The old lady didn’t respond, and acted like she hadn’t even understood her words.
Marcy said, “I thought they called them ‘One-Armed Bandits.’” She sighed in frustration as another scene from her Las Vegas movie was erased.
Sitting forward for a closer look at the machine, she was startled when the old woman suddenly leaned in at her side. With a fragile, crooked finger, she pointed at buttons in front of Marcy. She mumbled something completely incoherent and pointed at more buttons, but Marcy was too distracted by Jackie’s arrival to pay attention. She scrambled down off her stool and, using pantomime, motioned for the woman to take her seat.
Returning to the head of the aisle, she peeked out to the lobby again and was surprised to see Jackie departing through the front door. Why was she leaving so soon, and where was she going? Marcy wanted to run after her, maybe follow her into the night, but before she could make a move, she heard her machine go crazy.
Looking behind her, Marcy saw a miniature light show going off in her aisle. The machine whistled and clanged. Her first thought was that somehow she’d broken it. With a frown, Marcy took a step down the aisle toward it, but then abruptly turned around and made a dash for the lobby.
At the door, she spotted a charter bus parked at the curb. Along the side of it she read the name of another casino outside of town, a much larger establishment than this one, with a hotel and restaurants attached as well as a theater for live entertainment. She watched as Jackie climbed the steps and disappeared into the bus.
Marcy ran back inside. People looked at her as she hustled through the casino to her aisle. When she rounded the corner, however, she stopped in her tracks. The light show still exploded across the far end of the aisle. The old woman had taken Marcy’s seat, and the machine in front of her buzzed and clanged like a New Year’s Eve noisemaker. Whistles shrieked and bells rang. Strangers ran into the aisle, attracted by the noise, so Marcy eased her way forward with them. People were laughing and cheering, patting the old woman on the back, oblivious to the fact that this was Marcy’s machine. After all, to the best of her knowledge, no one had actually seen her sitting there.
Marcy wormed her way up the aisle to stand beside the woman’s stool. She wondered if the machine had short-circuited or something, but then the woman turned to look at her. The lifeless expression had been transformed into one of joy and good humor, causing Marcy to finally realize what had happened. The woman started to climb down off the stool, but Marcy put a hand out to stop her. “Please,” she said, pointing at the machine. “It’s yours.”
The woman broke into a laugh and suddenly reached over to pull Marcy into a hug. “Oh!” Marcy exclaimed, surprised by this sudden act of affection. But then a security person was there, the very same guard who’d escorted her down the stairs. His attention, however, like everyone else’s, was focused on the machine, waiting to see how much it would pay out. Marcy pulled back into the crowd of onlookers. She struggled against the flow of curious well-wishers to make her way to the end of the aisle.
When she finally returned to the lobby, she paused at the spot where Jackie had stood. On the wall was a schedule for bus departures to the neighboring casino. Now it started to make sense. Of course Jackie wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out in a place like this. Or, perhaps it was true that she did have some gambling debts, like rumor suggested, and her credit here had been cut off. Either way, she had a free ride to a bigger, classier place down the road. To Marcy’s way of thinking, a place probably much more suited to Jackie’s style.
She had no more use for this smoky, noisy, depressing place. The one thing she remembered the man in the camouflage cap saying was that even on a good day the nickel slot machines didn’t pay out much. The old woman could have it; coaxing a smile out of that wrinkled old face was good enough for Marcy.
She offered a sweet smile to the doorman as she left. Outside, the temperature was dropping under the darkening sky over the harbor. She gulped fresh air while shaking off the creepy claustrophobia of the casino. Even the acrid aroma of the paper mill over the ridge in Cloquet, wafting down to the waterfront, was a delight to her deprived senses. With her mood quickly rebounding, Marcy dropped a few quarters into the outstretched fingers of a panhandler squatting against the building, then quickened her pace at the stoplight to cross the street. The warmer, friendlier lights of Canal Park were just a few blocks ahead.
Marcy strode down the hill toward the harbor, thinking back over her bizarre adventure. At least the man with the camouflage cap was gone. She felt a little bad about that, about how he’d stood up for her and she hadn’t bothered to go outside to see if he was okay. But then, he had the look of someone familiar with the harder side of life, and she decided he’d probably be just fine.
All in all, Marcy figured she hadn’t learned much of anything that would be of help to Abby, although she’d certainly learned something about Jackie. She held herself tightly against the enclosing chill, almost jogging now, putting the dark gray stone buildings of downtown behind her. She felt exhilarated, and burst into laughter at the memory of her beginner’s luck. It would be fun to tell Owen and Red about it when she returned to work in the café. She still couldn’t believe how much noise that machine had made, and on her very first try, no less! So engrossed was she in her thoughts, and so glad to be putting the whole escapade behind her, Marcy didn’t notice when a shadow slipped out from a darkened office doorway. She wasn’t aware of it trailing along beside her, either, just across the street.
FOURTEEN
Abby Simon
Randall never did come home that evening. When Abby and Jackie returned to work after lunch, he was still busy in the office, and Abby couldn’t help but notice his secretive behavior as he tended to his paperwork. The office door remained shut, further piquing her curiosity. Earlier, when she’d made her surprise appearance, she’d managed only a brief glimpse into the room because Jackie happened to be blocking most of the doorway. Now Abby learned that the room was virtually soundproof, and with no windows and just the one solid steel door, absolutely impregnable. The absurd notion that the office would make an ideal holding cell immediately wormed its way into her imagination, to the extent that it created an obsession of sorts for her get inside.
While Abby’s admittance had been stymied, Jackie entered the office several times to talk to Randall. After the first of these meetings, the change in her mother’s behavior had been obvious. Jackie chattered nonstop as she bustled about the gallery. She joked and laughed with enthusiasm, using outrageous, dramatic hand gestures while describing the artwork on the walls. Something had happened, Abby was sure of it, and the answer was in that rock-walled fortress of an office.
Dinner that evening was Chinese take-out they picked up on their walk home. Randall had finally left the gallery late in the afternoon, but the office door was locked tight when Abby quietly gave it a try. When he didn’t show up for dinner, Jackie observed, “He does this all the time. He has his business buddies, you know. I think it’s just an excuse to hit a few happy hours. Suits me just fine.”
Her mother’s inane chattering kept up while they ate, until Jackie suddenly looked at her watch, stood up, and said, “I have to go out for a while.”
“What do you mean? I just got here. I thought we were going to hang out.”
Jackie whisked a stack of take-out containers to the refrigerator. “Tomorrow, honey. We’ll work the gallery together, then we’ll do something fun tomorrow night.”
Abby looked around the uncluttered, ultra-modern apartment. She didn’t even see a TV. She hadn’t wanted to be here in the first place, and now she was going to be left alone? Finding clues about her brother’s whereabouts had been the motivation for coming to the city, but now she was being deserted by the two people she suspected might know something about Ben’s disappearance. Besides, she thought, getting angry again, she wasn’t even done with their conversation from earlier in the day at Sir Reginald’s.
Jackie found her daughter in the mirror and said, “Not tonight, honey. You’ve had a long day. I really need to make this appointment.”
Abby watched her mother’s fingers shake as she prepared to leave. She couldn’t hold her daughter’s gaze in the mirror, either. She watched as Jackie leaned toward the mirror for a closer inspection of her face, then stood back and straightened her coat. With a critical eye still on the mirror, she said, “Just relax tonight, sweetheart. Tomorrow will be a busy day. It’ll be just you and me, with the whole city out there waiting for us.”
Abby grappled with her anger. She knew her mother was lying, or at the very least holding something back. Without considering her words, she blurted, “What happened at the gallery today?”
Jackie’s departure plans were temporarily interrupted. When she finally looked at her daughter, neither one of them could muster up a smile. “What do you mean?”
Abby shrugged. “Something happened. After lunch, when you talked to Randall, all of a sudden you were all happy and stuff. Like you got some good news.” Jackie stared at her daughter, but concern now furled her brow. Abby realized her shot in the dark had hit something. “I thought maybe you’d heard something about Ben.”
Jackie’s expression softened. She crossed the room and took both of Abby’s hands in hers. “My dear little girl,” she cooed. “Is there anyone in the whole wide world as loyal and faithful as you?” She led Abby to the couch where they sat together, close upon each other, the young girl sitting up as straight and tall as her mother. “Abby, you have to give this a rest. We discussed it earlier. It will only lead to more heartache.”
Abby shook her head. “He’s my brother, Mom. How can you ask me to let it go?” She saw no reason to confess that she felt responsible for Ben’s disappearance.
“But Abby, there are good people working on this, people who know more about this stuff than we do. They’re experts, trained to solve these kinds of things. We have to leave it to them to bring Ben home safe. Otherwise, who knows, you might just get in the way and make it worse.”
For the first time Abby had the feeling her mother was telling the truth, or at least not out-and-out lying, so she asked, “Well then, if there isn’t news about Ben, what happened today that made you so happy?”
Jackie slapped her daughter on the knee and stood up. “Well, nothing really that will mean much to you, but the Bengston estate has been settled. Randall officially inherited everything, including the bait shop property.” She walked back across the room to study herself again in the entryway mirror. “You know he never felt any attachment to that old place.” She looked at Abby, still sitting on the couch. “So he already sold it, signed over the papers today. Now we’ll be able to do some really big things with the gallery.”
Abby felt small tucked into the corner of the sofa, like a little girl again, with big people saying things that she didn’t really understand. It had only been a matter of weeks. She wasn’t even used to the idea of Rosie being gone. Now the bait shop was going, too? “Who’s buying it?” she asked. “Will it still be a bait shop?”
“Oh, dear, no,” Jackie said, laughing. “No one could make a living selling bait there. Not even Rosie. They’ll tear down those old buildings and haul all that garbage away. It’s a beautiful piece of shoreline, though.”
“I know. But it won’t be the same without ‘Rosie’s Bait.’”
Jackie turned to reach for the door. “Oh,” she said, looking back again. “There’s a TV in the den, and some movies, too, I think.” She noticed Abby’s glum scowl. “Hey, sweetheart, I know how difficult all these changes can be. But just think how beautiful Rose’s place will be when they get the luxury condominiums put up. I think they even plan to build a marina where Henry’s old breakwater used to be.” She offered Abby the warmest smile she could manage while still avoiding her gaze. She opened the door. “Get some rest, Abby. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”
Abby continued to slouch on the sofa after her mother left. She didn’t believe any of that crap about having a meeting tonight. The idea to follow her mother crossed her mind, but she still couldn’t believe Jackie had taken an active role in Ben’s disappearance. She probably had an idea of what was going on, and Abby still firmly believed her mother knew that Ben was okay, but she couldn’t imagine Jackie actually kidnapping and hiding her own son. Besides, her mother was right, it had been a long day, and she was tired.
Without much enthusiasm, she finished clearing the dinner table and ran water to rinse the dishes. Then she spotted the ring of keys on the kitchen counter. She knew those keys. She’d seen them today in The Tempest when her mother had used them to lock up the gallery. Abby stacked the plates and glasses in the dishwasher, but her gaze kept slipping over to the key ring, three or four keys bound together on a metal hoop. Her heart fluttered when she realized one of those keys would probably open the fortress of an office she’d been unable to enter.
The cleanup went much faster after that. She told herself it would only take a few minutes to run down to The Tempest, use the keys to get inside, check out the office, and run back. She’d be home long before her mother, and she’d rid herself of the nagging mystery of that locked room. She quickly finished straightening up, pulled her hooded sweatshirt over her head, and fitted her Minnesota Twins cap over her braid. Then, just twenty minutes after Jackie left, Abby slipped out the door to join the early evening pedestrian traffic on Superior Street.
• • • • •
Because of the height of the ridge running behind Duluth, darkness fell quickly over the harbor when the sun set. A chill in the air moved Abby briskly along the sidewalk. Shops on both sides of the street were open, so many that she was overwhelmed by the amount of lights and people and commotion. All the shops and businesses in Black Otter Bay wouldn’t cover a single half-block here in Duluth. The tail end of rush hour traffic still clogged the street. Abby dodged away from the curb when a large charter bus, bearing the name of a popular casino south of town, accelerated past.
She turned downhill toward the harbor and Canal Park. Abby found all the activity startling and unfamiliar, in some ways even unnerving, because it was impossible to keep track of everything going on around her. Cars honked, a truck climbing the hill roared through the gears, and foot traffic scurried past in both directions. A man suddenly appeared out of a darkened doorway. He approached, staggering and careening too close. Abby jumped aside in time to avoid contact with the vomit discoloring the front of his jacket. She lurched into a jog then, down the hill to the tangled mass of freeway overpasses shunting traffic around the heart of downtown. The puzzling network of ponderous slabs of concrete, as well as the megalithic stone and brick buildings of the city swirled overhead, and it was then that she realized her mother had been wrong: the city really did block out the stars. In the woods, when the mysteries of the night awoke, her father had taught her to count on the cheerful guidance of moon and stars to find her way. Their presence on a dark night would calm and reassure her, in much the same way that their absence from the city skyline added to her unease.
Still jogging, she left the noise and confusion of the freeway behind and entered Canal Park, a well-lit, friendlier section of the port city. She slowed to a walk here to match the casual pace of window shoppers out for an evening stroll. Some of the stores were closed, but the ones that were still open, as well as all the restaurants and bars, were abuzz with customers. On the corner she passed the mellow glow of the neighborhood coffee shop, its clientele logged into their laptops or thoroughly engrossed in conversation. Next came Camille’s bookstore, which had just closed for the day, and then she was at The Tempest. A few lights inside threw haunting shadows ac
ross the artwork. She spotted the little red light on the security system winking its one-eyed glow of surveillance. With the alarm system activated, she knew that no one was inside. Abby took a deep breath to collect herself, then continued walking past the gallery and turned into an alleyway cutting through the block.
It was even darker here in the narrow passage between tall brick buildings. Her tennis shoe–clad footsteps emitted a scuffling echo on the sand-covered concrete alley. Abby was grateful for the covering darkness, but the unfamiliar noises and chaotic nightlife jangled her nerves. How was it, she wondered, that she could walk for miles alone through the woods at night without a thought for her safety, but a few blocks in the heart of the city scared the devil out of her? She turned at the end of the alley, where it emptied into the parking lot in the middle of the block, and a few more steps brought her to the back door of The Tempest.
She climbed a couple of open-mesh iron stair treads and turned around on the landing to peer down the length of the block of businesses. While the storefronts were well-kept and painted in vibrant colors, here in back everything was dark and dingy. The parking lot was a potholed gravel bed with no markings, but more than a few mud puddles. Cars were parked in a haphazard manner, sharing space with storage sheds, electric power lines, and overflowing dumpsters. From across the way Abby heard the amplified sound of a rock and roll band, and voices and laughter filtered through to her between guitar riffs. It was well lit over there, too, which made it seem even darker on this side of the block. The row of back doors was quiet and hidden away in the shadows, and a sense of mystery or suspense seemed to hang in the cooling night air. Then she heard footsteps down the alleyway behind her.
Abby pulled the key ring from her pocket. Her heart was racing, but it was her fingers that caused her problems. They were frozen by the surge of adrenaline, and shook like lifeless twigs. She had no idea which key opened the door, so she jabbed blindly at the deadbolt with the first key her fingers managed to manipulate. The footsteps were running now, nearing the corner. Desperate, Abby turned the key upside down and tried again, but her fingers were useless in the dark. As the footsteps rounded the rear corner of The Tempest, she backed herself into a dark shadow on the door and stood completely still.
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