Sara's Game

by Ernie Lindsey

  “Where?”

  “No, really. Guess.”

  “Barker.”

  “Ladyfingers, for eighty-four dollars.”

  “Damn it. I was sure he—”

  “Hold up now, don’t get your panties in a wad. Time-stamped at eight-fifteen, so he was there, but considering the amount of blood in his car and the second receipt, I’m about to give in and say you were right.”

  “About what?”

  “About Rutherford not being involved with Miss Stardust. Not directly, anyway. Ladyfingers is a connection, but the second one is from Hotel Llewellyn. Our boy may not have been home last night.”

  “Easier to frame somebody when they’re not home.”

  “Doesn’t mean he wasn’t removing himself from the situation.”

  “If the connection’s there, it’s there, but I won’t say I told you so about him not being involved.”

  “Wild ass guesses don’t make you a genius, cowboy, but your instincts are getting better.”

  “Wouldn’t worry about me being a genius. Came up empty on the heterochromia.”

  “The what?”

  “The different colored eyes thing. None of the women at LightPulse have it, from what I can tell.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but I didn’t figure she’d be that close to home. Where are you with the rental records?”

  “Denied. Not enough evidence.”

  “No shit? I figured Carson would be all over this one. He’s usually Quick Draw McGraw when it comes to missing kids.”

  “Guess it takes more than a stripper in a hospital bed. So, what’s next?”

  “Face time, JonJon. Ask questions. No more chasing ghosts. Gotta pound the ground before this one gets too far away from us.”

  “Like it hasn’t already.”

  “Finish this one for me. When one door closes...”

  “Another one opens?”

  “No. You kick that son of a bitch off its hinges. Now get your chin off your chest, put your helmet on, and get back out there for the second half, got me?”

  “Got it, coach.”

  “Back to the basics, DJ. I’m sticking with the car and the giant for now. Check for witnesses around the schools, check the babysitter—hell, check garbage cans. Check out anybody who’s tweaked your whodunit instinct. We’re missing something simple, I can feel it.”

  “Will do.” DJ hung up, thinking, If it were simple, Barker, we’d have figured it out already.

  DJ took out a notepad and began to draw a mind map of everything he knew about the case. Sara Winthrop and her three missing children were at the center of it all. The outward lines connected to Teddy Rutherford, Jim Rutherford, her assistant, Shelley, and the seven other women who worked at LightPulse. Willow Bluesong, the babysitter who hadn’t been home when they’d stopped by. Reluctantly, he added Brian Winthrop, but only because he knew Barker would’ve demanded that he be included. He added the schools, their principals, the ice cream shop. The tall man, the mystery woman. Ladyfingers and Stardust. By the time he was finished, it looked like a never-before-seen constellation and sparked no new sense of direction.

  He came up with a reason to draw an X over each person and place on the chart. Jim Rutherford had behaved oddly because he was trying to protect his son. Teddy Rutherford was either missing or dead. They knew almost nothing about the tall man or the mystery woman, except that they were working together. The schools had already told them everything they knew. He wrote ‘Ghost’ underneath Brian Winthrop’s name and ‘Collateral’ under Anna Townsend’s.

  He crossed out everyone with good reason.

  Everyone except Willow Bluesong and Shelley Sergeant.

  He decided to start with them, and if neither one could provide anything fresh, he’d move on to friends and family. Beyond that—as much as he hated the idea, and Barker loathed it because it made him feel inadequate—they would have to get the press involved.

  The last they’d heard of Sara Winthrop, she was on foot, running away from the Rose Gardens. If she were still playing this game—

  Are you ready to play the game?

  —and if she were still racing around Portland, surely someone would’ve spotted a distraught and harried woman. They’d have to get pictures of her and her kids on the news, issue an alert.

  It felt good to be going in a concrete direction, regardless of the fact that he had no idea where it was heading. The case hadn’t gotten away from them yet, not completely, and he left for Willow Bluesong’s house, excited that something tangible might be on the horizon.

  She wasn’t what he had expected.

  “Mrs. Bluesong?” he asked when she answered the door.

  “Yes?” she said, pushing her waist-length, graying braids over her shoulder. “Miss, actually,” she added, smoothing down her tie-dyed dress.

  The hesitant smile and ratty Birkenstocks screamed innocence, and DJ had to remind himself not to assume. Ass out of you and me. “Detective Johnson, ma’am.”

  She smiled. “And I’m Miss Willow, sir.”

  “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  “What’s this about?”

  “Sara Winthrop.”

  Her smile disappeared, her hand rushing up to cover her gaping mouth. “Is she okay?”

  “May I come in?”

  “She’s not dead, is she?”

  “Not that we—we’re trying to—I think it’s best that we sit down.”

  “How’d it happen?” She fell against the doorjamb.

  “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—she’s not dead...that we know of. Missing. She and her children.”

  “That you know of? What does that mean?”

  He sighed. It never got any easier. A couple of wrong words and the message drifted like a rudderless boat. “We’re assessing the facts. If you could give me five or ten minutes, I could use your help.”

  “But is she okay?”

  “I—we don’t know yet. But whatever you can offer—”

  “I just saw her this morning. Oh God, okay. Come in, come in.” She pushed the door open further and motioned him inside.

  DJ stepped across the threshold, greeted by incense blended with the scent of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. He followed her down the hallway, shoes squeaking on the hardwood floor. Dusty picture frames sat on dustier shelves. Miss Willow in her younger days, smiling beside a thin, scraggly man with a hippie mane and a ZZ Top beard. No children, except for the couple of recent photos where she posed beside Sara’s kids, all of their smiles beaming. At a park, one perched above the other on a slide. Another with her balancing opposite them on a seesaw.

  She led him into the living room, offered him tea and cookies as he sat on the brown, forest-print couch. He declined. She insisted.

  And a couple of minutes later, DJ bit into one of the best chocolate chip cookies he’d ever tasted.

  Miss Willow sat on the edge of her recliner, sipping her tea. “How—how serious is this, Detective?”

  DJ sat the plate of cookies down on the coffee table, licked his fingers. “Unfortunately, we’re treating it as a multiple kidnapping and a missing person, at least for now.”

  “Kidnapping? What happened?”

  “Like I said, we’re assessing the situation. As of right now, all four of them are missing. Under—we think under different circumstances.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “You said you saw Mrs. Winthrop and her children this morning?”

  “She stopped by before she took them to school.”

  “And she sounded okay to you? Mention anything bothering her?”

  She shook her head, blew cool air over the tea. “She was rushed. Who isn’t with three kids? Don’t get me wrong, I love the three of them like they’re my own, but they’re a handful.”

  “She was rushed?”

  “Late for a meeting. Said something about Teddy, this coworker she doesn’t like. That’s not out of the ordinary. And...what else...we talked abou
t plans for this evening.”

  “Plans?”

  “She was supposed to drop the kids off and then meet with another reporter. She’s so busy these days. Magazines calling all the time. She manages it well, but I can tell it’s getting to her.”

  “She’s in magazines? What kind?” Public spotlight, somebody’s jealous?

  “Oh, those business ones. I can’t keep up anymore.”

  “So she’s successful?”

  “Overnight, more or less. Within the past six months.”

  “Interesting. Crossed paths with anyone in that timeframe?”

  Miss Willow sat her mug down on the table. “I know what you’re getting at, Detective, but no, not that I know of. She can be—how do I say this—she can be a bit bullheaded at times. In my mind, though, it’s all a part of the game.”

  Whoa...the game...are you ready to play the game? Did she slip up? No, not her. Can’t be involved. What would Barker say? Something about fish and worms, probably.

  DJ took a chance. Dangled the bait to see how she would react. He said, “Are you ready to play the game?”

  She squinted at him, shook her head. “Pardon?”

  Clueless. “Sorry, you reminded me of something my partner says. He rambles a lot.”

  “Oh.”

  “What do you mean by part of the game?”

  “Nothing, really, just a figure of speech. She’s mentioned stepping on some toes before, that’s all. From what I remember, it wasn’t anything that called for...oh, what’s the word I’m looking for?”

  “Retaliation?”

  “Retaliation, that’s it. She’s a good woman, Detective Johnson. If she’s—if she’s okay, I can’t imagine what she’s going through. First her husband, and now this? What’s the world coming to?” Miss Willow stared out the window. “When my husband passed, I didn’t leave the house for months. But Sara’s strong. Smart, too. So smart. I’ve never had any doubts about her.”

  “Right.” DJ tapped his pen on the notepad. As pleasant as the woman was, he was wasting time. She was no more involved with the situation than any of the other worthless dead ends. “Couple more questions and I’ll be on my way.”

  She kept her eyes locked on the world outside. “It would seem I’m free for the evening. Stay as long as you’d like.”

  “You mentioned her husband. How’d you feel about him?” He didn’t want to ask any more pointless questions, but he knew that Barker would send him back if he failed to ask everything.

  “Never met him. Sara and I didn’t meet until after he was gone. The way she talked about him, the man was a saint.”

  “I’m sure it was hard on her.”

  “Not was. Is.”

  “Definitely. Definitely.” DJ took one last look at his notepad to see if he’d missed anything, reading over his mind map scribbles. Nothing there...nothing there...she wouldn’t know about Ladyfingers...let’s see... “Shelley Sergeant,” he said. “Familiar with her?”

  Miss Willow whipped her head around. “That girl?”

  The vehemence in her voice made DJ sit up straighter. “What’s—”

  “Have you ever met someone who makes your skin crawl so much, you don’t want to be in the same room with them?”

  “All the time.” For him, the sensation was another day at the office.

  She said, “Wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I won’t let her in my house anymore. Bad energy. Acts like a mouse to your face, but you watch her when she thinks nobody’s looking. She wears this diamond necklace with the letters ‘S.D.’ I couldn’t tell you what they really stand for, but in my mind, it might as well be She-Devil.”

  DJ’s notepad fell to the floor. The necklace...

  Chapter 18

  Sara

  Sara pulled her hands away from her ears. The screams she heard weren’t her own. Muted and muffled, they were coming from somewhere else within the room.

  She glanced up, saw the tall man pointing the gun at Teddy. Silent. Motionless.

  Flicked her head around.

  Teddy’s eyes bulged. He strained against his ropes, wailing through the fabric stretched across his mouth. He was alive. No fresh wounds. No bullet holes that she could see. A wet patch darkened the center of his khakis.

  Sara reached down, felt the dryness of her running shorts. Somehow, she’d maintained control of her own bladder.

  The tall man let the gun drop to his side, flopped down on the floor next to Sara’s cage, and removed his ski mask. His dark, disheveled hair was twisted and tangled with a number of sprigs standing at attention.

  Him. I can’t believe I was right.

  He shook his head, saying, “I couldn’t...I couldn’t do it.”

  Teddy’s howls subsided to whimpers of relief.

  Sara scooted to the cage wall, rested her forehead against the cool metal, staring at him. What now? If he doesn’t...the kids... “Look at me,” she said. “If you don’t—my children—what’ll happen to them?”

  The same face, the one from the grocery store, contorted with regret. The corners of his mouth curving downward. Eyes wide, uncertain. “I—I don’t know.”

  “Can you lie? Can you tell her you did it?”

  “She’ll know. She always knows.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “I can’t—”

  “What’s your name?”

  He slapped the gun barrel against his palm, looked out the door, then back to Sara. Wavered. “Michael.”

  “Michael, okay. I didn’t want you to, I didn’t, but my kids—what’ll happen if you don’t?”

  “She’ll come up with something.”

  “She who?”

  “It was supposed to be simple.”

  “You mean the game?”

  “I never thought I—God, how could I let myself—I always said no kids. No kids, ever.” He growled in frustration, then slung the handgun upward and fired three shots into the ceiling.

  The soft, dull pops filled the room as Sara recoiled. She felt no pity for him, but sensed an opening. “Help me,” she said. “Help me before she does something.”

  “She won’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because they’re not the endgame—you are.”

  Damn you, give me some clear answers. “Please,” she said, “tell me what’s going on.”

  “You should’ve figured it out by now.”

  Sara slapped the cage, felt the stinging in her palm. “Who are you people? If you’re not going to help, at least let me out. I promise you, with every ounce of truth I have in me, that if you let me out of here, I won’t say a word.”

  “I’m not stupid, Sara, if I let you—”

  “Teddy won’t, either, will you?”

  Teddy looked up at the sound of his name, shook his head. “Nothing,” he mumbled through the rag. “Never saw you.”

  “Not that easy,” Michael said.

  “It is,” Sara said. “I promise. You’ll never see us again. Let me out. Please, let me out.”

  “You don’t know my sister, don’t know what she’s like. Your husband didn’t, either. At least not until he tried to leave her.”

  Sara’s chest tightened. The inside of the cage felt smaller.

  Oh, God...Brian...you didn’t—you were...so it’s true. I can’t believe it.

  “He was clueless. Tried to leave. He wanted to go home, wanted to get away. See if he could patch things up, you know?”

  “Was that what she meant when she said I’d taken something from her? Because he wanted to come home?”

  The crack in his dam widened. “More or less. Brian tried. The guilt ate at him all the time. He’d come to me, ask me what he should do, but what was I supposed to tell him? What he was doing was wrong, I absolutely know that, and I’m sorry for what you’ve had to go through, but how’re you supposed to tell somebody that there is no escape? You can’t look a guy in the face and say, ‘If y
ou leave, you’re dead.’ He wouldn’t have believed me. Oh no, not my sweet, innocent little sister. She’s too cute, too shy. Nobody knows what she’s capable of. Nobody. There’s something black inside her, something dark, and I can’t do it anymore. No matter what I do for her, no matter how far I go to protect her or help her, there’s no way to make up for the things that made her this way. I’m done, I’m done, I’m done.”

  What Sara wanted to say was, Don’t give me your bullshit sob story. I don’t care what happened to either of you, and both of you can burn, for all I care. But she was afraid he would leave her locked up, and she and Teddy would begin the slow, agonizing wait, biding their time in the godforsaken cabin until Death knocked at the door. And, as Sara listened to him talk, she struggled with the realization that a revelation was coming. One that she didn’t want to hear, but had no ability to prevent herself from asking.

  “Did you—did you kill him, Michael?”

  Michael hung his head. “It was her. I just do the before and after. Wasn’t ever able to cross that line like she can. But your husband, he definitely had some heart. I don’t know how he lasted as long as he did. Too long. I couldn’t watch anymore.”

  Sara fell back against the cage, removed Brian’s ring from her thumb, twisted it between her fingers. Let it drop to the cage floor. It bounced, rattled about, and disappeared through the bars.

  The tears wouldn’t come.

  There was hurt. There was an aching buried further down than whatever shallow grave contained Brian’s body, but the brief respite of having some closure was enough to contain the sorrow. Mourning would come later, if she ever had another minute to herself, if she made it through this alive, if the day ever came when she would have the chance to look back and grieve. And if she were to have that opportunity, she had to play smart. Win him over.

  She watched him scoot around, lean his head against the wall. He closed his eyes. Sara waved a hand at Teddy, catching his attention. She mouthed, “It’ll be okay.”

  Teddy blinked twice.

  I almost got him killed. How will I ever look at him again without thinking about that?

  You won’t. You owe him.

  I wonder if he knows I had to choose...