by Gayle Roper
Drew glanced back and did some quick calculations. “That means there’s over a thousand dollars in that box.”
We continued west of Paoli and passed the Church Farm School and an old sewing factory that was going out of business, a huge green Dumpster in their lot with lumber sticking out the top. My picker’s hormones surged.
We zipped into the lot, and I climbed from the CR-V. I knew I needed to get inside that Dumpster.
“Give me a boost, Drew?” I laced my fingers and held my hands as someone might if they were giving an equestrienne a leg up onto a horse.
“You’re kidding.”
“Absolutely not. There’s bound to be wonderful stuff in there.” I reached up and took hold of the top edge of the Dumpster, which was well over my head, and tried to walk up its side. My sneakers slid, obeying gravity rather than my wishes.
“Here.” With a resigned sigh Drew held out laced fingers, and I stepped into his hand. He straightened and tossed me. I’m sure he meant to toss me gently, but since I had nothing like a saddle to hold on to, I went flying. I ended up in the middle of a pile of large wooden spools, which gave under me and kept me from breaking something. A piece of shelving poked me uncomfortably in the side.
“Libby? Are you all right?” Drew sounded worried. I thought about groaning but decided that wouldn’t be very nice.
“I’m fine.” I climbed to my feet on the unstable spools and knew they were a great find. “I’m going to pass stuff out.” I handed some of the spools to Drew before I noticed the bundle tables. They were the size of end tables and had V-shaped surfaces so that bundles of fabric could be put on them and not slide off onto the floor. I passed several tables out to Drew.
“Who wants tables you can’t set anything on?” he called to me, obviously looking at the V.
“Turn one over.” If he did, he’d see that the bottom was flat, an excellent support for a lamp and decorator items. Somewhere there were seamstresses who would love the idea of having a couple such tables beside their sofas or beds.
When I found boxes of buttons, I was delighted. “Buttons?” Drew asked when I passed the boxes to him.
“Hot, hot items.”
“One man’s treasure,” he muttered.
There was thread in a rainbow of colors that I passed out and rolls of the long, clear-plastic sticky tags reading Small or Medium, Large or Extra Large, the kind that got stuck on the front of shirts. I didn’t pass them out. I also didn’t take the manufacturer’s labels.
The last thing I passed out to Drew was a wall cabinet with four open shelves, probably used for storing thread. It was about five feet long and would slide into the back of the CR-V nicely. Madge and I just might keep it for ourselves.
I slogged through the Dumpster again to see if there was anything else I wanted. Then I threw my leg over the side and twisted to pull my other leg out. As I tottered there, Drew reached up and grasped me by the waist. He lifted me away from the Dumpster and lowered me to the ground. I was excited over all my acquisitions, and I gazed at him over my shoulder with a big smile. He stared at me solemnly.
“You do this type of thing regularly.” He made it a statement.
My smile dimmed a bit as I nodded. He looked so serious.
He turned me to face him. “You are crazy, Libby Keating.” And he kissed me.
Chloe grabbed the front doorknob to answer the bell. She was still in her pj’s.
“Did you check through the peephole?” Jenna asked. “I don’t want it to be my mom.”
“It’s Mrs. Mowery,” Chloe assured her as she opened the door.
“Hello, Chloe,” Mrs. Mowery said cheerfully. “Is your mother here?”
“I’m sorry; she isn’t. She’s working.” Chloe decided not to tell Mrs. Mowery, who looked very nice in a pretty navy pantsuit that made her hair an interesting shade of pale blue, that her mother was picking. It was one of the aspects of her mother’s job that she tried to ignore. The kids at school seemed to find it a hoot that her mom raided trash.
“Ah, I’m sorry. I was going to ask her if she wanted to go to the Kimmel Center with me. Wednesday’s my day. I could give her a tour.”
“What’s the Kimmel Center?” Jenna asked.
“It’s Philadelphia’s concert hall. It’s big and new and has theaters of different sizes and a rooftop dining room, and would you girls like to come with me instead? I could give you the tour.” Mrs. Mowery looked very eager. “You can’t be too young to become interested in the arts.”
Chloe glanced at Jenna, who gave a slight nod. They’d just been discussing what in the world they were going to do all day.
“We’d love to come,” Chloe said.
Mrs. Mowery clapped her hands. “Wonderful! I’ll stop for you at noon.”
Chloe had breakfast while Jenna showered and vice versa. By this time Aunt Tori was up, wandering around in a short silky nightie and a short matching robe.
“How does she manage to look elegant right out of bed?” Jenna whispered.
Aunt Tori heard. “It’s hard work, kids, let me tell you. Better yet, let me show you. I doubt Drew’s got many beauty tips to give you, Jenna, and poor Chloe. Heaven only knows Libby’s not any great shakes.”
Chloe frowned, not liking Aunt Tori to cut on her mom, but the idea of being Tori-fied was irresistible.
Tori took Chloe first and sat her on the toilet in the big bathroom. With blow-dryer and curling wand she performed some magic that made Chloe’s hair look wonderful. Then she worked on Jenna, giving her straight hair a distinct curve that cradled her chin and looked way cool.
Then Aunt Tori brought them into her incredibly messy bedroom and pulled out her makeup. If Chloe’d been impressed by what Aunt Tori did with their hair, she was blown away by the sleight of hand she worked on their faces. When she was finished, both Chloe and Jenna stared at themselves in amazement. What was most astonishing was that you really couldn’t see the makeup even though you knew it was there.
“Subtlety, girls,” Aunt Tori said. “A heavy hand is death.”
“I think this is what we’ll look like when we’re grown up,” Chloe said in a whisper as Aunt Tori, a satisfied smile tugging her lips, disappeared into her bathroom to shower.
The doorbell rang.
“Mrs. Mowery’s here, Aunt Tori,” Chloe yelled through the bathroom door. “We’ll see you later.”
“I’ll probably be gone by the time you get back. Have fun!”
Chloe ran downstairs with Jenna on her heels. Today wasn’t so boring after all.
When Drew pulled into his parking spot in the little lot by the lane, it was late afternoon, and I was feeling the buzz I always get when I have a good day picking. Add to that the fact that Jean had offered me treasures, the pièce de résistence being a large collection of O gauge Lionel trains at least fifty or sixty years old. Drew started to drool the moment he saw them.
“Thanks, Drew. You made today fun.” I leaned across the space between his seat and mine and kissed him on his cheek. I immediately turned red at my forward behavior. I never kissed men. I thought of the kiss last night and the one by the Dumpster. Well, rarely.
Drew smiled his wonderful smile that just about curled my toes. “Always glad to help a pretty lady.” He glanced into the back of the van. “Where are you going to store this stuff? If your house is like ours, there isn’t any extra room.”
“I think I’ll take the magazines inside—I want to read them—but leave the rest in the car if it’s all right. If we’re going to Haydn tomorrow, I can leave it there. Madge’s basement is our storage facility.”
He looked out the window toward his house. “One more night with Ruthie around.” He wiped at the sweat on his forehead as the car rapidly heated now that the air conditioning was off and the July sun was beating down.
“I think what you and Del are doing for her is wonderful.”
His smile was rueful. “I don’t think she agrees.”
“Drew, you
can’t change her. You can’t make her well. You’re doing more than anyone would expect.”
“I know, I know. But the sad fact is that it just feels like a sop to my conscience.”
I reached over and began giving painless pinches to his arm. “Nibbled to death by ducks.”
He grabbed my hand and held it. “You listened too well.”
I smiled. “You’re just a good teacher.”
As he grinned, he gave another curl a gentle pull, and my foolish heart immediately began beating triple time. Before I drooled all over him, I climbed out of the CR-V just as a panel van stopped behind us. The driver rolled down his window.
“Can you help me? I’m lost. I’m looking for 1595 Myrtle Street.”
“I’m sorry,” I said as I pulled the rear door of the car open. I turned to him and smiled to show I wasn’t city-surly. “I just moved here, and I don’t even know if there is a Myrtle Street in Philadelphia, let alone where it might be. Maybe my friend knows, though I doubt it.”
I started to turn to Drew when he gave a terrifying scream of pain.
“Drew!” I managed to take two steps toward him and the man who caught him as he fell before terrible pain shot through my body. I heard myself screaming as if from a distance as I collapsed, then knew only darkness.
20
CHLOE AND JENNA HEADED HOME with Mrs. Mowery at their side. She had given them a very interesting tour, and now Chloe wanted to hear the Philadelphia Orchestra perform or see a play at the Kimmel Center. Maybe she and Mom could go at least once before they left Philadelphia. The tickets seemed very expensive to her, but what did she know? She was used to movie rental prices.
“Jenna.” They were only a block from their little lane. “Isn’t that your dad’s CR-V pulling in now? I wonder if Mom had any luck.”
“You girls can walk faster than I can,” Mrs. Mowery said. “If you want to hurry on, go right ahead.”
“Oh no, Mrs. Mowery.” Chloe smiled. “She’ll just make me carry lots of things inside if I get there too soon.” She watched as her mom climbed from the car and a white panel van backed up into the lot beside Mom. The driver rolled down the window and started talking with her. The back of the van opened, and a man in a red shirt with “Phillies” across the front climbed out and walked between the cars to Jenna’s dad.
“I hope he’s not asking for directions,” Chloe said. “Mom’s a lost cause here in the city.”
“My father too,” Jenna said.
A man’s deep scream reverberated over the noise of traffic, and as Chloe watched, Mr. Canfield gave a shudder and collapsed. One minute he was standing between the CR-V and the car next to it. The next he disappeared from sight, and he’d gone down screaming!
“Oh no! That man shot my father!” Jenna started to run. “Dad!”
Chloe raced after her, so busy watching Mr. Canfield—well, not really Mr. Canfield; he had fallen to the ground between the parked cars—that she would have missed her mother falling if she hadn’t given a great cry of pain too. Chloe saw her arch her back, shudder, and fall. “Mom!”
Chloe tried to run faster, but it felt like she was running in slow motion. The van driver climbed out, picked up Mom, and tossed her into the back of the van. He hurried to the red-shirt man, who was dragging Mr. Canfield. He grabbed Mr. Canfield’s legs. The two of them tossed him into the van.
“Dad!” Jenna’s cry was full of fear.
The red shirt climbed in the back, and the driver slammed the door shut. He climbed into the driver’s seat and peeled out of the alley, the one-way street forcing them to drive right past Chloe and Jenna, who stared open-mouthed.
“Stop! Stop! Mom!” Chloe screamed.
As the van sped away, several things happened at once. Tori’s limo pulled up to the curb, and Tori came running out of the lane, looking exceedingly grumpy. Mr. Mowery and his friend came out to the street, searching for Mrs. Mowery, who was trotting along after Chloe and Jenna at a fairly good shuffle.
“Aunt Tori!” Chloe pointed after the van. “They shot Mom and Mr. Canfield, then kidnapped them!” She could barely get the words out around the fear clogging her throat. Her mom who hadn’t wanted to live in the dangerous city. Her mom who took care of her and loved her. Her mom who might even now be dead. The whole world tilted, and she felt about to slide off.
Before Aunt Tori could respond, Mrs. Mowery wheezed, “They did. I saw the driver’s gun. He shot right from the driver’s seat through the open window. They put both Libby and Drew in that van!” She pointed to the van, caught in traffic at a red light two blocks away. As they watched, the red-shirt man climbed from the back, slammed the door, and raced to climb in the passenger seat before the light changed.
Mr. Mowery and his friend studied the CR-V and the ground around it. “No blood,” Mr. Mowery said.
“None at all,” his friend agreed.
“But I saw a gun,” Mrs. Mowery insisted.
Carl chose that moment to step out of the limo, preparing to open Tori’s door for her.
“Can you follow that van?” Chloe demanded of him. “They took my mom!”
“And my dad!” Jenna had tears running down her cheeks.
The light turned green, and traffic finally began to move.
“They’re getting away!” Chloe sobbed.
Mr. Mowery opened the back door of the limo. “Everybody in.” He made shooing motions with his hand, and everyone climbed in.
Chloe sank into the lush upholstery, but she couldn’t stay seated. She was too nervous and too scared. She knee-walked forward until she was right behind the driver’s seat so she could see better. She gripped the back of the seat.
“Hurry! We’ll lose them!” she screamed.
Carl threw himself behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb to the bleat of a horn from the car he cut off. He sped down the street, rocking Chloe back on her haunches. If she hadn’t been holding the seat, she’d have gone sprawling. She held on tightly as he took the corner at the light just as oncoming traffic began moving again. They blared at him, but he ignored them.
“Do you see it?” Chloe shouted in his ear so loudly he jumped.
“Easy, kid.” He rubbed the side of his head.
“Well, do you see it?” she repeated, more quietly this time. Oh, Lord, please let him see it!
“There!” Carl pointed. “Pulling onto Vine.” He hit the gas and made the same turn at a good clip. Chloe felt the pull of centrifugal force as she tumbled sideways into Aunt Tori. She pulled herself back to her knees.
Mrs. Mowery, seated next to Aunt Tori, grabbed her arm. “Sit down and buckle in, Chloe. It won’t do your mother any good if you get hurt.”
She pushed Chloe toward a place beside Jenna on the wraparound seat. Jenna pulled her down next to her.
“Nine-one-one! 911! We’ve got to call 911.” Chloe grabbed for her phone.
“Already done,” Mrs. Mowery said with a pat on Chloe’s hand. Then she switched her attention to the responder on the other end of her call. “A kidnapping. Two people. White panel van. Just turned south on Vine. We are following in a black limousine.” She listened a minute, then looked at everyone. “License number?”
“It was one of those Pennsylvania plates that have the old two-masted brigantines, the one that’s all beige and white so you can’t read the numbers.” Chloe felt pleased she could offer that much, though it wasn’t much.
Mrs. Mowery relayed the information as they streaked past the Round House, the headquarters of the Philadelphia police, and around the circle. “He’s heading for the Ben Franklin Bridge.”
“Why would someone kidnap your parents?” Mr. Mowery studied Chloe and Jenna.
Chloe shook her head. She probably looked as dazed and scared as Jenna did. She grabbed Jenna’s hand and held on. “I don’t know.”
“Me neither.” Jenna pulled out her shirttail and blotted her tears.
The van swung onto the bridge, crested its arch, and began its descen
t into New Jersey.
“Don’t get too close,” Mr. Mowery cautioned. “We don’t want them to know we’re behind them.”
“Gotcha.” Carl eased back a bit, letting three cars come between him and the van. “Too bad there aren’t tollbooths heading south anymore. Then he’d have to stop.”
Chloe leaned forward. The car was so long it made her feel she was very, very far from her mom. She was glad to have Mr. and Mrs. Mowery and their friend along. They might be old, but she felt as if she and Jenna weren’t alone.
The van turned off the bridge and plunged into a maze of narrow streets that hadn’t been laid out with limousines in mind. Carl had to slow for corners that were too sharp and cars that were parked too close to intersections.
Mrs. Mowery cocked her head at Aunt Tori like a bright little chirping sparrow. “Does this have something to do with you, dear?” She waited for an answer with the unflinching stare of a raptor.
Aunt Tori shifted in her seat. “Why ever would you think that?”
“Maybe a case of mistaken identity? Maybe something to do with that terrible man you brought on the Fourth?”
“Without food,” Mr. Mowery added.
Aunt Tori didn’t answer.
I heard a groan from far away, and it took me a while to realize it was me.
I tried to move, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. I flashed on Drew’s terrible scream and fall. Dear God, have I been shot too?
As my mind cleared a bit more, I knew the answer to my prayer. I hadn’t been shot. I felt limp and disoriented, but there was no site of pain like I’d expect with a bullet. It was more like my whole body feeling heavy, scrambled, unresponsive.
“Libby. Libby, can you hear me?”
But I had been shot. I remembered the pricks on my back and leg. Then the horrendous though short-lived pain. A shock weapon of some kind? A Taser or stun gun?
“Libby.” The whisper was insistent and close.
“Drew?” Relief flooded through me. He was here and he was talking to me. “Are you all right?”
I wasn’t. I was lying on my side with my arms pulled behind me. They were restrained somehow. I tried moving my legs, but they were bound too. I looked around as much as I could and realized I was lying in the back of a panel truck, trussed like a Christmas goose.
