And Then There Was One (34 page)

“It’s okay,” she said, caressing Jennifer’s short, choppy hair. “I know you miss Jessie and so do I, but she’s gone now so —”

The child stirred and Marge’s heart filled with hope. “Jennie, it’s you and me now. We’ll be okay. I promise.”

Marge mourned the loss of Jessica, but she had to pull herself together for Jennifer’s sake. She couldn’t fall apart like she had before. She needed to get Jennifer to Evan so they could raise her together. She reasoned that even if they’d lost Jessica, he’d still want to be there for their surviving daughter. But first she had to get Jennifer to Canada. She hadn’t told Spanky her plan yet, but she felt that everything would work out since they were so far north and Canada was so close. Wasn’t it just across the Mackinac Bridge?

Marge suspected that Spanky was cooking up some plan, but she didn’t know what. Spanky was a good kid, always doing nice things like fixing her car. Hadn’t he even said he was going to buy her a new one? And sometimes he’d bring her stuff from his trips. She liked to collect shells and every once in a while he’d bring her a new one from his runs to Miami. But she knew she had to face the facts. Evan didn’t like Spanky, and she needed to get Jennifer to Evan. Spanky was a
grown man now; he’d be okay on his own. And if he no longer had to take care of her, he’d be free to go off and marry a woman of his own. And, then, maybe he’d get over his one very bad habit. One she’d never dared discuss with him. One he didn’t even know that she knew about.

Alex woke up after the first night ever that she’d been separated from both of her sisters. When she wiped that sticky stuff out of her eyes, she turned over to find Maggie just staring at her.

“Oh, you’re awake, Jennie. Good, I’ve got a donut and orange juice for you. We didn’t bring any milk. Afraid it would spoil, you know.”

“I’m not hungry,” Alex said. That was not true, but Alex needed time to think. She turned to face the wall and pretended to go back to sleep.

First, Alex thought, she had to figure out where she was. Just in case there was a telephone around. She remembered the long, bumpy ride in the trunk last night. So she wasn’t near Detroit anymore. Could they be taking her back home to Florida? She had to try to think. What was wrong with Maggie that she kept calling her “Jennie” ? And where was that big, ugly man? He scared her so much. She figured that she would have to pretend to trust Maggie to find a way to get out. She used to tell Sammie that’s what they should do, but all Sammie wanted to do was fight her.

So when Maggie started touching her hair she turned over.

“Maggie,” Jennifer began, sweetly. “Where are we?”

“We’re in northern Michigan, my dear,” she said. Her voice sounded kind, and that encouraged Alex.

“Oh, I was hoping we were in Florida. We had such a long ride. Why did I have to ride in the trunk?”

“I tried to tell Spanky to let you ride in the backseat,” Maggie said, plumping the pillow next to Alex.

“Who is Spanky?” Alex asked. Just hearing that awful name made her want to cry, but she kept her voice as normal as she could.

“Why, he’s your brother, my dear. Your half brother, really.”

Alex started, “He is —” but stopped.

“I’m going to take you to Canada,” Maggie said, “to be with your
real dad. He’ll be sad about Jessie, but he’ll love you, Jennie. I just know he will.”

“My real dad?” Alex could feel her eyes start to blink like her mother’s did when she was upset. “In Canada?”

“Yes,” Maggie said, “but I don’t know if Spanky will go with us.”

“I’m afraid of that man Spanky.” Alex’s voice had sunk to a whisper as she dared to speak the truth. The way he looked at her — his eyes looked like a pig’s, mean and ugly.

“I won’t let him hurt you, Jennie. I promise that I will not let him hurt you this time.”

Spanky had no problem jump-starting the dirty old van he’d identified the night before. The tank was on empty, but he’d been smart enough to siphon gas from Ma’s car before he buried it. Just as he’d planned, he’d driven into Traverse City, placed the call, and recited his script into the message machine, making his voice sound squeaky like a wimp, not a big tough guy. Then, according to plan, Spanky drove fifty miles from Traverse City to Charlevoix.

Charlevoix would put him roughly just across Lake Michigan from J. W. Wells State Park and Charlevoix would be the perfect place to steal a boat. The marina there catered to rich folks who seldom took out their expensive boats. He’d never been on a boat in Lake Michigan, but he’d gone out on the Atlantic Ocean off Miami Beach. Same guy who showed him around the glades used to take him out on the luxury boats he’d “borrow” out of the fancy marinas. That’s how Spanky learned about boat engines and how to read a chart.

Spanky chuckled at how one good turn deserves another. Out of the goodness of his heart, he’d helped that redneck who’d been hauling that airboat piece of junk on a trailer that broke down at a truck stop. Spanky’d fixed the rig and the guy ended up showing him how to hunt gators and steal boats. Now the poor bastard was in the joint, but once he got out, Spanky would send him some payback bucks.

Before Spanky made the call to the Monroe house in Tampa, he stopped at a Traverse City camping equipment store. He’d only camped that one time and he tried to come up with a list of supplies. He’d need a tent, big enough for two, but not so big he’d have trouble
setting it up. A camp stove, an ice chest, a coffeepot, a lantern, a few cooking utensils, forks and spoons, a couple of plates and mugs. He picked up the smaller items as he moved through the store, getting ideas of other odds and ends they’d need. He didn’t want to ask the clerk, not wanting to sound like an amateur and raise any attention. He needed to get out fast, afraid that his picture would be in the papers after the other girl was found. He selected a tent from the “on sale” list, paid for all his purchases with cash, and insisted that he did not need help loading it all in the van. He wondered whether he should buy more food, but figured that Ma had hauled plenty out of Holly. Precious didn’t eat much, and Ma could afford to lose some weight. But realizing that he’d forgotten to buy fuel for the lantern, he did stop at a smaller camping store for kerosene, or should he get propane? He didn’t know, so he picked up a can of kerosene, some of those Sterno cans, and an assortment of breakfast bars and canned juice.

The drive from Traverse City to Charlevoix took less than an hour. Driving north on Route 31, he came to the perfect marina site. Approaching on foot, he tried to blend in as he located a boat. He’d need speed, and the Grady White with twin 300-horsepower outboards would handle the five-foot swells that he might get on the lake. The boat’s slip, about halfway down the dock, gave him just the cover he needed to jump onto the deck. Peering inside the cabin, he could see the instrument panel, noting a global positioning system that he’d have to disengage. He saw a stack of charts, which he could sure use. As for fuel, he’d have to wait and see, but most skippers kept their boats topped off.

The boats here belonged to the very rich. Hell, they only used them a couple a days a year. With any luck, no one would miss this one until he had it far away. Spanky did not break into the cabin, but he’d made up his mind and would be back with his tools, and his .44 Magnum piece, should he need it. Returning to the van, he was glad he’d worn his overalls so that he blended in with the other service personnel as he strode along the dock with the confidence of belonging. Pleased that he hadn’t attracted any attention, he climbed in the van and drove off at a moderate speed, calculating how long this operation would take: three hours, max, round-trip to the log cabin,
including loading Ma and Precious into the van; another hour to get the boat out of the marina and to a boarding spot for Ma, Precious, and all the stuff. They’d be crossing the lake by three o’clock. With the wind out of the northwest at about twelve knots, and the course due west, there’d be some pitch and roll, but they should make it to the park in six hours. Nine o’clock, midsummer, there should be just enough light to stake out an isolated campsite, but he’d have to get a move on.

Marge bustled about the cabin dusting the rustic furniture, checking the inventory of ancient cleaning supplies, changing the bedding, and arranging the cutlery and dishes. As she worked, she chatted nonstop to Jennifer. If only her little daughter would open up to her. What could she do to cheer her up? She had to be sad, too, that they’d lost Jessie, after all twins had a very special relationship.

Marge jolted as she heard the door to the cabin slam shut.

“Ma, get packed.” Spanky’s voice. Where had he said he was going? And why were they leaving, they’d just got here?

As Marge turned to face her son, she reeled at the fright in Jennifer’s dark eyes. A stab of concern momentarily paralyzed her. She needed to talk to Spanky. To tell him in no uncertain terms that he’d have to leave Jennifer alone. That he couldn’t do the bad things to Jennifer that he might do to other little girls. That Jennifer was special; she was his sister.

“Spanky, come sit down,” Marge said, ignoring his opening statement.

“Ma, get your shit together. All that food. All the warm clothes you packed. Get it in the van out there. Now.” Spanky walked over to Marge, grabbing her shoulders and turning her head toward him.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “I thought we were going to stay here.”

“Don’t be stupid, Ma. We can’t stay here. I gotta plan. Now get movin’. We gotta haul ass. Now move.” He gave her a forceful shove toward the bedroom.

“But —”

“I’m gonna start shovin’ your shit in the van.” Then Spanky
leaned over Jennifer and reached to stroke her forehead, his fingers lingering to twirl the curls in her short hair.

Marge took that as a sign that he, too, was concerned about the sad look in Jennifer’s eyes.

But as she stepped into the bedroom to collect their belongings, she froze. “Better start liking me, Precious,” Spanky was saying. “You’re mine now.”

Riot Police Clash with Protesters in Tehran. —
International News, Saturday, June 20

Scott and Katie returned to Jackie’s room. Agent Camry had made it clear that they had no immediate role in finding Alex, and they knew that both Sammie and Jackie needed them. When they walked hand in hand into the hospital room, they saw that another bed had been set up. And, on that bed, they saw Jackie and Sammie.
Both
girls sitting side by side, backs against the wall, in animated conversation.

“Scott,” Katie’s smile was wide and spontaneous, “look at Jackie. She’s sitting up and she’s talking. I can’t believe it.”

Susan beckoned them into the room with a smile. “Sammie turned out to be just the right medicine.”

Katie felt Scott squeeze her hand and her own heart skipped a beat. Jackie, recovered, looking alert; Sammie, safe.
But Alex still out there, somewhere
. Katie’s smile faded, her eyes blinked uncontrollably.

“Listen,” Susan whispered. The three adults stood close enough to hear.

“Tell me again,” Jackie asked. “Was the lady mean?”

“No, I think she was crazy,” Sammie said. “Like she called me Jessie and she called Alex, Jennie. But the man is very mean. He’s going to hurt her. I just know it!”

“Yeah, I think so, too,” Jackie said. “What can we do? Mom and Dad said we have to pray, but there must be something —”

“They just have to find her,” Sammie said. “I promised I’d tell the FBI lady everything about that place and those people, Maggie and Spanky.”

“Agent Camry’s right here, Sammie, and she has some questions.” Scott had inserted himself between them on the bed, an arm draped over both thin shoulders. “Can you tell her everything that you know?”

“Yes, Dad,” Sammie said. “I sure can. I don’t want to leave out a single thing.”

Sammie took Camry through the kidnapping, and through each day, ending in her escape into the woods surrounding the Spansky home. Once in a while Jackie inserted an insightful question of her own for Sammie.

Camry finished by telling both Sammie and Jackie how brave they were.

On Saturday, Cliff Hunter knew that the FBI would be out in force. Even though he’d warned Scott Monroe not to call the cops and to come alone to drop the money and wait for his kids, he knew it would never happen that way. The feds would be swarming. That’s why he’d chosen a busy, public place to pick up the ransom money. The law would not shoot into the affluent shoppers that populated the tony Birmingham streets on a Saturday afternoon.

Cliff had simply planned to scoop up the bag of money as he approached on his motorcycle, the way purse snatchers do it in the streets of Rome. Then he’d gun the bike, taking it through a series of maneuvers that he’d worked out. His escape car, a rented plain-Jane Toyota, was in place three miles away, near I-75, his exit route out of Detroit to return the car to the airport in his home town, Dayton, Ohio, far enough away from Auburn Hills.

But all his planning was now down the toilet. One of the Monroe kids had been found. True, one was still missing, but now the feds would have enough information to know that his story was crap, and that he’d never had those kids. But there was one precautionary step he’d taken. He fingered the handle, felt the heft. A Smith and Wesson .45.

Scott Monroe had screwed him over with his career, and Cliff craved revenge, needed it to move forward in his miserable life. Question was: did he need it enough to risk doing time in the joint? He’d been an up-and-coming catcher in the minors when some underage
bimbo had accused him of rape. He’d roughed her up enough to scare her away from the law, but she’d gone to Scott Monroe. Scott, who was supposed to be his buddy, believed her story and kicked him out of the league. After that, all he’d been able to get were menial jobs. He still blamed Scott, so when Scott’s kids came up missing, Cliff came up with a plan to get back at him. Only now he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know the answer to his own question. He’d hang out where he said to pick up the money, but he’d not do the grab, that would be too risky. He’d wait and see how it all played out. If he didn’t get back at Scott Monroe this way, he’d find another.