Finding Floyd (26 page)

Jack snickered, "Victoria's pretty funny when
she's had a little too much. Remind me to tell you about the time
she and I shared some of Uncle Charley's Applejack."

John's eyebrows lifted. "I remember old
Charley's homemade stuff. It was like drinking lighter fluid."

Ralph lumbered into the room asking, "So
girls, how was the Bourbon Slush? Did everyone like it?"

"It's wonderful. Babe! You gotta try Ralphs
stuff." Theresa held up her glass to John and spoke into the phone.
"No, Ma I'm talking to John."

John's eyebrows rose and he mouthed, "Your
Mom?"

She nodded and made a face. "Ma! Seriously?
Ten bridesmaids?"

John reached for the phone and Theresa gave
him a grateful smile.

"This slushy what's-its, its freakin'
awesome! Is there anymore?" Vicky's glass slipped from her hand and
rolled across the carpet. "Oops," she muttered.

Colby-Jack uncoiled from his perch on the
back of the couch, stretched, and jumped nimbly to the floor. He
glanced curiously at John, stopped briefly to sniff at the empty
glass on the rug and with a swish of his tail, exited the room.

Ralph looked into the empty punch bowl and
frowned. "Maybe I ought to cut back on the booze in the
recipe."

"Don't you dare, Ralph sweetie. It's perfect.
Great little drink. I want that recipe," said Theresa.

"Thanks, Rose, you're a doll. I can't begin
to tell you how much Theresa and I appreciate all you're doing.
Tell Mr. Buonadies we said hello. Thanks again. Yes, yes I will.
Okay, bye bye now." John ended the call and chuckled, wrapping his
arms around Theresa. "Of course you do, Babe. You always want the
recipes."

"So how many bridesmaids do I have now?"
Theresa teased.

"The same as before, just six." John looked
smug.

"I don't know how you do it," exclaimed
Theresa.

Serves 16–18

6 cups water

2 cups strong tea

2 cups bourbon

1 cup sugar

One 6-ounce container frozen orange juice
concentrate, thawed

One 6-ounce container frozen lemon juice
concentrate, thawed

Garnish: Mint sprigs optional)

Combine the water, tea, bourbon, sugar,
orange and lemon juice concentrate in a large

container or bowl, and mix until sugar
dissolves.

Pour into two gallon-size freezer bags.

Freeze until an hour before serving.

Place the frozen punch in a large bowl and
let thaw, breaking up every 15 minutes.

When punch is melted, add more ice, water, or
Bourbon, as desired.

Serve in punch cups. Garnish with mint
sprigs, if desired.

* Strong Tea

2 cups water

1 family-size or 4 regular tea bags

Zooming out of town, away from the crowds
that were gathering to hear music along Locust Street, Sam pressed
his Beamer as hard as he dared on winding country roads. He sped
on, around sharp bends and over rolling hills, toward the
Shackelford farm. He'd been just a few miles away, checking in with
Agent Rodriguez on his cell phone, when he'd received Chris's
message. The Shackelford place was only about a mile from where
Kyle had found Diane the other night. His instinct told him clearly
that Chris had found the right place.

Returning the call immediately, he'd sworn
when Chris hadn't answered. Now he was worried. Owen was taking a
tremendous risk, investigating Granny Shackelford's farm alone
while Toricello was still on the loose.

The air stank of cigar smoke and Chris's
cheek was pressed into a gritty carpet. His hands felt cold and
numb and every joint ached. Someone was talking, but he couldn't
make it out. He grunted in pain as the vehicle rounded a sharp bend
and he was thrown against something hard. Struggling to right
himself, his eyes opened and he realized where he was. Trussed up
like a Thanksgiving turkey, he was in the rear of his Suburban.

Toricello had him bound with duct tape, just
as Diane had been. Thin ropes were tied tightly around his wrists
then down to his ankles. Rolling helplessly with every turn, he
realized nobody knew where he was. He was a dead man.

When Toricello heard him struggling, he
growled out, "Hey, FBI guy. Don't bother. You ain't gonna get away
like that blond bitch did. I tied you up, but good."

Dejected, Chris slumped back down. What the
hell is this crazy idiot doing? I've got to get out of here.

Toricello muttered to himself and
occasionally giggled as he sped around the winding mountain roads,
causing Chris to roll helplessly from side to side. Between the
acrid cigar smoke and all the duct tape wrapped over his mouth, he
could barely breathe. The knot on the back of his head ached and
the thin ropes wound around him sawed painfully into his wrists and
ankles.

What an incredibly stupid move. I should
never have gone anywhere near that garage without backup. I might
not make it, but at least Sam will get my message and will know
where to find his hideout.

Chris heard his phone playing, "My Diane"
from somewhere in the car. It was the ring tone he'd chosen for
Diane's number.

"Hello?" Toricello chuckled. "Sorry, but your
boyfriend, he's a little tied up at the moment. You know what I'm
saying?" This was followed by his insane cackle.

The bastard's got my phone! Chris stiffened
and struggled again to free his hands.

"You were one lucky bitch, getting away from
me. Don't know how you did it, but there's no way this guy's
gonna." He ended the call and almost immediately 'The Bitch is
back' sang out from the phone.

"What?" There was a pause and then, "Hey
lady, I don't know who you are, but you can kiss your FBI
boyfriend's ass goodbye." Chris heard the window buzz open and
fresh air rushed in. "I ditched your phone," yelled Toricello. "I'm
tired of talking to all your stupid girl friends. Now where the
hell is that interstate? All the roads around here just go in
circles. Dumbass redneck hellhole. He took another turn way too
fast and Chris rolled and slammed hard against the side wall with a
bone jarring thump.

"Hey Pres." Kyle craned his neck eagerly,
looking up and down the deserted road. "Maybe we can catch this
crook before the FBI does and hand him over to the Sheriff.
Wouldn't that be cool?"

"Calm down, we're not going to search for the
kidnapper. I don't want to be driving around all night and besides
it would be foolish. This Toricello guy is a very dangerous
man."

"Maybe we might could just find where he's
been hiding out? It's got to be up here somewheres."

"I reckon by now, he's long gone," drawled
Preston. "He knows Diane got away and the cops will be looking for
him."

"It wouldn't take no time to look around,"
Kyle sounded dejected.

"Sarah asked me to check on Granny, and
that's all we're going to do. I promised Pat and Mike I'd be in
town later with my fiddle," said Preston, tapping the case beside
him on the seat. "We'll stop by and see her Grandma, take the trash
and just ask her does she need anything."

Preston lifted his hand to wave as a black
Suburban came towards them, but received no response from the
driver as the vehicle roared past, crowding him over onto the
shoulder. "Man! That guy's moving awful fast."

"Yeah, and he didn't even wave," muttered
Kyle, shaking his head in disgust. "Must not be from around
here."

Preston grinned at him. As they neared the
old Shackleford farm, he slowed and turned into the rutted drive.
Granny's enormous black Tom cat rose out of his chair and stretched
in greeting, as they drove up to the weather-beaten porch.

"Come on Kyle. This won't take long." Banging
hard on the back door, Preston called out, "Granny!" He let himself
in, calling her again.

"Don't she lock her door?" Kyle asked.

Preston laughed. "She never has and probably
never will. I doubt that there's even a key to fit that lock
anymore."

"Just the same." Kyle shook his head. "With
all that's going on these days, that ain't safe."

"You tell her that," said Preston, peering
into the refrigerator. There wasn't much inside, only a few bottles
of beer and a carton of milk, way past its sell-by date, along with
a few ancient jars of salad dressing, mustard and ketchup, which
probably hadn't been touched in a year.

The old woman came into the kitchen slowly,
leaning heavily on her walker. "I was watching my shows on the
television."

"That's nice. Hey Granny, did you already eat
that ham we brought you a few days ago?"

Frowning, the old woman looked past his
shoulder. "What?"

"We left a plate of sliced ham and potatoes
for you, some egg salad and a mess of ham biscuits. Did you eat all
that food already?"

"Ham biscuits?" Peering in confusion, first
at Preston and then into the refrigerator, she shrugged and waved a
hand dismissively at the empty shelves. "No. Not a bit of it.
Weren't me. Henry ate all that. He always was a good eater. I told
him, I don't cook no more, so generally, he helps himself of an
evening." Preston and Kyle exchanged knowing looks, trying not to
grin, but Preston still wondered about the missing food. Granny, at
her age, simply didn't eat that much anymore.

He hefted the trash from under the sink,
puzzled by the empty water bottles not ordinarily in her garbage.
Handing the sack to Kyle, he said, "We'll drop this on our way back
to town."

Leaning against the kitchen counter, Preston
looked at the old woman thoughtfully and then asked casually,
"Granny, where exactly is Henry? When did you see him last? I don't
believe I've seen him myself."

She waved vaguely towards the door. "He takes
his sorry no-good carcass out to that room over the garage. I told
him he had to stay out there, on account I can't abide them
stinking cigars. I reckon you'll find him there now, all right, but
I can't say for sure. He comes and goes."

"Well all right then, I'll come by later
tomorrow with some more groceries."

Outside, Kyle tossed the trash bag into the
back of the pickup and rounded toward the passenger door. He
stopped, waiting for Preston, who stood staring up at the second
floor windows, above the garage.

"Something wrong, Pres?"

"I wonder. Come on, let's just take a look
see," answered Preston vaguely.

"What? What is it?"

Instead of answering, Preston walked
unhurriedly toward the garage where Granny's old red pickup was
backed in. Occasionally, he and Sarah used the truck, but he never
backed it in. Something was wrong.

"Stay down here, for just a minute. I'm going
to look around." He rapidly climbed the creaking steps at the back
of the building and looked in the window in the top half of the
door.

"Whatcha doing up there?"

"Holy crap!" whispered Preston, after pushing
open the door. "Kyle! This is it."

Taking the stairs two at a time, Kyle was at
his side in seconds. The door swung open and they were assailed
with the smell of musty neglect mingled with the more recent
addition of rotten food and stale cigar. Their eyes went
immediately to a chair that still had remnants of duct tape
clinging to the legs.

"Damn! This is it!" hissed Kyle. "I told you
we could find where the kidnapper took Diane."

"Ho-ly crap," Preston drew out each syllable
slowly as he realized the significance of their discovery. On the
coffee table, he recognized a couple of Sarah's plates, together
with crumpled paper towels, scattered food crumbs, and an ashtray
overflowing with cigar butts. When he reached for one of Sarah's
tea towels, Kyle put a hand out to stop him.

"Pres, don't touch nothing. I've seen plenty
of cop shows. They always tell people not to touch a thing at the
crime scene."

Preston straightened up and nodded. "You're
right. The kidnapper probably has finger prints everywhere."

"Of course, I'm right. That guy... Hey, wait
just a minute!" Wild eyed, Kyle backed nervously toward the door.
"Pres, come on. We gotta get out of here. He could be around here
somewheres and coming back directly. Let's get the hell out of
here!"

Preston nodded following his friend, but not
before taking one last appraising look around the room, shaking his
head in disgust. Before he started down, Preston had his cell phone
out and was dialing the police.

Leaping franticly down the last few steps,
Kyle raced for the pickup, clambered in and slammed his door.

Preston was talking rapidly into his phone as
he opened the door to his truck and reached behind the seat. "We'll
be okay, Boone. I can't leave her here alone, so we'll be inside.
Right."

"Damn Pres! We did it! We found where that
Toricello guy has been hiding out. That's where he took Diane. Now
let's go. Let's get the hell out of here."

Preston pulled a 22 rifle out from behind the
seat and quickly loaded it, slipping extra rounds into his jacket
pocket. "Come on Kyle. Let's get back inside."

"What? You crazy, Pres? We gotta go!
Granny'll be okay. Don't worry about her. She thinks he's Grandpa
Henry, come back to life. Let's get out of here!"

Preston walked away with Kyle scrambling
behind him.

"I don't know about this, Pres. That
kidnapper guy, he's dangerous." His head swiveled casting furtive
glances around in all directions. "He was gonna kill Diane. Maybe
we should get the hell out of here before he shows."

"Nope," said Preston pulling open the door.
"We're going to wait for the deputies. Wouldn't want anything to
happen to Sarah's granny."

"You guys, maybe I should stay home in case
Chris comes back." Diane blew her nose. "He hasn't tried to call
for a while. He could be in danger!"