“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, moving closer. “Where are you hurt?”
“I’m thirsty and starving,” Fletcher said. “Do you have anything to eat?”
“Yeah. I always bring a picnic lunch when I go exploring,” she said in an angry whisper. “If you can’t get yourself down the ladder, I won’t carry you down.”
She backed up and reversed down the rungs, giving a puff of relief when she hit the ground. “If you’re not down here in five minutes, it doesn’t matter what you want. I’ll call the ambulance and let the chips fall where they may.”
She sent a text to Braden, telling him she was fine, then stuck the phone in her back pocket as Fletcher made the first few tentative steps downward.
“Haven’t you had anything to eat since Wednesday?” she asked, horrified. “Have you had something to drink?”
“I had some water, but it ran out yesterday,” Fletcher said, reaching the ground with shambling steps. “Or the day before. What day is it?”
“And you’ve been up there all this time?” It was an echo of the questions already asked but Marjorie just couldn’t get her head around it. When he gave a weak nod, yes, she followed up with, “Did you walk here all the way from the accident?”
He started to lean to one side, so Marjorie got under his armpit and grunted as she steadied him. With shaking steps, she walked over to the café, giving a sigh of relief as she deposited him in a chair.
She handed Fletcher a glass with just a splash of water in the bottom. “Take small sips,” she warned. “If you’re dehydrated your stomach won’t appreciate being hit with a large gulp.”
As he emptied the glass, she refilled it, pleased to see his face brighten with colour. Her phone beeped as Braden sent a responding text message and she pushed it into a call. “Can you come over here right away?”
“Who’s that?” Fletcher asked, squinting.
“Never you mind,” Marjorie said, feeling a renewed rush of anger every time she thought of another phone call she’d made on this rat’s behalf. “Do you think you can handle some food now?”
She fed him in small bites, feeling the same as when she nursed an abandoned kitten back to health. Except this youngster was big and bright enough to know better.
Judging from what she’d found out over the past week, he might also be dangerous. Marjorie felt an instant jolt of relief when Braden’s sleep-deprived face popped through the front door.
“Look what I found,” she said, jerking her head towards Fletcher. “Now, can you help me figure out what to do with him?”
Chapter Thirteen
Marjorie didn’t trust herself to make a sensible decision given how high her emotions were running. A big part of her wanted to just call Regina and let the miserable worm be led away in handcuffs. It would serve him right.
Another part told her to stay silent and listen. If she couldn’t find out what had driven Fletcher into hiding, she might make the wrong choice, a decision she couldn’t take back.
“Why should we listen to a word you say?” Braden demanded when Fletcher attempted to speak. “You’ve put Marjorie through hell this past week, not to mention the scars you’ve left on your brother.”
“I need to see him.” Fletcher grasped Braden’s hand, tugging him closer.
“Get off me.” Braden jerked away, his lip curling. “I doubt Duncan will want to see you ever again, except to tell you how much you’ve hurt him.”
“Once I explain everything, he’ll understand.”
“He understands you’re a dead drug dealer who stashed stolen goods in his bedroom for a bit of extra cash on the side,” Marjorie said in a low voice.
She stared at the table as she spoke, not trusting herself to meet Fletcher’s pleading gaze. “And since he hasn’t responded to the text I sent, saying you’re safe, I’d guess you’re not welcome. At least, not yet.”
“But I’m not any of those things!”
“Then why is your bedroom full of stolen equipment and why was your car full of drugs?”
This time Fletcher was the one incapable of holding a gaze. “Okay, there’s a bit of truth in there but it’s nothing as bad as what you think.”
“Call the police,” Braden said, slapping his palm flat on the table. “This café should be open, and I should be lying in bed, fast asleep. Any time we spend listening to this young man’s feeble excuses is time wasted.”
“He’s going to kill me,” Fletcher shouted. “That’s why I had to pretend I was dead.”
“Who’s he?” Braden asked in return, unimpressed.
“The real drug dealer.” Fletcher ran a hand through his hair, appearing on the verge of tears. “I run lookout for him, but I stuffed up. While we were out chasing a kitten, the cops swooped in and I didn’t give him any notice to hide his stash or run.”
“That’s what you were doing in here every day?” Marjorie asked, not bothering to hide her disappointment. “Operating as a lookout for a bunch of dangerous drug dealers?” She shook her head. “And to think I let you near my kittens.”
“I’m not a bad guy,” Fletcher insisted. “I just got in over my head.”
“How does a good guy end up faking his own death and causing his loved ones a boatload of grief?” That was Marjorie’s sticking point. She just couldn’t believe anyone could be so self-centred. “Why didn’t you let them in on the plan?”
“Because it had to look real. If Duncan turned up, cheerful as chips, Tyrone would take one glance and know the entire thing must be fake.”
“Tyrone!”
“What? You know him?” Fletcher stared at Marjorie, who nodded.
“You introduced me to him once and then Duncan and I bumped into him on the street.”
“I forgot about that.” The young man hugged himself, the gesture so similar to Duncan that Marjorie almost smiled. Almost.
“Is he the drug dealer?” Braden asked. When Fletcher said yes, he added, “Couldn’t you just turn him into the police?”
Fletcher stared down at his hands. “I hoped I could get out of everything. All I’ve wanted for the past few weeks is to walk away and never meet any of his gang again. They roped me into the whole thing by threatening to turn me in to the police over the stolen gear. It seemed like wholesale irony to turn myself in voluntarily.”
“But you’re already in trouble with the police, now.” Marjorie stood and stretched, starting off a brief calisthenic session amongst the kittens. “Since you have to take responsibility, why not dob him in?”
“There’s more than just him.”
“Efron?” she guessed but Fletcher shook his head.
“I doubt he’d cause any trouble, even though he fences the stolen goods for the same gang.” He shrugged. “I know Tyrone’s got people in place throughout the area, but I don’t know who. I’ll be in danger as soon as they find out I’m not dead.”
“That’s what witness protection is for.” Marjorie sat down again, taking Fletcher’s hands between her own. “You can ask the police to protect you.”
“I thought that was just an American thing.”
Braden nodded and cleared his throat. “No, they have it here, too. We just don’t dedicate as many TV dramas to it. It’s a good idea. They can move you away from here, give you a new identity. Tyrone will get the justice he deserves, and you get to start over.”
“I’ll have to give up my family, won’t I?” Fletcher pulled his hands back, clenching them together so hard the tendons popped out on his wrists. “They won’t let me stay in touch.”
“Probably not.” Marjorie leaned into Braden’s shoulder, grateful for his comforting warmth.
Fletcher squared his shoulders and looked her in the eye. “In that case, do you mind if I visit Duncan first? If I’m never going to see him again, I’d at least like the chance to explain.”
Marjorie and Braden exchanged a look. “Okay,” she said after a pause. “But if he doesn’t want to see you, we’re heading straight f
or the police. Likewise, if he’s not at home. We’re not traipsing around town all day trying to track him down.”
“But—”
“The police will allow him to visit,” Braden said in a gentler tone, making Marjorie feel like the bad cop in the situation. “Even if you don’t see him now, you’ll see him before they hide you away.”
“Okay.” Fletcher bowed his head forward, then gave a jolt and stared down with a smile. “Hello, little rascal. I suppose you won’t be able to come along with me, either.”
Houdini purred and placed his forelegs high up Fletcher’s calves. When the young man petted him, his eyes closed in satisfaction.
“I guess I’ve disappointed everyone,” he said with a catch in his voice. “And I swear, I never meant to.”
“Actions speak louder than intentions,” Braden said, standing up and striding towards the door. “Do you want to stay here and mind the café while we get this done?”
“Not on your life,” Marjorie said, quickly altering the sign with chalk and popping it outside. “I don’t trust him to do what he promises at all,” she whispered to Braden as she hooked her arm through his.
When they pulled up outside Fletcher’s home, he stared at the property, swallowing hard before he let himself out of the vehicle. “It doesn’t look any different,” he said in a small voice. “I thought everything would’ve changed.”
“You’re the one who’s changed.” Marjorie hesitated a moment, then led the group up the front path, sensing Fletcher’s reluctance. “Everything else is exactly the way you left it.”
She knocked on the front door, hoping the lack of response to her text was because Duncan was finally getting a good night’s sleep rather than wanting to ignore his brother. “Yoo-hoo,” she called out when nobody answered.
“There’s a key around the side,” Fletcher said, scooting around and returning before Marjorie could ask him where. He inserted it into the door, then frowned as he pushed it open. “It’s already unlocked.”
A wave of foreboding swept up Marjorie’s midriff as she followed him inside, checking her phone again for any acknowledgement of her message. The house was eerily silent.
“Duncan?” Fletcher called out. “Are you here?”
He strode down the hallway, quickly checking out all the rooms, then returned to stand near Marjorie with a shrug. “He’s not there. Are you sure he didn’t stay at a hotel or head on home?”
“I’m not sure of anything.” Marjorie frowned as she tried to think of their last conversation. “He was very upset last night but glad that we’d started planning for your funeral.”
Fletcher’s face blanched at her choice of words, but she wasn’t about to apologise. “Is there nothing left in the bedroom?” she asked. “His suitcase or change of clothes?”
“They’re still there. It’s just him that’s missing.”
She pushed past Fletcher, checking out the empty rooms for herself. Duncan’s phone sat on the bedside cabinet and when she picked it up, she saw her text on the screen. A few random letters were typed into a reply that had never been sent as though he’d been mid-answer before the phone fell from his hand.
Or was pulled away.
“Does your brother know anybody else in town?” she asked, bustling back down the corridor, her heart beating fast. “Apart from me and the police and your girlfriends.”
“Eh?”
Fletcher stared at her with a quizzical expression, but Marjorie glanced over his shoulder and froze.
On the fridge, a whiteboard held a short message.
“I have your brother. Bring me the supply or he’s dead.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Where is he?” Fletcher cried out in despair, pounding his fists on the table. “Why didn’t he tell me where to go?”
“We need to go to the police,” Marjorie said in a firm voice. “This is out of hand.”
“You should never have texted him about finding me,” Fletcher shouted, pointing a finger in her face. “This is all your fault.”
“I think the blame lies with the man who got himself hooked up with drug dealers,” Braden said in a low voice. “And I think you should sit down and think rather than yelling accusations.”
“Right.” Fletcher dug his fingers into his scalp and dragged them down. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where he’d go. Why would he take Duncan? Surely Tyrone knows my brother is clueless about the entire operation.”
“This isn’t about what your brother knows.” Braden paced over to examine the whiteboard. “This is about what he’s worth to you.”
“What’s the supply?” Marjorie asked. “Does he mean the drugs that washed down the river?”
“I guess.” Fletcher sounded on the verge of hysteria. “He must do. What else would he mean?” He gulped. “What if he’s already killed him? What if he kills my entire family?”
“Which is why we’re calling the police. Now.” Braden picked up the landline and dialled.
“No!” Fletcher knocked it out of his hand, the case shattering as it hit and skidded across the floor. “No cops. If they show up outside Tyrone’s house, he’ll kill my brother out of spite.”
“They won’t let themselves be seen.” Braden put his hands on his hips. “They’re trained professionals.”
“Oh, yes. The Hanmer Springs Police Force is widely known to be the best in the business.”
“They busted your mate’s drug ring.”
“He’s not my mate,” Fletcher seethed. “And they only found the gear because someone let a kitten get loose.”
“Leave Houdini out of this,” Marjorie said, indignant on the Chartreux’s behalf. “If you’re going to work for drug dealers, you’re the one responsible for keeping your mind on the job.”
“They blackmailed me into doing it. I didn’t ‘work’ for them.”
Braden bristled. “Only because you made yourself vulnerable by doing something stupid.”
“I needed the money from storing those stolen goods, okay?”
“We all need money.”
Marjorie clapped her hands. “How about we focus on the problem and leave the blame until Duncan’s safely home?”
Fletcher nodded while Braden’s cheeks coloured in embarrassment.
“Whoever left the message expected you to find him. Isn’t there anywhere you can think to try?”
The young man sat, staring miserably down at his hands. “I don’t know. My brain isn’t working at its maximum right now.”
“What about Adelaide or Vicky? Did you ever tell your girlfriends about your work? Perhaps they can remember something you can’t.”
“Who’s Vicky?”
Braden’s eyebrows drew together. “Vicky Wendall.”
“Never heard of her. Are you saying she thinks she’s going out with me?” He laughed. “I wish women were that eager. What’s she look like?”
Marjorie gave a quick description of the redhead and Fletcher stopped laughing. “Does she have one of those rings in her eyebrow?” He pointed to his own face.
“I think so. Does that mean you do know her?”
“Yeah, but she’s no friend of mine.” His face grew grim. “This Vicky sounds exactly like Monica, Tyrone’s fiancée. If she’s been hanging around, pretending to be my girlfriend, it’ll be to squeeze information out of you to report back to him.”
An informant. Working for the wrong side.
Marjorie felt violated even though she’d suspected the woman wasn’t who she claimed to be.
“Do you know where she lives?” When Fletcher didn’t answer at once, Marjorie snapped her fingers under his nose. “Well?”
“Yeah. She’s in a shared flat out near the golf course.”
“Come on.” Marjorie strode out of the room, giving a huff of impatience when Braden and Fletcher didn’t immediately follow. “We’re not going to find him in here, you two.”
Once they were back on the road, Fletcher rallied. “Take a left here, then it’s
the third house on the right.”
“But park just after it,” Marjorie added. “We don’t want Vicky—I mean Monica—to see Fletcher. It might be easier if I go in alone.”
“Not on my watch,” Braden said with such a note of finality she didn’t argue.
As they observed the house for a few minutes, Marjorie quickly composed a text and sent it to Regina. Fletcher might want to keep the police out of the matter, but she wanted all the backup they could have. She added the address they were sitting outside and left her phone switched on so it would be trackable.
With that task completed, she instantly felt better about the situation. Monica had been pleasant enough in all their other encounters, even if lying, and with Braden by her side, Marjorie couldn’t imagine she’d start a fight.
“Right, if we’re not back out here in five minutes, run to the police station and tell them what’s happening,” she told Fletcher while sliding out of the back seat. “And take the keys,” she prompted Braden, not trusting the young man not to drive off with the car.
When Monica answered their knock, her eyes widened, and her face grew wary. “What’s happened? Have they found Fletcher’s body?”
“We have,” Marjorie answered with pure honesty. “But we have a problem we’d like your help to sort out. Duncan’s been kidnapped but we don’t know where he’s being held. Since you know Fletcher so well, we thought you might have an idea.”
Monica shook her head and tried to close the door, but Braden stuck his foot out to stop her. He shouldered it open again. “Tyrone’s your friend, isn’t he? Well, we can’t give him what he wants if we can’t find him.”
“The old store on Spencer Street,” Monica muttered, glancing back over her shoulder as another young woman wandered into the hallway behind her. “I’ll just be a minute, Lucy. I’m fine.” The blonde shrugged, then continued into a room on the left.
“Which number?” Braden said, tugging his phone out of his pocket. “And where’s the entrance? Front or back?”
“It’ll be easier if you come with us.” Marjorie spread her hands out to either side. “We won’t hurt you.”
Chartreux Shock Page 8
