by Linda Hanna
“Not necessarily.” Vi patted her companion on the back. “I’m still here.”
Wendell scowled at the news reporter’s presumption. “Stop the mule train, woman. I don’t recollec’ nothin’ about you taggin’ along.”
She patted her camera. “I’m sure, my friend Mr. Kodak can change your mind.” Vi shaded her eyes from the bright sun, and pointed to the street. “Wait a minute. There’s a policeman in his squad car. Let’s tell him and maybe he can get the ball rolling.”
With purposeful strides, Wendell and Vi headed for the poor, unsuspecting cop.
Ed rushed out the door. Why did Wendell always have to get his fingers into every pie? Of course, the old boy meant well, but he doggedly got in the way of progress with his exaggerations. Now Vi wanted to get into the act. Ed felt the need to shorten their reins, so he quickened his steps to catch up.
As the motivated couple approached the squad car, the clean-cut officer jauntily tilted his head down and glared over his reflective sunglasses.
“Wow!” Vi raised her camera and shot a few frames. “Talk about poster-boy good looks.”
“Well, he don’t do much for me. I think he oozes the charm of a slimy reptile myself.” Wendell laughed. “Besides, don’t ya think you’re a little long in the tooth for him?”
“Shut up, or I’ll misspell your name in my article.”
Wendell cleared his throat to get the officer’s attention.
The cop blatantly turned away and shut the car door.
Wendell poked his head inside the passenger window of the cruiser and cleared his throat again, this time with more gusto.
Finally, the policeman glanced their way with an agitated scowl.
The security guard made a quick introduction. “Hey there! The name is Wendell Floyd McGibbons an’ this here shutterbug is Vi Ashton.” He lowered his voice. “I figured out where Emily an’ Cora’s at.”
The cocky policeman raised his hand to silence the man who interfered with his official call. Once his report had been completed, the cop shuffled through some papers, and still disregarded the intruders.
Ed came up from behind and put his hand on Wendell’s shoulder. “Let’s not bother the police with a wild goose chase. They’re trained to find missing people. Let them do their job.”
The perturbed security guard leaned back inside the window and checked the cop’s name tag. Wendell stood, crossed his arms and looked down at him.
Ed smiled.
Wendell used the gesture he said gave him a psychological edge.
“Officer Reed?” Wendell’s security badge glistened in the sun as he tapped it. “Looky here, boy. Law enforcement’s what my family’s all about. My daddy an’ his daddy afore him was Texas Rangers. Know what that means?” He stepped forward. “It means we don’t back down.”
“This isn’t a game of cowboys and Indians,” the cop said. “Kidnapping is serious business and I’m not in a game-playing mood. So, go find your bingo buddies and get out of my way, old timer.” It wasn’t clear what Officer Reed mumbled as he raised the window, but the implication wasn’t overly cordial.
Ed felt sorry for poor Wendell. Dismissed. Just like that. Psychological edge and all. The man in cowboy boots and Stetson and his knobby-kneed, chain-smoking sidekick didn’t make much of an impression.
Vi took another puff of her filter tip and clenched her jaw. She pushed Wendell aside, and pounded on the cruiser window. The cop rolled it down and left a crack for her to speak through.
Her assertive voice was just above a whisper as she glared at the officer. “This man has pertinent information about the kidnapping case. It would behoove you to listen to what he has to say.” A vigorous bout of coughing cut her tirade short. She backed up and shoved Wendell towards the police car.
The arrogant cop smirked. “Behoove me?”
Apparently validated by the female reporter, Wendell leaned down to look the officer in the eye. “I know where them women are. They’re gonna meet us at Lickety Splits.”
Reed’s condescending smirk reappeared. “Let me get this straight. The kidnapped women are sitting in an ice cream parlor not five miles from home gulping down a tutti-frutti while waiting on you to save them?”
“Uh, yeah.”
Ed rolled his eyes. Oh, Wendell, Wendell, Wendell. When was he ever going to give up?
Reed stepped out of the squad car.
Wendell slowly tipped his head back as the officer stretched to his full height of over six feet.
“Alright, Lone Ranger,” the impatient policeman said. “Since you know where they are, why don’t you go pick them up? Take Tonto along so she can send us smoke signals when you find them. Oh, and while you’re at it, bring me back a mocha shake.”
Poor Wendell, shot down again.
The young officer made him look like a fool.
Ed’s presence hadn’t helped one iota.
Wendell shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Lone Ranger an’ smoke signals? Well, now, ain’t we the comedian? Just go ahead an’ poke fun, Reed. You’ll be whistlin’ another tune, later.”
“Remember, you had your chance,” Vi added.
“Ain’t our fault we know more’n you.” Wendell abruptly turned to Vi. “If brains were leather, that boy couldn’t saddle a flea. An’ ya can quote me on that.” He yanked a hanky from his pocket, and swiped his forehead. “Wish Jack could help me with this here rescue.”
“Why can’t he help us?”
“Aw, he’s busy pullin’ clipped poodle hair from Letitia’s bathtub drain, ‘bout now.” Wendell glared at the presumptuous woman. “An’ what do you mean ‘us’?”
Her darkly penciled eyebrows arched as if she were endowed with considerable leverage. The aggressive reporter answered. “Look, even a kick in the pants can be a step forward. I was a member of the White House press corps for thirty-eight years. If you want due credit…” Vi winked at Ed and lit another cigarette with the end of the last one. “I have contacts in all aspects of the national media and beyond, so it would be to your advantage to let me tag along and take pictures for my article.”
Ed sighed. At least this wild goose chase would keep Wendell out of the way. He had to hand it to Vi, she sure knew just the right buttons to push.
“Pitchers an’ national media?” Wendell contemplated the offer for a nano-second. “Ye-haw! Let’s get the show on the road, then.” He turned and stomped to his Jeep Grand Cherokee parked in his driveway.
Vi flipped her cigarette on the ground and crushed the ember beneath the toe of her low-heeled shoe. “Wait for Tonto, Kemo Sabe!” She wheezed as she ran to catch up with him.
Ed walked back to the house as Wendell’s Cherokee squealed from the cul-de-sac. He shook his head. “Hi yo, Silver!”
24
Cora watched mile after mile of arid landscape whiz by, and hoped to catch sight of something…anything familiar. Her nose twitched. “Oh, no.” She grabbed Emily’s arm and pointed to the hood. “Look! Steam.”
“It’s overheating.” Emily pulled to the side of the road. The car jerked to a stop and the loose rear fender fell off. “We’re not going anywhere in this rattletrap.”
The be-robed twins took a deep breath and grudgingly stepped out of the car. Cora bumped her foot on the door and winced in pain. “Ouch.” The deep gash on her ankle throbbed even more. “Em, come help me fix this bandage.”
“That looks awful, Sis. You may need stitches when we get home. I’ll double-wrap it for now. Hand me the first-aid kit Rhapsody gave us.”
While Cora put her bloodstained duck slipper back on, her twin surveyed the area. Emily found no shield from either sun or abductors. “I’m sorry, we have no choice but to walk.”
“We’re going to get burned to a crisp out in this sun.”
“You’re right.” Emily went to the back of the car. “I’ll look in the trunk to see if she has an umbrella. You grab our water and don’t forget the purse.” The trunk opened with a pathet
ic groan. “No umbrellas. Sorry. Umm, Cora-dear, how much dignity do you have left?”
Cora frowned. “And why would you ask?”
“Because I’ve got good news and bad news. Good news is we have protection from the sun.” Emily stepped into Cora’s line of view with an over-sized sombrero on her head. “This is the bad news.”
“Oh great.” Cora read the advertisement on the hat. “Happy Hot Birthday from Paco’s Tacos? And what, may I ask, are those hangy-down things?”
Emily giggled. “Peppers. So, do you want the red ones or the green ones?”
“Just gimme a stupid hat.”
“Here, take the green one. It compliments your fetching frock.”
Plastic peppers dangled before their eyes as they began their trek. Cora’s slippers continued their annoying quack and phttt with each step she took. For a half-hour they trudged through the relentless heat waves that hovered across the asphalt road.
Cora noticed a cloud of blowing dust on the horizon. She grabbed her sister’s arm and pointed. “Uh-oh. Looks like we have company. Think it’s a good guy or a bad guy?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Cora’s heart raced as the vehicle drew closer.
An SUV pulled up alongside them. Wendell rolled down his tinted window. “Well, if it ain’t Thelma an’ Louise. I thought we was gonna meet at Lickety Splits.”
The frazzled women lifted their sombreros and sighed with relief. Cora was first to speak. “I’m so glad to see you, Wendell. The car died, and we’ve been so afraid the kidnappers would catch up with us.”
Wendell hopped out of his Cherokee and helped them into the backseat, while Vi Ashton captured the rescue on film. The colorful sombreros were stacked in the seat between them.
Vi lowered the camera and retrieved her notebook. “Where were you held hostage? Do you know who the kidnapper is?”
“It was the Catchpenny Motel. I’ll never forget that nasty place.” Cora shuddered. “There were two kidnappers.”
“The gal’s name is Rita Santalis.” Emily looked out the rear window. “Where are the police? Weren’t you going to bring them with you?”
“Well, we talked to one cop.” Wendell huffed. “All capped teeth an’ phony charm, that boy was, he didn’t believe us. Once we pull up with both of you in tow, he’ll be whistlin’ a different tune.”
The maroon-haired reporter grabbed her camera and ordered, “Wendell, I need shots of that getaway car. Then, swing by the Catchpenny.”
Cora came up off her seat. “Don’t you dare take us back to that roach motel. Just get us as far away as possible.”
“Rita’s looking for us,” Emily said. “If El Bandido is with her, we’ll be shot on sight.”
A deep groan came from the driver’s seat. “Ya got yourself a point, there. S’pose we ought-a think it through a tad more, Lady Reporter?” When no answer came, he said, “How come you’re so quiet all of a sudden?”
“Just thinking about where to send this headline story. I still have connections at the Washington Post and a few other choice newspapers and magazines. My anchorman-friend in D.C. will be excited to get a firsthand account of the kidnapping, too. From there, it could go global.” A conspiratorial glance was passed between the driver and reporter.
“Yee-haw! Move over, Dahlia Sue. Ya ain’t gonna be the only celebrity in the fam’ly.”
“I can see the headlines, now,” Vi said. “Famous cook’s spouse cooks kidnapper’s goose.”
“Aw, you’re killin’ me, here.”
Vi laughed and removed the lens cap from her camera as the Cherokee pulled to a stop beside the lime green car. “Well, first things first. I need to get pictures of the car, and then the motel. I’ll have you pose in some.”
It was Emily’s turn to come up off her seat. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’re risking four lives just to get a picture for the paper?”
“Tell ya what,” Wendell offered. “If anybody even looks shifty, we won’t stop. We’ll just make it a drive by so Vi can shoot her pitchers.” He chuckled. “Could call it a drive-by shootin’.” He adjusted the rearview mirror and glanced at the exhausted women’s reaction. “Lay low, gals, an’ I’ll get ya home safe, an’ that there’s a promise.”
A few miles down the road, the dead silence was interrupted by Vi’s prolonged bout of coughing. With shaky hands, she tucked a cigarette in her mouth.
Wendell threw the self-imposing passenger a look that could curdle milk. “Don’t smoke in the Cherokee.”
“I don’t see any ‘no smoking’ signs.”
“I got asthma. That’s why I ain’t a Texas Ranger like my daddy an’ his daddy—”
“Yeah, yeah. Afore him, I know.” Vi took the cigarette from her mouth and pointed out the windshield. “There’s the Catchpenny.” The reporter poised her camera with the telephoto lens and snapped pictures of the rundown motel.
Emily reclined in the back seat while Cora wriggled down to a more comfortable position. They grabbed their sombreros to hide their faces while Vi’s camera clicked repeatedly.
“Now, Wendell, get out and let me get a shot with you pointing to the sign.”
When the photo session was finished, the Cherokee hit the road.
Vi quizzed the sisters for a firsthand account of the remarkable saga. “Do you remember anything else?”
“Yes,” Cora said. “Remember the Shipley murder/suicide? I heard the man say he was the one who actually killed them.”
Wendell wrinkled his nose. “Why, that stinkin’ polecat. They ought-a skin him alive. I knew all along that George wasn’t the kind of guy to kill hisself. An’ he loved his mama.”
Vi ravenously recorded the information provided by the sisters. An hour later, the aggressive reporter had the story, and the photos needed for her front-page exclusive.
The SUV made it back to the gated community without any complications. Wendell turned into the cul-de-sac. The Cherokee was blocked by the overabundance of television vans and police vehicles.
Curious residents were intermingled with the swarm of photographers congregated on the sidewalk and driveways. Cora and Emily hunched in the backseat of the SUV, their eyes peering above the window’s ledge.
A denim-clad figure caught Cora’s attention. She fought back a tide of panic and pointed, “I don’t believe it. That’s him over there!”
Emily glared in that direction. “Oh Cora, you’re right.”
Vi raised her camera. “I’ve got him in my viewfinder.”
Wendell looked. “Ya mean Sam?”
“No, silly. The man next to him. He’s the one who kidnapped us.” Cora maneuvered herself in the backseat. “Em, keep calm and duck down!” She feared the commotion would cause her sister’s fallible heart to falter. If the palpitations got bad, she’d need a nitro pill…and Rita still had them.
“That’s Jack. Aw, can’t be him. You’re pullin’ my leg, right?” Wendell questioned. “I don’t wanna doubt ya, but I can’t hardly believe it. Jack has breakfast with me every mornin’. He’s even been helpin’ me solve this here mystery.”
“You’re a fine judge of character, Lone Ranger.” Vi continued to take pictures of the alleged kidnapper. “I, on the other hand, ladies, don’t doubt you for a second.”
Wendell turned to the backseat. “You’re double-dog sure it’s Jack?”
“Yes, we’re sure,” Emily declared. “I’ve got pictures of him ransacking Ed’s office on my cell phone. That’s tangible evidence. Please tell me you still have my phone, Wendell.”
Wendell patted his leg. “It’s right chere in my pocket. I’ll give it to ya in the house. Ya say there’s pitchers on that phone? I sure didn’t see none.”
The reporter turned in her seat and stared wide-eyed at Emily. “You took pictures of Jack in Ed’s office? I can add those to my article.”
“Unless the Lone Ranger deleted them.”
Vi moaned. “Don’t even think that. Wendell, I need that phone right
now.”
“Can’t ya wait ‘til we get to Cora’s?”
“I need to send copies of those pictures to my cell phone. I won’t be able to do it later because the police will confiscate it.”
With a slight hesitation, Wendell handed over Emily’s phone.
“It’ll only take me a couple clicks. There! It’s done.”
Wendell fidgeted behind the wheel as he honked the horn to get past the crowd. “There ain’t no way we’re gonna get through here.” He put the Cherokee in reverse, and slowly backed out of the cul-de-sac.
“Where are we going, Wendell?” Vi asked.
“There’s more than one way to pluck a buzzard. We’re goin’ in the back way.”
Vi clenched her teeth. “There is no back entrance, Wendell.”
“Sez who?” He sniffed. “Just wait an’ see.”
The car turned onto Shifting Sands Avenue, and raced to the clubhouse of Ed’s golf course. Wendell smirked and nodded to the golf carts. “Ya need to trust me, Scoop.”
“Fine. I stand corrected.”
“Just make sure ya spell my name right in that hoity-toity article of yours.”
The sisters crammed on their sombreros, and climbed in the back of the cart. The foursome took off down a path en route to Cora’s backyard. The ladies white-knuckled it as they bounced through the rough and skirted the greens on the fifth hole.
Over the next hill, the eighth hole was in play. Wendell’s comb-over dangled over his ear, and he licked his fingers a couple times to smooth it back into place. “Playin’ through!” he yelled to the golfers.
Emily and Cora pulled the sombreros further over their eyes.
One of the disgruntled men shouted, “Get that cart back on the path.”
Wendell veered to the left, and nearly hit one of the players. “Official po-lice business!” he hollered loudly over his shoulder. “Carry on.”
The golf cart jerked up the last small hill and rounded the top. When Wendell released the pedal, their front wheel entered the edge of a sand trap. The passengers braced themselves as the small vehicle lurched to a stop.