Katherine buried her face in her hands. “This is terrible.”
Chapter Twelve
Stevie drove into the parking lot of the Dew Drop Inn, and was quickly disappointed that his father’s truck wasn’t there. He had a hard time finding a space to park. The place was packed.
He walked into the smoke-filled bar, searching for someone he knew. A woman he used to date in high school sauntered over. “Hey, Stevie, wanna buy me a drink?”
“Sure, Loretta, what’s your pleasure?”
“Are we talking about a drink or . . . ”
Stevie shrugged off the innuendo. “If I remember, you like Bloody Marys.” Stevie moved over to the bar. “Hey, Eddie, one Bloody Mary for the lady, and a Jack and Coke for me.” Then to Loretta, pointing at the bar stool, “Ladies first,” he said.
“Always the gentleman,” she flirted, hopping up on the stool. “I never see you anymore. Where ya been hangin’?”
“I have a new business and it takes all my time,” he answered, then said to the bartender, who had slid over the two drinks. “Where’s my Dad?”
“He’s in the back.”
“But I didn’t see his truck.”
“Wrecked it headin’ to Chicago. Rented a Cadillac.”
Stevie tried to hide his murderous feelings.
Loretta said, slurring her words, “I wrecked my car last month.”
Stevie ignored her. “Excuse me,” he said, walking away. He headed for the back room, where his father, Sam, had his office. Sam was talking to two other men Stevie didn’t recognize. “I need a word,” he said abruptly.
Sam looked surprised. “Good evening, son,” he said, then addressed the two men, “We’re done here, right, fellas? I’ll catch ya later.”
The men got up, threw Stevie a curious look, and left.
“Shut the door,” Sam yelled after them. One stepped back and obliged. After they left, Sam said, “Dave tells me you got your girl. I bet you’re real happy about that?”
Stevie was so angry, he couldn’t speak. The muscles in his neck contracted, then he spit, “That man you shot in front of Katherine Cokenberger’s house wasn’t Jake.”
Sam got up from his chair. “What are you talkin’ about?”
“Shut up, Dad. I know you put the hit on him, but to think you’d do it with Salina —your granddaughter — in the truck is so freakin’ unreal, I can’t believe you’d be so callous.”
“You make no sense.”
“What if Salina had been killed by one of those bullets?”
“I’m tellin’ ya. I didn’t do it.”
“Eddie just said you wrecked your truck and rented a Cadillac. That’s a four-door sedan, right? Is it black?”
“No, it’s blue. Didn’t you see it parked outside?”
Stevie began to realize his father might be telling the truth and didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. He tried to calm down.
Sam came around the desk and stood next to Stevie. “Listen, son, I’ll send out feelers about what happened, but you best get back to your daughter. Where is she? Is she outside in your truck? I know you didn’t bring her in here.”
“No, she’s at Mrs. Cokenberger’s house.”
“Then, you get over there. Drive-by shootings don’t happen in Erie for nothin’. Something ain’t right.”
“I’m leavin’, but Dad, do you know anyone who uses an automatic pistol?”
“Fully automatic? Nope, not in my operation. Sounds pretty damn sophisticated. You go on now. Make sure Salina is safe.”
“Thanks,” Stevie said, leaving. As he headed out of the office and to the front door, Loretta called after him, “Ain’t you stayin’, sugar?”
“Another time,” he said.
Chapter Thirteen
Early in the morning, after the previous night’s shooting, Katherine walked into the atrium and picked up the handset of the landline phone. Scout leaped on top of the marble-top curio cabinet and tried to knock it out of her hand. “Get down,” she scolded.
“Waugh,” Scout cried haughtily, and leaped down.
“Is that butter on your face? You’re not supposed to have butter.”
Scout wiped her paw over her lips and licked it. She crossed her blue eyes and curled her lip, exposing one fang. “Na-waugh,” she disagreed.
Katherine pressed the number of the Premier Hotel in Chicago, where Jake was staying. A friendly sounding robot answered, ‘If you know the number of your party, please press the room number and then press the pound key.’
Katherine entered Jake’s room number — 615 — and drummed her fingers on the curio, impatiently waiting for Jake to pick up. After seven rings, the call bounced back to the robot, which went through another annoying menu of options. “Oh, shut up already,” Katherine said into the phone, pressing zero for the operator.
The front desk answered. A woman with a British accent answered. “Premier Hotel. How may I assist you?”
“Hello, my name is Katherine Cokenberger. My husband, Jake, is a guest at your hotel. He’s in room 615. I’ve been trying to call him, but he doesn’t answer. Is there a way I can have him paged?”
The woman laughed slightly, then continued, “We don’t page guests. Why don’t you leave a voice mail? The light on his phone will flash red; when he returns to his room, he’ll see it and call you.”
“I’ve left several voice mails. Listen, it’s an emergency and I really need to speak to him. Can you at least have someone check his room?”
“No, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Here at the Premier Hotel, we respect the privacy of our guests. Hold on one second.”
The woman put Katherine on hold for an unusually long time. Scout had returned to the curio table and was rubbing Katherine’s arm, wanting to be petted. She reached down and kissed her on the back of her neck. “Sweet girl,” she said into the phone, not knowing that the woman had returned to the line.
“Come again?”
“I’m sorry. I was talking to my cat.”
“Oh,” she said, without interest. Then, “I checked our guest register, and Jake Cokenberger is no longer staying at this hotel.”
“What?” Katherine asked, spitting out the word in shock.
“It’s against our policy to release over the phone when and what time our guests have checked out.”
“I’m not just somebody. I’m his wife.”
There was silence at the other end. Katherine tried a different tactic, “I have a power of attorney. Give me your fax number or an email address. I’ll send you a copy of it. I demand to know when my husband checked out.”
“No need to get snarky. He checked out at four o’clock a.m.”
“No way,” Katherine said.
“Thank you so much for calling. Have a pleasant day!”
“Just one second,” Katherine said, irritated. “You’ve got the worst fake British accent I’ve ever heard. Maybe you should watch Downton Abbey!”
Katherine slammed the receiver down so forcibly that the phone fell on the floor.
Scout thought it was a game and pounced on the phone. Abra joined in. The two began wrestling for it.
“Give it to me,” Katherine said, annoyed and worried. Retrieving the phone from the feisty cats, she said, “Cats, Jake is missing.” A tear slid down her cheek. “Can you surf me up a clue where he is?”
“Ma-waugh,” Scout cried, trotting off to the next room. Abra caught up with her and playfully smacked Scout on the back.
Someone knocked loudly on the door, and Katherine walked over to open it. “Margie, come in. I’m so worried. Jake checked out of his hotel at four o’clock this morning.”
“But why, kiddo? Wasn’t he supposed to stay until Sunday?”
“That was the plan. Why would he leave the hotel in the middle of a snow storm?”
“Makes absolutely no sense,” Margie said, sitting down to remove her boots. “That wind is terrible.”
“Did you drive over here?”
> “No, I harnessed our yellow lab to a sled, and he brought me over,” Margie joked. “Just kidding. Actually, I did drive. I know there’s a state of emergency, but I’ve got to have food for my kids’ breakfast. The police can go ahead and arrest me. Give me milk and no one will get hurt.”
“You picked a good time to stop by. The last of the investigators have just left.”
“I nearly had a wreck when I saw the crime scene tape. What happened? You’re okay, right?”
Stevie Sanders walked out of the dining room, and stopped. “I thought I heard someone talkin’.”
Margie fired a quizzical side glance at Katherine. Katherine put her hand up, and mouthed the words, “Stop! I’ll explain.”
Margie said, “Hello, Mr. Sanders.”
“Hello, Mrs. Cokenberger. Care for breakfast? I made enough to feed an army.” Stevie smiled brightly.
“Thank you, but I’m on my way to the store to get some food. It better be open.”
“Ma’am, don’t waste your time. It ain’t open. I mean, it isn’t open,” he corrected. “I checked earlier,” he finished.
“I got groceries yesterday. What do you need? I can fix you right up,” Katherine offered.
“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver, but I bet you don’t have my kids’ favorite breakfast cereal.”
“Probably not, but why don’t you make them your famous pancakes.”
“Yep, I can do that, but I’m out of syrup.”
“Got ya covered.”
Stevie cleared his throat. “Nice seein’ ya. Got corn muffins in the oven.” Stevie left. Iris followed him, nipping at his heels. “Hey, quit it,” he said to the rowdy cat.
“Katz, what’s going on?” Margie said in a suspicious tone.
Instead of answering, Katherine steered the conversation to Jake. “The last time I talked to Jake was last night, around six. He was off to a faculty dinner at a different hotel. I haven’t heard from him since. He’s not answering my voice mails. She quickly filled in Margie with the events of the previous evening, beginning with the fact that a friend she hadn’t seen in years suddenly shows up at her front door.
Margie slowly began, “This is scary. I shudder to think that criminals in our town have guns that can fire like that. It has to be an outsider. Do you think it was a drug thing?”
“I have no way of knowing. The man who was murdered lived in my old neighborhood in Brooklyn, close to where Madison used to live.”
“That’s odd, with the millions of people who live in New York City. Maybe your friend fell for the guy next door. Just sayin’.”
“Coincidence or naught, I hope the chief can find his family to let them know he’s dead. I hate the fact that my house is such a murder magnet,” Katherine said gloomily.
Margie gave a sympathetic look. “Hear. Hear. Let’s change the subject. Why is Stevie here?” she asked nosily.
“It doesn’t look like what it seems. Stevie showed up while Madison was here. He brought his daughter. They wanted to stay next door, but as you and I know, I haven’t had time to order the furniture yet, so I offered to let them stay here.”
“Oh, kiddo, I didn’t mean to imply . . .” Margie’s face reddened as her voice trailed off into silence.
* * *
Jake drove at a snail’s pace on US 30 to Merrillville, Indiana, bumper-to-bumper in a long line of cars and semi-trucks. With the Jeep’s tank nearly empty, he eagerly searched for a gas station. His eyes burned from watching the windshield wipers keep up with the snow, and his knee ached with pain from riding the clutch. He admitted to himself that he should have driven Katherine’s vehicle. Spotting a twenty-four hour gas and convenience store, he parked in front of the closest available pump.
Several hours earlier, Wayne had nodded off. When the Jeep stopped, he woke up and looked around. “Where are we?” he asked sleepily.
“We’re still on US 30, close to where Merrillville meets the interstate.”
“How far is that from the hospital?”
“On a good day, that’s about an hour and a half from the City.”
Wayne looked at his watch. “Eight o’clock! We’ve been on the road for four hours! I must have really conked out.”
“Pretty much. I think you could sleep through a tornado. The wind was buffeting the Jeep like a Tonka toy in front of a fan.”
Wayne smirked. “I call a bathroom break,” he said, getting out of the Jeep, and heading to the store.
“I’ll fill the tank. Be there in a second. See if they have a pay phone, would ya?”
Jake filled up the tank, then parked in a space close to the door. A snow plow had pulled up and the driver got out. Jake approached him. “Hey, my friend’s wife is in labor. He needs a ride to Lafayette. Can you take him?”
The driver looked suspicious. “Sorry, not allowed. It’s against the rules. Listen, buddy, if I don’t use the bathroom now, I’m gonna explode.” The driver rushed off to the men’s room.
Jake trudged into the store, noting that there was at least a foot of snow on the ground. He glanced around for a pay phone. Instead, he found something better — a kiosk with prepaid cell phones. He quickly bought one, and was about to punch in Katherine’s number when the snow plow driver came out of the men’s room. Jake followed him over to the coffee dispenser. Wayne came out and Jake motioned him to come over.
Jake began, “How’s the Interstate?”
The snow driver filled his cup, then said, “Closed between here and Crown Point. It’s hard to keep up, when the wind is gusting at forty miles an hour.”
“What about south of Crown Point?”
“There’s one Southbound lane open. I think the storm is pretty much done south of here.” The driver put a lid on his cup and proceeded to the cashier.
Jake and Wayne walked after him. “Excuse me, Sir, this is my friend, Wayne,” Jake introduced. “We were both in Chicago attending a conference. Now we’re just trying to get back to our wives.”
The cashier, a woman with gray hair, and in her late sixties said, “Ah, now, ain’t that sweet.”
Wayne interjected. “My wife is having our first child. I need to get to the hospital as soon as possible.”
After the driver had paid and was heading to the door, Jake offered, out of earshot of the cashier, “We’ve been stuck in traffic for hours. I can pay.” Jake took out a hundred dollar bill from his wallet.
The driver eyed it hungrily. “You wanna ride, too? The two of you?”
“If it’s possible,” Jake said.
“What about your vehicle?”
“I’m going to leave my Jeep here, then hire a flatbed towing service to pick it up when the weather gets better.”
The driver said, “Okay then, hang on just a second. Let me see if I can get you boys back home.” He got back into his cab, talked to someone on his cell, then powered down his window. “I can only get you to Crown Point. From there, you’re on your own.”
“That works,” Jake answered.
“But I can’t take both of you. Only one,” he continued in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Wayne, you go.”
Wayne was already removing his laptop from the Jeep. He yelled to the driver, “Is there a car rental place there?”
“Yeah, that’s where I’m takin’ ya.”
Wayne turned to Jake, “Thanks. You’re a good friend. When I get to the hospital, I’ll make sure I call Katz and tell her what’s going on.”
Jake held up the new cell he’d bought. “I’m hoping I’ll reach her first.”
Wayne climbed into the cab and waved. Jake waved back. Jake stepped back into the convenience store to call Katherine.
Chapter Fourteen
The driver of the rented black Cadillac skidded on black ice and side-swiped a service pole that supplied electricity to a ramshackle farmhouse. The electrical line that ran to the nearby utility pole snapped in two. The light fixture hanging on the pole instantly turned off, enveloping the car in darkness. Only th
e headlight beams caught the heavy snow that swirled around them.
“Watch what you’re doing!” Madison warned from the back seat of the car.
The driver slowly backed up. The passenger side of the vehicle buckled as he pulled away from the pole. He parked behind a dilapidated farm building, kept the engine running, and toggled on the overhead dome light. The snow was coming down so hard, he knew he had to find shelter somewhere. This was as good a place as any.
Madison demanded, “Dimitri, where are you taking me?”
The hitman riding shotgun leaned over his seat, and said menacingly, “Keep your mouth shut.”
Dimitri, the driver and security guard of the jewelry store where Madison had worked, took the good cop role and spoke in a friendly voice. “No one will hurt you. Mr. Zhukov wants us to bring you back.”
Madison tried to relax, clutching her fur coat around her. “If that’s the case, then why are we parked out in the middle of nowhere?”
The two men talked in Russian. Dimitri pulled out his cell and talked to someone, then ended the call. He turned in his seat. “Boss says if you give us the package, we can take you back to — ”
“Yes, I want to go home. I’m so sorry I made this mistake, but I didn’t know what was in the package,” she said. “It was addressed to me. I thought it was something I ordered online.”
“No one is accusing you of anything. Give it back, and we go.”
The hitman said to Dimitri, “Enough!” He opened the glove box, and removed an automatic pistol. He pushed in a magazine, and calmly — without any sign of emotion —turned and aimed the gun at Madison’s head. “Give it to me.”
“But I don’t have it,” she said, afraid for her life. This time she was telling the truth.
He swung his door open, got out and slammed it shut. Opening the back door, he slid over next to Madison, then closed the door. He began frisking her, searching her fur coat’s pockets, patting her down, and then he reached across and snatched her tote bag. Dumping it unceremoniously on the seat, he began sifting through its contents.
Madison struggled to come up with a different story. “It’s not in my bag.”
The Cats that Stole a Million (The Cats that . . . Cozy Mystery Book 7) Page 9
