by Sheryl Lynn
She may as well have been shouting at the wind. The Colonel grasped one arm and McKennon took the other. They bullied her out of the cabin.
“LET ME GUESS,” McKennon said. “The first words out of your mouth were, ‘I hate Julius Bannerman.’” Arms folded, he rested a shoulder against the doorjamb leading to Elise Duke’s office.
Frankie turned an unhappy glare on McKennon’s knowing expression. Of course she’d told the police how much she hated Julius, but McKennon needn’t be so smug about the inevitable results. The state police investigator who’d questioned her about the kidnapping had been solicitous, to a point. He even apologized for requesting she submit fingerprints, shoe print samples and a handwriting exemplar. When Frankie, however, launched into a diatribe about how opposed she’d been to the wedding and how Julius Bannerman had been the lowest scumball to ever prowl the earth, he’d turned hostile. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out her big mouth placed her in the top ten on the suspect list.
Her insistence that the police launch a massive manhunt had gone largely ignored. The only thing her arguments accomplished was getting her banished to Elise’s office. There she sat, alone, frustrated, scared and helpless.
McKennon picked up a carafe from Elise’s desk, filled a mug and offered her the steaming coffee. She accepted with an ungracious grunt. “What time is it?”
“A few minutes after two.”
“What are the cops doing now? Does anyone have any idea where Penny is?”
She settled on a love seat carefully, well aware she’d been wearing the same clothes for days. She felt dirty, exhausted and very much out of place in Elise Duke’s feminine office. Despite it being the dead of winter, fresh flowers were arranged in vases. Elise could find fresh flowers in Antarctica if she had to. The delicate furniture, shining under coats of wax, made Frankie feel even more lost and out of place.
She blew on the steaming brew, forming concentric circles on the surface. “Did the cops call in the FBI?”
McKennon’s pained exhalation told her all she needed to know. This kidnapping was going from awful to ludicrously horrible at warp speed.
“They’ll get her back.”
“How are they keeping this from the media? Elk River looks like it’s hosting a cop convention. What if the kidnappers are watching? What then?”
“I assure you they were bluffing. No way would they hang around.” He poured coffee for himself. “Did the cops ask to search your car?”
“I gave permission.” Seething, she sipped the coffee. “But I told them no way about searching my apartment. Can you believe it? They want to waste time digging around in my stuff. If they want to look that bad they can get a warrant.” The coffee made her belly rumble. Hunger flared, annoying her. “What about you?”
“I gave them permission to search everything.”
She wrinkled her nose in puzzlement. “Are you nuts?”
“You should let them search your place, too.”
“It’s a waste of time and manpower.”
“It’s an inside job, Frankie. The cops know it.”
She almost spilled the coffee. She clutched the cup with both hands. Traces of fingerprint ink smudged the ceramic surface. “What are you talking about?”
He sat beside her and placed a hand on her arm. Bemused, she stared at his hand. An overwhelming need for comforting disturbed her. She’d always been strong and able to cope with any situation. That circumstances had forced her into helplessness alternately frightened and angered her.
She meant to jerk her arm away from his hand. She would stop staring at his long, muscular fingers, as well, and stop studying the way raised veins traced patterns under the skin. She meant to—every intention was there—but she couldn’t rouse the energy to do anything except gaze unhappily at his hand upon her arm.
“For one thing, the kidnappers knew exactly where to go. The tracks led directly to the cabin.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, a limited number of people were aware that the wedding and honeymoon were taking place at the resort.”
A creepy sensation slithered through her body. Anonymous thugs were one thing. Like being struck by lightning, crime by strangers was scary, but impersonal. Being attacked by a friend, though, gnawed holes in the very idea of personal safety. “How limited?”
His brow knit. “The Dukes and the Caulfields, of course. Whoever arranged the reservation for the chapel and honeymoon cabin. Two of Penny’s friends attended the wedding and dinner along with one of Julius’s. They returned yesterday to the Springs. I have no idea who Penny or Julius might have told about the wedding, but since so few were invited I imagine they kept it quiet. All in all, I suspect the number of people who knew about the wedding is small, and the number who knew the details is even smaller. Those are our suspects.”
The man who left the message on Frankie’s answering machine knew. She sat straighter. Her heart thudded heavily.
“What is it?” he asked.
She set down the coffee mug and shifted on the seat to face him. “Who tipped me off about the wedding?”
“What?”
“Some man left a message on my machine. Why did he call?”
McKennon shook his head. “I’m not certain what you’re talking about.”
Fist pressed to her mouth, she concentrated on remembering the exact words the caller had used. “I got back from the grocery store, and there was a message on my answering machine. A man said Penny and Julius were getting married here, and I had to stop it. I called Penny’s dorm, and that’s when I found out she’d dropped out of college. So I got up here as fast as I could.” She stared fiercely into his eyes. “Was it you?”
“No,” he answered without hesitation. “You didn’t recognize the voice?”
“Uh-uh.” Fear crawled through her bones. Somebody knew her well enough to know she would drop everything and race to Elk River. If that somebody was the kidnapper then he was no friend of hers. “But you’re here. There must have been some kind of threat.”
He grunted irritably and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands laced loosely. Frankie rubbed idly at the spot where he’d been touching her.
“Well?”
He snapped his head up and she caught the tightening of his jaw and the heat in his eyes. His show of emotion comforted her. It proved he cared.
“Mrs. Caulfield needed a spy. She tried to buy off Julius and it didn’t work. She couldn’t scare Penny, either. My job was to discover something Mrs. Caulfield could use against Penny.”
“That’s disgusting.”
He lowered his face. “Mrs. Caulfield could have had one of her staff call you. Maybe she thought you’d succeed where she failed.”
The idea of Belinda stooping so low as to need Frankie’s help seemed absurd. “She’s that desperate?”
“Penny’s a serious threat. I overheard several arguments where Julius took Penny’s side rather than his mother’s. From Mrs. Caulfield’s reaction I’d say that was a first. Julius moved out about a month ago. Again, judging by how hard she took it, that was a first, too.”
“Could...?” Frankie paused, loath to speak aloud her deepest fear. She swallowed hard. “Could Belinda be behind this?” Her courage failed her. She couldn’t bear thinking the kidnapping might be a cover for making Penny permanently disappear.
“Not a chance,” he said. “If Penny had been snatched off the street I’d consider the possibility. But Mrs. Caulfield is well aware of Julius’s health. She wouldn’t risk giving him drugs.” He slid an arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring hug.
The feel of flannel against her cheek and the powerful muscle beneath soothed her somewhat. The tension in her throat eased.
Elise Duke entered the office. Her eyelids were swollen and her complexion had turned almost translucent. She dabbed delicately at her nose with a tissue. Frankie rose and embraced her aunt. Elise seemed to have shrunk in the past few hours.
; “We’ll get her back, Aunt Elise,” she said, wishing she could mean it with all her heart.
“Yes, we will.” She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Despite the remnants of tears, strength glowed in her blue eyes. “We’ll get her back safe and sound. My immediate concern is you, dear.”
“Me?”
She hooked an arm firmly with Frankie’s and tugged her toward the door.
“I’m okay. Really.”
“You’ll be better after a shower and a decent meal. You’ll use Janine’s room.”
“I...” Frankie’s protests died before she aired them. Elise needed someone to care for. “All right, if it’ll make you happy.”
“Mr. McKennon? Please join us in the kitchen. There’s plenty of food.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Aunt Elise was right, as usual. A hot shower and clean clothing, courtesy of her cousins, refreshed Frankie. Despite a lack of sleep she felt strong again. Her eyes burned and her limbs were heavy, but her thoughts were clear. She’d considered and reconsidered what McKennon had said about Belinda and conceded he was right. Which meant Penny had been kidnapped for money, and they would get her back.
She joined McKennon in the kitchen where, to her guilty dismay, she couldn’t seem to eat enough food. She snagged a yeast roll from a basket and slathered on butter. Across the table from her he ate heartily, as well. She noted his use of a napkin and the way he set down his utensils between bites, so she refrained from tearing at the roll with her teeth. She plucked off a ladylike piece and placed it in her mouth.
She glanced at the kitchen workers who stirred, chopped, banged utensils and washed dishes. She wondered how much they knew about the murder in Honeymoon Hideaway Cabin B, and how much they were talking to outsiders. The only way the media couldn’t know something would be if every journalist in the state of Colorado were sleeping off a massive hangover.
“Tell me more about this insider theory,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Could it be Julius’s friends?”
“Seems a big risk. Either Julius or Penny could recognize them. Besides, Julius’s friends are pretty much like him. Party animals without much ambition.”
A loud clatter nearly made Frankie jump out of her skin. A cook’s assistant scrambled to retrieve the cutlery she’d spilled. McKennon folded a hand around Frankie’s.
“Relax.”
“How?” She dragged in air in a vain attempt to slow her pounding heart. In disgust, she pushed her plate away. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here eating. I need to do something.”
“There’s nothing you can do.” He slid her plate back in front of her. “Except stay strong for your sister.”
“Thank you, O wise one.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “I’m curious. Do you dislike me because of something I did, or on general principles?”
Ashamed of the sarcasm, she concentrated on the food before her.
“Something about that note really bugs me.” He leaned as close to her as the table allowed. “Did the wording seem friendly to you?”
The only wording she recalled clearly was the part about the kidnappers killing Penny. “I don’t think so.”
“They made a point of telling Julius he was a good person and the kidnapping was nothing personal. Remember?”
Now that he said it she did remember. “Yeah, and they used a lot of negatives. They aren’t bad people, Julius isn’t a bad person. It’s like they were apologizing. What does it mean?”
“It fits with the insider theory.”
“Or maybe a woman wrote the note. Women have a tendency to be less direct than men in their language. And Mike said one set of tracks could belong to a woman. Maybe it’s one of Julius’s ex-wives or girlfriends. This would be the perfect revenge, not only against him, but against Belinda, as well.”
Firm footsteps announced the Colonel’s arrival in the kitchen. He walked directly to the table and stopped with his hands locked behind his back. His grim expression threatened Frankie’s fragile composure. He was a gruff old man, blustery and eccentric in his insistence on military order in all things, but he loved her deeply. He loved Penny, too. Strain showed around his tight-lipped mouth, and his eyes seemed to have sunk deeply into his head.
Frankie pushed slowly upright. Everything she’d eaten threatened to rise. “Is there...news?”
“Mr. Bannerman’s parents have arrived. They require your presence, Mr. McKennon. They are in the lobby.”
A flicker of emotion rippled over McKennon’s features. Frankie guessed he’d rather face a swarm of angry bees. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood. “Excuse me.”
Sick with sympathy over how McKennon was going to have to explain Julius’s death in detail, Frankie watched him go. She sank onto the chair and lowered her face to her hands. It hit her, truly and hard: Julius was dead. She had despised him, not merely for his decadent existence and his pursuit of Penny, but for being the son of the woman who had stolen Max. Still, he hadn’t deserved murder. He had people who loved him, people who would grieve his loss.
Penny would mourn. Julius may have been a lousy excuse for a mate, but Penny had loved him. When Penny loved, she loved with all her heart and soul. The kidnapping was merely the beginning of her ordeal.
A touch on her shoulder roused her.
“The authorities requested that I vacate the lodge of guests. Should anyone ask, the cover story is that we’ve had a break in a main gas line.” He glanced at the employees laboring over the stoves. “We will evacuate the resort in an orderly fashion. The employees will remain, however.”
The knots in Frankie’s belly tightened unpleasantly. Elk River Resort supported the Duke clan. God only knew how much business they were about to lose.
“The FBI has set up a command post in the dining room. They finished searching the resort.”
She blinked stupidly at her uncle, uncertain what he talked about. “Why would they search the resort?”
“Standard operating procedure.” His facial muscles tightened as if speaking pained him. “They must eliminate the possibility that our family or any of the people under my command are involved.”
“They’re treating you like a suspect?”
He gazed into the distance. “They have requested polygraph examinations.”
Frankie jumped to her feet. “Who the hell is in charge? Bad enough to waste manpower poking and probing into our personal lives, but now they want to use lie detectors? Did you say the dining room?”
He clamped a hand on her shoulder, his long fingers powerful and unwavering. “At ease, Francine. I suggest you remain here until your presence is required.”
“Do you know something I don’t?”
The skin on his neck reddened. The flush climbed, reaching his ears. His pale eyes blazed. “During questioning, not only of myself, but of others, your name continually came up.”
Taken aback, she clamped her arms over her chest and jutted her chin. “I’m the prime suspect? They think I murdered Julius and kidnapped my own sister?”
“That is not what I am saying. But your presence at the resort has been mentioned several times by authorities. Not to mention your disapproval of the marriage.”
“Great, just great.” She ducked from beneath his hand. Memories of that anonymous phone call tipping her off about the wedding sickened her. The caller, whoever he was, wanted her here to take the heat. “They’re wasting time investigating me. I’m putting a stop to it.”
“Calm yourself, Francine.”
“Not a chance, Colonel. I’m setting those people straight right now.” Ignoring his orders to cease and desist, she hurried out of the kitchen.
The scene within the private dining room astonished her. Electronic equipment covered the long dining table and the big sideboard. Frankie recognized tape recorders, but the rest was so much impressive gadgetry to her unschooled eyes. Detailed maps of the area were pinned to the walls. Two men in dark suits wore headsets
. Two other men, again in dark suits, conferred with a uniformed officer. A woman wearing a blue suit sat at the table, making notes in a black binder notebook. No mistaking the suits for anything other than FBI. The room crackled with an air of efficient command.
The woman lifted her head, acknowledged Frankie’s presence with a hard stare and stood. “This area is off-limits.”
“I’m Frankie Forrest, Penny’s sister. You seem to think I’m a criminal mastermind.”
The room hushed and activity ceased. More angered than intimidated, Frankie stalked to the long table. The agent lifted her chin. She was of average height, but had square shoulders and an imposing air. She extended her hand.
“I’m Agent Pamela Patrick.”
Annoyed and feeling at a disadvantage, Frankie crossed her arms, refusing to shake hands. “You’re running this show?”
“Yes, I am. And no, nobody is accusing you of being a mastermind, Miss Forrest. Please, sit down.” Her voice was kind, as were her eyes.
Beginning to feel embarrassed about her belligerence, Frankie took a chair. “My uncle says you want everyone to take lie detector tests. How will that help get my sister back?”
“I don’t know about lie detector tests, Miss Forrest. I assume any requests of that sort will come from the state police. They are handling the murder investigation. I assure you, my prime objective is to see your sister returned safe and sound.”
Deflated, and feeling somehow robbed of strength-sustaining fury, Frankie turned her gaze to the plate-glass window. Gray skies shocked her. Weather in Colorado changed rapidly; in the mountains it often shifted with deadly speed. But low-hung clouds and winds that bent the treetops stunned her. The last time she’d noticed, there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky.
“You!”
The screechy cry made Frankie jump to her feet.
In a swirl of fox fur, Belinda Bannerman Caulfield stormed into the dining room. Frankie backed up a step, striking the table. Belinda wasn’t a pretty woman—she probably hadn’t been pretty as a girl. She had a long, horsey face, no chin to speak of, and the outer corners of her eyes drooped, giving her a perpetually bored expression.
