Frankie's Back in Town (11 page)

Hopefully not collapsed in some unnoticed corner of this very large property. It would take an hour alone to search the public restrooms on each of the eight floors in all four wings.

Francesca finally decided to ask the staff to conduct discreet walk-throughs in all the common areas in their sections when Evelyn Jonas revealed the first clue. “Concetta left this morning. I said goodbye to her on my way to breakfast.”

“She was leaving the lodge?”

Mrs. Jonas shrugged. “She was wearing her coat.”

There was the par course, outdoor activities field and the garden area, all of which were buried under four feet of snow. Nonna wouldn’t be outside. Unless…She might have ventured a visit to John, the retiree who worked the gatehouse during the dayshift. He was the husband of a long-time family friend, who’d taken the job after his wife had passed away. He and Nonna had been known to swap books, as his not-so-demanding job left him plenty of time to read.

Francesca couldn’t see her grandmother making her way even that short distance in this weather. But if Nonna had gotten it into her head that John was outside freezing, she might very well have brewed him an espresso and taken it out to him.

Then another thought struck—the nursing center. Henry Benson had just moved over there permanently because of growing dementia. His wife, Margaret, had made the difficult decision to give up their apartment in senior living so they could be together. Margaret had been one of the reasons Nonna had wanted to move to the lodge. Had she decided to bring lasagna to her friend? If so, why hadn’t she asked for transport? Staff members shuttled residents back and forth in golf carts all day long.

Had Nonna forgotten and decided to walk herself?

Francesca glanced through the steamy windows at the pristine scene outside. It was winter, and dusk came early. By five it would be dark, the temperature would start dropping, and if Nonna were out there, in trouble…

Out of options, Francesca headed back to her office for her coat, memory fresh of the last time she’d gone outside without it. Yvette wasn’t at her desk, so Francesca slipped in and out of her office, fighting back the worry niggling away her calm.

The Mystery of the Missing Grandmother.

This would not officially become a case.

J
ACK LOOKED FORWARD TO
seeing Frankie this afternoon. She’d sounded too matter-of-fact on the phone, leaving him guessing that she’d had a run-in with the grinding rumor mill.

With the hopes of bringing her some good news, he’d spent the afternoon going through the last of the victims’ statements. He wasn’t sure why he’d expected a place with the name of Greywacke Lodge to be normal, but after reading the statements, he’d come to the conclusion that most of the folks living here were both gray and wacked.

Eddie Shaw, for example. This computer-savvy old man had given his personal information via e-mail to a company that promised to help him meet women online. After backstopping his online activities, Jack’s tech guy uncovered a phishing scam the FBI had recently shut down.

And luckily before they’d done more damage than charging online fees for Web hosting services, which totaled less than four hundred dollars. The extravagant credit lines established with Shaw’s identity eliminated everyone at the lodge with less than supervisory access to his personal information.

The Connells insisted the clerk at a local music store had stolen their credit information when they’d purchased a gift card for their great-granddaughter at Christmas. According to them he was the likeliest suspect because of his blue spiky hair and variety of piercings.

The clerk, however, despite his unconventional appearance, hadn’t run through anything but the approved total of the Connells’ purchase. And fortunately for Jack, a bank camera had caught an image on video of an unidentified woman making a cash withdrawal on the Connells’ fraudulent credit line in Tucson. Jack notified the FBI to discover the woman’s identity.

It wasn’t Frankie or Susanna. That much Jack knew. Both had been ensconced in their offices with an impressive number of witnesses to corroborate their whereabouts. And even if they hadn’t, Jack knew better. He might not see much of Susanna since Skip’s death, but he cared about her. And Frankie…his gut told him she wasn’t a criminal, either.

However, since a prosecutor could argue that either could have been working with an accomplice, Jack needed a positive ID on that female.

Another unexpected development came because Bridget Minahan’s purse had been stolen out of her shopping cart during one of the lodge’s Wal-Mart outings. By the time she’d arrived at the checkout and noticed the theft, the thieves had already hit up two office supply stores for computer equipment. Those thieves were still at large, but Bridget’s daughter-in-law had closed her accounts and had the banks issue new cards.

The timing of this incident and the change in Bridget Minahan’s personal information meant that, like Eddie Shaw, not all members of Greywacke Lodge’s accounting department had access to the new information used to open the credit lines, which enabled him to narrow the suspect list even more.

As far as Jack was concerned, this progress was coming as a mixed bag. On one hand, he was both pleased and impressed with Randy and the chosen few detectives they’d assigned to work this case. On the other, their skilled
handling had whittled suspects down to exactly the two women Jack wanted off the list.

Susanna, an old friend, and the woman who oversaw her work. Frankie. The woman he was interested in.

Jack suspected Frankie would find this development a mixed bag, too. She’d be relieved her staff was honest, even if it meant taking a turn at the top of his list. Susanna would freak. No question. She’d had a rough couple of years, and Jack didn’t like that he was about to make things even rougher.

He parked in a visitor space and made his way inside the front lobby. “I’m here to see Ms. Raffa,” he told the smiling receptionist. “Is she available?”

The woman’s smile didn’t budge, and when she hopped up from her seat, Jack knew instantly something was up.

“Chief Sloan, if you’ll wait here please.”

Jack waited. She quickly returned and escorted him to the reception area of the administrative offices, where Frankie’s administrative assistant greeted him.

“Chief Sloan,” Yvette said. “I know Ms. Raffa was expecting you, but I’m afraid she’s not here right now.”

“Not a problem. I’m early. I’ll wait.”

Yvette hesitated too long, looking suspiciously stumped for an answer, so Jack asked, “Is something wrong?”

“I’m not exactly sure where she is or when she’ll be back,” she admitted with a sheepish shrug. “She’s not answering the radio or her cell.”

“But she’s on the property?”

“I assume. She went upstairs to find Nonna over an hour ago. Nonna’s not picking up her phone, either.”

“Ms. Raffa’s grandmother, right?”

Yvette nodded. “We misplaced her and her lasagna.”

Okay.
Jack thought he understood. “Ms. Raffa went out looking for her grandmother?”

“Now she’s MIA, too.”

The Case of the Missing Lasagna.

That’s what Frankie might have called it. The thought made him feel like smiling. He didn’t. Yvette looked really worried, so Jack asked, “What have you done to find her?”

“I keep calling her cell and trying to contact her over the radio. I called around to the different department heads to ask if anyone had seen her, but I didn’t want to make a big deal and get the whole place in an uproar.”

“No one’s seen her.”

Yvette shook her head.

“Is her car still here?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought to check.”

“Let’s start there then. Does she have an assigned space?”

Yvette was already circling her desk with a quick step, looking relieved to have an action plan. “We can call John at the gatehouse. He’ll tell us if she left the property.”

Jack waited while she placed the call.

“No, she hasn’t left.”

“Has she disappeared like this before?”

“Never,” Yvette said decidedly.

“Okay. Then we need to figure out if she’s inside or outside.”

Yvette was up and on her way again. This time toward Frankie’s office. “Let me see if her purse and coat are here.”

Jack followed.

“Her coat is gone, but her purse is still here,” Yvette informed him when she reappeared.

“Okay, so she went outside but didn’t plan to leave the property.”

That eased some stress from Yvette’s expression. “Sounds as though we’re in an episode of
Law & Order.
”

Jack didn’t point out that television crime shows usually
featured bodies, and bodies weren’t on the docket today. “Would she have gone outside to meet her grandmother?”

“I can’t imagine why. We expected Nonna with lunch a long time ago. Should I call the nursing center?” Yvette asked. “I can ask the receptionist if she’s seen her. I didn’t think about it before, but it’s right across the road, and Nonna does have friends there. I don’t think she’d have walked in this weather, though. Most residents have one of the staff members drive them over on the golf carts. It might not seem like a long way, but it really is for someone having trouble getting around.”

“Wouldn’t John have seen her leave the property?”

“Only if she went through the front gate. There’s a pedestrian path with access. That’s usually the way the golf carts go to avoid cars.”

“Give them a call. If no one’s seen them, I’ll take a walk.”

Yvette did as he suggested and, within minutes, Jack was ready to take that walk.

“I won’t be long,” he said. “Call me if either shows up.”

“You got it, Chief.”

Jack headed out of the reception area, wondering where Frankie and her grandmother might have gone.

The temperature had dropped noticeably in the short time he’d been indoors. They were probably looking at more snow tonight. Following the path around the building, he abandoned any hope of heading back to town before his desk sergeant got off shift. Friday night traffic in Bluestone Mountain wasn’t anything to write home about but, still, even if he located his missing persons quickly, by the time he talked with Susanna…He’d check in at the station after Brogan came on duty.

Jack wound his way along the path carefully. While all the walkways around the lodge had been meticulously
shoveled and salted, and tall ornamental lamps ensured the paths would remain well lit, there was no way to mask the terrain itself, the steep slopes that descended into the valley.

Despite the dimming light, his well-trained gaze caught a disturbance in the snow ahead, a place where the path wound a final descent to the gate. Ice had formed more thickly here beneath the cover of firs that blocked the gray sky overhead. He moved carefully beneath that shadowy overhang, his dress shoes offering no traction on the ice.

Training had kept Jack from speculating about Frankie’s and her grandmother’s disappearances. Discipline had kept him thinking clearly and dealing with the facts, so he was surprised by a pang of real fear when he took in the scene before him.

Deep gouges in the snow might have been caused by a fall, by someone slipping and shattering the brittle surface…Tree limbs twisted and broken as if someone had grasped vainly for purchase…Jack sank to his knees on the icy path, bracing himself as he peered down the dark slope.

Even from a distance he instantly recognized that wild tumble of caramel hair, the slight shoulders so unnaturally still.

Frankie.

She’d slid a good dozen feet down the slope before coming to rest in the lap of an old oak that had loosed a mound of snow on top of her.

“Francesca!” he yelled out, breath catching in his throat, adrenaline forcing him to reach out and steady himself against the trunk of an alder. “Francesca.”

Silence.

Jack’s heart throbbed hard in his chest, the only sound to fill his hearing as he stared down at her still form. He
had no way of knowing how long she’d been down there, but he knew the cold would readily claim her life if she hadn’t killed herself on the way down already.

Slipping his cell from his pocket, he speed dialed 9-1-1 and detailed the situation to the dispatcher.

Jack faced a choice. Help was on the way, but he couldn’t wait. The late afternoon sun, already well hidden behind the blanket of cloudy gray sky, was setting. It would be dark soon.

Grabbing ahold of a low-hanging branch overhead, he braced himself for the descent. He couldn’t lose his footing and come crashing down on top of her.

Each warily placed step brought another surge of adrenaline, another wave of unfamiliar helplessness as doubts crashed in on him. How badly was she hurt? How long had she been down here? Was she even alive?

Be alive. Be alive. Be alive.

The litany played over and over again in his head as he descended, trying not to misstep, cursing when he almost lost his grip and sent another shower of snow on top of her.

He fought to catch himself as the boughs of an evergreen bowed beneath his weight, sending more snow tumbling down and tearing apart his hand as twigs broke beneath his palm.

He grasped for the familiar calm that gave him a clear head and made him effective in crises, but today it wasn’t there. It simply wasn’t there.

Be alive. Be alive. Be alive.

He was so close he could have stretched out his foot and touched her. But balance was crucial. He couldn’t trust his grip on the branch, the limb bowed so violently it could easily break. He levered himself alongside of her, finally released his grip, came to a sliding stop with his feet bracing against the trunk of that sturdy oak.

“Francesca.” He reached for her, assessed the damage.

Was she breathing?

Be alive. Be alive. Be alive.

He felt for the pulse at the base of her throat, plunging his hand beneath her collar, dismayed when he was forced to brush aside hard snow that had wedged itself inside her woolen coat. Her skin icy beneath his fingertips,
too cold…
there it was, the steady flutter of her pulse, low, but there. Hypothermia might be on the way, but hadn’t gotten there yet.

Had she broken her neck? Damaged her spine?
Anything
that might prohibit him from moving her?

There was no visible blood, and he breathed a little easier.

“Francesca.” Sliding the scarf from the collar of his coat, he lifted her head gently and maneuvered the scarf around her head and neck balaclava-style to curtail heat loss.

The hem of her wool coat barely fell past her knees, leaving her legs clad only in sheer hose. He spotted one of her shoes farther up the slope, but didn’t see the other.

Kicking away his own, he stripped off his socks and pulled them onto her feet. It would help keep the cold at bay. Then he slid his feet back into his own wet shoes. They only had to make it until the emergency snow rescue arrived.

She wore knit gloves more suited for a walk to the car than winter protection. Better than nothing.

Gathering her against him, he pitted the possibility of permanent injury against the reality of exposure. She was cold, but not wet, which meant she hadn’t been down here long. Gathering her against him, he drew her inside the folds of his coat. He twined his legs through hers, anchoring her close and using his body to shield her.

He guessed that she’d hit her head and been knocked unconscious in the fall. She might not have awakened as the
cold robbed her body of heat. It wouldn’t have taken long for her to freeze to death.

What stroke of fate had brought him here at this exact moment? Jack didn’t know, only that he was very, very grateful.

Trapping her hands between his, he massaged her slim fingers, chanted her name. Still she didn’t awaken.

Fear finally prompted him to grip her chin and ease her face from side to side. Her face was flushed, her cheek bitten by the snow.

“Francesca, wake up.” Then more forcefully. “Francesca.”

Her eyelashes fluttered. She exhaled a shuddering breath.

Jack’s heart started beating again.

“Francesca.” Her name sounded like a prayer in the quiet, a sound so wholly unfamiliar, the sound of relief.

It took halting moments for her to awaken, to stare up at him, dazed. He lowered his face to the top of her head, breathed in her icy smell, let the aching minutes pass as she came back to herself. He crushed her against him, until her every curve molded against his, anchored close as if his own life, not hers, depended on it.