by Robbi McCoy
He stared at her steadily for a moment, a hint of anger in his eyes, then shook his head in dismay. “It doesn’t matter. I’m closing in. With or without your help. You’re a fool to reject my offer. I could have put this little backwater farm on the map.”
Sophie felt like spitting as she watched John Bâtarde drive away. She was left with a feeling of anxiety. His parting words about Threlkeld had sounded threatening. What would he do when he was certain he had the right person? And why was he so intent on finding her?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
What a damned Epicurean rascal is this!
—The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act II, Scene 2
Coming into the house from a long walk Saturday afternoon, Wren turned on her phone to call Kyle and saw she had voice mail. It was from Raven a couple hours earlier.
“Your friend Sophie’s trying to get hold of you,” he said. “See you this evening.”
Sophie wants me! thought Wren, her pulse quickening. She didn’t care what the reason was for her change of heart, only that she’d had one.
She rushed to the garage to get her car, heading quickly out of town. Remembering Kyle, she called him as she hit the interstate.
“What’s up?” he answered.
“I’ve set it up with Raven for five o’clock at the Stratford Inn.”
“Great. I’ll be there. You too, right?”
“I was planning on it, but something else’s come up. You don’t really need me there, do you?”
“You were going to be the arbiter.”
“I might still make it. If not, just accept his apology, then kiss and make up.”
“You make it sound so businesslike,” Kyle complained.
“Sorry, but I’ve got something on my mind.”
“Is anything wrong?”
“No. At least…I don’t actually know.”
She realized she had no idea why Sophie wanted to see her. She had leapt to the unlikely conclusion that she wanted a date and was now driving out there to throw herself into her lover’s arms. She eased up on the accelerator as she reevaluated her plan. It made more sense to call Sophie and ask her what she wanted. Remembering the last time she’d shown up at the farm uninvited dampened her enthusiasm considerably.
Although she had been clever enough to program the phone number into her phone, she saw the battery light flash just before the phone turned itself off. Oh, well, she thought, I’ll stick with the original plan. Even if Sophie turned her away again, the chance to see her, even for a minute, was worth it.
When at last she pulled into the gravel driveway in front of Sophie’s house, she was out of the car nearly before the engine was off. She raced to the front porch just as the door of the farmhouse flew open. Olivia came rushing blindly out of the house and crashed into her. Wren observed her frantic face, contorted in fear and hysteria. In her hand was a piece of yellow paper.
“Is something wrong?” Wren asked. “Is Sophie here?”
“Sophie!” Olivia cried, reeling back. “She’s not here.” She waved the piece of paper between them. “Oh, my little one, my little one! She’s been kidnapped!”
“Kidnapped?” Wren grabbed the paper from her hand and quickly read the handwritten note.
I’ve got your kid. If you ever want to see her alive again, you’ll tell me what I want to know. Call me at exactly seven o’clock tonight and give me Threlkeld’s real name. If you don’t, your kid’s stewed. If you call the police, you’ll never see her again. J. B.
There was a phone number at the bottom of the page.
Wren gasped. “J. B.? John Bâtarde! Oh, my God! Has Bâtarde been here?”
“That was the guy who was here yesterday, the restaurant guy.”
“The bastard!” Wren cried. “I can’t believe it! He wouldn’t...”
“What are we going to do?” Olivia looked like she would burst into tears at any moment.
“This is all my fault.” Wren put her hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll find her. I’ll make sure nothing happens to her.”
Wren was astonished that Bâtarde was so desperate and ruthless he would resort to something as despicable as kidnapping Sophie. Would she talk? Would she tell him who Eno Threlkeld was? At this point, Wren realized, there may be no way to avoid that. Her career was not worth the life of a woman, any woman, much less the woman she loved. She would tell him herself if it would save Sophie’s life.
Wren raced to her car and was back on the deserted country road in seconds. On the main road, heading toward town, she spotted a line of animals up ahead on the side of the road. She passed them without slowing down, but got a good enough look to determine they were Sophie’s goats, running single file with Rose in the lead. She knew the goats weren’t kept in their pen all the time, but this seemed strange. But there were more important things to worry about. At least the little one, Poppy, wasn’t with them and was likely home safe with Olivia.
Wren gradually began to realize she didn’t know where she was racing to. She glanced at the yellow note on the seat beside her. She had no idea where Bâtarde was holed up or where he might have taken Sophie. All she knew was that he was expecting a phone call at seven o’clock. She slowed her pace, recognizing she had several hours of waiting ahead.
After picking some blooming lavender branches near the east fence, Sophie walked back up the hill with her fragrant bundle and plunked it on the workbench in the potting shed. She checked her cell phone for messages, even though she knew it hadn’t rung. Why wasn’t Wren returning her call so she could warn her about Bâtarde?
She’d managed to catch Raven at the theater and he’d promised to leave a message for Wren. He seemed to know who she was, which surprised her, even naming her “my sister’s lovely goatherd,” and inviting her to join the two of them for drinks later at the Stratford Inn, saying, “I know Wren would be thrilled to see you.” She wondered what Wren had told her brother about them, surprised she had said anything at all. Wasn’t she worried her husband would find out? At least Raven was friendly, suggesting that whatever Wren had said, he thought they were on good terms, not that they weren’t even speaking to one another. Barely speaking. Not speaking, but... Sophie rolled her eyes at herself, remembering how she had impulsively kissed Wren the other night. As nice as it had felt, it had been a stupid thing to do and must have confused poor Wren considerably. No, I mustn’t think of her as “poor Wren,” Sophie warned herself, conjuring up an image of a small bird with a broken wing. There was no way to resist her with that kind of sympathetic vision.
While she cut the stems short and tied the flower heads into small bundles, she thought about Bâtarde and his menacing glare, like some two-bit hoodlum. His visit yesterday had left her shaken. There was probably nothing to his threats. He was just blowing hot air. Even if he did discover Threlkeld’s true identity, what would he do about it? It wasn’t as if he’d kill her. She was a food critic, not an international spy.
Sophie realized she’d been more threatened by his bluster than she should have been. Her frantic call to Raven this morning had been sheer panic. By the time she got to talk to Wren herself, she’d be more reasonable. She smiled at herself as she finished hanging the flowers to dry, then she pulled off her gloves and left the shed, taking a can of goat chow with her.
The gate to the goat pen stood wide open. She poured the feed into the pan, expecting to hear the excited calls of the herd as they came gamboling in to crowd around their food dish. But there was no sound other than a meadowlark on a fence post and the distant hum of a tractor working a field. Confused, Sophie returned the can to the shed, then walked around the perimeter of the house, expecting to find the herd munching grass in the front yard. She started calling their names loudly, cupping her hands in front of her mouth. Normally, she could at least count on Tater to come when called. Unless she had her head stuck in something or was trapped somewhere, and then she’d be sure to make her whereabouts known to anyone within two miles.
Sophie stood in the front yard, scanning the surrounding fields for any sign of movement and was about to head around back when her mother came flying out of the house, yelling, “Sophie! Where have you been? I’ve been hollering for you for the last half hour!” Olivia stumbled toward her out of breath.
“What’s wrong?” Sophie asked, catching her mother in a steadying embrace.
“He’s got Poppy!”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“The restaurant guy kidnapped Poppy. He left a note. He’s going to kill her!”
“Kill her?” Sophie was aghast. “I don’t understand, Mom. Calm down and tell me what happened.”
Olivia took a deliberate deep breath. “A while ago, I heard an uproar from the goat pen, so I went out to see what was wrong and found a note on the gate. Said he took her and sure enough, she was gone. Tallulah was chattering to beat the band and Rose was bleating like somebody’d cut off her leg. The whole lot of them were riled up. He said he’d kill her if we didn’t call by seven and tell him who Eno Threlkeld was.”
Sophie was stunned.
“Poor little one,” Olivia said, shaking her head. “She’s got to be terrified.”
“Where are the rest of them?” Sophie asked.
Her mother shook her head. “What do you mean?”
“They’re not here. They’re not in the pen. They’re not anywhere around here.”
Olivia looked around, confused. “I don’t know. They were all there when I came out and found Poppy missing. I guess I left the gate open, but they should be around here somewhere.”
They stood staring at each other for a moment, at a loss.
“Where’s the note?” Sophie finally asked.
Olivia wrinkled her forehead, then seemed to remember. “Wren took it.”
“Wren? Wren Landry?”
“She came by. I told her about Poppy. She took the note and said she’d try to help. She seemed very upset about it and said it was all her fault.” Tears appeared in Olivia’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have let her take the note, should I? Now we don’t have the number to call. If we don’t call at seven o’clock, he’s going to kill Poppy!”
“It’s okay,” Sophie said gently. “I have his business card. We can call.” She jogged into her room and found Bâtarde’s card on her dresser. She showed her mother the numbers on the card. “Do either of these look familiar?”
“No. It started with a 5-4-1. I noticed that because that’s our area code. It was a local number.”
“I was afraid of that. He’s not going to use his regular line for blackmail, is he?”
“Oh, poor Poppy!” Olivia cried, putting her face in her hands.
“Don’t panic,” Sophie said. “I’ll find Wren in plenty of time. I know where she’ll be at five. But I have to get going. Take Gambit out and see if you can find the rest of them.”
Olivia nodded. As Sophie turned to go in the house, her mother grabbed hold of her arm and stared in her face with a fierce determination. “Do whatever you have to do, Sophie, to save our Poppy.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
How shall I be revenged on him?
For revenged I will be, as sure as his guts are made of puddings.
—The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act II, Scene 1
Wren folded the yellow ransom note and shoved it in her jeans pocket, then walked rapidly down Main Street to the Stratford Inn where she saw Kyle and Raven sitting at a sidewalk table. They were sitting close together, talking and holding hands. Apparently they had reconciled without her help. She was relieved to see it. It would be good to be a threesome again.
“Hi,” Kyle said cheerfully. “Sit down and join us for a wheat beer.”
She sat while Raven waved over a waiter and ordered her a beer. Raven and Kyle both seemed to be in a wonderful mood, smiling at one another with the ecstasy of new love or, in this case, renewed love.
Wren glanced at her watch. It was just a few minutes after five. Two hours to go until Bâtarde’s deadline.
“You’ll be happy to know,” Kyle reported, “that we’ve made up and all’s well. I’m so looking forward to the gala tonight. It’ll be a blast. Although—” He craned his neck to look up at the cloudy sky. “I’m a little worried about the weather.”
The waiter put a beer down in front of Wren and she sipped without tasting it as Raven and Kyle spoke excitedly about their costumes and the revelries planned for the evening. Wren barely heard them, preoccupied as she was with her own problem.
“Wren,” Raven said, drawing her back to the present by clamping his hand over hers, “I can sense you’re troubled. What’s bothering you?”
She sighed. “I hate to spoil your reunion, boys, but I’ve got a problem.”
“Batteries ran down again?” Kyle asked sympathetically.
Wren frowned. “This is very serious. Deadly serious.”
Kyle opened his eyes wide. “Tell us.”
“My nemesis, John Bâtarde, has kidnapped Sophie and is holding her in return for Threlkeld’s true identity.”
Raven gasped. “The bastard!”
“I have no idea where she is,” Wren continued. “But at seven o’clock, he’s expecting a phone call from her mother giving him my name. If he doesn’t get it, he says she’ll never see Sophie again.”
“Oh, my God!” Kyle cried. “This is serious. What’re we going to do?”
“What choice is there? I’m going to call him at seven o’clock and reveal myself.”
“How do you know he’ll let her go?” Raven asked, gripping her hand tighter.
“I just have to believe he will. I have no leverage.”
“The police?”
Wren shook her head. “He said he’ll kill her if we call the police.”
Raven looked horrified. “All this over a dry Dobos torte?”
Wren shook her head and swallowed a gulp of her beer. “I can’t believe I’ve done this to her. She was an innocent bystander. She could die because of my precious sense of self-importance.”
Raven hugged her. “Don’t blame yourself. He’s a maniac.”
“Isn’t there some way to get to him before seven o’clock?” Kyle asked. “Get the jump on him somehow?”
She shook her head morosely. “I don’t know. All I know is the woman I love is in mortal danger and I’m sitting here doing nothing about it.”
As she fought against the upwelling of emotion in her throat, she caught sight of Ellie’s weird sister Cassandra plodding along the sidewalk, her cape dragging on the ground, her hair completely wild, heading toward them.
“No!” she screamed, jumping out of her chair and knocking over her beer.
Kyle snatched the glass and set it upright, then the boys both turned to look as the woman locked her gaze on Wren and continued her slow, steady gait, making a direct line toward her.
“Here thou still sits ’mongst idle gossiping whores?” Cassandra accused, snarling.
Raven’s mouth fell open in indignation. “Whores?”
Cassandra came within two feet of Wren, who held her ground. “Like a misbehaved and sullen wench, thou pout’st upon thy fortune and thy love: Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. Go! Get thee to thy love.”
“What?” Wren asked.
“I think she wants you to go somewhere,” Raven suggested.
Cassandra nodded. “Away, I say!” She raised her arm to the sky. “Stay’st thou to vex me here?”
“Sorry, I just don’t understand. If I knew where my love was, I’d go to her, believe me.”
Kyle thrust a five-dollar bill toward Cassandra, who shoved his hand away. “It worked before,” he said apologetically.
Cassandra heaved a heavy sigh, then reached into her voluminous clothing and retrieved a tight roll of paper. She unrolled it excruciatingly slowly, then held it up to Wren. It was a flyer for the cupcake bake-off. On it was a photo of Bâtarde, the celebrity judge.
“Okay,” Wren said, exasperated. �
�I know he’s the guy. I know all about it. If I knew where he’d taken her, I’d be there in a heartbeat. Don’t you think I’m sick to death worrying about this? Don’t you think I’d strangle him with my bare hands if I could get hold of him?”
Cassandra looked impatient, then sighed again. “Does anybody have a highlighter?” she asked in a perfectly ordinary voice.
Wren stared, unbelieving.
“I do,” Raven said. He opened his messenger bag and dug down to the bottom, producing a neon yellow highlighter.
Cassandra took it and ran it over a small line on the bottom of the flyer, then held it up to Wren again. She had highlighted the date and time of the bake-off finals. It was today from one to six at the Ashland Convention Center. Wren took the flyer from her, focusing on the time and place with a sudden understanding.
“Oh, my God!” she said. “What an idiot I am!”
Cassandra nodded, handing the highlighter back to Raven. “Lord, what fools these mortals be!” She snatched the five-dollar bill from Kyle’s hand, then trundled off down the sidewalk.
“What was that all about?” Raven asked.
“I know exactly where to find Bâtarde!” She put the flyer on the table. “He’s judging the cupcake bake-off right now. I can keep an eye on him and maybe he’ll lead me to Sophie.”
She took the scrap of yellow paper from her pocket.
“What can we do?” Raven asked.
She handed him the ransom note. “If you haven’t heard from me before seven o’clock, you have to call this number. Give him my name. Then let’s hope he lets her go.”
“I should go with you,” Raven offered.
“No. I’ll need to do this stealthily. The fewer people, the better. Besides, you have a very big event tonight. You can’t miss that. You’re practically the belle of the ball.”
Raven smiled. “My brave-hearted sister. ‘Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once.’”
“Stop talking about death!” Kyle protested. “Be careful, Wren. If it looks like trouble, call the police.”
