[Elizabeth McClaine 03.0] A Stolen Woman

by Catherine Lea

  Penny pointed back to the ballroom. “What about the guests? We haven’t even cut the cake.”

  “Tell them to save me some.” Elizabeth reached across, took her coat, then her purse, from the concierge. “That’s if they remember I was here.”

  She swung the coat around her shoulders and headed for the front door.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DAY ONE—8:45 PM—LANEY

  Please find me.

  Why? Had Wendy seen what had happened to Kimmy? So, why didn’t she just call her? Why write her a note? Or had she gotten herself into some kind of trouble that had prevented her doing so?

  Ever since she’d been assigned as Kimmy’s main nurse aid, she’d been the only one Laney could trust. From the handwritten reports she’d regularly sent Laney, she’d treated Kimmy like family. She’d stayed late to care for Kimmy when she was sick; brought her books and treats. She’d been there when Laney couldn’t. So, if Wendy had gotten herself into something she couldn’t get out of, and had no one else to go to, then Laney would step up to the plate. Like family would.

  After cruising the street for a few minutes, Laney found a parking space in front of the rundown apartment building that, as far as she knew, was the last known residence of Pinky McCorline.

  Laney had met Pinky eight months earlier. Pinky was soon to be paroled from Carringway Women’s Prison about the same time Laney was coming in. When they found themselves both stuck at the same future employment planning session, Pinky had told Laney how she’d gotten a job. Didn’t pay much but that didn’t matter, she’d told her. All she had to do was take care of a bunch of retards, as she’d put it, until Laney backed her up against the wall half an hour later, smacking her against the cinder blocks with such force it had made Pinky’s eyes roll back. Then she’d set her straight, telling her that, as a matter of fact, Laney’s sister was one of those so-called retards, and putting it in such a way that Pinky had undergone a rapid shift in attitude and told Laney not to worry about her sister, that she’d look out for her.

  And while Laney wouldn’t normally ask Pinky to “look out” for her worst enemy, choice wasn’t something she had. As it happened, a month later, Pinky was fired for a little misappropriation of certain pharmaceuticals from the meds cabinet. Turned out, she managed to escape another six months in Carringway due to a technicality. But by then Wendy had come along, so Laney didn’t need to rely on her any more.

  Despite the two women having worked together only a short while, Laney was hoping Pinky might know where Wendy might have gone.

  From down here she could see all the third-floor windows were in total darkness. That didn’t bode well. And even if the elevator was working, what was the point in dragging Kimmy all the way up there? Especially just to find Pinky wasn’t even home.

  She checked the street front and back, then turned to Kimmy.

  “I need to go upstairs and see my friend Pinky, okay? You remember her?”

  Kimmy tensed up, threatening to pitch another fit, so Laney added, “Okay, that’s fine. You don’t have to see her. I just have to ask her if she knows where Wendy lives, and then I’ll be right out again. It won’t take more than a minute. So I need you to stay here while I do that. Is that okay?”

  Kimmy said nothing—just scowled at her with her mouth bunched in a knot.

  Laney yanked the keys from the ignition. “Yeah, well, I don’t have much of a choice right now. By the time I got you out of the car and across the street, I coulda got up there and back again. Now, I won’t be long. I’ll just be upstairs there a minute,” she said, pointing. “Then we’ll go find Wendy.”

  Ignoring the reproachful scowl on her sister’s face, Laney got out and locked the car door. A quick tap on the window to get Kimmy’s attention. Then with a reassuring smile, a quick wave, she ducked her head against the rain, and stuck her hands in her pockets. As soon as there was a break in the traffic, Laney shrugged her shoulders against the weather and hurried straight across to the street level entrance, where she pushed her way into the narrow ground-floor lobby to find the elevator out of order.

  “See?” she said, flipping a hand at the tape across the doors, as if Kimmy could hear her. “Out of order. What did I tell you?”

  Laney knew this neighborhood. It wasn’t the kind of place you hung around on your own. Stick around on the street for any length of time, chances were good you’d wind up losing a kidney. Or get shot. Maybe both. So, after taking a second to check that she could still see Kimmy sitting there in the car out front, she pulled open the door leading to the stairs and hurried up to the third-floor landing.

  Panting after the exertion of climbing the stairs, she peered through the grimy glass panel in the third-floor door. No one in sight. So she pushed the door open and stepped through. Overhead, the flickering lights showed the dingy hallway carpeting, scuffed by years of use, and sickly green paint on the walls, graffiti scrawled along its length. Checking the hallway back and forth, she hurried in the direction of apartment 3F where Pinky lived, counting off the battered apartment doors as she went. When she got to Pinky’s place, she paused, checked the hallway again, then knocked.

  When there was no response, she put her ear to the door. No sound from inside. So she tried the handle. It turned. Cautiously, she pushed the door open and peeked inside. Flashes from the TV lit up the room like a mini indoor storm.

  “Anyone there? Pinky, you home?”

  There was a leap of movement from the sofa and Pinky jumped up, headphones clamped over her ears, straight black hair with a shock of pink bangs over her eyes, hand on her heart.

  “Holy shit,” she said, leaping up and ripping the headphones off. “You scared the crap outta me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Laney motioned back. “The door was open.”

  “Oh man, that lock sucks.” Pinky pushed past Laney and went straight to the door. After peering out, she closed it, slamming her shoulder into it until it clicked.

  “Jeez, you could have given me a heart attack sneaking in like that.” She ambled back to the sofa, flopped down again, and pointed the remote at the TV to pause the movie. “I only heard you because the last zombie just got wasted.”

  “I’m sorry,” Laney said, wandering over, nodding around and wondering why she herself had been living in squalor for so long. “Nice place.”

  While dingy, the apartment was tidy. A coffee table showing ring stains on the surface sat perched in front of a worn sofa over which a crocheted throw had been carefully laid. The TV she’d been watching was angled into the corner, an overflowing magazine rack next to it. Pinky was no angel, but she’d obviously made the effort to put down some roots, make the place into a home. Which was more than could be said for Jody.

  Pinky drew her feet up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “So, what are you doing here? I didn’t know you got out yet.”

  Laney jammed her hands in her pockets. “Yeah, a few weeks back.”

  “Huh, nobody told me.” It came out like an accusation. Like Laney should have looked her up the minute she got out. “So, where are you living now?”

  “Ah, I ended up staying with Jody over on East 86th. Place is a dump. Then Jody ran out on me. Left me with six weeks rent owing.”

  Pinky rocked forward and chuckled. “Holy shit. You shoulda known not to trust her. Not after she stole Valerie Spackmire’s Fitbit that time, and tried to blame Julie Hester.”

  Laney couldn’t help but smile at the memory. She could still see the prison officer holding the Fitbit up and Jody pointing directly to Julie—not a word said. “Yeah, I shoulda known. Julie bounced her off every wall of her cell two nights later. Ended up with a busted nose and five stitches across her eyebrow.”

  “She’ll never have to pluck that eyebrow again, huh?” Pinky chuckled. “Julie’s motto was: ‘If you can’t fight clean, fight dirty. Go straight for the eyes.’”

  “Yep.” Laney grinned wider, then looked away and drew a breath. She let the grin drop and t
urned back, serious now. “Listen, I’m just wondering if you know where that Wendy chick lives? You know, the one from Sunny Springs.”

  “You mean the one that looked after Kimmy? The foreign one?”

  “She was foreign?”

  “Oh, yeah, you never got to meet her, did you?”

  “Wendy worked the day shift. Only time I got to see Kimmy was at night. That’s if they let me see her.”

  “Well, after that shit you pulled, are you surprised?”

  “Jeez, I took Kimmy out for one day. Got back at six. You’da thought I’d murdered someone.”

  Pinky sniggered. “You shoulda seen David Whitcliff’s face. Man, he was pissed.”

  “Yeah, I got that, too. So,” said Laney, directing the conversation back to where she’d started. “What do you know about this Wendy chick?”

  Pinky raised one shoulder. “She was nice…well, way nicer than most of them there. Oh, and hey,” she said, wiggling excitedly in her seat and patting the spot on the sofa next to her. “Did you hear who else is working there?”

  Laney remained standing. “No. Who?”

  “Kiddy Leishman—you know Kiddy? She was in B-block. Well, guess what: she’s the cleaner over there now. How about that?”

  Laney’s head jerked forward and her mouth dropped open. “Kiddy Leishman works there now? What the hell is wrong with those people? They want a whole staff of ex-cons?”

  “Don’t knock it,” Pinky said, sounding a little offended. “We’re cheap. We do a good job.” When she noticed Laney’s eyebrows go up, she added, “Okay, so sometimes we’re not so honest. But we’re cheap. What do they expect?”

  “No wonder the place sucks,” Laney muttered.

  “So anyway, like I was saying, Kiddy calls me up, tells me some fancy guy drives in in a totally cool car, and asks for Wendy.”

  Laney frowned, a little confused now. “He asked Kiddy?”

  Pinky rolled her eyes. “No, she got this from Dorothy, the old lady who does the afternoon shift. So anyway, she told Kiddy—who told me—that this guy is, like, sex on a plate. Like he’s got this tight little butt you could totally…”

  “Hold on. Does this guy have anything to do with where Wendy is?”

  “Keep your pants on, I’m getting to it. So anyway, this guy’s wearing an Armani suit and expensive Italian shoes—’cause Dorothy knows about this shit, ’cause she used to work in some fancy menswear store, right? And he’s got, like, this little yellow diamond ring on his pinky finger that must be worth, like, some serious moolah. So, anyway, he comes in and asks Dorothy—he says, ‘Excuse me,’ in this voice that’s like, sexy as shit, and he says, ‘Can you point me to where a lady named Wendy is?’” Pinky’s eyebrows went up as she gave a deep nod, ensuring Laney was following the story. “Right?”

  “Yeah, so then what happened?”

  Pinky shrugged deeply. “He went and got her and she left with him.”

  “Who?”

  “Geez, keep up, will you? Wendy. Who else am I talking about? She left with Mr. Armani, right? So, anyway, Dorothy—that’s the old lady—she said she didn’t look too happy about it—Wendy, that is. She looked like she was going to cry. But Mr. Armani told Velma—”

  “—that sour-faced bitch,” Laney put in.

  “Oh man, isn’t she, though? When she accused me of stealin’ stuff, I said, ‘You know what, lady?’ I said—”

  Laney could see this going right off on a tangent. Suddenly aware she’d left Kimmy in the car way longer than she’d intended, she cut Pinky off, saying, “So, where’d he take her? This Armani suit, diamond-ring guy—where’d he take Wendy?”

  Pinky looked a little crestfallen that the gossip session had ended so abruptly.

  “Oh. She didn’t say. Just said she was going back to her old job.”

  Laney huffed. “So, you don’t know where she lives?”

  A deep shrug. “If I did, I woulda told you, wouldn’t I?”

  Downstairs Laney exited the side door of the building and waited to cross the street. However, as she stepped out, she squinted through the rain to find the car was in darkness—no silhouette of Kimmy sitting in the front. Ignoring the traffic, she raced across without even looking, and circled around the back of the car. The passenger’s door stood open, no sign of Kimmy.

  Laney checked the front, the back, even the trunk. Nothing. She stood on the sidewalk in the pouring rain with her mouth agape and her heart pounding, searching the empty street.

  “Oh, Kimmy, where the hell have you gone?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DAY ONE—9:54 PM—LANEY

  Laney ran down the street splashing through puddles, searching alleyways and side streets, frozen rain lashing at her face and blurring her vision. Rivulets of water snaked over her scalp forming trails that dripped down her cheeks and off her chin. Laney barely noticed. There was no sign of Kimmy.

  Two blocks from the car, panic flared hot in her chest. Surely Kimmy couldn’t have come this far. So she turned, retracing her steps and heading off in the opposite direction, hands cupped to her mouth, screaming over the passing traffic that splashed by.

  “Kimmy!”

  On the edge of despair now, she stopped in the middle of an empty side street, turned full circle, and shouted again. Down here all she could hear was the distant hum of traffic and the sound of her own voice echoing off the abandoned buildings, boarded-up windows, and crumbling entranceways that surrounded her. Dread tightened in her throat.

  How far could she have gotten? What if she’d wandered off down one of the streets Laney hadn’t checked?

  But which one?

  What if she never found her? What if someone else did…?

  No, she couldn’t let herself even think that.

  In desperation, she crossed into a joining street. Right at the very end, she spotted a distant light and heard the thump of music. If Kimmy had come this far, maybe she’d seen the lights. Maybe she’d been lured by the music.

  Laney’s heart rate kicked up a notch. Hope and fear bloomed simultaneously as she trotted down towards it, determinedly ignoring the worsening condition of the neighboring buildings. This wasn’t a part of town to get lost in at any time of day. For someone with Kimmy’s challenges, it was a death wish.

  When she got to the place, she stood back, looking it over. Four beaten-up cars were parked in front, two across the street. The place was two stories high, front windows replaced by sheets of graffiti-strewn plywood, the entrance spray-painted with the words No Entrance and a swastika.

  Laney hesitated. The adrenaline coursing in her veins told her to run. Every nerve screamed that she was walking into a death trap.

  But if Kimmy was in there, what choice did she have? So she stepped across the broken bottles and busted-up garbage bags lined up at the front door, wiped her hands on her jeans, and with her upper teeth sunk into her lower lip, she knocked. Inside the music was so loud she figured no one would have heard. So she pounded on the door with the side of her fist and kept pounding until the door opened.

  The guy looked in his late twenties, thickset, neck like a bulldog, tattoos up and down his arms. Behind him, lights flashed and raucous laughter and hoots filled the room.

  “What do you want?” he yelled over the music.

  “I’m looking for my sister. She’s about my height, mousy brown hair, gray sweat pants, and a sweater with a kitten motif on it. You know if she came by here?”

  He stepped outside and closed the door, shutting the noise inside while he inspected the deserted street.

  “How old is she?”

  “She’s eighteen.” Laney folded her arms and kept her distance, wondering just how much she should tell him. Wondering if she’d made a mistake coming here. “She’s disabled,” she said. But seeing the dubious look on his face, she tipped her head in concession, adding, “Well, not physically disabled. Obviously.”

  “And she came this way?”

  She turned to follow his g
aze up the street. “I don’t know. I left her in the car just for a second and when I got back she was gone.”

  “Why did you leave her in the car?” The tone was one of bewilderment coupled with blame.

  Breaking eye contact, Laney hugged herself a little tighter, cursing herself and wondering the same thing.

  “I just need to find her. You didn’t see her, that’s fine.”

  He hesitated a second, then shrugged. “I didn’t see anyone. Hope you find her soon.”

  But what if he was lying? What if they had seen her?

  As he turned back for the door, she called, “You sure she didn’t come by here? Maybe come inside?”

  For a second she thought he was going to come back, maybe hit her. She took a step back, waiting. But he glared at her a second, then opened the door, and yelled, “Hey! Turn the music down.” Twice he yelled for the music to be turned down, and when it died, he called, “Anyone seen a disabled girl, maybe five feet three, mousy hair? Long or short?” he asked Laney.

  “Um, cut in a bob. To her shoulders. And she’s wearing sweats,” she called over his shoulder.

  A general mumble came back, then a guy with dreadlocks and the glassy-eyed look of a long-time drug user came to the door. “I seen a girl. About ten minutes ago. Walking that way.” He pointed. “I asked her if she wanted to come party, but she said something about some chick and just kept walking.”

  “Wendy?”

  A salacious grin widened on his mouth. He leaned against the door and looked her up and down. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Which way did she go?”

  “You wanna come in? Have some fun?” He jerked his head back, indicating the noise behind him.

  “Yeah, maybe another time,” she said in a deadpan tone. “So, which way did she go?”

  He pointed, snorting like she’d made a bad choice.