Smudge

by J. D. Webb

  “Marvelous. I’ll see you at one, then. I’m sorry to inconvenience you. You have my deepest gratitude.” The phone clicked.

  Just what I need. Another detail to take care of. When this funeral is over I may sleep for a week.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Bev had been hurt that Trish had passed up one of her Inn’s gourmet breakfasts for a lousy McDonald’s sandwich, so she acquiesced when Bev ordered her to sit down and have lunch. When Trish finished eating, she placed calls to Bob Jenkins and Cheever, asking them to phone her. She said she would be at her house and then headed out the door for her meeting with Mr. Boston. She didn’t remember anyone named Boston ever visiting the house. She definitely would have remembered, since Boston was where she was born. On the other hand, she hardly knew any of Jim’s business associates.

  When Trish pulled into her driveway the cul-de-sac was empty. She checked her watch. Ten till one. Good, she was early. She fished out her cell and gave Cheever and Bob another call. Neither answered. Must be wrapping up their investigation. She let herself in the front door and took off her coat.

  “How nice to see you again, Mrs. Morgan.” Marciano, clutching a can of soda in his plump fingers, sat in the living room rocking chair as if he were the man of the house. “This is my partner, Mr. Boston.” He motioned to a hulk standing next to him. The curly-haired man had a round face and a surly look. He was a giant, taller than Jim. His suit jacket appeared at least two sizes too small for his arms. “I believe you spoke to him on the phone this morning.”

  Trish’s heart slammed her chest and she dropped her purse. “Mr. Marciano? How did you get in? What are you doing here?” She gasped. Her house was in even worse shape than before. Wall shelves pulled down and drawers in the desk and credenza pulled out and emptied.

  Trish started to breathe again. “Just what is this all about?” She edged back toward the door.

  “That’s a fair question. To explain, your husband worked for us. As a matter of fact, his work was critical.” He smiled and took a sip of his drink. “I need to have the records he was keeping of our activity.”

  “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Well, you’re our only hope. We’ve searched this house thoroughly, and we haven’t found what we’re looking for.” That was obvious. A twister would have caused less destruction. “So we thought we’d ask if there was anywhere else we could look.”

  This couldn’t be happening. What the hell had Jim been involved in? “Look, I was kept in the dark about Jim’s business.” Trish opened her palms and let them fall to her sides. “I have no idea where he would have kept any records.”

  “Oh, I know he was secretive. That’s what he was paid to be.” He snickered and Boston grunted an agreement. “There must be someplace outside the home. Did he have a hiding place?”

  “No. There is nothing I can tell you. I don’t know.”

  “Mrs. Morgan. I’m afraid you know something you may not even be aware of. But we will get it out of you. Mr. Boston is adept at securing information. It’s often a painful process. I would hate to have to resort to that. We’re all friends here. Let’s talk a bit first.”

  Trish tried to steady herself even though, inwardly, she was shaking. “I do not appreciate being threatened. You may be able to hurt me, but I still can’t help you. Don’t you think I’d tell you if I knew? I’d left Jim. I have no reason to be loyal to him.”

  “In my line of work, I’m afraid, people lie to me quite often. An unpleasant part of the business. Now think. There must be something. Do you have a safe deposit box?”

  “Yes. The First National Bank. The police have the contents.”

  “See, I told you. Did he have another computer that he used besides the one in the den? Maybe a laptop?”

  Slowly Trish had been backing toward the front door. She felt the door handle behind her and pulled. The hulk moved incredibly fast. He grabbed her hand and swung her back into the living room.

  She stumbled on the carpet and fell heavily, jamming her right arm. She yelped. Boston stood in front and grabbed her by the shoulders. With no effort he hauled her to her feet and returned to his place beside Marciano. He wore a blank expression on his face as if nothing had happened.

  Marciano clicked his teeth. “Now, that wasn’t very smart. Boston is extremely good at what he does. If I were you, I wouldn’t try that again.”

  Trish held her wrist and winced. Tears leaked from the corner of her eyes. But she was determined not to show fear.

  Her cell phone rang. All three stared at the ringing purse lying on the floor. “I’d better answer it. A lot of people know I’m here.”

  Marciano nodded. “Just be careful what you say. No funny stuff. You’ll regret it.”

  Trish picked up the purse and fished out the phone. Thank God. It was Bob Jenkins. Think, girl, think. What do I say? “Hello, Bob.”

  “Hi, Trish. Just returning your call. What’s up?”

  Trish ignored his question. She was thinking fast. “Yes, I got that phone number you wanted. Dr. Cheever, the one who treated my pain?” She recited the number for him. “What phone number? Dr. Cheever?”

  “Sorry, I can’t talk now. I’ve got to go, I have company. Hope you feel better soon. I know that doctor will help you.” Trish closed the phone and shrugged. “A friend of mine. He broke his leg and is in a lot of pain.”

  Marciano smiled. “Good, you did well. Now about that computer.”

  “We had a laptop. The FBI has it. But there wasn’t anything on it. Originally it was mine. We both used it after we got married. Jim cursed it for being so old and painfully slow. My desktop PC is newer but the FBI searched it as well. Those are the only computers I know about. There were some flash drives but the police have them now. There’s nothing else.”

  “Everyone makes copies and keeps them separate. How about any secret places? An office somewhere? Maybe a safe he seldom used?”

  Trish shook her head, trying to ignore the pain in her hand. “No! No!” She cried. “Don’t you understand? I never knew what he did. He had another life I wasn’t part of.” She was defeated. God, when will this nightmare end?

  Marciano smiled. “Believe it or not, I think you’re telling the truth. But I still need to find that information. It could be on a computer disk or flash drive. Something small.” He thought for a moment. “Did he have a place where he kept Christmas presents he didn’t want you to find?”

  “We spent the last two Christmases in his hunting cabin on the lake. He stashed presents there.” Trish froze. The realization of what she had said hit her and Marciano at the same time.

  He grinned broadly. “See. I told you. You know more than you thought. We must visit your cabin.”

  “I’m not sure I can find it. Jim always drove. It’s back in a forest preserve.”

  “Oh, we’ll find it. Mr. Boston, if you would please make arrangements for our trip. Mrs. Morgan and I shall have a nice cup of coffee, won’t we?” He gave her an intimidating look.

  Trish narrowed her eyes. “Depends on what shape you and your ape left my kitchen in.” She turned and headed to the coffee pot. Marciano heaved himself out of his chair with effort and followed close on her heels.

  Lord, I’m near the end of my rope here. I need your help. Please make Bob understand my message.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The bright sun reflected off the highway as the Mercedes ate up the miles. For over an hour Trish had sat wedged in the back seat next to Marciano. A thin plastic strap bound Trish’s hands in her lap. Boston drove, eyes fixed on the pavement, both hands gripping the steering wheel.

  Thoughts of possible escape plans darted into Trish’s mind, only to be ruled foolhardy. Overpowering two giants who were practiced criminals was impossible. She had no weapons and limited mobility. She sighed and glanced at Marciano.

  “It won’t be long now. We are almost at the Wisconsin border. Concentrate on remembering where we turn off.” M
arciano’s suit coat bunched around his substantial belly, giving Trish a glimpse of a gun in a shoulder holster.

  If only I could grab that gun.

  “I told you, I’m not certain I can find this place.” In fact, she knew the road well. Early in their marriage, Jim insisted on her traveling with him to learn about the outdoors. He was an excellent hunter and fisherman. Truthfully, Trish had enjoyed many wonderful meals with the bounty from their hunts. But with their marriage shaky at best, it had been at least two years since her last visit. Jim had gone hunting with business associates and had stopped bringing her along.

  They headed to the hunting cabin and Trish’s ominous future. What if they don’t find what they’re looking for? What if they do? Trish had no doubt the outcome would be the same. She would die.

  How weird. For the second time in two days she faced death. This only happens in movies or on TV, doesn’t it? Trish had never been a fan of organized religion, or as she called it, corporate religion. She silently asked for God’s help. Then she asked herself, why would He help her?

  A few miles ahead was the turnoff, a meandering gravel road. There were no neighbors for miles from the cabin. Her only hope was to try to get away before they reached that road.

  “Excuse me. I need to stop for a restroom break.” She tried to look desperate. Actually, that was no problem. She was desperate.

  Marciano frowned. “How far are we from the cabin?”

  “I don’t know. I told you I’m not sure about any of this. Unless you want a mess in your nice car, we need to stop soon.” Trish shifted in her seat to emphasize the request.

  Marciano sighed. “Mr. Boston, when you come to the next exit let’s find a gas station.”

  Boston nodded.

  An exit sign showed a logo for a mini mart. Boston guided the Mercedes into the turn and pulled into a gas station a short distance from the interstate. Trish’s heart sank seeing only one car parked in front of the main building.

  Marciano grabbed Trish’s arm in a vicious grip. She winced as he pulled her close. “One false move from you and everyone here will end up dead. Do you hear me?”

  Trish tried to twist away from the pain in her bicep. The grip was too tight. “Ow. Yes, I hear you. I just want to go to the bathroom.”

  “Do we need gas, Mr. Boston?”

  Boston looked at the gauge. “Probably wouldn’t hurt since we don’t know how far we’re going. I’ll get it.” Marciano nodded and sliced through the plastic band on her wrists with a lethal looking blade. He pointed the knife at Trish. “Remember what I said. Everyone in that station is depending on you. They’re betting their lives.” He closed the blade and stuck it back in his pocket.

  Trish tugged on her purse and opened the car door.

  Marciano grabbed the handle of the purse and jerked it out of Trish’s hand. “Might as well leave this here with me. Can’t have you making a call, can we?”

  “At least let me get a tissue. You may not care if the toilet paper is gone, but it’s an issue with me,” she said tartly.

  Trish extracted a small packet of tissue, got out and Marciano followed her inside. A tall gangly attendant behind the counter was encouraging an elderly woman to make a decision about lottery tickets. On her way through the narrow snack aisle, Trish peeked out at the car. Boston swiped a credit card at the pump and began to fill the tank. Trish spotted the restroom sign and headed to the woman’s door.

  Trish darted into the room and locked the door. She checked the stalls. No one else was there. The lone window was dirty and locked tight. Trish tried to open the window but it wouldn’t budge. Crap! Must be painted shut.

  A note. She needed to leave a note and hope someone would help. Wouldn’t do any good to write on the mirror. She had no doubt Boston would be sent to check the restroom.

  A knock on the door startled her. “Time to go, Mrs. M.” Marciano jiggled the knob.

  “I’m coming. Just a minute.” She tore off a paper towel and dug in her slacks for the spare tube of Rose Petale lipstick by Lancôme she always carried.

  “You’ve got thirty seconds exactly.”

  “No problem.” She flushed the toilet and pulled a tissue from her packet. She scribbled a phone number under her message. It read: I’m being abducted. This is no joke. Heading to cabin at Russell. Please call 555-7112. Trisha Morgan. She replaced her lipstick in her pocket and wadded the tissue into a ball. Trish unlocked the door and hurried past Marciano, walking fast.

  “Hold on, Mrs. M.” Marciano’s voice had risen and the young clerk, still behind the counter, gave him a questioning look.

  Trish waited till Marciano caught up to her. He took her arm and guided her to the restroom door. He opened the door and peeked in. Seemingly satisfied, he herded Trish toward the front door through an aisle stacked with cases of beer. Trish transferred the tissue to her free hand and unfolded it as best she could, waving it behind her. She glanced at the boy, gave him her most sorrowful look and dropped the tissue onto a display of bottles of windshield washer fluid sitting to one side of the front door. Marciano held the door open and she headed to the car, holding her breath that he would not go back inside.

  Boston had the rear car door open and Trish slipped inside. Marciano trudged to the other side and slid in. Trish was not sure but she thought she glimpsed the boy retrieving the tissue and returning to the counter. Please God, let it be so.

  “Mr. Boston, go check the lady’s room for anything unusual our friend here might have left for the police.”

  “The women’s room? Me?”

  “Yes, you. Go.”

  Boston muttered curses all the way in and all the way out. “Nothin’ there.” He got in and slammed the door.

  The ride resumed. Marciano bound Trish’s wrists again with a plastic wire. “That really hurts. Do I have to be handcuffed? Where am I going to go if I could get away? Am I going to hurl myself out of a car going seventy or eighty miles an hour?”

  Marciano smiled. “I just feel better about it if you have no possibility of escape. Humor me.” He shifted in the corner of the back seat and opened his coat. A bag of cheese puffs appeared, and he opened it. Trish raised an eyebrow; he shrugged. “They’ll never miss just one bag.”

  For the next 15 minutes Marciano crunched cheese puffs, finishing the entire bag. Trish couldn’t watch as the man licked every speck of orange residue covering his fingers.

  They came to a sign for Lake Hansen.

  “I think this might be the turnoff. Take this exit.”

  A fork in the road showed Lake Hansen left and Stadler right. “Go toward Stadler. I think our road is down that way. Kind of looks familiar.” Trish stared out the window as if searching for a landmark. They drove for a few minutes.

  Finally, Trish said, “Nope. This isn’t it. We need to go back to the Interstate. I don’t think we’re far enough yet.”

  “You’re sure?” Marciano did not look pleased.

  “Hell, no, I’m not sure. I told you I wasn’t that familiar with the place. But you wouldn’t listen. All I know is it doesn’t take this long to get to the gravel road from the highway.”

  Marciano sighed. “Back to the highway, Boston.”

  Two more times Trish led them off an exit and then back to the Interstate.

  The last time, Marciano exploded. “I believe you’re stalling for time, Mrs. Morgan. It will do no good.” He whipped out the same knife and flipped open the three-inch blade. He placed the sharp edge against her cheek. She thought she felt blood begin to trickle. “Now, enough delays and detours. Find me that cabin or you will hurt.”

  Trish swallowed hard. “I’m trying. I really am. It’s just that I can’t remember which exit to take. I know we’re close.” Her heart pounded against her chest. She had stalled as long as she could. Thankfully he put the knife away again. Brushing her hand across her cheek, she was relieved to find no blood.

  The exit for their cabin was the next one. “This off-ramp looks familiar.”


  Marciano stared at her. “It’d better be.”

  “Yes, I’m sure now.”

  They veered onto the exit and came to a stop sign.

  “Russell Road. This is it. That’s what I’ve been looking for. Turn right and go about a mile and a half. There’s a dirt road heading south. Take that. It’ll have a green mailbox on the right side of Russell.”

  “Go, Mr. Boston.”

  The car sped down the highway and turned onto a gravel road. The big Mercedes bounced and shimmied on the uneven surface. Overgrown weeds snatched at both sides of the car. Trees stood as silent sentinels crowding the area. They soon came to a rusted chain link gate blocking the lane. A large silver padlock reflected sunlight in the center of the gate.

  “Get us in there, Boston.”

  The driver slid out of the car. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a black pouch. From it he extracted a needle-like object. He inspected the padlock and inserted the tool. A little wiggle and the latch popped open. Boston smiled, pulled open the gate, and got back into the car.

  Trish looked at Marciano. “I guess you won’t be needing a key to the cabin.”

  Marciano gave her a smirk and shook his head. “How much farther is it?”

  “As I remember, we’ll come to a curve to the right. The cabin is just beyond. You can pull around back; the dirt track will bring you to the rear of the cabin.”

  The cabin, constructed of rough-hewn logs, sat on a slight bluff overlooking a fast-running creek. Across the road a higher bluff faced the cabin, providing a view from the front window of a sheer wall. The track dipped down to a rear entrance in the lower level of the cabin. A crudely built dock led to the water’s edge.

  Marciano pulled Trish out with him and looked around.

  The rear of two-story log cabin faced the Des Plaines River. A small covered landing framed the entrance. A red light on the security system box beside the door blinked at them.

  Maciano took a deep breath. “Very nice. I could use a place like this.”