Joseph's Kidnapping

by Randy Rawls

  “Same with me,” Chip said. “Here’s the breakfast basket. You’ll see it’s empty. I’m good until dinner. Hold onto that pasta though, your sauce is tops.”

  Annie gave both of us a look of disappointment. “Humph. Well, at least I’ve got Frank. Mr. Edwards, Wanda’s inside in the parlor and would like to talk to you. Mr. Jamison, you don’t need to listen. Go on around back to the Texas Room, and I’ll bring you some iced tea.”

  Chip shrugged and followed orders. No doubt about who ran the house. I never claimed to be independent so I followed Annie to see what Wanda wanted.

  “I’m going into Canton shopping,” Wanda said. “Ms. Boyd called and said she had an antique I might be interested in. Want to come with me?”

  Her tone of voice said she expected me escort her for the afternoon. “Sorry, Chip and I will be looking at lists this afternoon.” I hoped she’d accept my alibi. An afternoon shopping for antiques scored a minus three on my list of things most enjoyable. Of course, spending an afternoon with Wanda topped the list.

  “I’ll fix it.” She bounced up and was out of the room before I could protest. A few minutes later, she returned. “Matt’s with Chip, and he knows the names better than Chip. We’ll be back in time for dinner.”

  What could I say? Antiques, blah. Wanda, yippee.

  We walked outside, and Frank stood, holding the door to my convertible open, top down. I noticed a pasta stained dish on a small table near him. The guy must never leave his post. After installing Wanda in the passenger seat, I crawled through the backseat to the driver’s side.

  “Aren’t you quite the gentleman?” she said through laughter. “Is this the way you act when you’re trying to impress a lady? Or, is it your goal to keep me guessing what comes next?”

  “Yep. You’re right on target. Take your pick.”

  When we hit the main road, I turned left toward Canton and a black pickup truck appeared in my rearview mirror. My stomach flip-flopped as I remembered the one I’d seen yesterday, or the day before. The events of last night and this morning had caused me to lose track of time. But whatever, it gave me a bad feeling.

  The pickup settled in about a hundred yards behind. I sped up and it held its distance. I slowed. Same thing. My stomach did an entire circus routine. No matter how hard I squinted at the rearview mirror, I couldn’t make out the driver, but I guessed he wore a western hat. “Wanda, look behind us. See that truck. Does it mean anything to you?”

  She turned. “Nope. Just a black pickup. Why do you ask?”

  “No good reason.” I drove into Canton with the truck holding its position. I turned onto South Buffalo Street and whipped into a parking space. The pickup continued north on Route 64, Dallas Street. I got out of the car on nervous knees and walked around to open Wanda’s door. I wondered if I were getting paranoid about being paranoid. Wanda’s smile returned me to the present, making me glad to be alive.

  Canton is a small town, but interesting. We wandered from store to store. Everyone knew Wanda and appeared to like her. She showed me off like a new hat, beaming as she did so. I’m not sure my feet touched the pavement all afternoon.

  However, I learned one thing. Either there were a lot of black pickup trucks driven by cowboys in straw hats or my friend stayed busy keeping up with us. When I pointed it out to Wanda, she said I was nuts.

  Later, we sat in a small restaurant on Dallas Street, sipping sodas. “Fill me in on First Monday,” I said. “I walked around the grounds yesterday, but other than its awesome reputation, I know little about it.”

  “It’s wild,” Wanda replied. “You have to experience it to believe it. For three days each month, Canton transforms itself into a bustling little city with wall-to-wall vendors and shoppers. Every motel and campground within miles are filled. People come in from Oklahoma, Louisiana, Arkansas, and New Mexico. As far away as North Carolina to the east and California to the west. It’s a crazy three days—more like six days including setup and breakdown time.”

  “But what is it? What do they sell?” I wanted a grasp on its size and diversity, plus I loved to hear Wanda talk.

  “Anything from live chickens to antique saloon doors, from burros to hundred year old wagon wheels, fertilizer sacks to fine silk, rotted saddles to English antique furniture. We’ll walk the grounds, and you’ll see for yourself.” She grinned. “If you haven’t been to a First Monday, you’ve missed a spectacle.”

  “I believe you, but how did it start? After all, Canton’s not a center of commerce.” I didn’t want to insult her, but Canton’s population is in the neighborhood of three thousand people, and it’s been that way for most of the last hundred years.

  Wanda sipped her soda for a moment. “Some say it dates back to right after the Civil War. Ranchers and farmers met in the square to buy, trade, and sell horses, produce, or whatever they had.” She chuckled. “It’s been called Trades Day and Hoss Monday. But whatever, it took off and became the show it is today. Talk to most anyone in Texas and they’ve heard of First Monday.”

  “When’s the next one?”

  “Hmm, it’s the weekend preceding the first Monday of the month.” She stopped and thought. “That’s next weekend, isn’t it?”

  I looked at a pocket calendar from my billfold. “Yeah, that’s it. Will you be my guide?”

  * * * *

  The afternoon passed, and all too soon, we headed toward the ranch. Today had been a day of peace, companionship, and comfort. Wanda and I fit together like two old shoes. As I drove, I compared her to Terri and how I felt about Terri. It left me confused.

  “Ace, come back, Ace.” Wanda touched my arm snapping me into the present. “Where were you? You seemed so far away.”

  “Ah, nothing—just letting my mind drift.”

  “I thought you’d like to know there’s a black pickup behind us,” she said in a worried voice. “It’s been there since Canton. I’m beginning to think you’re right. Someone may be watching us. Could it be Joseph’s kidnapper?”

  I cursed. I was supposed to be the professional, but I’d taken my mind off the job. “I don’t know, but let’s find out if he wants to play.” I kicked the Chrysler, and it jumped up to seventy-five as we raced down Route 64. We hit the small village of Ben Wheeler, and I took a hard right onto 858, my tires squealing in protest. That’s a curving country road that intersects 1653 near Martins Mill. I wheeled onto 1653 and pulled over on the shoulder. A moment later, the pickup truck raced by. I watched it disappear. Someone had been following us—and he had talent. My conclusion was he was the kidnapper or Peanut’s killer, or maybe both in the same body. Sweat beaded. I looked at Wanda and saw a small shudder convulse her.

  She leaned against me. “This is your life, isn’t it? You live on the edge all the time?” She punctuated her comments with a kiss on the cheek.

  My mom would have chastised me for not correcting her, but I let it ride. It felt too good having her worry about me.

  I took a pad from the center console and wrote down TKZ-Q3?

  “What’s that?” Wanda asked.

  “The first five characters of the license plate. I couldn’t read the last digit. I’ll get a friend in Dallas on it. Maybe he can narrow it down for us.” I tore off the top sheet and put it in my shirt pocket. “Let’s see what Annie has for dinner.” I hoped my trepidation didn’t show.

  SIXTEEN

  When Wanda and I pulled up in front of Chip’s house, we got the usual reception—Frank opening car doors. He wore a different color drugstore-cowboy shirt making me wonder how many Chip had bought. I’d seen red, blue, green and yellow. But the trim remained the same with CTC displayed over the left breast in prominent letters.

  Wanda went upstairs while I looked for Chip. I found him in the Texas Room, surrounded by slips of paper.

  “So there you are,” he said. “I feared you and Wanda had gotten lost. Find anything interesting in Canton?”

  I decided to hold the black pickup for later. “Can I use the p
hone? I need to call a friend in Dallas.”

  “Sure. Do you want privacy? I can—”

  “No, you’re fine.” I chuckled. “After all, it’s your dime.”

  I dialed and waited for an answer. After four rings, “Hello.”

  “Tom, old buddy, how are you?”

  Like me, Tom Roberts had been a Dallas cop. But unlike me, he invested his retirement fund in education. He took enough courses to become a computer nerd and now made a large and steady income solving other people’s problems. Not bad for a guy who spent his first career chasing nasty people down dark alleys. Of course, being an ex-cop, he kept his ear to the curbstone. If you needed to nail a rumor, Tom Roberts had it. Since we were partners on the force, and I pulled him out of a few tight spots, he did research for me on the cuff. I assured him I’d pay when my first oil well came in.

  We made our way through the usual insults and other amenities before I said, “Need a favor.”

  “Wow, am I surprised? Is this one for charity, or should I put it on your tab?”

  “I thought you had a buy two, get one free policy. This is my third, so it should be free.”

  Tom laughed a hearty laugh. “Putting it on your tab or calling it free. Same thing, ain’t it?”

  “Okay, do I get the favor?”

  “Sure. Let fire. Hell, you’re the most exciting thing happening in my Winnie the Pooh world.”

  “I need you to trace a plate.”

  “Okay, can do. What’s it all about?”

  “A case I’m working in Canton. Here’s the first five characters.”

  He agreed to run a trace after lecturing me it might not help much. “There could be up to thirty-five vehicles with the missing digit, nine possible numbers and twenty-six possible letters. And, you know that out of thirty-five plates, at least two-thirds are going to be pickup trucks. This is Texas, you know.”

  I gave him Chip’s number and hung up, mumbling to myself.

  Chip had a hard look in his eyes. “What was that about?”

  I shrugged and filled him in on my fear of surveillance.

  He wasn’t thrilled, but he echoed my shrug. “Don’t let Wanda get hurt in this mess. And don’t try to be a hero and get yourself killed.”

  “Why thank you, Chip. I didn’t know you cared.”

  “It’s not for you, it’s for Wanda. Annie told me about last night, and, while I might have picked a different man, I’m not too disappointed with her choice. So, don’t do anything to make her sad, like getting yourself all broke up—or dead. Also, don’t think about running out on her.”

  “Whoa, Chip. I’m not one of your hands and neither is Wanda. Whatever happens with us will happen, and I won’t report to you. If you can’t handle that, I drive out of here.” He’d pissed me off with his Big Brother lecture, and I let it show.

  “Okay, okay. I was out of line. Do you want to hear what Matt and I came up with when we checked the old records?”

  I glared at him an extra moment, then grinned. “Yep, I’m all ears. Did you find our Mel? Did he work here?”

  “No. Nothing close. We went through our payroll records all the way back to when I first started the place. There’s not one Mel in the bunch.” He slumped in his chair. “Seems to be a dead end.”

  While I attempted to find something to say that would lift Chip’s spirits, the phone rang. Annie must have picked up because she appeared at the door. “It’s him, Mr. Jamison. The one that took Joseph.”

  We did our lift the phones at the same time routine again, and I flipped on the recorder as Chip said, “Okay, what do you want? I’m tired of these games.” I watched an amazing transformation take place. The spunky Chip had returned.

  “Now, easy, Muster Jamison. I’m thinking three thousand five-dollar bills is too many to handle. Can you make it ten dollar bills?”

  “Damn, you’re a pain in the ass.” Chip grinned at me. “I have three thousand five-dollar bills right here, and you want me to change them. Hell, I ought to forget the whole thing. I can get another burro.”

  I looked at him. I never expected to hear that. Mel must have agreed with me.

  “Now, don’t be getting all riled up, sir. I can take the fives. They ain’t new ones, is they? Them new’uns stick together so bad they’s hard to spend.”

  I was afraid Chip would blow it by laughing out loud. His face turned red, and his eyes danced. To hide it, he coughed. After a moment, he recovered and said, “Sorry, Mel. Must be coming down with a bug or something. Where do I leave the money?”

  The caller paused then said, “You know that cemetery down the road from you. I mean the Holly Springs Cemetery, the one behind the Methodist Church.”

  Chip frowned. “Yeah, I know it.”

  “There’s a meeting place back there by the cemetery, a covered place where people gather. You know where I mean?”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “I want you to leave the money there on the table in the meeting place. That’s what I want. Put it in a box, and I’ll get it.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Chip said. “You want me to leave fifteen thousand dollars in five-dollar bills on a table out in the open at the Holly Springs Cemetery? Is that what you want? Sounds kind of stupid to me. Anybody can walk up and take it.”

  I cupped the phone and whispered, “Easy, easy. Ask him when.”

  There was silence for a moment, then Chip added, “Okay, I’ll do what you ask. When do you want it? Will you be there to pick it up?”

  “That’s better, Muster Jamison. I want it dropped at three o’clock in the morning, next Monday.”

  “I’m too busy for this kind of crap, Mel,” Chip interrupted. “I’m going to put my man on. He’ll take care of the details. Tell him how you want it. It’s right here, but it’s in a heavy box. You might need some help. Good-night, Mel. By the way, what’s the rest of your name?”

  “You ain’t gonna trick me again. Jist put your man on.”

  I uncovered the mouthpiece as Chip placed his hand over his. “Yes sir, what can I do for you?” I hoped he wouldn’t realize I’d been listening.

  “Are you Muster Jamison’s man, that smart-ass private dick from Dallas? Is you the one whut’s gonna deliver the money?”

  “Yep, that’s me. Name’s Ace, what’s yours?”

  “You don’t need to know, wise-ass. You jist do whut I tell you.” I noted more confidence in his voice now that he thought he dealt with a flunky. He described the drop off place again, the cemetery on Route 1653.

  “I understand,” I said. “But why three a.m.? I like my sleep. Let’s make it at high noon.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, wise-ass. Then you could see me. But you’ll never find me in the night. I am the night, no one can see me. Three o’clock in the morning next Monday. I won’t call again.”

  “But, Mel—”

  “You know, you’s making a bad decision mixing in this. Never know whut might happen. Is you married? It’d be a shame fer you to leave a widder.”

  He laughed in a demented manner as the phone went dead in my hand. I looked toward Chip who was replacing his handset. I did the same. “Today’s Thursday. Looks like we have a weekend to get ready for this. I’ve got a few ideas I’d like to bounce off you, but first tell me about the cemetery.”

  Chip grinned. “It’s an old cemetery that dates to the 1860’s, the earliest days of white settlers in this area. Most of my ancestors are buried there. I’m sure Wanda would be willing to give you a tour. Now, tell me what you’re thinking.”

  We talked ten to fifteen minutes before Annie interrupted by announcing dinner. As soon as she said it, I salivated. Two reasons, one, Annie’s cooking and two, Wanda’s company.

  It was another Texas extravaganza—Annie’s cooking and my appetite. The catfish fillets were grilled to perfection. But before the heat struck them, they’d been marinated in something that gave them a flavor far beyond scrumptious. For a vegetable, a casserole outfoxed my
investigative skills. I identified squash and tomatoes. The rest remained a mystery. But it sure tasted good. Some sort of twice or thrice cooked potatoes and homemade biscuits finished the main course. Oh, she also re-heated the pasta and sauce from lunch. Chip had been right. Of course, there was iced tea and for dessert, a French Apple pie that made me think of my grandmother.

  As I stuffed myself, I looked at Wanda and wondered how she managed to keep her weight under control living under these high-calorie conditions. In Chip’s case, I didn’t have to wonder because I had seen the results hanging over his belt.

  During dinner, Chip and I brought Wanda up to date on the latest phone call and played the tape several times. Each time Chip went into his coughing routine, all three of us laughed.

  After the third playing, Wanda asked, “Okay, how are you going to handle it, and what’s my part?”

  I looked at Chip and said, “That pass is to you. I’m not intercepting it.”

  “Oh yes, you are,” Chip said. “You must know by now I hired you to get Joseph out of this mess—and to field questions from my sister. What is her part?”

  My thoughts would have been banned in Boston. Hell, they’d have been banned in San Francisco. Instead of voicing them, I turned to Wanda. “You can give me a walk-through of the cemetery and show me First Monday this weekend as we planned. I’m sure while I’m playing tourist, I’ll come up with something.”

  SEVENTEEN

  The next day, I breakfasted with Chip on another of Annie’s scrumptious repasts. Wanda slept in again so, after eating, I excused myself, thinking I’d slip off to the cottage for a quick nap. There was nothing in particular for me to do. As I approached the front door, I heard a ruckus from inside the house. I recognized it because I’ve heard it many times before—two cats racing at full speed, banging against things that don’t jump out of their way—like tables, chairs, and vases. I grinned at the familiar sounds. They signaled the boys had adapted well to their home away from home. I hoped Chip wouldn’t subtract the damages from my pay.