Joseph's Kidnapping

by Randy Rawls

  “Maybe nothing. But if it comes down to a contest of public opinion, Joseph will lose. People around here loved Peanut’s shenanigans, and you can bet Candi will get every story before the jury. Did you hear about his first adult arrest?”

  I didn’t need any more Peanut stories, so I changed the subject. “Maliday seemed to have a personal grudge against Chip. Why?”

  “Hasn’t Chip told you?”

  “If he had, I wouldn’t be asking.” I appeased my patience with another doughnut.

  “Simmer down. I figgered he’d told you about him and Candi. They used to be the hot couple in Canton.”

  “Candi and Chip? You’re kidding.” The doughnut tried to hang in my throat. “She outweighs him, and looks a lot tougher.”

  “She didn’t always look like that—head cheerleader in high school. Since Chip was the football hero, it was natural they were sweethearts. She was a real beauty then. Everybody thought they’d get married as soon as they finished high school, or at least, when they finished at the university. It didn’t happen. Chip left her standing at the altar during their junior year in college. She swore she’d get revenge. This looks like another shot at him. She tried once before, but the case was too weak.”

  “So, what you’re saying is she’s out to get Chip, not because she cares about Peanut’s daughter.”

  “That’s what I think.” Bob sat for a moment, then stood and walked to the window. “I bet she didn’t tell you the daughter’s name because she can’t remember it. This has nothing to do with anybody but Chip and Candi.”

  I mulled over this strange turn of events. Bob had given me a story I’d never have anticipated. But Joseph was still my case. “Before Candi arrived, we were talking about Peanut and his cohorts. What can you tell me?”

  “Nothing. I don’t know who he ran with. He got out of jail about three months ago. I’ve got Dub and Bull trying to backtrack what he’s been doing. Soon as we come up with something, I’ll let you know.”

  “I guess that’s it,” I said. “I’d better get back to Chip’s. He needs to bring me up to date on some history, and there’s the chance the kidnapper will call again.”

  “You just remember who’s the law in Van Zandt. Keep me informed or I’ll run your butt out of the county.” He grinned as we shook hands.

  I started toward the door, then said, “Another subject. What can you tell me about Wanda? Have you known her long?”

  “I’ve known her most of her life. Watched her grow up, get married, bury one husband, and divorce two others. Whaddaya want to know?”

  “Three marriages at her age? Why? What happened?”

  “That’s something for her, or maybe Chip, to tell you. I don’t talk about people I respect.”

  “Come on, Bob. I would like to know. Give me the nickel version. I’ll ask Wanda to fill in the holes, but I need a place to start.”

  Bob stared at me. “Sit down. Chip said you two are getting thick. I’ll give you an outline, but you gotta get the rest from her.”

  “Fair enough.” I returned to my chair.

  “You gotta understand Chip’s dad raised both his kids to be independent, to think for themselves. You may know Chip sometimes walks his own path.”

  I thought about our days in college and some of the stunts Chip pulled. Bob knew him pretty good.

  “Wanda ain’t no mousy little woman. She’s got a head on her shoulders, and when she makes up her mind, ain’t nobody gonna change it ’cept her.”

  “I noticed.”

  “That’s the way her daddy raised her, and the way she lives.”

  “But married and split three times? And she’s…what…mid-thirties?”

  “Hmm, lemme think.” Bob pondered a moment, or appeared to, then replied, “Yep, mid-thirties. I make her thirty-five, thirty-six.” He paused, and I could sense he struggled with something. “If you knew anything about her marriages, you’d understand why she’s single.”

  “Then tell me. Like you said, we’re getting kind of thick. I’d like to know what I’m getting into.”

  “She says her first marriage was like a fairy tale. They met in college, at UT. Brad, that was his name, came from Houston where his folks had made a mint in oil. He and Wanda married as soon as he graduated, and he went to work in his daddy’s business. Every time I saw them, they looked like newlyweds, or closer. You’d have had to be blind not to see how much they loved each other.”

  “So, what happened? If it was so great, why’d they split?”

  Bob shot me a look that could have melted the wax buildup on the floor. “Death. Brad’s death.” He glared.

  “Oh.” That made me feel lousy. “How’d he die?” I had to know. At that moment, it was the most important thing in my life.

  “Quit interrupting and I’ll tell you. They’d been married ’bout two years when it happened. A Texas thunderstorm late one night when Brad was going home from Dallas. The State Patrol estimated he was doing about a hundred-ten when he lost it. The car left the road and rolled several times, killing him instantly.”

  “How did Wanda take it?”

  “Bad, as bad as you can imagine. She went to pieces. They had to hospitalize her. The bright spot is he left her set for life. He carried heavy life insurance. When she got out of the hospital about three months later, she came back here and moved in with Chip. By then, his marriage had gone south, and he lived alone.

  “She had a great business sense. She coaxed and bullied Chip into getting out of the dude ranch racket, then helped him turn the place into a working ranch. But on the personal side, she went out of control. She—” He paused, looked at his hands, then back to me. “I’d better shut up. This next chapter ain’t too pretty. You best talk to Chip, or better yet, to Wanda, though she might not remember all of it.”

  “Don’t quit on me.” He had piqued my curiosity. I’d never have imagined Wanda as he presented her.

  “Nope, that’s all I’m gonna say.” He paused. “Well, one more thing. I’ve never seen nobody so unhappy and so intent on destroying herself after she came home.” He stood. “You best get out of here. I got work to do.”

  I guessed he’d said all he intended to say. “Thanks, Bob. I’ll take your advice and talk to Chip. Sounds like Wanda might not be the best person to ask.”

  When I got to my convertible, I sat and thought, my mind swirling from one subject to another. The one that grabbed most attention was what Bob said about Wanda. He talked about a woman I didn’t know, a woman who had problems and sadness in her past I’d never have guessed. He left many holes in the story, and I knew I must fill them. Maybe Chip would talk to me.

  A lesser story, but one prodded by right brain was Candi Maliday. What to do about her? Maybe I could pretend she was Chip’s problem and not deal with her.

  As I drove away, left brain reminded me of my reason for being in Canton. But I still had no idea about how to prove a jackass innocent of murder.

  TWELVE

  I was in no hurry to get to Chip’s place. I needed to think, to sort through what I’d heard about Wanda and my growing feelings for her. Also, there was Joseph.

  My first stop was the First Monday grounds. Today, it was an area filled with empty metal shelters, not at all a mammoth flea market that draws thousands of visitors one weekend each month. I entered through a gate featuring a statue of two men and a dog. It was perfect for East Texas, simple, yet so expressive.

  Wanda and her loss plagued me. Yet, there were two other marriages Bob didn’t talk about. I needed those details also.

  The case. I sifted the facts I knew. Peanut was the best lead I had, and his talking days were over. Joseph wouldn’t talk—okay, couldn’t talk. Somewhere out there the kidnapper and the killer hid, probably laughing. I needed to find out about the legend of Van Zandt, Mr. Peter Boynton, a.k.a. Peanut. What was his relationship with Joseph and the ranch? The answers had to start with Chip.

  After leaving the First Monday grounds, I explored back
roads. Whereas Eastland County, where I grew up, is dry, Van Zandt is moist and rife with trees. The terrain of Eastland has sharp hills and definite valleys, the terrain of Van Zandt is hilly. I knew there were areas that would qualify for government handouts or drive environmentalists wild, but they were hidden behind tall oak and pine trees with the spaces beneath filled with red bud and dogwood.

  Finally, I headed toward Chip’s place, knowing I had to earn the rent on his cottage, not to mention the fifteen hundred a day. As I turned into his long driveway, the hair on the back of my neck prickled. A black pickup truck roared by on the main road. The driver wore a western hat pulled low over his eyes, his head turned in my direction. Right brain kicked in demanding to know if there was anything special about the truck. Left brain searched for something, anything. Maybe I’d seen that truck earlier today. My stomach rolled, making me guess the truck had something to do with me.

  I stopped and stared, but nothing came, no recognition factor. The driver didn’t help. He sped on. After a few minutes, I filed it away and drove up Chip’s driveway.

  I parked and Frank was quick to my door. “Miss Wanda’s going sailing and thought you might like to join her. She said she’d wait at the boathouse ’til two o’clock.”

  I checked my watch and was surprised to see the time—one-thirty. I’d eaten up three hours wandering around the county, but I still had plenty of time to make it to the boathouse. My testosterone level leapt as I envisioned an afternoon on a sailboat with Wanda. I hoped the boat was big enough to stay afloat with the rocking I had in mind.

  Left brain reminded me I had a case to work. Right brain pointed out what a wonderful afternoon I could have with Wanda. In my negative-positive scenario, Chip was the negative and Wanda was the triple exclamation points positive. However, my daddy said when you’re allowed to choose, it’s best to tackle the worst first.

  “Thank you, Frank. I’d love to go with Wanda.”

  Frank’s smile dimmed and his shoulders slumped.

  “But please tell her it’ll have to wait until I’ve solved Joseph’s kidnapping and have Chip out of the legal mess that’s brewing.”

  Frank’s smile beamed. “Of course, Mr. Edwards. Mr. Jamison is in the Texas Room.”

  I climbed the porch stairs and reached for the doorknob. As usual, the door opened with no assistance from me. “Are you coming in, Mr. Edwards? Didn’t Frank give you Wanda’s message?” Annie did not look thrilled to see me.

  I knew my evening meal might be a cold one, but I entered the house anyway. “Thank you. I have to talk with Chip. Frank said he’s inside.”

  I went to the Texas Room, but before I could speak, the phone rang. Chip gave me a shush sign as we waited for Annie to answer. By the third ring, I decided if I ever get enough money to hire a maid, I’ll still answer my own phone, no matter what she says. However, patience being the virtue it’s touted to be, the inevitable happened. The phone quit ringing, and a moment later Annie appeared in the doorway.

  “Mr. Jamison, it’s the man that stole Joseph.”

  I signaled Chip to wait, and went to the other phone. We picked up at the same time as I flipped on the recorder.

  Chip said, “Hello, what can I do for you.”

  “You sombitch,” the kidnapper yelled. “I told you not to call no cops. Now, you done told that dumb-shit sheriff, and brought in a city slicker to save your money. That’s gonna cost you more—”

  “Hold it,” Chip said. “I didn’t call the sheriff. He found…”

  I signaled Chip to shut up. You know, the old finger slash across the throat, and he let his voice trail away.

  “Don’t lie to me, you bastard. You think cause I ain’t got no education and run around with a dumb-shit like Peanut, I don’t know nothing. Well, I know a lot. I know that damn jackass of yorn killed Peanut and the sheriff’s gonna fry him down for it.”

  I saw Chip was insulted that he called Joseph a jackass, so I gave him the second most popular sign for silence, the forefinger across the lips. Chip glared, but kept quiet.

  “You still there?” the kidnapper demanded. “Yeah, I hear you breathing. Now, here’s the new deal—fifteen thousand, or I tell the sheriff I saw that jackass kick the shit outta Peanut. You got that?”

  I cupped my palm over the mouthpiece and whispered, “Where? Ask him where, and when to deliver.” I have to hand it to Chip. He was cool as the proverbial cucumber.

  “Excuse me, sir. Where and when do I deliver the money?”

  The kidnapper went silent, but I heard heavy breathing. I had the distinct impression he hadn’t thought beyond demanding the money.

  “I’ll git back to you,” he said. “I want five-dollar bills, used ones, nothing bigger. You got it?”

  Without missing a beat, Chip replied, “Okay, five-dollar bills, fifteen thousand, right?”

  “Name, name, ask his name,” I whispered.

  “About delivery, Mr…uh…I don’t know your name,” Chip said. “Look, if we’re going to do business, I must know your name.”

  “Yessir, everybody calls me Mel— Wait a minute, wise-ass. You gitting smart with me?”

  “Talk. Keep him talking. He might slip up again.”

  Chip returned my sign for silence, however he modified the finger. “Good, Mel. Anything else? You know, my Annie is one hell of a cook. Would you like a picnic basket or something with the money?”

  I stared at Chip, then his words sank in, and I almost burst out laughing. But I pushed it away, and searched my memory for any name I’d heard beginning with Mel.

  “Huh…wha… You being a smart ass?” Silence, then the kidnapper continued. “If you ain’t, I likes ham and cheese with mustard and jalapeños on sourdough bread. Don’t toast the sourdough. Makes it too hard. My teeth ain’t so good no more.”

  Again Chip blew my mind with his cool. “Yes, I understand. That’ll be…let me see…three thousand used five-dollar bills and one picnic basket with ham and cheese, mustard, and jalapeños on sourdough, untoasted. Hmmm, I’ll have to get a big box. Is there anything else, Mr. Mel?”

  “Three thousand—”

  The line went dead.

  I couldn’t hold it any longer. I cracked up. I laughed until the tears streamed. As soon as I caught my breath, I said, “Chip, you’re good. Anytime you want to move to Dallas, you can be my partner. Where the hell did you come up with that picnic basket idea?”

  Chip stared at me, then his face creased into a smile. “You said keep him on the phone. It worked, didn’t it?” He chuckled, then added, “Get serious, Ace. What do we do next? He may not sound too smart, but he still has the upper hand. If he talks to Bob…” A frown replaced the smile.

  I thought for a moment before replying. “We wait. But while we’re waiting, we put together a box that looks like three thousand five-dollar bills. How big a box is that?”

  “Beats the shit out of me,” Chip replied. “I’ve never done this ransom thing before. I bet he’s trying to figure out the same thing.” He sat quiet for a moment. “Hell, that’s what I’m paying you for.”

  While I worked on a suitable response, I felt another presence in the room, and a freeze crept into my soul. Wanda had appeared.

  Under any other circumstances, she’d have been beautiful, and she would have this time if she’d been wearing a sleep mask to hide her eyes. Her legs were shoulder width apart, all tanned skin up to a pair of cutoff jeans. There was no doubt in my mind she’d cut them for maximum exposure to the sun. They stopped short of paradise and rode up higher on the outer thigh. A thin belt seemed to be all that held them together. She had on another halter top, lavender this time and if possible, less capable than the one she wore the day we met.

  Her hair was in a ponytail, and she had a purple scarf tied around her neck, cowboy style. Bright pink lipstick colored her full lips, and her cheeks were pink. I wasn’t sure whether the blush was temper, or came from a tube. Her fists were dug into her hips and defiance poured into the room. As
I looked, her eyes bored into me. I swear there were little red, explosive tipped missiles sailing out. I told myself to wear lead-lined skivvies if we got this close again.

  “Good afternoon, Wanda,” I said in my most gracious voice. “You look especially lovely today. Did you do something different with your hair?” Being short, I’ve learned when a fight is inevitable, attack first. If you’re my size, you’ll probably get your ass whipped, but you can at least get in a good first shot.

  “You no-good, greasy, citified, big-headed, balding, drugstore-cowboy sonnavabitch,” she said. “I bet your ancestors were carpetbaggers from New York City. How dare you keep me waiting.”

  She’d gone too far. She had stepped over the line. “Pardon me, my dear. Insulting my ancestors demonstrates how limited your repertoire is. However, insulting my hairline is a clear indication your eyesight is deficient. I am not balding. Therefore, you owe me an apology for such a gross misstatement.” Okay, I am losing hair, but I don’t like to hear about it.

  She stormed from the room, punctuating her opinion with a resounding crack of the door.

  I looked at Chip who held his sides, then laughter burst out in a guffaw that rattled the glass walls of the Texas Room. It rolled through the room until I feared for his health. Finally, with a last ha, ha, or maybe ho, ho, he sat, gasping for breath.

  When he’d regained the ability to breathe without wheezing, he said, “Ace, I’d pay you even if Joseph hadn’t been kidnapped. I’ve been waiting years for my little sister to meet a man who won’t come to the position of attention for her. You’re worth every dollar I’m shelling out.”

  I glanced toward the door she’d disappeared through, not sure I agreed with Chip. Maybe I should have jumped to attention. Winning a battle while losing a war was not my idea of victory.

  THIRTEEN

  Wanda didn’t put in another appearance. Meanwhile, Chip and I waited for the rustler to call. We went through all the people Chip knew whose names began with Mel or Nel or anything that rhymed. Nothing. We came up with nothing. He called Evan, his accountant, who faxed over a list of the ranch’s cowhands for the past five years. We still drew a blank, not the tiniest lead.