And Then There Was One

by Patricia Gussin

  So when Maggie started touching her hair she turned over.

  “Maggie,” Jennifer began, sweetly. “Where are we?”

  “We’re in northern Michigan, my dear,” she said. Her voice sounded kind, and that encouraged Alex.

  “Oh, I was hoping we were in Florida. We had such a long ride. Why did I have to ride in the trunk?”

  “I tried to tell Spanky to let you ride in the backseat,” Maggie said, plumping the pillow next to Alex.

  “Who is Spanky?” Alex asked. Just hearing that awful name made her want to cry, but she kept her voice as normal as she could.

  “Why, he’s your brother, my dear. Your half brother, really.”

  Alex started, “He is —” but stopped.

  “I’m going to take you to Canada,” Maggie said, “to be with your real dad. He’ll be sad about Jessie, but he’ll love you, Jennie. I just know he will.”

  “My real dad?” Alex could feel her eyes start to blink like her mother’s did when she was upset. “In Canada?”

  “Yes,” Maggie said, “but I don’t know if Spanky will go with us.”

  “I’m afraid of that man Spanky.” Alex’s voice had sunk to a whisper as she dared to speak the truth. The way he looked at her — his eyes looked like a pig’s, mean and ugly.

  “I won’t let him hurt you, Jennie. I promise that I will not let him hurt you this time.”

  Spanky had no problem jump-starting the dirty old van he’d identified the night before. The tank was on empty, but he’d been smart enough to siphon gas from Ma’s car before he buried it. Just as he’d planned, he’d driven into Traverse City, placed the call, and recited his script into the message machine, making his voice sound squeaky like a wimp, not a big tough guy. Then, according to plan, Spanky drove fifty miles from Traverse City to Charlevoix.

  Charlevoix would put him roughly just across Lake Michigan from J. W. Wells State Park and Charlevoix would be the perfect place to steal a boat. The marina there catered to rich folks who seldom took out their expensive boats. He’d never been on a boat in Lake Michigan, but he’d gone out on the Atlantic Ocean off Miami Beach. Same guy who showed him around the glades used to take him out on the luxury boats he’d “borrow” out of the fancy marinas. That’s how Spanky learned about boat engines and how to read a chart.

  Spanky chuckled at how one good turn deserves another. Out of the goodness of his heart, he’d helped that redneck who’d been hauling that airboat piece of junk on a trailer that broke down at a truck stop. Spanky’d fixed the rig and the guy ended up showing him how to hunt gators and steal boats. Now the poor bastard was in the joint, but once he got out, Spanky would send him some payback bucks.

  Before Spanky made the call to the Monroe house in Tampa, he stopped at a Traverse City camping equipment store. He’d only camped that one time and he tried to come up with a list of supplies. He’d need a tent, big enough for two, but not so big he’d have trouble setting it up. A camp stove, an ice chest, a coffeepot, a lantern, a few cooking utensils, forks and spoons, a couple of plates and mugs. He picked up the smaller items as he moved through the store, getting ideas of other odds and ends they’d need. He didn’t want to ask the clerk, not wanting to sound like an amateur and raise any attention. He needed to get out fast, afraid that his picture would be in the papers after the other girl was found. He selected a tent from the “on sale” list, paid for all his purchases with cash, and insisted that he did not need help loading it all in the van. He wondered whether he should buy more food, but figured that Ma had hauled plenty out of Holly. Precious didn’t eat much, and Ma could afford to lose some weight. But realizing that he’d forgotten to buy fuel for the lantern, he did stop at a smaller camping store for kerosene, or should he get propane? He didn’t know, so he picked up a can of kerosene, some of those Sterno cans, and an assortment of breakfast bars and canned juice.

  The drive from Traverse City to Charlevoix took less than an hour. Driving north on Route 31, he came to the perfect marina site. Approaching on foot, he tried to blend in as he located a boat. He’d need speed, and the Grady White with twin 300-horsepower outboards would handle the five-foot swells that he might get on the lake. The boat’s slip, about halfway down the dock, gave him just the cover he needed to jump onto the deck. Peering inside the cabin, he could see the instrument panel, noting a global positioning system that he’d have to disengage. He saw a stack of charts, which he could sure use. As for fuel, he’d have to wait and see, but most skippers kept their boats topped off.

  The boats here belonged to the very rich. Hell, they only used them a couple a days a year. With any luck, no one would miss this one until he had it far away. Spanky did not break into the cabin, but he’d made up his mind and would be back with his tools, and his .44 Magnum piece, should he need it. Returning to the van, he was glad he’d worn his overalls so that he blended in with the other service personnel as he strode along the dock with the confidence of belonging. Pleased that he hadn’t attracted any attention, he climbed in the van and drove off at a moderate speed, calculating how long this operation would take: three hours, max, round-trip to the log cabin, including loading Ma and Precious into the van; another hour to get the boat out of the marina and to a boarding spot for Ma, Precious, and all the stuff. They’d be crossing the lake by three o’clock. With the wind out of the northwest at about twelve knots, and the course due west, there’d be some pitch and roll, but they should make it to the park in six hours. Nine o’clock, midsummer, there should be just enough light to stake out an isolated campsite, but he’d have to get a move on.

  Marge bustled about the cabin dusting the rustic furniture, checking the inventory of ancient cleaning supplies, changing the bedding, and arranging the cutlery and dishes. As she worked, she chatted nonstop to Jennifer. If only her little daughter would open up to her. What could she do to cheer her up? She had to be sad, too, that they’d lost Jessie, after all twins had a very special relationship.

  Marge jolted as she heard the door to the cabin slam shut.

  “Ma, get packed.” Spanky’s voice. Where had he said he was going? And why were they leaving, they’d just got here?

  As Marge turned to face her son, she reeled at the fright in Jennifer’s dark eyes. A stab of concern momentarily paralyzed her. She needed to talk to Spanky. To tell him in no uncertain terms that he’d have to leave Jennifer alone. That he couldn’t do the bad things to Jennifer that he might do to other little girls. That Jennifer was special; she was his sister.

  “Spanky, come sit down,” Marge said, ignoring his opening statement.

  “Ma, get your shit together. All that food. All the warm clothes you packed. Get it in the van out there. Now.” Spanky walked over to Marge, grabbing her shoulders and turning her head toward him.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “I thought we were going to stay here.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Ma. We can’t stay here. I gotta plan. Now get movin’. We gotta haul ass. Now move.” He gave her a forceful shove toward the bedroom.

  “But —”

  “I’m gonna start shovin’ your shit in the van.” Then Spanky leaned over Jennifer and reached to stroke her forehead, his fingers lingering to twirl the curls in her short hair.

  Marge took that as a sign that he, too, was concerned about the sad look in Jennifer’s eyes.

  But as she stepped into the bedroom to collect their belongings, she froze. “Better start liking me, Precious,” Spanky was saying. “You’re mine now.”

  CHAPTER 54

  Riot Police Clash with Protesters in Tehran. — International News, Saturday, June 20

  Scott and Katie returned to Jackie’s room. Agent Camry had made it clear that they had no immediate role in finding Alex, and they knew that both Sammie and Jackie needed them. When they walked hand in hand into the hospital room, they saw that another bed had been set up. And, on that bed, they saw Jackie and Sammie. Both girls sitting side by side, backs against the wall, in anima
ted conversation.

  “Scott,” Katie’s smile was wide and spontaneous, “look at Jackie. She’s sitting up and she’s talking. I can’t believe it.”

  Susan beckoned them into the room with a smile. “Sammie turned out to be just the right medicine.”

  Katie felt Scott squeeze her hand and her own heart skipped a beat. Jackie, recovered, looking alert; Sammie, safe. But Alex still out there, somewhere. Katie’s smile faded, her eyes blinked uncontrollably.

  “Listen,” Susan whispered. The three adults stood close enough to hear.

  “Tell me again,” Jackie asked. “Was the lady mean?”

  “No, I think she was crazy,” Sammie said. “Like she called me Jessie and she called Alex, Jennie. But the man is very mean. He’s going to hurt her. I just know it!”

  “Yeah, I think so, too,” Jackie said. “What can we do? Mom and Dad said we have to pray, but there must be something —”

  “They just have to find her,” Sammie said. “I promised I’d tell the FBI lady everything about that place and those people, Maggie and Spanky.”

  “Agent Camry’s right here, Sammie, and she has some questions.” Scott had inserted himself between them on the bed, an arm draped over both thin shoulders. “Can you tell her everything that you know?”

  “Yes, Dad,” Sammie said. “I sure can. I don’t want to leave out a single thing.”

  Sammie took Camry through the kidnapping, and through each day, ending in her escape into the woods surrounding the Spansky home. Once in a while Jackie inserted an insightful question of her own for Sammie.

  Camry finished by telling both Sammie and Jackie how brave they were.

  On Saturday, Cliff Hunter knew that the FBI would be out in force. Even though he’d warned Scott Monroe not to call the cops and to come alone to drop the money and wait for his kids, he knew it would never happen that way. The feds would be swarming. That’s why he’d chosen a busy, public place to pick up the ransom money. The law would not shoot into the affluent shoppers that populated the tony Birmingham streets on a Saturday afternoon.

  Cliff had simply planned to scoop up the bag of money as he approached on his motorcycle, the way purse snatchers do it in the streets of Rome. Then he’d gun the bike, taking it through a series of maneuvers that he’d worked out. His escape car, a rented plain-Jane Toyota, was in place three miles away, near I-75, his exit route out of Detroit to return the car to the airport in his home town, Dayton, Ohio, far enough away from Auburn Hills.

  But all his planning was now down the toilet. One of the Monroe kids had been found. True, one was still missing, but now the feds would have enough information to know that his story was crap, and that he’d never had those kids. But there was one precautionary step he’d taken. He fingered the handle, felt the heft. A Smith and Wesson .45.

  Scott Monroe had screwed him over with his career, and Cliff craved revenge, needed it to move forward in his miserable life. Question was: did he need it enough to risk doing time in the joint? He’d been an up-and-coming catcher in the minors when some underage bimbo had accused him of rape. He’d roughed her up enough to scare her away from the law, but she’d gone to Scott Monroe. Scott, who was supposed to be his buddy, believed her story and kicked him out of the league. After that, all he’d been able to get were menial jobs. He still blamed Scott, so when Scott’s kids came up missing, Cliff came up with a plan to get back at him. Only now he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know the answer to his own question. He’d hang out where he said to pick up the money, but he’d not do the grab, that would be too risky. He’d wait and see how it all played out. If he didn’t get back at Scott Monroe this way, he’d find another.

  CHAPTER 55

  Summer Solstice Art Walk Kicks Off a Celebration of Art and Summer Solstice.

  — Entertainment Events, Traverse City Record-Eagle, June 20

  By noon Spanky had everything loaded into the beat-up van. Jostling along the dirt road, he tried to work out all the steps of his plan. He had to focus, but he was so pissed at Ma for giving him a hard time. Hell, she’d gotten him into this mess, now all she could do was bitch about poor little Jennie. Jennie was no more that kid’s name than Precious was, but he’d have to go along with Ma’s loony shit until they were safely in Alaska with all that money.

  He was having second thoughts about Ma. She was like a hawk, watching over Precious. Last night when he’d gone into Ma’s bedroom to check on Precious he’d had a hard-on to beat all hard-ons. Couldn’t risk waking up Ma and her making a noisy fuss. That would change soon.

  Right now he didn’t have a choice, he’d have to leave Precious with Ma at the campsite. When he came back with the money, he’d take off with the girl. Leave Ma enough money for her to get her own place. He just hoped that she had the smarts to stay on the run now that they had her name and all. But she wouldn’t have a clue where to find him and Precious. Or maybe he was wrong about Ma, and once the three of them lived far away from anybody else, she’d understand and be fine with him and Precious.

  He couldn’t see what was wrong with him and a little girl, but others didn’t see it his way, and Ma was the victim of peer pressure. Once they got to Alaska, they’d be on their own and nobody else’s opinion would matter. But for now he had to get them the hell out of here and haul his butt down to the Everglades. He’d leave Precious with Ma, and figure out the long term later. Right now Precious was tied up in the back of the van, covered with a mess of blankets they’d taken from the cabin.

  Alex cried softly underneath the pile of blankets. She could hear Maggie in the front seat talking to that man about Jennie. Alex, she wanted to scream. My name is Alex.

  “And it’s not right to tie Jennie up,” Maggie was saying.

  “How many time do I gotta tell you to shut up,” the man said. Alex knew his name was Spanky and that he was Maggie’s son, but she refused to call him by name.

  The van lurched and turned and bumped along. Alex didn’t know how long they’d been driving when they came to a stop. Could they be in Canada? What had Maggie meant when she said that her real dad was in Canada?

  “Where are we?” Maggie asked. “Why are we parking in all these weeds?”

  “Look, Ma, I said I had a plan. All you gotta do is stay here, keep quiet and be safe. I’ll be back soon.”

  Then Alex heard the door of the van open and click shut.

  Maggie climbed over into the backseat. She reached back and uncovered Alex’s face, but she did not untie her. She talked to her like she was a baby and even sang her a lullaby. There was something very crazy about this lady. Alex knew that her mom worked with crazy people sometimes and she wondered if they scared her, too. During the second singing of the lullaby, Alex looked up when she heard what sounded like a motorcycle. Maggie’s eyes were closed so she didn’t see him, but Alex did — Spanky, on a motorcycle, coming up alongside the van. With a little wave, he turned the bike toward the road. Alex prayed that she’d never see him again.

  Alex must have drifted off to sleep because the next thing she heard was Maggie’s voice. “Not a boat Spanky. What if she gets seasick?”

  The back of the van opened and Alex squeezed her eyes closed until she felt hands pull her into a sitting position. Before she could react, a strong band was pulled over her mouth.

  The scary man then picked her up and carried her down a dock and onto a white boat.

  “Lie down and be still,” he said, wrapping her so tightly in a bed sheet that she could hardly wiggle. Then he loaded other stuff in boxes and bags so close to her that she thought she might be crushed if the boat rocked back and forth. The man hadn’t covered her eyes and when she’d looked around, she saw an old man fishing on the dock. Had he seen her? Would he help her?

  “Satisfied, Ma?She’s okay under there?”

  “Okay, but I don’t like the idea of a boat. Where are we going?”

  “Camping,” Alex heard. After that, the sound of a motor drowned out their voices.


  Streeter landed on a makeshift helicopter pad prepared along the stony shores of Elk Lake. The report was bad. He’d been on the radio the whole trip between Detroit and the Spanksy family’s cabin. Again, Marge and Samuel Spansky had evaded them. Yes, they’d been there. They’d found the gray teddy bear belonging to Sammie Monroe abandoned. They’d missed by an hour or so judging from the partially melted ice in a tray on the kitchen counter. The Spanskys had left not an inkling of a clue as to how they’d gotten out or where they were heading. Other than finding the brown Escort, covered with branches and stashed in a nearby swamp among tall reeds, they had nothing but nondescript tire impressions in the sandy soil.

  “Shit, shit, shit.” What else could he say? How had the Spankys known they were closing in? Had it been Spansky who’d called in the ransom demand? Were they on their way to Miami? But why had they come all the way up here just to turn south? Roadblocks already peppered Michigan, and now they’d have to be extended all the way south to Miami. A weird pattern for a kidnapping scheme, thought Streeter. Either this guy was very smart or very stupid.

  Putting it off as long as he could, Streeter put the call through to Camry, briefed her, and asked to speak to the Monroes.

  Scott picked up in the girls’ room. “We found the cabin,” Streeter said, “but Alex is not there. She was there, but they’ve gone now.”

  “Oh, no.” Scott’s voice, and in the background, a gasp from Katie.

  Streeter could feel his shoulders slump in defeat as he fed Scott the few facts that they knew.

  “The money,” Scott said in a low voice. “We have to get the money to Miami.”

  “The Miami field office is in charge down there, but Alex could be anywhere between Elk Rapids and Miami. We have roadblocks everywhere. The whole country is mobilized on this, as I’m sure you’ve seen on all the news stations.”

  “The other ransom note, the one sent to the Yankees?” Scott asked.