No Gun Intended

by Zoe Burke

  Scranton told us that Phillip asked him to get the gun so that his daughter wouldn’t get it.

  “How did he know Claudia was getting a gun?” Mickey asked.

  “Somehow he hacks her phone account. Reads her texts.”

  “Why you?” Mickey continued.

  “Phil found out about the drop before it was going to happen. He was in Miami. He knew I was due in Portland. He booked a flight for me so that I’d land at the airport at the right time. Actually, Phil made sure it would be the right time. Texted Ricky, as Claudia, to have the backpack ready for pick up when my flight landed, which was earlier than what Claudia had previously arranged. So by the time she got to the airport, I would have gotten the gun.”

  My opinion of Phillip Bigelow had not improved. What sort of creeptard father hacks his kid’s phone?

  “Why did Claudia shoot you?”

  Scranton shook his head. “She didn’t. Nancy did.”

  I twirled around in my seat. “Nancy had the gun?”

  He nodded.

  “Claudia had it when I ran.”

  “I came up on them after that. Nancy had it.” He paused. “She told me to leave them alone. I told her to put the gun down. She shot me.”

  Mickey sat back in the seat. “Aren’t you an accountant? What is all this? Why didn’t you just let this go, once you didn’t have the backpack? You’ve been stalking us ever since.”

  “And how did you know I had the gun?” I added.

  “The cricket.”

  “What cricket?” Mickey asked, exasperated.

  “The silver charm on Annabelle’s backpack. I noticed it on the plane. After you and your folks left the airport, I realized the backpack I was to retrieve wasn’t there. I waited around, thinking Ricky was late in the delivery. Then I saw Claudia come in and grab a backpack that was close to the drop-off point. When she took it, I saw the cricket. I put two and two together.” He rubbed his arm. “Phil called me on Tuesday morning, told me Claudia had been mugged. He didn’t know then that the police had the gun. I told him I’d find you, to see if you had it. He didn’t want it connected to his daughter in any way. I remembered what your mother said about where you lived. I was driving on your street on Tuesday when I saw you driving the other way. I followed you but lost you in the Pearl. Eventually I found you, and then, well, I got hit by that car.” He took a deep breath. “After that, I couldn’t get in touch with Phil, so I kept trying to meet up with you.”

  “He left his phone in Miami when he came to Portland, that’s why,” I explained. “How and why did you follow us to Blue Lake?” I added.

  “I finally located Phil. Called around to the hotels.”

  “Doesn’t he have an office? An assistant? You could have contacted him that way?”

  “Not supposed to. He’s strict about that and wants me to contact him only on his cell.”

  We all digested this for a moment before Scranton continued.

  “I was worried about the whole situation. I went to see Claudia in the hospital on Friday. I stayed only a couple of minutes after a nurse asked me who I was. I still couldn’t reach Phil. So by Sunday evening I decided to try to see him. Thought I’d call him from the lobby. I came up right when you were pulling out.”

  “Again,” Mickey said, “why stay involved?”

  “I owe Phillip.”

  “How? Why?”

  “We’ve done, uh, business together a long time.”

  This was reason for another digestive pause. I decided I didn’t want to know any more about Phillip Bigelow’s accounting practices.

  Luis was getting off Highway 84 at the Forty-third Street exit. We were heading to Providence Hospital. “The señora told us she had never heard of you.”

  “She is probably telling the truth. She and Claudia have never met me. I bet Phil doesn’t talk to them about finances…” He trailed off.

  Mickey reached up to squeeze my shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Just wondering where the gun came from, the one Claudia has now. Or Nancy. Or whoever.”

  Luis pulled into the emergency room lot, where Dawson and Monroe were waiting for us. We all walked Scranton inside, and a nurse led him to a seat. Dawson regarded Mickey. “You want to do this now or later?”

  “Nice of you to ask. I appreciate that. If we could reconvene in the morning, that would be best. I think Annabelle here could use a hot bath and some food.” He put his arm around me. “But you’ve got the info on the Honda, right? With Claudia and Nancy Bigelow? They’ve got a gun, and we’re not sure why.”

  Dawson nodded. “We’ve got an APB out. We’ll question Scranton tonight. You folks are staying in town, yes?”

  The three of us answered “yes” in unison.

  “Good. At the station, nine o’clock?”

  “Thanks.” Mickey held out his hand, and Dawson shook it. Monroe was on his phone and gave a little wave as we left.

  On the way out of the hospital, I stopped. “Luis! Oh, no! You were going to fly home tonight!”

  Luis smiled. “It is okay, amiga. I would not leave before knowing that you and your family are okay. I think this is some kind of record, no?”

  “What?”

  “You’ve been kidnapped twice in a week!”

  That’s when my knees buckled and Mickey caught me before I hit the ground. He helped me to the car, and we went home to Mom and Dad’s.

  Dusty greeted us buoyantly, Mom hugged me hard and told me I looked like shit, Dad poured me a drink, and Mickey stayed right by my side, like we were Siamese twins.

  Luis called Ruby. I heard him say, “Te encantará Annabelle.”

  I whispered to Mickey. “She will encounter me?”

  He kissed my cheek. “I don’t know.”

  I looked it up later. It meant, “You’ll love Annabelle.”

  Luis. What a guy. All I ever did was get him into trouble, and he figured his wife would love me.

  I could only imagine that either Ruby was a pistol, or that Luis didn’t know his wife very well.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  I woke up Monday morning and the first thing I thought of was Bonkers. I had been gone a whole week, and I missed my kitty perching on top of my chest and nose-butting me. Mickey was still asleep, snoring softly, which was not a satisfactory substitute for Bonkers’ purrs.

  I sat up and found my phone on the bedside table. I texted Vicki, although I knew that Mickey had already told her we didn’t know when we’d be back.

  “Hi, Vicki. How’s the Bonks?” I typed.

  I waited, staring at the screen until it dinged.

  A picture of Bonkers, sound asleep on Vicki’s bed, popped up with a message. “No worries! Eating well, playing with mouse toys, sleeping a lot.”

  This made me feel better, then made me a little upset. Bonks didn’t seem to be missing me at all.

  I poked Mickey. “Hey.”

  He jolted awake, alarmed. “What? Huh? You okay?”

  “Jeez, Mickey, I’m just waking you up. It’s late.” I had no idea what time it was, but it felt late.

  Mickey picked up his watch from the other bedside table. “Annabelle, it’s six o’clock. Jeez yourself.” He lay back down and pulled the covers to his chin. “Go to sleep.”

  “Can’t do that. Bonkers isn’t here and Bonkers doesn’t miss me.”

  He coughed. “Bonkers is fine. Vicki said so yesterday.”

  “I know. She just sent me a picture.” I held my phone in front of his face. “Look.”

  He opened his eyes. “Looks like Bonkers.”

  “Exactly. I have to go home before he forgets who I am.”

  Mickey rolled away from me. “I don’t think we can go home until Dawson and Monroe are satisfied that we aren’t central to their investigation. And besides, don’t you want to mak
e sure that Claudia is okay?” He yawned.

  “Claudia Schmaudia. She held a gun on me. I think she’s wacko. This vacation has not been a vacation at all.”

  “Good reason to stay a couple of days longer, right? To have some relaxed time with the ’rents before we leave?”

  I snuggled up behind him, spooning, and reached my arm across him so that the picture of Bonkers was in front of his face again. “You can resist this perfect kitty?”

  He groaned and took my phone. “Absolutely.” He put the phone down and then rolled over toward me. “Are you trying to tell me that you need your cat more than you need me?”

  We kissed, and then kissed some more, a lot more, and then Mickey pulled me on top of him, and, well, after a little while, I decided it was cool for my cat to have Vicki as a best friend. Sex with Mickey was better without Bonkers watching us from the end of the bed.

  A little later we had coffee and toast with Mom, Dad, and Luis, and then set off to the police station for our meeting with Dawson and Monroe.

  ***

  Dawson greeted us with handshakes. “Nancy Bigelow is here. She called her husband early this morning, asked him to pick her up at the airport. Apparently Claudia dropped her there and drove off.”

  “Phillip?” Mickey asked.

  “He’s here, too.”

  “What about Scranton?”

  “All three of them.”

  “Are they talking? Do they know where Claudia went?”

  Dawson shook his head. “No. They say that Claudia is troubled, bipolar or something.”

  “Where’s the gun?” I asked.

  “Apparently Claudia has it. Forced her mother out of the car with it. Pointed it at her and told her to walk away or she’d shoot.”

  I frowned. “But Nancy shot Scranton?”

  “Now he’s saying he’s not sure who shot him.”

  “You have still the APB out on the car?” Luis asked.

  Dawson nodded. “Yes, but no hits. Why don’t we all sit down over here and wrap this thing up?” He motioned to a room to our right, and we followed him in. It was an interrogation room. We sat in the chairs around the table in the middle.

  “I have some good news. We had another attack in the park. Well, that’s not good news, but we caught the guy. He confessed to the assault on Claudia. He was looking to rob her, but there was nothing worth his time in your backpack.”

  My silver cricket? How could a robber resist that? I thought.

  He smiled at me. “Plus, I think you and your folks showed up and he got scared and ran.”

  “So that had nothing to do with any of this?” I surmised.

  “Bingo. And,” he reached under the table, “here’s your backpack.” He handed it to me.

  “Thanks.” I put it on my lap and rubbed the silver cricket, like that would make me feel better.

  “I don’t see why you all have to stick around anymore,” Dawson continued.” Your story about the backpack at the airport and everything that has happened since, it all coincides with what the Bigelows have told us.”

  “What about this second gun, the one Claudia has now? Do we know where it came from?” I asked.

  “No. Phillip never saw Claudia with it, and Nancy says she wouldn’t know how to describe a gun accurately, except that it was a pistol. We know that Phillip owns a gun, but he hasn’t been home to see if it’s still there or not. We’ll be checking that out right away.”

  I sighed. “I wish we knew what was up with Claudia. Why did she take me with them last night? She knows I’ve just been trying to help. It’s so confusing. I hate to leave when everything still feels so unsettled.”

  “We’ll find Claudia, Annabelle. It won’t surprise me if we find her today, in fact.”

  “Would it be possible for us to talk to the Bigelows?”

  Mickey extended his hand across the table to me. “Babe, that’s not a good idea. We’ve done what we can for Claudia, and the detective is right. The police will locate the car and then all will be clear.”

  “I don’t want to walk away from this yet.”

  “What happened to ‘Claudia Schmaudia’? I thought you were ready to wash your hands of her and her problems.”

  “I’m pissed off, Mickey. I need answers. She reached out to me, twice, and then she abducted me. It makes no sense. Maybe she’s brainwashed or something…” I trailed off.

  “Amiga, what can you do at this point anyway?” Luis asked me, calmly.

  I didn’t have an answer.

  Dawson stood. “Thanks, folks. Have a safe trip home to New York. If we need you for anything, we know how to reach you.” Another round of handshakes, and we were gone.

  On our way out, however, I saw Nancy Bigelow down a hallway, and broke away from Mickey’s side to approach her. “Nancy!” I called.

  She stopped and turned. “Oh, it’s you!” She fidgeted with her purse. “I was just going to the ladies room.” I noticed a uniformed officer further down the hall, watching her, and now us.

  “Just wondering if you have anything you’d like to tell me, seeing as how we were all in a park last night with a gun, and, oh yeah, you and your daughter kidnapped me, remember?”

  I could hear Mickey approaching me, as I saw the policeman coming toward us from the other side.

  “Annabelle, let’s go,” Mickey urged quietly, his hand on my shoulder.

  “Claudia is not well, dear. And that’s the truth of the matter. I’m sorry for your distress.” Nancy pushed on the lavatory door and went in.

  I started to follow her, but Mickey held me back. “No, you’ll have that police officer charging in after you, and we’ll be here for another several hours. Let’s go, babe, this is all over.”

  I thought, It can’t be, not until I understand what the hell happened to Claudia.

  Mickey was firm in changing my direction to the street. We stood by the car, while Luis called the airline to make a plane reservation.

  “I could use some more coffee, maybe a mocha with whipped cream.” I scanned the street.

  “Let’s walk a bit. Settle ourselves. Find a café.” Mickey got Luis’ attention and we all started walking, Luis still on the phone.

  We turned a corner a couple of blocks up and saw a sign for Stumptown Coffee Roasters, which looked promising.

  But we didn’t get there.

  I stopped cold as a chilling thought hit me. That wasn’t Nancy’s purse. It was Claudia’s.

  I whirled around and ran back toward the police station with Mickey calling after me. I raced inside and into the ladies room, whirling around and bending over to look underneath the stall doors.

  Mickey charged in after me along with two policemen, followed by Luis. “Annabelle! What the hell?!” Mickey yelled.

  “Where is she?” I shouted.

  “Miss, you need to calm down,” advised one of the cops.

  “Claudia’s purse! She had Claudia’s purse!”

  Mickey thrust his arms straight out at me like he was going to stop me from talking or moving. “Babe, so what? What are you talking about?”

  I grabbed his arms. “Mickey, Claudia would not give her purse to her mother if she was making her get out of the car, pointing a gun at her.”

  “Maybe Nancy just took it when she got out of the car…”

  “No. You don’t try to steal someone’s purse when they’re pointing a gun at you. Something is all wrong here.”

  The policeman approached us. “I am asking you once more to calm down, and I need you to come with me out of this bathroom.”

  Then Dawson ran in and stopped, surveying us. “What’s the story?”

  Mickey held my eyes. “Let’s go back to the interview room and tell Dawson. It’s not too late to find out from Nancy Bigelow what she’s doing with that purse.”

 
Dawson squinted at me. “Purse? What purse?”

  “Claudia’s. She has Claudia’s purse.”

  “Well, fuck me.”

  Mickey jerked around toward him. “What.”

  “Nancy Bigelow. She just fainted, then came to and complained of nausea and sharp pains. She looked sick. She’s on her way to the hospital in a medical transport van.”

  Luis walked over to the big trash can in the corner of the bathroom and peered in. He reached in and lifted something out.

  Claudia’s purse.

  He handed it to Dawson, who opened it.

  “Fuck me again.”

  He pulled out a gun and held it daintily, like it was a handkerchief, between his thumb and first finger.

  “Holy moly, what is that?”

  “A Colt Mustang,” Mickey answered me.

  “You gotta be kidding me. Nano, Bobcat, Mustang? Are gun manufacturers having way too much fun?”

  Everyone ignored me.

  “We need to stop that van,” said Dawson. “You three, stay here. Sit down with Monroe and tell him about the purse.”

  “What’s to tell? You’re holding it right now!”

  Dawson hurried out the bathroom door. “Just sit tight, okay? I’ll ask Monroe to talk to you.

  We followed him out into the hallway.

  “We’re not going to sit tight, are we?”

  “Amiga, there is nothing we can do.”

  “We can find Claudia!”

  Mickey sighed like he was exasperated. “Annabelle, there is no way we can do that. She could be anywhere, and they’re looking for the Honda, and…”

  “But I think I know where she is!”

  Both of them stood with their arms folded. They looked like they were about to start a Blues Brothers routine. “Amiga, what do you mean?”

  “The park. She’s still at the park. I think Nancy left her there, and stashed the car at the airport.”

  “Why would Nancy hurt her daughter?”

  “Don’t you see, Mickey? It’s always been Nancy, not Phillip. Nancy wrote that note. The handwriting is so neat and practiced like a rich woman’s. The police didn’t find it in Claudia’s pocket when she was mugged. Nancy is the one Claudia wanted to shoot.”