Foxy Roxy

by Nancy Martin

  “You never know. Tell me about what happened to Julius.”

  Valdeccio was with her then, trying to impress. Sucking in his gut and puffing out his chest, he said, “Yeah, I talked to Mr. Hyde a half hour before he died. We bitched about the homeless guy digging through the trash again. I chased him off, but he always came back, and that was annoying.”

  “Is that who killed Julius?”

  Head shake. “I doubt it. Somebody else must’ve done it. I figure—well, it doesn’t matter.”

  “No, tell me. What do you think happened?”

  “I can’t be sure. But there was always something going on in the family—you know, about money. Mr. Hyde told me about his mother’s will getting changed. That he’d made a deal with somebody to make adjustments. That’s what he called it—adjustments.”

  “How’d he do that?”

  He lit a cigarette with a big Zippo lighter, maybe buying himself enough time to formulate the right answer. “I’m not sure. I heard him on the phone a few times when I was driving him around. He liked to bitch, but he didn’t tell me everything.”

  “But you could piece things together?”

  “Yeah, okay.” He blew a cloud of cigarette smoke. “Sounded to me like he was paying off somebody to make adjustments in his mother’s affairs.”

  “A lawyer, you mean?”

  “Who else?”

  “Without his mother knowing?”

  “She was in a coma. How’s she supposed to know anything?”

  Roxy tried to get her brain around what she was hearing. “He paid a lawyer to change her will while she was in the coma. For a lot of money?”

  He spread his hands in the gesture of I’m empty. “I got the impression they didn’t want to use money. It was a trade. Mr. Hyde was giving away a statue. At least, that’s what I think—”

  “Wait. A statue?”

  “Yeah, he promised the guy he’d give him something real valuable, but not cash that could be traced or anything.”

  “Did you tell this to the cops?”

  Valdeccio smiled. “Hey, is it their business? I was loyal to the family, you know? I thought maybe one of the brothers might hire me—Quentin or Trey. But they cut me loose yesterday. Said they don’t need me anymore. So do I owe them any loyalty now?”

  “Depends on how you look at it,” Roxy murmured, still thinking about Hyde lawyers. And being paid with a statue that hadn’t been on the property, maybe, when Julius expected to give it away.

  “Say, I didn’t mean I couldn’t be loyal to the family.” Valdeccio looked anxious. “I can keep my mouth shut. Ask anybody. I never said a word about Mr. Hyde or his business. You tell Carmine if he needs somebody, I’m his man.”

  “I’ll put in a good word.”

  She turned and walked away. Had Julius intended to give the statue to somebody the night he died?

  “Call me,” Valdeccio said after her. “Tell Carmine I’m in the book.”

  She waved and climbed into her truck. She grabbed the steering wheel with both hands to stop their trembling. She knew who’d killed Julius. And probably Kaylee, too.

  27

  Henry played a around of golf in the morning because his regular foursome had a standing 8 a.m. tee time. He won seventy-five dollars, which meant he had to buy the beer and burgers in the clubhouse afterward. Lunch was a pleasant, joshing meal with a rehash of the morning’s shots. After shaking hands with everyone, he picked a lollipop from the bowl on the bar and strolled out to the parking lot.

  Back at Hilltop, he found a roll of duct tape in the barn and an X-acto knife in the garage, which saved him from having to buy them new in a store with video cameras. He pulled a length of nylon rope from a peg on the garage wall, and then he put all his supplies in the trunk of his car. He drove into the city listening to jazz on a public radio station.

  In Pittsburgh, he congratulated himself for getting lost only once before locating the car rental agency. He left his own car in a student parking lot and walked in the sunshine several blocks to rent an anonymous white cargo van. He drove it back to the parking lot to collect his supplies from the trunk of his car.

  At the appointed time, he drove to meet Arden at her father’s house. Obediently, she had Samson on a leash.

  “Be nice to him,” was all Arden had to say. She wore sunglasses, but Henry had a feeling she was crying. Either that, or she’d had so much cocaine that her nasal passages were shot.

  By the end of the school day, Henry was parked along a city street watching a parade of schoolgirls in plaid skirts and kneesocks. It was impossible to pick out one from the crowd, so he followed the students for a couple of blocks, pulled ahead, and parked. Then he snapped a leash on Samson and took the dog for a walk.

  He dropped a package in a trash can on the corner, then crossed the street.

  Within half a minute, Sage Abruzzo found him, because who could miss a giant black and white Great Dane?

  “Hey!” she called, dashing across the street to them. “Is that Samson?”

  Henry smiled, friendly but not effusive. “It is. How did you know?”

  Sage had been walking with a friend, another tall girl who hugged a book to her chest and hung back while Sage cuddled the dog’s head. Samson was happy to see her. His tail whipped as he playfully accepted Sage’s attention.

  All according to plan. Henry wasn’t too worried about his own appearance. He’d dressed himself in jeans and a gray Steelers sweatshirt with a ball cap over his hair. With sunglasses and ordinary sneakers, he looked like a thousand other men in a neighborhood full of grad students, college professors, and hospital employees. Besides, who was going to notice him? All attention was on the dog.

  Sage was on one knee, hugging Samson. She tipped her face up to Henry. “We met Arden yesterday. She had Samson with her. Are you her husband, or something?”

  Henry smiled, not too friendly. “Or something. I’m taking the dog back to her now.”

  Sage gave the dog one last pat. “Okay. Tell her Sage says hi.”

  “Will do.”

  Henry gave Samson’s leash a tug and turned away. He walked a few paces before wheeling around again. He called, “Are you Sage Abruzzo?”

  Both girls turned.

  Sage said, “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “Arden mentioned you at lunch today. She has some information for you.”

  Sage headed back in Henry’s direction. “Oh? What is it?”

  He could see the other girl had places to go. She murmured something to Sage, leaning the opposite way with some urgency.

  Henry said, “I’m headed over to Arden’s office now. Want to walk with me?”

  The other girl spoke again. Sage said something over her shoulder and waved good-bye. The other girl didn’t hesitate and walked away, which saved Henry the business of getting rid of her.

  Sage came loping back to Henry. “Miracle of miracles, we don’t have basketball practice today. So I have time to see Arden.”

  “Great,” Henry said. “This way. If you don’t mind Samson taking a detour now and then. When he really decides he wants to go somewhere, I have to agree.”

  Sage laughed easily. “He’s a nice dog.”

  Sage looked a lot like her mother—tall and shapely, but athletic. She had a purposeful, confident stride, but her backpack was heavy, which was a lucky break.

  Sage began to make conversation, but Henry wasn’t listening. For a moment, he feared the diversionary part of his plan had failed.

  But suddenly from behind them came a bang. Then a string of explosions—pop! Pop! Pop-pop-pop! Pop-pop!

  On instinct, they both turned around. Smoke was billowing out of the trash can two blocks back. Some girls who had lingered nearer the school scattered like frightened birds. One dashed out into the street, causing a car to shriek to a stop. Another girl had started to run, but fell headlong on the sidewalk. Other kids saw her fall, and the screaming began.

  Samson hid behind Henry’s legs, wh
impering.

  “Oh my God,” Sage said.

  Henry took her elbow. “Stay back.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Were those gunshots?”

  “Oh, my God!” Her voice went higher, louder.

  “Did you see what happened?”

  “No— We should call the police!”

  “I didn’t see what happened. Did you? Look, those girls are already dialing.”

  “OhmyGod, ohmyGod—”

  “Take it easy,” Henry said. He let the dog wrap his leash around Sage. “You’re okay. We should go, find someplace safe.”

  She turned to him, big eyes wide. “Maybe we can help.”

  “We didn’t see what happened. We’ll only contribute to the chaos. The police will be here any minute.”

  Chaos was breaking out for real. He couldn’t have choreographed it better. Children crying, people running in all directions. The firecrackers were quiet now, but trash in the can had caught fire, and smoke frothed out into the air. Sage was babbling.

  He steered her gently into the front seat of the cargo van.

  He had time to put Samson in the back. He walked around the vehicle and got into the driver’s seat. He closed the door and pressed the lock button. Sage was struggling out of her backpack, off balance and still babbling and distracted. He pulled the set of handcuffs from his pocket and clapped one steel cuff down on her slender wrist, the other around the bar beside the parking brake. He was quick. He had practiced. Sage whipped her face around to him, her mouth opening in surprise.

  He had a handkerchief ready. A clean one. He wasn’t a barbarian. It went into her mouth.

  Her other hand was entangled in the straps of her backpack, so he made a clumsy business of grabbing it and wrestling with her.

  By then, Sage had figured out she was in trouble.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t react as he’d assumed.

  She began to scream behind the handkerchief. She thrashed her arm. And kicked. Her legs were too long to get much momentum, but she was strong. And determined. In seconds, she was curled on her back, kicking fiercely at the windshield with her heavy shoes. She arched her back and flung her body hard against the handcuffs. As he duct-taped her wrists together, she began to bang her head on the passenger window. The dog gave a muffled bark.

  The cargo van had smoked windows, though. That was some reassurance. Nobody would be paying attention—not with the scene going on around the trash can.

  And Henry was prepared. He slapped her only once across the face. The blow startled her long enough for him to use the nylon rope to lasso her legs. Seconds later he used more duct tape—already cut in lengths and waiting on the dashboard—to subdue her.

  The last piece of duct tape went across her mouth.

  In less than a minute, Henry was driving the van with Sage Abruzzo somewhat contained on the seat beside him. The dog quieted. He drove sensibly and passed the arriving police cars going the opposite direction. In the rearview mirror, nobody pointed at the white cargo van. Nobody had noticed their departure.

  Also in the rearview mirror, Henry was surprised to discover his face was bleeding. Somehow, he’d sustained a scratch down his cheek. The blood welled up in the wound. He touched it, and his fingers came away smeared.

  He took another moment to assess himself further. His heartbeat had already returned to normal. He had a bruise on the underside of his forearm, probably from a kick. There was a slight ringing in his ears. Otherwise, he felt fine. Elated, perhaps.

  He glanced over to check on her. Sage glared at him from above the duct tape. She had tears on her face, but not from fear.

  She was partially crouched on the floor, out of sight of passing traffic, with both elbows on the seat to hold her balance. She looked a little like an animal preparing to attack, but he knew she couldn’t break the handcuffs. Her breath came in harsh bursts through her nose. The tape across her mouth was badly applied. He reached to smooth it properly, but she reared away from him, making a guttural noise in her throat. She had already figured out how not to choke on his handkerchief.

  On the seat, a little electronic tune played inside Sage’s backpack. Probably her cell phone.

  “We’ll get that later,” Henry said to her.

  Sage’s phone rang several times. Either she had a lot of friends or her mother was already missing her.

  As evening approached, Henry parked the van in the far corner of a suburban big box store’s lot. An anonymous sort of place where a plain van wouldn’t get much notice.

  “Don’t touch anything,” he said to Sage in a conversational tone.

  There seemed little point in adding a further threat.

  He got out of the vehicle and stepped away from it to make the phone call. He kept watch on Sage through the open door. Her furious glare stayed fastened on him the whole time.

  Henry used the first of several cell phones he’d purchased for the day’s purpose. Roxy Abruzzo picked up on the second ring.

  Henry said, “Miss Abruzzo?”

  She said, “I’ve been hoping you’d call. How’d you get my number?”

  “It’s printed on the side of your truck.”

  Her laugh was easy. “You’re pretty clever, Paxton. Can we get together?”

  “You have something to discuss? So do I.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s up?”

  “You first,” he said genially.

  “You heard about Kaylee Falcone, I suppose?”

  “Yes, unfortunately. Poor girl.”

  “I just talked to a friend of mine with the police. The ballistics reports are back. Kaylee Falcone was shot with the same gun that killed Julius. With .45-caliber bullets, from a revolver. Maybe an older model like a Colt Peacemaker.”

  “Oh?”

  “And funny thing. Trey Hyde mentioned to me that some relative of his collected older guns at their estate. Hilltop, I think he called it. Isn’t that where you live?”

  “I sincerely hope you haven’t discussed this train of thought with the police.”

  “Not yet,” she said.

  “That’s a relief,” Henry replied. “Because I have something of yours, and I’d hate for something terrible to happen to her.”

  Roxy was silent.

  Henry waited for her to grasp the situation. “Do you believe me?”

  Roxy finally said, “She wouldn’t be that stupid.”

  “She wasn’t stupid at all. It was a bit of a trick, you see. And you’ll be very proud of her. She fought like an Amazon.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Roxy said, her voice harsh.

  “No? I’ll call you back.”

  Henry disconnected the call and returned to the minivan. He leaned in, pulled Sage’s backpack onto the driver’s seat, and rummaged around inside until he came up with her cell phone. He dialed her mother’s number.

  Roxy picked up immediately. “Sage?”

  “It’s me,” Henry said. “And here’s what I’d like you to do, Roxy.”

  28

  Roxy closed her cell phone and forced herself to breathe. She was standing out in the yard beside her truck. Inside, out of earshot, Bug Duffy was still sitting on the leather couch in her office. He watched her through the window, so Roxy hastily rearranged her face to resemble something like calm. In a minute’s time, she pulled herself together sufficiently to go back inside.

  “Sorry.” She closed the door and pocketed her phone. “Business.”

  “Must be funny business,” Bug said. “You look white as a sheet.”

  “Bad lighting. It’s the only thing standing between me and a career as a supermodel.” She sat down at her desk before her knees gave out. “What were we talking about?”

  “The Delaney brothers.”

  “Right. They’ve disappeared?”

  “For the moment. But they’ll turn up again. They’re definitely bad pennies.”

  “Any idea where they are?”

  Bug squinted at her. “You sure
you’re okay?”

  Roxy took a long, slow breath to keep herself from screaming. Sage was gone. Sage had been kidnapped. By Henry Paxton. Who’d killed two people already. She was sure of it. But to tell Bug now meant Sage’s certain death.

  “I’m fine.” She looked at her watch, trying to do the math Henry Paxton had given her.

  Bug said, “Do you have an appointment?”

  She forced her voice to be steady. “I’ve got things to do. But I don’t want to rush you. You guys need to catch whoever killed Kaylee.”

  “And Julius Hyde.”

  “Him, too.”

  “Okay.” Bug got to his feet and reached for his cane. “I think we’re done for now. If you hear anything or think of anything else, call me, right?”

  “Right.”

  They went outside into the yard, where a city tow truck was winching Kaylee Falcone’s car up onto the flatbed. Watching, Roxy thought her heart was going to explode. She said good-bye to Bug, but a minute later she couldn’t remember what she’d said.

  Sage was with Henry Paxton. He said he’d kill her if Roxy brought the police.

  Roxy stumbled back into her office. She sat down on her swivel chair and put her head between her knees. She tried to think. Her brain felt like a red light spinning on top of a fire truck.

  A minute later, Nooch shuffled into the office. “I wish the police would stop coming around here. They make me nervous. Whatcha doin’?”

  Roxy sat up. “I need your help.”

  Nooch was eating a sandwich with the wrapping still half on it. Mouth full, he said, “I’m supposed to take Nonna to the doctor this afternoon.”

  “She may have to go alone.”

  “That’s okay by me. You should hear her coughing. Someday she is going to cough up a lung, and it’s going to lay there on the floor of the grocery story until somebody comes along and sweeps it up.”

  Roxy got up and checked the window. Bug was leaving, followed by the tow truck. Roxy grabbed her keys. “Let’s go.”

  Rooney jumped into the truck with them.

  At the restaurant, the prep staff was boiling bones and chopping vegetables while listening to the Rolling Stones. Flynn must have decided to sleep through until the dinner service, because he didn’t appear while Roxy and Nooch pulled the statue out of the refrigerator and chained it to a handcart. Nobody asked any questions as they wheeled the statue out the back door and winched it onto the truck. Within a few minutes, they had it lashed securely and climbed back into the truck.