Stealth Moves (4 page)

“Well, they wouldn’t,” Maddy said. “I took forensics class last year. The police don’t ever want parents talking about ransom. Kyle’s parents can probably come up with cash, but Mrs. Kelly isn’t rich. She and Ari have to scrimp to get by. Ari’s dad doesn’t pay child support. He spent all his money on re-election.”

“Nice.” Liv scowled. “Natalie Porcini’s parents made an appeal on TV for her return. I don’t know if it did any good.” Responding to Tay’s questioning look, Liv added, “Natalie Porcini is the girl from St. Winifred’s who disappeared before Kyle.”

“Our plan is different,” Maddy insisted. “We’re not asking the kidnapper to give up anything. Miss Tinsley said in psych class today that zeroes do crimes for attention and power. If you ask them to give up power, they resist. So we do just the opposite—offer the creep more power, more fame by doing what we want instead of hurting Ari, Kyle and this Natalie.”

“Natalie’s friends could make a video about her,” Tay said.

“Another good idea. You’re on that one. And you,” Maddy told Liv, “need to supply the hero.”

Liv frowned. “What hero?”

“Oh, I didn’t explain about him. Here’s the deal: We’re going to tell the kidnapper how to return our friends and become a hero. We’re going to
show
him how to be somebody instead of nobody. First, we start with videos on how great Ari and Kyle are. We get people at school to help, get their contacts to watch. After thousands of hits, the media talks about our videos, and we snag more hits.

“When everyone’s seen these, we post again. This time, we show a droolworthy guy watching the Ari video and deciding he’s going to find her. We only see him from the back, so he has to have great hair and a buff body.”

Maddy paused for reactions. Liv felt confused, but Tay seemed to pick right up on Maddy’s concept. “The next day, we put in new material.”

“Right. Right,” Maddy went on, “so in episode two, our hero searches for Ari all over the place. He’s riding a bike and wearing a helmet with the word YOU on the faceplate. People identify with him. Everybody thinks ‘
I
could be a hero.’ There’s smokin’ music by Tripl Thret along with the action.”

Liv sighed. “You’re talking about a make-believe hero. What about the real kidnapper?”

“The real kidnapper wants attention!” Maddy wagged her forefinger at Liv. “If he stays in hiding, he’s less important than our make-believe hero—but, if he lets the captives go, he gets the fame he craves. He’s The Man.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be a hero,” Liv said. “What if he likes being a badass, a villain?”

Maddy shook her head. “The surest way to make a villain come out is to hold an event for a hero, so we need a real concert. The kidnapper will have to check it out—”

“And get caught,” said Liv. “Who would be so stupid?”

Tay looked up from her phone. “The kidnapper may not play our game, but he’ll be curious. While he waits to see the next episode, the police have longer to find him. We need to drag out the story just to hold his interest, to give our friends more time.”

Liv turned to Tay with new respect. Hands-down the prettiest of the Ari-Maddy-Tay trio, Tay’s flawless olive skin, full lips and deep, hooded eyes gave the impression of a vague personality, but Tay could focus. She made people around her feel calm because she had everything under control.

Maddy tapped her fingers on the table. “The perfect guy for our hero would be the fox on the bike who came to school for you. Who is he?”

“Are there any others like him?” Tay asked.

“Sure.” Liv waved her hand toward the hall. “We always keep a spare hottie in the coat closet.” She rolled her eyes at Tay, taking the risk Tay might get mad, but Tay laughed when Maddy laughed, so that was all right.

“Divulge,” Maddy said. Tay nodded. They both leaned forward in their chairs.

With no time to think up a good lie, Liv told the truth. “He’s the brother of…” She felt her stomach sink. Taking a deep breath, Liv let out the rest. “Of my new bodyguard.”

Four eyes stared at her.

Liv cringed. “It was my grandmother’s idea,” she said frantically. “I hate it! I don’t want to be treated like a baby, to be…
supervised
.”

“Epic buzzkill,” Maddy murmured in sympathy.

“Not,” said Tay, “if the bodyguard is as fine as the brother.”

“It’s a she, not a he.” Liv made a sour face. “You saw her. She drove the bike here.”

“The Terminatrix? What is she, like seven feet tall?” Tay guessed.

Liv laughed. “She talks like a Terminator, too. All she said to me in school was, ‘I’m Holly Glasscock. Your grandmother sent me. Come with me if you want to live.’ Then she shoved a helmet into my hands. I didn’t know what to do until the assistant head of house told me to go with her.”

“How long will this pain-in-the-assitude hang around?” Maddy asked. “I mean we have a lot to do. A bodyguard handcuffed to you could definitely slow things down.”

“We’ll find a way to get rid of her,” Tay said, “if we put our heads together.”

Liv grinned, and her friends grinned with her.

Day 5—Wednesday

Holly carried summer clothes from her rented room in Salem to the van parked outside. She wasn’t surprised to find a crowd gathered on the street. Uncle Jim’s carpentry van had the name of the TV home remodeling show he hosted painted on its sides. Holly shifted the clothes to her left arm as she unlocked the van’s side doors and told the group, “There’s no filming today. We’re just moving some things. It’s private business.”

“We want to meet him,” an excited blonde said.

Returning to the house, Holly passed her brother Eric, and then met her uncle on the staircase. Ten years ago, Jim Glasscock promised to look after his dying brother’s family. He took his duties as father-substitute seriously, particularly for the boys. Holly suspected that Uncle Jim, with three daughters and a wife who didn’t draw breath as she talked, needed the male-bonding time as much as her brothers did. But Jim had been there for Holly, too, as he was today when she needed help moving. He and Eric would drive the van carrying most of her possessions from Salem back to her family’s home in Portsmouth while she and her younger brother Cameron went to Boston.

Holly told her uncle, “Your fan club’s waiting outside.”

He stopped and shook his head. “They’re not mine. They’re Eric’s. Come see.”

Holly reversed direction to stand beside Jim on the front porch. Sure enough, fans flocked around Eric, who smiled and oozed charmed but didn’t sign autographs. He made quick work of putting the box he held into the van, and then joined Holly on the porch while Uncle Jim went toward the street.

There’s no time like the present
, Holly thought, steeling herself to approach Eric with an offer she thought he’d refuse. “Ricky, my, uh—
What should she call Olivia?—
my protectee is making a video. She wants you to play a part. It’s an attempt to rescue the kidnapped kids in Boston, and who knows? You might get some modeling jobs from it.”

Eric made a face. “Modeling! You know I hate that shit.”

“You’re going to turn up your nose at money?”

While Eric considered this incentive, Holly thought about his unlikely career track. He graduated from high school three years ago with no goal beyond playing guitar in a local band. Uncle Jim stepped in, making Eric his carpentry apprentice, training him on ordinary jobs unrelated to the television program. Then, one hot summer day, Jim needed extra hands for an impossible onscreen deadline. He called in Eric, whose glistening muscles caught a producer’s eye. Eric was signed for additional episodes. The TV exposure led to occasional modeling gigs.

“Nah.” Eric shook his head. “I’m supposed to work with Uncle Jim this week.”

“But this is important.” Holly told Eric what happened after Mrs. Smallwood offered her the bodyguard job. Olivia and two friends came in to describe their plans for videos and a concert. They asked Mrs. Smallwood to organize the concert. On the condition that Olivia would contribute only computer work at home, her grandmother agreed to help. Holly was tapped to recruit her brother for a lead role in the videos.

“Ask Cam to do it,” Eric suggested. “He’s closer to high school age than I am.”

“Do what?” their brother Cameron asked. Not waiting for an answer as he struggled to maneuver a mini-fridge down the porch steps, he asked Holly, “Where do you want this—van or car?”

“Car. That’s going to Boston with us. I don’t want to raid the Smallwoods’ kitchen for snacks.”

During the drive to Boston with Cameron in the passenger seat, Holly did all the talking. To say her nineteen-year-old brother was “the silent type” was an understatement. You could enter a room and not know he was there until you heard the crunch of potato chips. Unlike Eric, an adorable kid who grew into a certified hottie, Cameron spent his early years shy and fat. When he turned eighteen, everything changed. Holly didn’t know why he suddenly made diet and exercise his new religion, but Cameron finished high school fit, buff and at least as stunning as Eric.

“So, Cam,” Holly began, “how’d you like to star in a video on YouTube?”

“I wouldn’t.”

Cameron’s shyness hadn’t disappeared along with his weight. Convincing him to act in the video would take a serious hook. “What if I give you this car? It’s on its last legs, I know, but you’re learning auto mechanics. You can keep it running. You’ll have
wheels
, Cam—your very own wheels.”

Holly had planned to give the car to Cameron when she was done with it, but using it as a bribe was an even better use of her resources. She went through the project explanation again, inserting more enthusiasm than she had with Eric. By the time they were closing in on Beacon Hill, she felt she’d done a good sales job. Cameron’s reply was, “To do these videos, I’d have to drive down from Portsmouth. Costs beaucoup bucks for the run to Boston.”

“I’ll pay for your gas,” Holly promised as she double-parked in front of the Smallwood house. “Here. Take over the wheel. If the cops come by, move the car.” Test-drives enticed new car buyers, didn’t they? Holly hoped the driver’s seat would work similar magic on Cameron.

Rushing down the lower steps of the house, Holly rang the bell. Jen Barnes, the housekeeper, told her to use the direct corridor to the terrace. Holly passed The Rocket, which was temporarily parked in the passageway. She would ride the bike home to Portsmouth on Sunday, her day off.

When she unloaded the car, Holly felt like an urchin moving in on a well-heeled cousin. She didn’t take her gear to the terrace room but just piled it in the corridor. A few minutes later, she told Cameron, who was standing in the street sizing up the car, “Well, that’s it. You in on the videos?”

“How much time will they take?”

“I don’t know.” Holly scratched her head. “We’ll have to ask the girls.”

“Girls?” Alarm made his voice go up. “More than just that kid you’re guarding?”

“At least two. They’re very pretty.” As soon as she said that, Holly winced.

Cameron’s face turned stony. “Pretty girls eat guys like me for lunch.”

“You seriously need to update your self-image, Cam. You’re not a fat kid anymore. The video will show you how other people see you. You can do this.”

“Maybe.” Cameron slammed the trunk lid.

“Wait a minute.” Holly pulled out her phone to take his picture.

“What’s that for?”

“Publicity shot.” Holly mock-punched Cameron’s shoulder. “Thanks for helping today. Have a safe trip home. I’ll give you a call.” She hugged her brother before he drove off.

Holly’s room had a bed by one wide window and a built-in desk by the other. Next to the desk was a closet, and beyond that, the door to the bathroom. A chest of drawers and a half-table with two chairs took up most of the windowless wall. She set her mini-fridge and micro beside the table, then put her other things in drawers or closet. Only when her grandmother’s faded rose trellis quilt lay on the bed did Holly feel the space becoming hers. The quilt looked nice with the botanical prints—no, make that real art engravings—on the wall.

Jen offered her a house tour “so you’ll know how to find people if you need them.” On the second floor, Jen whispered that Mrs. Smallwood was napping. There were two main rooms, a study and bedroom suite, both for Mrs. Smallwood. The third floor held an unused guestroom and Olivia’s suite. Holly thought it looked too little-girly for a fifteen-year-old, but who was she to judge?

The fourth floor was even more perplexing. Myron Smallwood, Catherine’s grown son, occupied one enormous room with a dormer on the street side and glass doors opening onto a balcony in back. Dark leather furniture groupings made areas for bedroom, office and living room. Everything was neat, impersonal and eerily monkish. Only pale ochre walls and Navaho rugs on the wood floor contributed color.

“So this Myron is OCD?” Holly inquired.

“Mike’s just Mike,” Jen said, leaving Holly entirely unenlightened.

Tour done, it was time to get Olivia from school. Jen told Holly she thought the media had given up on getting an interview. “I took Liv to school today in a taxi. I’d say things were back to normal. Shall I call a cab for you?”

It was a nice day, if cooler than the weekend. Holly decided she’d walk with Olivia.

“You should call her ‘Liv’,” Jen advised. “She’ll tolerate ‘Olivia’ from her grandmother, but she doesn’t like the name.”

“Oh. Okay.” Forewarned about Olivia’s—Liv’s—preferences, Holly thought about her protectee. They’d talked between the time Liv’s friends left and Holly had to catch the train to Salem. Liv was polite but chilly, clearly resistant to having a bodyguard. Holly intended to warm their relationship.

She enjoyed the walk along the Common, the Public Garden and the Back Bay with autumn color at its height. Surely fall couldn’t be more beautiful anywhere than New England.

When she reached Liv’s school, it was just as Jen predicted: business as usual. Passing by the pocket-sized outdoor garden, Holly opened the door to a line of faces. A female teacher asked, “Is there something I can do for you?” Holly gave her name and explained she had come to meet Olivia Smallwood. “If you’ll just wait outside,” the teacher said, “I’ll let her know you’re here.”