by Ace Collins
“But how would the people who took her know?” she demanded between sobs. “The police always tell you to call them. That’s what they say on the radio. They’ve preached that since the Lindbergh baby was taken in ‘32.”
“Well, the people who say that on the radio don’t have kids who have been taken,” he shot back. “And the Lindbergh baby was killed, so you can’t go by that. Now, let’s figure this out. Go lock the front door, and put the CLOSED sign on the door. Then come back here and we’ll talk this through.”
Wiping her eyes, Carole walked through the door and into the shop’s main room. When he heard her snap the lock, George stepped over to the back door. He slowly opened it and peered out at the lawn. There were fresh footprints in the snow. Stepping out, he made an impression beside one of them. Whoever had taken Rose looked as though they wore a size or two smaller than his tens, but it was definitely a man’s shoe.
“You found the tracks,” Carole whispered as she came up beside him.
“But they don’t tell us much,” he sadly explained.
“George, what are we going to do?”
Her voice was filled with such great pain he wanted to cry. Yet he couldn’t let himself break down. Not now! He didn’t have an answer, at least not one that would comfort his wife, so he bit his tongue, shook his head, and stayed silent. Closing the door, he glanced back to the note as another dilemma hit him.
Five thousand dollars! Where was he going to get that kind of money? He only had a few hundred in the bank.
“Why Rose?” Carole asked in a pleading tone that forced his eyes back to hers. “We aren’t rich. We don’t have anything that is worth anything. I thought people kidnapped rich people’s children. You know, like Lindbergh’s baby.”
He’d already wondered the same thing. It simply made no sense. Did the man who took Rose have him confused with someone else? His eyes wandered to a framed advertisement from Life hanging on the wall. That image showed him leaning against their yellow Packard with Rose sitting on the car’s long hood. That just might be it. The fact that they had done a few national ads and had some spots on Packard-sponsored radio programs might have led someone to believe they had money. That was the only reason that made logical sense.
The phone’s ringing literally caused both of them to jump into each other’s arms. Their eyes locked onto the black, Western Electric desk model as it rang a second time.
“Answer it,” he urged her. “And don’t let your fear show in your voice.”
He allowed his arms to fall and pushed her toward the desk. She took two hesitant steps forward and reached for the receiver. After a final look back toward her husband, she picked it up.
“Carole’s Flowers.” She all but choked on the words.
“Is this Mrs. Hall?” The voice was so loud and strong that George could understand every word from where he stood.
“Yes,” she quietly answered.
“I have your daughter.” George didn’t miss Carole’s quick intake of breath. Instinct demanded he hold his breath as he waited for her speak.
“Is she all right?” Carole’s question was tinged with both fear and hope.
George closed the distance to the desk and put his head next to his wife’s. He listened carefully to the caller’s measured words.
“She is fine, and she’ll stay that way as long as you follow my directions.”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” she assured him. “I just want my baby back.”
“Have you called the cops?” His tone was demanding.
“No.”
“Good. Don’t even think about it. Now, about the money.”
George grabbed the phone from his wife. “We don’t have that kind of money.”
“You bought that flower shop,” the man calmly replied. “Folks who can do that have a lot more than what I’m asking for. So you can get it. And if you don’t, then you’ll need to come up with money for the kid’s funeral. Do you understand?”
“If you hurt our daughter!” George barked.
“You’ll do what?” The man on the phone chuckled. “You don’t know who I am, and you don’t know where I am. I could walk past you in five minutes, and you wouldn’t have a clue that I’m holding your kid. I’m the only one who can make a threat here. Get used to that fact or suffer the consequences. You got it?”
George didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. He didn’t have the cards and he knew it.
“I’ll give you two days to get the money. Sometime on Wednesday afternoon I’ll call this number. You’ll be told where you need to make the drop and when you can pick up the kid. Up until then you just keep living your life like you always do. You go to work, you have your wife keep the shop open, and you don’t let anyone know that your kid’s gone. You understand?”
“Yes,” George quietly answered
“And you, Mrs. Hall?”
“Yes?” she said.
“If you don’t get the money and follow these instructions to the letter, if you slip up anywhere, the kid dies.”
The line went dead. George looked to Carole. What in the world could they do?
As Carole sobbed, he collapsed in the desk chair and thought back to the night Rose had been born. It seemed like just yesterday he’d wondered if he was up to the job of being able to protect her and keep her safe. It hadn’t even been three years, and the answer was now painfully obvious.
He had failed!
Chapter 21
It’s my fault,” Carole wailed as George turned and shot her a helpless look.
“Could you hear enough to know what he said?” George asked.
“I heard it. If only I hadn’t insisted she stay with me today. If only I’d let you take her.”
“If they wanted her,” George softly declared, “they would have waited until tomorrow or the next day. It’s not your fault. Neither of us could have anticipated this.”
“But why us?”
Her question lingered in the air for thirty seconds. He didn’t want to admit what he sensed, but as she stared at him with that helpless, forlorn, and hurting expression, he had no choice. “This guy probably thinks that because we did those Packard ads we are celebrities. After all, we both signed a few autographs.”
“But that only paid two thousand dollars,” she argued. “That went to buy our house. Then all we got was a thousand a year to keep endorsing them. They are asking for more than that!”
“You and I know that,” George explained, “some of our friends do, too, but this guy probably doesn’t.”
He held out his arms to her, but like a wounded animal, she backed off, fear and mistrust in her eyes.
“The car? It’s that car I asked you to sell so long ago. The one you just had to have. That’s why Rose is gone?”
He shook his head. He didn’t blame her for lashing out. He deserved it. In fact, he wished she’d scream at him or maybe just beat him senseless. But there may be more, and she’d had to know it all.
“Carole,” George softly said, “there is something I don’t understand. He said something about us buying the flower shop.”
“So it might be my fault for buying the shop?” she asked, her face twisting, suggesting a pain too great to endure.
“Have you told anyone about the cash we found?” He softly asked as his eyes moved from the ransom note to her tear-stained face and back to the note.
“A few people,” she cried. “Was that wrong? Did I open the door for this?”
“I don’t think so,” he assured her. “I mean, I told a few folks at the office, too. It could have been me.” He sighed. “Maybe it was both of us combined. Maybe that made us appear rich.”
“George, how much do we have in the bank?”
“A couple hundred,” he moaned. “A lousy couple of hundred.”
“What are we going to do?” It was as if her own words knocked her against the wall. She leaned on it for a moment before adding, “What are we going to do?”
He
shook his head. “Don’t have enough time to sell anything. We’re going to have to come up with another way to get the cash.”
Yanking his wallet from his pants, he emptied the contents onto the desk. He quickly leafed through a host of slips until he found a yellow piece of paper with a name and number scrawled on it. Grabbing the phone, he dialed the operator and asked for long distance. As he did, his wife fell to her knees and began to pray.
Chapter 22
Thanks,” George said as set the receiver down. He looked over to his wife and nodded. “We’ve got the cash.”
“How? Who was that? I don’t understand how you could make one call and get five thousand dollars.”
“If the car got us into this,” he told her, “it might also get us out of it. The man I called was Gerald Shortsleeve. He’s with the marketing department of the Packard Company. He’s going to get the money we need out of company funds tomorrow morning and then drive down here from Detroit in the afternoon. He’ll meet me at the office.”
“Is it a loan?” She asked.
“Only if we get it back,” George replied. “Otherwise it is a gift.”
“He gave it to us just like that?” Carole marveled. “Why?”
“Our ads have sold a lot of cars for the company. He said that if it was the ads that created the problem, Packard wants to make it right. But I did have to agree to one thing.”
“What’s that?” she asked as she pushed herself off the wall and on unsteady legs moved back toward her husband.
George leaned against the desk. “After we get Rose back safe and sound, he wants us to tell the police what’s going on so they can track down those responsible.”
“Oh, George,” she said, a hint of hope evident in her tone. “Will this work?”
“It has to,” he said. “It just has to.”
He glanced toward the front of the store. “We’ve got to get the shop open. That’s one of the rules. If that guy finds out this place is closed, he might do something to Rose.”
“George,” Carole whispered, “I can’t. I’m not strong enough. Anyone who sees me will know something is wrong.”
Placing his right hand on her chin, he lifted her face until their eyes met. “You have to be strong for Rose. You just have to be. Everything we do over the next two days has to look perfectly normal. No one can guess anything.”
“But people know she stays here with me,” she argued. “If she’s not here …”
“You tell people that she’s staying few a few days with my aunt in Indiana.”
“But you don’t have an aunt in Indiana,” she argued.
“No one knows that but you,” he explained. “Make up a name, something you can remember, and if anyone asks, just tell them.”
“Ruth,” she suggested. “She was a strong woman in the Bible. Just saying her name will remind me that I have to be strong as well.”
George nodded. “You know that verse you’re always quoting, about being strong and of good courage? Well you have to live it now. We both do. Everything we say, every move we make, everything we do is for her. Now we’re going into that showroom and get this store open.”
With George following her from the office to the door that separated the two rooms, she grabbed the knob, twisted it, and in short, measured steps made her way back to the front door. After taking a deep breath she flipped the lock. A few seconds later she turned the sign around to OPEN and looked back toward a display she’d been working on earlier in the day.
George observed her as she made her way to the flower-arranging table and began to work on an order. Carole would somehow do what she had to do. He was sure of it. But could he keep up the front so well that no one guessed that his whole life was upside down? It would be the biggest test of his life. Glancing out the front window, he noted their Packard parked in front of the shop. Had the car ads set this in motion? He had no idea, but for the moment he wished he’d never seen that car.
Chapter 23
The next two days were the toughest days of their lives. Neither of them slept more than an hour or two, and food offered no appeal. They lived on soft drinks and coffee. One of the few encouraging moments was with the Packard Company’s representative, Shortsleeve. He dropped the money off in a blue duffel bag, assuring George that the company had not called the police, as he had requested. Even after George showed him the note and explained the phone message, the visitor still questioned if this was the way to play the game. Even though he felt uneasy about George’s choice, the Packard representative left, promising to keep his pledge. Once he was alone, George opened the bag and made sure it contained assorted bills in small denominations. He counted it to make sure it was all there.
Business was light at the flower shop, for which George was grateful. Several people called wanting flowers delivered, but only a handful of patrons visited the store in person. Of them, only Maud Jenkins, who always seemed to lack tact, asked about Carole’s red eyes and puffy face. Thankfully she accepted the explanation of allergies without question.
Both George and Carol sensed that someone was watching them, but if there was someone following their every move, they never spotted him. That fact unnerved them more than being able to see someone watching their every move.
Beyond missing Rose, time was their worst enemy. The hand of the clock seemed to never move. A minute was like an hour, an hour like a day, and day was like a month. And during that span they aged years. It showed on their faces, in the way they moved, and even in their reactions to normal daily events. They were wound so tightly that each of them pounced on even the slightest offense. They barked at each other for everything from looking out the window too much to pouring but not drinking countless cups of coffee. As the hours ticked closer to the time they expected the call, they all but quit talking to each other. At the shop and at home they spent as much time as possible in separate rooms.
At noon on Wednesday, George announced that he wasn’t feeling well and left the office. That fact that he had deep, dark circles under eyes helped him sell that he was sick. In fact he looked so bad his boss ordered him to rest up for the remainder of the week. George accepted the offer without argument. Having that time off would allow him to take care of the money drop no matter where or when it happened.
He got to the flower shop just after twelve thirty and took a seat next to the office phone. When she wasn’t with a customer, Carole sat next to him. Each time the phone rang, their eyes met. Only after he had nodded his assurance did she pick up the receiver. Six calls came in between one and four that afternoon, four of them were flower orders, one was a wrong number, and the final one was a man trying to sell business insurance.
“Maybe he’s not going to call,” she sighed as she set the receiver in the cradle for the sixth time. A horror-stricken look on her face, she added, “George, maybe we did something wrong. Maybe he saw something I did—he panicked and killed her.” The final word sent a gush of tears from her red eyes. Covering her face with her hands she allowed her head to fall to the desktop.
She just couldn’t hold it together anymore. George couldn’t blame her. If he hadn’t been so tired he would have lain down and given up, too.
Unable to cope, George pulled himself upright and walked wearily into the shop. Surely it was close enough to closing time that no one would question them locking the doors now. He snapped the lock, flipped the light switch off, and reversed the OPEN/CLOSED sign. Looking past their Packard, he studied the street. The grocery store parking lot was about half full, two cars sat outside Tom’s Hardware, and the café looked as though it was empty. The bank, which had closed two hours before, also showed no signs of activity. It was a typical Wednesday—typical everywhere except in the lives of him and his wife. It appeared nothing would ever be typical for them again.
Carole lifted her head from the desktop when he returned to the office. She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief as he took a seat. Glancing his way, she offered, “I must look a
fright.”
He nodded. “We both do.”
“Did we make a mistake not calling the police?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “I just don’t know. He still has some time. Don’t give up hope yet.”
“Do you think she’s scared?” Carole’s words hung in the air like an unwanted summer fog. Try as he might, George simply couldn’t think of a comforting answer that would bring any hope to his shattered wife. After all, he’d wondered the same thing a thousand times over the past few days. All his questions did was prove that he had not done his job as a father.
“Carole,” he began, but the phone’s ring cut his words short.
She glanced at him and he nodded once more. Just as she had earlier, she reached for the receiver, lifted it from its cradle, and said, “Carole’s Flowers.”
He looked at her for any sign that this was the call they had been waiting for. The answer came when she lifted her eyes to his and nodded.
“Is our daughter all right?” she asked the caller.
George put his ear next to hers so he could hear, too.
“She’s fine. She’ll stay that way if you do just as I ask.”
“We will,” Carole assured him. “We just want her back.”
“Do you have the money?”
“Yes.” She then added, “And we haven’t called the police.”
“Smart girl,” he said. “Grab a pencil and write this down. You must follow these instructions to the letter, or the girl dies. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Carole assured him. “I understand. I have a pencil and a piece of paper, just tell me what we need to do.”
“South of Terre Haute, Indiana, there is a place called Prairie Center. It is a wide spot in the road on Highway 63. You got that?”
She hurriedly scribbled the information. “Highway 63, Prairie Center.”
“Drive two point five miles south of Prairie Center. On the right will be a little picnic area with a table, trash can, and small pull-off area. You can’t miss it. There are three large elm trees, and the table is in the middle of that stand of trees.”
