At first, Bill didn’t understand the significance. Around town, the word was that the Gusarov Estate had new owners and would be the new headquarters for the Glandon Foundation. Bill had no clue what the Glandon Foundation was, but he was mildly curious, and he knew his way around Google, so he gave it a quick search.
What he found out, the Glandon Foundation was actually the newly organized nonprofit entity formed by Chris Glandon, a young man who had inherited billions from his wealthy parents and who was known for his philanthropic work. Bill was shocked to learn the guy with the surfer-bum persona was worth a freaking fortune. No wonder Adam never hesitated to jump through hoops for the guy.
Bill just hoped the plane was found and its passengers were alive and well. Not that he personally cared about anyone on board. But he and Adam had been friends for years, and he seriously worried Adam might go suicidal if he lost his golden-goose client.
When Bill stepped into the front entry of what was now the Glandon Foundation Headquarters, he didn’t bother turning on the overhead lights. The high-placed windows brought ample sunshine into the building. What had once been a living room was now the waiting area. Bill almost expected something more opulent—didn’t superrich people like real gold accents and lots of dangling crystal? Instead, Chris had gone for classy yet understated. Whoever owned this place obviously had money, but they weren’t trying to shove that fact down anyone’s throat.
Begrudgingly, Bill approved of the décor. He hadn’t been in the house since the final touches had been added. Making his way from the newly appointed waiting area, he went to inspect the rest of the house, beginning with the first floor.
Just as he was about to go up the staircase, he heard a strange clanging sound coming from the door leading to the basement. Bill stopped and listened. He heard it again. It sounded like someone was pounding on metal.
The house had been broken into once before—when some vagrant decided to camp out in the house after Chris’s purchase. Bill considered briefly going back to his truck and getting something he could use as a weapon should he encounter a violent vagrant, but then decided he was being ridiculous. It was probably an issue with the furnace.
The moment he opened the door to the basement, he heard someone cry out, “Who’s up there?”
Bill lurched back, almost tripping. He hadn’t expected someone to actually be in the basement—having just convinced himself it was some explainable building sound. Instead of answering, he slammed the door shut and ran out of the house. Back at his truck and out of breath, he pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and called the police.
“AND HE HASN’T COME out?” Brian Henderson asked after he and another officer showed up ten minutes later. They stood with Bill by the sidewalk, looking up at the house.
“No.” Bill shook his head. “I sure as hell wasn’t going to just walk down there. No one’s supposed to be in there. Of course, I guess it’s possible whoever it was took off out the back door.”
A few minutes later, Brian Henderson stood at the door leading to the basement, gun in hand. Just as he opened it, a voice called out, “I know someone’s up there! Please! Help me!”
“Who’s down there?” Brian called out.
“Oh my god! There is someone! Please, please help me!”
Whatever Officer Henderson imagined to find in the basement was nothing like what he encountered a few moments later.
The man handcuffed to the pipe looked like he had been there a while, if one took into account his unshaven face and his rumpled clothing. Next to him was a row of gallon water jugs, some full, some empty. Wrappers from granola bars littered the concrete floor. Brian was pretty sure he knew the contents of the nearby bucket.
The moment the man saw Brian’s and the other officer’s uniforms, he began to cry. “Thank god. I thought I was going to die here.”
Brian winced at the sight of the man’s wrist—raw and bloody from trying to pull the handcuff from the pipe. The other officer immediately called for help; this man would need to be checked out. It didn’t look as if he was starving, and he had plenty of water, but he had been locked in the basement for a number of days. They were also going to need assistance getting the man out of the handcuffs.
“Who did this to you?” Brian asked.
“I don’t know who they were. I came here to meet Chris Johnson. When Chris didn’t answer the door, I walked in the house, and the next thing I know, someone hits me over the head, and when I wake up, I’m down here, handcuffed to that damn pipe.”
“What day was that?” Brian asked.
After the man told him, Brian frowned. It was the day before the plane went missing.
“Who are you? Why did Chris call you over here?” Brian asked.
“My name is Mason Murdock. Chris hired me to fly him and some friends to Texas.”
“Mason Murdock?” Brian blurted out. “You and your plane and passengers are missing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The day after you came here, your plane took off with eight passengers, and it went missing. You were listed as the pilot.”
“That’s impossible. I’ve been here all that time.”
SIX
If it wasn’t for the sunshine slipping through the occasional gaps in the metal paneling, Danielle would have no idea what time it was. She guessed it was late afternoon, considering the location of the brightest point inside the unlit building.
Sitting up, her chains rattled. She couldn’t help but groan. She ached all over. Sleeping on concrete was not a recipe for a good night’s rest.
“Dani, you’re finally awake!” she heard Lily whisper.
In spite of the lack of light, Danielle’s eyes had grown used to the darkness. She turned to Lily, who sat next to her. Like Danielle, Lily’s ankle was manacled and chained to the floor.
“Did you talk to Walt?” Lily asked.
“I assume you’re talking dream hop. But no. He still hasn’t come yet. I knew he wouldn’t while he thought I was still on vacation, he said he wouldn’t be jumping into my dreams—not when I’m off on vacation with Chris. But since we should have been back by now, I sort of thought he would.”
“I saw him last night,” Lily said, her voice low.
“He came to you in a dream hop?”
Lily nodded. “He did for a minute. He knows something’s wrong. He asked me where we were—of course I had no answer for him.”
“Did you tell him what happened?” Danielle glanced toward the doorway on the far side of the building and then back to Lily.
“I started to, but then something woke me up.”
“Getting any real sleep in here is virtually impossible. I was pretty restless all night. I didn’t fall asleep until early this morning.” Danielle brushed her hand through her long tangled hair. The elastic hair tie securing her braid had snapped off days earlier. “If Walt hopped into your dream—that must mean we should have been back by now. He’s probably trying to figure out why we haven’t returned.”
“Why didn’t he jump into your dream?” Lily asked. “I’d expect him to do that first.”
Danielle shrugged. “If he tried sometime last night, probably because I wasn’t asleep. Why didn’t you tell me about the dream hop last night, when you woke up?”
“Because I tried to fall asleep again—just in case—in case he was still there waiting.”
“Danielle,” a voice called out from the other side of the building. It was Chief MacDonald.
“Chief?” Danielle shouted back.
“Roll call,” the chief said.
“Damn, you’re bossy,” Danielle hollered.
“I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” the chief called back.
“Got to hold onto something!” she said in a loud voice before shouting, “Danielle. I’m okay, just sore. I managed to get some sleep in this morning. To Lily.”
“Lily here. Same as Dani. To Kelly,” Lily shouted.
“Kelly
here. I want to go home. But I’m about the same. Still alive. To Carol Ann…”
Silence.
After a moment MacDonald’s loud voice boomed from his shadowy side of the building, “They still have her. I’ll take that to mean Chris is still alive. Early this morning, they let her come in here for a moment. She told me they’re still treating her okay and not to worry. She didn’t seem afraid—I think her focus is on pulling Chris through this. To Joe.”
“Joe here,” Joe Morelli called out from another corner of the building. “No change. To Ian.”
“Ian here. The same.”
“You think they still have someone listening to us?” Lily asked in a loud clear voice.
“I’d be surprised if they didn’t,” Joe called back.
After roll call, Lily, still sitting, reached to her ankle and repositioned the manacle. She couldn’t decide what she wanted more—a backrest or some ointment for her ankle’s raw skin.
“God, I hope the chief is right and this means Chris is still alive,” Lily whispered.
“He must be.”
Lily turned to Danielle. “Why do you say that?”
“I haven’t seen him, have I?”
Lily shrugged. “You have a point. If he was dead, I’m sure his spirit would come looking for you. Has Percival been back?”
“No. But I wish he would. Maybe he can’t help us get out of here, but he should be able to tell us where we are.” Danielle stood up; her chain rattled. Awkwardly stretching, she rubbed her hip. Every inch of her body ached. “We have one thing to be grateful for.”
“Please tell me what?” Lily scoffed.
* * *
“IF WE HAD to be in this situation, I’m just grateful we had a nurse with us. I’d feel better if Carol Ann was a doctor instead of a nurse…but I’ll take a nurse,” Danielle said.
“I’d feel better if this hadn’t happened at all!”
“That too,” Danielle said with a sigh.
“I swear, when we get out of here, I’m never going to look at another granola bar ever again.”
“I guess we should be grateful they’re giving us something to eat and plenty of water. When I was trapped in Presley House, I would have killed for water.”
“Oh please,” Lily snapped. “Don’t go Pollyanna on me.”
Ignoring Lily’s comment, Danielle added, “And they chained us to the same spot. At least we can talk without shouting. Poor Kelly is stuck over there by herself, like the guys.”
Lily frowned. “Yeah, why do you think they let us be together?”
“I suspect it had nothing to do with trying to make us more comfortable. My guess—they ran out of places to secure the chains.”
Lily groaned. “I feel so damn guilty for how we used to chain our dog up in the backyard when I was a kid. What were we thinking?”
“I’m just relieved we haven’t seen their faces. It gives me hope we’ll get out of here.”
“What do you mean? We saw the damn pilot’s face.”
“Yeah, but he was wearing a beard and those humongous sunglasses. And didn’t you notice his hair color looked a little fake? I don’t think he’s a natural redhead. And I bet when he shaves off the beard and lets his hair go back to its natural color, we won’t recognize him. For that I’m thankful, and it gives me hope in getting out of here alive. I mean, what would be the purpose of killing us all now? Hell, there are eight of us. If that wouldn’t get them the needle, what would?”
“Dani, I hate to be the one to point this out—but if Chris dies, they might feel they have no option but to kill us.”
Danielle shook her head. “I refuse to believe that. It would just make their situation worse, and we can’t identify them.”
“You’re talking common sense,” Lily scoffed. “Those guys are freaking maniacs.”
BEFORE ENTERING THE HOSPITAL ROOM, Brian Henderson downed three aspirin. He had purchased them minutes earlier in the hospital gift store, along with a bottle of water. It had not been a good day. The chief’s youngest son was still missing—he had literally vanished into thin air—and the pilot who was supposed to be on the missing plane had been found chained up in a basement. No, not a stellar day.
“Mr. Murdock,” Brian greeted him when he entered the hospital room. “How are you feeling?”
Mason Murdock, now wearing a hospital gown, lay in the bed, an IV hooked up to his arm. With the backrest portion of the bed elevated, Mason remained leaning back, his head on a pillow. “Better. Thankful to be out of that damn basement.”
“I understand they’re going to keep you here for observation?” Brian took a seat next to the hospital bed.
“At least one night.”
“I was hoping you could tell me a little more about what happened.”
“I wish I knew more. I would love to help you get those creeps.”
“Why don’t you tell me again how you happened to be there?”
“Chris hired me and my plane. We were supposed to leave the next morning, when I got a call from someone who said they were from Chris’s office. Officer Henderson, I know who Chris really is.”
“Chris Glandon?” Brian asked.
Mason nodded. “When he first told me his real name, I didn’t really know who Chris Glandon was—I mean, I had heard the name before, but I couldn’t recall if he was an actor, politician—I really couldn’t place the name. But then he explained that Johnson was actually his mother’s maiden name—and he told me I could check with Police Chief MacDonald, that he and the other officers at your station could vouch for his identity. Of course, I didn’t understand exactly how rich he was until I went home and looked him up online.”
“Why was it necessary for him to tell you who he really was?”
“I imagine because he was considering hiring me for more than just one flight. He told me about his foundation, how he intended to get more involved in the charity work and that it would require more traveling—something he really didn’t want to do on a commercial airline.”
“So he was going to hire you as his pilot—his plane?”
Mason nodded. “I asked him why he didn’t just buy his own jet—I mean, really, the guy could afford it. He told me he wasn’t interested in owning a jet.”
“This person who called you, what did they say?”
“She said something big had come up—”
“It was a woman?” Brian interrupted.
Mason nodded. “Yes. I think she told me her name, but I don’t remember what it was.”
“I suspect whatever it was, it wasn’t her real name.”
Mason let out a sigh. “I imagine it wasn’t.”
“So what did she tell you?”
“She said something really important had come up—something that could be potentially big for my charter service. She said Chris needed to talk to me before we took off in the morning, yet he couldn’t get away. She said he was at his new office and was working on something really important, and asked if I could drop by to talk to him. She said I’d be glad I did.”
“I imagine you were curious?”
“Yeah, stupid me. She told me Chris would be alone at the office headquarters, and if he didn’t answer the door, to just walk in. That’s what I did. Next thing I know I was chained up in that damn basement.”
“And you never saw anyone?” Brian asked.
Mason shook his head. “Not his face. I just remember walking down the hallway, calling out to Chris, and the next thing I know, some big guy has me from behind and is shoving a cloth over my face. And then someone sticks a needle in my arm, and the next thing I know I’m alone in that basement, chained up like some animal.”
“Who did you discuss Chris with?”
Mason frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I suppose you told someone about your new big client. Someone piloted that airplane, and I imagine whoever did was connected to whoever attacked you and left you chained up. They obviously didn’t want to kill you—after al
l, you had plenty of water and food.”
“A case of granola bars,” Mason said with a grunt. “If you call that food.”
“My point being, they just wanted to get you out of the way while they hijacked your airplane—and passengers. And one very wealthy passenger. Who else knew Chris Johnson was going to be on your plane that day?”
Mason shook his head. “I didn’t tell anyone. I mean, I might have mentioned my upcoming flight to a few people, but I never once mentioned Chris Glandon. I know I didn’t.”
Brian leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg over the opposing knee. “Oh, come on, no one? That was a mighty big client. Working for someone like Chris Glandon would mean never having to worry about booking future flights. He’d probably be willing to pay you a nice big salary to keep you on retainer. Isn’t that how it works?”
“Which is why I didn’t mention Chris’s name to anyone. No one,” Mason said emphatically. “Especially not anyone at the airport.”
Brian frowned. “I don’t understand?”
“To be honest, there are better charter planes out there—more luxurious ones. I really didn’t want to risk another charter pilot approaching Chris, convincing him their charter was really the better one.”
Brian considered Mason’s answer for a moment and then asked, “Okay, maybe you didn’t brag about your new client around the airport. But are you sure you never mentioned Chris’s upcoming trip to anyone—and perhaps dropped his name at the same time?”
Mason started to answer and then paused, his eyes widening. He began to shake his head. “But she wouldn’t have had anything to do with any of this.”
“Who is she?”
“Just a woman I know. But she wouldn’t do something like this.”
SEVEN
Sadie stood attentively on Cheerio watch. Each time one slipped from Evan’s fingers, she rescued the crispy O and quickly gobbled it up. Walt didn’t reprimand the dog. Instead, he sat on the chair across from the sofa, relieved Sadie was making the evidence disappear. When Joanne returned later that afternoon, he didn’t want her finding cereal littered all over the parlor sofa—and it didn’t appear the six-year-old was doing a very good job keeping the food in his mouth.
The Ghost Who Stayed Home Page 4
