Gone in a Flash (10 page)

‘Maybe we should wait here for the police?’ Bess suggested.

‘I just want to go home,’ Alicia said, tears in her voice. ‘I’m sick of this shit!’

The girls came home just as the chief of police’s car pulled up in front of the house. I was torn between unlocking the back door for the girls or rushing to the front door for the chief. I figured the girls had at least one key amongst them, and headed to the front door instead.

‘Chief ?’ I said as he walked up the front walk.

‘Hey, Miz Pugh,’ he said.

‘Please, call me E.J.,’ I said.

‘If you call me Barry,’ he said. Having reached the front porch, he held out his hand and I shook it, ushering him inside.

I heard the back door open as we stepped in.

‘Followed your girls here from the school,’ Barry said.

‘Oh?’ I led him into the formal living room and called, ‘Girls!’ into the family room.

They shuffled in.

I looked from my daughters to the chief. He spoke first.

‘Got a nine-one-one call from the school. Seems a white van was accosting your daughters, trying to pull one of them into the van,’ he said.

‘Oh my God! Who? What happened?’

‘It’s OK, Mom,’ Alicia said. She pushed me toward the sectional sofa. ‘Sit down, OK? Don’t have a fit.’

‘I’ll have a fit if I damn well feel like having a fit!’ I said, resistant to sitting down.

Alicia sat down next to her sisters, so I followed. The chief sat, too.

‘It was my turn to drive and we were getting into the minivan when this white panel van came up alongside me and this guy leaned out of the open side door and grabbed my satchel. I wouldn’t let go. But I saw the guy pretty clearly and I’m pretty sure it was one of the guys who’ve been stalking us. Do you have a sketch artist, Chief ? I could definitely describe the one who tried to grab my satchel.’

‘No, sorry, we don’t, but they have one in Codderville. Let me call Lieutenant Luna and see what we can set up,’ the chief said and got up and left the room, walking into the dining room to make his phone call.

‘Are you OK, honey?’ I asked Alicia, stroking her arm.

‘Yes, Mom, I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t about to let that asshole take my satchel.’ Then she blushed. ‘Sorry, Mom.’

‘About calling the guy an asshole?’ I asked. She nodded. ‘Fair game,’ I said. ‘He’s definitely an asshole, and so is his running buddy.’

The chief came back into the room. ‘OK’, he said. ‘Luna is gonna bring the sketch artist by on her way home. Then the artist will drop the sketch off at my office when he leaves. Meanwhile, can I have a look at this satchel?’

‘Just a minute,’ Alicia said, and went into the family room, coming back with the black satchel. She handed it to the police chief. ‘It’s just got my schoolwork in it.’

‘Where’d you get it?’ the chief asked, opening the case to look inside.

‘We found it in the back of Willis’s pickup when we got back from Austin on Sunday,’ I told him. ‘Our oldest started U.T. this semester and we drove him over there.’

‘And it was just in the back of the pickup?’ the chief asked.

‘Yes. When we got home Willis brought it into the house thinking it was mine. I’d never seen it before. We opened it, looking for ID, but didn’t find any. I was going to take the whole thing to Goodwill but Willis wanted the Dopp kit and Alicia wanted the satchel.’

‘What was in it besides the Dopp kit?’ the chief asked.

‘Men’s clothes. Couple of T-shirts, a pair of jeans and some underwear,’ I told him.

‘What did you do with that?’ he asked.

‘I took all that to Goodwill.’

‘Young lady, could you take out your schoolbooks, please?’ he asked Alicia.

She took out two books and a notebook, and handed the chief the satchel. He put his hand inside.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked him.

‘Well, some of these old things used to have trap bottoms. Just wanna see if this one does.’ His hand came out. ‘Not so you’d notice,’ he said. The chief stood up.

So,’ he said, heading for the front door, then turned back to face them. ‘Unless you got a tag number off that van?’ All three girls shook their heads. ‘Then I’m off. Y’all want me to post someone out here tonight? Gonna have to be a volunteer since we don’t have that many people. And he – or she – (he said, nodding in my direction) – would be unarmed …’

I followed him to the door. ‘Then what would be the point?’ I said, and shrugged. ‘We’ll be OK.’

He left and I looked at the girls. ‘Make a sweep of the house. Lock every window and door. Put the chains on.’

This was touching my family now, and I was beginning to think, even with the satchel being empty, that all this had to be connected. Somebody was after my family, and Willis couldn’t fault me for fighting back – or could he?

I leaned my back against the front door, wondering how Willis and I were going to protect our precious cargo.

I
changed into my Sunday-go-to-meeting outfit and headed downstairs, finding some of our choir members milling about the lobby. I started asking about Rachael, and it seemed that the last person to see her the night before was John Blevins, a tenor, old enough to have gone to high school with me, if he was bright enough to have made it that far. Sorry, I have a tendency to get catty when I’m upset, and this whole thing with Rachael was surely upsetting me. I was beginning to think that maybe she hadn’t been with Brother Joe the night before. I wouldn’t call her a friend, but our shared experience at the First Ladies exhibit had gotten me to like her some.

‘Yeah,’ John said, ‘I saw her. I was standing here waiting for the elevator, and saw Rachael head up the stairs,’ he said, pointing to the grand staircase that went from the lobby to the mezzanine.

‘Anybody with her?’ I asked him.

‘No, she was all by her lonesome,’ John said, shaking his head.

‘What’s she done now?’ Ethel asked, coming up close and half whispering in my ear.

‘She didn’t do nothing,’ I said. ‘I just can’t find her. She didn’t come back to the room last night and nobody’s seen hide nor hair of her since, well, since John saw her, as far as I can tell.’

‘Did you ask you-know-who?’ Ethel half-whispered to me.

I gave her the stink-eye. ‘Don’t,’ I said.

‘Who’s you-know-who?’ John Blevins asked.

Nancy Perrin, another soprano, chirped in, ‘Yeah! What do y’all know that we don’t?’

‘Is something going on?’ Elmer Estes, a baritone, asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Well, this is just getting way out of control, I thought to myself. ‘Y’all behave!’ I said. ‘This is serious. We gotta find her.’

Just then three more members of the choir joined us. ‘Any of y’all seen Rachael Donley?’ Elmer Estes asked.

All three shook their heads. ‘Is she missing?’ asked Ruthie Lane, a contralto with a beautiful voice. She does a lot of solos.

I reiterated my tale of woe. Ruthie Lane, who hadn’t heard the stuff earlier, was concerned. ‘You think she’s all right?’ she asked me, touching my hand. I sure didn’t mind
her
touch, as opposed to the preacher’s earlier. She’s a nice lady I’ve known since our children were in the church nursery together. And, besides, I could listen to her lift her voice to Jesus any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

‘I just don’t know,’ I said to Ruthie. ‘But I’m getting worried.’

‘Oh, she’s gonna show up,’ Elmer said. ‘I’m betting she went to visit some kin or somebody who lives around here and just forgot to tell anyone.’

Everyone nodded, and let it go. That was the best excuse I’d heard. I could live with that.

The girls checked the windows on the first floor, then headed upstairs. Alicia volunteered to check the windows in Graham’s room. Strangely enough, although she’d lived in this house for almost two years, she’d never been in Graham’s room. He’d never invited her in and she’d never attempted to go near it. She figured if she totally ignored him, Graham might never know how much she loved him. Sometimes it hurt, especially now with him gone away to college, but it was really better that he was out of sight. He certainly wasn’t out of mind, but it was easier. A little easier.

No one knew, not even the girls. For all the love and affection, all the ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ stuff, she was still a guest in this home. She’d been in a lot of foster homes over the years, and had to admit this was the best one, but being a foster kid, she knew not to depend on the apparent loving feelings coming from a foster family. There was an unspoken issue of trust between the two parties – foster child and foster family. And she would not betray that trust by going after their son. Not that she knew how to ‘go after’ a guy. She’d never done it, and wasn’t quite sure how it was done. She’d seen Megan try, like today with that guy who tried to rescue her, but, as usual, it was a fiasco. Bess never had to ‘go after’ a guy. They came after her. Little and pretty and sweet, guys were drawn to her. Big, gorgeous and loud-mouthed, it would take a certain kind of guy to go for Megan. Medium and mousy? Alicia figured that, standing between those two, she never had a chance with anybody.

But Graham? When she’d first met him, he had a girlfriend, Lotta, a beautiful Latina with clear olive skin, big brown eyes, and boobs. Guys always went for boobs. At sixteen hers still hadn’t come in, as if they were ever going to. She hid her bras from her ‘sisters’ so they wouldn’t know she still wore a 30A. Megan probably hadn’t worn a 30A since kindergarten!

She went in Graham’s room and was surprised how much stuff was still there. She’d seen the boxes of things he’d taken with him, but he’d certainly left high school behind – except, of course, for Leon. He had a bunk-bed arrangement with a top bunk along the wall, and the bottom bunk sticking out into the room. Under the half of the top bunk not being used by the bottom bunk was a desk. It was cleared, but the walls could talk. Posters of punk bands from Austin, a few national bands, some of Dallas Cowboy players, and high-school calendars, one for each of the four years. She touched them, wanting to peruse them at her leisure, but knowing she couldn’t stay in his room for long. The drapes matched his bedspreads, dark red and green plaid, more a mom’s choice rather than a teenaged boy’s choice. She went to the window and made sure it was locked, then stood for a moment just soaking it in. Then, sure that the door was shut, she went to the lower bunk, leaned down, uncovered the pillow and stuck her face in it. It didn’t smell like Graham at all. He must have taken his pillow with him, she thought. This is just an extra. She put the spread back up over the pillow and left the room.

Once in her own, she sat down on her bed to put her books back in the satchel. First, though, she reached inside to make sure the chief hadn’t been mistaken about there not being a secret bottom. She felt around, trying to find a spring, a catch – anything that would release a hidden compartment. Instead she found something in the lining. It wasn’t low enough to be part of a release for a secret compartment at the bottom of the bag, but maybe something up higher? She got her fingers around it, trying to feel with her fingers what it was. Not being able to, she got her manicure scissors and snipped a small hole in the lining. Sticking her finger in, the hole stretched and she was able to take hold of the object inside. She pulled it out. It was a flash drive, maybe. What the hell? she thought.

Then a voice called from downstairs, ‘Alicia! The sketch artist is here!’

She put the object on her desk next to her computer and hurried downstairs.

‘You shoulda just grabbed her! You dumbass!’ Mr Smith said.

‘You wanted me to
kidnap
that girl? Are you crazy?’ Mr Jones said.

‘Do you have the satchel? Huh? Do you?’ Mr Smith screamed as he drove the panel van through the streets of Black Cat Ridge, trying to find the main street to the freeway.

‘Just shut up!’ Mr Jones said.

‘Shut up? You want me to shut up?’ Mr Smith said. He reached for his gun in its holster inside his coat.

Seeing that Mr Smith was about to flip again, Mr Jones grabbed his arm, and the two began to wrestle. The panel van had reached the highway and Mr Smith should have taken the ramp to enter as the feeder ended shortly beyond the ramp. Instead the panel van swerved as the two fought and ran off the feeder into a grove of mesquite trees. For those not familiar with mesquite trees, they tend to have long thorns and sharp, skinny branches, and are good for only two things: rifle stocks and making smoke for some serious barbeque. The panel van took out a few of the lesser trees but slowed enough to come to rest against a slightly larger mesquite.

Mr Smith was the first to speak. ‘What did you think you were doing?’ he asked quietly.

‘Keeping you from shooting me again!’ Mr Jones said.

‘You’re right. I was going to shoot you. But not in the foot this time. I would have aimed for the head.’

‘OK, then,’ Mr Jones said. A few seconds later he added: ‘Are you better now?’

‘Yes, yes I am. Thank you,’ Mr Smith said.

‘No problem,’ Mr Jones said.

‘Of course, now we have a new problem. We’re stuck out here in the woods,’ Mr Smith said.

‘You wanna try backing up?’ Mr Jones suggested.

‘That’s a good idea, Mr Jones,’ Mr Smith said, surprised to hear the words escaping his mouth. ‘I’ll try that.’

The engine had died upon impact with the small tree, so Mr Smith turned the key. Nothing happened. He turned it again. Still nothing happened.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘looks like this one’s dead.’

‘Guess we gotta steal another one,’ Mr Jones said.

Looking straight ahead into the crowded forest of mesquite trees, Mr Smith said, ‘You know I’m really going to kill you this time, don’t you?’

Mr Jones smiled and said, ‘I know you’re going to
try.’

That first day of the meeting was crazy busy. I heard a couple of sermons that were pretty good, went to a panel discussion on creationism vs. the big bang theory (no contest there), and had another choir practice that afternoon about four. Still no word on Rachael Donley. By the time I got to choir practice, the word had traveled around all our people and some of those from the other choirs (especially the altos – they tend to stick together, you know). There was a lot of chatter, but as far as I could tell, John Blevins was still the last one to see her. And no one, far as I could make out, had been up on the mezzanine level – where Rachael was last seen heading – at all.