In Broad Daylight (14 page)

hammer out a screenplay.

"My lips are sealed," she promised.

His eyes were drawn to her mouth as if to verify her statement. He thought of last night

and felt a quickening in his body that was completely out of place in the given situation.

Out of place or not, he found himself wanting to kiss her again.

"Keep them that way," he instructed in hushed tones.

Before them, the media surged forward. The excitement of the moment, along with its

charged, heightened emotion was quickly making the situation dangerous and possibly

volatile. It was time to cut the press conference short.

Dax stepped forward, becoming official again. He waved the reporters back. "Okay,

everybody, you've got your story and your sound bite. Now everyone please clear out so we

can go about our work."

As one, the reporters refocused their attention and turned toward him. Questions were

fired at him from all directions. "Detective, have you made any progress?"

He refused to answer that, knowing that anything he said would be diluted and distorted.

"Any truth to the report that Annie was spotted inTaos,New Mexico?"

"We're checking it out," he responded to the disembodied question while motioning to the patrolmen at the back of the room to usher the media out the front door.

"Is it true you suspect one of the teachers?" someone else shouted. Variations of the

question echoed throughout the crowd.

"We're still in the process of ruling out suspects," Dax responded.

"How about her teacher, has her teacher been ruled out?" someone else asked.

Though she was behind him at the moment, he could feel Brenda watching him. "Yes, Mrs.

York has been ruled out."

"How about the headmaster?"

"We'll let you know as soon as we have anything," Dax promised. The combined effort of

the three policeman had the crowd finally crossing the threshold and on the other side of

the front door. Dax closed it with feeling. "When hell freezes over," he added under his breath as he turned from the door.

Simon and Rebecca were still standing in the living room, both shaken, both holding one

another for mutual support. Dax looked at Simon. "You shouldn't have done that."

Instantly, Simon took umbrage. His pale complexion darkened. "I can't just sit here."

Didn't the man get it? According to Nathan, the director was sharp. Supposedly he'd

graduated near the top of his class from theUniversityofSouthern California. Why didn't

book-learning translate into a drop of common sense?

"That's exactly what he wants you to do, Mr. Tyler," Dax told him, struggling with his own temper. "Sit there. He wants you to sit there and squirm while you wait for the telephone

to ring."

"But why?" Rebecca asked, her voice frantic. "The sooner he calls, the sooner he can get his money."

"It's not always about the money. Even in a ransom case," he underscored, not wanting the girl's mother to start torturing herself with other, lurid possibilities. "Sometimes the

main component in all this is the power."

"Power?" Rebecca echoed blankly. She looked at her husband for an explanation.

But it was Dax who gave it. And he gave it to Simon rather than her because more and

more he was beginning to believe that this had been done specifically to Simon not because

he was the wealthiest parent at Harwood, but because the kidnapper wanted to extract a

measure of revenge along with his money.

"Yes. You have the power of artistic life or death over the people who work on a movie

with you. Maybe Annie's kidnapper wants to sample a little of the same. Maybe he's

someone you slighted, possibly ruined, and he wants to get his revenge." He had picked up

copies of the sketches Brenda had done on their way back to the mansion. He took them

out of his pocket now and unfolded them before placing them on the table in front of

Simon. "Do either of these two people look familiar to you?"

Simon glanced from one to the other, then shrugged impatiently. The next moment,

disgusted, he swept the pages away with his hand. "Look, I've been in the business fifteen

years. I see a lot of people. I can't be expected to remember everyone."

Dax's voice was emotionless. He could see that the man was probably a tyrant on the set,

the kind more than one person probably swore to get revenge against.

"No, you can't." And maybe that was the point, however twisted it might be, Dax thought.

Maybe whoever was doing this wanted Simon to remember him, remember the impact he

had on his life.

Kidnapping a man's daughter left quite an impact.

Tucking the pictures back into his pocket, Dax turned away from theTylersand began to

walk out of the living room.

"Where are you going?" Simon called after him.

Dax could see how the man could easily rub legions of people the wrong way. "I've got

teachers to question."

He didn't have to look to know that Brenda had fallen into step beside him. He didn't say

anything to her until they were outside the building.

"Don't you have someplace to be?"

Now that he'd opened the door to allow her to be part of this investigation, however

marginally, there was no way she was going to willingly be left behind. She had to at least

try to accompany him.

"Not at the moment. Besides," she said, trying to bolster her argument, "you're going to need a friendly face at your side when you go at them again."

He would have described her face as something other than friendly. Enticing, beautiful

were two of the words that came to mind. Dax crossed his arms before him. "You're

volunteering your face?"

He was going to let her come. She relaxed slightly. "Like I said, it doesn't have any place

to be at the moment."

He nodded toward his car. The media, he could see, was converging again and heading their

way. "Get in then, before the sharks go at us again."

He didn't have to tell her twice.

According to the payroll statements,HarwoodAcademyemployed seventeen teachers.

Fourteen to handle their classes and three who substituted. They conducted classes that

dealt either with computer science, art or music. In addition, there was one librarian, a

woman who had been with the academy ever since the first headmaster had opened the

school's doors some fifty-one years ago.

"Came to work at Harwood fresh out of college," Amanda Brooks told them proudly,

walking back into her tiny, knick-knack crowded living room.

She set down the tray she'd brought in from the kitchen and presented a tall glass of

lemonade to each of them before taking one herself. With a contented sigh, she sat down

on a comfortable, slightly shapeless chair and faced them across a scarred coffee table.

One of her three dogs came to place its head on her feet.

"I don't get much company," she confided, looking down at her dog. "They tend to be kind of shy around people. Butterscotch and Taffy are hiding in the bedroom, but Caramel

tends to be the curious one."

She paused to scratch the dog's head, then raised her eyes to her guests. "Nothing like

this has ever happened at the academy before." She leaned forward, her body language

announcing that she had a secret to share. "One of the teachers had to leave in the early

sixties because she got in the family way. She was a single lady, you understand." Amanda

shook her blond-tinted hair in mute disapproval. Whether over the teacher or her

subsequent censure was unclear. "But other than that, there hasn't been a hint of a

scandal. Until now." She sighed over the rim of the glass before taking another long sip. "I don't know what this is going to do to enrollment."

"And you saw nothing out of the ordinary yesterday?" Dax pressed.

Amanda drew herself up and sat ramrod straight. Brilliant blue eyes stared at him

accusingly from behind rimless glasses. "A fire is out of the ordinary, Detective."

"But there really wasn't any," he reminded her gently. "Just someone setting Mrs. York's wastepaper basket on fire."

"A fire's a fire, big or small." Primly she nursed her lemonade before speaking again. "As to anything else out of the ordinary, I wouldn't know about that. I was too busy making

sure that the youngsters in the library all got out all right. That, and saving Edna."

"Edna?" He hadn't heard the name mentioned before. Was it a student of some special

significance? He looked from the librarian to Brenda for an explanation.

Because Amanda appeared to be preparing for an unabridged version, Brenda quickly

explained, "That's what Amanda calls the first edition book we have. It's a volume of

poems—"

"By Edna St. Vincent Millet. My gift to the school after I was here for twenty-five

years," the older woman told him with no small amount of pride. "I found it in a small

secondhand bookstore inLondon. My husband took me there for our second honeymoon. He

died two years ago last spring. Butterscotch and Taffy wouldn't come out from under the

bed for days. I don't know what I would have done if it hadn't been for Caramel…"

They weren't going to get anywhere here, Dax thought. He realized the woman needed to

talk, but he didn't have time to listen. He set his glass down on the coaster Amanda had

placed before him.

Amanda ceased her narrative. "Are you leaving so soon?" Disappointment dripped from her words, and she rose to her feet along with them. Roused, Caramel yapped her displeasure

and then retreated to her resting place.

Dax looked as apologetic as he could. "I'm afraid we have a lot of other people to talk to."

"I understand perfectly. Never do anything by half measures, that's always been my

motto." She accompanied them to the front door, opening it for them. "Will the school be open tomorrow?" Amanda's bright blue eyes watched him hopefully.

Forensics was finished processing the area. The yellow tape across the front entrance was

coming down later this evening. "Yes."

Amanda nodded her approval. "Good, I don't like having too much time on my hands. Makes

me lazy."

She caught Brenda's arm just before the latter crossed her threshold. Brenda looked at

her quizzically. "He's a nice young man," Amanda whispered. And then she winked and

closed the door.

Dax looked behind him as Brenda hurried to catch up. "What was that all about?"

Brenda grinned. There were times when the librarian didn't appear to be playing with a

full deck, but she suspected that the woman was just amusing herself. She seemed as

sharp as any of the younger teachers. "She thinks you're a, quote, 'nice young man,'

unquote."

Dax laughed as he opened the driver's side door. "I am." And then he looked at Brenda

over the vehicle's roof. "For the most part."

A slight shiver shimmied up and down her spine. She looked at him in wonder—and

amusement. "Detective Cavanaugh, are you flirting with me?"

He pretended to consider her question. "I don't know. Maybe." He got into the car. "I'll get back to you on that."

Brenda followed suit, shutting her door. She had to press her lips together to keep the

grin from taking over her entire face.

They saw ten more teachers that day, but it quickly became evident to Dax that there

was no new information, no forgotten scrap of a clue to offer. And, more importantly, no

feeling in his gut that he had stumbled on to something.

The teachers, all women, struck him as dedicated and eager to do whatever they could to

help with the investigation. But no one had seen anything in the least helpful to that

investigation. And no one could be sure just where the couple that Brenda had been

showing around was at any given time once the fire alarm had gone off

Ordinarily, he would feel that time was growing short. Which meant that it was running

out for both the investigation and for the kidnap victim. But, if his theory was correct,

then there was the kidnapper's ego to factor in and that might be enough to buy them a

little more time.

He glanced at his watch as they left the last teacher of the day. It was getting late.

"Wait a minute," he told Brenda as she began climbing back into the car.

She paused, waiting for an explanation. Instead of giving her one, he punched in several

numbers on his keypad. Brenda listened in silence as Dax checked in with the patrolman

he'd left in charge at theTylers' mansion. She watched his face in the light from the

street lamp and drew her own conclusions.

"Nothing?" she asked the moment he flipped his phone closed.

He shook his head. "Nothing. There's been no contact made." Annoyed, frustrated, Dax

tucked away his phone. "It's as if the kidnapper is trying to see how far he can

stretchTyler's nerves before they snap." He got into the car and snapped in his seat belt.

"Either that, or he's changed his mind about the money."

She quickly got in on her side, shutting the door a little too firmly. "But they're worth

billions. If you had a chance at that, would you walk away?" He raised his eyes to hers

sharply. She hurried to clear the air. "I meant, if you were the kidnapper?"

It hadn't been that long ago that his cousin Patrick had been under investigation by

Internal Affairs. It had been guilt by association but there was no telling where it would

have led if the woman carrying out the covert investigation hadn't quickly become

convinced of Patrick's innocence. Suspicions were a sore spot they were all forced to live