Joseph's Kidnapping

by Randy Rawls

  They gave me one of those looks that convinces me cats are a lot smarter than humans think, then disappeared into the guest bedroom. That gave my confidence a boost because it meant they thought there wouldn’t be room in my bed for them.

  When I looked back, Wanda was picking up pieces of glass. “I hope you have some glasses. I need a glass of wine. They scared the hell out of me. I thought they were big rats.”

  I let her insult pass although I made a mental note not to tell the boys. “Yes, I have glasses. Have a seat, I’ll get some.” I walked into the kitchen and took down two water glasses. I searched the drawers for a corkscrew, but came up empty.

  The best I found was the ice pick I’d taken out of my tire. Walking into the living room brandishing the ice pick, I said, “We may have to drink some cork, but this should work.” The room was empty.

  “Back here, Ace, your bedroom,” came a voice from the rear of the house. I shrugged, grinned, and headed that way.

  When I entered, I found out two things. One, she’d brought her own corkscrew and two, she looked great lying on my bed.

  She purred, “I hope you don’t mind. I opened the wine. It’s on the dresser. Pour, please.”

  It took all my willpower to follow her instructions as my eyes kept devouring her, and my thoughts—well, never mind. I blessed the fates that had brought me to this point in my life.

  I took the two glasses of wine to the bed, handed one to her and put the other on the nightstand. I sat down, pulled her to me and kissed her. She tasted so good I had no desire to come up for air.

  “You’re beautiful,” I murmured, my fingers sliding underneath the back of her T-shirt, feeling her silky skin. “I don’t know what I’ve done to earn this, but—”

  The phone interrupted. I looked at it on the nightstand on the other side of the bed and it rewarded me with another ring. “Let it ring. I’m busy working a case,” I said.

  “It might be the kidnapper,” Wanda said through its soul-scraping noise.

  “He doesn’t have my number.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s unlisted. Only a few people know it.” Okay, I lied. I figured it was worth it.

  Wanda pushed me away as I plotted a kiss that would take us back to where we’d been. “You’re not at home. This phone is listed.”

  The phone issued its fourth call for attention.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll answer it. But whoever it is had better be important.”

  I rolled across the bed, nuzzling Wanda as I passed over her and grabbed the phone. “Yeah. You got Ace Edwards, and it better be good.”

  “Damn, you’re grumpy tonight, Arty,” Jake Adams said. “A fellow calls to—”

  “Jake, you sonnavabitch. You have the world’s worst timing. It’s the middle of the night. I’m busy, and why are you calling?”

  “Arty, you’ve got more problems than Joseph’s kidnapping. I need to bring you up to date on Candi Maliday.”

  “I know who she is. I met her. I—”

  “Cool it, Arty, and listen.”

  The tone of Jake’s voice shut me up. He seldom sounded serious when pulling his mid-night pranks. This time he did.

  “I know how good you are, Arty, but she’s better. I’m sure you arranged to meet her, and now deem her a worthy adversary.”

  What did you expect me to do—tell him my meeting with her had been accidental, and I thought she was a fat slob? It wouldn’t have been fair to burst his balloon. “Okay, she’s tough. I know that. What do you know about her? And don’t call me Arty.”

  “She went after a friend of mine in Dallas. She took every dime he had, and forced him into suicide.”

  My PI mind kicked in. “Okay. Tell me the whole story.”

  The story involved a stockbroker friend of his that had invested a certain asset in a woman other than his wife. After bringing in a PI who caught him in the act, the wife hired Candi Maliday. When the dust cleared, the ex-wife had custody of the kids, all the ex-husband’s assets, five thousand dollars a week alimony, and two thousand a week for each of the three kids.

  Jake’s friend couldn’t take it and killed himself. Candi won there also. Part of the judgment stipulated the ex-husband take out a two million dollar life insurance policy naming his ex-wife as the beneficiary. It paid no matter how he died.

  A half-hour or so later, I thanked Jake for the call and hung up feeling like I’d settled into a hellish pit, and Candi Maliday was the demon-in-charge. I felt myself falling into despair, then remembered what I’d been doing when the phone rang.

  I looked at Wanda, but saw Sweeper. He sat where Wanda had lain, cleaning himself. “Wanda,” I called, looking around the room. “Where’d she go, Sweeper?”

  Striker ran from the bathroom. “Meow.”

  After checking, I realized he was telling me Wanda wasn’t in there either.

  I walked into the hallway and saw a note weighed down by my Beretta.

  We can wait. That call sounded important to Joseph. I should have known you’re on duty 24 hours a day. But don’t think you’ve escaped. I still have plans for you.

  The initial W adorned the last line.

  I rushed to the front door, but saw no evidence of her in the driveway. No car, no golf cart, nothing. I debated a moment about calling the big house, but decided that wouldn’t be smart. I wrote it off as the price of being a high-paid, in demand PI.

  My glass of wine sat on the nightstand where I’d placed it. Wanda must have taken hers because it was nowhere in sight. I toasted Jake for doing it again, then downed the wine.

  Sometime during the next three hours with my mind doing a one-eighty between Wanda and Candi, I emptied the wine bottle.

  I must have drifted off to sleep because the buzzing phone woke me. Striker lay on my chest, as usual. “Hello,” I said, picking up the hand piece.

  “Breakfast for you and Miss Wanda will be at seven. That gives you an hour to get yourselves together.” No mistaking Annie’s voice. “’Bout time you two quit playing games and got together.” Click.

  I hoped Annie hadn’t checked Wanda’s room before making the call. If she had, my dear Wanda was playing her game in another arena.

  “Meow?” Sweeper said.

  “Can’t you guess? My wake-up call.”

  “Meow?”

  “Yep, good old Annie. She says hello and breakfast in an hour.”

  * * * *

  Annie met me at the door. “It’s seven-thirty and breakfast is cold. I’ll reheat it, but I won’t cook more.” She stopped and looked into my face. “Humph, you look tired. I’ll pour an extra large orange juice.” She turned away, but not fast enough to hide a grin.

  I followed, wondering where Wanda was. If Annie expected her to be with me, she’d given no clue. We went into the Texas Room where the table was set for two. Wanda occupied one of the positions.

  I sat, and Wanda took my hand. “I didn’t tell Annie your case took priority. Didn’t want to burst her bubble.”

  “Thanks.” She didn’t seem to care what she’d done to my bubble, not to mention my libido.

  “Annie’s a wonderful judge of men. She liked my first husband and told me the next two were losers. It took me a while to learn to trust her judgment. Don’t let it go to your head, but she likes you and insisted I go to your place last night. She said I’d been hard to get along with.”

  I decided that telling her what I’d thought yesterday would do nothing to further our relationship. And, I felt comfortable with her. “You? Hard to get along with? How could she think that?”

  “When I heard you on the phone, I realized I was being presumptuous. The case is your highest priority, and it’s not fair for me to interfere. So I left and came here.”

  I decided to let that remark lay on the table alongside the butter and shifted the subject. “Tell me about your first husband.”

  Her eyes glazed as if she were looking into the past. “He was a wonderful man, no, make that a perfect
husband. Brad was the kind of man every woman should be lucky enough to marry. I try to tell myself what we had would have cooled, but…” She sighed, that faraway look hanging in her eyes. “Yes, he was the best of the lot.” She hesitated, looked at me and grinned. “So far.”

  A cold chill rippled my spine. I hoped she didn’t have that most vile of all words in mind—marriage. After my first experience, I was convinced the old joke was right. Marriage is a wonderful institution, if you’re ready for an Institution. Besides, having Chip for a brother-in-law would present a challenge. Of course, there had been Terri…

  Frank saved me as he came from the front of the house. “Good morning, Ms. Jamison, Mr. Edwards. If you don’t mind, sir, I’d like to take your cats for a walk.” He held two small pet harnesses in his hand.

  “Good luck,” I said. “I’m not sure those apparati are strong enough to hold them.” What did I know? Apparatus sounded Latin to me. I figured it didn’t matter. He’d never get those rigs on Sweeper and Striker. When next I saw him, he’d be wearing the scars of warring with my two gutter-fighters.

  “Don’t worry, sir. I have a way with animals.” He left the room.

  I watched his back, hoping the boys wouldn’t hurt him. Also, I stalled, hoping Wanda would not pick up where she left off. I tried to think of a subject that would steer the conversation far away from marriage. As a comment on the weather came to mind, Annie rescued me.

  “Okay, here it is. Now get on with it. I have better things to do than wait for you two to finish breakfast.” She placed several bowls on the table. “Mr. Edwards, Mr. Jamison wants you to meet him in the north pasture. Wanda, you’re taking a nap. You need your beauty sleep. The bags under your eyes are big enough for a week’s packing.” She eyed me, then turned to Wanda. “Besides, we have some talking to do.”

  I wanted to ask about my needs. Instead, I reached for the food. I had scrambled eggs, sausage patties, toast and grits. I don’t know how much orange juice and coffee I drank because my glass and cup never reached below the half-filled mark. Annie hovered over me like a maiden aunt. I assumed I’d passed some test although she didn’t yet know the full story of last night.

  FIFTEEN

  When I walked out the front of Chip’s house, Frank stood beside a Jeep. He pointed. “Follow that trail about three miles, and you’ll see the north pasture. Mr. Jamison and Matt, our foreman, headed that way about two hours ago. They said they were going to check the herd.” He took out a cell phone. “I’ll let them know you’re on the way.”

  “Good. Tell Chip to send out a search party if I’m not there by noon.” I chuckled as I climbed into the Jeep.

  “Oh, by the way,” Frank said. “The boys enjoyed their walk. I’ll take them out again this afternoon.”

  I stared at him, wondering if he was pulling my leg. Sweeper and Striker taking a walk? No way. But his expression was serious, and I had to accept it—my cats in a harness. Still seemed impossible. I drove off as Frank spoke into the phone. I missed one turn, but accurate path finding took me to the north pasture. As I rolled across the cattle guard, Chip waved. Matt was nowhere in sight.

  “’Bout damn time you got here. You stay in bed too late. Go earlier and get a good night’s sleep.”

  Uh-oh, I thought. He must know Wanda visited.

  “I wanted to meet you here,” Chip said, “away from the house and away from all the ears that have my best interests at heart. I sent Matt on because I need to tell you about Candi and why she’s out to get me.”

  I stepped down from the Jeep, and we walked through the herd. Chip was at home, scratching an ear on one and patting the rump on another. A look of pride radiated from his face as he examined each. I could tell from the set of his eyes he saw things I’d never see. He was a rancher, a lover of cattle, and dressed the part. He wore a pair of well-worn jeans, scratched and scarred boots, a plaid shirt, and a greasy western hat.

  “Hey, nice hat,” I said. Hats with character fascinate me. My guess was the hat had once been black, but now it was a dark mottled gray with sweat, dirt, and oil stains—a cowhand’s hat.

  Chip took it off and stared at it. “Yeah. It’s seen better days, but I’ll wear it until it falls apart on my head.”

  “Oh? Something special about it?”

  “Yes. Candi gave it to me when we were in college—my twentieth birthday. At first, I cherished it and wore it only on special occasions. Now, I cherish it and wear it at every opportunity.”

  I looked at him. His story stole character from the hat.

  “Enough,” Chip said. “We’ve got work to do.”

  After we’d made the rounds of the herd, and I’d stepped in two cow patties, he nodded toward an oak tree. “Let’s sit down over there. I’ve got some coffee in a thermos.”

  His thermos turned out to be a picnic basket with Annie’s fingerprints all over it. Sweet rolls, coffee, and orange juice filled it to the top. Never before had I known orange juice replenished vital juices, but Annie appeared to think so.

  “You need to know why Candi is out to get me, what’s driving her,” Chip said through a mouthful of sweet roll as he leaned against the tree. His brow furrowed, and his voice took on a somber tone. “She hates me. We go back to junior high school.”

  He told me essentially the same story Sheriff Galoway had related, although he added a few points that clarified some things. She had dated no one except him. He was her first lover when they were sixteen. They’d sworn undying devotion to one another and took a blood oath to marry. On the day they were to be married, he was drunk and hiding in Louisiana—terrified. He finished his tale by saying, “I haven’t had the courage to face her since—except in the courtroom.”

  I mulled over the details while I munched another sweet roll and drank more orange juice. It went down great. I decided Annie had made an important discovery. I swallowed and said, “So, what you’re telling me is she has good reason to hate you and doesn’t give a shit what it takes to nail you.”

  “That’s about it. If it weren’t Peanut, it would be something else. She wants revenge, and the hell of it is, I don’t blame her. Looking back, I know I messed up her life.” He stared into the distance for a moment. “Maybe I wrecked mine at the same time. My marriage was a mess, not because of Sandra, but because of me. Every time I lay down beside her, I saw Candi—the Candi from high school and college, not the fat bitch we see today. First, I destroyed Candi, then I destroyed my marriage and Sandra.” He lapsed into silence.

  After several minutes, I asked, “What happened to Sandra?”

  “I turned her into an alcoholic and she killed herself in an automobile accident, driving drunk. That prompted Candi’s first suit against me. Sandra crashed head-on into a pickup truck carrying a family of three. By God’s mercy, the people in the truck weren’t killed, but they were hurt bad. Sandra had walked out on me six months before the accident and shacked up with some barfly she’d met. Candi grabbed the case and came after me with a personal injury suit. My insurance company deflected it and won the case based on the premise Sandra had deserted me. They argued I couldn’t be held responsible for something she’d done after she’d walked away from the connubial bed.” He sighed. “That gave Candi one more reason to hate me. She doesn’t like to lose.”

  When he stopped talking this time, I kept my mouth shut. It was obvious he needed time to reflect, to heal, to come to grips with his predicament—if he ever could. I also wondered if he still had feelings for Candi. Maybe that explained his attachment to the battered hat.

  I walked to the Jeep and took out my Beretta. After checking to insure it held a loaded magazine, I target practiced against a prickly pear cactus on the non-cattle end of the pasture. Eight of the nine rounds shredded a pad at twenty-five yards. I should have put all nine on target, but I jerked the trigger on the fourth, instead of using a gentle squeeze.

  I ejected the empty magazine and slammed home another. Before I could fire, I felt a tap on my shoulder. “
Save your ammunition and my cactus. I’m okay now.” He paused, then added, “What the hell are we doing out here when Joseph’s still suspected of murder?”

  Chip was back.

  We climbed into the Jeep and headed for the house. As I drove, Chip called Evan, his accountant, on his cell phone. “Get me a list of everybody we’ve let go for the last…” He looked at me. “How far back should we go?”

  “To the first day,” I answered. “Some people hold a grudge a long time.”

  Chip returned his attention to the phone. “As far back as your books go. Add anybody who asked for a job that we didn’t hire. I want to know every swinging cowboy that has been on this place, or wanted to be here.” He listened a moment, then exploded. “A week, my ass. If it ain’t on my fax by two this afternoon, you better be looking for another guy to pay your bills.” He hit the off button with a vengeance.

  “Little rough on him, weren’t you?” I said.

  “Bullshit. That wimp’s been padding the books for years. Let him work this time.”

  I looked at him, seeing a side of Chip I hadn’t seen before, his tough range-boss side. Before I could comment, the Jeep hit a chuck hole, and we bounced off the path into a small mesquite tree.

  “Hey, easy there,” Chip said. “Annie sends Frank to cut those. You won’t believe what she can do with a thick steak over mesquite coals.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’ll have to remember where you massacred that one so I can tell him.” For the first time that morning, he laughed—a laugh filled with mirth, yes—but mostly a laugh of relief.

  * * * *

  “Are you ready for lunch?” Annie asked as she and Frank met the Jeep in the driveway. “I have pasta draining and I made some of my special sauce.”

  Lunch—the farthest thing from my mind. My stomach still bulged from breakfast, several sweet rolls, many cups of coffee, and I had at least a gallon of orange juice sloshing around inside me. “Ah, I’ll pass, if you don’t mind.” I didn’t want to violate the truce that had descended between Annie and me.