“You and Frank are close, and my brother is happy when he’s with you. I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to leave.”
She takes a tissue, looking at me as if she’s never seen me before. “It’s not about Frank.”
I try to use a gentle tone. “What’s the matter, Juliana?”
“I’d rather not say.” She blows her nose and speaks through her sniffles. “I, I can’t talk about it…don’t know what to do. I have to wait…for the phone call.”
My attention is drawn to the old silver locket now lying on the bedside table instead of inside the red leather box where I first saw it. I walk over, pick it up, and read out loud. “To MTG, with love, FEB…that’s what it looks like.” Then I say, “But it isn’t FEB, is it? It’s FLR, Frances Livingston Rutherfurd, my mother.”
Juliana says nothing. She glances at her phone as if she’s willing it to ring.
“OK, while you wait for your call—it’s time for true confessions,” I continue, and a veil of suspicion drops over her eyes. “Juliana, we knew each other a long, long time ago, didn’t we?”
She sits without moving a muscle, not even breathing. The room is so quiet, you really could hear a pin drop. I go on. “It’s been bothering me and bothering me, and I finally figured out who you are—how it is that I already know you.” I open the locket and then snap it shut again.
“I remember my mother adored you—when you were little, she’d look you straight in the eye and tell you that you could grow up to be anything you wanted. Little Maria Teresa Gonzalez.” I pause because my heart is beating so fast I think it will burst.
“It was you who ran through the dining room after Glory.” I let out a sigh. “And my mother fell, breaking one of her favorite black heels and spilling the sauce. That’s why you were rubbing that old spot on the carpet the day I found you in the dining room. Remember?”
Juliana still says nothing, but her eyes are huge.
“My mother gave you this locket not long before you left Meadow Farm.” I put it down on the table. “I looked through some old family albums last night and found pictures of you and your mother. Right up to 1985. That was when you both left, because of my horrible behavior toward you when I caught you trying on my clothes—which my daughters did, too, at your age years later, by the way.” I’m running off at the mouth but I can’t stop.
“And then my terrible, terrible accusation that you stole my ring. Juliana, what I did was unforgivable.” I want to wipe away the pain of what I’ve done.
She starts pacing the room. I continue, “When Frank and I got home from driving you and Rosa to the bus station, Mother presented me with the missing ring. She’d found it with my dirty clothes in the hamper. I was so ashamed for being such a bitch to you. Of course you hate me, but please don’t hurt Frank. Don’t seek revenge against him. He’s so good—”
She stops pacing and declares, “I couldn’t hurt Frank. I love him—”
I bite my lip. “But I remember you pounding on him at the bus station telling him how much you hated him—”
“I was eleven years old, Ronnie, and I took it out on him. Somehow I knew he wouldn’t hit back. You, I was scared of.”
“Me?” I ask, shocked. “I was that terrible, huh?”
“Yes, you were, Ronnie. And ever since I arrived at Meadow Farm, starting with that cocktail party when Frank wanted you and me to meet—god I was so nervous getting ready—anyway, I’ve been terrified that you would remember me and try to keep Frank and me apart.” Juliana’s posture droops even more. Hmmm. Maybe that’s why her room looked like a hurricane hit it when I snooped for numbers on her cell phone the evening I first met her—or met her again.
She shakes her head in disbelief. “You think I still want revenge against Frank and your family, for what you did to my mother—may she rest in peace—who was just sticking up for me all those years back?”
“Oh, Juliana, I’m so sorry about your mother.” I pause. “How long ago did Rosa die?”
“It’s been fifteen years,” Juliana says. “It was a heart attack. She didn’t suffer.” She pauses as if collecting her thoughts, and then I see a hardness in her eyes. “Revenge? Sure I wanted to get back at all of you Rutherfurds—thought of little else all through my teens. It’s what drove me forward in life.”
Juliana pauses again, and I watch resignation replace the memory of her fury. “Then one day the anger stopped, thank god, because that took a huge weight off my shoulders.”
Thank god, I think, too. “If the anger and desire for revenge were gone,” I say, “what kept pushing you to go for a better life?”
“Plain and simple,” Juliana answers, “it was how your mother inspired me with her kindness, always telling me I could make anything of my life. Her words came back to me many times over the years.” Recalling my conversation with Carmela Suarez during my Disney World visit when she told me a mystery person had inspired Teresa/Juliana, it makes my heart melt to learn that the mystery person was my mother. Still…
“So, when you met my brother in California, you weren’t even a little bit tempted to seek revenge?” I ask. Juliana emphatically shakes her head no, and I go on. “What was that like? Meeting Frank again? Did you know right away who he was?”
She doesn’t answer, but I see a slow, sad smile play across Juliana’s face, and then she speaks. “I met friends for golf, and as I walked over to the course, I saw them talking to a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair. I could only see his back,” she says. “Then he turned around and looked at me with the kindest eyes—it took my breath away, because I was sure I knew him, but I couldn’t place him. Then my friends introduced us and said his name, and I couldn’t believe it.”
Juliana looks off, and I guess she’s reliving the moment. She continues, “Frank Rutherfurd from Meadow Farm. And even more amazing was the instant connection between us…” Her voice drifts off, and she looks back at me. “…The rest is history. So, no, I had no thoughts of revenge. But enough of this, Ronnie, I have more urgent matters to deal with.”
“Wait. What about that revenge rock that came flying through the living room window when Frank was attacked? Spelled r-A-v-e-n-g-e, by the way. Who spells revenge like that?”
She hesitates, then frowns. “I wasn’t the one who threw the rock. But I can’t talk to you about this now.” She goes on, “I have a bigger problem.” Her bottom lip quivers. “I’m waiting for news, a phone call—” A choked sob breaks loose from her throat as tears fill her eyes again. “A family member has, uh, gone m-m-missing.” The crying resumes, and she stands up and walks her worry into the rug, back and forth, back and forth.
Her disturbance can only be over one possible person, and I ask, “Is Francesca missing?”
That stops Juliana in her tracks, and she stares at me and says in a shaky voice, “The market where she has her summer job called our Tía Connie to ask if Frankie was sick, since she wasn’t there for her early shift this morning. Connie is out looking for her, and I was waiting to hear if Connie had found Frankie.” She grabs another tissue and dabs the tears from her eyes. “Then this awful cou-, uh, person called to say he’s got her…that he grabbed her on her way to work. I don’t know what to believe.” She glances at her watch. “Enough of this waiting—”
“Francesca isn’t just a niece or cousin, is she, Juliana?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.” Her voice once again has that suspicious tone to it. I back off.
“Is Tía Connie your aunt or is she your great-aunt?” I ask, but Juliana says nothing in response. “Remember, I did see you with her, so what’s the big secret?”
“Connie’s my great-aunt.” Juliana sighs and goes back to tossing a few more things into the suitcase. “She has problems because of a nephew who’s back in her life.”
“So what’s the problem with the, uh, nephew? I guess he’s your cousin?” I return to my chair, where I can face her and better observe her body language and facial expressions.
&n
bsp; “He’s an awful man, no shame. Yes, unfortunately he’s a cousin…” Juliana glances around the room and then at the huge suitcase on the bed. “…And most of the time I try to stay as far away from him as I can.” She stuffs her books and Kindle into the suitcase and then slams it shut. “From what I know of him, I’m sure he’s mean to Connie, maybe threatens her, but she won’t say.” She sits down next to the oversized case.
“Can’t you talk to the nephew?” I watch her face closely.
“I tried just yesterday to reason with him, and it didn’t do any good.” Was that the scene I witnessed at the cemetery? “He’s bad news,” Juliana says, and her body stiffens. “I don’t want to go anywhere near him.” Hmmm, I wonder what the truth actually is. She folds her arms across her chest. “I really don’t want to discuss this any further.”
I switch gears. “Maybe Frank can help you find a solution?”
Juliana stands up, and her voice is sharp. “I don’t want Frank dragged into this.”
I’m careful what I say next. “You can’t run away.” The way you did with Mr. Dot-Com, John Palmer, I feel like saying, but resist the urge.
Her cell phone rings, and she looks at the number with relief. “It’s Francesca.” She quickly answers, “Francesca, are you OK? Where are—”
The voice on the other end interrupts her, and I can make out that it’s a he, but can’t understand what he says. It’s certainly not Francesca or Tía Connie. Juliana’s body tenses; she seems unnerved.
“Don’t hurt her, Bobby—” Juliana gasps. “Bobby, wait. I’ll do anything you say.” She starts to cry again.
The proverbial light bulb goes on. Of course that’s what Bobby Taylor meant when he yelled out I’ve got a better idea as he left Meadow Farm last night—he grabbed Francesca. Does he think he’s Francesca’s father, or is he doing this purely for monetary gain? He said last night that he needs money.
“Where do I bring it?” she asks. “What time?” She glances at her watch. “Noon, OK. I think it’s enough time.” She hangs up and goes to her big leather satchel that sits on a luggage rack. Rummaging around, Juliana does her best to block my view, but I see a flash of cash.
“What’s going on, Juliana?”
“If you want to help me, I could use a hand getting my suitcase downstairs,” she says.
Now it’s my turn to stand there in paralyzing uncertainty while I try to figure out my next move. She looks at me, assumes I’m not coming, and turns her back on me. She pulls the monster case clumsily off the bed and pushes it by its wheels as she leaves the room, and then I hear the clunk, clunk sound of baggage bouncing down the steps.
I run into the hall and dash over to help her carry the piece of luggage. “Juliana, what’s happened to Frankie?”
She doesn’t look at me and focuses on the steps as we now carry her heavy case downstairs. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but that didn’t sound like Tía Connie’s voice on your call.”
Nothing from Juliana, except, “Thank you,” once we’re at the bottom, and she wheels the oversized suitcase across the foyer and out the door.
I follow her. “Was that Bobby?” Silence as she bounces the baggage down the outside steps to her car. “I can help you.”
I rush inside and upstairs to her room. I grab her big satchel, but not before glancing inside where I see bundles of cash, like the bundles I saw her give Bobby Taylor that day at the Moosic Café. Holy smoke, she must have ten-thousand dollars in here—a wild guess on my part, but I count about ten bundles of hundred-dollar bills.
Juliana walks in on me holding the satchel handles apart, staring inside the bag at the cash, probably with my mouth agape—definitely awkward. She shakes her head. “I don’t have time for this. Please tell Frank I’ll phone him when I can.” She grabs the satchel and dashes out.
“How can help you?” I call after her again. Do I call Frank? What about Will? They’d both tell me to stay put and do nothing at all.
Below, I hear a car engine start up. I dash to the window and look outside to see Juliana leave in the rental she’s been using. I hurry down the stairs, and as I cross the foyer toward the door, Laura and Warrior come out from the kitchen.
“Aunt Ronnie, was that Juliana who left?” Laura asks.
“Yes,” I say as Warrior trots over to me.
“So where are you going now, Aunt Ronnie?”
“To see what I can find out, Laura, and I’ll come right back,” I answer. “Oh, and when Frank arrives, tell him Juliana said she’ll call.” I stop at the phone table to write a number on a pad. “And tell him if there’s any trouble—”
“What kind of trouble?” My niece sounds puzzled and upset.
“No time to explain, Laura. This is important, so listen to me. If there’s any trouble and Frank needs help, he should call Will Benson at this number. Tell your father that Will is, uh, is a friend of mine, and he’ll know what to do.”
“But Aunt Ronnie—”
I hand her the paper. “Got to go. Just tell him, Laura, and make sure you give him the number.”
Warrior and I race outside to my bright red Mustang. I realize the car is hard to miss, a problem if I’m going to successfully tail Juliana. So we detour to the barn, where I find the nondescript farm Toyota, and we hop in. We then hot-rod out of Meadow Farm after Juliana, with Will’s and Frank’s voices in my head telling me not to go.
Chapter Forty-Two
Speeding via the most direct route I know to the highway, I catch up to Juliana’s rental car as we both enter the on-ramp. Warrior and I once again follow her to Scranton. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t notice us tailing her, and I maintain a distance of a half-dozen cars between us. Along the way, I leave a message for Will that my dog and I are probably heading to the Moosic Motel, that I think Francesca’s been kidnapped, and can he follow?
I finish up with, “My brother will probably come to Moosic, too, and I gave him your number. Will, if you can’t reach me by phone or text, it may be that I’ve gotten myself into trouble. So call Frank. Perhaps the two of you can help each other. And Juliana, Francesca, and me. Oh, I’m driving the farm Toyota, not my red Mustang.” I sign off, leaving Frank’s number.
Boy, if that message doesn’t get me a lecture, I don’t know what will. I can even imagine the conversation when my personal private eye calls back. Now, Ronnie, he would caution, let’s agree right here and now that you’re not barging into the middle of things the moment you get there. You will carefully assess the situation before deciding what to do, check in with me, and follow my instructions.
Then I’ll sigh and roll my eyes. And P.I. Benson will continue, I mean it, Ronnie. We don’t know if they have guns. This could be very dangerous, and we don’t want anyone getting shot or injured. Do we understand each other? I’m in charge.
And I would tell him he’s in charge, even though I wouldn’t mean it. Something in me bristles at being ordered around, even in my imaginary conversation with Will.
Once in Moosic and parked in front the motel with the engine off, I watch Juliana enter the coffee shop. She sits in a booth that’s clearly visible through the front window. I check my watch, and five minutes later, at eleven o’clock, crouched low with Warrior in the car, I watch Bobby Taylor saunter out from the far alley of the Moosic Motel. He’s playing with his cell phone and doesn’t notice me as he walks past the Toyota. Juliana probably doesn’t know that Bobby uses the motel, and from her angle in the restaurant, she wouldn’t have seen him through the window exiting from that alley.
Bobby enters the coffee shop and sits down in Juliana’s booth. His back is to me, but I can observe Juliana clearly. Her side of the conversation appears to grow more and more agitated by the minute. She stands up, pulls her phone out of her pocket, and indicates she’s going outside.
When Juliana comes through the door, she locks eyes with my German shepherd, who grows excited when he sees her. “Settle down, Warrior,” I say, and he curls up on the seat. Her eyes sh
ift to me, and her brow furrows with worry. She glances back at the restaurant’s front window, but Bobby isn’t looking in our direction. She glares back at me, and I put my finger to my mouth and shake my head to indicate that I’m not here. I lower my window.
Juliana breaks eye contact with me when she hears a voice on the other end of her phone. What I can’t quite hear, I can guess at. “Frank?” She listens. “I’m OK. I’m in Pennsylvania.” Another pause. “Please, I need you to trust me, and I’ll explain everything later.” More listening. “Remember when I told you I had issues in my old life that needed taking care of?”
She nods her head to the phone and then continues. “Well, a deadbeat cousin from my past has kidnapped a family member. He wants money, of course.”
She waits a moment. “Yes, Frank, it’s my daughter.” Her voice cracks. “Oh, Frank, I have what he told me to bring. Ten thousand—I have it here. But he changed his mind. He says his brother wants him to get more money.”
Does Bobby Taylor mean his brother, Joe, wants him to get more? So Joe is definitely part of this. I had a bad feeling about that guy when I first met him in his office.
Apparently Frank says something, and Juliana answers, “Now he wants twenty-five thousand.” She looks again in the window at Bobby Taylor’s slouched back. He turns suddenly, and she gives him a thumbs-up and nods her head. He returns to his coffee, and she looks at me with panic in her eyes while she listens to my brother on the phone.
“Thank you, Frank. I can write you a check or wire it to you from California. I’ll tell him the cash will be here in a couple of hours. And Frank, Ronnie’s nearby—” I can’t hear the rest, because she turns away.
Everything that I was terrified would happen to Frank is happening—he’s being dragged into the middle of Juliana’s deadly mess. Kidnapping! Ransom! And not just one nasty thug, Bobby Taylor, but it sounds as if his greedy, probably masterminding brother, Joe Taylor, is also involved—the one who just looks like a good guy but wants more ransom money.
OK, focus. It seems my brother is bringing an additional fifteen-thousand dollars to make up the difference and help Juliana meet Bobby’s and Joe’s new demand. Frank could be walking into a trap. I’ve got to do something.
Stunner Page 25
