by Maris Soule
“Kidnapped. Yes.” Gordon moved over to the door that divided the front-desk area from the rest of the office. “If you’ll follow me, Officer Ward will take your statement.”
That Gordon was giving her the case surprised Katherine. Usually he managed to pick up the ones involving beautiful women, leaving her to handle the drunks and domestic violence complaints.
As the blonde came through the door, Katherine got a full view of the woman’s outfit. The skin-tight sweater topped a beige miniskirt and espadrilles with three-inch heels. Katherine figured Crystal Morgan must have arrived on one of the cruise ships. The heels weren’t something a camper would wear. They weren’t even appropriate attire for the boardwalks of Skagway . . . unless being a streetwalker was what she had in mind.
Katherine stepped over to their one and only interview room. Her demeanor didn’t change when she looked through the doorway, but she had a feeling she knew why Gordon wanted her to conduct the interview. The room was a mess.
For the last week, the telephone company had been using the space to store materials while they rewired the office. Well, Gordon might not want to spoil his “in-charge” image with a little physical labor, but Katherine wasn’t opposed to dealing with the situation. She quickly moved a set of tools off the table and a spool of wire off one of the two chairs.
“Go ahead and sit down.” She motioned for the blonde to take the chair farthest from the door. “Would you like some coffee? Tea? Water?”
“Maybe water,” Crystal Morgan answered and fanned her face with her hand. “Yesterday, in Juneau, I was freezing. So, today I wear a sweater, and now I’m roasting.”
“That’s Alaska for you,” Katherine said and stepped back. “I’ll just be a minute.”
She asked Alice to get the water, and then went looking for Gordon. She found him in the far end of the building, at his desk. “Okay, what’s up?”
He looked up from his computer screen. “What do you mean, ‘What’s up?’ ”
“You actually want me to interview Miss Blonde Bombshell?”
A slight blush colored his face, and he cleared his throat. “I, ah . . . We didn’t exactly hit it off. I think maybe she thought I was coming on to her.”
Katherine suppressed a smile. Thought he was coming on to her? More than likely he was.
“She asked if there was a woman officer who could help her.”
“And being the only woman on the force . . .”
“I called you,” Gordon finished for her. “Besides, look at all the paperwork I have to finish. I don’t have time to look for a spoiled, rich kid off doing her own thing. My bet is she’ll show up when it’s time for the ship to leave.”
CHAPTER FOUR
3:30 P.M.
Charles Bell dropped the bear mask on the kitchen table, glanced at his watch, and then walked over to the refrigerator. He had plenty of time to return the Explorer to the campsite, switch vehicles, and drive back. Plenty of time for a beer.
He popped the tab and took a long draught, sighing as the cold liquid ran down his throat, leaving a tingling sensation. Drinking beer was one of the pleasures he’d renewed right after his release, and soon he would be renewing another pleasure.
He smiled at the thought, his erection almost painful.
He hadn’t expected this bonus, but the moment he saw her, he couldn’t resist. A weaker man would have given into temptation as soon as he brought her here, but he couldn’t satisfy his needs and listen to the radio at the same time. Besides, she was still groggy. He wanted her to know what was happening, wanted to see her reaction . . . hear her screams.
He glanced at the police radio lying on the table next to the mask. Damn. By now someone should have seen the Bronco. It didn’t go that far down the side. By now someone should have noticed how the tire tracks went over the edge of the shoulder. So why wasn’t anything being said?
A buzzer went off, and Bell tensed, looking toward the front of the house. Was there nothing on the radio because they knew where he was staying, where he had her?
Holding his breath, he hurried into the living room and pushed aside the drapery . . . just enough to see outside. Although a narrow slit of light now pierced the darkness of the room, Bell stayed in the shadows. From his position, he could see a portion of the front yard, the driveway, and the trees surrounding the house. A red Explorer sat in front of the garage door, its front bumper dented and headlight broken, but so far no other vehicles were in the yard.
He waited, watching for a police car to arrive, for any sign of movement in the woods, for any indication that his hideout had been discovered.
He’d placed the electronic eye close to the main road so he would know if someone drove or walked up the driveway. So far the buzzer had gone off a half-dozen times, each alert putting him on edge and causing his heart to race, but so far the only thing that had wandered up to the house was a bear. And that was his fault.
He shouldn’t have dumped all that meat in the garbage compound. Maybe the bear couldn’t get to it, but it was obvious he could smell it.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Bell chastised himself, but it was too late to do anything about it.
A full minute passed. Two. Finally five. Nothing came into view. No car, person, or bear. With a sigh, Bell allowed the drape to fall back into place. One more false alarm. But it was a warning, and one he would heed. He needed to get the Explorer out of the yard.
CHAPTER FIVE
Katherine entered the interview room and saw that a pitcher of ice water, two glasses, a pad of paper, and a pencil now sat on the table. Mrs. Morgan was staring at her fingernails.
No hysteria, Katherine noted. No signs of anxiety.
Over the years, both when she was a uniform with the Kalamazoo Department of Public Safety and during her three years on the force in Skagway, she’d discovered mothers reacted in different ways when a child went missing. Some cried, some got angry, and some were stoically silent, as if afraid to believe what was happening. It seemed Crystal Morgan was going to be the stoic type. Then again, Crystal Morgan was the stepmother, not the birth mother, and her detached behavior might be a good indicator of the stepmother/stepdaughter’s relationship.
Katherine closed the door behind her.
The moment she did, she wished she hadn’t. In the short time she’d been away, the overpowering scent of Crystal Morgan’s perfume had filled the small room. “Sorry for the delay,” Katherine choked out and cracked the door back open.
“Are you all right?” the blonde asked, giving a slight smile.
“Yes, fine.” Katherine cleared her throat and sat down. She picked up the pencil and pulled the pad of paper closer. “As a start, I’ll need some basic information. Mrs. Morgan, is your first name spelled with a C or a K?”
“With a C, and do call me Crystal.” She brushed a lock of blonde hair back from the side of her face. “Your secretary said your first name is Katherine. Do you go by Kathy . . . or Kat?”
Katherine frowned. Although they were informal at this station, and she didn’t mind the woman using her first name, the idea of anyone using a nickname—especially Kat—made her cringe. “I prefer Katherine.”
“I’ll try to remember. It’s just that years ago I knew someone named Katherine, and we always called her Kat . . . or Kit Kat. I’ll bet your folks also called you Kit Kat.”
Katherine tensed and studied the woman seated across from her. “Do I know you?”
“Know me?” Crystal Morgan smiled smugly. “No, I don’t think so. I’m just guessing, but I don’t believe we travel in the same social circles.”
“I’m sure we don’t.” Katherine doubted they had anything in common; yet there was something familiar about the woman. Maybe one time in their pasts . . . “When you were a child, did you attend school in Michigan?”
Crystal’s smile disappeared. “Katherine, do you really think where I attended school is important? My stepdaughter has been kidnapped, and I want to know what you’r
e going to do to find her.”
The woman’s attitude irked Katherine, but she had to admit Crystal was right. A missing teenager—even if she’d simply wandered off—was far more important than why Katherine felt she knew the blonde. With a nod, Katherine asked, “What is your stepdaughter’s full name and age?”
“Misty Marie Morgan. Age sixteen going on thirty. My husband, Misty’s father, is Thomas J. Morgan, president and major stockholder of Tomoro Industries. You have heard of Tomoro Industries, haven’t you?”
“No. Should I have?”
The look Crystal Morgan gave her said she should have.
“Tomoro Industries is involved in alternative energy projects. Today’s future. It’s been in all of the papers lately . . . and on TV. The company is one of the Fortune 500, and Tom was even profiled in the April issue of Forbes.”
Katherine put down her pencil. Now she knew why this woman looked familiar. “The article included a picture of you with your husband, didn’t it? You were wearing a fur coat or something.”
“You saw that picture? Here?”
“We’re not exactly in the back woods.” Katherine didn’t add that it was only by chance that she’d seen the picture, that the magazine had been left on the counter by one of the seasonal employees who’d stopped by the station asking if they knew of any apartments for rent.
“Tom got a lot of flak from PETA about that coat.” Crystal sighed and poured water into the glass in front of her. “I’m not allowed to wear it to any more public events or anywhere we might be photographed.”
“I didn’t read the article,” Katherine confessed. “Was your stepdaughter’s name mentioned?”
“Yes, dammit.” Crystal scowled. “You can’t trust reporters on anything. Tom told the one who did the article for Forbes not to mention Misty, but she did. Both Misty’s name and age. And a few weeks ago, when I was interviewed for a newspaper feature, I know I told the woman not to include anything about this trip to Alaska. But, what did she do? She not only wrote that Misty and I were taking the Inside Passage cruise, she also named the cruise ship, and when we were leaving.”
Katherine understood what Crystal was saying. A potential kidnapper might have seen the information, would have been able to look up the cruise line’s schedule, and would have known exactly when Misty was due to dock in Skagway.
“Where is your husband now?”
“In China. He’s there on business.” Once again, Crystal smiled smugly. “For the president . . . of the United States.”
Though impressed, Katherine considered it beside the point. “Does he know his daughter is missing?”
“No.” The smile disappeared, and Crystal lowered her gaze. “I haven’t told him. Not yet. I . . . I didn’t want to worry him.”
Husband not contacted, Katherine wrote. Wife didn’t want to worry him. Possibly a good excuse, but she wondered if there might have been another reason. “Mrs. Morgan, did your stepdaughter leave any kind of a note? Anything that might make you suspect she’s run away?”
“She has not run away,” the blonde said emphatically. “She’s been kidnapped.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I’m sure because we were supposed to meet for lunch at noon, and she didn’t show up.”
“Maybe she forgot.” Katherine remembered how short a teenager’s memory could be . . . how short hers used to be.
“That’s what I thought at first,” Crystal said. “I figured she went back to the ship or was somewhere in town, shopping. She’s been upset with her father lately, and nothing I say seems to help. I figured she just needed some time by herself. But that was almost four hours ago, and I can’t find her anywhere.”
“Perhaps she took one of the shore excursions the cruise offers.”
“No.” Crystal leaned forward. “Listen to me. She did not take any shore excursions. She did not run away. Misty has been kidnapped . . . and you need to find her.”
Katherine quelled the urge to tell Crystal Morgan just what she thought of her attitude, and, instead, focused on the woman’s insistence that this was a kidnapping. There had to be a reason she was so certain. “Have you been contacted by someone?”
“No.” The blonde sat back again. “Not yet, at least. But if you were a kidnapper, wouldn’t you figure this was the perfect time to kidnap the daughter of a rich man? I mean, from here she could be flown to some remote area and never found.”
That was a possibility, but Katherine hoped Crystal was wrong. “From what I’ve heard, we’ve never had a kidnapping here.”
“Well, there’s always a first.”
Katherine silently agreed. No one knew for certain where or when a kidnapping would occur. If they did, she doubted she’d be sitting here interviewing this woman.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
Katherine blinked. She’d let her mind wander. Truth was, she didn’t want to believe a girl had been kidnapped. Not here in Skagway. “I’m sorry, I—”
“You think I’m overreacting, don’t you?”
“No, not at all.” If anything, Crystal Morgan’s reaction was quite appropriate . . . maybe even a bit delayed. “I do understand your concern.”
“Then do something!”
“I . . . We need to be sure before we take any action.” Katherine forced herself to think logically. “Did you and your stepdaughter have an argument?”
“Argument? No. Look, she—”
Katherine interrupted her. “What was her attitude this morning?”
“It was good. Real good. She was up and dressed before the ship even docked. I’d just gotten into the shower when she knocked on the door and said she was going to do some exploring. I told her to meet me back at the boat at noon for lunch. I’m sure she said okay.”
For the first time, Katherine saw a hint of emotion besides anger. Crystal Morgan started blinking rapidly and sniffed a couple of times. “I didn’t even get a chance to hug her goodbye.”
Although Katherine didn’t actually see any tears, she found a box of tissues behind a spool of telephone wire and pushed it toward Crystal. “So, she left the ship early this morning.”
“A little after seven. Right when they started letting people go ashore.” Crystal took a tissue, dabbed at her eyes, and then sighed. “What was I supposed to do? Insist she wait for me? She’s sixteen. She doesn’t listen to me. Besides, I thought she’d be fine on her own.”
“And you’re sure she’s not onboard the ship, simply avoiding you?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Crystal glared at her. “Why would she try to avoid me?”
“I just need to make sure.”
The blonde gave a shrug. “Okay, if you need to know everything, I talked to the ship’s director . . . or whatever his title is. He said she hasn’t come back since she checked out this morning. They know this because they’ve got a computerized scanning system you have to go through whenever you get off or on the ship. It shows she got off. It doesn’t show her getting back on. But—”
She pointed at Katherine. “Just to be sure, I looked for her. I walked all over that damn ship, went to all of the spots where she likes to hang out. None of the other teenagers had seen her today.”
Katherine had to admit, it did sound as if Crystal had thoroughly checked out that possibility. There was, however, one other reason the girl might have disappeared. “Do you think she might have taken this opportunity to run away from you and her father so she could get back with her birth mother?”
Crystal stared at her for a moment, and then snorted. “Let’s hope not. Misty’s mother is dead. She died five years ago.”
“Oh.” Katherine wrote, mother dead, on the pad of paper. She wanted to add stepmother an arrogant smart ass, but she didn’t.
Katherine focused the rest of her questions on getting a comprehensive physical description of Misty Morgan, including any identifying marks and what the girl was wearing that morning. When Katherine felt she had everything she needed,
she stood and said, “Do you have a picture of Misty with you?”
“I have her school picture and a copy of her passport. She has the original with her, but they told us we should do that . . . make copies and keep them separate. That picture’s not so great. Misty hates it.”
“I’ll need the picture and the passport copy, at least long enough for Alice, our clerk, to make copies we can show to the tour agencies.”
“Tour agencies?” Crystal looked confused.
Katherine tried to explain. “Your stepdaughter could have easily hooked up with Dyea Dave or one of the other tour companies on shore. You must have noticed the sales booths on the way into town. They’re set up on the dock so they can catch people coming off the ships. Your stepdaughter may have decided to go to Liarsville . . . or hike over to the cemetery and up to Reid Falls.”
“Jeez, haven’t you listened to anything I’ve said?” Crystal ground out. “Misty has not gone on a tour or a hike. My stepdaughter is not into tours or hiking, not unless it’s a tour of a shopping mall. How many times do I have to tell you? She’s been kidnapped.”
CHAPTER SIX
4:30 P.M.
Charles Bell waited until the garage door was down before he stepped into the house. Although the sun would be shining for another eight hours, the moment he closed the door behind him, he was in semi-darkness . . . a warm semi-darkness. After all, a hive needed to be warm.
It was the media that nicknamed him The Beekeeper, not only because he had hives in his backyard and told the reporters he liked honey, but because he’d kept her for almost a year, hidden away in his personal hive. He read what they printed about him, and watched the videos made during the trial. “Lock him up” was the verdict. “Let him see how it feels.”
So they did.
They locked him up in a hospital where doctors poked and prodded, gave him shock treatments, and prescribed pills. He told them what they wanted to hear, and he learned—about tranquilizers, how to give shots, and what dosage to use. They fired nurses when medicine went missing. They never appreciated his intelligence or how careful a beekeeper has to be.
