“Questions! My only question is, how did this happen? You told us Anita would be in jail until Olivia was at least eighteen. Who decided to let her out?”
Frank didn’t have the heart to point out that Edwin, who was so liberal he made Frank look like Barry Goldwater, would normally be an enthusiastic supporter of prison reform and the end of mass incarceration. “Apparently, she’s been a model prisoner. And you know they’re trying to release more nonviolent drug offenders.”
“Forget about the marijuana farm they had going on their land. What about all the other things she did? Selling her own baby…. Helping to sell Mary Pat’s baby….”
“You know she was never charged with any of that. There wasn’t enough evidence. And she was under the influence of her father.”
Edwin spun around. “Anita was an adult. She could have walked away. She could have protected Olivia, and she didn’t. And now the State of New York, in all its infinite wisdom, is going to give our little girl back to that woman.”
That woman. Her mother.
“Nothing’s been decided yet. Anita has to prove she’s fit to take care of Olivia.”
“I won’t let it happen.” Edwin paced around the office. “We’ll go to Mexico or Costa Rica. Open an inn there.”
“Don’t talk crazy, Edwin. Kidnapping is a felony that will get you sent to federal prison. How will that help Olivia?”
Edwin stopped moving and spun around. “It will help her become an architect…or a biologist…or a history teacher—whatever she dreams—not a waitress at Malone’s diner or a cleaning lady at the Stop ‘N’ Buy. And I won’t get caught. I’m smarter than those government paper-pushers.”
“Like me?”
Edwin turned his back on Frank and stared out the window.
“Does Olivia know now that Anita is back in Trout Run?” Frank asked.
“We have to tell her today. We can’t allow her to hear the news from someone else. Or worse, to just run into her mother on the street.”
Edwin sank into a chair and propped his head on his hand. His shoulders shook. Seconds passed before he gasped for breath.
His friend was crying. Helpless in the presence of a sobbing woman, Frank was utterly vanquished by male tears. He froze, unable to speak, unable to touch Edwin.
“This is killing Lucy.” Edwin lifted his tear-stained face, but he didn’t make eye contact with Frank. “After the infertility treatments failed…after we realized we were too old to adopt an infant, we let go of the dream of being parents. We threw water on that fire and got adjusted. We were happy with our lives. Run the inn, travel, spend time with our friends and nieces and nephews—it was enough.” He turned and gazed at Frank. “And then you re-lit the flame. You told us we could be parents, after all. You told us it wasn’t too late, we could still make our dream come true.”
Edwin stood up and shoved Frank’s shoulder, his voice escalating. “You said there was no risk. You promised us that if we loved Olivia, we’d never lose her.”
Frank stood still. If Edwin had pounded his head with a rock, Frank wouldn’t have raised a hand to defend himself.
“The old pain was just a dull ache that surfaced every once in a while. To have her and lose her….this is torture.”
“I’m sorry, Edwin. Believe me, when I suggested you take Olivia as a foster child, I never imagined that this could happen. I was certain Anita would be in prison until Olivia turned eighteen at the very least. I’m as shocked at her early release as you are.”
“Well, you were wrong.” Edwin’s eyes blazed. “You made the mistake. But Lucy and Olivia and I have to pay for it.”
After Edwin stormed off, Doris tiptoed into the office. “Earl went out to do the afternoon patrol while you were talking to Edwin. We didn’t want to interrupt you for the patrol car keys, so Earl took his truck.” She spoke as if she were at the bedside of a dying relative.
Frank nodded without looking at her. He knew damn well Doris had been listening to every word of the argument and probably couldn’t wait to get on the phone and spread the gossip to her circle of clucking hen friends. If she knew what was good for her, she’d wait until she got home to start dialing.
From the corner of his eye, he could see her backing out of the office. “I’ll hold all nonessential calls,” she murmured.
Alone, Frank contemplated the wreckage of his relationship with Edwin and Lucy. They’d been his first friends when he moved to Trout Run. He’d gone from paying guest at the inn, to informal consultant on inn repair, to invited dinner guest, to friend. They were different from him, with their gourmet food and their arty pastimes, but he genuinely liked them both. He’d confided in them when he had problems, personal and professional. And Edwin had confided in him, telling him how he and Lucy had moved to Trout Run to take themselves away from Manhattan’s temptation of endless fertility treatments.
Then Frank had effectively orphaned Olivia Veech by arresting her mother, uncle and grandfather. No one in Trout Run wanted anything to do with the half-feral seven-year-old. But Frank had seen a way to solve a complex equation with one single move: his friends longed for a child and he had produced one who desperately needed parents. Oh, how foolish he’d been to think that he had the power to make three people happy! What was that saying? Something like, if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans. The Divine sides must be splitting today.
And to make matters worse, Frank knew that whatever happened next to Olivia, Anita, Edwin, and Lucy was entirely out of his control.
“Fra-a-a-nk?”
Doris’s querulous voice intruded into his funk.
“I don’t mean to bother you, but I’m worried Earl isn’t back yet from the afternoon patrol.”
Since when was Doris Earl’s supervisor? Frank glanced at the clock: nearly four, later than he’d realized. “So radio him.”
“He’s not in the patrol car, remember? I called his cell, but he doesn’t answer. But I think I know where he might be, but really he shouldn’t have gone there, which is why I’m worried so I wanted to tell you before I went home even though I said I wouldn’t bother you, but—”
“Doris. Stop. Talking.”
She stood before him, wringing her hands and gnawing on her lower lip.
“Where is Earl?”
“In Verona, I think. At the Happy Camper Day Care Center. That’s the one run by Pam Gatrell.”
Frank knew the place; he’d passed the sign many times. “And why would Earl be there?”
“Someone called, one of the parents, and said there was some kind of trouble there and I said Happy Camper is in Verona and that’s not our jurisdiction and they should call the state police and they said they did but it would be forty minutes at least until they could get over there and couldn’t we help and I said I’d ask Earl if he was nearby and maybe he could scoot over there, so I called Earl and that was half an hour ago and I haven’t heard anything since and so I—”
Frank leaped up. “What kind of trouble, Doris?”
“She said Ronnie Gatrell was talking crazy and said he wouldn’t let anyone pick up their kids until the bank promised to leave him alone about his mortgage.”
Frank was halfway out the door when he shouted over his shoulder. “Does Ronnie have a gun?”
“I imagine so. Doesn’t everyone?”
Chapter 5
Frank tore down Route 9 towards Verona, sirens blaring, lights flashing although there was very little traffic to push out of the way. What could Earl have been thinking to answer a call all alone, out of their jurisdiction, without even telling Doris to alert him? Once he passed the Trout Run town limits, he slowed slightly and cut the siren, keeping his eyes focused on the right side of the road for the sign that marked Pam Gatrell’s business. Soon he saw a patch of color: Ronnie had used a jigsaw to cut the outline of three back-pack wearing kids in shorts and hiking boots, marching down a winding trail. Below their feet were the words, in electric blue, Happy Camper Day Care.
> Not so happy today.
The patrol car threw up a spray of gravel as Frank careened down the long, sloping driveway. Trees crowded the drive on either side, and Frank slowed, unwilling to drive blindly into the unknown. He left the car parked in the middle of the drive so no one else could get by in either direction. Grabbing his binoculars, he crept through the trees to get a view of the house. He hadn’t encountered anyone else and wondered what had become of the person who’d made the call to Doris. Where the drive leveled out and widened, a broad lawn surrounded a big log home with a wrap-around porch. Stony Brook rushed along behind the house. Brightly colored toy trucks and balls and dolls littered the porch. A swing set and a sandbox stood next to two Adirondack chairs in the yard. All were empty and unused despite the clear weather.
Earl’s red truck was parked next to another pick-up and a minivan. Frank trained his binoculars on the red truck and could see Earl in the driver’s seat with his phone pressed to his ear. He must’ve made phone contact with Ronnie or Pam inside the house. That’s why he hadn’t answered Doris’s calls.
The anxiety gnawing at him was nudged aside by satisfaction. Earl was doing the right thing, stabilizing the situation until help arrived. Frank focused his binoculars on the house, but the afternoon sun shining on the front windows made it impossible to see inside. He worked his way through the trees until he was as close as possible to Earl’s truck, still twenty-five yards away.
He stepped out of the shelter of the trees and ran toward Earl’s truck.
A shot rang out, and the branch of a tree behind him exploded. Frank hit the ground.
Earl shouted to him through the open truck window. “Get back, Frank. Ronnie’s threatening to shoot anyone who comes near the house. He’s got Pam in there, and six kids. I’ll stay here while you secure the area and watch out for the parents. They’re sure to start showing up soon.”
Despite the warning, Frank crawled forward on his elbows.
Another shot echoed through the valley. “Get the hell off my land,” a man’s voice yelled.
A woman’s higher-pitched voice chimed in. “Ronnie, no! Don’t shoot again. You’re scaring the kids.”
“Okay, Ronnie, okay. It’s just Chief Bennett, my boss.” Frank could hear Earl speaking calmly into his phone. “I didn’t know he was coming. I’m going to send him away now, and we can keep talking, okay?”
Send him away? There was no way Frank was leaving Earl alone to deal with this lunatic.
“You called him here! I don’t like being lied to.” Ronnie screamed through the open window. “I been lied to enough.”
“I understand you might think I wasn’t being honest with you, Ronnie, but I was using my phone to talk to you, so I couldn’t use it to call Frank. I’m going to send him away now.”
Earl leaned out the truck window. “I just about had him ready to let the kids go when you showed up. You need to go back to the patrol car. Keep everyone away. He’s all riled up because the bank is ready to foreclose on his house. He has no way to make his mortgage payments now that the APA ruled against him selling part of his land to that developer. I’ve been letting him talk about all his problems, building rapport, you know.”
Rapport? Where the hell had Earl gotten that word? “I’m not leaving you here alone with him,” Frank said, keeping his voice low enough that Ronnie couldn’t hear.
“I know Ronnie. He’s gone hunting with my cousins and me. He won’t hurt me, but he’s really mad at the government and the banks. If he thinks law enforcement is ganging up on him, there’s going to be a showdown, and it won’t end well for anyone. Please go back.”
“He’s nuts.” Frank lifted his head just enough to make eye contact with Earl. “You can’t count on him not to hurt you.”
Another shot whistled above Frank’s head. “I don’t see him moving!” Ronnie screamed.
“Go back, Frank. He’ll keep shooting until you do. It’s the only way.”
Frank edged away from the truck. “I have to be able to stay in touch with you.”
“Toss me your cell phone. I’ll use it to call Doris, and she can patch me through to your radio in the patrol car. Then you’ll have an open line to what’s going on between me and Ronnie.”
It was an option, but hardly a good one. How could he leave Earl out here in clear range of an armed lunatic?
A bullet slammed into the dirt five feet from Frank’s head. He threw the phone at Earl and scrambled into the woods.
He remembered a time when he and Earl been called to a home where a dog had gotten caught in a hole in a chain link fence. It snapped at everyone who tried to help it, even its owner.
Everyone except Earl.
Earl had sat on the ground just out of reach of the dog and spoke to it with that same soothing voice he was using on Ronnie. He’d talked for a good twenty minutes before he even tried to move three inches closer to the dog. Another ten minutes of talk before he held out his hand to let the dog sniff it. And eventually the dog ate some scraps of turkey from Earl’s lunch sandwich while Frank used wire cutters to enlarge the hole. Finally, Earl had lifted the wounded and hurting animal and carried him gently to the patrol car for a ride to the vet.
Some scientists said animals didn’t have emotions like people. But Frank knew trust when he saw it. And gratitude. And that’s what he’d seen in the eyes of that mutt.
If Earl could pull off a rescue with that scared dog, maybe he could pull one off here too.
Of course, there was one difference.
The dog couldn’t have killed him.
Just as Frank reached the patrol car, a beat up Ford Focus came bouncing down the drive. The driver slammed the little car into park and flung the door open so violently Frank thought it would snap off.
“My son! My baby! Where is he?” A large woman ran toward Frank, her jacket sliding off her shoulders, her hair streaming.
“Stop! You can’t get any closer.” Frank moved to block her, but she dodged around him.
“Henry! Mommy’s here. Mommy’s coming.” She picked up speed as she ran downhill.
“Stop!” Frank chased after her, but he knew no words would halt her. He put on a burst of speed and pulled her down in a full body tackle. They both landed hard on the rocky ground. Frank’s right leg twisted under her considerable weight.
Her face streaked with tears and dirt, she struggled to sit up. “I have to get my son.”
“I understand.” Frank kept her pinned even as he tried to calm her down. “How did you know something was wrong?”
“Janey, one of the other mothers, called me. She came to pick up her daughter and Ronnie wouldn’t let her in. She said she called the police and then went to get her dad and her brother to help.”
Frank took a deep breath. At any moment, more panicked parents and relatives would be arriving. “Listen to me. Your son is inside the Gatrells’ house. Pam is taking care of the kids. He’s okay right now. But Ronnie’s got a gun and he’s threatening to shoot anyone who approaches the house. He already took three shots at me. You can’t get any closer.”
The woman’s eyes widened with fear. “What are you doing to get those kids out?”
“Another officer is negotiating with Ronnie right now. Earl knows Ronnie. He’s trying to calm him down so he’ll send the kids out. The state police are on their way. We just need to wait it out. I know it’s hard, but you have to let us handle it.”
She thrashed and bucked trying to break free of his grasp. “I can’t wait. I have to get Henry.”
“We’re not going to let anything happen to your son, Mrs.…. Tell me your name.”
“Colson. Leandra Colson.”
She had stopped struggling, but her shoulders trembled under Frank’s grasp. He eased up a little, still wary that she might bolt. “Okay, Mrs. Colson. I know this is scary, but I need you to stay calm for your son’s sake.”
“You don’t understand. Henry needs his pills. I can’t wait hours for him to get out. He
needs his pills.” She squirmed a hand into her jacket pocket and pulled out an orange prescription bottle.
Frank glanced at the label: Clobazam. He didn’t recognize the name, but it didn’t sound like an antibiotic for an ear infection.
“He has epilepsy. If he doesn’t take his anti-seizure drugs, he could die.”
Frank and Leandra Colson sat in the patrol car listening to Earl chip away at Ronnie’s resolve. Frank marveled at Earl’s steady tone—never a shade of criticism or irritation. He himself felt like reaching through the radio and whacking Ronnie upside the head. Did the man hear himself, whining about all the ways he’d been wronged while six little children sat stoically, barely making a whimper?
“So what I’m hearing you say,” Earl continued, “is you’re feeling frustrated at how inflexible the bank is.”
“That’s right. Those assholes won’t even give me a few more months to get the money together.”
“You just want a few months.”
“Yeah. Exactly. See, you understand. Why don’t they?”
Mrs. Colson choked back a sob and shook Frank’s arm. “He’s not telling him to let the kids go.”
“I know. We have to be patient. Earl has to get Ronnie’s trust before he asks him to do something. Making demands will push Ronnie closer to the edge. We don’t want that.”
The young mother began to cry softly. “Why did I leave him there? I should have brought him with me to Plattsburgh. But it’s so hard for him to ride in his car seat all day long. And he likes Pam….” Her sobs overtook her words.
Frank patted her hand awkwardly. “So Pam isn’t your regular day-care provider?”
“No. I just use her occasionally when I have to drive up to Plattsburgh to run errands for my mother. Other than that, Henry is always home with me. Oh, why did I have to take him there today? And why did I leave him there without any extra pills? I was going to the drugstore today. I knew I’d be back way before he needed them. Oh, God!”
False Cast: a small town murder mystery (Frank Bennett Adirondack Mountain Mystery Series Book 5) Page 3