by Mary Carter
Across the room Stefano was handing Rafael a large envelope. Rafael slipped Stefano some money and booted him out as quickly as possible. Carrie Ann was seated so that she was facing Rafael.
“Can you see what he’s looking at?” Jake said.
“No.”
“He’s distracted. I say we make a run for it. Through the back.”
“Okay,” Carrie Ann said. “Let’s do it.”
“On three.” Jake scooted his chair back quietly. “One—”
“Rafael’s getting up,” Carrie Ann said.
“Shit.” Did he literally have eyes in the back of his head? Rafael came to their table. He was holding a flyer. To Jake’s surprise, Rafael thrust it in Jake’s face.
“Have you heard of this?” Rafael said. Jake looked at the flyer.
GREC FESTIVAL DE BARCELONA
ROBERT LOVE LANDING
PRESENTS
MEET ME IN BARCELONA
A HUNDRED RED BALLET SLIPPERS PRODUCTION
AMERICANS IN BARCELONA
COSTUME CONTEST
PRIZE: $20,000 US DOLLARS
Are you an American living in Barcelona? Do you have a wild costume, like those of the street performers on La Rambla? If so, you could win $20,000 at our annual contest. Food, drink, music. To enter, you must have an American passport and ID. Will be checked thoroughly.
The concert was tomorrow. Jake had to use every ounce of willpower not to break out in a grin. Way to go, Grace. Way to go. She finally got it. She knew who Jean Sebastian really was. And she was trying to get them all in the same place. Thank you, God. Thank you.
“Your eagle costume would be perfect,” Carrie Ann said.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Rafael said. “Do you think I could pass for American?”
“Not a chance,” Jake said.
“I have your passport,” Rafael said.
“For a $20,000 prize they aren’t going to let anyone pull a fast one,” Jake said. “You are Spanish through and through, my man.”
“But we do have an American sitting right here,” Carrie Ann said. Rafael didn’t answer, but he did make a second out-of-the-ordinary move. He sat down at their table. Stared at the flyer. “He’s just a little shorter than you, Rafael,” Carrie Ann said. “But I could help tailor the costume.”
Rafael looked up at Jake as if they were having a stare down. “I don’t trust him with the knives,” he said.
“That’s too bad,” Carrie Ann said. “The knives are the best part.”
“They are, aren’t they?” Rafael said. “They are divine.” Rafael’s phone rang. He gave a start. Jake and Carrie Ann made eye contact. Rafael held up his finger, then walked a few feet away to take the call.
“This is Grace,” Jake said.
“I know that,” Carrie Ann said. “A hundred red ballet slippers.”
“Robert would have loved the landing.” He laughed softly, then his face took on a more serious expression. “I think she wants me to wear the eagle costume,” he said.
“Because you’ll be easy to spot in a crowd.”
“She’s a genius.”
“You’ll also be easy for everyone else to spot—namely Rafael.”
“There’s a flaw in every diamond.”
“If you’re in the eagle costume and she can spot you easily, then you have to let me stay by your side. I don’t want to be alone with Rafael.”
“Do you think he’s actually going to let me have the knives?”
“He’s got twenty thousand reasons,” Carrie Ann said.
“And a couple really good ones not to.”
“I knew the knives were real. Psycho.”
Rafael was off the phone. He strode back to them. He was actually rubbing his hands. “That was Stan. Grace is going to sing and play her guitar for a big crowd tomorrow. At this festival. This is a message from heaven. This is meant to be, no?”
“It definitely is,” Carrie Ann said.
“Okay. So you will wear the costume. If you win—the money is mine.”
“And you let me go,” Jake said. “Or no deal.”
“Where will you go?” Rafael said, throwing his arms open. “Will you go without Grace?”
Jake curled his fists and looked away. He needed to pretend to be nervous about this. Carrie Ann was right though. Rafael would be able to spot Jake in a second. Worse, Rafael was probably going to stick to him like glue. What happened when Rafael found out there was no costume contest? Nobody else dressed up like an idiot? Jake was going to have to take Rafael down for the count.
Would it jeopardize Grace’s plan? She had sent the flyer to Rafael after all. Did she have some kind of plan of her own for neutralizing Rafael? Doubtful. Although Jake had no clue how she’d even pulled this off. Somebody had to have made the flyer and then delivered it to Stefano.
Rafael hopped up. “We’ll do it,” he said. He pointed at Jake. “You will not leave my side,” he said.
Shit, Jake thought. The best-case scenario would be taking Rafael down somehow.
Jake shrugged. “You’ll need to give me back my passport.”
“I’ll be your shadow,” Rafael said. He grabbed the flyer and his phone and started to walk away again.
“Rafael,” Carrie Ann said.
“¿Qué?”
“If you talk to Stan again, I wouldn’t mention this costume contest.” Rafael frowned. “I know Stan,” she said. “He’ll think it will distract you. He won’t like it.”
“I can handle it,” Rafael said.
“I know that. But he won’t see it that way.”
“You’re trying to set me up,” Rafael said.
Carrie Ann put her hands up. “Tell him then,” she said. “See for yourself.”
Rafael glared and began to pace as he dialed his phone.
“What do you think he’ll do?” Jake said.
Carrie Ann crossed her fingers. Jake nodded, then crossed his. “Who is Robert Love Landing?” Carrie Ann asked.
“Her grandfather was Robert,” Jake said. “Something her mother says—‘Robert would have loved the landing’—I don’t know the whole story.”
“Sounds like Grace,” Carrie Ann said. “Never telling the whole story.”
“Seriously?” Jake said. “She comes up with a plan to save our asses and you’re still trying to cut her down?”
“Sorry,” Carrie Ann said. “I couldn’t resist.”
“We’ve got another problem,” Jake said.
“What?”
“Grace’s parents.” Jake swallowed hard. “Unless Grace has been allowed to speak with them, they’re probably on a plane as we speak.”
“To where?”
“Here.”
“Here?”
“It was a surprise. For her thirtieth birthday.”
“But I thought her mom was on her deathbed.”
“The doctors have been working with them to figure out everything they could to let her take this last trip. Just for a few days. It was going to be a big surprise.”
“Shit.”
“As soon as I take down Rafael, I’m going to have to get to a phone.”
“Wait. What do you mean—take down Rafael?”
“If I’m in that bird costume, he’s going to be able to follow every move we make.”
“So will Grace.”
“Right—but how long until he figures out there’s no costume contest, no $20,000?”
“I didn’t think of that.”
“So we’re going to wait for an opportunity—both of us—and if one comes, we take it.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“Most likely hitting him on the back of the head with something heavy.”
“Couldn’t that kill him?”
“Our goal is just to render him unconscious. But anything we do in an attempt to escape is truly self-defense.”
“I could try seduction one more time.”
“No offense, but he’s had us locked in our rooms for
days and he has kept his distance. I think that ship has sailed.”
“You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
“Well, give it a try. But if that doesn’t work, start thinking of everything that is in that apartment—anything you could grab when his back is turned.”
“Me?”
“I’m assuming I’m going to be back in cuffs. So you either have to find the key to unlock me, or—assuming your little seduction plan fails—you’re going to have to be the one to hit him over the head any second you get.”
“But this is a prank, Jake. Not a real kidnapping.”
“Tell that to Rafael. Any time I tried to leave I got a punch in the mouth.”
“I could try and call Stan, make him realize that it’s time to tell Rafael to let us go.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he knows that we’re all going to the festival. He doesn’t need iron control anymore.”
“Don’t call him. We don’t want to risk Rafael’s telling him that I’m going to be wearing the eagle costume.”
“Right.”
“I don’t want to kill Rafael or anything, but we’re going to have to make sure Rafael doesn’t follow us to that festival. I have an idea. But you’re going to have to help me get ahold of Rafael’s phone.”
Carrie Ann stared at Jake for a long time, then slowly nodded.
CHAPTER 41
Jim Sawyer hung up the phone. He didn’t know what to do. Jake couldn’t talk long because he didn’t want someone to notice his phone was missing, so he just said that they shouldn’t come. He’d explain the rest later. Now Jim had to break it to his wife. There was a chance she wouldn’t even remember they were supposed to take a trip. He wanted to get on a plane himself and rush out to save his little girl, but he wouldn’t have a clue where to start. Instead, he had done as Grace had requested and made up that flyer, then sent it American Express to someone named Rafael in care of Stefano at the address where Grace had been staying.
When Jim walked into the hospice room, Jody was dressed, sitting on the bed with her travel bag by her side.
“Where’s your bag?” she said.
“You remembered,” he said.
“Of course I remembered. I’ve been good about taking my medication for this trip. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Jim was filled with a sense of hopelessness and powerlessness that was debilitating. Not only was his little girl in trouble, but now he had to break that news to his wife. And it was no exaggeration to say that it could kill her.
“Sit down,” Jim said. “I have something to tell you.”
“I am sitting down,” she said.
“We can’t go to Barcelona,” Jim said.
After over three decades of marriage, Jody must have picked up on the seriousness of the situation. “Start talking,” Jody said.
Jim reluctantly filled her in. He told her everything. Jody sprang from the bed and grabbed her suitcase.
“Let’s go,” she said.
“But I just told you—”
“Our little girl is in trouble. It’s even more reason to go.”
“The stress won’t be good for you.”
“I’m not dead yet—and my daughter needs me. If you think I’m passing that opportunity up, then you might as well kill me yourself.”
Three hours later, they were on a flight to Barcelona.
The car ride from Cadaqués to Barcelona was filled with a thick silence. Whereas he’d been chatty on the way to Port Lligat, “Jean Sebastian” was now spending most of his time staring out the window. Several times Grace had almost slipped and called him Stan. She prayed her father had been able to send the flyer and that it had made its way to Rafael. Hopefully Jake would be wearing the eagle costume. She could find him, and the two of them could decide what action to take against these three. Or maybe they would just slip away. They could talk to an attorney when they were safely back in the States.
Grace still wasn’t sure about Carrie Ann. Part of this was totally something she would do. But Carrie Ann was more of a pomp and circumstance girl. Carrie Ann’s grand schemes usually involved everything revolving around her. Was Stan really the mastermind behind this? If so, he had changed. Come out of his shell, so to speak.
“It looks like our plan is working,” Grace said.
“How so?” Stan said.
“Well, ever since I texted Carrie Ann to meet us in Barcelona, she stopped playing hangman.”
Stan turned, and his eyes bored into Grace’s. “Hangman?” he said.
Had she just made a horrible mistake? She was trying so hard to say whatever she would have honestly said to Jean Sebastian. But she’d kept the fact that the clues were looking like a game of hangman to herself. Because she hadn’t wanted Jean Sebastian to be drawn into all the psychodrama. How ironic.
“I forgot to tell you,” Grace said. “The couple times I got the answer ‘Lydia’ wrong, Carrie Ann—or Stan—replied with a circle and then with a stem coming off the circle. It looked as if they were playing a game of hangman.”
“That’s bizarre,” Stan said.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Grace said.
Stan gestured to the countryside. “We’ve got time.”
Grace hesitated. Did she or did she not tell “Jean Sebastian” all the details about Stan’s father? It was a tightrope. If she angered Stan, or touched on too many painful memories, wasn’t there a very real chance he’d break character? And then maybe he’d call off meeting at the concert, and she’d never find Jake and Carrie Ann.
“You’ll hear it in the song,” Grace said.
“Why not both?”
“It’s too personal,” Grace said.
“But you’re going to sing it in front of a festival full of total strangers?”
“It’s different when I’m on stage. Playing for a crowd. Then the music takes over, as if it’s performing, and I’m just the vessel.”
“You’re lucky,” Stan said. He went back to looking out the window. “I’ve never had anything like that.”
He was lying. Stan used to be terrific at doodling. It sounded silly, but jaws would drop at the things he would sketch in his schoolbooks. He could have been a great cartoonist, or a book illustrator, or a freelance artist. Why did some people ignore their talents and get sucked into the dark side? His obsession with Grace had really nothing to do with her. It was too bad she couldn’t get him to realize that.
“It’s almost over,” Grace said. “I’m going to go to this thing, apologize publicly to Stan, make sure Jake is okay, and then . . .”
Stan slipped his hand into hers. “Then you and I can get the hell out of here. Maybe Italy?”
“Only if Carrie Ann brings my ID.”
“Right. We’ll have to make sure of it.” They were nearing Stan’s hotel. Grace wondered how Stan had come into so much money. She’d heard his father had had a hefty insurance policy. And maybe it was just in her head, but it seemed as if he was slowly dropping the “Jean Sebastian” act, and the real Stan was once again shining through. Unfortunately, the real Stan made her just as uncomfortable as ever.
And really—did he truly believe she was now in love with him and wanted to leave Jake? She wasn’t an expert on the Stockholm syndrome, but surely it took people longer than a few days to fall for their captors. Because that’s what Stan was, wasn’t he? Her captor? She never would have stayed with him, traveled with him, or showered with him nearby, if she had known he was Stan. As soon as they got to the concert and she found Jake, the two of them would get away. As long as Jake was wearing that costume and had figured out how to deter Rafael, they would find each other.
Grace was relieved when they finally arrived at the hotel and they stepped into Stan’s suite.
“Do you want to shower first?” Stan asked. At least he was pretending to be a gentleman and hadn’t tried anything. Thank God for small miracles. But she felt odd, once again, knowing she’d be sh
owering with him in the other room. She felt a deep shame at her earlier fantasies about and attraction to him when she had thought he was a Belgian man who headed up rescues in the Congo. What an idiot she’d been.
“Are you okay?” Stan said.
“Yes,” Grace said. “Sorry, my mind is racing.”
“Well, a nice shower should help it slow down. After all, you’re going to be on stage tomorrow. Have to look good for the fans.”
“Right you are,” Grace said. She hurried to the bathroom and shut the door. How dare they? Was this all a game, a manufactured drama, just to mess with her mind and get her on stage? Why would they care about her singing?
Because of what she’d said in one of her interviews after the Marsh Everett review.
“Do you have any painful songs?” a reporter had asked her as a follow-up to Marsh Everett’s comment about singing her pain.
“I have one,” Grace said. “It’s about something tragic that occurred in my childhood.”
“Why haven’t you sung it? Shown the country world some pain like Mr. Everett suggested?”
“Because it’s personal, and it involves other people, and it was just something I had to write to work through the truth.”
Well, if they wanted to hear her take on the past, they were going to get it. Maybe shaming them in front of an international audience was exactly what was called for next. And then she and Jake would get the hell out of here.
There was a knock on the door, startling Grace out of her memory. “Yes?”
“I’ll order room service,” Stan said. “Should I choose for you?”
God, he was such a pompous ass. Now that she knew it was fake, she wanted to choke that phony accent out of him. Grace forced herself to sound cheery. “Too nervous to eat. But thanks.” Grace slipped off her clothes and stepped into the shower. She needed a razor. She hadn’t cared about it the past few days, but if she was going to sing, she wanted to look her best. Stan had a small leather bag on the sink. Maybe he had a razor in there. Grace stepped out and opened the bag. Lying on top was a small sketchbook, and underneath it were mounds and mounds of circular tins. At first she didn’t know what the round tins were, but at the moment she didn’t care. It was the top sketch that was rooting her to the spot in horror. It was of a cat. Her cat. It was Brady. His body lying on the steps of her house, his eyes open and glassy. The sketch clearly showed a scarf strangling his neck. Stan had even colored the scarf pink. Grace slapped her hand over her mouth. Above the sketch of Brady it said: DIE. Grace felt her insides turn to ice. On the next page he’d tacked a newspaper article. It was Lionel Gale’s obituary, the one that had run in the newspaper after his death. In the photo, Stan had drawn a rope around Lionel’s neck in red marker. He’d also sketched in the rafters of the barn from which Lionel had hung. Across his forehead Stan had written: DIE.
