Always Love a Villain on San Juan Island

by Sandy Frances Duncan

  “Not anymore.”

  “I do. People who paint, especially if they’re working at a project, they like going off to an unknown place to have the time to paint. They pin or tape their work on the walls, they study it. They need to see what they’ve done yesterday, last week. To compare it with what they’ve done today. You see anything like that in the house?”

  Noel thought back. “Pristine walls.”

  “See any painting equipment? Easel? Paints? Sketchbook even?”

  “Nothing. But he could have that stuff upstairs.”

  “You’re alone in the house. You come in from a day of painting. You’ve done some good work. You’re tired. You dump your stuff as close to the door as you can—somewhere you won’t trip over it but ready for next time.”

  “Yeah.” He considered this. “You’re right.”

  “So I say we go back there.”

  There she goes, jumping in again. “Let’s think about this,” he said.

  “My thinking is we hit Leger again.”

  “You asking me?”

  “He’s a liar on two counts. He’s not a friend of a friend of Susanna’s non-cousin Trent. He’s not here on a painting vacation.”

  “Then what’s he doing by himself in that house?”

  No answer for a full half minute. Then Kyra said, “I think he’s the kidnapper himself and he’s got her locked away in the house.”

  “Because of the non-cousin, the non-painting.”

  “Right. He comes here and starts asking questions about Susanna. Why?” She considered her own question for a few seconds. “He’s some kind of macho nut who’s saying, ‘Catch me if you can.’”

  “I could buy that.”

  “He’s a matador, daring the bull. Large red cloak, dangling in front of him. Susanna! embroidered in black.”

  “Okay, maybe. But if she’s in the house the question is, why tease the bull?”

  Kyra raised her eyebrows. “Let’s go ask him.”

  “He won’t just talk to us again.”

  “We’ll just plow into the house.”

  “What if he calls the Sheriff?”

  “Then we’ll know Susanna’s not there. Frank knows we’d tell the Sheriff our suspicions, tell him about Frank’s questions about Susanna. Frank’s lies.”

  “What if he’s got a gun and orders us out?”

  Kyra grinned. “I’ve got a gun too. Let’s go.”

  Noel’s gut shriveled.

  Something in Kyra had shifted to a new sense of getting it right. She felt the Smith and Wesson in her purse. She could control any situation. By herself. She’d have the baby by herself. No one she knew needed to help. She would not demean herself by asking Peter for a contribution. And she and Noel would remain the friends and work partners they were meant to be.

  Susanna said she wanted to go outside. She hadn’t seen daylight in a long time. He took the sandwich and carried it upstairs. They went out and stood on the back porch. “The light is wonderful,” she said. “And the air.”

  For fifteen minutes they held each other, speaking little. He was wondering if he should change his mind, at least try to make love with her. But sex with her right now seemed like tempting the gods, whatever that meant. He had to get his mind off it. He said, “Don’t you want your sandwich?”

  She rubbed her forehead against his ribcage. “You’re funny.”

  “Doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I’ll share it with you.”

  “Okay,” he said, and let go of her. Something grated against his chest. He reached into the shirt pocket. A card. The detective. He stuck it back in.

  “What’s that?”

  “Just a business card.” But suddenly an idea began frothing inside his head. He took a knife, cut the sandwich in two and presented her with the plate.

  She bit into it. “Good.” She chewed and swallowed. “Thank you for all the food you’ve been preparing for me.”

  “I’d like to do a lot more of that.”

  She dropped her eyes and said, “And by the way, Fredric, I think I’m in love with you, too.”

  A power of electricity shot through his chest. He must make this right. He the kidnapper, she the victim. Become equals. He needed them to remain equals. They had to get out of this, and sooner would be way better than any other time. And quickly. “Susanna, I have an idea.”

  “About?”

  “Ending this travesty I helped put together. You want to leave as soon as we can?”

  “Yes!”

  “Something happened this morning. Upstairs. It worried me then, but maybe it was fortuitous.” He told her about the two investigators. “My partner told me your father hired private detectives. These have to be the ones.” He pulled the card from his pocket again. “Islands Investigations International.”

  The Honda turned right from Douglas onto Bailer Hill Road. On the back seat Noel’s phone rang. “Grab my jacket back there and answer that.”

  Kyra reached, her hand coming back with the jacket. “Hello? . . . Yes, hello Mr. Leger . . . Talk with my partner and me, okay, about what? . . . I see . . . Of course we’ll stop by again . . . Soon as we can, sure . . . See you.” She closed the phone. “He wants to talk about Susanna Rossini.”

  “He say why?”

  “Didn’t ask. He sounded nervous; I didn’t want to spook him.”

  “Could be some kind of trap,” Noel said. “Let’s be careful.” He accelerated. West Side Drive, past Dead Man’s Bay, curving around to Mt. Dallas Road. Up the hill. He almost missed the green house on the left, backed up and wheeled down the drive halfway. Up the stoop to the door. Kyra rang.

  Footsteps. The door opened, chain on. Frank’s eyes checking them. More distraught than dangerous. The door closed and opened again without the chain.

  Frank pulled it wide. “Come in.”

  They walked down the hall. Living room as it was, chairs and sofa. Sitting in one of the chairs, a young woman with blond hair.

  “Mr. Franklin, Ms. Rachel, this is Susanna Rossini.”

  Kyra held out her hand. “We’re certainly glad to see you, Susanna.”

  “And I’m really glad you’re here.”

  Kyra, still holding Susanna’s hand, said, “Are you all right?”

  “Very all right.” She withdrew her hand.

  Noel said, “You better begin at the beginning, Frank.”

  “It’s Fredric. Fredric St.-Ange.” And Fredric started with Raoul’s dare: man enough to snatch a pretty girl? Susanna interjected several times, her point of view: how good Fredric had been to her all the way along. Fredric ended with Raoul’s last phone call: no mutilation, no way. “Now, please, take Susanna to her father.”

  “What about you?” Kyra asked. “Why shouldn’t we just call the Sheriff?”

  “Because,” Susanna interrupted, “he’s not a kidnapper, really.”

  “Susanna, you’ve been held prisoner for nearly three weeks.”

  “True, but—see, Fredric’s mostly a guard,” she smiled gently at him, “a kind of guardian for me.”

  “Ms. Rossini,” Noel said, “it’s often normal for somebody who’s been kidnapped to develop affection for their captor. It even has a name—”

  “Stockholm syndrome. I know what it is.” She stood. “This isn’t it.” She walked to Fredric’s side. He took her hand. “This is where both the captor and the captive fall in love. This is us.” She put her arm around his waist. “I can’t blame Fredric for anything, or charge him with anything.”

  “It’s not you that lays a charge, Ms. Rossini, it’s the state. It’s a federal crime to participate in a kidnapping.”

  “Look, Ms. Rachel, all we want is for you to take Susanna home. I want to disappear, and that’s what she wants for me, too. I called you on my own; nobody forced me. Please, just take her home.”

  Kyra said, “Noel? A word. You two stay right there.”

  They both nodded.

  Noel followed Kyra to the kitchen.<
br />
  “Okay,” she said, “what’re you thinking?”

  “Our assignment was to find Susanna. Nobody wants us to track down any kidnappers. St.-Ange helped us locate her and he—”

  “I think we’d have found her anyway. We were on our way here, remember?”

  “But he simplified our job,” Noel insisted. “Nobody’s been hurt, and she clearly wants to help him. Whether it’s love or not. He was good to her while they held her.”

  “So let him go, as he says?”

  “I’d vote yes on that.”

  Kyra said, “The Sheriff will want this guy Raoul and whoever the ringleader is. Fredric’s the one to provide that information.”

  “Does Fredric know who Raoul’s boss is?”

  “He knows Raoul.” She considered for a minute. “Look, let’s do like this. Fredric tells us how the cops can find the man. Once they’ve got him, they’ll make him give up the ringleader.”

  “And we leave here without Fredric.”

  “We do.”

  “Okay, let’s talk to them.” They returned to the living room. Fredric and Susanna were sitting together on the couch. Noel sat on a chair, as did Kyra. He said, “We don’t want you, Mr. St.-Ange, but—”

  To Noel: “Oh, thank you!” Susanna drew closer to Fredric. “Thank you,” she whispered to herself.

  “But we do want Raoul. First of all, his full name.”

  “Raoul LeJeune.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “Several cities. New York, Birmingham in England, Geneva, San Francisco.” Fredric gave them addresses.

  “How do you contact him?”

  “Mainly he contacts me. But—” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone, “I can reach him on this.” He handed the phone to Noel. “Contacts, then press number one.”

  Noel took the phone. “Okay.” He stood. “Time to go. I suggest you leave soon, Mr. St.-Ange, because once we get Ms. Rossini to her father, we’ll be going to the Sheriff, and he’ll be coming to this house. Let’s go, Ms. Rossini.”

  Susanna and Fredric stood, held each other, kissed, broke apart. “I’ll do everything possible to keep you from being charged,” she said.

  “I love you,” he whispered to her. “I’ll come to their car with you.” He took her hand and walked to the door. It stood ajar, clear sign that Susanna was no longer a captive. He stepped outside. A knife slashed through his shirt into his ribs. “Aaye-e-e!”

  Now a hand in a glove pulled the knife out of Frederic’s side and another hand grabbed Susanna around the waist, the knife suddenly at her throat. Fredric fell to the ground. Susanna tried to scream but a voice by her ear whispered, “Shut up or I’ll slice your windpipe open.” The man pulled her backward, away from the house.

  Noel, first out after Susanna, knelt beside Fredric and yelled, “Kyra! He’s got a knife on Susanna!” Fredric was bleeding heavily. Noel pulled off his own shirt, balled it up and tried to tamp Fredric’s wound.

  Kyra danced over them, revolver in hand. “You! You with the mask! Let go of her!” She stepped off the stoop toward a man in a ski mask pulling Susanna along.

  “Stay there, lady, or I cut her throat.”

  “You cut her throat and you won’t have a hostage. Let her go!”

  But he had already reached his car, stopped directly behind Noel’s Honda but facing the road. He whispered to Susanna, “You’re getting behind the wheel and you’re going to drive. The knife’s going to be at your ribs the whole time.”

  Bad news, thought Kyra. She saw his game plan as clearly as if she’d heard him speak. His head and chest were protected by Susanna. One possibility. She aimed as she’d been taught, and fired.

  A look of surprise on the man’s face. He dropped the knife, let go of Susanna’s waist and grabbed his right knee. His foot collapsed and he fell to the ground. Susanna jumped away, picked up the knife and ran toward Noel and Fredric. Noel shouted, “Phone 911, two men wounded, need Sheriff and paramedics!”

  Passport and boarding pass in hand, Dr. Celeste-Antoinette deBourg stood up the moment she heard the boarding call for business-class passengers. She walked toward the gate, rolling her carry-on behind her. She was fourth in line.

  “Hello, Toni.”

  She jumped at the sound of her name. She turned. “Larry?” Larry. And another man wearing a lightweight brown suit. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you off. A shame, since you’re not leaving.”

  Her face blanched under her makeup. “What are you talking about?”

  “Raoul LeJeune. He told us everything.”

  “Whatever he told you, he was lying. He always lies.”

  “I don’t think so. He was too afraid of losing more blood and dying.”

  A flash of concern. “Will he die?” A man and a woman now, one on each side.

  “Why’d you have to kidnap Susanna, Toni?” Tears were welling from under Larry’s eyelids. “If you could have loved me as I loved you, I’d have shared everything with you.” Her pale face exaggerated the beauty of her shimmering gray eyes. “My life. And certainly the Dream Visualizer. You could have had it all.”

  A smile took Toni’s lips. “Is it too late, Larry?”

  “You took Susanna from me. All else could be forgiven. You might have returned her to me, or you might not. Even if you had, she would have been short one finger. It’s much too late, Toni.”

  Sheriff Coltrane stepped between them. “Ms. deBourg, you’re under arrest.”

  The man, his jacket showing the bulge of a shoulder holster, and the woman took her by the elbows. Coltrane introduced them as FBI. “They’ll be taking charge, Ms. deBourg. I have no jurisdiction in kidnapping cases.”

  Celeste-Antoinette deBourg dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry, Larry.”

  “It doesn’t help, Toni.” His head shook. “But for what it’s worth, so am I.”

  EPILOGUE

  PETER LANGLEY, NOEL could confirm, was a wonderful cook. While waiting for the Sheriff, Noel had phoned Peter to give him the headlines of what had happened. And to ask if he could stay with Peter a second night. Of course. And Noel and Kyra had to have dinner with him tonight. Happy to. They both still felt a little shaky.

  In less than five hours Peter had organized a three-course meal. Rich cold vichyssoise topped with chives from Peter’s garden. Rack of lamb rare to perfection, new potatoes and beans also from the garden. And finally an anise-flavored crème caramel. Together with two bottles of a deep-red Spanish Garnacha. Each taste and all effort deeply complimented by Kyra and Noel.

  Over dinner they filled in details. The kidnapper with the knife, a man named LeJeune, had panicked at the extent of the wound, Kyra having shot him in the knee—

  Noel interrupted. “I still can’t get over the precision of that shot, Kyra. You could’ve hit Susanna.”

  “No, he was stupid. Or maybe just clumsy.” She shivered a little. “He gave me a large target.”

  “Still—”

  “I’ve been practicing, Noel. Unlike some others.” She smiled.

  “Okay, okay.”

  “So,” Kyra continued, “this LeJeune thought he was going to bleed to death or at least never walk again unless he had immediate medical attention. I told him he was figuring right, but I’d only help him if he told me all he knew about the kidnapping. So he did. It wasn’t much; if he was telling the truth, he didn’t know a lot. Except who he worked for, and he gave us the name of Dr. deBourg. Man, that was a shocker.”

  Noel picked up the thread. “By this time Sheriff Coltrane had arrived at the green house, and the Undersheriff too, and two ambulances. The paramedics took over with the two men and we explained that LeJeune had stabbed St.-Ange and St.-Ange had helped Susanna escape. So they weren’t in the same league and they shouldn’t be near each other.”

  “What’s going to happen to St.-Ange?” Peter asked.

  “He’s in the hospital. Larry immediately contacted his lawyer, who’s se
nt him to a good criminal defense lawyer. The Undersheriff said he’d give me a call if they have any further news.” Noel smiled, mostly to himself. “The Sheriff’s office’ll get good press for finding Susanna’s kidnapper.”

  “I wonder what kind of defense they’ll come up with for LeJeune,” said Peter.

  “And we told Coltrane and Taunton about the relationship between deBourg and Susanna’s father, Larry Rossini.”

  Peter shook his head. “I find that so hard to believe. Larry admitted to me he was in love with her. I wonder if she loved him.”

  “A black widow,” muttered Kyra.

  “Kidnap a guy’s daughter, plan to mutilate her, and be in love with him? Dubious,” Noel spat.

  “Anyway, the Sheriff contacted Larry, told him about deBourg. He explained she’d be flying off this evening for Geneva. So the Sheriff commandeered a small plane—a Beech F33A Straight Tail, real fancy, he said—plus its owner, who flew them to Sea-Tac—took twenty-five minutes. And he brought the FBI in and they all caught up with the woman just as she was about to board.”

  “So the three together had planned the kidnap?”

  “Except Susanna says Fredric St.-Ange was tricked in. And had dropped out of the game by the second week she was in the house.”

  “Why didn’t he let her go then?”

  “Had to pick his time. He was scared of LeJeune.”

  “And Susanna corroborates this?”

  “Completely.”

  “What a story.” Peter took the last bite of his crème caramel. “Glad you two are okay. Cognac, anyone?”

  “I will happily accept,” said Noel. “It’s been a full adrenalin-draining day.”

  Peter got up, found glasses and the bottle.

  “A few days,” said Kyra. “That fire wasn’t much fun either.”

  “It makes sense now,” Noel said. “How we could’ve thought someone threatened me and started a fire over a possible plagiarism case—not real speedy there.”

  Back at the table, Peter poured them quarter snifters of Remy Martin. “When you brought Susanna back to Larry’s house, how were they?” They clicked glasses. “To solving all your cases successfully.”

  They sipped.

  “Well, as you can guess, Larry looked overjoyed at having Susanna back, at the same time furious and more than that, deeply saddened at his foolishness with deBourg. He looked stricken. I believe he truly loved her.”