Classified

by Fern Michaels

  “Then he’s been discussing my medical status with you? I swear I will turn that man in to the American Medical Association.”

  “Bernice, you signed over power of attorney to me last year when you had your surgery, so it wouldn’t mean jack shit to the AMA. Now, why don’t you run out there, shake that skinny little ass of yours while you serve Robert, then take him to bed. I know for a fact that Wade is out of town because Mavis has been tagging along with me all day.”

  Bernice, being Bernice, rolled her eyes, mouthed “F off,” then shot Toots the bird before stepping out of the pantry. Toots burst out laughing.

  “Mom, is that you?” Abby called out.

  Damn, caught again. “Uh, yes, Abby, come in. I’m looking for some . . . artificial sweetener.”

  Abby peered around the door. “Mom, you are not looking for artificial sweetener. You wouldn’t use that fake stuff if your life depended on it.”

  “Yes, you’re right. I just needed an excuse to hang in here an extra minute. It’s been an extremely long and tiring day. Come on, let’s have some coffee, and I’ll fill you in on what’s happening.”

  Chris was already helping himself to a variety of the pastries from the plate in the center of the table. Goebel had made another pot of coffee. Ida went upstairs to change and missed most of the excitement. Toots guessed she had a million e-mails to take care of. Running a successful business was not all fun and games. Toots knew it to be a fact.

  Mavis sat quietly at the table and slowly sipped her coffee. Bernice was practically salivating over Robert as she served his pastry. Goebel and Chris were at the opposite end of the table, speaking in low tones.

  “Toots, this hasn’t been a good day. Goebel filled me in on what’s happening. I hope they find those kids before anything bad happens to them,” Chris said between bites.

  “I do, too.” Toots had been there, done that, and certainly didn’t want to go there ever again. Plus, she had that instance when Chris went missing, only to be found and accused of abducting Laura Leigh, that airheaded actress who was now getting $15 million a pop for all those ludicrous vampire films that were all the rage.

  “They’ll find them,” Goebel said. “Sophie’s with the detectives now. I think she was holding something back when she told that cop what she’d seen in her vision. I would bet anything Sophie knows exactly where to find those kids.”

  “Good, I hope you’re right,” Abby said. She poured herself a cup of coffee, took a sip, and wrinkled her nose. “Mom, is this that Dollar Store stuff you’ve been putting in the Kopi Luwak coffee tin?”

  “You cheap old hag,” Bernice said without missing a beat. “I thought I recognized this crap.”

  Now that the cops were out of her house, Toots freely waved her middle finger about. “I have not bought coffee from the Dollar Store since I was married to Leland. That cheap son of a bitch actually liked it. So, Abby, to answer your question, no, I have not switched the good stuff with the bad. Here, let me have a taste.”

  Toots took a drink of Abby’s coffee. “It tastes perfectly fine to me. Maybe you need more sugar. Here”—Toots added two hefty spoons of sugar to the cup—“try this.”

  Abby took a large gulp of the sweetened coffee. Her eyes were as big as saucers when she said, “Move!” She raced around the corner to the downstairs bathroom.

  Ten minutes later, pale and trembling, Abby returned to the kitchen. “I wouldn’t drink that coffee if I were any of you. It’s bad. I think I was just poisoned.”

  At the mention of the word poison, Ida, who’d slipped downstairs without making a sound, was instantly alert. “What are you talking about?”

  “Mom’s Kopi Luwak coffee, the stuff she gets in Indonesia. Don’t drink it,” Abby cautioned.

  Ida took a sip. “Abby, hon, there is nothing wrong with this coffee. Trust me, if it’s laced with anything, I would be the first to pick up on it. Remember, Thomas was poisoned.”

  “If my recollection is correct, you wouldn’t let us forget, Ms. Clorox Queen. You thought everything you touched would poison you,” Toots said. They’d all been to hell and back when Ida had OCD. She’d been pitiful, but recovered quickly when her new doctor paid extra attention to her. But that was in the past; and like she always said, “The past is prologue.”

  Ida gave her the single-digit salute as she drank her coffee, and read through what appeared to be a new stack of fan letters. “I’m not that way now, Toots, so hush. I have fans to respond to, not to mention a million requests to buy me out.”

  She probably did, Toots guessed. They’d all lost easily ten to fifteen years when they started using her new line of skin care for Seasons. Abby was using it now, and she glowed like a spring blossom.

  “I wouldn’t sell yet. You’re having too much fun,” Toots said.

  Ida looked up from her paperwork. “I most certainly don’t plan to, at least not anytime soon. I’m actually enjoying this, and not just the publicity. I like helping ugly people.”

  Coffee spewed from Toots’s mouth like a geyser. “Damn, Ida, you’re starting to sound more like me each day. I must be rubbing off on you.”

  Ida smirked. “Could be. Now one can only hope my classy ways will do likewise to you.”

  “You two, stop it,” Mavis said. “Now isn’t the time to act like”—she wanted to say “children,” but thought better of it—“two idiots,” she finished.

  “Mavis is right. Now isn’t the time, so you just wait. When the time is right, I am going to really let you have it for that comment, Miss Classy Ass,” Toots said, but there was no real venom in her words. She was saying the words just to hear herself. Took her mind off those kids who were lost.

  She prayed Sophie’s vision was spot-on this time, because the lives of those two children just might depend on it.

  Chapter 8

  As the police car sped along, Sophie looked down a second time to make sure her seat belt was fastened properly. She was having second thoughts about getting into the police cruiser with Detective O’Banyon, but she reminded herself that time was of the essence.

  They sped through the side streets near Charleston’s waterfront. She could barely read the signs as they whizzed by at full cop speed: KING STREET, CALHOUN STREET, MEETING STREET. Left, right, left. Sophie was totally ready to lose it, when Detective O’Banyon suddenly slammed on the brakes and practically did a one-eighty before coming to a complete stop on East Bay Street.

  “Follow me,” the detective said.

  Sophie bit back a nasty comment, which was hanging on the tip of her tongue. She simply did as she was told, because just then it was all she could do to keep Toots’s expensive coffee down after the harrowing ride. The kids, Sophie. Focus on the kids.

  Taking a deep breath, Sophie trailed Detective O’Banyon. The redheaded cop removed a radio from her hip and spoke into it. All Sophie could make out was static, but she knew they were in the right location, that the kids were very close by. Actually, she could feel them, their fear, their sense of doom.

  “Stop!” Sophie called out.

  Detective O’Banyon and several more police officers turned to look at her. Not giving a flying frig what they thought, she said, “They are here. We are practically standing on them.”

  The other officers looked to the detective for further explanation. She held her hand palm up, indicating for them to be quiet. “Just listen to what she’s saying,” she admonished, then turned her full attention on Sophie.

  Sophie took a deep breath and called up every psychic power she had. Closing her eyes, she waited for an image. When nothing happened, she opened her eyes and gasped.

  Not wanting to lose whatever connection she had, she began to walk quickly away from the water. Then she started to run.

  “Hurry!” she shouted out. Hopefully, they’d follow her, because they did not have a single extra minute to spare. As quick as the vision overtook her, it was gone. Now all she could see were dark alleys and the tall, stately mansions t
hat shadowed them.

  “Shit! Come on, come on,” Sophie said out loud. She tried closing her eyes and opening them, anything to bring back the vision she’d just experienced. Sophie took a deep breath and felt her heart pound so hard against her chest that she thought it would explode.

  The officers caught up with her. Gasping for breath, she pointed to the alley to her left. Before she knew it, the vision had overtaken her again. She turned in the direction her index finger pointed. Sophie didn’t dare stop, because it was almost over.

  At the end of the alleyway, Sophie turned around, her finger held out in front of her as if it were a Geiger counter. “Here!” she said in a loud whisper.

  The cops and Detective O’Banyon circled her.

  “Down there,” she said, pointing to a set of steps that otherwise would’ve gone unnoticed. They were surrounded by banged-up metal trash cans and several dark green bags filled with God only knew what. There was barely enough room for the police officers to descend the steep flight of stairs single file.

  Sophie knew that her work was finished. She saw her surroundings clearly and hoped like hell she was right. If she wasn’t, those kids were as good as dead. She’d seen it and knew it was up to her to lead the officers to them. She just prayed she’d hit the mark. Now was the time to trust her talent, not doubt it, she thought as she watched the cops move silently down the steps.

  Chilled by the cool night air, Sophie crossed her arms over her chest, wishing she had on long sleeves instead of the sleeveless shell she wore. Goose bumps dotted up and down her arms.

  Below her, the cops shouted in harsh whispers, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Detective O’Banyon left her standing alone as she followed the blue suits downstairs. Curious, Sophie took a few steps forward, careful not to step on the garbage scattered at the top of the landing. Assaulted by the pungent odor of urine, mixed with enough alcohol to gag a maggot, Sophie looked down the staircase. The officers flanking the entrance had their weapons drawn, ready to aim at the front door. Detective O’Banyon knocked loudly on the metal door.

  “Come out with your hands up now!”

  Just like in the movies, Sophie thought, then mentally kicked herself for the comparison. There were children’s lives at stake.

  “I know who you are. Now come out peacefully, or we’re coming in!” the detective shouted again, only this time they got a response.

  “We’re in here! Help! They have another door! Hurry!” the kid screamed. The next second, all Sophie could hear was the sound of the metal door being kicked open, bodies slapping against one another, and a sorrowful “Oh, shit,” probably from the kidnapping pervert. Detective O’Banyon raced up the stairs, followed by two officers, each carrying one of the missing kids.

  The kids were placed in a patrol car, and Detective O’Banyon spoke into her cell phone. No more than five minutes passed before she walked over to where Sophie stood.

  Running a hand through her thick auburn hair, the woman, not the cop, spoke. “Thank you. And I am so damned sorry I doubted your abilities. These kids have you to thank for saving their lives. I’ve called the parents. They’re waiting down at the station. When I told them how—or, rather, who helped to locate the kids, she insisted on thanking you personally. I told her I would relay the message, but it’s really up to you. If you’d rather not meet them, I’ll have one of the officers drive you home.”

  Sophie gushed with pride. “Are you out of your mind? No way do I want to go home! I want to see those kids and their parents. I want to make damn sure this has a happy ending.” Speaking of happy endings, she needed to call Goebel and Toots. “Mind if I use your cell?”

  The detective handed it to her. “It’s all yours.”

  Sophie made fast work out of calling Goebel, who relayed the message to Toots, who then told the others that the kids were safe. Then they all decided they would go down to the station to meet the family and give Sophie a ride home. “And don’t forget to bring the little girl’s bunny and that game. I left them in Toots’s room,” Sophie added before hanging up.

  Car doors slammed, and tires squealed, as the other officers left the scene. Sophie wanted to see the sick son of a bitch who had taken the kids. “Is he still in there?” she asked, indicating the basement apartment below.

  “Yes, and I need to go. You wanna come with me?”

  Sophie couldn’t believe her ears. Detective O’Banyon was actually inviting her to sit in on an interrogation.

  “We wouldn’t be here now if you hadn’t led us to the kids. Again, I’m sorry I was so rude earlier. I was in a similar situation once. A psychic swore he knew where a missing young girl was. He said all I had to do was listen. I did, and the girl was found murdered two days later. It wasn’t a happy ending. That’s why I’m such a skeptic. But you are the real deal. Again, I am so sorry for doubting you. You saved those kids’ lives.”

  “Enough, already. Apology accepted. Truthfully, most people feel the way you do, especially in this kind of instance, when it’s a life-or-death issue.” Sophie suddenly realized she was crying. Tears as fat as raindrops fell from her eyes. Relief, these were plainly tears of relief. She hadn’t been 100 percent sure about this newfangled talent, and now it hit her. If she’d been wrong, those two kids would have died. She offered up a quick prayer, thankful the kids were safe, and more thankful than ever for the gift that had been bestowed upon her.

  “Come on. Just stay in the corner and be quiet. If this is what I think it is, then you’ve brought down one of the largest child-pornography rings in the state.”

  “Really?” Sophie said, stunned. She hadn’t given the first thought to anything more than finding the kids. Why were they taken? Well, that hadn’t entered the picture at all. And she knew she wasn’t supposed to know the “whys” of everything. What she knew had to be enough.

  Downstairs, the smell of urine nearly took Sophie’s breath away. Odors that she didn’t want to put a name to assaulted her senses. Once again, she resisted the urge to upchuck. It wouldn’t have mattered down there, she thought. Hell, it might actually have been better than what she was smelling.

  Careful not to touch anything, Sophie stood close to the door while Detective O’Banyon and two other plainclothes detectives talked among themselves before turning to the old man.

  “I got my rights, and I ain’t sayin’ a goddamn word until I get me a lawyer. I know my rights, by God!” he declared.

  Sophie could smell his sour breath across the room, because the entire apartment wasn’t much larger than a small bedroom.

  “Yeah, you’ve got rights, Clyde. And if you’re smart, you’ll tell me where the kids were to be taken. And who ordered this, Clyde? If you don’t spill, I can sit here all night long. I’ve got all the time in the world. But you might want to think about delaying this any longer than you have to. Whoever you’re working for will leave town the minute you make that call. It’s completely up to you.” The detective crossed her arms over her chest and walked around the filthy apartment like she was perusing a model home.

  “How’d you know my name?” the sour-smelling old man asked.

  “Clyde Baines. Everyone in law enforcement knows your name. You’ve got a rap sheet as long as the Edisto River. Lewd and lascivious. Possession. The list of felonies goes on and on, old pal. You can either spit out the name of the person who was to receive those kids, or we can sit here in this nasty fucking shit hole all night. What do ya say, old man?”

  Detective O’Banyon is not playing nice with this perp, Sophie thought, and she shouldn’t. Sick old bastard kidnapping kids right in broad daylight.

  “Where you plan on takin’ me?” he asked. “ ’Cause I got rights, and I know what they are.”

  “So you keep reminding me. Look, Clyde, let’s just cut through the bullshit. It doesn’t matter where I take you now. You’re still going to end up spending the rest of your life in a nice, clean prison with the big boys. I hear they don’t take too well
to pedophiles, that sort of thing—unless they’re into that, too—but most of the sick bastards are placed in a cell all by their lonesome, so some big, bad murderer doesn’t slice their useless ass to ribbons.” The detective walked away from the scumbag and gave Sophie a big grin.

  “So, what’s it gonna be, Clyde, my man? Him or you? I’ve decided I don’t have all the time in the world, you worthless fuck. I am giving you exactly thirty seconds to spill that name.”

  Detective O’Banyon began to count out loud. “One, two, three . . .”

  When she reached twenty-nine, the old man spoke up. “Okay, goddamn it, but I want a smoke first.”

  “Clyde, you’re really not in any position to negotiate.” She turned to the officer at the door. “Get him a cigarette, will you, Harry?”

  Sophie whipped a package of Marlboros out of her pocket, lit up, and watched the old man stare at her. “I’ll die before I share my smokes with you, you dirty old pervert!” said Sophie.

  Detective O’Banyon laughed. “See, Clyde? People don’t like you. Now, are you gonna give me a name or am I gonna have to rough you up a bit?”

  Sophie wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly and didn’t care. This was better than TV. This was the real deal. With a new respect for Detective O’Banyon, she took a long drag from her cigarette and blew the smoke in Clyde Baines’s direction.

  The taller of the two plainclothes officers returned from wherever he had gone and stuck a lit cigarette between Clyde Baines’s smelly lips. Baines took a long drag, making the end of the cigarette glow like a fireball. Sophie watched as he fumbled with the smoke. With his arms handcuffed behind him, she could see what a difficult time he was having. He took another long puff and pushed the cigarette out of his mouth with his tongue, being careful to lean forward when he did so that the cigarette wouldn’t land on his pant leg.