Pushing Up Bluebonnets yrm-5

by Leann Sweeney

  Seconds later, standing in the doorway of Simone's bedroom, I was thinking this could have been declared a state disaster area. Besides pictures clipped to a thin clothesline strung from one end of the room to the other, and larger photographs covering every available space on the walls, there were clothes, books and shoes piled on the bed and heaped on the floor. CDs and DVDs spilled out of several laundry baskets. Lots of CDs. The music was blaring from the entertainment center opposite the cluttered bed.

  The walk-in closet behind Simone appeared to have empty shelves and racks, so I assumed all this came from in there.

  Simone pointed a remote at the entertainment center and the music stopped abruptly. She dropped the remote, then stood with her hands on her hips in a small clearing in the center of the room. "I'm leaving for school in a few weeks and as you can see, I have way too much stuff. This is a disgusting example of my past materialistic life. I'm giving most of it away."

  I nodded. "Good idea. You couldn't fit half of this in a dorm room anyway."

  "My mother wants me to live in an apartment. She networked with future Longhorn moms and had my roommates all picked out. But I'm living in the dorm. Period." She sounded a little defiant, like I might actually argue with her.

  "Sounds like you know what you want," I said.

  She seemed to relax then and said, "Why are you here?"

  "I'm hoping you can help me. Did you know that the man JoLynn used to live with is the person who tried to kill her?"

  "Are you kidding me? So they caught him?" Simone pulled a giant black garbage bag from a box near her bare feet and shook it open.

  "They didn't catch him. He was murdered."

  She stopped shoving clothes into the bag and stared at me. "Really? That's a giant coincidence."

  "Which probably means it's not a coincidence. Mind if I sit down?" I nodded at a chair by the computer desk stacked with what looked like yearbooks.

  "Go ahead." Simone sat cross-legged on the floor, her eyes never leaving me as I stepped carefully over to the chair, placed the yearbooks on the floor and sat.

  I noticed her camera bag on the desk before I swiveled the chair to face her. "This is serious business, Simone."

  "You don't think I know that?" Her defiance was back, but this time it was tainted by fear. Why?

  "I know your photography is very important." I glanced around. "Did you take all these pictures?"

  "Yeah. So?"

  "You're good. I was wondering if you took any pictures of JoLynn, because I don't see any in here."

  "Why would I take her picture?" Simone started peeling blue polish off her ragged fingernails.

  "Because from what I saw in the hospital and what I'm seeing here"—I pointed at one wall where there were photos of Scott sitting at a computer, her uncle riding a horse, her mother wearing a ridiculous hat and Matthew kissing Piper at their wedding—"you take pictures of everything."

  Beneath her pale makeup, the redness of a flush began to break through. "Maybe I did take a few pictures of JoLynn. So what?"

  "No problem. Except for the ones she didn't know you were taking. That's kind of invasive, wouldn't you say?"

  She took a deep breath and rubbed thumb against index finger so hard I thought she might take off a layer of skin. "She was an interesting subject. She was like this . . . enigma."

  "You followed her?"

  Simone nodded.

  "Where did you follow her?" I said.

  "Not many places. She didn't leave the property much. Usually Scott drove whenever she wanted to go somewhere."

  "Tell me where she went."

  Simone let out a huge breath and shifted her gaze from her hands to my face. "She went to that old cemetery, okay?"

  "And you took her picture there?"

  "Bad pictures. I couldn't get close and I'm not good with the telephoto lens yet."

  I noticed that my heart had sped up, that I could feel my throat pulsing. "What did you do with those pictures, Simone?" I didn't add, Sell them to your new friend with the six-pack abs and the pretty-boy face?

  "I think I threw them away," she said. "They were awful. After I printed a few straight from the camera and saw them, I didn't even load them on my computer— they were that bad."

  "You think you threw them away? Come on, Simone. You're a very smart girl. You can do better than that."

  She held up her hands. "Okay, okay."

  Ah, here it comes, I thought. The Dugan connection to this family. A very bad connection for Dugan, though. One that led to his death.

  But Simone said, "I lost them. Lost my camera, too. That's why I don't even have any copies to look at and learn from my mistakes."

  "What? I saw you with a camera at the hospital the other day."

  "That's my new camera. I replaced the one I lost with the exact same model, got the money from Uncle Elliott. And you can't tell my mother. She doesn't think I can make it as a photojournalist—which is what I want to do. If she found out I was stupid enough to lose my camera, she'd say, 'Simone wants to be a photographer and she can't even keep track of her equipment.' "

  "Were any other photos missing?" I asked.

  Simone thought for a moment. "Just the ones on the camera. There were more of JoLynn I hadn't downloaded or printed out. No matter how spoiled rotten my relatives all are, they make for some great shots, and I had a few pics of them, too. I'm always catching little arguments, Scott and Matthew getting into it over a poker game, Uncle Elliott's face getting dark as night when someone doesn't hop when he says hop, my mother being, well, my mother. She's the only one who doesn't understand that I have to do this."

  "And none of these photos ended up on a disc or on your computer?"

  "No," she said.

  How I wished I had a photo of Dugan with me. Maybe Simone saw him hanging around. Could be that when he tampered with JoLynn's car, he somehow found the camera and the pictures and took them. "Did you lose the camera and printed-out photos of JoLynn at the same time?"

  "I'm not sure. Since they were all fuzzy and terrible, I never wanted to see them again. As for the camera, well, my parents and I went to U.T. for a visit and when I was unpacking once we came home, I realized I didn't have my camera case. I called the hotel, but nothing from our suite had been turned in by the maid service. It's an expensive camera, so I'm sure someone in Austin is learning how to use it as we speak."

  "I hate to ask, but could your mother have taken that camera without you knowing? She had access. And she doesn't like the idea of you becoming a photographer, right?"

  Simone's jaw nearly dropped. "Oh man, I never thought of that. I was a 'real pisser,' as my dad said, on that trip. Oh my God. Maybe she was trying to teach me a lesson."

  "Did she seem surprised when you were using a camera again as if nothing had happened? I mean, if she took it away and then you show up with the same—"

  "I get what you're saying. No. She wasn't surprised. She seemed as annoyed as ever, but she knew Uncle Elliott would be the person I'd go to, and she wouldn't argue with anything he bought me."

  My mind was racing now. But I couldn't share my suspicions about Simone's mother possibly being in on the murder attempt. Still, I was wondering if Adele did a little detective work of her own, found Dugan and showed him the pictures of JoLynn, maybe asked him how he felt about his ex-girlfriend living with rich folks. Maybe she merely wanted Dugan to take JoLynn far, far away. Or maybe she asked him or paid him to tamper with the car. That would be a very bad deal for this kid if her mother did something like that.

  "What are you thinking, Abby?" Simone asked.

  "I'm trying to make sense of this," I said. "When was the trip to U.T.?"

  "About a month ago. Why?"

  "Just considering other scenarios of how your camera disappeared. Maybe a student saw it and stole it. Anyway, thank you for coming clean. You've been a huge help." I didn't even want to look her in the eye now. What if her mother did hire Dugan to kill JoLynn? And maybe, when he
asked for more money, she felt she had to get rid of him.

  "You won't talk to my mother about this camera thing?" Simone said. "Maybe one day she'll show up and hand me the one she took and we'll laugh about it. At least that's my dream if I live that long."

  "Not to worry. I don't think she and I run in the same circles." I hated not being straight with her, hated what might lie ahead if her mother was arrested. I'd seen firsthand how quickly Adele had taken charge when the security guard disappeared. Now I wondered if she'd hired the impostor herself and covered it up by helping her irate brother, Elliott, find a new man for the job. After all, the impostor was at the hospital for a reason, perhaps hired to finish the job Adele first gave to Kent Dugan.

  "You'll keep this between us?" Simone was saying.

  "That's what I want to do," I said with a smile. Now I was resorting to semantics.

  Simone hugged me and then thanked me profusely. And I felt like a rat. I told her I could find my way out.

  I left the house, wondering if I should leave Simone with the house unlocked. Who could find this place? I thought, heading for my Camry. No one but the family probably knows it's even here.

  Boy, was I wrong.

  Pine needles must have muffled the footsteps of the man who grabbed me and again I found myself in an oppressive and painful bear hug. But unlike before, I'd never heard him coming.

  Then I smelled chloroform and thought, Not this again.

  29

  The man didn't put chloroform over my mouth and nose, just stifled me with a big, strong hand. I was dragged away from the driveway into the trees and out of sight. Surely Adele and Leopold were coming home soon. . . . Or maybe Simone was watching from her window. Right. The window on the other side of the house.

  The man said, "I can use the drug again or you can come with us willingly. But no calling for help."

  I was being given an option? Gee, how accommodating. "No chloroform," I mumbled through his fingers.

  And then another guy appeared from the woods, he, too, as silent as a snake. I recognized him right away. Joe Johnson. Mr. Fake Security Guard. First thing he did was stuff a wad of something in my mouth and secure it with a bandanna tied around my mouth and head. Then assailant number one—I was betting I'd recognize him, too, when I got a look—gripped my elbows and put my hands in front of me so the faker could apply a pair of lovely little plastic cuffs. I hadn't had this much fun since Aunt Caroline's last dinner party. What did these people want?

  I didn't see a weapon of any kind. They used brute force and the threat of chloroform. Very weird.

  "Your keys?" Joe Johnson said.

  I nodded at my right pocket. I'd left my bag in the car, not to mention the gun I swore I would carry with me. And didn't. I don't like carrying the .38 around and now I was paying the price.

  Joe took my keys and tossed them to another person

  who silently joined us from a different direction: Estelle. The only person besides Simone who knew where I went after leaving Richter's house. Estelle?

  Joe said, "Bring her car."

  Estelle nodded and pointed the remote at my Camry, disengaging the alarm.

  Bring my car where? I thought. My worry meter shot farther to the danger side of the scale. They were taking me somewhere else. Not good.

  The guy who grabbed me took my elbow again and we started walking. I glanced to my left and saw the stringy-haired man's face. Yup, same guy from the supermarket and the parking garage. Only his hair was clean now and tied back in a ponytail that hung down his neck.

  Turned out their Jeep was hidden on a hard dirt road that wound through the woods. I didn't remember seeing an entrance to this path, but then again, Magnolia Ranch was huge. I could have missed it, or the entry could have been farther down the larger gravel road that skirted the woods.

  Ponytail sat beside me in the backseat. Joe Johnson drove. Whatever was in my mouth was absorbing every bit of saliva and becoming a soggy, disgusting lump of whatever. Gauze, maybe?

  Though I didn't turn around, I heard what was probably my car bumping along behind us. For some reason I worried about my tires. Sheesh. I'm being kidnapped and I'm thinking about my car? Was this how my mind was choosing to calm me down? By making me think about something as stupid and mundane as tires? If so, it was working. Then I got even more silly, thinking, Three against one? No problem, Abby. You can take them.

  Five minutes later we came to a shack that sat off the road among the trees. The small structure was built with wood now gray with age. Planks slanted precariously or were missing altogether. Not a great place to hide a kidnap victim while you ask for the ransom, I thought. Too close to the ranch. Maybe this wasn't about ransom. Maybe this was all about JoLynn. Yes. Estelle was the watchdog inside the ranch—a new employee, if I remem bered right. Joe Johnson replaced the security guard to get close to JoLynn, and the other guy? I was guessing I'd been his assignment.

  Ponytail helped me out of the backseat and we all went inside the shack through a squeaky half door. The place was completely empty—no furniture, no old appliances or stoves. Nothing. But it was cool and smelled of the surrounding pines.

  Johnson carried in a blanket from the Jeep and laid it out on the filthy wood floor. "Time to talk," he said.

  Talk? I love to talk. Beats getting killed every time. And talking required that they remove this miserable gag. Tethered hands held out in front of me, I squatted, then sort of fell back on my bottom. That's when I realized they might be the ones doing all the talking.

  "You have been a thorn in my side, Abby Rose," Johnson said as he joined me on the floor. "No pun intended."

  A funny guy. Great.

  Estelle and Ponytail sat on either side of me, and that's when I realized Estelle held my bag. Now I was getting pissed off. First my car and now my purse?

  She opened the bag and took out my gun. "I found this in the glove compartment."

  Joe held out his hand and Estelle handed him the Lady Smith. He looked at the .38 with disgust and set it down behind him. Then he said, "My brother will remove the gag. Trust me, no one can hear you cry out from this spot in the woods. But the cuffs have to stay on. I know about your exploits, what a capable young woman you are. You might run."

  Ponytail removed the gag and didn't seem bothered by handling the slimy ball of whatever from my mouth. He tossed it in a corner and stuffed the bandanna in his jeans pocket. I wished I were wearing jeans rather than capris, because the mosquitoes were already on the attack.

  "Thank you," I said. I am not usually polite to my abductors, but I'd learned from experience not to make them unnecessarily angry. They can usually get worked up without my help.

  Estelle removed the necklace picture and the drawing of Ponytail from my bag now.

  "The Altoids are way at the bottom, if that's what you're looking for," I said. "Ponytail here could use one."

  She smiled as she smoothed the papers in the middle of our little circle.

  Johnson looked at his brother. "Way too good of a likeness, Nick. This worries me."

  "Why?" I said. "Is he in some database? Are you worried the police will find him? Because they will, you know."

  Johnson said, "Unfortunately, that's not the kind of database he's in." He pointed at his temple. "He's in this kind of database, in someone's memory. Now, can you keep quiet so I can tell you something important?"

  Me? Keep quiet? Guess he didn't know me as well as he thought. "Answer this first. Why did you do it? Had she conned you out of money?"

  Johnson looked completely confused.

  "That's her thing," I said. "You know, that girl in the coma? The one you wanted to sneak in and finish off? She's a con artist."

  Johnson's neck reddened. Didn't I just tell myself not to piss off my kidnappers? And yet I'd gone and done it anyway.

  "You don't know the first thing about her," Johnson said. "You listen to me or I'll put the gag back on. I am being forced to trust you, something I did not wish to
do. But circumstances and your persistence have forced me to take these measures."

  He talks funny, I thought. Stilted . . . with a trace of an accent. Nick, too, now that I'd heard him say more than a sentence.

  Estelle said, "I followed you when you said you wanted to meet with Simone. I listened at the door. The girl is clueless. You should have left her out of this business."

  "I'm feeling pretty clueless myself right now," I said.

  "Then let me clear things up for you. I am JoLynn's father," Joe Johnson said.

  I blinked, too stunned to speak. Her father?

  "And," he went on, "if this investigation of yours goes any further, you will be putting her in serious danger. I might not be able to protect her again."

  "Protect her?" I said, trying to figure this out.

  Johnson said, "This is her uncle—you heard me call him Nick, but that is not his real name. Estelle is Nick's daughter."

  "Let me guess? Not her real name, either." Three mosquitoes were feasting on my calf and I slapped at them awkwardly with my tethered hands. "So you're all JoLynn's biological family?" I took a look at the three of them and saw a hint of resemblance to JoLynn— especially in Estelle, who I was betting wore all that makeup and changed her hair color for that very reason. What the hell was this about?

  "Yes, we are her family," Johnson said.

  "The family that abandoned her in a bus station eleven years ago?" The anger that rose in my throat surprised me. "What kind of people are you?"

  I could tell my words stung Johnson, and Nick bent his head.

  Estelle was the one who spoke. "JoLynn knows she wasn't abandoned. She knew her parents were protecting her."

  "How's that protecting her? She's been through hell." Yup, I was eating fire and spitting smoke now.

  "If you promise never to speak of this conversation again, speak of it to anyone, then I will tell you her story. But I must have your word." Perspiration dampened the front and underarms of Johnson's T-shirt, and thin rivers of sweat wound down from his head to his neck.

  "What will you do if I don't promise? Kill me?" Maybe defiance wasn't the right approach, but I couldn't understand why they'd done this to a child. No explanation could possibly be acceptable.