Cassidy Jones and the Secret Formula (28 page)

Anger shifted into fascination.
This is completely bizarre
, I thought, relaxing my hands. Emery’s pinky relaxed, too.

“Talk about random. King is this little bald guy with this honkin’ hook nose. Even on the screen, the guy looked real short. I think he tries to compensate for the shortness by dressing loud. Get this, King had on this crazy purple and green pinstriped suit, a hot pink shirt, and a purple tie. He was ludicrous! The scene was so Twilight Zone that I secretly flipped on my camera. I couldn’t pass up such rare footage.

“Anyway, King looked down at us from the monitor all serious and Napoleon-like. When he spoke, I expected him to say, ‘Greeting, Earthlings.’ Instead, he said, ‘Welcome, Mr. Jones and Mr. Johnson. Allow my security officer, Mr. Spade, to escort you to my office.’ Then, right on cue, these doors slid open in what looked like a solid wall.

“Okay, now, if you’ve seen the movie
Matrix
, you’ll be able to picture the dude that stepped through the doors. Mr. Spade is huge and totally cut, in this tight black shirt, black leather pants, black boots, and long, black leather trench coat. The only thing missing from the look was the Uzi. To go with his slick gear, the guy was totally deadpan, no facial expression whatsoever. Only his eyes moved. It was creepy, like he was a robot or something, very Terminator-ish.

“Staring all stony-like at us, he then moved his eyes towards the open doors. We took this to mean he wanted us to go inside. As we walked toward Mr. Spade, I saw that behind the doors was an elevator. Before stepping in, I looked at the wall for a button, and there wasn’t one. Strange, huh? Anyway, the entire back side of this elevator was glass, looking down this long white corridor lined with monitors. There were all these mopey employees, dressed in black, shuffling down the hall. They reminded me of morticians. It was depressing. Couldn’t pay me enough to work in a place like that.

“Mr. Spade stepped into the elevator after us. The doors closed without him even pushing a floor button. In the corner of the elevator was another monitor, and guess who popped up, making me almost jump out of my skin? King, of course, and, man, was he full of himself. He had Drake start his questions right there and then, and your dad, being the pro he is, flowed with it, not letting the whacko throw him off. While Drake asked his questions, I discreetly
positioned my camera to the screen. Funny thing is, Mr. Spade noticed. I was sure when I saw his eyes shift to the camera, he was going to tell me to turn it off, but he just looked back up.

“Each floor we passed was the same, white halls, black monitors, gloomy morticians. The elevator stopped on the top floor. The doors opened up to another long, white corridor with monitors lining the walls. At the end of the hall were these tall doors, like fifteen feet high, with two more Matrix dudes standing like statues in front of them. Without even doing the eye thing, Mr. Spade stepped out of the elevator, and we followed him. King popped up on every monitor. It seriously gave me the heebie-jeebies. But Drake, cool as a cucumber, kept asking his questions while we walked.

“Standing in front of those doors was like going to see the wizard. The two Matrix dudes grabbed these long glass handles on the door, pushing them open. Behind them, kind of posing for us, was King. If I wasn’t so creeped out, I think I would have busted up looking at the little egomaniac in his loud suit. He was a total circus—the tent, ringmaster, and clowns all rolled into one.

“Drake went to shake the guy’s hand, but King ignored him, saying, ‘Mr. Jones, we’re finished here. Mr. Spade will show you out.’ Then he turned to the Matrix dudes, holding the doors open, and said, ‘Mr. Club, Mr. Diamond.’ Though I was trippin’, I almost lost it when I heard their names—Spade, Club, Diamond, just like playing card suits.”

Spade, club, diamond, and…heart.
For some reason, the realization shocked me. Selma Heart had to be the missing card suit.

“Insane, huh? Anyway, King stepped back in his office all regal-like, and Mr. Club and Mr. Diamond closed the doors, moving back in front.

“Before Mr. Spade could ‘show us out,’ your dad’s cell rang. While he was taking the call, I noticed we were standing in front of this wall with hundreds of small, black-framed pictures. Each frame had a black-and-white photo of his morticians. Man, I get goosebumps just thinking about it. It’s like his trophy wall or something. I mean, why would he do that? And can you imagine being desperate enough working for such a head case? His crazy face probably follows them around all day on those monitors.”

Making a
Brrr
sound, Ben shook his body from head to toe at the thought. I had the same reaction. My dad had walked right into the lion’s den.

Flipping his thumb toward the living room, Ben said to Mom, “And
they
didn’t think King’s behavior was suspicious, or they didn’t believe me. Heck, I’m glad I taped it, otherwise I’d doubt it myself, thinking the tacos I had for breakfast were bad or something.”

“What did King see my mom about?” Emery asked tonelessly.

“According to King, he wanted to hire her to develop a genetic tonic to stop hair loss. He said your mom turned the offer down and he hasn’t seen or talked to her since. But the guy is sketchy—“

“Who’s sketchy?”

The sudden addition of Detective Conlin’s voice in the room made us all jump.
Should have been monitoring for lurking detectives
, I thought, tensing up. Emery’s pinky went back to soothing.
Control the anger, Cassidy. Control the anger
.

“King,” Ben answered with uncharacteristic irritation.

Detective Conlin in turn looked irritated. “I told you, Ben, I agree the guy is off his rocker, but you’re barking up the wrong tree. There are lots of crazies out there—I’ve arrested my share—but
crazy
doesn’t make you a kidnapper. There is no connection between King and Serena Phillips’s disappearance, and he would have no motive to kidnap Drake.” The edge in the detective’s voice softened. “Now, Ben, we have the same goal, and that is to find both missing persons and bring them home. Work with me to do that.”

“Okay, Bob, I’ll work with you…This morning, Drake and I went to see this nut—”

Detective Conlin cut him off, glancing at Mom. “Mrs. Jones, we’re set up in the living room. We’ll need you with us now, in case a call comes in.”

Anxiously, Mom looked at Ben.

Patting her hand, Ben smiled. “Don’t worry, Elizabeth. I’m staying with the kids.” He threw Detective Conlin a dirty look. “I’m not going anywhere.”

~~~

When Mom left the room, Nate let out a long sigh. “Dudes, I need to turn my brain off. Can we play XBox for a while?”

Wish I could turn all of me off
, I thought wearily, sitting as if my vertebrae were fused together.

“XBox is an excellent idea,” Ben said in a tight voice, snatching up a controller from the ottoman. When he sat back down, Chazz climbed onto his lap, cuddling up. Ben kissed his head and asked, “Want to help me annihilate your brother?”

Already positioned on the floor to play, Nate smiled up at him gratefully.

Emery stood up and stepped toward the hall.

“Where are you going, dude?” Ben asked him.

Surprise flickered on Emery’s face. “Upstairs for my laptop.”

“Okay, but come right back.”

Emery looked incredulous as he left the room.
Clearly, he isn’t “accustomed” to
answering to an adult
, I noted, staring unseeingly at the combat game the boys played.
Was it only yesterday he said that? Seems like eons ago
.

A few minutes later, Emery returned. Sitting next to me, he took out the Droid from his pocket. “Cassidy, I have some games downloaded. You can play them if you like.”

“Thanks,” I said in a hollow tone, taking the Droid from him. Emery’s “games” were fight videos. He flipped open his laptop, going to work, as did I, thankful for the training opportunity and the distraction.

While the boys artificially fought, I trained for a real one. Muted images flashed on the tiny screen, each imprinting on my brain. Emery had upped the intensity of the training to Japanese jujitsu and Krav Maga, both brutal. Strangely, the hand-to-hand combat didn’t make me cringe like I thought it would. Instead, the fighting sequences stirred up a sort of eagerness in me. I decided this must be “the beast” reacting, because normally seeing blood intermixed with sweat wouldn’t do a thing for me. As the brutality heightened and the forms became more like street fighting, I wondered where Emery found these videos. These matches didn’t seem exactly legal.

The tune “Walking on Sunshine” sang from Ben’s jeans pocket. Pausing the video, I looked over at him.

Pulling out his cell phone, his eyes widened as he looked at the caller ID. Nearly dropping the phone, he flipped it open. “Hello,” he answered anxiously. His face clouded over. “Give me a second,” he said into the receiver.

Abruptly, he stood up. “Be back. I gotta take this,” he mumbled with a frown, stepping over Nate and Chazz, who were absorbed in the game. In big strides, he left the room. Tuning in to him, I followed his strides down the hall. “Gotta take a call,” he explained to the police officer posted in the foyer. Then the door to Dad’s office closed. Leaning forward, I dropped my face in my hands, concentrating.

“Yeah,” Ben said.

I strained to hear the caller.

“Are you alone now, Mr. Johnson?” the caller spoke in a throaty tone with a foreign accent.

“Yeah, who is this?”

“I have your friend, and if you want to see him again, you’ll do exactly what I tell you.”

“What do you want?”

“The video from your camera. The one from today.”

“No problem. Where?”

“Understand, Mr. Johnson, you are being watched. If you try anything stupid like making copies, we’ll know.”

“I won’t, but I want Drake for the video.”

The caller laughed, low and cruel. “Yes, that is how these things work, and how they also work is that you come alone, or you won’t like the way you get your friend back.”

“Yeah, yeah, got it, alone. Where?”

“Pizza!” A voice boomed in the room, startling me and causing connection loss. The “foyer” police officer stood in the doorway, beaming, holding four large pizza boxes. “Detective Conlin ordered these,” he informed. “You can serve it up in the kitchen.”

As Nate and Chazz jumped up, I desperately sought Ben’s voice. Locating it, I listened anxiously.

“Eight o’clock, Mr. Johnson.”

“Yeah, eight o’clock.”

Ben hung up.

“No, no, no,” I moaned in my palms. “Awful, awful timing.”

“What is, Cassidy?” Emery asked quickly. “What’s happened?”

“That was the kidnapper. Ben is meeting him,” I explained in frustration. “The problem is, I know the when, just not the where.”

Eighteen

I quickly summarized Ben’s conversation with the kidnapper, adding in anguish, “Ben can’t do it, Emery. He’ll be walking right into a trap. We need to stop him.”

“Ben knows that. He also knows this might be the only opportunity to save your dad.”

“I know, but Ben isn’t going to be some sacrificial lamb. We
need
to stop him.”

“We’re not going to stop him.”

“What?” My eyes narrowed on his composed face. “Why not?” I almost shouted.