by Andy Straka
Since I had the gun this time, I decided I could afford to turn on the charm. I rolled my window down and spoke to the other driver. “Fancy running into you again.”
“I'm sorry, sir. You're on private property. You'll have to turn around.” Turnip's voice—he obviously now had one—boomed as if he were wearing a built-in megaphone. He gave no acknowledgment or indication of our earlier meeting.
“I'm here to see Miss Drummond,” I said.
“Which Miss Drummond would that be?” He knew darn well which Miss Drummond.
“Cassidy Drummond.” I opened my door and stepped out of the truck, handing him my card. “She'll be expecting me.”
He looked at it, as if he needed to, and grunted. Then he spun around without a word, walked back and climbed into the Suburban to talk on a cell phone, leaving the robot and me to stare at one another.
I zipped up my Virginia Cavaliers parka. “A little chilly today,” I said.
The robot said nothing. I wondered if he were programmed to talk.
After a minute the turnip got out of their vehicle and came back to where we stood. “Got any ID?”
I gave him a smirk. Some game we were playing here. I produced my license from my wallet.
“He's carrying,” the robot said. Atlas speaks.
The turnip searched my eyes for a moment. “Mind leaving your piece with us?” Suddenly the professional. Polite.
I shrugged, unzipped my parka, and handed him my .357, figuring if they'd been going to have some sniper shoot me down, there on the driveway, they would have done it already.
“We'll back up and turn around. You can follow us up to the house.”
We climbed back into our respective rigs. They executed a fast three-point turn—not an easy feat with that much truck—and I followed them. We passed under the limbs of one of the walnut trees, just beginning to bud. Rows of blooming daffodils and crocuses ringing a stone foundation came into view. Then the back of the house, every bit as impressive as the front. On the patio, standing with her arms crossed, was Cassidy Drummond. She looked none too pleased.
The security types motioned me into a spot along the driveway before disappearing in their Suburban around a corner of what looked like the main barn. I pulled into the space and let the truck idle for a few moments before shifting into park, watching Cassidy in the side mirror.
“Nice welcoming committee,” I said as I climbed out. I nodded in the direction of the goons.
“What are you doing here? I thought we agreed our arrangement would be confidential. You said you would call.”
I signaled for her to lead me inside. No telling if the lion and the tin man were still within earshot.
She ushered me inside onto the richly tiled floor of an enormous kitchen. Sub-Zero refrigerator/freezer built into the wall. Top-of-the-line appliances, made for entertaining a small army. A huge rack of gleaming pots and pans hung overhead. Everything about the room was big, from the center island, complete with integrated entertainment center, to the massive Shaker table in its own eat-in alcove.
She closed the double patio door and turned to me with her arms crossed again. “Well?” she said.
“No one else is in the house right now?”
“No. My father left for the airport a while ago. His staff either went back to Washington or headed for his campaign office in Richmond. The only problem is, by showing up here like this, you've just alerted my father to the fact that you're working for me.”
“I've got news for you, Ms. Drummond. He already knows.”
“What?”
I explained to her about my encounter with the turnip, leaving out my little nickname for the man. Her eyes grew wide.
“Oh, my gosh,” she said. “Oh, my gosh.”
She sat down at the big table and motioned to me to sit across from her. The last time I'd seen a kitchen chair so large was in a giant's castle at an amusement park.
“I told you,” she said. “Dad might be involved.”
“Let's not go jumping to any conclusions just yet.”
“Would you like some coffee?”
“If it's decaf,” I said. “Already had my stimulant for the day.”
She got up and went over to a gleaming metal urn, poured two mugs, came back, and set one in front of me.
“How long have Ike and Spike out there been working for your father?”
“I don't know, a couple of years maybe.”
“He always have this much security around?”
“Ever since the Diane Lemminger scandal.” Lemminger was the staffer with whom Drummond had been carrying on an affair. “I thought it was mostly just to keep the media away.”
“How come they didn't go with him to the airport or accompany him on his trip?”
“Oh, he has Mel for that.”
“Mel?”
“Mel Dworkin. He's been Dad's chief aide for years. Helps run his campaigns. He's also a bodyguard. Knows martial arts. I think he sometimes even carries a gun.”
“Sounds like a handy guy to have around.”
“Cartwright hates him. She calls him ‘Blow-Dry’ ‘cause his hair always looks so perfect.”
“Still haven't heard from your sister?”
“No.” She began chewing on one of her nails.
“I had a chat with Jed Haynes.”
“You did?” Her eyes grew wide again, as if she were surprised I'd actually done what she'd hired me to do. “What'd he say?”
“Claims he hasn't heard a word from your sister. I'm going to check out his place and talk to his roommates to be sure, but it seems like he's telling the truth.”
“Oh, my gosh,” she said again. “You think something else happened to her? She was taken by some weirdo or something?”
“It's a possibility. It's also possible she decided, for some reason, to disappear on her own.”
“Why?”
“I was hoping you might be able to help answer that.”
“Did Jed know anything about those articles I found in her bags?”
“I don't think so.”
“Have you been able to find out anything more?”
“Not yet. Like I told you, that's going to take some time.”
We sat in silence for a moment. I looked at my watch. It was almost six o'clock. In six hours Cartwright Drummond could be officially listed as missing.
“I have to tell you, Ms. Drummond, I really had expected to find your sister with Jed Haynes. I'm not sure what's going on with your father and these goons outside, though I plan to find out. As far as the articles you found in your sister's suitcase, they might be related. Then again, they might not. The way this thing is headed, I'm afraid you're going to end up needing to deal with your parents and the police.”
She shook her head. She stopped biting her nail and bit her lip instead. “Keep looking,” she said.
“You sure?”
“Yes. I want you to keep looking, no matter what else happens.”
“What about going to your mother?” Marcia's anger percolated in the back of my mind.
“Not yet—maybe later.”
I tried to search her face for some hidden meaning, but there was none. “All right. I can go talk to the roommates, see if they back up Jed's story. Then I can start making sweeps of the area, looking for the rental car. I've also got somebody doing some background work on your sister's phone and those articles.”
“I've found something else I want to show you,” she said.
We stood and I followed her from the kitchen into a mudroom and storage area. There were two large closets filled with coats and shelves brimming with outdoor gear and various paraphernalia. Right in the middle were a pair of colorful, oversized duffel bags and some smaller satchels. A long bench stood against the opposite wall.
“I've been so worried about Wright that I haven't even finished my own unpacking today.” She bent over one of the smaller bags. “Remember I told you about those E-mails? Here it is. She carried i
t on the airplane.” She lifted out a dark gray laptop.
“Are there some on here?”
“Yes. At least I think so. We both use AOL. She always saves important ones as files.”
“You want to try to read them now?”
“I already did. That's what's so weird.”
“What?”
“There are files listed in her box, but they won't open. And she must've changed her password. I can't get into her E-mail.”
“You two know each other's passwords?”
“Yes. We've never kept secrets from each other.”
“Until now.”
She nodded. “Do you think you could—I don't know—break into it somehow?”
Sounded like something right up Toronto's alley. If it wouldn't be corrupting her too much, maybe I could get Nicole to help too. “I think I might be able to manage something.”
I took the machine and the power cord from her.
“Please call me if you find something,” she said.
“Roger that. But you'd better start thinking about what you're going to tell your mother.”
“Okay.”
She walked me back through the kitchen. I took one last look around. Never knew when or under what circumstances I might have to come back.
Outside, the daylight was beginning to fade into the clouded combination of pastels that precede a gray dusk. For a brief moment, the dying sun cast a crimson glow on the hillside and the patio behind the house. No sign of the security men.
“What about your safety and these supposed security types?” I asked.
“You think I should leave, find someplace else to stay?”
“Your father's not here anymore. I think that would be wise.”
“Where should I go? Our new apartment's not ready yet.”
“I've got an idea,” I said.
8
“This is crazy, Frank.” Marcia paced back and forth in her living room. “Just what, exactly, did you hope to accomplish by bringing her here?”
Cassidy was taking a shower upstairs. It had been easy enough to gather up some of her and Cartwright's things, mostly still in their suitcases, toss them into the back of the pickup, and drive her into town. I pulled over twice and checked my rearview mirror the whole way to make sure the turnip and the robot hadn't tried to follow us.
“She just needs a safe place to stay for tonight, maybe longer.”
“A safe place to stay? What in the world is going on? First, she calls to tell me she needs to find someone to help her find out some information regarding her sister. You show up and tell me it's something serious, but you won't tell me what it is. You don't even want me calling her mother, who's my friend. The next thing I know, you're rushing her in here like she's some sort of fugitive or something.”
“Wright's missing.” Cassidy's voice came from the top of the stairs. Apparently the water from the shower hadn't been loud enough. Still dressed, she came partway down the steps.
“She's what? Are you sure?” Marcia asked.
“No one's seen her since midnight last night,” I said.
“I was just coming back down to get my shampoo,” Cassidy said.
Marcia looked horrified. “But there's been nothing on the news. And the police—”
“It hasn't hit the news,” I said. “And the cops don't know yet either. We're trying to keep it quiet, until we figure this thing out.”
Marcia gave me the same kind of worried look she might have given had it been her own child. “Do you think she's been kidnapped? Is she in some kind of danger?”
“Too early to tell.”
“I told him not to let anybody know, Marcia. Not even you,” Cassidy said.
“Why not?” she asked. “What about your mother?”
Cassidy looked at me.
“It gets complicated,” I said. “Why don't I leave Cassidy to fill you in on whatever she wants to tell you? Every minute I sit here talking is another minute the trail grows cold.”
Marcia looked back and forth between the two of us, settling her gaze on Cassidy. “Go ahead, then.” She dismissed me with a wave of her hand.
I took it as a sign that meant I was to remove my Cro-Magnon brain from the premises, so I did.
My cell phone rang as I was backing out of the driveway. I fished it out of my pocket and answered.
“Well?”
It was Nicole. Psychic.
“Well, what?”
“Any more developments on the big case? I came over here to your place and let myself in to use the computer. Didn't want to use one at the university. I've got that folder ready for you.”
“Thank you very much. I've got something else for you.”
“You do?’
“Has Jake called, by any chance?”
“No. Why?”
“He's getting some information for me.”
“What else do you have for me?”
“A laptop computer. Got some files on it we can't seem to open. Also need to find a password to get into somebody's E-mail.”
“Cool.”
“I thought Jake might be able to help you.”
“Where are you? What's going on?”
“Can't get into that right now, sweetheart.”
“C'mon, Dad. Don't hold out on me. I'm the one who gave you some great advance surveillance of the Drummond place.” Technically, she was correct.
“I love you, Nicky. And because I love you, I'm not going to get into any more of this right now.”
“But—”
“No buts.”
She let out an audible sigh.
“How was your late class this afternoon?” I asked.
“It was the most boring class I've ever been to. Charlemagne.”
“Charlemagne was actually quite a fascinating fellow.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe you can come take my class next time.”
That'd be the day. I'd last about fifteen minutes with one of those profs.
“Dad?” she said.
“Yeah?”
“When are you going to bring me the laptop?”
“Later.”
“All right. I'm meeting Jerry at seven-thirty to play racquetball.”
“Jerry?”
“Just a friend, Daddy.”
“Uh-huh. Shouldn't you be studying about Charlemagne?”
“It's just a history class. I wouldn't even be taking the stupid course if it wasn't a requirement.”
“ ‘Don't know much about his-to-ry. Don't know much bi-ol-o-gy …’ ”
“I hate it when you sing the oldies,” she said.
9
Potential Olympian Jed Haynes, it appeared, preferred the Spartan lifestyle. His house was a sixties-style ranch wedged between apartment buildings off Fourteenth Street. Brown paint peeling over the doorway, broken shutters askew at the front window, a trio of empty Coors Light cans decorating the muddy microchip of a front lawn. There were a couple of cars in the driveway and the lights were all on inside, so I parked along the curb, went up to the door, and knocked.
A girl with long blond hair answered.
“Yes?” She wore bell-bottom jeans with bright panels sewn into the legs, the kind a lot of us used to wear years ago. A blue nose ring pierced one of her nostrils. Her halter top left her midriff bare.
“This where Jed Haynes lives?” I asked.
“Yeah, but he's not here.”
“Oh, no.” A mocking voice came from inside. “It's another autograph hound trying to track down Jedi the Great.”
Over her shoulder I could see two males gripping handles, switching from offense to defense on either side of a foosball table. Crack. The ball slammed into one of the goals.
“Yea-a-ah!” The winner performed a touchdown-celebration kind of dance.
“That sucks!” his opponent exclaimed. “I was distracted. Two out of three.”
I showed my card to the girl. “I'd like to ask you folks some questions, if you can spare a minute or
two.”
“Hey, guys,” she called over her shoulder. “This man's not after an autograph. He's a private investigator.”
That got the foosballers’ attention. They left their handles behind and came to back up the girl at the door. The taller one, a square-jawed kid with curly hair, spoke first.
“What's up, man?”
“Like to ask you all a few questions about Jed.”
“No shit? What'd he do now, run into some little old lady's car?”
“Not quite.”
“Let the man in, let the man in,” the shorter of the two said. “Let's get some real dirt on Jed.” He had dimpled cheeks and hair that was slick with some type of gel.
His buddy snickered. “All right, Mr. Investigator. C'mon in.”
The girl opened the door to let me pass. I entered a living room trashed with fast-food wrappers and old pizza boxes. The main furnishings were a lumpy couch and a recliner not unlike my own throne at home, except that this one had several rips and tears in the upholstery.
“You want to sit down?” the girl asked.
“That's okay. This won't take long.”
They all sat down. The girl and the kid with the gel in his hair took the couch while their friend slumped into a torn beanbag chair from which little balls of foam sprinkled onto the carpet.
“Who are you working for?” the guy on the couch wanted to know. He slipped his arm around the girl. They were obviously a couple.
“That's why my card says ‘private.’ Sorry.”
He didn't look happy.
“What's his name again, Kayla?”
“Pavlicek,” the girl said. “That's what it said on his card.”
“Maybe I can start by getting all your names,” I said.
“You still haven't told us what this is all about.” Gel-head puffed himself up from the couch a little, trying to play the alpha male thing with me. I wondered if he and Haynes took lessons from the same instructor.
“Yeah, man.” Square-jaw was backing him.
I saw no reason to embarrass either one of them when all I was after was information. “Pretty routine, really. I'm just trying to establish Jed Haynes's whereabouts last night.”
“What for?”
“Look, folks, I'm not here to cause you trouble, if it's not warranted. I'm just trying to keep a private problem from going to the police. You can either give me what I'm looking for, or I'll find out the information some other way. Jed says he was here with you guys last night. He telling the truth?”
