Second Chance at Hope

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  I didn’t know what to say because I was shocked. My grandfather sounded like he knew exactly what he was doing. How was that even possible?

  The rain kicked up again. Small gusts of wind rocked Poppy’s truck. No one would be traveling on the ocean in this weather. Correction: No one should be traveling on the ocean in this weather. I could hear the roar of the waves, slapping the shoreline in the face. Although I’ve visited several coastlines, I’ve never been anywhere with a surf as loud as this. The Anastasia reef breaks up the natural path of the water, multiplying the force of the crashing waves coming off of the Gulf Stream. This one-two punch—a natural current and a rocky reef—has caused many ships to wreck along our shoreline. Thus, we had earned the nickname, the Treasure Coast, when those vessels spilled their precious cargo up and down the sandy beaches of our state.

  I appreciated the security of Poppy’s truck. He noticed me shivering and turned on the heat. The warmth felt wonderful. “But what about Evans? Shouldn’t I call the police because of him? He’s not safe. Can you really gamble on his health?”

  Poppy raised a caterpillar-shaped eyebrow at me. “That’s where I gotta trust Binky. If she says they can hold out, I gotta believe her. That’s how come we call people like her ‘assets.’ They got experience and smarts, and they aren’t just warm bodies. They’re experts. A human asset to the intelligence community.”

  My head was beginning to hurt, and the wet fabric of my jeans chaffed my skin. “I’m not sure that’s your decision to make. Or hers. As a mother, I can’t imagine putting my child at risk. Sure, you say that Binky has it covered, but what if she’s wrong?”

  “She ain’t.”

  Then it struck me. “Wait a minute. You said that the boat was going to pull up to the dock. What dock? There aren’t any piers on the beach. Not here, at least.”

  Again Poppy gave me a look that made me feel smaller than the dog in my arms. “Don’t you know anything about this here island? Not one blasted thing? All the lots used to run the entire width of Jupiter Island. Binky’s got oceanfront on the east and Intracoastal access on the west. Bridge Road divides her property in half, but it’s still all hers. There’s the Indian River between this here island and the mainland. Makes it perfect for what these fellows got in mind.”

  “So the smugglers are planning to swing around the island on the south side? Down by Jupiter Inlet. And then turn north and go along the Intracoastal until they come to the yacht club. Is that it?”

  “Uh-huh. I got my own sources. They tell me that the smugglers are tired of losing money when the immigrants jump overboard at the sight of land. If they pull up at a dock, there’s a better chance they can keep control over their cargo—and deliver more warm bodies to buyers.”

  ~*~

  Like a nightlight in the bedroom, the warm glow from my house reached out to us as we pulled into my driveway. The boys were happily engrossed in their video games. Their hoots of laughter and cries of warnings rang loudly through my small cottage. After putting Jack down and watching him run to Tommy’s lap, I ducked into my bathroom where I exchanged my soggy jeans for a pair of warm and dry drawstring pants. What I needed was a hot cup of tea to take off the chill.

  Poppy poured himself a cup of coffee, left over in the carafe in my refrigerator. It heated up in my microwave while I put on the kettle.

  “Mom, is there anything to eat around here?” Tommy shouted over one shoulder. He didn’t take his eyes off the TV screen. Despite his size and deep voice, he was still my little boy in so many wonderful ways. One of which was his expectation that I could miraculously produce food at the snap of two fingers.

  “There’s peanut butter, bread, and cherry jam. Cans of soup. Carrot sticks,” I recited the contents of my kitchen.

  “Nope. We ate all that. Ate all your cereal and two bowls of popcorn.”

  Tommy and Sid gave each other a high five.

  “I’ve got coupons for a place that does Stromboli and pasta. They’ll deliver it to the island. But if you want snacks, here are a couple of convenience stores open, even if the grocery stores aren’t.” After pouring hot water into my cup and watching the tea bag float to the top, I moved closer to the boys. Sid looked happier, more relaxed than he’d been since getting out of the hospital. Whatever they were playing, the action proved totally engrossing.

  Digging around in my purse, I extracted my wallet and my keys. “Here are two twenty dollar bills, Tommy. If you decide to go get food, use the money to pay for it. The car keys are here, too.”

  “Uh-huh.” He barely skipped a beat.

  “Granddaughter, you got a computer I can use?” asked Poppy. “I promised Wilma I’d keep in touch now that Sid’s taught me to email.”

  “The old hard drive that came with the store is in the guest bedroom. You can’t miss it. The monitor is on top of that table from Ikea.”

  Sid piped up. “Geez, that monster is slow and clunky. But if you need something, Dick, it’ll work. I got it running for Cara. It’s hooked up to the internet, too.”

  Poppy grunted.

  “That’s it for me, boys. I’m going to bed. Come on, Jack.” I scooped up the small dog and left the boys to their games. By the time my head hit my pillow, I was as unresponsive as a blown out lightbulb. Through the miasma of my dreams, I heard the boys and Poppy speaking in urgent voices. Barely, I registered a clanking sound and the metallic thunk that signified the setting of a lock. In all likelihood, I would have slept until morning, but the cup of tea went right through me. Around midnight, I woke up needing to use the bathroom. After that, I wanted a glass of water. I walked into the kitchen and looked around. I poked my head into the living room. I checked the upstairs, the spare room, and the tiny laundry room.

  Except for Jack and me, the house was totally empty.

  The coupons for pizza and my money hadn’t been touched. That didn’t surprise me. The McDonald’s at the corner of Bridge Road and Federal Highway was open twenty-four hours. What did surprise me was seeing Tommy’s cell phone sitting on the coffee table. Usually he keeps it on his person. Thinking I’d do him a favor, I picked it up to plug it into the charger in my kitchen. While doing so, it vibrated in my hand.

  The text came from someone who called herself Sleepy Cat: Really? Tom Terrific to the rescue. Wow. Aren’t you scared?

  I chuckled. When Tommy was growing up, my father nicknamed him “Tom Terrific” after the cartoon character. Obviously, my son had shared his moniker with this girl.

  As I plugged Tommy’s phone in, I remembered that my phone needed a charge, too. After grabbing it from my bedside table, I carried it into the spare bedroom where I’d installed a power strip for all my electrical needs and promptly discovered that the big, clunky hard drive was MIA. I rubbed my eyes. Where could it have gone? Why would the boys and Poppy unhook the hard drive in the middle of the night and haul it away?

  I dialed Sid’s cell phone. It went immediately to voice mail.

  Same with Poppy’s.

  The truck was missing.

  The boys were gone.

  The hard drive had been unhooked and taken.

  The food coupons and money were where I’d left them.

  The rain had let up. I pressed my face to the window in my kitchen. That big, bright moon seemed far away. As I watched, clouds floated past, but for the most part, the sky was clear. The round sea grape leaves barely moved, which meant the wind had died down.

  All was quiet, as though the world was holding its breath.

  When I realized exactly where the guys had gone. I thought my legs would give away. If I hadn’t been leaning over my kitchen counter, I would have collapsed on the ground. I knew what had happened as surely as I knew my own name.

  Poppy, Tommy, and Sid had gone to Binky Rutherford’s house.

  CHAPTER 44

  My son was out there, at risk, thanks to the stupid maneuvers of my crazy grandfather. Fury blinded me to all but the mission at hand. I shoved poor Jack into his cr
ate, pulled on a pair of tennis shoes, grabbed my car keys, jumped into the Camry, and raced out of my driveway. Halfway down the street I remembered that I was braless, but I didn’t care.

  Think this through, Cara.

  Why would they have unhooked the hard drive? Where were the boys? And why did Poppy take them with him?

  Poppy had told me Binky would be okay, but she and he both were worried about Evans. A distraction. That’s what my grandfather had wanted. My son was the same age as Evans. Was it remotely possible that Poppy had decided to use Tommy as a decoy? If so, what was the purpose of the hard drive? It didn’t make any sense.

  “Jupiter Island Department of Public Safety,” answered a chipper female voice.

  “This is Cara Mia Delgatto on Beach Road. I’m worried about my son,” but that’s all I managed because the call dropped. I slammed my palm against my steering wheel. Of all the times not to get reception!

  Blue reflectors marking the lanes of Bridge Road winked at me as I sped by. Surprisingly, the road was dry-ish. The weather had cleared up. Was it possible the boat would arrive tonight? I hadn’t checked the forecast. Maybe that had been the plan all along. If so…

  Evans and Binky would be expendable. They only had value until the boat landed. Binky’s house had offered a hideout for the person on the receiving end. The smuggler had needed a place to hang out until the shipment arrived, a spot that wouldn’t arouse any suspicions, but one that would also allow him to monitor activity on the island. Binky’s house—with access to both coastal and Intracoastal—would have been ideal.

  I didn’t worry about exceeding the posted speed limit, even though the JI cops were known to hand out tickets like a kindly widow shares candy with trick-or-treaters. My heart crowded my throat, making it nearly impossible to swallow. I heard the thump-thump-thump of my own heartbeat in my head as the motor strained in my car. There’s a slight curve, a bend in Bridge Road where it meets Gomez. At the Y-shaped intersection, an antique cannon serves to remind drivers that the Spanish Fleet sank right off our coast.

  Approaching Binky’s house, I was forced to slow down. A Jupiter Island Department of Public Safety car blocked the street.

  “You’ll have to turn around, miss,” said the clean-cut young man in uniform.

  I responded with a curse word that shocked him. “My son’s in there!”

  “For your safety and his, you need to turn around, everything’s under control.” One of his hands rested on the roof of my car. The other caressed the handle of a big black gun in his utility belt.

  I’ve seen enough cell phone videos to be rightly worried. This cop meant business. He might be here to serve and protect, but the clamping down of his face suggested he’d serve and protect me from the back of his cruiser.

  “Please, please, listen to me. My grandfather has some crazy scheme to rescue Binky Rutherford and her grandson. My son Tommy is missing, so he must be involved too. Sir, you have to let me past. I have to get my son out of this!”

  “For the last time, miss, turn around. Go home.”

  My three-point turn looked more like an octagonal stop sign, but I did point my car the other way. At the cannon, I veered left, rather than right, and pulled my car into the nearest driveway marked, “Service.”

  Using my phone as a flashlight, I jogged back the way I’d come. When I spotted the reflectors on the cruiser, I turned off the app. Too scared to walk upright, I hunched over and shuffled along as quietly as possible. The cop who’d stopped me was talking into a handheld receiver that crackled in the still night air. A row of Australian pines muscled the shoulder of Bridge Road. These marked the edge of Binky’s property. Like the Indians in a bad western, I moved from tree to tree, keeping the broad trunks between me and the cop. A root tripped me, but as I went down, I managed to protect my phone. Once on all fours, I crawled forward, praying that I wouldn’t encounter any snakes.

  What drove me was the love of my son—and a deep desire to throttle my grandfather. I turned the flashlight app and shielded the beam with my palms. I needed to get my bearings. Where exactly was I? Then I spotted clusters of orange blossoms and knew exactly where I was.

  A thick hedge of Ixora paralleled the driveway on Binky’s property. Tucking the phone into my back pocket, I used both hands to guide myself to a spot where the branches thinned out. I scrambled through the small hole in the hedge. Panting, partially from exertion and a lot from fear, I hesitated and looked around.

  The Audi was in the same spot as last time, but now Poppy’s truck sat in the driveway, between the Audi and the house. The engine on the Toyota purred quietly. Sid waited in the driver’s seat of my grandfather’s truck, with his head turned toward the house, watching intently. He couldn’t see me, although I could make out the glimmer of the silver hoop in his right eyebrow. I dropped flat and crawled on my belly, moving past the truck and inching toward the Audi. My goal was a clear view of the stoop. As I moved, I counted my lucky stars that my tee shirt was dark gray and my pants were black. I blended in with the night and the paint job on the Audi. Eventually, I flattened myself against the front bumper of the car. That put me nearly parallel with Poppy’s front bumper. There I stopped. My position gave me a good vantage point. I could see the entire doorway, illuminated by an overhead light.

  Tommy was standing there, waiting for the door to swing open. When it did, I heard him say, “Hi, Evans!”

  Instinct nearly trumped good sense. I longed to race to Tommy’s side. However, a sixth sense warned me not to interfere. Instead, I stayed motionless.

  “Dude, I managed to fix that old hard drive of yours,” said Tommy in a rush of words. His voice sounded higher than usual. I could detect the stress, but no one else would probably recognize it. “But I need help getting it out of the truck. That thing is heavy.”

  Evans face might naturally be pale in any circumstances, but it appeared ghostly as he stood in the doorway. Glancing behind him, his body hesitated, as if asking for approval. I saw him give an answering nod to someone deeper inside the home. Tommy took one step to the right to let Evans join him on the sidewalk.

  I held my breath. Where was Poppy? I knew he was involved in this. Somehow. Somewhere.

  The Jupiter Island police also knew something was up. But where were they? I had to assume Tommy was protected, but how?

  I had to do the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life: I had to trust other people with my son’s life.

  CHAPTER 45

  Evans was six inches shorter than my son. Tommy adjusted his stride to keep Evans immediately to his right, herding him toward the truck, the way a sheepdog moved cattle. Although the pairing looked awkward, Tommy chatted to Evans in a conversational way. My son’s body language seemed relaxed and loose. But then I noticed his left hand was balled into a knot. He talked with his right hand waving, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying over the hum of the truck’s engine. Evans held himself like a fine cut-glass vase that might break at any minute. Sid’s expression was alert, focused on the other two boys, but not betraying any tension. His eyes never wavered as he watched his friends approach.

  From my vantage point, I couldn’t see much. I could, however, hear my son.

  “It’ll take two of us to lift this old beast of a hard drive,” Tommy said loudly. “Grab a corner. On my count. One, two, three.”

  Tommy and Evans both ducked down, ostensibly to lift up the hard drive from the floorboard of the Toyota truck. A loud oomph followed, and both heads disappeared. Tommy must have shoved Evans inside and scrambled over him. The movement was quick, practiced, and successful.

  “Hey!” yelled a voice inside the house.

  With a squeal of tires, Sid threw the vehicle into reverse. A crack and a ding told me that a bullet had hit the truck. I stood up long enough to see Sid duck down. He gave the steering wheel a hard turn to the right. Another crack filled the night air. Sid was driving blindly. All three boys were shielded by the body of the truck as it bumpe
d over Binky’s lawn, veering widely to the right, racing down Beach Road, and sliding to a stop a football field away.

  “You little—” A voice roared from the house. A man came running outside. There was a crack of a gun. The shot came from a tall Australian pine directly across the street. A flash of light and a second crack followed the first.

  The man on the sidewalk folded like a paper napkin. From the far side of Binky’s lawn, a dark figure in a bulletproof vest raced to the grunting guy on the ground. “Got him,” he yelled. A flash of silver and the metal clank of handcuffs followed. “Suspect under control,” he said, speaking directly in-to a microphone clipped to his shoulder.

  But my attention turned to Binky’s foyer. Indistinct scuffling and grunts suggested a tussle.

  “Don’t shoot!”

  The voice was Poppy’s—and it came from inside Binky’s house.

  “He’s got a gun on us,” my grandfather continued. “We’re coming out.”

  “Hold your fire,” screamed a disembodied voice from across the street.

  Poppy staggered forward with his hands behind his head. Pausing in the doorway, he glanced over at the restrained kidnapper. As he shuffled a few steps, another person appeared behind him. Binky Rutherford wobbled along, leaning heavily on a cane. The interior lights of her home lit up a pair of pink cotton pajamas with some sort of tiny darker red print on them. I stayed low and hidden behind the Audi’s bumper.