Stan shook his head. “Doesn’t seem likely. She actually left the kids all alone when she ran off with her boyfriend, who kind of doubled as her pimp. She’s serving time out in California for prostitution. But I’ve got a call in to the correctional facility to see if they can find out if she’s made any enemies while serving her sentence.”
“And with William?” I looked at Brook.
“He’s been out of prison for a couple of years. Never been able to find a steady job. But that’s why I brought it up. I figured if there’s anything from his past at all, he’d be the best one to ask. I can see for myself that he’s devastated by all of this crap. I’m sure he’d like nothing better than to help figure out who did this and let us arrest the bastard before he takes another kid away from his family.”
I looked toward the interstate as my mind continued sifting through the events of the day. Then I glanced back at Brook and Stan. “The guy who choked me. Did you ever—”
Stan said, “Crap. Let me go question him before they haul his ass off to jail.” He waddled away, cinching up his pants.
“You’re wondering about the setup, aren’t you?” Brook asked.
“The more I think through the scenario, the more staged it seems. Too much of a coincidence.”
Brook ran her fingers through her flowing red hair, then crossed her arms. I imagined she was hankering for a smoke. She looked at me and said, “Your brain doesn’t stop, does it?”
My eyes had drifted away again. “Eh. I have my moments.”
From the interstate overhead, an eighteen-wheeler’s horn blared, which snapped me out of my trance.
“I keep going back to what Drew shared about the cartoon characters,” I said.
“Yeah, me too. There’s got to be something there. Something tangible. But I’m so fucking tired, I can’t think straight.” She chuckled, her voice a half-octave lower.
“Maybe I’m too literal, but when Drew said he heard the name Bart Simpson, I automatically connected it with Drew. Or I guess it could have been his brother.” I felt another buzz from my phone. I pulled it out and saw another message from Cristina. One of twelve unread text messages. Crap, I’d missed my time to meet her at the school. I kept the phone in my hand to help me remember to call her once I was done with Brook and Stan.
I continued with my thought process. “We’re believing that this guy, the man with the floppy hair, is most likely behind both kidnappings, right? When he had Drew, he was talking on the phone to someone in a cryptic way, using those cartoon names. While we were in the cab, he acted like he could see us. It had to be through some type of tracking device or live feed. Hell, maybe he was using a drone of some kind to watch us.”
She snapped her fingers. “Damn, your brain never slows down. I’ll make a note of that. Every drone is supposed to be registered, per FAA guidelines.” She plucked her phone out of her pocket and tapped in a quick note. “Going back to your original thoughts, I’m also leaning toward the angle that he might have had a partner”
“Or maybe he’s working for someone else.”
She stopped moving. “Hadn’t thought of that possibility. What made you go there?”
I chuckled. “Honestly, I’m not sure.” I shuffled my feet, then leaned over and picked up a rock. One side had bumpy ridges, the other side so smooth it felt fake. “At times, Drew’s kidnapper seemed like he didn’t really care a whole lot. Like he was just getting his jollies by toying with us. Then his darker side would come out, and he sounded very serious. I don’t know. I could just be grasping at nothing.”
Brook nodded, stuck her hands in her jeans. “So, we’re reasonably sure that Floppy Hair has a high degree of knowledge in the world of technology.”
“Network and communications, computer hacking, to name a few.”
“You said he was probably in his twenties. Early twenties?” Brook asked.
“You’re wondering if he attends college?”
“It’s a place to start. At this point, it’s a needle in a haystack,” she said, looking back to the building. “We have a small team of folks who can start scouring the Internet, looking for someone with that skill set. But I’m afraid that number would reach ten thousand people very quickly.”
“Might be a shot in the dark, but you could add in the cartoon characters as keywords,” I suggested. “The chances of finding the guy through random Internet searches, even on the right message boards, seems remote.”
“And then there’s the Dark Web.” Brook raised an eyebrow and then sighed. “Suddenly, it seems like we’re looking for a speck of dust in the middle of the galaxy.”
I heard Stan’s voice above the buzz of the cars on the interstate. I spotted my friend just outside El Mercado, barking at two officers. His feet were shoulder-width apart, his hands balled into fists at his waist. He meant business.
I tried to ignore him. “I keep going back to the person he called Penelope Pitstop. He said he had her location and to have fun.”
Brook finally took her eyes off Stan. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Penelope Pitstop is actually the woman who kidnapped Billy.”
“If the timing is right, then it makes sense. Meaning, if Drew had heard the kidnapper talk about her before she was killed.” She typed another note into her phone. “I’ll touch base with Drew again tomorrow to see if he can give me an idea as to when the pizza man dropped by. You know, early on during his captivity, or later on. Then, I’ll compare that to the estimated time of death from the medical examiner.”
Another thought slammed into my mind. “I forgot to tell you guys about someone I ran into.”
“Who? Where?”
“In the building, just after Muscle Man let me go. I ran into a guy I’d seen a day earlier at the Air Bar.”
“Okayyy. And that’s relevant because…?”
Beyond Brook’s shoulder, I could see Stan making his way in our direction. I wasn’t sure I could accurately communicate the weird feeling I had about this guy.
“His name is Delmar. He’s some kind of executive for an insurance company. He moved in from the West Coast recently, according to my friend.”
“Delmar the insurance salesman,” she repeated, obviously not convinced that he was worthy of our focus.
“No, he’s an executive. That doesn’t really matter though.” I gathered myself as Stan reached us, his lips already open. I held up a hand so he would allow me to finish my thought. “It was the way he looked at me. He just kept staring. He had this look that…I don’t know.” I shut my eyes for a moment.
“Who is this you’re talking about?” Stan asked.
“A guy from the Air Bar. I ran into him inside, just after Muscle Man let go of my throat. He has slicked-back hair, obnoxious cufflinks. But his eyes…when he glared at me at the bar, it was as if he were trying to put me in a trance.”
“In front of everyone else?”
“I know it sounds like I’m hallucinating. But he’s powerful, used to getting what he wants. I don’t know. It might be someone we want to look into.”
“As in someone who might be working with the kidnapper?” Brook sounded like the mere thought was a waste of time.
I shrugged my shoulders, but another idea sent me thinking in a different direction. “Then again, didn’t you say the woman who kidnapped Billy was found with her neck snapped?”
“Can I jump in?” Stan asked.
“What?” Brook and I said in tandem.
“It’s got to be Muscle Man, or the name he gave us, Christopher Reeves.”
I stared at him, one eyebrow raised. “Superman?”
Stan shook his head. “The officer who took his statement is young. Really young. And apparently very naïve.”
“What’s his real name?” I asked.
“Not sure we’ll find out. He scooted out the side door. We’re now looking for two men. And I think we need to assume they both teamed up to kidnap William’s grandsons.”
; “They have their money, so isn’t the world safe, at least for now?” I asked.
“Let’s hope that’s all they were after.” Stan pulled a candy bar from his pocket and took a bite.
I headed home, wondering if anything was as it seemed.
24
The early morning sun found an open crack in my blinds and practically pulled open my eyelids. I stretched every limb in my body as if I’d been asleep for a hundred years—it had been more like six hours, which for me neared the range of epic sleep. I heard a meowing protest and sat up to see my cat Zorro staring at me with venom in his eyes. I reached over to pet him, but he swatted my hand away.
Life was back to normal.
I purposely threw back the covers onto Zorro—he cried out and hopped off the bed, eyeing me as he lumbered across the carpet. Before I dropped to the floor to get in my daily routine of sit-ups, I made my way to the bathroom, splashed water on my face, and released a deep breath. A feeling of accomplishment came over me. Two kids who’d been snatched away from their foster families were now safe and back home. At different points during their sagas, I’d thought the boys were more than likely dead, but they had been found alive and unharmed, at least physically.
Two miracles over the span of three days. It almost didn’t seem plausible. Had I not been personally involved in the search and rescue of the two brothers—much of it encompassing unimaginable emotional swings for all of us, but William in particular—I would have a hard time believing the luck.
But how much of the rescues came down to luck? Billy’s captor had underestimated him. The boy had waited for the right opportunity and then slipped out of the car and took off. The fact that my hunch had paid off—finding him huddled in the same shack where he and William had spent some quality time—could easily be classified as a miracle of its own. If not a miracle, then a long shot at best. A Hail Mary.
As for Drew’s saga, for much of the time I’d wrestled with doubts. Doubt that we’d ever hear from the captor. Doubt that the kidnapper—or the person who was demanding the one million-dollar ransom—actually had Drew. Doubt that the kidnapper wasn’t just getting his jollies by making us run all over San Antonio only to see our hopes dashed when there was no Drew to trade for the ransom.
All of my doubts, as it turned out, were proven wrong. I knew that a healthy dose of skepticism in those types of events was a coping mechanism. But I’d always allowed myself to believe there was a thread of hope. A belief that the world wasn’t entirely evil, a theatre created to devour those who were young and naïve. Kids.
I peered in the mirror and almost laughed. I looked like shit. My hair was unworldly. Creases from my pillow zig-zagged across my face as if someone had tried to draw a map while I’d been asleep. I splashed more water on my face and wiped it with a hand towel. Even with the positive outcome of both boys being found alive, my nerves were still frayed. Thankfully, law enforcement had proactively taken the necessary steps to ensure the two other grandkids were safe and protected. Stan, Brook, and I all thought that the kidnappers were probably long gone by now, using their new cash infusion to fund a trip to another part of the country or world. If they were smart. And while I could question a few of their moves—letting Billy out of their sights, nearly letting me catch them during the ransom pickup—the operation obviously wasn’t hastily planned. I wondered if the plan all along was to kidnap both boys. Or, after Billy escaped, had they decided to kill the woman kidnapper for screwing up and then turned their attention to Drew? Or had kidnapping Drew been part of the scheme from the get-go?
If the kidnappers were a thousand miles away, then why did I still feel a complete lack of resolution, besides the obvious fact the bad guys weren’t behind bars? With my mind finally more alert, deep down I could feel a small pit of doubt forming. What was making me go there? Was it because of what I’d experienced in my adult life, where the horrors of my past had repeatedly flashed forward to the present?
That had to be it. Nothing was over until… When? Confirmation that certain people were dead?
I mulled over my criteria for resolution on the kidnappings while I fixed coffee, fed Zorro, and then dropped to the floor to complete my daily routine of sit-ups—well, a daily routine when not interrupted by kidnappings and ransoms and some man choking the life out of me.
My phone rattled on my desk across my bedroom as I finished sit-up number one hundred. With Zorro waving his tail in my face, I crawled to the desk and looked at the screen. A text from Cristina. I’d sifted through her messages late last night, but it was all a blur. I read this one with more focus.
Meet you at smoothie shop in 15. News to share on new case.
With an extra burst of energy, I jumped to my feet. That was exactly what I needed. Another case to sink my teeth into, take my mind off the unease I felt about the kidnappings. If I knew anything about myself, it was this: my mind was a dangerous thing. If I had time to think, then I could easily find myself questioning everything—people’s motives, their characters, even what they had for breakfast. I could be relentless to the point where I trusted no one.
I blew out a breath, knowing I could not allow myself to fall so deeply into the pit of paranoia. I’d been there, and it was a bad place. Distrust would quickly morph into a desperate anxiety. Climbing out of those grease-lined holes was next to impossible, and exhausting.
Enough of depression talk. I swiped both armpits with deodorant, used a scrunchie to pull my hair into a ponytail, changed into something presentable—khaki shorts, sandals, and the most lightweight shirt I owned—and was out the door before Zorro could voice another complaint.
25
Just as I’d taken off my sunglasses and allowed my eyes to adjust to the interior lighting at Smoothies and Stuff, I heard Cristina calling out my name.
“Hold on,” I said, looking through a crowd to find her sitting in our “corporate” booth. “Let me get something healthy to drink.”
She raised a cup sitting on the opposite side of the table. “I got you covered, Ivy. Come on over.”
Surprised at her timeliness and courtesy, I stuffed my glasses in my bag and walked to the table. The shop was bustling with activity, which would only make it harder to talk about ECHO business. On more than one occasion, we’d received looks of shock on people’s faces. I couldn’t blame them really. How would they know that it was considered a normal day at the office as we discussed people in peril, kidnapping, drug busts, and kids in wretched conditions?
I was about to slip into the booth when Cristina lifted from her seat and grabbed me from the side.
“Is that supposed to be a hug or a takedown?” I asked, trying to wiggle out of her grip.
“Ouch,” she said, touching her chest. “I may not have much, but your bony elbows are serious weapons.”
“Sorry. The last couple of days has left me a bit skittish.”
“Who uses the word skittish anymore?” She rolled her eyes as we took our seats on either side of the booth. “Oh yeah, old people. You’re becoming one of them.”
“Nice. I deserve that. But what’s up with the impromptu hug?”
“Just glad to see you avoid death again.”
My eyes bugged out. “Could you be more blunt? How about saying, ‘I’m glad to hear you guys found Drew and everyone is safe’?”
“That’s what I really meant.” She stuck the straw in her mouth to avoid a smile.
I took a pull on my smoothie. “Banana and strawberry. Tastes great. Just what I needed. Salud.” I raised my arm, and we tapped cups.
“On to business,” she said, pulling out her phone.
“Did I just hear that correctly? Cristina is the one who wants to focus on business? Usually, I’m cracking the whip.”
“Well, you’re not due in school in…” She tapped her phone and then looked up at me. “Forty-two minutes. If I’m late, I not only have to serve a detention, but I also have to write an essay on how I need to show better respect.”
/> I tried to keep it hidden, but I felt my lips form a smile.
“What?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing,” I said, looking away, whistling idly.
“You love it that I have to live by a set of rules I can’t control,” she said as I continued staring at the tiles in the ceiling. “Admit it.”
I put down my drink, held up both hands. “You caught me. But is it really that bad?”
“So far, no. But that’s mainly because I’m focusing on the case and not those antiquated rules that make kids—kids who can drive, smoke, work a job, and join the military—feel sub-human. But I suppose that’s part of the ritual. Once kids reach a certain age…uh, how old are you?”
“Funny. Twenty-eight going on forty-eight on some days.”
“That must be the line of demarcation. Twenty-eight.”
“Demarcation. I would have never heard you use that word before you enrolled in school.”
“Very funny, motherfucker.”
I smacked my hand on the table and snorted out a laugh, which drew a few oddball looks from the crowd. A little kid appeared at the edge of our table, his finger stuck in his nose. He had this wide-eyed stare, as if he’d just witnessed something he shouldn’t have.
He turned around and ran off, shouting, “Mommy, Mommy, I just heard a bad word.”
“Now you’re really going to get us in trouble,” I said.
We both cracked up.
I quickly pulled it together. “Hey, I’m sorry that I couldn’t break away from the chaos yesterday to get you signed up for summer school. But I’m not surprised to see that you figured out a way to make it work.”
As if she were pausing to give herself a moment, she pulled the rubber band out of her ponytail, then redid it. Her look wasn’t bad, at least for her. She looked a little dark—everything about her was black or gray—but her hair had a shine to it, her face seemed less oily, and was I looking at…?
“Are you wearing eyeliner?”
The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 4-6: Redemption Thriller Series 10-12 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 12
