Music to Die For

by Radine Trees Nehring

  The girl’s face showed skepticism, then delight. It was easy to tell the idea of romantic possibilities for grandparents was going to fill her head for days.

  Wish she could have seen Henry and me just a few minutes ago, Carrie was thinking.

  Now the girl crossed her heart just as solemnly as Carrie had, said, “Okay, secret, I won’t say nothin’,” and scooted toward the gate.

  Chase opened the note, held it to the light to read, then shoved it in his pocket. “Gotta see Ben,” he said.

  “Not really a love note, I suppose?” asked Henry.

  “Sure isn’t,” Chase said, as he turned to go through the gate to the back of the auditorium.

  Jason had appeared, and the three of them followed Chase. As soon as they were all inside the fence, Henry caught Chase’s arm. “Wait, man,” he said, “and think! If you go inside that auditorium, all hell will break loose. In bright light you’ll be recognized, especially if you storm in the place. You can’t go after Ben now. You and Jason go back to the rooms. Carrie and I will talk to him.”

  Chase glared at Henry, who asked, “What does the note say?”

  “$500,000, or we’ll never see Dulcey again. Assorted bills, none larger than a hundred dollars, at least eighty percent used. Put the money in a black guitar case and leave it on the ground at the end of the gift shop porch just after the evening show begins tomorrow night. If nothing goes wrong, Dulcey will be dropped off somewhere in the visitor parking lot after the show’s over.”

  “That’s clever of them,” Henry said. “There will be so many cars coming and going then we’d have a very hard time watching for her to be dropped off. But how would you get that kind of money on a weekend?”

  Carrie supposed Henry was just making conversation. None of this was going to matter anyway.

  “Can’t get it,” Chase said. “I can’t. Oh, we’ve got enough money, but our bank is in Branson. There’s no way they’d wire funds on a Saturday. I doubt I could get it even if I went there. And, I don’t think Ma has...well, how could she? How come these folks don’t know that? Who carries that kind of money in their pockets?” He started to laugh, a bitter, hollow sound. “Do kidnappers take checks these days? How about credit cards? What do they expect me to do?” He stopped and slumped against the wall, suddenly looking, Carrie thought, as young and vulnerable as Tracy had earlier.

  “It comes down to this,” Chase said. “I can’t pay the ransom tomorrow night, and they’re too stupid to know that.”

  Chapter XIX

  Henry finally persuaded Chase to go back to the lodge with Jason, insisting he and Carrie must be the ones to talk with Ben.

  As soon as their car was out of sight, he handed Carrie her walking stick and said, “We’d better not take time to get my car. I think we can intersect the path to the sewage treatment plant over there, somewhere below the auditorium.”

  “What about Ben?” Carrie asked.

  “Do you know him?”

  “I know who he is. Chase called him Ben Yokum— like L’il Abner. Said he used to live somewhere in the Ozarks, went to California, came back here not long ago. Evidently he’s a stage hand and general handyman for the Folk Center. He was smoking out back of the auditorium when I went looking for the Masons last night. Pruney-faced man, possibly around our age, never seems to smile. I don’t think

  Brigid and Chase know him well. They’re certainly not friends. I suppose they see him as a stage hand and pay little attention to him otherwise.”

  “Would Ben Yokum resent that?”

  “I have no idea, but that’s not enough reason to kidnap a child, is it? I suppose the Culpepers could have paid him to take Dulcey. He’d have had access to her if she was in Farel’s car. He didn’t like Farel. I don’t think he likes Chase much either, come to think of it.”

  “So he might be involved?”

  “Well, he did have the note. I guess, rather than wondering if the Masons know him, it’s more to the point to wonder what his relationship with the Culpepers might be. I wish I’d asked Chase more about him.”

  “We’ll have to leave him for later anyway,” Henry said. “Our rendezvous with Margaret Culpeper and Dulcey Mason is at the top of the agenda now.”

  For the first part of their downhill hike through the woods, the lights around the auditorium and the moon helped guide their way, and Henry didn’t take out his flashlight. Then the forest got heavier, and the glow from the post lamps faded. Henry turned on the flashlight, startling a cottontail, whose gleaming eyes exposed its location before the sudden leap and dash into deeper forest did.

  After about ten minutes of crashing noisily through leaves and underbrush, they intersected the path and turned left, reaching the sewage treatment plant and its one mercury vapor security light when they had gone only a few hundred yards.

  For a moment they stood at the edge of the forest, keeping out of the eerie light. Finally Henry said, “I hate to use the flashlight now, it’s too noticeable. Let’s go around to the road that leads from the gate on the other side. The lighter gravel there may make it possible for us to follow it to the fork without using additional light.”

  “But won’t it seem even more suspicious not to have a flashlight if someone does see us?” Carrie asked. “We wouldn’t be out for a walk without light.”

  “Oh, maybe we would,” Henry said. “If we hear anything, woman, prepare for a passionate love scene. We wouldn’t want a flashlight for that, would we?”

  “Nope,” she said and wondered what he would really do if they did hear someone. She didn’t mind trying to imagine it.

  The light gravel on the road was easy to follow in the moonlight, and in a short time they were at the road fork Margaret had described. They stopped, looking around, seeing nothing, until Carrie finally pointed her walking stick to a faint path leading into the woods.

  She went first, taking Henry’s hand and sliding each foot forward in turn, holding it just above the ground to feel the way without disturbing leaves and brush. It was impossible to be completely quiet, and their progress was slow. The moon was almost in the 9:30 position Margaret had indicated when they came to the edge of the clearing.

  There was one dim light in the cottage. Candle, or lamp turned low, Carrie thought. By its light it was easy to see that the front door was open, though a screen door kept out any early insects that might be around.

  “What now?” she whispered.

  “Let’s listen for a while,” he said in her ear.

  All they heard were forest sounds, increasing in a breeze that had begun to blow, bouncing leaves before it. No sound came from the house.

  Finally Henry said, “Stay here, out of sight. I’ll circle around toward the path from Margaret’s. Maybe I’ll see them coming. I don’t think they’ve arrived—wouldn’t Margaret and Nahum be talking? I’ll meet you right here if I’m alone, or you’ll see the three of us come in the clearing. Don’t go any closer until I’m back. You’ll be safe, hidden here.”

  She nodded, keeping her eye on the door. “You be careful too. Maybe you can stay hidden in the woods next to the path since the breeze is stirring leaves anyway.”

  After a quick squeeze of her hand, Henry was gone.

  This time Carrie found a tree to lean on, cold and hard. She waited and heard no sounds from the house. Nothing.

  Then, wood scraped on wood. A chair moving? A man came to the door. Nahum. He said, “Anyone here yet?”

  Carrie hesitated, didn’t speak. He must be alone. Should she answer?

  Again, Nahum’s voice, “Are you there?” In a moment he turned back, and the doorway was empty.

  Maybe he was supposed to signal Margaret somehow when they had arrived. Maybe they were waiting, too.

  She shifted her weight back and forth, wondering what to do. If Nahum came to the door again...

  And he did. Again the shadowed figure said, “Are you there?” It was enough. Carrie walked into the clearing.

  He held the
screen door open as she went up the steps and into the dim light. The front door shut.

  Oh, no, no, no!

  A woman lay on the floor. Silvery stuff—tape— wrapped her wrists and ankles and covered her eyes and mouth. An empty, twisted tape roll sat on the floor by her.

  The blond hair was shorter now. Brigid must have cut it as part of the disguise, curled it. But there was no mistaking who the woman was. Dulcey Mason was not going home to her mother. Her mother was here.

  Carrie whirled, facing Nahum—but not Nahum. No limp. Why hadn’t she noticed? Hard eyes, hard hands holding her, shoving her against a wall, twisting her wrists as she began, too late, to fight—a struggle to get to the door, get away, get to Henry.

  This must be Habakkuk—why hadn’t she noticed he had no limp...didn’t talk like Nahum? Where was Nahum? Where were Margaret and Dulcey? Where was Henry?

  The hard man was tying her hands, not with tape, but with a strip of cloth. He shoved her on the floor, tied her ankles too, and when she opened her mouth to cry out, shoved another strip of cloth in her mouth. She gagged, tried to swallow, fought to control the gagging, realizing that throwing up would be dangerous. She could choke on her own vomit.

  Finally he was off her and stood, staring, cold, hard, and cruel. Then he laughed.

  All Carrie could think was: Oh God, God. No other prayer, no comforting words, came to calm the panic.

  Eleanor had said, “You can pray fast and on your feet, Carrie McCrite.” Oh, pray then, pray.

  She couldn’t make the thoughts come. She hoped... hoped that Eleanor... could. Was.

  The man began to talk, more to himself than Carrie.

  “Don’t think you’re worth much, but this other one, now someone is gonna pay big money for Tracy Teal, famous recording star. They’ll pay big money to redeem her.” He laughed again. “I bet the music company’ll pay a million at least for this one. I’ll cut off her playin’ fingers, one at a time, if they hesitate. With money like that, Zeph and me can go away, get outta this business. We’re tired, and Micah’s gettin’ too old to be much help any more. Nahum, he’s soft, stupid. My stupid twin left all his brains with me way back before we was born! As for our boys, well, they got other things to do, no interest in the family business, no matter how we taught them, raised them with money from the family business they claim to hate. Fancied-up sissies, all of ’em! But now here’s big money all at once. No hard work, and we’ll get away. Already got the place ready, outa here, far out.” Again, he laughed. “Yes, we’ll redeem this one for big money!”

  Carrie’s thoughts were churning. The man was cruel and dangerous, but that was a deep, real laugh. He was pleased, happy to have captives, or at least, happy to have Tracy. Tracy was safe for now. But... ransom for Carrie McCrite? Who’d pay that? Rob, out of his university salary? If she could have, Carrie McCrite would have laughed too.

  But she didn’t, couldn’t. Instead, prompted by what Habakkuk had said, verses from the Fiftysecond chapter of Isaiah flowed into her thoughts. She was two people now. A terrified one, a strong one. Somehow, somehow, this must end up a blessing. Somehow God would reach her, blank out this terror—would keep them safe:

  “...o captive daughter of Zion...ye shall be redeemed without money...therefore they shall know in that day that I am he that doth speak: behold it is I. How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings...all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God.”

  Ye shall be redeemed, she thought, shall see the salvation of God.

  Eventually Margaret or Henry would come. No, no, Henry would be with Margaret, with Dulcey. Now the two people inside her cried out, one for Henry to come, the other for him to stay away, stay safe and take Dulcey to safety.

  Margaret would learn who Habakkuk’s new captive was, then she’d at least come to help Tracy. But would she be in time?

  Habakkuk was studying the two women in silence. He must be thinking what to do next. Carrie shut her eyes. Pray, pray.

  She heard him leave the house, heard a motor starting, coming closer, softening to a low rumble in front of the porch. Could Henry hear the motor?

  The man clumped back into the room and went through a door behind them, returning with a dishtowel to tie around Carrie’s head, blocking her eyes and knocking off her denim cap.

  He left again, came back with something soft-sounding that he dropped on the floor. Then he was spreading it out. Fabric. Finally Carrie could hear him lift Tracy. There was a thump, scuffling, a grunt, a moan from Tracy, more fabric sounds.

  After a silence, Carrie was picked up, laid back on the floor, shoved and rolled, over and over. Fabric came around her. It smelled clean, dried outdoors in the sun. Soft, lightly padded. A quilt. Nahum’s quilt. She wondered if her lipstick had worn off. She didn’t want to get lipstick on Nahum’s quilt.

  Tears squeezed out of her eyes, soaking into the dish towel. She was lifted, carried, dumped hard on the floor of a truck bed. The man’s feet went up the porch steps, the screen slammed, and then, after a few moments, he returned. Tracy was put down, very gently, beside her. Yes, mustn’t damage his valuable property.

  A dusty tarp or canvas of some kind slid over them, and Carrie almost choked again. She heard heavy things—bricks, maybe—fall in place at the corners of the canvas.

  The truck moved off. Now Henry could not find her. Each painful bounce of the truck was taking them farther away from Henry’s help.

  The bouncing, the thumping of cloth-wrapped skin and bone against metal, continued for a long time—forever. Carrie had no sense of direction or time or how long they’d been moving. Her mouth hurt, the towel was getting soggy, her saliva glands were working overtime. So thirsty... If her head would just stop bouncing. Maybe, if she passed out...she’d never fainted in her life, but now might be a good time to start.

  Then the other person inside her shouted, “No.”

  “My God, I trust in thee...let not mine enemies triumph over me.”*

  At least she could be grateful for the thin padding of the quilt.

  Almost immediately the bouncing stopped. All she heard, once more, was the rustle of branches and dry leaves in the wind; no traffic or people noises. They were still in the forest.

  The truck shook as the man got out and slammed the door.

  Carrie McCrite might not be on her feet, but she was sure praying fast, and, she hoped, Eleanor was too.

  After a while Habakkuk came back, and she was lifted, carried up wooden steps, down what seemed like a hall, put on the floor of a carpeted room, and left alone. In a few minutes the footsteps returned, and Tracy, too, went thump on the floor. The door shut, a lock turned, the footsteps faded. There were no voices.

  When a time of silence had passed, Carrie began to twist and roll, back and forth. As she worked, she wondered how long it had been since Henry walked away into the woods.

  Eventually, after bumping into what felt like bed legs and scooting away to roll again, she was free of the quilt. She turned on her back, and, sliding her head up and down against the carpet, pushed the towel that was covering her eyes over the top of her head. It yanked at her hair, and she was glad she couldn’t see herself in a mirror. Then, digging in with her feet and using all the strength she could gather, she sat up.

  In the moonlight she could tell that they were in a small room with two beds, a table, a chair. She eyed the room’s one window. It wasn’t barred.

  She bumped on her bottom across the floor as quietly as she could and backed up to Tracy, pushing at her, making her rock from side to side. Finally Tracy understood, and she too began to roll, struggling to free herself from the quilt as Carrie had done. When Tracy finally shoved away from the binding fabric, Carrie backed against her and wiggled her fingers on Tracy’s arm until, again, she understood, and moved around so Carrie’s hands were against the tape binding her wrists.

  With the tips of her fingers and nails, Carrie rubbed against the end of the ta
pe. Dig in and pull, dig in and pull. A piece came loose, and Carrie began unwinding the tape, helped by Tracy’s wrist movements—now turning, then twisting—to release strip after strip of tape. At last, with a tug, a pull, and a slight murmur of pain, Tracy’s hands were free.

  She sat up, used her hands to pull the tape from her mouth and, with only one small whimper, from her eyes.

  The two women stared at each other. Tracy’s face looked splotchy, and, even in the dark, Carrie could see a sparkle of tears, whether from the pull of the tape, or emotion, or both, she didn’t know. Then Tracy was moving again, bouncing closer, and lifting her hands to pull the towel from Carrie’s mouth.

  As she bent to free her own ankles and Carrie’s hands and feet, she asked, “Where’s Dulcey? Is she safe?”

  “Yes, safe,” was all Carrie could manage to whisper. Surely, she thought, Henry must have managed to meet Margaret and get away with Dulcey. He’d know something was wrong the minute he returned to the place in the forest where she was supposed to be hiding, but surely his first priority would be to take Dulcey to...only to her father and grandmother now.

  Carrie cleared her throat, swallowed, cleared her throat again. “How did you get here?” she whispered.

  Tracy shut her eyes for a moment, then, instead of the tears and moaning that Carrie had expected, she said, in a whisper that was clear and unwavering, “I had to see about Dulcey. I wasn’t asleep when Eleanor thought I was. Chase was sleeping soundly, though, and when I heard women’s voices in Eleanor and Jason’s room, I opened the first connecting door and put my ear against the second door. I could hear some of what you and Eleanor were saying. I heard about your plans for tonight, so I got back on the bed and pretended to be asleep until Chase left with the rest of you. Then I wrote a note for Eleanor—I didn’t want her to worry about me, she’s been so kind—left the room by the door on our side, and came here to get Dulcey.

  “See, I just couldn’t wait...so much had gone wrong, and it was my fault. I wanted to save her myself, to clean up the mess I’d made. I wanted my daughter to be safe...you can see why I couldn’t wait, and the place was so easy to find after you mentioned the sewage plant. We used to play around there.