Shadows from the Past

by Terry Ambrose

  CHAPTER SIX

  Skip

  SKIP DROVE SLOWLY along the street lined with old homes made popular by their million-dollar views. Two doors down on the right was the Tanner residence. Richard and Evelyn were nice people, and both were, as the saying went, as honest as the day was long. How Roxy had turned into a con artist with parents like that might baffle most people, but Skip understood. One chance meeting as a child had nearly gotten her killed and shaped the course of her life.

  He parked his motorcycle in the driveway, turned the key, and left his helmet on the back of the bike. Through the front window, he saw Evelyn peering out. She smiled and waved, then motioned for him to enter. By the time Skip was at the front door, Evelyn was already waiting for him. She looked like an older version of Roxy—blonde, blue eyes, trim build. She wore jeans and a dark tee over which she’d layered a denim shirt.

  They exchanged a brief hug, one practiced over many meetings, but Evelyn seemed to sense something was wrong. “You look bothered, Skip. Is it Roxy?”

  He’d come here intending to tell them about the kidnapping, but questioned that impulse now. Skip’s jaw tightened and decided a lie—at least at this point—would be more merciful than the truth. “Peripherally. Lily’s missing.”

  “Not again.” Evelyn’s hand went to her heart and she sucked in a breath. “I’ll get Richard. He’s in his office.” She rushed away, then stopped at the hallway and turned back to Skip. “My manners. Please, have a seat in the living room.”

  Skip nodded his assent and gave her a weak smile as she turned away. One of Lily’s sketches lay on the coffee table in the living room—her talent was raw and unpolished. Skip stood, staring down at the piece, recalling the first time he’d seen it and how even Lily had laughed when Richard called it ‘very enthusiastic.’

  Evelyn, followed by Richard, returned and gestured at the chair Skip had never taken. The urge to pace like a caged animal was far greater than any desire to sit, but he lowered himself into the chair anyway.

  “What happened?” Evelyn peered at him with worry in her eyes.

  “I found out when Roxy called me just after three and asked if I’d picked Lily up at school. When I told her I hadn’t, she hung up. So I called her work. They told me she’d been replaced. She must have gotten fired.”

  “Again?” Evelyn rolled her eyes and sighed. “I know she didn’t like the job, but she wanted to make it work for Lily’s sake.”

  “Why do you think Lily ran away?” Richard asked.

  Evelyn rubbed her fingers over her cheeks and sniffled. “My poor little girl. She’s been having such a hard time lately. And now this? My God, how awful.”

  Skip held Richard’s gaze. These were good people. They should not be brought into this mess. “We all know Roxy’s been under a lot of pressure since she’s been studying for her real estate license. That could have caused her to ignore Lily. It’s probably just me jumping to conclusions.”

  “You don’t jump to conclusions,” Richard said. “What’s really going on?”

  Skip rubbed the back of his neck and took a deep breath. Coming here had been a mistake; he needed to leave. “This whole relationship with Lily has Roxy constantly worried and afraid she’s going to fail.”

  “That was definitely never her problem before. She was always confident.” Richard reached out, laid a hand on Skip’s shoulder, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve tried, Skip. If she doesn’t trust you after everything you’ve done for her…I don’t know when she ever will. Is there anything we can do to help?”

  Skip stood and went to the back patio slider. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared outside. Thank goodness Richard had backed off. The man had a way of honing in on the truth that Skip admired, but today caused him to be wary. He swallowed hard and turned back to face them. “This is all getting blown out of proportion because Lily didn’t send Roxy a message. It might not be as bad as it seems.” He was ashamed at how easily the lie rolled off his tongue.

  “Parents get worried, Skip.” Evelyn crossed her arms over her chest and held his gaze. “Roxy might not be Lily’s biological mother, but she loves her just like she was her own daughter. I think you feel the same way. You’re just not acknowledging it.”

  Skip’s mouth was dry as dust on a hot afternoon, but he had to continue the ruse. He lowered his gaze to the floor and nodded. “You could be right, Evelyn. I was just thinking about Saturday night when we were here for the barbecue. I proposed—again.”

  “Don’t give up on her, Skip.” Richard pulled his phone from his back pocket and tapped the screen. “Let me try calling her. Sometimes…” His voice trailed off as he raised the phone to his ear.

  “I know,” Skip muttered.

  Evelyn stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Skip. “This will work itself out. I want you for a son-in-law, and I want Lily for a granddaughter. All we need to do is hang together.”

  Skip squeezed his eyes shut tight. His resolve nearly broke as he held onto Evelyn and watched Richard wait for an answer. The seconds ticked by and Richard’s brow furrowed. In the silence of the room, it wasn’t hard to know when the call went to voicemail.

  Richard shook his head as he gazed at them. “Maybe she’s busy.”

  “I’m sure she is,” Skip said.

  Richard pursed his lips; his voice sounded hopeful. “Maybe Lily will come back on her own.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Skip reached out and gave Evelyn a hug. “We’ll get through this. It’s just going to take some additional time. And please, if you hear from either of them, call me.”

  “We will,” they echoed.

  Skip was putting on his helmet when his phone buzzed. He checked the display. It was Baldorf. “What?” he snapped, then immediately apologized. “I’m sorry, buddy. I just lied to Roxy’s parents.”

  “That had to be super tough, bro.”

  “It was. What’s up?”

  “Girl just left. And I got more bad news for you. You’ll want to hightail it back here pronto.”

  “I need to go after her.”

  “That would be the loser move. Girl’s gone underground, and she’s got a head start on you. We got one option, bro. Figure out who’s coming after her. And you’re totally going to need some serious help to pull this off.”

  Skip sat back on the bike gazing at the front window where Evelyn and Richard were standing together. He could kick himself for coming here. For burdening them with an impossible situation. “You’re right, Baldorf. I need to get my head back in the game.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Roxy

  BRUNO’S INNOCENT EXPRESSION turned cold. His pretense of civility fell away, and I saw the true feelings he harbored—inner turmoil and a desire to hurt me, but I also saw something else. In my zeal to heap the blame on him, I’d ignored a basic fact—Bruno held all the cards in this game of chance.

  “Miss Tanner, I think it is time for you to leave. Good day.” He placed his glass on the tabletop and stood.

  I sucked in a small breath and shook my head, unwilling to accept his attempt to so easily be rid of me. “I don’t think so.”

  “Must I call the police?”

  “That would be unwise, don’t you think?”

  “I have told you, Miss Tanner. I know nothing of this child’s disappearance.”

  “Then why did you mention kidnapping?”

  “Would you be here for any other reason? When a child disappears, they have either run away or been taken. Given our past, I am quite confident you would not expect this urchin to knock on my door for sanctuary. Therefore, her disappearance was involuntary, and you believe I orchestrated it. How many times must I tell you, I have done no such thing.”

  With each word he spoke, my confidence eroded. Each word reminded me of a harsher reality—if Bruno wasn’t involved…who was? I stood, nodded, and walked with wooden legs toward the house.

  On the way through the living room, I stopped to look at a blank
spot on the far wall. There had been a painting in the same spot the last time I was here. While not an expert on art, I’d recognized the signature.

  “I sold it,” Bruno said.

  “It was an Andy Warhol, correct?”

  “Yes.” He grimaced.

  “It must have been worth a lot of money.”

  Bruno stood ramrod straight and glared at me. “Miss Tanner, I really must insist. It is time for you to leave.”

  There it was—the tell. The slightest aversion of his gaze, an avoidance that revealed Bruno’s deepest secrets. He was lying. That painting must have been worth a fortune. He was spinning a web of lies, and the only question was what subjects were included? The missing painting? Lily?

  I went out the front door, walked to my car, and cried as my protective emotional shield lifted. I’d never felt so lost or conflicted in my life. If Bruno was telling the truth, he was as much a victim of his son’s actions as I. But if he was lying, that blank spot on the wall and the missing Warhol were linked to Lily’s kidnapping. I didn’t know how or why, but I was determined to find out and knew just the man to help me with the answers.

  Since the kidnapper wanted to use their own phone for communications, the only thing I needed mine for was voicemail, which I could access from any other phone remotely. That meant I needed to buy a burner cell phone right after I talked to my art expert.

  My head pounded from the crying jag outside of Bruno’s house, but I was determined to push through and get my questions answered. My art expert was Bud Stranton, a longtime friend of the family. He knew everything about art—who sold, who bought, and how much each transaction went for. He was like a baseball statistics junkie. If anyone could tell me how much Bruno sold the missing painting for, it was my guy.

  Bud’s shop was located in a small shopping center on Roosevelt in Carlsbad Village. Even though it was getting late in the day, I was sure he’d be there because, quite frankly, Bud lived and breathed art. His major source of income came from his online art brokerage. I parked in one of the empty spots, saw that the front door of the store was still open, and entered.

  Indirect overhead lighting gave the interior a welcoming ambience. Paintings and sculptures around the store were lit up with spotlights, and silence predominated. A voice from the back of the store called my name.

  I peered around the large sculpture in front of me, saw Bud behind the counter, the faint glow of a computer screen lighting up his face, and waved. “Hey, Bud.”

  “Long time no see. What brings you to my humble storefront?”

  He stood, approached me with his arms spread wide, and we hugged.

  “It has been a long time,” I said. “Too long.”

  “How are your folks?”

  “Dad’s going stir crazy from being retired. He’s driving Mom the same direction.”

  “Chloe and I are thinking of taking a cruise. I should talk to Richard and see if they’d like to go. It’s only a week, but it would give them something to do.”

  “Please. Call them. Mom would love to do it, and I’ll bet she could convince Dad.”

  “I’ll do it tonight, but I’m sure you didn’t come in to talk about them. What’s up?”

  “I need help finding a painting.”

  Bud spread his arms wide and smiled. “You’re in the right place. What are you looking for? Is this for you? An investment?”

  “No. Actually, I’m looking for an Andy Warhol that Bruno Panaman owned.”

  “Oh. The Last Warhol.” Bud’s eyebrows went up and he peered at me for a moment. “Why would you want to find that particular painting? Believe me, you want nothing to do with Bruno Panaman. He’s bad news. But you don’t need me to tell you that, right?”

  “I know all about Bruno.” I crossed my arms over my chest and held his gaze. “You know what I like about you, Bud? You know how to compartmentalize life. And you’re discreet.”

  “Ah.” He nodded and gave me a weak smile. “This is just between you and me. I gather you’re working a job.”

  “I only need information. I won’t have any artwork to sell.”

  “You know me, Roxy. I have a strict ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy. We’ve had some very profitable dealings in the past, so I know you can handle yourself. How you make your living is your business, but when you’re dealing with the likes of the Panamans, I get worried. For both of us.”

  “Just between you and me, that’s the reason I’m here. Bud, I’m…retired.”

  “Good for you. Settle down with that boyfriend of yours and raise a few kids. You two will be great at it.”

  “Maybe. Someday. I don’t know. But a child is the reason I’m here. You see, I’ve taken in this street kid. Her name is Lily and her mother died from a drug overdose last August. She’s been living with me ever since. I love her, Bud. I really do, and I’d like to adopt her.”

  “That’s wonderful. I’m happy for you.”

  “But she’s been kidnapped. I’m sure Bruno’s behind it.”

  Bud frowned and shook his head. “Kidnapping doesn’t sound like Bruno. Why in the world would he do that?”

  “To get back the money he put out for Sonny’s legal bills. The last time I was in that house, this Warhol painting was hanging on the wall. It’s gone, and the space is still empty.”

  Bud stepped back and stared at a seascape to his right. He sighed, nodded to himself, then turned to face me. “The piece you’re talking about is—was—Bruno Panaman’s pride and joy. I’d heard he sold it last year, but couldn’t believe it. He bought it for four-point-eight million.”

  “Wow. I had no idea.”

  “That’s not very much, actually. One Warhol piece went for a hundred and five million. Others have gone for forty, fifty, even eighty million.” Bud smiled at me. “Don’t get ideas, Roxy. You’d need a solid background to play in this game.”

  “No, Bud. I told you, I’m retired. I’m just amazed at how much people will pay for something to hang on the wall. You said you heard Bruno sold it. Do you know how much he got?”

  “The deal was all very hush-hush. But the rumor I heard was three million.”

  My brow furrowed, and I stared at the floor. “It doesn’t seem possible that Bruno would sell something so valuable at a loss—unless he was desperate. Don’t you think?”

  “You should talk to a guy named P.T. Richards. He lives in Oceanside. He’s the one who told me about the sale. There has to be a reason. Especially because of the other party.”

  “You mean the buyer? Wasn’t the piece sold at auction?”

  “It was all private, which doesn’t make a lot of sense because it would have gone for much more at a public auction. Talk to P.T. To my knowledge, he’s the only one who got wind of the sale.” Bud jotted down a number on the back of a business card and handed it to me. “You know what to do with that.”

  I nodded. “How did this P.T. Richards hear about the sale?”

  “I don’t know. He’s an artist who works with a few select dealers.”

  “And you’re one of those?”

  “I can’t really talk about it.” Bud paused and licked his lips. “Word of caution. Friend to friend. Be careful. The other party I mentioned is Abraham Cardoza.”

  “The Oceanside drug lord? Bruno hates him.”

  “You’re right on that score. I’m sure you’re aware they were longtime rivals. Yes?”

  “Of course. Cardoza’s group has been eating away at what once was Bruno’s territory for years because Bruno hates drugs and never wanted to deal in them. So why he’d suddenly throw in with Cardoza and sell him this painting at a loss makes no sense. It must have been his only option.”

  “Look, if the rumors are true and Bruno really did sell to Cardoza, the deal could not have been amicable. I don’t know what you’re in the middle of—just be careful.”

  “I will. And thanks, Bud. I owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me a thing. If my suspicions are correct, you’re going t
o hate me for telling you about this.” He smiled and winked. “But I’ll tell you what, if you do run across any valuable artwork just laying around, keep me in mind. I might be able to help you out.”

  I said goodbye to Bud and walked out the door. As a precaution, I memorized the number for P.T. Richards and then ripped the card into small pieces and tossed it in the nearest trash can.

  Where I was headed there could be no paper, no trail, no evidence.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Skip

  SKIP PARKED HIS bike on the street in front of Baldorf’s bungalow. He rushed inside and found Baldorf scanning four different computer monitors. The young man barely looked up as Skip closed the door behind him.

  “You said we needed to create a plan, buddy. What’s up? Make it good.”

  “Dude. Look at this.”

  He pointed at a monitor to his left on which there was a map punctuated with blue dots.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “It’s where the kid’s phone was today. It’s a minute-by-minute account of her location.”

  Skip peered closely at the map. He recognized two of the locations immediately—Roxy’s apartment and Lily’s school. The other blue dots formed a path between the beginning and ending points.

  “So Lily’s phone hasn’t gone anywhere unusual today. Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “For sure, dude.”

  “Why is this such terrible news, Baldorf? I need you to be straight with me. Right now.”

  “Somebody kidnapped the kid.”

  “Did Roxy tell you that?”

  “Did the Sherlock Holmes routine, bro. All the girl said was I helped clear her head, then she ran out. Got me to thinking, so I started analyzing the data. You see here?” He pointed at a place on the map where the points between the map jumped further apart. “Kid was walking, then in a vehicle. If neither of you guys picked her up, somebody grabbed her.”

  “There was a note in the apartment demanding five million by noon tomorrow.”

  “Whoa, dude. I’m sorry. I told Roxy she should be telling you what was going on, but she didn’t want to ruin your life again.”