No Feign No Gain

by Carrie Ann Knox

  The blender noise stopped and Jackson’s voice reappeared in my ear, interrupting my search. “Maybe I should go check on your friend,” he said. “The toilet could be acting up again. It does a thing sometimes.”

  “Oh, I’d leave her be,” Sloan said quickly. “She might be a minute.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “She has IBS.”

  My jaw dropped. Really? Nothing else you could come up with?

  But I couldn’t blame her. The lie was for my benefit. My extremely slow, non-clue-finding benefit.

  “Oh.” Jackson left that alone. “Alright, then.”

  “Besides, it gives us a minute to get to know each other better,” Sloan continued. I pictured her leaning in casually. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  Distracting with flirtation. Of course. I could really learn from a master.

  I shook off my embarrassed annoyance and picked up the pace, determined to find something new. My career depended on us figuring this out. And right now it was all on me.

  There was just no time to tear apart Jackson’s bedroom, with him steps away. I’ll surely be caught. I snapped a few quick photos as an inventory and retreated.

  There was one final door at the end of the hallway. I held my breath as I reached for it. It had to hold the key.

  No such luck. Nothing but a linen closet. I sighed and glanced over the contents, disappointed. Shelves of towels and bedding, clearly divided by roommate. The items on the upper shelves were hastily thrown in place and disheveled, while the lower shelves appeared to be arranged with mathematical precision.

  Pretty sure they don’t store their secrets between their bath towels. I sighed and accepted my failure, still unsure about what I had been searching for in the first place. Secret notes laying around in plain sight? A confession letter? The whole search seemed downright silly, if you asked me.

  I swung the closet door closed, resigned. But something made me hesitate. What was it? A glint of light. Something had flashed in the corner of my eye.

  I quickly tuned in to the kitchen conversation to gauge my remaining time. Sloan giggled amiably, followed by a quick chuckle from Jackson. They’d be just fine without me for another minute.

  Quietly, I reopened the door and took another look. The shelving stopped a few feet from the floor. And there, on the ground below, were two shiny metallic bowls. Surrounded by small stuffed animals and toys. Piles of them.

  Odd. I leaned in to inspect. They weren’t just any toys. They were mostly bone-shaped, with ropes and dangles coming out of them. The type a dog would use.

  Chew toys.

  I picked up one of the bowls and found an inscription. ‘Mr.’

  The second bowl had matching script. ‘Pennington.’

  They have a dog named Mr. Pennington? There had been no mention. And no other signs. Definitely no dog in the house or yard. I had just checked everywhere.

  Maybe something happened to it. The stash could’ve been their sad little memorial. Unwilling to part with the items just yet.

  Or . . .

  An idea formed as a memory flashed in the front of my mind. Possibilities swirled.

  I returned everything to its previous state and rushed back to the bathroom to flush and finally emerge, being sure to make plenty of noise for my return. Jackson barely noticed my reentry.

  ***

  A few sips of a disgusting, heavily-spiced vegetable smoothie and a couple quick queries about the kidnapper video were all that was needed to get things wrapped up and us headed for the door. Sloan followed my lead in trying to get rolling quickly. She saw the excited glint in my eyes.

  “Sorry I couldn’t help, guys,” Jackson said, holding the door for us. “Let me know if you find anything. Truly, I just hope they’re okay.”

  His words made me stop in my tracks. “They?” I turned to face Jackson. “What makes you think there’s more than one?”

  “Well, yeah. I, uh. . . ” he stammered. “I just figured. I mean, there’s probably a whole bunch of poor kidnappees, you know? I don’t know why it would be just Grant. Honestly, I feel lucky it’s not me too.”

  Mmm hmm.

  Sloan flashed a sad smile at him. “We’ll be in touch.”

  ***

  “I know that look,” Sloan announced the moment the car door was closed. “You saw something.”

  “Maybe,” I ventured, uncertain of my certainty. “But it’s really just conjecture at this point.”

  “Well, I have some conjecturing of my own.” Her face hardened. “That convenience store junk was not for Jackson. There’s just no way. And I think that’ll lead us right to the crime.”

  I perked up again, thrilled to have another clue. “What are you thinking?”

  “Clearly we think those purchases could be for Grant, which means the whole thing may be a ruse. And that flirtatious Aussie may be in on it.”

  “Right.”

  “So all we have to do is follow the trail of Snickers. He’s going to have to get them to Grant somehow, right? I say we just watch and wait for him to deliver the goods to the junk food feind. And then we catch them both red-handed.”

  I wasn’t thrilled that we were now assuming they were both frauds. I had thought Grant was my friend. Or was at least beginning to be.

  But I couldn’t argue with the facts as they stood. Something funny was definitely going on.

  “So simple it’s brilliant,” I said.

  Benton cleared his throat loudly up front. We both snapped to attention. He met our eyes in the rearview mirror again.

  “If you mean the bag of stuff from that car’s front seat,” he gestured with his eyes toward Jackson’s car in the driveway. “I think that’s going to be a problem.”

  We shared a quick glance, disappointment stabbing quickly.

  “What kind of problem?” I asked.

  “The kind where the items don’t exist anymore,” he replied solemnly. “At least here, anyway. Someone came and retrieved a shopping bag from the car while you were inside.”

  Our eyes widened. We had never thought to keep an eye on his purchases, too.

  “And you didn’t think to do anything,” Sloan spat, frustration rising. “Or warn us, let us know in any way?”

  “What was I going to do, tackle ‘em?” He gazed back steadily, not intimidated by her anger. “As far as I knew, you were here to chat with your friend. And I have been explicitly instructed to mind my own business and drive. No information means I can’t report back on your goings-on, remember? It was your idea.”

  “Jeez. He’s right.” Sloan sighed. “Sorry Benton. Maybe it would actually help to read you in a little, huh?”

  “I still work for you,” he replied, his eyes softened. “I can feign ignorance to the others just as well as the next guy.”

  They shared a long look in the mirror for a moment, coming to some sort of unspoken agreement.

  “Okay,” I finally broke in, hoping there was still salvageable information here. “So what did they look like, this mystery bag-retriever? Did they break in?”

  He shook his head. “Appeared to be unlocked. And they kept their head down, under a baseball cap. Never got a good look, not that I was tryin’. Not a big guy, though. Pretty average. White. Dark, maybe black hair under the hat. That’s ‘bout it.”

  “How about a license plate?”

  “Came in by foot, around the side of the house. Then back the same way.”

  “Well that’s not suspicious at all,” Sloan muttered. “Can’t believe we missed that. And now Jackson won’t be delivering anything. Our potential tracking device is gone.”

  “Well . . .” Excitement perked up in my gut again as I reconsidered my original line of thinking. “We may not need it.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “What’ve you got? Is it the multiple hostage thing? That weird comment?
”

  “Sort of.”

  Sloan nodded. “It was random. All I can figure is Jackson’s just trying to play dumb.” She shrugged. “Why would there be more than one? There’s no evidence.”

  “Actually,” I began, a grin creeping in. “There’s reason to believe there are two hostages. And I think I figured out who the other one is.”

  Sloan’s eyes lit up. “Do tell.”

  “First, does Leo still have Grant’s phone?”

  She considered. “I think I have it now.”

  “Perfect.” I took a deep breath to calm my racing pulse. “We’ll need that, and the live feed of Grant. Because if I’m right about who might be there with him—I have a hunch they can lead us right to both of them.”

  NINETEEN

  “There,” I said, pointing to the screen. She had pulled up the live feed from Grant’s hostage lair. “That little fuzzy pillow on the other side of the couch. It’s not a pillow at all.” I looked up to watch her reaction. “I’m pretty sure that’s Grant’s dog.”

  Sloan’s mouth formed an ‘O’ in surprise as she put the pieces together. “Right. The framed picture in his room. How could I forget?”

  “And I found his stash of toys and bowls. Hidden in the linen closet.”

  “Ah,” Sloan said. “Which is why his roommate is cryptically worried about ‘them,’ not ‘him.’ He knows the dog is gone, too.”

  “And yet hasn’t said a word all this time.”

  “He even tried to cover up his slip when he mentioned it,” she agreed, nodding. “So I think that pretty much guarantees Jackson’s in on it, then.” Her lips pressed tightly. “The big, cute phony.”

  “Or he’s behind it,” I added. “It’s far-fetched, but we really haven’t considered that Jackson is in on something, but Grant is not. That he really is the victim. We have to consider everything.”

  “Good point, we definitely don’t have all the facts.” She narrowed her eyes. “But you know my money’s on Grant being behind all this. Never did like that guy.”

  Just then the pillow’s eyes opened as he uncoiled himself to stand and spring from the sofa. He shook himself out and stretched after his nap, moving to sit in front of Grant. His owner kept his focus on his video game.

  “There you go, proven right,” Sloan said. “That’s a good find. But I’m not yet following on how that gets us their location?”

  “That’s where the phone comes in.” I gestured toward her bag. “I could be wrong, but I have a hunch.”

  “I’m intrigued.” She retrieved Grant’s phone and handed it over. “And a hunch is really all we have right now, so go for it.”

  I swiped through the phone until I found it. The app icon featured a puppy face, my initial tipoff. I had vaguely noticed it the first time I browsed, but didn’t think anything of it at the time.

  I pointed it out to Sloan before clicking.

  “We already went through all his apps,” she said, skeptical. “You know something I don’t?”

  The program opened and I breathed a sigh of relief. It appeared I was right. “It looks like a game. Because they turn it into one, by adding scores and collecting points. So I’m sure it was quickly dismissed.” I clicked around, digging through the program. “But it’s actually much more than that.”

  “Interesting.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “And how do you know about this random program?”

  “Just before I met you, I was thinking of getting a dog. I was a little bored and in need of some complication. But in the end I decided I couldn’t afford it yet.” I glanced back at Sloan. “And that was lucky, because you brought all the complication I could handle. And then some.”

  Sloan grinned slyly. “You know you love it.”

  Except for the ruining my life part. “Anyway, I had read about this app that uses GPS to track your dog without a monthly fee. Which they somehow gamified.”

  I clicked into the map tab and the GPS zoomed out, thinking, before zooming back in with the same little puppy icon as a pinpoint. I handed the phone over, excitement beginning to churn rapidly.

  “Their location, madame,” I said. “Both of them, I believe.”

  Her eyes were wide as she took in the screen. She pinched in and out, getting her bearings and checking out the neighborhood of the location. Finally she looked up, her face grim. “They’re only a few blocks from Grant and Jackson’s house.”

  “Those fakers didn’t even have to go to much effort,” I said, aghast. “He just strolled down the street and set up camp on someone’s couch.”

  “Apparently all you need to plan a fake kidnapping and extortion is a webcam and a charming roommate willing to lie. And a rich family, of course.”

  “Don’t forget the gullible coworker,” I added, deflating at the thought. “We seem to be the key to everything here. But why?”

  She shrugged. “Probably needed someone to convince that rich family. If we believe it, then maybe they will too. He didn’t exactly have the most trusting relationship with them.”

  “Right. He needed a true believer.” I shook my head in disbelief. I had been such a fool. “And after learning about our previous exploits, he figured we would jump right in and try to save the day. Make the connection to the newly-imprisoned mob and blame ourselves. That connection was probably all made up too.”

  “Maybe.” Sloan nodded in agreement. “And I’d be willing to bet that story coming out is what gave him the idea in the first place.”

  “Great,” I muttered. “More good things coming from my participation. When will the party end?”

  “Oh, don’t you worry. The real party is just getting started.” Sloan’s eyes became fiery. Devious. “Let’s go find our guest of honor, shall we?”

  ***

  “So are we just gonna go knock on the door?” I stared at the front of the small nondescript brick ranch sitting in a sea of plain-vanilla fifties ranches. The neighborhood near Grant and Jackson’s home was in a lower tier, but mostly well cared-for. “How do we confront him?”

  “We’re not going to directly confront him if we can help it,” Sloan replied. “Not yet, anyway. He would probably just run right out the back door if we tried that. And then we’ve gotten nowhere.”

  “Then maybe we should just walk away,” I said glumly. The idea, just a seedling at first, began to sound appealing as it bloomed in my gut. “Actually, yeah. If he’s behind all this, we don’t owe him anything. What if we just ignored the whole thing?”

  “Not a bad point,” Sloan conceded. “We certainly can if you want. This is your case.” She gave me a direct look. “But you did point out that we don’t know for absolute certain that this is Grant’s doing. I mean, we know, but we don’t know.”

  The fleeting feeling of relief vanished quickly. I sighed, frustrated. “You’re right. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself without knowing for absolute sure. Plus, we’ll at least get some answers.”

  I sat up straighter and refocused on the house, still sitting dark and unmoving. “So we’re finally here, but we aren’t going in to confront-slash-rescue him? Surely you have some trick up your sleeve for this sort of thing.”

  “I’m sure I could come up with something to get in there. But it’s much safer to make him come to us. We just need to find a way.” She settled back in her seat, getting comfortable. “So first, we wait.”

  I wasn’t ready to relax. “Wait for what, exactly?”

  She propped her feet up. “We just have to get a feel for the situation. See who comes and goes, who might be inside. Make sure our assumptions are correct. We don’t want any surprises.”

  “And after the waiting,” I said, impatience setting in. “Then we pounce?”

  Sloan laughed. “Indeed. And then we pounce.”

  ***

  Unfortunately for our attention spans, the comings and go
ings of the house were limited. Very limited. As in, zip. Zilch.

  Not even a twitch of a curtain or flicker of light. For hours. Days, it felt like.

  I yawned and slouched further in my seat. “At least we know it’s not likely a big operation. Couldn’t be very many people involved here.”

  Sloan looked just as bored. “Definitely.” Her voice was sleepy. “That’s good.”

  I sighed. “Maybe we could take a five minute break? I think a coffee run could do us good.”

  “We shouldn’t.” She straightened, shaking herself awake. “But I don’t think we have a choice, really. We’re useless. And it’s not like we’re going to miss anything at this non-stop action house anyway.”

  I perked up at the thought of a steaming cup of caffeine. “Better put our disguises back on.” I reached for my paraphernalia and called toward the front. “Benton, let’s hit the 7-11 again.”

  Sloan followed my lead, sliding on her wig. The driver put the car in gear and slowly nudged the gas.

  “Wait,” Sloan called out suddenly. “Don’t. Move.”

  The car froze. I followed her gaze, now riveted on the house. And the little white ball of fur, barely noticeable as it blended in behind the white picket fence in the backyard. It trotted along the perimeter, sniffing.

  Mr. Pennington.

  I sighed with relief. My app theory had been correct. And that was definitely the dog from the video.

  Which meant Grant was certainly inside as well. We’re so close.

  “Is that enough?” I looked to Sloan, pleading with my eyes. “Do we go in now?”

  “It’s enough for proof, definitely. Now we’re certain he’s here.” She met my gaze. “But we aren’t going in. I have a much better idea.”

  Sloan rummaged in her bag, retrieving a black flip phone. Then she flung open her door and looked back at me. “Be right back.”

  Before I could respond, she was gone. Her long fake-blonde strands bounced as she strolled down the street toward the house in question. She hooked a right at the yard and slipped casually through the back gate, peeking around the side of the house before continuing. It appeared she was moving onto the back deck.