by Sue Henry
“Stop. Customers are not allowed in there.”
“It’s an emergency,” I tossed back over a shoulder and kept going.
“I’m getting the manager,” she threatened.
“Please do.”
By the time she brought a manager—if, indeed, there was one working on a Sunday—I would have accomplished my immediate goal. Though what the kidnappers would do when they found not what they wanted—whatever that was—but Margaret Maron’s latest mystery, Rituals of the Season—which, damn and blast, I hadn’t even finished reading yet—I had no idea. I could only hope that in their hurry to collect the package I had prepared by wrapping it in newspaper and tying it securely in not one but three plastic grocery bags they would simply snatch it, toss Stretch into the Dumpster, and take off, fearing recognition or, worse, that I had unknowingly been followed. I was both fearful, and hopeful, of that myself.
Outside the back door, adrenaline at an all-time high, I glanced around. Still it seemed that I was by myself. The Dumpster stood handily next to the door, too tall to see inside. So I set down my bag and the package with the book, took a step and jumped high enough to firmly grasp the top and pull myself up to peer into it, hoping for Stretch, but I saw only that it must have been recently emptied, for just a small amount of trash barely littered the bottom. In case there was anyone watching, I then lowered myself back down and made a display of tossing the package into the bin. I heard a thump as it hit the side and a crunch as it rebounded onto a pile of shredded packing paper I had seen below.
Turning slowly, I took a good long look around to see if I could spot anyone watching, but there was only a couple in the crosswalk headed for the plaza and a man who pulled his car into a space in the lot opposite, got out, locked the door, and walked away without so much as a glance in my direction. It was time to follow instructions and leave.
The first thing to get in the way of doing that occurred when I tried to open the door to go back into Charley’s shop and found it had locked behind me. Rattling the handle and pounding on it did no good in terms of response, so I gave up and trotted around the corner and along the side street into the plaza. The second thing came when I dashed the half block to my rental car and arrived just in time to see Herrera pull his squad car up behind it, effectively blocking my exit from the parking space.
Frustration growing, I gestured wildly for him to drive forward, but instead he opened the door and got out.
“Ms. McNabb?” he asked, walking toward me. “It’s not smart for you to be down here by yourself instead of—”
“Please move out of the way,” I interrupted, afraid that if whoever had Stretch opened the package and found it did not contain what they had demanded, they might take out their anger on him. “I’ve got to get out of here—right now!”
“—letting us take care of this,” he finished, reaching me as I unlocked the car and opened the door to get in.
“Look,” I told him, sliding behind the wheel, starting the engine, and jamming the gearshift into reverse. “I’m following timed instructions and you’re about to lose my dog for me—probably get him killed. I haven’t time to argue, so move and let me out of here.”
Frowning, he still hesitated.
“On one condition,” he said.
“What?”
“I come with you.”
“They told me to come alone. If they see you—”
“They won’t,” he snapped. “I’ll stay out of sight on the floor in the back. Deal?”
I gave in, frantic to be going. “Okay—yes. Now move—your—car.”
He ran to pull the squad car far enough forward to clear my exit from the parking space, then clambered into the backseat through the passenger door of my rental as I slowed in swinging wide enough to avoid the police car that he’d left sitting behind two other vehicles.
“Get down,” I told him. “They said not to bring police and may be watching.”
His image vanished from the rearview mirror as he sank out of sight onto the floor. “What—?” he started to inquire, but again I interrupted.
“I’ll explain it later,” I told him, swinging around the plaza to an exit.
Two cars waiting for a break in traffic to make a left turn onto the street behind Charley’s Corner had me honking my horn in aggravation before they finally moved and left the way clear for me to make a right. There was no parking along that street, so I pulled up with both left wheels on the sidewalk next to the Dumpster and hopped out, leaving Herrera in the back, forced to trust that he would do as promised and stay out of sight.
Looking carefully around, I saw no one who looked the least bit suspicious, so I cautiously approached the Dumpster, hoping to find Stretch inside. Once again pulling myself up to look inside, I was disappointed to see that it looked exactly as before, a small amount of trash cluttering its interior, but no rusty brown dachshund anywhere. Then, just as I was about to lower myself back to the ground, a black trash bag moved, rustling the plastic.
“Stretch?”
I was over the top and into the Dumpster in seconds, landing hard on another bag that had something in it that poked a hole and jabbed my leg. Ignoring it, I crawled across to the bag that had moved—and was moving again—and began to tear at it with both hands.
“Stretch, you darlin’ dog. Are you in there?”
With a mighty yank, I tore the bag completely open down one side and, before I could retreat, a large rat came leaping free and scurried madly away to the far side of the Dumpster. I have no phobias concerning rats, but I do detest them for their stealth and filthy habits. Startled and repulsed, I watched it disappear into a pile of shredded paper. All disgust at the nasty creature was entirely forgotten, however, as I noticed that the package I had tossed in earlier still lay on top of that tangled pile.
So, for some reason, everything had not gone as planned. They had been late or had been prevented from retrieving the package.
Astonished, and before I could get up off my knees, I heard a vehicle coming fast and a squeal of tires as it stopped on the other side of the metal wall. I heard the vehicle door open, and someone stepped out and walked to the Dumpster. I looked up, expecting to see someone looking down, but no one appeared.
“Stay where you are and throw out the item, you stupid bitch,” the telephone voice half whispered, in an attempt at disguise that wasn’t so successful this time. It was definitely male.
Suddenly I’d had enough.
“Hand in my dog first.”
“Come on,” another male voice called from the vehicle. “Do the trade and let’s get out of here.”
“Not a chance,” the one by the Dumpster told me. “Give it up or he’s a done dog.”
I heard Stretch yelp and whine as if he’d been hurt. It made me livid. Hurting innocent animals to make a point is never on my dance card and neither are people who do.
“Not until I have my dog back—alive and well—you sleazy bastard,” I snapped, giving as good as I got verbally.
But it worked.
A pair of hands came into view above the top edge of the Dumpster and a growling Stretch was roughly hurled over. By throwing myself to one side in a major outfield play, I managed to catch him before he hit bottom. They had evidently not treated him well, for he snarled and snapped, not knowing who I was at first. Then he recognized me and whimpered, but stopped fighting and huddled as close as possible, glad to see me.
“Give it to me, or I’m coming in after it.” The voice, louder and angrier now, was accompanied by the hands above the top again. This time one of them held a hand-gun. “You’ll be sorry if I do.”
“Here, then,” I called, grabbed the package, and threw it beyond his reach, though I saw his hand lunge for it. With a thud, it hit what sounded like the hood of the vehicle. He swore and was gone after it.
In seconds the car door slammed shut and the engine roared as the vehicle raced away down the street.
Standing up carefully, hug
ging Stretch, I peered over the top of the Dumpster and caught a glimpse of a fast-moving black pickup disappearing around the corner.
When I turned back Herrera had climbed out of my car and was looking at me with an expression of rueful amazement.
“You are one gutsy woman who got extremely lucky, Ms. McNabb—very, very lucky. You both did.”
In my euphoria at having my buddy back I guess I went a bit overboard, forgetting that Herrera had not been able to apprehend the kidnappers, as he clearly had intended to do.
He took Stretch as I climbed out of the Dumpster, ignoring the presence of the rat. I let him drive us back into the plaza to where his squad car was parked, while I held, examined, and comforted Stretch, noting that a bath for us both would take priority over anything else when we arrived home. Dumpster perfume might be appealing to a rat, but it would never be my choice of fragrance, and we both reeked of it.
TWENTY-THREE
NEITHER ONE OF US GOT THAT CLEAN IMMEDIATELY.
Herrera followed me home and I drove with Stretch in my lap, one hand on him almost the whole way as I told him what a brave dog he was and how glad I was to have him back.
He seemed to be uninjured but uncharacteristically nervous, and didn’t want to ride by himself in the passenger seat. They had apparently not treated him as anything but an item for barter—maybe tied him up somewhere and mostly ignored him until he was useful. There were traces of adhesive on his muzzle and a whisker or two missing that led me to believe they had taped his mouth shut to keep him from making noise, as he would undoubtedly have told them loud and clear just what he thought of them with barks and growls. It made me angry, but also uneasy in wondering what their next move would be when they found they had been duped in their quest for whatever it was they had demanded.
Taking him inside the Winnebago, I gave him water and food, which he attacked with a gusto that told me they hadn’t bothered to feed him.
Herrera came in and sank into a seat at the dinette table as we both watched Stretch eat.
After a minute or two he straightened, pulled out his ever present notebook, and began his questions.
“So you found what they wanted. What was it you gave them?”
I turned from where I had knelt to watch Stretch practically inhale his food and gave Herrera a glance.
“I didn’t find it. I gave them a book wrapped in newspaper and plastic. They couldn’t see what it was until they opened it, so they didn’t know it was fake.”
He stared at me, scowling his disapproval. “Why, in the name of all that’s holy, didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t have time. They didn’t call on my cell phone, as I expected. The call came in on the office phone and the manager came to get me.”
“We knew that—it was the only other phone around, so we had it tapped—and yours was monitored as well. How did you think I knew where you were going?”
I had been so apprehensively focused on what I had been told to do and everything had happened so fast that I hadn’t given his unexpected presence a second thought. Now I did, but it didn’t make me feel better or more secure.
“What if they’d been watching the plaza and seen you?”
“I really didn’t have much choice. Following you was all I could do quickly when I knew you were heading down there to do as they told you.”
“What do you think they’ll do when they find out I fooled them with the book? They’re going to be angry,” I said, looking down again at Stretch, who had finished every scrap of his food and come back to me. Picking him up, I rose and sat across from Herrera with an armful of smelly dog.
“I’m afraid they’ll be more than just angry,” he agreed. “So they’ll be back, I think—probably in person this time. It’s obviously something they want badly enough to risk a lot—must be either incriminating or pretty valuable.”
“Why can’t they just believe me when I tell them I haven’t got—whatever it is?” I half wailed in aggravation. “Someone else must have it, or Shirley hid it somewhere safe that only she knew and nobody has it. I just want them to leave me alone.”
“Listen,” he said, leaning forward, elbows on table. “You’re very vulnerable here in this RV. It’s hard for us to guard without being detected if we want to catch them—and we do—and unsafe for you. If they could get inside you would make a much better and more serious hostage than your dog.”
I thought about that and wasn’t at all happy with the idea.
“You’ve got to remember that these people probably killed Shirley,” he said abruptly. “Maybe the guy in the vat as well.”
Remembering Shirley as we found her gave me the cold shivers. I stared at him without speaking, hugging Stretch until he began to squirm. Setting him on the floor, I watched him lie down, his nose on one of my feet, and look up at me with sleepy eyes. He was slow in getting his confidence back.
“If you’re trying to scare me,” I told Herrera finally, “it’s working. I can’t—no, I could, but I don’t want to—stay here and be bait.”
“No,” he said. “You shouldn’t, but we could move you to—”
“No,” I interrupted, considering Stretch, as well as myself, and making a sudden decision for us both. “That won’t be necessary. I’m going to leave—get both of us out of Taos. I can be ready to roll in an hour and I will be. It’s time.”
“You’re going to run.”
“Yes. I seldom run from anything, but I’m not dumb either, so I’m going to run now—a long ways. It’s not worth staying.”
Suddenly I felt that I had lost too many people that had been dear to me in my life—my parents, a brother and a sister, two husbands, and my best friend. I wasn’t about to lose another, even if Stretch wasn’t a human. And I for damn sure wasn’t interested in being someone’s hostage, or in getting myself hurt or killed.
I had become tangled in something that was really none of my business, that should not have concerned me, that I had been pulled into simply by being there, and that, aside from my own stubbornness, I could, and should, have left alone. It was time to get out of it.
“I understand,” Herrera told me. “And you have every right to do just that, but here you at least have some protection. You have to understand that they might follow you, and if you’re not in Taos you’ll have none.”
“They won’t.” Somehow I felt that gone was gone and I’d be okay once I was away from there. “But I’ll wait and slip out in the dark, early tomorrow morning. I’m sorry I can’t stay and help you catch these people. But I’ve told you everything I know and it’s time to leave.”
“Where will you go?”
“I haven’t decided yet. North. Colorado probably.”
“It would be wise to take the canyon road east. It’s the closest way out of Taos from here and avoids the main street. Heading either north or south would mean a drive half the length of Paseo del Pueblo.”
“I’ve driven the canyon road coming back on the Enchanted Circle. Beyond that it passes through Cimarron, then goes on to the border at Raton, where I can cross into Colorado.”
He nodded soberly. “I can help a little, if you’re really determined to go.”
I assured him I was.
“I’ll have someone here until you leave tonight. Then they can trail you into the canyon far enough to watch and make sure no one follows. If they see someone suspicious behind you, they’ll stop them.”
“I would appreciate that. And thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
There was little left to say. We looked at each other across the table.
“I wish I knew what they are so desperate to find,” he said finally.
I nodded. So did I.
“What’s your Yorkie’s name again?” I asked.
“Puñado.”
“What does it mean?”
“ ‘Handful’—which was all he was as a tiny puppy, and still is—especially in spirit. A real handful, in both senses of the word.”
“Good name.”
As soon as Herrera was gone I gave Stretch the scrubbing of his life, dried him off, then took a long, hot shower of my own, shampooing my hair and soaping up twice, till I was sure eau de Dumpster was a thing of the past. It felt marvelous and as if I had scrubbed off some of my apprehension along with the dirt.
True to his word, Herrera sent my guardian angel, Officer Jim Tolliver, back again to keep watch over me—outside the door this time. He knocked politely upon arriving to let me know he was on duty and I got out one of my folding lawn chairs from a compartment under the rig. There was no reason he shouldn’t be comfortable at his job. I offered him lunch, but he showed me a cooler, which he said had food and sodas on ice, so I left him and went to take care of what needed to be done before I left Taos.
Checking to be sure I had enough gas to take me as far as Cimarron and would not need to fill up before leaving, I spent part of the afternoon getting the inside of the Winnebago prepared for travel. The outside water, electric, and sewer hookups I left to take care of quickly and after dark, just before I drove out.
When I’d done everything possible to get ready for the road, I called the office and told the manager I would be leaving and to put the bill on my credit card. Another call to the car rental company assured me they would pick up the car the next day and bill it similarly. Then I made a short trip to the grocery, where I stocked up for several days. Unwilling to let Stretch out of my sight, even for those few minutes, I took him along into the store, which earned me a frowning reprimand from a clerk at the checkout stand.
