Missing, Frank Renzi Book 6

by Susan Fleet

  “Wonderful now that I see my handsome son. How you doing? You going to work now?”

  “In a few minutes. I brought you something good for dinner.” He opened a brown paper bag and took out two containers. “Egg-drop soup—”

  “Ahh,” Rose said, grasping his hand. “My favorite.”

  He bent down and kissed her cheek again. “I know. That's why I brought it. I got you pan-fried noodles with chicken, too.”

  “Such a good boy, Darin. I know you must be busy, work work work all the time.”

  He opened the bag and set the soup container and a plastic spoon on the tray-table. He pushed the button that raised the head of her bed, adjusted her pillow, swung the tray-table arm in front of her and opened the soup container.

  Her mouth watered as she inhaled the spicy aroma, sliced scallions and soy sauce to flavor the peas and mushrooms and shredded carrots. She raised a spoonful to her mouth, blew on it, sipped from the spoon and swallowed. “Delicious. What a good son you are. Always take care of your mother.”

  Darin smiled, his dark eyes bright with happiness. “It makes me happy to see you eat. You have to keep up your strength until I get you a new liver.”

  A new liver. What nonsense. Rose swallowed another spoonful of soup and smiled at her son. “So much better than hospital food.”

  When the soup container was empty, Darin set the pan-fried noodles on the tray-table. Her belly was full from the soup, but still her mouth watered.

  Pho Ap Chao Ga. Years ago Ma used to make it. Rose knew the recipe by heart: rice noodles, shredded roast chicken, green beans, carrots and bok choy. And for flavor: sliced scallions, fresh-grated ginger, oyster sauce, soy sauce, fish sauce and a pinch of sugar.

  It smelled delicious. She didn't think she could eat a single bite, but she didn't want Darin to feel bad. “You need to go to work now?”

  “In a minute. Have some chicken. It will make you strong.”

  Amused, she laughed. “Your mother not so strong, not like those Sumo wrestlers.”

  “After you get your new liver you will be. I told you I'd get one for you.”

  “Transplant list very long,” she said.

  “Forget the transplant list. Next week I'm taking you someplace to get you one.”

  Rose speared some noodles with the fork, put them in her mouth and chewed so she wouldn't tell her beloved son to stop talking nonsense about this new liver he was getting her.

  Darin leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Eat your chicken and vegetables. I'll see you tomorrow. Love you.”

  “Love you too,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”

  After he left, she put down her fork and ran her hand over her belly, all filled up with fluid now. Maybe the night nurse would put her noodles in the refrigerator so she could eat them tomorrow.

  Pleased that her wonderful son had come to visit her, she sank back against the pillow and hummed her lucky song.

  Oh, the shark, babe … has such teeth, dear … And it shows them … pearly white.

  CHAPTER 10

  MONDAY – 8:35 PM

  Emily got on the bed and jumped up and down like she did in gymnastics class. But this stupid little bed wasn't half as good as the trampoline at the gymnastics studio. She jumped harder, bending her knees and pushing off from the mattress.

  She was sick of being cooped up in here with no one to talk to. Sick of not having any books to read. Sick of coloring with eight measly crayons.

  How could she make the princesses in the coloring book look beautiful with only eight colors? She didn't even have her favorite color, aquamarine. The food was rotten, too. Mac-and-cheese made from a box, and yucky TV dinners.

  Flailing her arms, she jumped harder.

  Not only that, it was Monday. She'd missed a whole day of Montessori school. No marching around the room singing songs with the other kids, no sitting in a circle and reading aloud from the books they got at the school library. No compliments from her teacher when she finished the math problems in her workbook before all the other kids.

  But that wasn't the worst part. On Mondays, she went to her gymnastics lesson after school, so she'd missed that, too. She couldn't even practice her somersaults and splits. This stupid room didn't even have a carpet on the floor, just hard tile squares.

  She felt like screaming. Maybe she would.

  Mom hated when she did that. Pitching a fit, Mom called it. If she did that at home Mom got really cross and sent her upstairs to her room and wouldn't let her watch TV.

  She never pitched a fit when Daddy was home. Daddy always gave her whatever she wanted.

  Puffing now, she jumped up and down and said, “I want my Daddy.”

  Then she screamed it as loud as she could. “I want my Daddy!”

  _____

  Sam hunched forward on the futon, eyes fixed on the television screen. Now that he'd fed the hostages and washed the dishes he could relax. The LSU Tigers were playing a big football game, but he'd muted the TV. If the hostages made any noise, he wanted to hear them.

  He tried not to think of them by name. He didn't want to get too emotionally involved. Darin was right. He was a wuss.

  But he didn't need some TV announcer telling him what was happening. He'd played nose tackle for LSU, six-foot-five, 250 pounds back then. He'd gained ten pounds since. Too many donuts.

  Maybe the game would take his mind off things. Darin was working until eleven at a French Quarter restaurant. At midnight, he was supposed to pick up the money. A million bucks.

  That was a lot, but not what he'd signed up for, three million after they split it. Darin said six million was chump change for Gates. When he wasn't working, Darin spent most of his waking hours on his laptop. Now it was on the card table in the corner beside the TV. Darin had taken it out of his bedroom so they could keep the wife in there.

  He'd met Darin nine months ago at East Jefferson Hospital. S.J. got a bladder infection and had to stay in the hospital so they could treat it with IV antibiotics. One day after he visited S.J., he went outside for a cigarette. Darin was out there smoking, and they got talking. Darin's mother needed a liver transplant. They compared notes, grousing about medical bills, railing at the insurance companies that denied half their claims. Darin said he had a scheme that would make him a lot of money and he needed someone to help him.

  That's how he got roped into this.

  Sam chugged some water, watching an LSU running back stiff-arm two defenders for a first down. A minute later, LSU scored a touchdown and made the extra point, up by fourteen now. The program went to a commercial. Sam yawned. It had been a long day. He'd been up since five.

  Too bad he couldn’t have a beer. But he had to stay alert. Abby was home with S.J. He'd told her he was working a paid detail. Lying to her, though he often did work extra details. Lord knows, they needed the bucks. Two months ago, he'd quit smoking to save money. That made Abby happy. She'd been begging him to quit for months.

  It had been a long day for her too. Get S.J. ready for school, load him into the handicapped van, work eight hours at the library, come home and fix dinner. Then she had to get S.J. washed up and ready for bed. Just thinking about it made him tired.

  What would he do without Abby? They'd met at LSU and it was love at first sight for both of them. Lord knows why. He was no Denzel Washington, that's for sure. Abby said she fell in love with his beautiful smile and his deep rumbly laugh and the way he always listened to her, never interrupting or contradicting her. Like her mother, though she didn't say this.

  Her mother called him Sam Spade and she wasn't referring to the fictional detective. Not that she said it to his face. He'd never met her. She didn't even come to their wedding, but she called Abby every Sunday. Lord help him, one time he got on the extension and listened to what they said. Eavesdropping on his own wife!

  After his mother-in-law got done asking Abby if she'd been to church, she said, “How's Sam Spade?”

  What happened next surprised him. Peopl
e thought Abby was meek and mild because she was a librarian, but Abby said, “Mother, don't ever say that to me again. My husband's name is Samuel Thompson.”

  Hearing her say this had brought tears to his eyes.

  Abby's lily-white mother was a Southern Baptist, not trailer trash but a racist bigot if ever there was one. She didn't like Jews either. Kikes, she called them. “I got Kikes moving in next door.” And despite her stiff-necked religiosity, she never lifted a finger to help Abby with S.J.

  An earsplitting scream jolted Sam off the futon.

  Jesus! One of the kids! The girl.

  He took off running down the hall.

  _____

  When Robbie heard the scream, his heart almost jumped out of his chest. He knew right away it was Emily. He'd heard her do it often enough at home. Emily was throwing a tantrum. Something she never did when Hunter was around. She didn't have to. Hunter gave her whatever she wanted.

  Emily was Hunter's Princess.

  Another piercing shriek.

  He crept to the wall opposite his bed and pressed his ear to the wall between the bureau and the makeup table with all the mascara and eye shadow. Now the scream was louder.

  Emily was in the room beside his!

  But Mom wasn't. Mom would never let her keep it up this long. He couldn't make out what she was screaming, but he knew it was Emily.

  All of a sudden the screaming stopped.

  He held his breath and listened. Nothing but silence, now.

  That scared him even more.

  CHAPTER 11

  MONDAY – 11:05 PM

  Frank psyched himself up for the meeting as Kenyon Miller parked the surveillance unit, a grungy black paneled van, in the driveway beside the house. Gates met them at the door. He looked tired, his face drawn, dark circles under his eyes.

  “This is my partner, Detective Kenyon Miller,” Frank said. “He'll be in the surveillance van with me.”

  Grim-faced, Gates said to Kenyon, “I hope you understand how important this is to me.”

  “I do, sir,” Kenyon said. “I don't blame you. I got two kids of my own.”

  “They told me no cops. You better make sure nothing goes wrong.”

  “It won't,” Frank said. “You saw the van. No external markings, just a beat-up black van. It will fit right in on Esplanade Avenue. We won't do anything until we know your family is safe.”

  “How will you know?”

  “Two detectives are already in a bakery delivery van, parked outside the Winn-Dixie in Metairie. I'll use the electronic equipment in the van to maintain contact with them.”

  “The store doesn't close until midnight,” Gates said. “What if there are customers around?”

  “They lock the doors at 11:45,” Frank said. “Security guards sweep the store to make sure all the customers have left. Our detectives will be on the lookout for anyone lingering outside the store. We figure one kidnapper will drop off your family and leave. Our detectives will take care of them until you get there. They won't try to capture the kidnapper. That might endanger your family.”

  Gates frowned, not looking the least bit happy. “What if they're watching the Circle-K?”

  Frank said, “You drop off the suitcase—”

  “Behind the store. I get that, but what happens when they pick it up?”

  “We'll be watching from across the street,” Kenyon said. “In the surveillance van.”

  “You didn't answer my question,” Gates snapped. “What happens after they pick up the suitcase?”

  “We assume he'll have a vehicle,” Frank said. “Two detectives in an unmarked are parked on Esplanade two blocks north of the Circle-K. We give them the description of the car and they follow him.”

  And we follow the unmarked and nab the bastard.

  “I know what you want,” Gates said, clenching and unclenching his fists. “You want to capture the kidnappers. But my family's safety comes first.”

  “Absolutely,” Kenyon said. “We do nothing until we hear from the team at Winn-Dixie.”

  “Make sure you don't,” Gates said. “The suitcase is in the kitchen. Come on, I'll show you.”

  In the kitchen, a black hard-shell suitcase with metal wheels and a steel handle sat on the granite-topped center island. Frank glanced around the room. If all went well, Donna and her kids would have breakfast here tomorrow. If the drop went bad, there'd be hell to pay.

  Gates raised the lid of the suitcase. “A million dollars in twenties.”

  “Man,” Kenyon said, gazing at the money, “first time in my life I've seen that much cash in one place.”

  “If Donna had armed the security system like I told her, I wouldn't be paying some sonofabitch a million dollars to get my family back.”

  Kenyon fingered the soul patch below his lip and said nothing.

  Working hard to keep a neutral expression on his face, Frank said to Gates, “Looks like you're set. We need to get going.”

  When they got in the van, Kenyon said, “Man, he's a cold fish. Blaming this on his wife?”

  “He's a total narcissist. He's got no empathy for his wife or anyone else. It's all about him.”

  “You got that right,” Kenyon said as he backed out of the driveway. “He acted like he never met me. Two years ago at the Black Neighborhood Association meeting, he's all smiles, shaking my hand, looking for my vote.”

  “If he'd stayed home that night instead of schmoozing with the bigwigs at that party,” Frank said, “his family would be home now. And so would we.”

  _____

  11:25 PM

  Hyper alert, Sam stood beside the futon. He didn't dare sit down. The girl might wake up and start screaming again. He'd shut off the TV, no telling who won the LSU football game. He ate a spoonful of strawberry ice cream. Maybe that would settle his stomach. A bottle of Pepto-Bismol was in his car, but he didn't dare leave the house to get it, chugging the pink slop right out of the bottle these days, like the detective in Cape Fear.

  Unwilling to think about what happened to that guy, he ate another bite of ice cream. The minute the girl started screaming, he'd run down the hall, got halfway to her room and remembered the mask, had to run back and put it on.

  When he opened the door, she was jumping up and down on the bed. Stopped when she saw him and yelled, “I hate you!”

  He scooped her up off the bed and patted her back. “What's wrong, Sweetheart?”

  She started to cry, tears running down her cheeks. “I want to go home. I want my Daddy.”

  To distract her, he said, “Want some ice cream?”

  She heaved a shaky sigh and nodded.

  “Want to come in the kitchen with me and see what flavor we've got?”

  She nodded again, so he said, “Okay, but you have to promise to be really quiet so we don't wake up your brother.”

  “He's probably still awake. Robbie stays up late when he doesn't have to go to school.” Emily frowned, pouting now. “I missed school today, and my gymnastics lesson.”

  “Shhhh, let's go get some ice cream.” He carried her to the kitchen. The overhead light was off, but the light above the stove was on. Balancing Emily on his left arm, he opened the freezer. A half-gallon of strawberry ice cream sat beside stacks of TV dinners.

  Emily said, “I don't like—”

  “Shhhh,” he whispered. “We have to be quiet, remember? We have to whisper.” He took out the ice cream and set it on the counter. “If you promise to be reeeealy quiet, I'll let you eat your ice cream out here, okay?”

  Emily smiled and nodded. He sat her on the counter beside the sink, took a spoon out of the silverware drawer and a small dish out of a cupboard. He scooped a few spoonfuls of strawberry ice cream into the dish and gave it to her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, and got started on the ice cream.

  “What do you want for breakfast?” he whispered.

  “Pancakes with lots of maple syrup.”

  “Hmm. I don't know about that. How ab
out scrambled eggs. Do you like sausage or bacon?”

  She stopped eating her ice cream and looked at him. “I like pancakes.”

  Remembering it now, Sam had to smile. The girl had a stubborn streak, set her mind on something and didn't let go, probably be president of the United States someday.

  He ate another spoonful of strawberry ice cream. IHOP made pancakes. Maybe he'd stop there tomorrow before he … No. He wouldn't have time.

  After Emily finished her ice cream, he'd asked if she needed to use the bathroom. “Yes,” she whispered, “but you can't come in with me.”

  “Okay,” he whispered, and carried her to the bathroom, hoping she wouldn't get into any mischief. After a while he heard the toilet flush, then water running in the sink. Then she opened the door and held up her arms so he could pick her up, wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her to her room. He shut the door and put her to bed, tucking the sheet around her.

  “When am I going home?” Gazing at him with her big blue eyes.

  “Soon, sweetheart.” Hoping this was true. The sooner the better.

  “I'm not sleepy. Tell me a story. That's what Daddy does.”

  “Okay.” He sat down on the bed, trying to think of the stories he read to S.J. when he put him to bed. “How about Goldilocks and the Three Bears?”

  Emily nodded enthusiastically. “Mama Bear, Papa Bear and Little Bear.”

  So he reeled it off, embellishing certain places like he did for S.J. When he got to the part where Papa Bear went in his bedroom, he said, “Whoooooo's been sleeping in my bed?” Emily laughed. By the time he finished the story, her eyelids were drooping. She had patted his hand and said, “G'night.”

  Almost broke his heart.

  He checked his watch. 11:45. Fifteen minutes until the ransom drop. What was Darin doing, he wondered.

  He offered up a silent prayer. Please, Lord, let everything go okay.

  He wanted to get Emily home to her Daddy.

  _____