Stunner (32 page)

“What’s going on, Juliana?”

“If you want to help me, I could use a hand getting my suitcase downstairs,” she says.

Now it’s my turn to stand there in paralyzing uncertainty while I try to figure out my next move. She looks at me, assumes I’m not coming, and turns her back on me. She pulls the monster case clumsily off the bed and pushes it by its wheels as she leaves the room, and then I hear the
clunk
,
clunk
sound of baggage bouncing down the steps.

I run into the hall and dash over to help her carry the piece of luggage. “Juliana, what’s happened to Frankie?”

She doesn’t look at me and focuses on the steps as we now carry her heavy case downstairs. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but that didn’t sound like
Tía
Connie’s voice on your call.”

Nothing from Juliana, except, “Thank you,” once we’re at the bottom, and she wheels the oversized suitcase across the foyer and out the door.

I follow her. “Was that Bobby?” Silence as she bounces the baggage down the outside steps to her car. “I can help you.”

I rush inside and upstairs to her room. I grab her big satchel, but not before glancing inside where I see bundles of cash, like the bundles I saw her give Bobby Taylor that day at the Moosic Café. Holy smoke, she must have ten-thousand dollars in here—a wild guess on my part, but I count about ten bundles of hundred-dollar bills.

Juliana walks in on me holding the satchel handles apart, staring inside the bag at the cash, probably with my mouth agape—definitely awkward. She shakes her head. “I don’t have time for this. Please tell Frank I’ll phone him when I can.” She grabs the satchel and dashes out.

“How can help you?” I call after her again. Do I call Frank? What about Will? They’d both tell me to stay put and do nothing at all.

Below, I hear a car engine start up. I dash to the window and look outside to see Juliana leave in the rental she’s been using. I hurry down the stairs, and as I cross the foyer toward the door, Laura and Warrior come out from the kitchen.

“Aunt Ronnie, was that Juliana who left?” Laura asks.

“Yes,” I say as Warrior trots over to me.

“So where are you going now, Aunt Ronnie?”

“To see what I can find out, Laura, and I’ll come right back,” I answer. “Oh, and when Frank arrives, tell him Juliana said she’ll call.” I stop at the phone table to write a number on a pad. “And tell him if there’s any trouble—”

“What kind of trouble?” My niece sounds puzzled and upset.

“No time to explain, Laura. This is important, so listen to me. If there’s any trouble and Frank needs help, he should call Will Benson at this number. Tell your father that Will is, uh, is a friend of mine, and he’ll know what to do.”

“But Aunt Ronnie—”

I hand her the paper. “Got to go. Just tell him, Laura, and make sure you give him the number.”

Warrior and I race outside to my bright red Mustang. I realize the car is hard to miss, a problem if I’m going to successfully tail Juliana. So we detour to the barn, where I find the nondescript farm Toyota, and we hop in. We then hot-rod out of Meadow Farm after Juliana, with Will’s and Frank’s voices in my head telling me not to go.

Speeding via the most direct route I know to the highway, I catch up to Juliana’s rental car as we both enter the on-ramp. Warrior and I once again follow her to Scranton. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t notice us tailing her, and I maintain a distance of a half-dozen cars between us. Along the way, I leave a message for Will that my dog and I are probably heading to the Moosic Motel, that I think Francesca’s been kidnapped, and can he follow?

I finish up with, “My brother will probably come to Moosic, too, and I gave him your number. Will, if you can’t reach me by phone or text, it may be that I’ve gotten myself into trouble. So call Frank. Perhaps the two of you can help each other. And Juliana, Francesca, and me. Oh, I’m driving the farm Toyota, not my red Mustang.” I sign off, leaving Frank’s number.

Boy, if that message doesn’t get me a lecture, I don’t know what will. I can even imagine the conversation when my personal private eye calls back.
Now, Ronnie
, he would caution,
let’s agree right here and now that you’re not barging into the middle of things the moment you get there. You will carefully assess the situation before deciding what to do, check in with me, and follow my instructions
.

Then I’ll sigh and roll my eyes. And P.I. Benson will continue,
I mean it, Ronnie. We don’t know if they have guns. This could be very dangerous, and we don’t want anyone getting shot or injured. Do we understand each other? I’m in charge
.

And I would tell him he’s in charge, even though I wouldn’t mean it. Something in me bristles at being ordered around, even in my imaginary conversation with Will.

Once in Moosic and parked in front the motel with the engine off, I watch Juliana enter the coffee shop. She sits in a booth that’s clearly visible through the front window. I check my watch, and five minutes later, at eleven o’clock, crouched low with Warrior in the car, I watch Bobby Taylor saunter out from the far alley of the Moosic Motel. He’s playing with his cell phone and doesn’t notice me as he walks past the Toyota. Juliana probably doesn’t know that Bobby uses the motel, and from her angle in the restaurant, she wouldn’t have seen him through the window exiting from that alley.

Bobby enters the coffee shop and sits down in Juliana’s booth. His back is to me, but I can observe Juliana clearly. Her side of the conversation appears to grow more and more agitated by the minute. She stands up, pulls her phone out of her pocket, and indicates she’s going outside.

When Juliana comes through the door, she locks eyes with my German shepherd, who grows excited when he sees her. “Settle down, Warrior,” I say, and he curls up on the seat. Her eyes shift to me, and her brow furrows with worry. She glances back at the restaurant’s front window, but Bobby isn’t looking in our direction. She glares back at me, and I put my finger to my mouth and shake my head to indicate that I’m not here. I lower my window.

Juliana breaks eye contact with me when she hears a voice on the other end of her phone. What I can’t quite hear, I can guess at. “Frank?” She listens. “I’m OK. I’m in Pennsylvania.” Another pause. “Please, I need you to trust me, and I’ll explain everything later.” More listening. “Remember when I told you I had issues in my old life that needed taking care of?”

She nods her head to the phone and then continues. “Well, a deadbeat cousin from my past has kidnapped a family member. He wants money, of course.”

She waits a moment. “Yes, Frank, it’s my daughter.” Her voice cracks. “Oh, Frank, I have what he told me to bring. Ten thousand—I have it here. But he changed his mind. He says his brother wants him to get more money.”

Does Bobby Taylor mean his brother, Joe, wants him to get more? So Joe is definitely part of this. I had a bad feeling about that guy when I first met him in his office.

Apparently Frank says something, and Juliana answers, “Now he wants twenty-five thousand.” She looks again in the window at Bobby Taylor’s slouched back. He turns suddenly, and she gives him a thumbs-up and nods her head. He returns to his coffee, and she looks at me with panic in her eyes while she listens to my brother on the phone.

“Thank you, Frank. I can write you a check or wire it to you from California. I’ll tell him the cash will be here in a couple of hours. And Frank, Ronnie’s nearby—” I can’t hear the rest, because she turns away.

Everything that I was terrified would happen to Frank is happening—he’s being dragged into the middle of Juliana’s deadly mess. Kidnapping! Ransom! And not just one nasty thug, Bobby Taylor, but it sounds as if his greedy, probably masterminding brother, Joe Taylor, is also involved—the one who just looks like a good guy but wants more ransom money.

OK, focus. It seems my brother is bringing an additional fifteen-thousand dollars to make up the difference and help Juliana meet Bobby’s and Joe’s new demand. Frank could be walking into a trap. I’ve got to do something.

My cell phone vibrates, and I pick up. “Ronnie, what do you think you’re doing?” my brother asks.

“Helping Francesca and you,” I say.

“Not on your life,” he responds.

“Frank, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into—”

“Leave and go home,” he demands.

“I could stay as backup until you get here,” I offer, looking in my dog’s big brown eyes. I scratch Warrior’s head.

“On no account are you to follow Juliana and interfere. Are we clear?” I don’t answer. “Are we clear?” Frank repeats.

I hold the phone away from my face and yell, “Frank, can you hear me? I’m having a hard time hearing you—”

“Don’t pull that one, Ronnie—” he interrupts. I hang up.

“Warrior, it’s time to make my exit,” I say to my dog, as I watch Juliana go back inside the coffee shop and sit down with Bobby. “I have an idea where Frankie may be.” I pour water into Warrior’s bowl and place it on the car’s floor.

“If I can release the girl and get her somewhere safe, that takes her out of harm’s way, and then my brother won’t have to go anywhere near the Taylors. Plus those creeps won’t have any more leverage against my brother and Juliana.” Even though we’re in the shade, it’s pretty hot outside, so I’ve lowered each of the windows a little more than usual for cross-ventilation. I want to make sure Warrior will be fine…should things take longer than I expect.

“Now, Warrior, listen.” I look straight into his soulful brown eyes and speak slowly. “If I don’t come back, when you see Juliana or Frank, bark. A loud bark, OK?” He puts his head down and nuzzles me. I drop the car keys on the driver’s floor mat, kiss the top of his head, and slip out of the Toyota. I scuttle to the side of the motel quickly and glimpse Juliana, who’s still in heated discussion with Bobby.

Then I slink down the same alley that Bobby just used—it’s as dirty and smelly as the last time I was here. Again, I peek into windows, looking at dumpy, messy rooms with unmade beds or ones that appear to be empty of guests—I guess housekeeping starts later here than at most motels.

I reach the back corner room, passing a window that reveals a huge pile of clothes on a full-sized bed. I slow down before making a left turn into the alley on the back side of the motel, not wanting to repeat that unfortunate run-in with the stoned and malodorous Jimmy, if he should be back there smoking weed again.

I stop and backtrack to the last window. Had something in that mound of clothes moved, or was it my imagination? I see the tip of a navy Converse sneaker twitch. I tap on the window, and a pair of navy sneakers kicks out of the heap of clothing. Suddenly the mass rises jerkily, and pieces of clothing drop away as a dark-haired head emerges from the dirty laundry. The girl squirms around to face the window, her feet tied at the ankles, her arms bound behind her, and grey duct tape covering her mouth.

It’s Francesca. Our eyes meet; hers are huge and scared. I again put my finger to my mouth, as a sign to stay quiet, and point to indicate I’m coming to help her. She nods hastily, and I dash around the corner and enter the motel, looking every which way to see if the coast is clear.

A haggard-looking maid with a housekeeping cart stands outside a room several doors down from the one where Francesca is tied up. I walk to the door of what I assume to be Bobby Taylor’s room and rummage in my purse as if searching for my key card. Looking up, I meet her eyes. “Morning. Too much to do to get ready for my high school reunion.” I give her a big smile, which she returns, and go back to my bag-rummaging.

While digging around in the depths of my handbag, I pull out two twenties and a ten. “I give up,” I say, stepping over to her cart and offering her the tip. “I know I should go to the front desk for a new key card, but I’m running so late, I’ll miss my appointment. Can you do me a favor and let me in?”

The woman looks suspiciously at the money and then at me. “Please,” I say. “You’d really be helping me out.”

She takes the money. “Well, good thing you’re catching me right as I go on break.” She heads over to unlock the door. “You know, so that I never saw you.” The lock clicks, and she holds the door open slightly for me.

“Thank you,” I say and put my shoulder against the door, so that it doesn’t click shut again.

She looks at her watch. “Yep, break time.” She pushes the cart into an alcove further down the hall and leaves.

I step inside the room and see the girl sitting on the bed, looking terrified. “Francesca?” She nods. “I’m Ronnie, a friend of—” I stop myself. How much does she know? “Of Juliana’s, and I’ve come to get you out of here.” I walk to the bed. “Let’s untie you first.”

I work on the rope binding her wrists, but don’t have much luck. “There are so many knots, this will take forever,” I say. “Hold on, I’ve got something that will cut these ropes.”

Digging around in my bag again, I find my small Swiss army knife that big brother Peter gave me when I went off to college many moons ago. I look up at Frankie and show it to her. “This’ll work, and I’ll be careful, OK?” She nods again. I slide the knife blade under the rope and rotate the blade toward me and away from her skin and slowly cut back and forth. After several moments, the rope snaps, and the girl rubs her wrists and arms.

“Frankie, you take the tape off your mouth, and I’ll cut off the ropes around your ankles.” I use the same technique to cut those ropes, while she slowly works the tape off her mouth, grimacing as if she were carefully pulling a Band-Aid off a wound. I free her feet at the same moment she gets the tape off her mouth.

“Yuck. That tape is disgusting. The sticky side is gross.” She rubs her mouth, making a funny face. I look at her and we both giggle lamely. Nerves?

I tuck the knife deep into my front jeans pocket, the slight bulge hidden by my loose shirt. “Before we leave, I’ve got something for you in case we get separated.” She looks distressed and grabs my arm. “Which we won’t. Please don’t worry.” I reach into my bag one more time. “I always like to have not only a Plan A, but a Plan B and C, if possible. Voilà.” I pull out a small black metal canister.