Reluctant Runaway

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  “Yes, Mr. Spellman, but this isn’t the number I left with your secretary.”

  “Yes, I know. Unfortunately, she mislaid that one. But the police told me you were coming to Albuquerque and where you’d be staying.”

  “Would that be Officer Gillis and his partner who filled you in?” Foul play, gentlemen. They overstepped professional bounds giving out that information.

  Spellman cleared his throat. Maybe he guessed he’d said more than he should about loose lips in his local PD. “Well, it doesn’t really matter. Why did you call me, Ms. Jacobs?”

  “As the head of HJ Securities, I wanted to let you know that I’m here if you have any questions or concerns about your loss.” Desi walked over to the kitchen window and looked out onto a cement patio. A large shed occupied most of the yard beyond that. Not a garage. What was it? She pulled her mind back to the phone conversation.

  “I’m up to my neck in questions and concerns,” the administrator said, “but the police are handling the investigation. Or they were until the FBI decided an Indian artifacts case needed to be theirs.” The man sounded like his breakfast didn’t agree with him.

  “I’m aware that the authorities have the case in hand.” Try nearly being hog-tied by a bullheaded boyfriend determined to make that point. “We’re happy to let them do their job, but we’re also committed to making our expertise available to you and to them.”

  Spellman snorted. “Your expertise should have stopped this nightmare from happening. As of today, I want your staff to stay clear of museum property. We’re going to look for a new security service.”

  She took a deep breath. Daddy, I could do with a dose of your patience. “I’m sure you’re aware that there are circumstances no security company can guard against.”

  “Like treacherous employees? I keep hearing that song and dance, but a faithful employee died defending this museum.”

  “A terrible thing, Mr. Spellman. Do you know if he had family?”

  “Well, ah … er, no. But I’ll find out. In the meantime, unless someone can offer me ironclad proof that one of my people is a thief, I don’t want to hear the suggestion again.”

  “Is that why you suspended Brent Webb from his duties?”

  Indrawn breath. “Webb is a student, not an employee.”

  “And his missing wife?”

  “You tell me. You’re staying at her mother’s house.”

  “But you wouldn’t object to her being guilty?” Why was she pushing this man? The soul of diplomacy she wasn’t today.

  Heavy pause. “Mrs. Webb was a part-time receptionist with a poor work record over the past eight months. Her supervisor has been reprimanded for keeping her on. Whether that means she’s an accomplice in the theft, I’m not prepared to guess.”

  She turned and grimaced at Max, who was staring at her with a dirty dish in hand. Jo scrubbed at a frying pan, lips pursed. Good thing the woman couldn’t hear the administrator’s side of the conversation, or he might wind up with a load of buckshot in his tail.

  Desi switched the phone to her other ear. “Mr. Spellman, we both want the culprits to be caught. Just as no security company can guard against every eventuality, no employer can guarantee his employees’ honesty. We need to continue working together, especially since we know little yet. Maybe I could drop in and see you in person later today.”

  The man on the other end cleared his throat. “That might be all right. I’d be interested to hear why you’re staying at the childhood home of one of the suspects.”

  Desi forced a laugh. “That’s an easy one. Other answers may be harder to come by. Does two-thirty work for you?”

  “Make it at least three.”

  “I’ll see you at three, Mr. Spellman.” Desi put the phone back in its stand and whirled toward Max and Jo. “Aagh! Mr. Concerned Administrator hasn’t bothered to find out if his dead employee was a family man, but he’s sure busy hunting a scapegoat for the theft—as long as it’s not someone on his payroll.”

  Jo shook her head as she put the pan into the dishwasher. “One of those tooth-grindin’ conversations.”

  Max crossed her arms and leaned a hip against the counter. “Tough customer, eh? At least you got in to see him. Maybe you can check out the theft scene while you’re at it.”

  “I’ll take a look, but after multiple law enforcement agencies and the experts from our Denver office have swept through there, I don’t expect to find anything new.” Desi looked at Jo, who was wiping her hands on a towel. “I’m no private detective. If I uncover anything that might help find Karen, even if it’s incriminating, I’m going to head straight for Agent Ortiz.”

  “Understood.” Jo nodded.

  “And stop stonewalling me when I ask questions that make you uncomfortable.”

  Jo’s chin came up. “I’m not uncomfortable talkin’ to a genuine seeker about the Reverend Romlin. Karen was helped by his broadcasts and the ministry team that visited after Adam was born. That church of Brent’s didn’t offer much personal attention.”

  So there was the bone of contention between Brent and Jo. Interesting to know what Brent’s side of the story was. “This is no witch hunt. I’m trying to understand what Karen might have been thinking when she disappeared.”

  Jo tossed the towel onto the counter. “Ask what you want on the way to the airport. But if you try to smear the Reverend, you’ll have me to answer to.” The woman stalked out.

  “Whew!” Max shook her head. “You mash her buttons almost as well as her ex. She should be kissin’ your feet for helpin, and she acts like you’re a threat.”

  “Maybe I should get a hotel room.” Desi scratched her head.

  “A cell phone’s playin’ somethin’ majestic from Karen’s room!” Jo’s voice carried from the other end of the house.

  “That’ll be mine.” Desi headed for the bedroom. Brent came through the front door with Adam in his car seat as she hurried past. She waved at him. “Tiptoe in with sock feet.”

  “Jo’s on the warpath, eh?” His laugh followed her.

  Desi got to her phone right when it stopped playing Agnus Dei. She checked her missed calls record and groaned.

  Max came in and started tossing things into her wheelie. “Bad news?”

  “Paris office. If it’s not coming from one direction, it’s another.”

  “More of that wranglin’ over contract language with the Louvre?”

  “No doubt. Chances are I won’t be going with you to the airport. Jo isn’t really open to talking to me anyway. When I’m done with Paris, I’ll rent a car and skedaddle for Santa Fe.”

  Max laid a hand on Desi’s arm. “Stay in touch. Okay? And call Tony with an update.”

  Desi sighed. “Only because I miss the big lug, but I know he’ll give me a lecture.”

  “Hey, at least he cares.” Max went back to packing. “He could be a good source of information. Get him to sniff around after our good Reverend. He’s got resources we couldn’t even dream about.”

  “Maxie-girl, you’re a gem. Just when I think this whole morning’s a bust, you hand me a nugget.” Desi picked up a framed photograph from the dresser. “This must be Karen. How old was she in this picture?”

  Max looked over her shoulder. “Seventeen. That was her senior picture.”

  A husky young woman stood framed in an adobe archway. She wore jeans and a light-colored buckskin jacket with fringes around the shoulders. Her features were pleasant and regular, skin tanned or naturally bronzed. One hand rested against the arch; the fingertips of the other touched the squash blossom necklace at her throat—either the same necklace or a copy of the one her mother wore.

  Karen’s elbow-length dark hair flowed long and loose with a hint of the curl from Jo and Max’s side of the family. But the attractive widow’s peak on her forehead was a unique feature. Full, rouged lips curved into a smile that imitated sultry but didn’t quite pull it off. Too pinched at the edges. And the eyes—

  Desi’s heart wren
ched.

  Poster child for a lonely generation in the midst of a crowded world.

  A feminine scream sounded from the other room, followed by a male shout. The baby wailed.

  Desi locked gazes with Max, and they both charged for the great room.

  Six

  She’s alive! She’s alive!” Jo had Brent in a bear hug, and they whirled around the room.

  They stopped when Desi and Max skidded to a halt in front of them. Wearing a goofy grin, Jo stepped away from Brent. The baby howled from his car seat in the middle of the floor.

  “Karen’s alive!” Brent blurted, face flushed.

  Max stared from one to the other. “What in the world—”

  “My car is gone.” Jo grasped her sister’s arms. “And Karen’s the only one with an extra set of keys. Mine are still hangin’ in the foyer.”

  Brent knelt to unbuckle his son from the seat. His hands shook.

  Desi let out a gust of breath. “I hate to be the killjoy, but anyone who knows how to hot-wire a car could have stolen it.”

  Jo shook her head so hard the beads on her necklace rattled. “It’s Karen. I know … in here.” She tapped her chest.

  “Your inner witness?” Way to antagonize the woman, but this situation kept going from nuts to bonkers.

  “A mom’s knowing. But you can’t relate to that.”

  Touché, lady. Desi looked down.

  Max touched Desi’s shoulder. “Jo, my friend is tryin’ to help … at your request.”

  “Okay, so I’m touchy. But now that I’ve found somethin’ real, my sister and her friend are still passin’ judgment on my beliefs. I’m tired of it, and I … Oh, never mind.” Jo looked toward Desi. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more cooperative.”

  “Forget it.” Desi waved a hand. “So back to the car theft. Why did it have to be Karen?”

  “Yeah.” Max tilted her head. “Pete was plenty mad at you when he left here—”

  “I doubt it was Pete.” Brent stood up, holding Adam.

  Jo nodded. “Not Pete’s style. He’s more likely to get wasted and wreck the vehicle with a crowbar, not sneak off with it in the night.”

  Brent switched Adam from one arm to the other. “When Karen disappeared, so did our rattletrap of a second car. If it died on her, this is the logical place she’d come for fresh wheels.”

  “Fair enough.” Desi pointed at Jo. “You’re going to call the FBI, and that’s what you’re going to tell them.”

  “Got it!” She smiled and years fell away from her face. “So when they find my car, they find my daughter.” She bounded toward the kitchen.

  Brent looked at his watch. “I’m going to be late for work. Maybe I should call in—”

  “No,” Max said. “You need to be where Karen would expect to find you if she’s lookin’.”

  “Good thinking.” Desi nodded to Max.

  “And you need to call Paris, remember?”

  “I haven’t forgotten, but first I’m going to call a cab. You and Adam have a flight to catch. And I’m going along to make sure you’re safe—”

  “Nix that. You stay and see what the feds say about the disappearance of Jo’s car.”

  “But Pete Cheama’s out there.”

  “So?” Max took Adam from Brent. “Me and Little Bit’ll be fine. What do you think the dude can do in the middle of a crowded airport with me screamin’ my head off and scratchin’ his eyes out?”

  Desi laughed. “I almost forgot you’re Texas Irish like your sister.”

  “You got that right. Let’s hop to it.”

  The room emptied in a flurry Desi held Adam while Max finished packing. Then they waited on the porch for the cab. Agent Ortiz would descend on the house soon.

  Desi nudged Max. “If Karen was here last night, don’t you think it’s strange she didn’t try to speak to her mother? At least reassure her that she’s okay?”

  Strain lines appeared around Max’s mouth. “Nothin’ has added up right yet.”

  The cab arrived, and Desi helped the driver load the bags into the trunk while Max installed Adam’s car seat. A few minutes later, Desi watched the cab and its precious cargo pull away. Then she walked back toward Jo’s house.

  How maddening to think the missing girl might have been so close, and they missed her. Father God, keep Karen safe wherever she is.

  Behind her, a vehicle pulled up. She turned to see the Hispanic agent climb out of the passenger seat of a dark blue sedan. Ortiz wore a crisp brown A-line skirt, a cream-colored blouse, and a blazer that matched the skirt. Her walk was confident, face tight and eager. Delighted about the new lead, but not, Desi bet, for the same reason as Jo.

  Desi didn’t want to be the one to point out the obvious to Max’s sister: If Karen was desperate enough to steal her own mother’s car and not say boo to her loved ones, she was more than a runaway. She must be in trouble up to her cute little widow’s peak. The possibility of a murder charge due to that guard’s death fit the bill.

  Agent Ortiz nodded at Desi. “Good morning. Thank you for notifying us. Do you know where the vehicle was parked?”

  “Jo called it in. I think the car was in the port next to the house.”

  “That’s right.” Jo came up to them. “I’ll show you.” The agent lifted a hand. “No, let me check out the area. Wait here, please.”

  “You need a hand, Orty?” A voice called from the direction of the sedan. A slender man in a rumpled suit leaned against the front bumper. He took something out of his pocket, a crack sounded, pieces sprinkled on the ground, and then he popped an item into his mouth.

  A peanut?

  Desi looked toward Ortiz, who curled her lip toward her partner.

  “Hang tight, Stuey.” The name was dipped in sarcasm. “I’ll let you know.”

  The man nodded and pulled another peanut from his pocket.

  Ortiz headed for the carport.

  Jo’s fingers closed around Desi’s upper arm. “I want them to find Karen … and yet I’m scared for it to happen. Can you understand that?”

  Desi laid her hand over Jo’s. “I may not have children, but I know what it’s like to be afraid for a loved one.”

  “Thanks. I’m sorry about that remark earlier.” Jo took a deep breath. “I feel like shell corn on a hot skillet. Sometimes the heat gets too much, and I pop off.” She tried a smile, but her eyes stayed dark and sad.

  “Rhoades!” Ortiz’s shout came from the carport. “Get the lab on the horn and tell them to trot out here. We’ve got what looks like blood here.”

  “Blood?” Jo’s fingers turned to claws around Desi’s arm. “Oh no! My baby’s hurt.” The woman turned, wild-eyed, and raced toward the carport.

  Tony’s rigid thumb ruffled a stack of papers on his desk. He pushed stiff fingers through his hair. Might feel great to jerk some of it out about now.

  He stared at the map in front of him. Three red circles glared back. The little eyes marked trucking companies in Boston that had branch offices in Hollywood, California, a hotspot for pirates of copyrighted property.

  This case was the most massive and organized bootlegging operation Tony had ever seen. The public had no idea the amount of money that exchanged hands over pirated music and videos, and they usually skipped past that pesky FBI warning on DVDs. They’d probably start a grassroots uprising if they realized how much pirates cost honest folks in higher prices.

  So while the FBI in L.A. hunted for the copying center, he’d been handed the job of cornering the distributor. Perfect sideline for a legitimate national freight company? You bet! Tony smacked the map with an open palm. Problem was no judge would give them a search warrant for all three trucking companies. And since the black marketeer they arrested with the goods last night had zipped his lips, they didn’t have enough cause to go after the most likely suspect: Gordon Trucking.

  Tony’s fingers rummaged through his hair again. Why was he doing that?

  Desi. She liked his hair a mess, and she was n
ever far from his mind. What was that lovely lady doing today? Sleeping in? Not likely. One o’clock in Boston, but 10 a.m. in Albuquerque. She’d no doubt been up for hours—and up to who knew what.

  His little crusader wouldn’t be able to resist helping Max’s family. He knew it better than she did. Scary thought, for him. Too bad she hadn’t figured out how dangerous the tendency to ride to the rescue could be in this nasty world.

  Would you have her any other way?

  He shook his head. Too deep a subject for a quick answer. Better see if any of the other squad members had uncovered anything to give this dead end fresh direction. He looked out the glassed-in enclosure of the private office he rated as squad supervisor.

  What little he could see of the bullpen showed few agents at their stations. The rest of the squad was out chasing leads. Or more likely, chasing their tails, the way this case was going.

  In their seats, Tony counted Ben Erickson, Valerie Polanski, and Matt Slidell. Ben was on the phone, Valerie filling out paperwork, and Matt glued to his computer screen. What else was new? The wunderkind wouldn’t miss a slipped decimal point in the stockholder’s reports of “Ham” Gordon’s corporation, but it would take a nuclear explosion to get him on another task until he finished. Talk about a one-track mind.

  Tony stood, tugged his cell phone from his belt pouch, and checked the charge. Good. Desi had called him last night to let him know she and Max had arrived at the Cheama home. If she called again, he’d be available.

  He took a step toward his office door, and the desk phone rang. He went back to his chair but didn’t sit. He’d done too much of that today. How did the professional paper pushers stand it?

  Pun intended.

  “Lucano here.” He heard the sound of heavy breathing, like someone puffing from a long run or maybe pain.

  “You Desiree … Jacobs’s boyfriend?” The voice was male.

  Tony stiffened. “Who wants to know?”

  “Please I—” the man sucked in a breath—”know her face. From the news. Same place … I got your name.”

  “What do you want with Ms. Jacobs?” Tony pressed a button on his phone. This call will be recorded to insure quality crook control He waved like a demented cheerleader at his team members outside the glass walls.