“Hello?”
Quinn joined me and pressed his head to the other side of the phone.
“Mrs. Hollister? McCann here.”
My heart fell. Quinn shrugged and sat down.
McCann cleared his throat. “We’ve caught a break. Someone at that restaurant in Old Forge saw the kidnappers and your mother. They’ve described the escape vehicle and believe it was heading north on Route 28. We’ve alerted the locals in all northern districts and hope someone will pick up the truck.”
“Truck?” I covered the mouthpiece and whispered to Quinn. “It’s the white truck! I’m sure of it!”
“Yes, ma’am. A white Ford F150, probably 2002 or 2003. The witness saw the plate number, remembered half of it. We’re getting closer.”
“But they still haven’t called, Detective. Does it mean they didn’t take my mother for money?” My mouth twisted in a grimace. “Or they’re torturing her to find out how to get at it?”
“Hard to say, Mrs. Hollister. If there’s no activity by tonight, chances are they won’t call.”
I sank to the chair. “Then what do we do?”
He sounded firm. “There’s not much you can do. Sit tight and wait for us to do our job. We’ve got some leads, and they might pan out.”
I thanked the detective and hung up. “Sit tight? The hell with that.” I hurried toward the door. “Come on, Quinn. We’ve got work to do.”
***
In the lobby once again, we first sought Cromwell. I pulled the earring out of my pocket. “Do you recognize this, Cromwell?”
He sat down with a soft groan and took an old-fashioned magnifying glass out of his top drawer. Crouched over his desk, he pulled his desk lamp closer and examined it. “RLN, ‘09.” He shook his head with an apology. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hollister. I don’t recognize this. But maybe one of the ladies on staff might help.”
He helped us question the bartender, four servers, and the cook. When no one recognized the design or initials, my shoulders slumped. We had just taken down directions to the nearest jeweler’s shop when the piano player who’d saved my mother’s life breezed in the front door with a garment bag thrown over one shoulder and a makeup case in her hand. She wore old sweats and sneakers and her beautiful strawberry blond hair was pulled into two long pigtails.
I flagged her down as she passed the main desk and was about to enter a door behind the counter.
“Excuse me! Miss!” Guilt greased my stomach. God, I should have asked for her name earlier. What an ungrateful wretch I was. I should have sent her flowers, or written her a check, or done something. At least asked her name.
She stopped and smiled. “Mrs. Hollister, nice to see you. How’s your mother?”
I really didn’t want to explain the whole horrible mess, but instead gave her a shortened version. I knew she’d hear it from the staff, anyway.
Her eyes filled with sympathy and she touched my hand. “My Lord! Kidnapped?”
I nodded and tried not to cry. “Uh huh.”
“I’m so sorry. You’ve been through the wringer, haven’t you?”
Because of her unexpected kindness, tears flooded my eyes and I choked out the next few words. “The police are helping.” I pointed to the room behind Cromwell’s desk.
She dropped her garment bag and makeup case on the maroon brocade couch beside us and surprised me with a big hug. “I hope they find her soon.”
Quinn cleared his throat. “Honey? Why don’t you ask her about the earring?”
I dug the earring out of my jeans pocket again. “Right. I’m so embarrassed, I never even asked for your name.”
“Amanda,” she said. “Amanda Robichaud.”
“Amanda,” I said. A surge of affection ran through me, although I hardly knew her. But she had saved my mother’s life, and I already felt a strong connection with her. “I found this earring in my mother’s hospital bed after she was taken.” I lowered my voice and turned my back to the door behind which Jaworski and McCann sat. “It might just have fallen from a nurse’s ear, but it also could be—”
“Evidence,” she said, as if in awe. She plucked it from my fingers and shot a furtive glance toward the room where the cops chatted. Under the table lamp beside the sofa, she turned the stud in her fingers and whistled. “Oh, yeah. I’d know this design anywhere.” A grin appeared, crinkling the skin near her eyes. Maybe she wasn’t quite as young as I’d thought. At first glance I’d figured late twenties. But now… maybe she was in her mid-thirties?
I tucked the earring into my pocket. Quinn and I crowded closer to her. My heart hammered faster. “Really? What is it?”
She picked up her case and garment bag, and turned toward us. “It’s the Silver Bear Inn, from a town with the same name just east of Old Forge. I worked there for three summers before I got this gig. That’s a signature design. The silver bear is used all over town.”
My heart sank. I pictured a thriving town like Old Forge, with dozens of shops, teeming with tourists. “Is Silver Bear a really big town?”
She shook her head. “Oh, Lord, no. It’s tiny. Just two jewelers to check out. And only one with those initials. RLN stands for Rita Little Newt. She’s Iroquois and damned proud of it. I’m sure she’s sold plenty of these earrings this year, but maybe she’ll be able to help.” Her face darkened. “I sure hope so. Your poor mom.”
A flutter of despair passed through me. My mother. Kidnapped. Helpless. Maybe tortured.
I thanked Amanda with a hug and dragged Quinn behind me toward the parking lot where the rusty old van sat alone, probably missing its Jag and BMW friends who’d left a few days ago.
“Marcella.” Quinn panted and leaned on the driver’s side door of the Dodge. I realized I’d been running. Fast.
“What? Come on—get in!” I tried to open the door behind him but he blocked it.
“Are you sure about this, honey? What if the cops could get the answer faster? What if we tip off the kidnappers and screw this up? Your mother’s life could hang in the balance here. ”
I wasn’t sure why I felt such a need to bolt to Silver Bear. It felt overpowering. But I controlled the urge to leave without him. “Quinn. Please. I need to do this.”
He sidestepped the door. “Okay. Let’s go.” I started the van and waited for him to get in. Before he’d buckled up, I gunned the engine and sped onto the main road in the direction of Silver Bear.
Chapter 22
The access road to Silver Bear was well hidden. Quinn and I drove back and forth a few times before we hit pay dirt, staring at the directions and map we’d printed out from Cromwell’s computer. Tucked between a dense forest and clear lake about forty miles east of Old Forge, it hunkered under the ice blue sky as if it hadn’t left the nineteenth century. We found it at the end of a twisty dirt road, dominated by the sprawling Silver Bear Lodge, set high on a bluff above a placid, aquamarine lake.
A single road defined the town, with one hand-carved wooden sign suspended on rough carved logs.
Quinn peered through the windshield. “Guess this is downtown, huh?”
Black Otter Street wound through groves of tall pines and balsams, snaking from the lodge on the lake toward the village entrance. A small log-cabin-style post office huddled beside a rough-hewn diner, whose faded hand-painted sign bore a silver bear eating pancakes. Four ancient trucks sat in the dirt parking lot, their character painted with rust, dents, and cracked windows. Each bore a license plate, so it appeared they were currently road worthy.
“Let’s try over there.” I pulled the van toward a few shops that dotted the roadside just past the post office. The Silver Bear General Store hunkered beside an artisan’s shop, whose front yard was cluttered with carved lawn statues of bears, foxes, and otter.
I parked in front of the shop and looked at Quinn. “This might be it. Amanda said there were only two shops in town, so our chances are good.”
“Okay,” Quinn said. He seemed to have summoned more optimism on the driv
e over and jumped from the van with a spring in his step. “Come on.”
My heart melted a little when I watched him stride inside. His jeans fit well—almost a little tight—and the way he swung his hips in concert with his muscular shoulders made me stop midstride. The view from behind Quinn always gave me a twinge of desire.
I slung my purse over my shoulder and hurried after him.
The action of the door opening rang an old sleigh bell, which summoned an elderly gentleman from a room behind the counter. Leathered brown skin crinkled when he smiled. Two white long braids fell on his deerskin tunic. A bear tooth hung from a rawhide necklace.
While Quinn began to chat with him to talk about Native American tribes and how they might be related, I was drawn to a collection of silver jewelry on a black velvet display case in the back corner. A spotlight illuminated the delicate pieces of work glimmering with soft reflections like sunlight on a tall silver birch. I bent down over the collection, noting the preponderance of silver bear heads on necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. When I straightened, I was surprised to see the old man and Quinn standing behind me.
“Honey? This is Mr. Little Newt. He’s Rita’s grandfather.”
“Pleased to meet you, young lady.” His eyes greeted mine with an honest appraisal.
I took the man’s dry hand and shook it gently. “Same here.” I reached into my jeans pocket and took out the earring. “Thanks for taking a moment to chat with us, Mr. Little Newt.” I cupped the earring and showed it to him. “We were wondering if your granddaughter made this.”
He took the earring in his weathered hand and smiled. “Of course. See the initials? Rita Little Newt.”
“She does beautiful work,” I said. “Is she around?”
He gave me back the earring and shuffled back to the counter, where he started rubbing an old chamois cloth in circles over the glass. “Not today. She’s picking up supplies down in Utica. Be back tomorrow.”
I tried not to show my disappointment. “I see.”
Quinn followed Mr. Little Newt to the counter. “Is she usually here at the store? Does she sell her own work? Or do you both handle the sales?”
He reached shaky hands toward a faded photograph on the wall. After polishing it with loving hands, he turned back to me. “Since my daughter died, Rita runs the store full time. She does her work at night, there. In the back.” He gestured toward the pine door behind him.
“Mr. Little Newt?” I moved closer to the counter, rested my hands on the glass, and lowered my voice. “My mother’s in trouble, and I think Rita might be able to help. Do you think you could have her call me when she returns? I’d really like to talk with her.”
“Trouble?” he asked. He seemed to retract, pull back. “I’m not sure how Rita could help.”
Panic stirred in my stomach. “It’s not easy to explain,” I said. “We found the earring at a site where my mom was hurt.”
His eyes shifted to mine. The fear lingered for a moment, then dissipated to make room for concern. “What happened?”
I stepped closer to him and touched his sleeve. “She was kidnapped, actually.” My words came out hoarse and shaky. I stopped for a minute to collect myself, biting my lower lip to stop its trembling. I opened my palm to show him the earring again. “We think this might be a clue. And I’m hoping it might help us find the guys who took her.”
He was silent for a while, then shuffled to the old brass cash register and pushed a lever, causing the drawer to pop open. He sifted through some checks and papers at the bottom of the drawer. “You must understand. We don’t like to draw bad spirits into our lives. But since your mother is in danger, I will give Rita the message.” He handed me a business card. “Here. Write your name and number on the back.”
Rita’s name and an elegant logo graced the front of the card. I flipped it over and scribbled my name and cell number on it. “Here you are. And thank you, sir. I really appreciate your help.”
He cast his sad eyes to the ceiling and focused somewhere other than on the wood and timbers. “I pray for your mother’s spirit, young lady. And I hope my granddaughter can help you.”
“Thanks again.” Quinn shook his hand, murmured a few more words to the old man, and we finally backed out of the shop. I almost felt as if we should buy something to show our appreciation, but it seemed awkward at the moment. I vowed to come back later and buy a ton of jewelry. I’d noticed some silver rings inlaid with a lavender stone, earrings made of silver and onyx, and several delicate necklaces that shone with tiny orange beads.
Of course, buying out the jewelry section wouldn’t be hard for me. I might pinch pennies when it comes to cars and GPS gadgets, but when it came to jewelry, all bets were off. Quinn might splutter a little, but as always, my credit card was primed and ready to go.
Chapter 23
Later that afternoon, I lay on the hotel bed in one of Quinn’s tee shirts, kicking at the sheets after we’d tried to distract ourselves with a romantic tryst.
It hadn’t worked.
We’d had this problem a few times over the years, but today it seemed to affect him even more than usual. He lay on his side turned away from me, his ego as deflated as his manhood. I stroked his hair from behind, but he never wanted to talk after such an event.
I blamed myself. I really hadn’t been into it, and it had probably showed. It might have stemmed from my lack of enthusiasm, coupled with my constant need to talk about my mother.
Not a good combination.
I inched closer toward him, tucking my hands beneath my cheek on the pillow. “Honey. It’s okay. Really.”
He looked at the wall, not at me. “No. It isn’t.”
I touched his shoulder, and he shrugged me off, stomping to the living area au natural. He leaned on the mantle for a moment, looking like a bronze statue of an idealized Seneca male. I stared, raking my eyes over his body, and seriously wished things had gone differently.
He stalked toward the bathroom and shut the door.
I heard the shower run, wondered what he was doing in there, and waited twenty-five minutes for him to come out. He wore a towel around his waist and a remorseful smile.
“Sorry, hon. I just hate being so damned… powerless.”
I walked to him and draped my arms around his neck, lightly pressing my lips to his. “How so, baby?”
“You know. Powerless to help your mom. Powerless to fix things in general. And very definitely powerless in bed today.”
My own selfishness loomed in my face. I’d let my frustrated feelings about not being able to find my mother get in the way. I hadn’t meant to hurt his male ego. I just couldn’t help it. “I love you to pieces, you big lug. And remember—it’s not always about the sex.”
“What d’ya mean? It’s always about the sex.” He pouted. “I love sex.”
I caressed his chin with one forefinger and chuckled. “You’re a dog.”
He nibbled my ear and growled.
I pushed him back a little. “What I meant is, right now it’s more important that we’re there for each other. Supporting each other, you know?”
“Shut up, Marcella.”
He pulled me closer. His body stirred beneath his towel, which dropped to the floor. I heard Ruby rustling in her curtained cage. The poor little innocent had probably been shocked out of her feathers.
In an uncharacteristic move, he crushed his lips against mine and danced me toward the wall. Heat surged in my body when he surprised me with this new move. We’d never used a wall as a bed, and I wondered if we could manage it.
I tap danced backwards, with Quinn’s hands all over me, until my heel collided with Ruby’s carrying cage.
“Better move that,” I murmured.
Quinn kicked it out of the way before I could reach for it. It tumbled sideways and rolled across the floor like a tin tumbleweed, lodging against the back of a chair.
I laughed, vaguely heard Ruby say, “Gadzooks,” and spent the next few hours in shame
less gymnastics, happy to let my Romeo prove himself to me—over and over again.
***
I woke with a start at seven in the evening, probably due to the outrageous noises my stomach was making. I was surprised the gurgling didn’t wake Quinn, but he slept facing me with a huge smile on his face. I chuckled, touched his lips with my finger, and slid out of bed.
I plucked the tee shirt I’d been wearing from the lamp on the table and put it on. Ruby chirped from her cage. I opened the curtain that hid the balcony aviary and slid open the glass door. After the first X-rated sex show of Ruby’s life last night, Quinn had quickly realized she could see us, and had hastily pulled the curtain shut before we started round two.
“There you are, sweetie. You hungry?”
“Gimme cookies!” she squawked. “Ruby’s hungry!” She swung rapidly back and forth on her perch, cocking her head to the left, right, then back again. “Ruby’s hungry!”
“Okay, okay.” I walked inside and filled her seed container, then freshened her water. “There you go, honey. Eat up.” She pecked at the food, immediately engrossed in her cuisine.
I turned on the hose and washed down the indoor/outdoor fake grass rug, glad the floor was slightly tilted toward the outside wall. The water ran off and dripped into the gutter, quickly disappearing. I let it run for a while to be sure everything was washed away.
The carrying cage was still on the floor by the chair. I chuckled, remembering Quinn’s drop kick that sent it flying, and picked it up. My hands brushed against the bottom, where something that felt like paper flapped from the base.
Puzzled, I laid it on its side on the table and examined the bottom of the cage.
A cut down Fed Ex envelope was pasted to the bottom with four strands of fiberglass shipping tape. One of the pieces of tape had come unstuck by the blow from Quinn’s foot.
I peeled the tape off and hefted the small envelope in my hand. It was rippled and wavy, probably from its dunk in the pool. Something lightweight and metallic shifted inside. A memory returned—unbidden. My mother had said something about “take good care of Ruby’s cage,” just before she’d been rolled in the ambulance. I’d dismissed it as the ravings of a woman with a concussion, but now realized maybe she hadn’t been quite as crazy as I’d thought.
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