morning. I’m caught up on everything, so I’ll run you to the bank.”
“Who will cook?”
“Oh, I asked the waitress that helps in the kitchen once in a while to come in.”
She needed another pain pill. “Are you talking about Darlene?”
“Yes.”
It didn’t make sense that the bank hadn’t called about the books previously. They met once a month to go over her monthly profit and loss statement. Maybe she’d miss this month. Pamela touched her forehead. She was so fatigued. The meeting should be quick. She’d meet with them then go home. “Okay. Let me know when Darlene arrives.”
Charlene nodded as Pamela strolled toward her office. She closed the door behind her and dropped into the chair. Exhaustion plagued her body, molding her to the chair.
The phone rang, and she snatched it up.
Before she had a chance to speak, the person on the other end breathed, “Pamela.”
His voice was music to her ears. “Jake, are you feeling better?”
He chuckled. “About the same since you saw me an hour ago. The question is how are you? Is Mark there?”
“I’m okay, and yes, your hound dog is here.”
“I had to make sure your café was being taken care of. I didn’t know who to trust at the bureau, and I knew Mark would keep a good eye on things.”
She sighed.
“What’s wrong?”
I’m worn out. “Nothing. I have to go to the bank in a little bit to check on the café’s account.”
There was a knock on the door. “Hang on a sec, Jake.”
“I’m ready. Darlene’s here.” Charlene forced a smile.
“Okay, I’ll be right there.”
When Charlene closed the door. “I’ve got to go, Jake, but I’ll call you after the meeting.”
“Who’s taking you?”
“Charlene.”
“Pamela, take Mark with you, too.”
“I’ll look for him. The quicker I get this done, the faster I can get home. I shouldn’t have come in today.”
“I love you, Pamela.”
She closed her eyes. “I love you, too. I’ll call when I get home.”
Pamela gathered her purse and went to look for Mark. Charlene stood at the backdoor waiting.
“Wait a second. I want Mark to ride with us.”
“Oh, he uh, left a few minutes ago for lunch. “ Charlene opened the door.
Pamela followed and scooted into the passenger seat while Charlene climbed behind the wheel of a white Oldsmobile.
Charlene seemed on edge. The bank was only a few blocks away. Pamela spoke quickly. “So, how do you like working at the café?”
“I love it,” Charlene said even as tears started to roll down her face.
“Charlene, what’s wrong?”
Charlene pinched her lips together and gripped the steering wheel tighter.
“The bank’s this way.” Pamela pointed at a side street.
Charlene met Pamela’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Pamela’s eyes widened. “Sorry for what?”
The light turned red, and Charlene stopped the car, her shoulders tense. The back door snapped open.
A hand slipped across Pamela’s mouth. “You do as I say, or I’ll blow off your fucking head.”
Cold, hard metal touched the side of her face. From the corner of her eye, the gun stared back at her. Heart pounding and her pulse racing, she glanced at Charlene, who had tears streaming down her cheeks.
The light turned green, but Charlene didn’t move. Horns honked behind them.
“Move,” the man from the backseat demanded.
Charlene pushed on the gas and moved at a snail’s pace.
“Keep poking along, Pixie, and I’ll knock your skull in when we reach the cabin.”
Charlene stomped on the gas. From the car’s motion, the man’s grip lessened on Pamela’s mouth, then tightened again. Pamela bit the meat on his palm.
“Bitch!” His hand moved from her mouth a second before he smacked her cheek.
Charlene swerved.
Pamela held her breath and gingerly touched her stinging face.
Pamela grimaced, closed her eyes, and prayed someone would realize she was gone. Her lips pulled inward, she opened her eyes and glimpsed Charlene. “What have you done?” Pamela’s voice broke as she spoke.
“Shut up! Don’t either of you say a fucking word.” The gun moved off Pamela to Charlene’s shoulder. “Don’t forget your boy.”
A loud sob erupted from Charlene.
Pamela’s eyes darted, she twisted and eyed the man, then glanced at Charlene’s shoulders shaking and her knuckles turning white from the grip she had on the steering wheel.
Pamela’s cell phone rang from inside her purse.
Pain shot through her scalp as her head was jerked backwards by her hair. “Give me the damn phone!”
She leaned her head farther back, attempting to ease the pain. It didn’t work.
“The phone!”
Before she could look at the caller ID, he released her hair and snatched it out of her hand.
The phone stopped ringing.
“Give me your phone,” he commanded Charlene. She reached inside her purse and passed it back.
Seconds ago, she had hoped the FBI could track her cell phone. All hope died with the jingle of the phones powering off.
Pamela looked out the window and considered her surroundings. They’d left the Fredericksburg area and were now driving up a mountain road. The man didn’t tell Charlene when to turn. “How do you know where to drive, Charlene?” Pamela whispered.
A sharp pain pierced her head just before everything went black.
****
Jake flipped the channels on the TV’s remote from his hospital bed. He’d been on edge for the last ten minutes, ever since Pamela had called him. The news clicked on; a segment about Sanjar’s death by an unknown means made the headlines. He changed the channel, and his gut clenched. Damn it, something was wrong. He picked up the hospital phone and dialed Pamela’s cell. When she didn’t answer, he called Mark.
“Is she back, yet?”
“Who?”
“Pamela. Who do you think?”
“Calm your ass down, man. She’s in her office.”
Jake released a breath. She’s okay. Good, but he needed to make sure. His instincts said something bad was amiss. “Go lay eyes on her.”
There was a pause on the other end, then, “Shit!”
“Check the kitchen. Is Charlene there?”
Another pause.
Mark came back on the line. “Darlene said they went to the bank. They must have left when I was in the bathroom. I never saw them leave.”
“What? Did you set up residence in there?”
“No, asswipe. I was in and out.”
“Sorry, Mark. Call me if Pamela returns.” He slammed the phone down on the TV tray.
His room phone rang. Good, they’ve returned. “Gibson.”
“Jake, Charlene Smith has skeletons in her closet.”
“I’m listening, Dennis.” Jake pulled his IV from his arm. The morphine drip had been removed earlier this morning after he declined any more.
“Charlene’s husband, Andrew Smith, skipped town on her son and her two years ago.”
“She has a son?”
“Yes, Henry, he’s seven. The Smit
hs bought a café in Colonial Beach five years ago called The Café.”
“Why work as a chef at another café then?”
“My sentiments exactly. Her husband left her in a mound of debt. With the slump in the economy, the livelihood of her restaurant was in jeopardy.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Two servers at The Café identified Jameson from a picture. Evidently, he visited the café a few times. Each visit, Charlene and Jameson argued. On the last visit, Jameson threatened her. He said she had better follow through with their deal or he would deliver on his threat. The server who overheard Jameson’s comments approached Charlene, but she said nothing happened. Next, we tracked her son. We found Charlene’s mother, who baby-sits the boy, in the hospital. Someone did a number on her and took the kid.”
“This is just now being discovered?”
“The mother didn’t talk. She said if she did, the people who beat her would kill her grandson and daughter.”
“Why is she divulging this information now?” Jake rubbed his arm where the needle was.
“Change of heart, now she’s afraid if she doesn’t tell the authorities, he’ll kill them. Bottom line, she didn’t know what to do. She thought she was doing what was in the best interest of her daughter and grandson.”
“Did anyone ever interview Charlene Smith?” Jake stood on the cold hospital floor and started to pull on his clothes. He had enough pain medicine in his body to last a while. If he needed more, he’d call on Steve and his magic syringe.
Agent Dennis cleared his throat. “Lever did.”
“Was he working for Sanjar and Jameson?”
“Not sure how it adds up.”
Jake slid on his shoes. “Come get me. I’ll be at the front entrance.”
“You can’t leave.”
“Watch me.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jake hurried out of the hospital room and passed the nurse’s station toward the elevators.
“Sir, you can’t leave,” a nurse huffed as she reached him.
“Got to.” He pushed the elevator button.
“I have to get discharge papers from your doctor.”
The elevator door dinged open, and she tried to block his path.
“Ma’am, if you don’t move out of my way, I will be forced to do it for you, despite my wounded shoulder.” Jake glowered at her.