Cut and Run

by Fern Michaels

  “With no money and nothing to back him up, it’s said, rumored actually, that he took off to the city, where he proved himself an absolute master at insinuating himself among the rich and powerful. A gigolo, if you will. He used his title to live off women.”

  Dennis felt like his eyes were going to bug out of his head. He gasped out loud. “Maggie, are you saying that Annie’s husband was, in effect, a male prostitute?”

  “I’m not saying it, Dennis. That’s what I found out, but yes, I think that’s what Annie’s husband was.”

  Nikki looked around at the faces staring at Maggie. She had to clear her throat several times before she could get the words out. She fixed her gaze on Myra. “Did Annie ever know or find out?”

  “She knew that he had been unfaithful to her. That’s why she took Elena and relocated to Virginia, only going back to Spain in the summers, so Armand could see Elena. After Jonathan showed up, her people did some research and discovered that Jonathan was not his sister’s child, as he had said—it seems he had no siblings at all—but his own child from a lady of the night.

  “She didn’t know anything about this until Enrico kidnapped her and proceeded to enlighten her. She was absolutely devastated. She had no clue about their existence. Not a single one. He showed her an album. Annie told me she lost it. Right then and there. That’s what she was dealing with for the three months he held her captive on the mountain. She said he would taunt her with the album. He kept telling her over and over that her husband used her money to take care of him, his brothers, and his mother. Uncle Armand, Enrico called him. But Annie came to accept all that he was telling her. Pictures don’t lie; and then there is the fact that he looks exactly like Armand. Enrico even has the same mannerisms.”

  “How awful for Annie,” Kathryn said. “It’s beyond cruel.”

  Yoko dabbed at her eyes. Harry put his arm around her shoulders.

  “If the man weren’t already dead, I think I might take a crack at killing him,” Alexis said through clenched teeth.

  “Save the venom for Enrico and the brothers,” Snowden suggested.

  “You can count on it, Mr. Snowden,” Kathryn barked.

  The room went silent for a few minutes.

  Finally, Jack broke the silence. “What’s our next move? What can we do? We’re a small army here. If we work in tandem, we should be able to come up with some good leads that will take us to wherever Annie is being held. Just tell us what to do.”

  “What did you find out about Enrico’s mother?” Charles asked. “Seems to me that would be a good starting point. And you said she has a sister. Since the mother passed away, we should concentrate on everything we can find out about her. She’s still alive, so she’s living somewhere.”

  “Enrico said the sister took care of his mother until she passed away. Annie told me he said they prayed together. He seemed fond of his aunt, said she looked out for them growing up when Uncle Armand was away on business. She cooked and cleaned and saw to the boys. She was the person who taught them their catechism, took them to church. No clue what the mother did back then when she wasn’t sick.

  “Annie told me there were pictures of her in the album, and Annie said she was a beautiful woman, pictures of her decked out in designer outfits at various luncheons, parties, and the like. They all lived in a big, elegant house and wanted for nothing. There were several maids, a gardener, a fancy car with a chauffeur. Until Armand died. Then everything went down the drain, and they had to move out of the big, elegant house because there was no money.

  “According to what Enrico told Annie, neither he nor his brothers had any idea about their uncle’s double life. They knew nothing about Annie. The mother only told them what she knew on her deathbed.”

  “That just makes this whole mess worse,” Isabelle said.

  “Yes, it does,” Myra said sadly.

  Charles held up his hands for silence. “We need to make a plan here. We can all separate and check out whomever you need us to talk to. We should be able to speed things up with all of us working together. I believe the sister will be the key. Someone has to know her. If she was a regular churchgoer, then I think that’s where we should start. Tell us how you want to divide up the interviews.”

  Two hours later, the Sisters leaned back in their respective chairs and looked at one another.

  Nikki took the lead. “We need to shelve the van and travel by moped. I’m sure the desk clerk can rent us some mopeds. We’ll need maps. I don’t know how much we can do before it gets dark. Kathryn and I have the padre. We’re going to leave now before the dinner hour. We’ll check back here by seven, when I think we should have dinner and retire for the night. I’m feeling the jet lag, and I know the rest of you are, too. Still, I recognize the fact that none of us will be able to sleep unless we physically do something today. Dennis, what is the hotel saying about the mopeds?”

  “Ten minutes, and they’ll all be here.”

  “I’m staying behind with Charles and Fergus,” Myra said. “Mainly because I don’t have any kind of identification.” The group said they understood and departed for the lobby to wait for the arrival of the mopeds.

  Myra called out. “The sister’s name is Sophia. Annie said she has the same last name of Araceli as the mother.”

  When the door closed behind the Sisters and the boys, Myra turned around and asked, “Do we have an extra laptop?”

  “No, but you can use mine,” Fergus said. “I’m too wired up to work it. Myra, are you sure that Annie is okay?”

  “She was right as rain when I took it on the lam. Don’t go negative on me, Fergus. I can’t handle it if you do. We all have to have faith in Annie. Do you hear me, Fergus?” Myra demanded shrilly.

  “Yes, Myra, I hear you, and I am doing my best. I hope it’s good enough.”

  “It has to be good enough, Fergus. It just has to be. Now, what’s your password, so I can get to work?”

  “What do you think it is? ‘Countess,’ of course.”

  “Of course it is.” Myra grinned as she typed in the word.

  Chapter 8

  Annie struggled to sit upright on the flowered sofa. She looked around at the small room and marveled at how cozy it was. And clean. Armand had purchased this for the little woman wearing the white apron. Later, she would think about that. Now she had to focus. And listen. One could learn a lot by listening instead of talking. Charles had drilled that little fact into all their heads back in the day.

  Annie tried to assess the little woman in the apron. Enrico had said something about her not being a match for Annie’s strength. And yet, even with the white hair and the wrinkles, the woman seemed strong to Annie. And there was something in her eyes that did not speak of old age. Maybe it was how she moved. She didn’t shuffle or trudge or plop. In fact, she seemed to glide over the polished floors. Maybe she was putting on an act for her nephew. Then again, maybe a lot of things, Annie thought in disgust.

  “Coffee, señora,” the old woman said as she set down a pretty china cup on a matching saucer. “These dishes once belonged to my sister,” she said. Annie wanted the coffee desperately, but there was no way she was going to drink it. Another rule of Charles’s, never eat or drink anything unless you know one hundred percent that it is safe. She shook her head.

  Sophia tilted her head to the side. “It is safe to drink, señora. I made it. She pointed to the door and said, “Rico, no you do not drink.”

  Annie made an ugly noise in the back of her throat to show what she thought of that statement. She realized then how hungry she was. At that moment, she felt like she could chew a doorknob.

  To prove her point, Sophia picked up the cup and took a healthy gulp. She then refilled the cup to the brim and handed the cup to Annie. “Trust me, señora.”

  And for some strange reason, Annie did trust her. She accepted the cup and drank greedily. Ah, nectar of the gods. She nodded at Sophia and handed her the cup.

  “More, señora?” Annie nodded.
Sophia poured generously. She was equally generous with the brandy bottle. “Are you hungry, señora? Of course you are,” Sophia said, answering her own question. “I will fix you some food. It will be safe to eat. You can watch me prepare it. Come with me to the kitchen and watch. If Rico comes in, say nothing. Nothing at all. Do you understand me, señora?” Annie nodded as her hopes rose. Maybe this woman would turn out to be an ally after all.

  It was a country kitchen, with a fieldstone fireplace with almost a full wall of firewood stacked high. A fire burned brightly and was fragrant. A wide plank table with two benches took up the middle of the floor. She’d seen tables and benches like these back in the States at Pier One, where she loved to go to browse with Myra on Saturday afternoons. She slid onto one of the benches and looked around. There were some healthy-looking plants on the wide windowsills. A picture of a bright red teapot, which looked to be a child’s painting, hung on a wall by the Dutch door. There were no cabinets or cupboards, just open shelves that held colored dishes and dried flower arrangements. A small radio sat on one of the shelves next to salt and pepper shakers. She’d seen no evidence of a television or computer. Nothing electronic. How did this woman communicate with the outside world? she wondered. Somewhere, someplace, there had to be a phone. There just had to be one. Annie cautioned herself to stay alert. Charles’s words of “listen” rang over and over in her head. Listening, she told herself, was good; but in order to listen, there had to be a dialogue. She took the bull by the horns as she watched Sophia slice ham onto a yellow platter. “Where is this place?” she asked.

  “In America, you would probably say you are in the country. We are fifty miles from the city. I am sorry to tell you this, señora, but no one knows I live here. Armand, your . . . your husband. . . he used another name on all the paperwork. I suspect now that was not the case at all. He told me the paperwork says I can live here until I die. It has been many years, and I have had no problems. After my death, I do not know what happens to this property.”

  How generous of you, Armand. For some reason, the news wasn’t upsetting her. “How do you live? Do you have a job?” Annie asked, curious now.

  “Rico gives me a pittance to live on. I raise chickens and sell the eggs in the village. I sell the figs, too. I barter with the villagers. I manage. I taught school for a short while but had to give it up. My job was to see to my sister and the boys. It is a family, the way things are done.” Annie found herself blinking at the bitterness in Sophia’s voice.

  “Why didn’t you rebel? Leave?”

  “And go where and do what, señora? This is not the United States. Rico would not allow it. Nor would Armand. My sister . . . she was very demanding. I had no choice. Before you can ask, yes, I regret all of that. Now that I am old, I no longer care. I live here. I paint pictures. Sometimes I sell them in the village to tourists. I have a garden, I can vegetables and fruit. I have plenty of firewood. I can still make my way to the church on Sunday, where I pray for all the poor souls who have less than I do.”

  All Annie could do was nod. A plate was set in front of her. Ham, sliced potatoes that had been warmed in a fry pan, and some pickled carrots. A feast. Annie looked at it, her eyes devouring the food as she tried to remember the last time she’d eaten.

  Sophia smiled and nodded. “Eat, señora. I will not harm you in any way. I cannot say the same for my nephew. By the same token, I cannot help you if that is your next question.”

  Annie forgot about her table manners as she wolfed down her food. It tasted better than any food she’d ever eaten in a five-star restaurant.

  “Where did Rico go?” Annie asked when she cleaned her plate and pushed it to the middle of the plank table.

  * * *

  Enrico Araceli made his way to the village church. Sometimes, and he admitted to himself that those times were rare, he needed to communicate with God. And during those times, he stacked the deck and tried to barter with the deity. He’d list his accomplishments and omit mentioning all the things he had done wrong. He always promised that he would go to confession, but he never followed through.

  He liked walking into a small church. Small churches were comforting, as opposed to the big cathedrals with all their stained glass and gilt. He also liked the scent of a small church. Maybe it was a remembrance from his childhood, when he was forced to attend daily mass. He sniffed. Yes, candle wax, lemon oil, and just the faint scent of incense. The cathedral’s scents were overpowering, and he would always get sneezing fits.

  Enrico dropped to his knees and blessed himself. What to say? Should he explain what he was doing and why he was doing it? Why bother? he asked himself. If it was true that God was all-knowing, then He knew what Enrico was doing and why he was doing it. He mumbled a childhood prayer for the souls of his mother and his uncle Armand.

  Enrico slid back into the shiny pew, sliding a hymn book away from him. He looked around. The church was empty. It was quiet and peaceful. In his world of turmoil and angst, the feeling was alien. He closed his eyes and let his memories take over. He hated when he did this, but from time to time he tortured himself by allowing it to happen.

  * * *

  It was the eve of his sixteenth birthday. He was glued to the window, watching for his uncle Armand to arrive. His uncle had promised he’d be back for Enrico’s birthday, but it was getting late. He wanted to cry, but sixteen-year-old boys didn’t cry. Or, if they did, they did it in private, so no one would see. Maybe he would get here in the morning. Surely, his uncle wouldn’t miss this momentous day.

  Enrico whirled around, thinking his brothers were invading his privacy, but it wasn’t Mateo or Flavio; it was his mother. His eyes almost popped out of his head at the way she was dressed and painted up. Surely, she wasn’t going out when Uncle Armand was due. But he knew that she was. He could smell her perfume all the way across the room. But what he hated even more was the smell on her when she returned. Usually early in the morning, when it was still dark outside.

  “I came to say good night, Rico. You’ll be asleep when I return. Tomorrow is your birthday. Tomorrow you become a man! Such a wonderful day.”

  Enrico drank in his mother’s beauty. In his thoughts, he didn’t know what to compare her to, so he simply thought of her as a princess queen. To him that said it all. When she smiled, she looked like an angel. At least to his young mind she was.

  “Cook has your dinner on the table, Rico. Wash up; your brothers are already at the table. Run along now.”

  Run along. Like he was a little boy, like his brothers. He turned back to look out the window.

  “Rico, sweetie, your dinner is waiting. Armand promised that he would be here for your birthday, and a promise is a promise.”

  “You’re lying. If he is coming, then why are you going out all dressed up? He’s not coming, and you know it.”

  “Rico, that is so harsh. How can you speak to me like that? What has gotten into you?”

  “You! You’re what’s gotten into me. Where are you going? Why are you dressed up like a streetwalker? Where did you get those clothes anyway? I hate when you dress up like this. I really hate all that mess you put on your face.”

  “I’m going to a dinner party. I can’t cancel now, it’s too late. This is how you dress for an adult dinner party.”

  “No, it isn’t, Mother. Stop trying to fool me. I’m sick of it. If Uncle Armand does get here, I’m going to tell him what you do and how you look when he isn’t here,” Enrico spat.

  His mother’s eyes narrowed. “Do that, my son, and you will regret the day you were born.”

  Enrico ignored her as he brushed past her and ran out to the kitchen. He hoped his mother would follow him, but he knew she wouldn’t. He strained to hear the front door close. His shoulders slumped when he finally heard the sound he dreaded. His tears in check, he took his place at the table and started to eat the dinner he didn’t want.

  His younger brothers looked at him and made ugly faces, hoping to antagonize him, bu
t he ignored them. He hated them and wasn’t sure how he could hate his very own brothers. He had asked Armand that very question, and his uncle had stared at him for a long time before he answered him. And when he did, it wasn’t a satisfactory answer. It’s normal for children to hate one another one day and love them the next day. It was such a stupid response from a man whom he loved and adored. Because he could not remember a single time or day when he had loved his brothers.

  His plate clean, Rico stared at his brothers before he left the table. He made his way back to the room they called the library to take up his position at the window. He pulled up short when he noticed his aunt Sophia staring out the same window. He could feel his eyes start to burn. He ran to her and didn’t care if the tears trickled down his cheeks. He relished the feel of his aunt’s arms circled around him. She crooned to him. He melted against her. “I told her I knew where she was going. I told her I was going to tell Uncle Armand. She said if I did, I would regret it.”

  “Shhh, it will be all right. Your uncle will be here soon. He called while you were eating your dinner. He said there was a terrible accident on the highway. He’s coming, Rico, and he’ll be here soon.”

  “And we will all lie as to where my mother is when he asks. Like we always do.” Sophia nodded sadly as she hugged the young boy tighter. “Why do we do it, Aunt Sophia?”

  “I wish I had the answer, but I don’t. I guess the answer might be we’re family, and family sticks together no matter what. Sadly, that doesn’t make it right. Come, let’s take a walk around the grounds to help clear our heads.”

  Hours later, Enrico felt a light tap on his shoulder. He rolled over to see his uncle Armand smiling down at him. “Feliz cumpleaños, Rico. It’s after midnight, so it is officially your birthday!”

  Enrico bounded out of bed and hugged his uncle. “I waited all evening for you. I’m so glad to see you.”