by Alina Adams
"But how did she figure she'd be able to hide her pregnancy? It was one thing to ask you and Rachel to raise the baby, but weren't there nine months in between to take care of first?"
"She sent Robby away. After Rachel took off, Felicia convinced Robby that he shouldn't even try looking for another partner and risk another last-minute betrayal. It was an awful scene. Lucian Pryce practically choked her with his bare hands, he was so angry about losing his prize pupil. I gather it meant he'd be forced to sit out his first Olympics at home or something."
"Yes." Bex invoked her earlier conversation with the coach. "Like a regular person."
"Anyway, Lucian was livid, but Felicia held her ground. She convinced Robby that singles skating was where it was at for him. And she managed to get him a spot and funding to train with a top Soviet coach. For two years. In Russia."
"And away from a quickly ballooning her."
"Exactly."
"So Felicia had the baby somewhere in secret, and you and Rachel adopted him?"
"Not technically. Felicia just checked into the hospital using Rachel's ID. They looked alike enough so no one was ever the wiser. Jeremy's legal birth certificate lists Rachel Rose as his mother and Craig Hiroshi as his father. So there wouldn't even be a paper trail that could link him to Felicia, must less Robby."
"I don't think that's legal," Bex felt obligated to point out.
"Want to call a cop?"
"I tried that already." Bex sighed. "Didn't work too well."
Craig smiled rather triumphantly.
"By the way," she added, somewhat grudgingly. "Congratulations on your performance. You even had me convinced everything was fine and dandy."
"The minute I told you Jeremy was missing, I knew I'd made a major mistake. I was just so tired and so frustrated, and you were being such a pain in the ass…."
"One man's pain in the ass is another girl's brilliant research strategy, but go on."
"I knew I'd said too much, and I knew it was only a matter of time before you were back—and this time with the fellows in blue. I realized I had to pull myself together; not give you or them any ammunition to bring me in for questioning."
"You did a nice job. But, the fact is, I don't understand why you're so adamant against the police helping you. I mean, Jeremy may be with Felicia, but he is technically missing. She didn't ask you if she could take him anywhere, did she?"
"No," Craig reluctantly admitted.
"And you have no idea where they are, do you?"
"You know I don't."
"So Jeremy asking on the answering machine for you to send him his skates because you know what hotel they're going to—"
"I have no idea. Felicia must have lied to him. I think she'd have had to, to get him to go with her. She'd have had to tell him it was okay with me. Jeremy wouldn't have gone otherwise. He's a good kid. But he trusts Felicia, so if she told him it was okay with me..."
"Craig, that sounds to me like your son's been kidnapped. By someone you and he both know, sure, but kidnapped just the same."
"You don't understand. That word, kidnapped, it suggests... it suggests..." Craig insisted, "You don't know what kind of sacrifices Felicia has made to keep Jeremy safe. After he was born, she went back to Robby. Even though things between them weren't any better, she went back to him to make sure that he stayed focused on his skating and never got suspicious enough to ask any questions that might lead him to Jeremy. She kept him going until the Olympics. Afterward, she stayed with him even though he was just this loose cannon waiting to go off on someone, anyone. And who do you think that usually was? Who do you think bore the brunt of his rage after his skating career fell apart? I think Felicia would have stayed with Robby indefinitely to keep Jeremy safe. The only reason they even ended up in court was that one time, he beat her up so badly that she ended up falling unconscious in the hallway, and a neighbor called an ambulance. Once she was in the hospital, it all became a matter of public record, and the District Attorney decided to press charges. He convinced Felicia that Robby would be convicted and she finally went along, figuring Jeremy would be even safer if Robby was in jail. But, if that had never happened, they might still be together today. That's why I can't wrap my brain around Felicia kidnapping Jeremy. I don't understand why she would do that. I know she would never hurt him. So there must be a good reason for this. I can't just go running half-cocked to the police, Bex. I have to figure out what's going on here, first. I have to figure out why Felicia did this."
"Well," Bex said, because now they were at her favorite part of the game—coming up with theories based on what they already knew. "How about this for a possibility? Now, granted, I'm just talking out loud here, but, Craig, have you considered the fact that maybe Felicia killed Rachel so that she could get her son back?"
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“You’re insane," Craig said calmly.
"Why?"
"Because Felicia has no reason to…. She's been a part of Jeremy's life since the beginning. She sees him all the time. They talk on the phone. She takes him on trips, for God's sake."
"What did Jeremy call Rachel?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"What did Jeremy call Rachel? What did he call her?"
Craig shrugged. "Mom. He called her Mom. What was he supposed to call her?"
"And how did Aunt Felicia feel about that, day in and day out for thirteen years?"
Craig hesitated. He obviously saw her point. And he was just as obviously determined to dismiss it. "No. Felicia wasn't jealous of Rachel. She wasn't. You're wrong."
"Craig. Look at the facts. Rachel took Felicia's skating partner. She enchanted Felicia's husband. And she played Mommy to her son. You don't think that could make someone a little unstable? Especially someone who you say was as messed up as Felicia to begin with?"
"But all of those were Felicia's ideas! Rachel never took anything from her. Felicia begged us to raise Jeremy!"
"So where is Jeremy now, Craig?"
He leapt to his feet, starting to pace, the calm discussion of a few minutes earlier replaced by the desperately on-edge man Bex had dealt with all the days before. She couldn't help thinking, "And speaking of unstable people who had a reason to kill Rachel..." but temporarily shelved the impulse. The fact was, no matter who killed Rachel, Jeremy was in fact missing. And there was no hard and fast proof that killer and kidnapper were, in fact, the same person.
Craig snapped, "I asked you to help me find Jeremy. Rachel's killer had nothing to do with this."
"Okay, then," Bex snapped back, unhappy to have her tidy solutions questioned. "Then how about we try this theory on for size? You killed Rachel and Felicia knew it. So she kidnapped Jeremy to protect him from you, and now you're using me to track them both down?"
"Oh, God, are we back to that again?"
"You didn't like my other Felicia theory. Is this one more accurate?"
"Robby," Craig said, every last ounce of effort he had left seemingly going to pronouncing each syllable without screaming. "Robby Sharpton. How many times do I have to tell you that it was Robby who killed Rachel? There was no one else it could be."
"And how does Felicia taking Jeremy fit in?"
"It doesn't. It's probably not connected at all. It's probably..."
"What? What, Craig? Tell me, because I'm doing my best here based on what I know. You know more about this than I do. Fill me in. What?"
"I don't know," he said, quietly. "I don't know. I just want to find my son."
"Fine. Then stand back and watch a pro work." Bex rolled up her sleeves. Though she really wasn't sure why. It's not like she was about to shovel coal. Or finger-paint. Still, it felt like the right thing to do under the circumstances. She crossed over to Craig's answering machine and asked, "Has anyone called you since Jeremy left that message about needing his skates?"
"Not that I know of," Craig said. "I mean, they could have, but no one left a message."
"So, we'll take a chance." Bex
picked up the receiver and told Craig, "I am now going to show you the one research trick I always have up my sleeve." Ah! So, that's why she'd rolled up her sleeves! Boy, Bex's subconscious was metaphorically clever. How depressing to realize that it was more clever than she was.
"The *69 button," Bex said. "It should connect you to the last number called from."
"Oh," Craig said. Then sheepishly added, "I knew that. I've seen the commercials. I guess it just never occurred to me....”
"That's okay. I'm a professional." Bex was really enjoying this part. She liked playing the all-knowing, all-powerful researcher. It sure beat confused and defensive busybody. Though she knew she had to play it quickly since, any minute now, her brilliant, one-trick pony of a plan might prove itself an utter dud.
Bex hit the appropriate keys, and waited. The phone rang. That was a good sign. At least it wasn't a blocked or international number.
One ring. Two rings. Three rings.
And then the sound of gunfire.
"Hello!" A voice shouted over the din.
"Uh... hi," Bex shouted back.
Immediately, Craig was hovering over her shoulder, practically snatching the receiver away from her ear. "Is that Jeremy? Did you reach Jeremy? Who are you talking to?"
Bex waved him away and furiously shook her head. She asked, "Who's this?" just as another round of AK-47s seemed to go off in her ear. Where the hell had she called?
"This is Drew." Drew sounded like a teenage boy. Bex could practically hear the pimples pulsating against his skin.
"And where are you, Drew?"
"Tuffy's."
"Tuffy's, what, gun shop and bowling alley?"
"Arcade."
Ah. That explained it. Now that Drew mentioned it, the AK-47s did kind of sound more like space lasers. Bex asked Craig, "Is there an arcade around here called Tuffy's that you know about? Maybe someplace Jeremy used to hang out?"
Craig shook his head. "The only arcade in town is just called the Video Arcade."
"Catchy," Bex noted. She turned back to the phone. "Where's this arcade located, Drew?"
"Hilton Springs."
"Hilton Springs?" Bex looked at Craig, quizzical, but he just shrugged, as geographically clueless as she was.
"We're right over the state line," Drew offered. "If you're coming from Pennsylvania into New York past Highpoint State Park. Part of the Hilton Springs Mall. You can't miss it when you pass. Got signs all over the interstate."
Bex said, "Listen, Drew, I'm wondering if you could help me out. We received a phone call earlier this morning from the machine you're using now."
"Well, it's a pay phone. People are always using it. You know, to call and stuff."
"Do you remember if, earlier this morning, the person using the phone was a blonde boy, about thirteen years old, but looks younger?"
"I don't know. We get a lot of kids in here. All times of the day. We're part of a major rest stop, so people are always dropping by for a bit, and the kids head straight for the video games. It's a great location we've got, you should come check it out."
"Thanks," Bex said. "I just might do that."
And she hung up the phone. Between the time that it clicked in the cradle and the sound's echo bounced off the wall, Craig was at the door, pulling on his jacket.
"Tuffy's Arcade," he said, "Hilton Springs Mall, just over the state line. I've seen the signs. I know where that is."
"Craig, Jeremy's call came hours ago. You don't think they're still there, do you? What do you think, Felicia kidnapped your son, then took him for a day of mall shopping? They must have just stopped there to get breakfast or something. The trail is long cold."
"It's the only trail we've got. I'm going out there."
"No," Bex called. "Wait. Wait, Craig. I told you I was a professional. Will you at least let me try one more thing before you run off half-cocked? Just trust me. For five minutes?"
Craig hesitated. His right arm was already inside his jacket sleeve while he rifled around for his car keys with his left hand.
"I got you this far," Bex reminded.
He fished out the keys. He looked at them for a moment. Then he put the keys back in his pocket. But he did finish putting on his jacket. "Five minutes," Craig said.
Bex said, "What's the phone number for Felicia's doorman back in New York?"
"How the hell should I know? And why the hell should I know?"
"It's a very handy number to have. New York doormen know everything. Who's coming, who's going, were they with anyone, how long since they were in their apartment, who's come to visit them every day for the past seven years? They're like a public library crossed with the KGB."
"I have no idea what the guy's number is."
"That's okay. I have her address, that should be enough." Bex plopped down at Craig's computer. "May I?"
"Knock yourself out."
Bex tapped the space bar with her thumb to bring the previously quietly humming machine to life, then typed in Google. A little side trip to WhitePages.com and within minutes, Bex had the phone number for not only Felicia's doorman, but her building's super, as well. If the first didn't pan out, she fully intended to check out the second.
She dialed with confidence, despite Craig's suspicious hovering. The fact was, she was kind of enjoying the attention. It was about time he got a chance to see her in her element for a change, rather than with her nose stuck in his mail slot.
"Fitzroy East, this is Vlad speaking. How may I help you?"
"Hello, Vlad!" Bex said brightly. After a year of working with Russians, Bex thought she could detect an Eastern European accent. Not pure Russian exactly, but perhaps one of their former invasion spots. Poland, maybe, or Lithuania. "My name is Bex Levy. I'm a friend of Ms. Felicia Tufts. I stopped by to see her a few days ago, do you remember? I waited for quite a while before she let me in. I complimented you on your finely polished uniform buttons?"
At that last one, Craig stared at Bex as if she'd finally and definitely lost whatever he'd believed there was left of her mind to begin with. Bex just smiled and waved her hand, indicating she had the situation utterly under control.
"Ms. Tufts is not to be at home," Vlad barked. His tone indicated that yes, he definitely did remember Bex. And her praising his buttons didn't even begin to make up for the position she'd put him in when she snuck upstairs to see Felicia without permission.
"Oh, really?" Bex made a sincerely surprised face, even though Vlad obviously couldn't see her through the phone. She liked to think of it as method acting. "Where is she?"
"I do not know this. Good-bye."
"Wait! Wait!" Bex cajoled. "Come on, Vlad. You're a doorman. You're the man. You know everything!"
"I do not know where Ms. Tufts to go."
"Well, can you tell me when she left?"
"This morning. She leave early this morning. Still dark."
"Were you already on duty, then?"
"Yes."
"So you know where she went!" Bex deduced triumphantly. "Come on, Vlad. I know how things work. You hailed Felicia her cab, so you have to know where she went."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
Craig couldn't take it anymore. He turned around and threw his hands up in the air. Bex wished he would just chill out. Everything was going according to plan. Bex was being extremely clever. He just didn't realize it, yet. What with her acting so stupid and all.
"No!" Vlad's frustration hit its peak. Which is exactly where Bex wanted him. "No. I tell you. I did not hail Ms. Tufts her cab. Ms. Tufts tells me she rents a car."
"Really?" Bex said, pleased as proverbial punch. "Where did she rent the car from, then?"
"I do not have to speak to you about this," Vlad remembered.
"Yes, you do."
"No, I do not."
"Yes, you—" But Vlad had already hung up the phone by then. Which was fine with Bex. She already had all the information she needed.
Bex told Craig, "Felicia rented a car early this morning."
“To go where?"
"I don't know."
"Oh, you are good at this, aren't you?"
"I don't know. Yet," Bex said. She turned back to the computer. She punched a few more keys. She told Craig to take a breath and relax. He told her to get on with it. After their previously acerbic exchanges, they were practically bonding now. Bex said, "There's an Ignel car rental place a block and half from Felicia's apartment."
"So? A car rental agency doesn't know where their vehicles get driven, even if you could get them to part with customer information, which is probably confidential."
Bex sighed. "You're so naive, Craig."
She dialed the number listed. When someone at Ignel picked up, Bex asked to speak to the manager. After a few minutes spent listening to snippets from Tracy Chapman's "Fast Car" and The Cars' "Drive," Bex was transferred to a woman who sounded as if she were doing seven things at the same time, and Bex was about to become the eighth straw that broke the manager's back.
As a result, Bex matched her tone for harried tone, and announced, "This is Felicia Tufts, and I want an immediate explanation for this latest cacophony of incompetence."
Bex figured the harried tone and big words would make her sound more East Side-y. Or at least less like a twenty-four-year-old busybody making it up as she went along.
"What can I do for you? Ms. Tufts, is it? I'm sorry, we're very short-handed today, and—"
"I rented a car from you this morning, and now I'm trying to return it, and the idiot at the desk is telling me it's already been returned! If this is your way of sending me home, then charging me for an extra week, I won't stand for it. I know how you charlatans operate. Finding imaginary scratches or claiming the tank wasn't returned filled. I won't have it, I tell you!"
"That's very strange, Ms. Tufts. I don't know why our computers would show that you've already returned the vehicle. Why don't I speak to the attendant and—"
"I don't need you to speak to the attendant. I've already spoken to the attendant. Despite her assurance that she was born in Akron, Ohio, to fine, all-American stock, I'm still not convinced that English isn't her second, or possibly third, language. So how about we leave the attendant to struggle through the latest chapter of "See Jane run," and you talk to me, instead. What say you tap a few keys on that fancy computer I'm sure you've got in front of you, and tell me what's going on, in English, this time."
