Dressed in White

by Diana Stone

  I text Quinn goodnight. “The four of us had a really nice dinner at home. You were mentioned with appreciation and respect.”

  He’s been around for weeks now. It seems that he really is in our lives—I like that.

  28

  Kidnapping

  I’m sitting at my desk in the code enforcement office, thankful for the steady job, without enforcers lying in wait for me. I have solid pay, from working three days a week.

  “Jess, be careful out there today. I just read in the paper that an Uber driver was beaten up and his passenger was kidnapped.”

  “That’s terrible,” I mutter, distractedly.

  “Be on the lookout for a black sedan with Nevada plates.”

  “Whaaat?” That gets my attention.

  “Yeah, it says the car is out of state.”

  “Is that the article?” I jump up and look over my boss’ shoulder.

  “Sure, you can read it. I know you’re on the prowl for crime,” she hands me the paper.

  I read, “The Uber driver said he was accosted behind the market on Highway 245 in Santa Ynez at 4:00 this morning. His female passenger was kidnapped. He said he tried to help the black-haired woman, but that’s when he was punched in the face, breaking his nose. The suspects are described as two big, white males, wearing dark clothes. They drove west in a black sedan that looks like a limo, possibly a late model Cadillac.”

  “Oh no,” I mutter.

  “What?”

  “I brought her to the ranch. The driver picked her up and took her back to the market. I guess I have a phone call to make.”

  “You’re involved? Of course you are,” she returns to her paperwork.

  I pick up the desk phone and call Detective Kay.

  “This is Detective Kay,” he sounds his usual grumpy self.

  “Hi this is Jessica Wilcox. I have some info for you.”

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “It’s about that Uber kidnapping.”

  “Do tell.” It sounds like he’s camouflaging his interest.

  I explain what happened yesterday at the market. I also give him the phone number for her attorney friend.

  “Why did you get involved? Can’t you stay out of things that don’t concern you?”

  “What was I supposed to do, leave her there, crying and afraid?”

  “Did you ever think of calling the police?”

  “No. I didn’t. She appealed to me as a woman. I never thought of it.”

  “For a smart girl, I’d say you’re rather stupid.” If I didn’t know him, he wouldn’t get away with saying that.

  “I guess so, but she just wanted to get home. I didn’t think…”

  “No, you didn’t think!” He steals the end of my sentence.

  “Anyhow, that’s my story. You can add it to the rest of your case.”

  “What is that guy of yours doing?”

  “He’s still working. Have you finished the ballistics? I’d like my .38 back.”

  “I’ll release it to you. We know it was a .45”

  “Thanks. I’ll be in after work, if that’s Ok?”

  “Sure. And be careful. Now they have the girl, they’ll have a direct link to you again.”

  Oh boy, that’s crappy news. That means they’ll go to the ranch. The horses are there, and I go feed every day. They already knew, because their killer-friends were there.

  It also means they’ll follow me to Monica’s. There’s no way to sneak around in my truck. They can watch me from blocks away. So I’ll be moving out. I have most of my things in the truck. I’ll pick up some blankets tonight when I feed. I’ll have my .38 and .45; hopefully two will be enough. I really need a spotlight. I’ll buy one on my lunch break.

  I’m in no more danger than I was a few days ago. I’m simply aware of it now.

  Am I stressed? Yes!

  A text to Quinn eases it a little. Even though he probably won’t respond for a while.

  I go about my day, watching for that black sedan. The problem is, it looks like most wine tasting limos—the designated driver limos. I won’t see the license plate until it’s close, and their Nevada plate can easily be changed out for a stolen California one.

  The day ends. I dash out the door and head for the police station. Det. Kay isn’t there, but has approved the release of my snub-nosed Smith & Wesson.

  The horses need dinner.

  Now that I think about it, so do I. I’ll swing by the market and get some snacks, as well as prepared food from the deli. I tell the guy at the counter I need half a pound of lasagna. I want a powerful meal. And I make it beef, not vegetarian, since I’m preparing for battle.

  Ding a text: It’s Quinn. “You don’t surprise me. I already know you well enough to know shit happens to you. I’ll be back tomorrow night, I’m not sure what time.”

  “I’ll be glad to see you!”

  “Can you survive one more night without me?”

  “Yes. If I have to, I’ll sleep in the police station. Actually, that’s a good idea.” Unfortunately, they aren’t open 24 hours. I’m not used to that, working Hollywood division, or any station in L.A., they never close—ever.

  “Stay safe. I’m thinking of you, when I allow myself the pleasure. Talk tomorrow.”

  So I have one night to kick around. I could hang out somewhere that has a 24 hour guard, but I don’t want anyone else dragged into my mess. I’ll go feed the horses and see if something comes to mind.

  When I get to the ranch, it’s empty. I hurry to the hay stack and drag down several bales. One at a time, I lug them into the cart and pull it to the pasture. Now they have three more bales to keep them happy.

  “I’ll check on you guys later, with Quinn.” I announce to them.

  I find two clean winter horse blankets in the tack room. I grab them, hop in my truck, and get out of here before anyone sees me, or decides the horses would be good hostages.

  All is quiet at the end of the driveway. I pull out, and drive slowly. I don’t know where I’m going. I could stay at a hotel.

  Or I could find a place way back in the hills. That sounds creepy, like I’d be awake all night waiting for someone with a horror mask to jump out with an axe. Like from summer camp, and the ghost stories I remembered for years and years.

  A hotel isn’t safe, either. They can kick in the door. Hell, where do I go that won’t get anyone else involved?

  I find a place behind the semi-abandoned building down the road. My truck doesn’t look out of place with the other work trucks. I’ll call that attorney and see if he has any news.

  Good thing he’s in my recent calls. I can’t recall his name.

  “Matheson,” he answers.

  “Hi this is Jessica, we spoke with Nicole yesterday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know she was kidnapped?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sound abrupt. Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine. How are you?”

  “I’m hiding out. Now they have her, they may come after me.”

  “Why would they do that—they want Tony,” he thinks I’m a drama queen.

  “Because I got their enforcer friends killed.”

  “Ah, in that case, I’d be careful,” he states flatly.

  “Have you heard from them? I’m calling to see if she, or anyone, can get the $500,000.”

  “Like I said before, the money is tied up,” he isn’t forthcoming.

  “Alright, if you think of anything, I’ll be hiding out until they’re caught, or finished with Tony and Nicole.”

  “Fine,” he clicks off.

  That didn’t get me anywhere.

  Nikki texts, “How are you doing?”

  “Thanks for asking. I’m parked behind that building on Edison, across from the green pasture. I’m trying to be invisible next to all the other work trucks.”

  “I’m sorry. I feel so guilty. It’s kind of like survivor’s guilt.”

  “Don’t feel that way. Thin
gs happen. Say hi to Monica and Charlie. I had a lot of fun last night.”

  “It sounds like you’re saying goodbye. You’re going to be Ok!”

  “Thanks. I’ll see what happens. Don’t worry.”

  After that, I eat all the lasagna. It’s pretty good, for being cold. Maybe I’m hungry. In fact, I didn’t have lunch. I was buying an LED spotlight instead of eating. I take a swig of water, then tilt my seat back to digest and relax.

  I have the windows rolled down several inches. I’m parked in total darkness. The crickets are chirping, and the screech owl is making a racket. I hope this means no one is around. My .38 is in my jacket pocket and the .45 is between my legs, ready to grab.

  After a few hours, I’m drifting off. It’s dead-quiet—that’s such a bad name for a peaceful night.

  I check for calls or texts I may have missed. Nothing.

  Tomorrow Quinn returns—that will be good. Maybe he has a plan. I’m too close to the danger to figure this out.

  29

  Thursday

  The sky is brightening. I made it. I bet I could have stayed at Monica’s, and I certainly would have slept better than sitting upright in my truck, waiting for a gunfight. It’s a safe time to go to the ranch and check the horses. The good news is bad guys, who have been awake all night, usually crawl into their holes at dawn.

  There is only one car on the road, a farm worker. I make a right turn down our driveway and watch carefully for outsiders. It looks fine, just as I thought. The horses have plenty of hay. It’s scattered all over the place, looking wasteful and ruined. A few are eating, some are still sleeping, and the other’s stomachs are so full they look pregnant.

  I can leave now, knowing they’re alright. Horses are so fragile; they can have problems because of eating too much at once and then going for 12 hours with empty intestines. They have a strange digestive apparatus that can flip over on itself—requiring $15,000 surgery, or a vet ready to inject 4 syringes full of pink barbiturates.

  Uh huh, I know, they are money pits. Horse owners live with a fear of phone calls from the stable owner. If everything is fine, the call has to start like this, ‘Blaze is fine. I’m just calling to say…’

  Is there anything else I can do right now? I don’t think so—I’m not going to scrub my room. It’s such a clear, beautiful morning that I’m reconsidering taking over Nikki’s business. Do I really want to buy nine horses? And rent the house? Ugh, no. What am I thinking? I need to keep my life simple and my options open.

  As I get to the road, it occurs to me, wasn’t Jacqueline-Noelle going to have a security company keep an eye on the place? Maybe their idea is a drive-by once or twice a day.

  So, where to? Maybe I should sit outside the police station to wait for Det. Kay, so I can find out the latest info. I’m tired, and my frustration is building. I’m stuck with nowhere to go until the kidnappers are caught.

  Is this how I’m going to live my life… waiting for the assholes to get caught? They may never be caught. Nicole and Tony may not show up—because they’re in a shallow grave in the Nevada dessert. Heather may not return to torment Monica. She may not come after me for capturing it on video. Am I living in fear, or am I being careful until I know the situation has ended?

  I’m going to do something fun… I’ll start with a bakery in Solvang, like I did when I was new in town, before I discovered Monica’s. Then I’ll go to work—a day early. I’m sure it will be fine. It’s still working three days a week.

  I head for my favorite bakery. The one with the old wood beams and brickwork. He has good apple strudel. The apples are hand cut, the spice adds an interesting element, and it isn’t overwhelmed by that sugary goo. This is one of the few times I get coffee. I need the caffeine today. I sit at the wooden table for two, lean back against the wall, and close my eyes as the hot, creamy richness trickles down my throat. This is a great way to wake up. I might make this part of my routine.

  “Well look what we have here.” A gravelly voice comments.

  I’m mentally jerked out of my sublime repose as a big guy sits on the small chair opposite me.

  His face is round, his head is shaved, and he has white teeth.

  “Is the coffee any good?” He smiles pleasantly.

  “Yes. I was awake most of the night. It’s strong and flavorful.” This is a game of cat and mouse. I have to be interesting, smart, and different if I want to come out alive.

  He lifts his forefinger, and says in a commanding voice, “Get me what she’s having.” He doesn’t even look at the owner. He knows he’ll be served.

  Holy shit… he has confidence! That means he has power to back it up. Or he’s pretending—but I doubt that. Not based on his size and clothes. He’s wide, solid, and is built like an ox. His neck joins his shoulders somewhere in the mound of muscle. His tight, black Under Armour shirt emphasizes the width of his barrel chest; it doesn’t leave room to hide a gun—not that I think he needs one.

  My adrenaline is racing. If I say something too soon, it will show my tension. If I wait to let him speak, it shows my confidence. Should I run out the door, or see if he has something to tell me? I’ve been stalked for days, I guess I should find out what’s going on. It’s not like I can hide forever. I’ve been expecting this. If he wanted to kill me, he would have done it at the ranch—right?

  I take a sip of coffee. I know it’s stupid, but I’m thinking he’s not a bad looking man. That doesn’t mean a thing. It isn’t only ugly men who kill. I have to play these games so I don’t get freaked out by this. It’s my coping mechanism.

  He focus’ his attention on me. “You’re hard to catch,” he smiles—a humorous, dangerous smile.

  “Thank you,” I return the look, neither innocent, nor humorous.

  He raises his eyebrows.

  The owner arrives with the man’s coffee, and an apple pastry. “Sir, I thought you might like a Danish as well.” He places it on the table, and looks anxiously from me to the man. Since the man isn’t demanding anything else, he hurries away.

  “That was thoughtful of him,” I comment.

  “So, tell me about Tony,” his eyes drill into mine, ignoring my statement.

  “I’ll summarize it for you. I met a friend of his wife’s on a trail ride. She asked me to see if he was cheating on his wife at the casino. I went there and saw him with another woman which I reported back to the wife’s friend.”

  “How did my business associate get involved?”

  “The five of us were in the same elevator. They must have thought I was a friend. Because after Tony escaped, they followed me home. I don’t know Tony. I don’t know anything about him. We aren’t even acquaintances.” I’m speaking with carefully chosen words. Anything that pisses him off can change the course of my life.

  “And?”

  “And they arrived at my house. They planned on breaking my knees because they thought I knew something.”

  He sips his coffee, watching me. I want to shiver and cringe, but I take a sip of mine. Maybe the sugar will give me energy. I don’t dare have a bite, I’ll choke on the crust.

  He moves his hand in a circular, ‘continue your story’ way.

  “They dragged my roommate into my room. As the bigger one was about to break my knees, I defended myself by jumping on him. My boyfriend came in the door and shot them both to save us.”

  He frowns and has a mouthful of his apple pastry. Chewing and watching me.

  I know the game. It works well. My insides are squirming. I want to continue to defend my innocence. But I keep quiet. Instead, I have a sip of coffee to lubricate my dry throat while I wait for his next question.

  “Who is your boyfriend?”

  Shit.

  “I’m not altogether sure. He became my boyfriend that night,” I smile and give a little shrug.

  “You don’t know who you’re screwing?” He puts is crudely.

  “Well,” I scrunch my eyebrows, looking thoughtful. “We’d met several times before
, and I guess he found me attractive. He followed me home. What is it about men who follow women?”

  “That isn’t a good enough answer,” he states, then leans back and folds his hands in his lap.

  He’s giving me space. I lean forward and put my elbows on the table. This gives me precious seconds to think.

  “It’s self-defense. They were going to ruin my legs for something I knew nothing about.”

  “I understand.” He nods. “But this isn’t a court of law. When my associates get taken out by a little nobody and her boyfriend, I am forced to do something—comprende?”

  “Not really. I assume all your cases are somewhat dangerous. I’m sure the people who owe the debt fight back, don’t they?”

  “Not as well as this,” he looks minimally impressed.

  “In that case, I can’t see how it lowers the fear value of your work. Believe me, I’m afraid. I’ve had to change my life and hide out. That’s rather unpleasant for a girl who just wants to ride her horse and live a quiet life in the wine country.”

  “I sympathize, really I do,” his expression is subtly changing. He had been playing with the mouse; now I think the game is over.

  Keeping my eyes on his, my hands grab the little table and shove it forward onto his lap, hot coffee and all. I fly out the open door, turn left and run for my life.

  30

  The Chase

  The tourists have yet to descend on Solvang. The sidewalks are relatively clear. That means it’ll be easier to catch me. I run like I used to run in school: fast. I sprint across the street in front of a car that has to slam on the brakes. Hopefully that will slow him down. I’m not looking back, I’m just running as fast as I can toward the main drag. There will be plenty of cars, locals with pickup trucks, and hopefully, the police.

  I run directly into traffic, and around the cars stopped at the light. I fall against one, and take the chance to see how close he is…

  He’s close, but I have a good lead—if I can keep it. I start screaming “Call the police. Call the police.”