3 Lies (13 page)

He stepped onto the dark maple floors. The bouquet of Beth permeated his senses—flowery, woodsy, earthy—fresh in defiance of the closed rooms. His knees faltered as he leaned on the counter. Where was she? It was only the third time since they met that he’d gone a full twenty-four hours without seeing her. An ache steeped his marrow.

Louie nosed his curled fingers. He rubbed the dog’s muzzle and looped the leash around the outside doorknob. He closed the door behind him.

He hadn’t expected the silence. Beth wasn’t the kind to talk just to fill the void, but she kept a channel ready for conversation. Even when each of them was absorbed in a separate activity, he could hear her shuffle papers, clang pots, scratch a note, or breathe.

The open kitchen was clean with few items on the counters. This told him nothing. Whether she’d gone to town or on a month-long cruise, she kept her home in order. She wasn’t a neat freak, she just didn’t own enough to make a proper mess.

He went into her bathroom. Her toothbrush stood in the holder on the white pedestal sink. The medicine cabinet still had her prescriptions. Even if she found another machine, she would never have left her prescriptions behind.

The muscles in his legs shed all resistance, and he sank to the edge of the tub. The realization came like a blow.

She’d been kidnapped.

Abe. Beth’s parents. Damn it. They knew.

He replayed every grimace, nervous gesture, and glance that he’d witnessed them display. Lying words spilled from their mouths as precious time in finding her was lost.

No. He couldn’t do this now. The only thing that mattered was to find her, with or without her family’s help. He groped for the cold water tap and let it run, filling his cupped hands and splashing it on his cheeks. He stuck his head under the faucet, drenching his hair. He yanked a towel from the rack, pushed it into his face. He turned off the water, mopped up the floor, and hung the towel where he found it.

They had all lied.

He stood in the center of the living room and studied every detail. Her desk clear of any work in progress. The bookshelf lined with those she had read and those she had written. Her potted plants, hanging with ready access to light.

Dracula. She kept a log of her treatments. The logbook tied to Dracula listed her last entry as Saturday. Today was Wednesday. She hadn’t dialyzed Monday, the night before their fishing date, according to her usual schedule. Wherever she was, she needed a machine. She needed her medicine. She needed blood without poison.

He wrote down the name of Beth’s doctor, Dracula’s brand, model number, and any other specifications he could find listed on the machine. He drew a sketch of the unit, the control panel, and the connection sites. As he opened the door to leave, his paper fell from his hand. He bent to pick it up and saw another paper folded to about the size of a postcard. It lay under the lower shelf of a half-round table up against the wall. He retrieved the other paper and unfolded it.

It was a note typed in Arabic.

Beth and Vonda’s fourth cabin mate still slept when Blue-Mask served their last meal of the day. Their captors had left the plus-size lady in their care at the same time as Emmy, but the drugs effect kept her asleep far longer. They hadn’t even met until she woke up screaming.

Emmy reacted to the noise with loud sobs.

“Keep them quiet, or we will do it for you.” He spoke as if informing them of the time. He unloaded plates with sandwiches from the tray to the table and closed the door.

Beth got up first to attend to the distraught woman, but Emmy’s escalating lament kept her back. Beth rocked Emmy close and sang softly into her ear.

Vonda took charge of their unwilling roommate. “Calm down. We have a sick woman and child to think of. What is your name?”

“Max— Maxine.” She spoke in bursts. “Maxine. Olmstead. Where am I?”

“On a boat, but we don’t know where.”

Emmy wailed louder. Maxine did the same.

Vonda bear-hugged Maxine and whispered into her ear. After a full five minutes, the great woman slackened in Vonda’s arms, apparently willing to defer her panic. Vonda gave Maxine some magazines to peruse and a tissue to wipe her eyes.

Beth pried the child from her waist, coughing several times as her lungs expanded. She bounced Emmy on her knees and started a new song: “Trot, trot to Boston. Trot, trot to Lynn. Trot, trot baby because you might fall iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnn.”

On the last exaggerated word of the rhyme, Beth let Emmy’s bottom slip through her knees. She waited until Emmy neared the floor before securing the child under the armpits.

Beth panted through the ninth iteration of the game. Emmy wanted more rounds, but the women needed to confer. The song served its purpose.

“Are you in pain?” Maxine said. She folded loose magazine pages into shapes.

“Not yet, but I don’t feel good. I’m on dialysis three times a week for kidney failure. Today is Wednesday, I think. I was supposed to dialyze no later than yesterday but ended up here.” Beth saw fear in the newcomer. “The good news is they apparently want us—” She glanced at Emmy. “—healthy. They took a list of my medical needs.”

Maxine’s face ebbed into disquiet.

Beth struggled to remain upright with Emmy wriggling on her lap. Vonda’s smile wilted into seams when she met Beth’s eyes. The older woman reached out to take Emmy, but Emmy latched tighter to Beth.

Beth moved the child to her side. “Emmy, I need you sit next to me for a little while. I need to rest.”

“Here, honey, you can play with these.” Maxine handed the girl a paper airplane, a paper box, and several people figures torn from the magazines left in their cabin.

“Oooh. Thank you.” A game started immediately among the paper people. Emmy announced a wedding between two of the figures and plopped down on the floor.

“I’m sorry for upsetting the child,” Maxine said. “It’s just—what are we going to do?”

“You’ve got no call to apologize.” Vonda handed Beth a pillow. “We’re going to figure this out together. Whatever it takes.”

“Thank you.” Beth propped it behind her back.

“These guys may be able to see us, but Beth doesn’t think they can hear us. I know there are at least four men on board, possibly more, but that’s all we’ve verified. What else do we know?”

“The two I've seen both look Middle Eastern.” Maxine said. Her ivory complexion turned piggy-bank pink. “Do the others?”

“Yes, we noticed that. Their speech patterns aren’t identical to one another, but they do sound—” Beth dodged the incoming paper airplane. She flew it back to Emmy. “—foreign born.”

“They don’t seem like typical terrorists.” Vonda said. “Not that I have much experience.”

“There may be more of us somewhere else on the ship.” Maxine kept her expression plain. “He had more sandwich plates on that tray after he brought ours. Maybe we were the first stop on his rounds.”

Beth forgot about the food. It sat uneaten on the table. No one seemed hungry.

“Wow. How could you see anything through all the tears?” Vonda appeared genuinely impressed.

“I taught art for over forty years,” Maxine said. “I’m highly visual.”

Vonda watched Emmy play with her paper toys. “We’ll have to check out your theory. I can try tapping them a message. Worst case, we call in the kidnappers. If they’re the only ones listening, it doesn’t matter anyway.”

It was Maxine’s turn to look impressed. “You know Morse code?”

“I used to. Back when my boys were in Scouts.” Vonda’s eyes started to fill. “My youngest and his wife are expecting their first this month.” She thrust out her quaking chin. “That child lost three other babies. I told them I wouldn’t miss it.” She curled forward and hugged her knees.

“And you’re not going to.” Beth laid her arm across Vonda’s back and squeezed her shoulder. “I know this is ugly. But, we’ve got to hang tough, hang together. We can all fall apart later.”

Vonda dragged an arm across her face. Pumpernickel skin gathered under her eyes. “I’m okay. I’ll put on my big girl panties.”

Maxine pushed up her sweater sleeves. “What do they want?”

“Money, I’m told.” Beth said.

“Don’t we all. I’m not hurting, but I’m certainly no heiress.” Maxine said.

“I had to make a tape recording. Proof of their hospitality, I guess.”

“Beth and I wrote our own ransom letters. She’s got a wealthy boyfriend.”

Beth’s skin warmed at the comment.

“My husband and I own a management consultancy. I'm the chief litigator. I guess we’re worth plucking.”

“How much did they want?”

“The letters didn’t say. Mine said they would contact Roger. He’s my husband. God love him, I know that old fool will pay whatever they ask.”

“Mine too. I mean, the letter didn’t say how much. To Clint.” Pride and shame struggled for control of Beth’s mouth. He’d never actually told her that he loved her, but she’d never felt so loved. Of course, that could change. Any guy would think twice between non-stop medical care and a terrorist shakedown.

“I’m not married, not anymore. Harvey wouldn’t have redeemed me on our honeymoon.” Maxine’s voice squeaked. “Who would my note go to?”

“They’ll come around soon enough.” Vonda said.

“They didn’t even know who the G-I-R-L was.” Beth spelled the word for Emmy’s sake. “It makes no sense. We must have something in common.”

“What’s her name?” Maxine kept her voice low.

“Emmy Watters. I only gave them her first name. Do you know any families named Watters?”

“There’s Ricky Watters, the former NFL running back. But he’s a fine shade of chocolate. Not likely related to the little sister, here, but you never know.”

“Where are you from anyway?” Maxine said. “I’m from Chicago.”

“Sausalito.”

“I’m from the Boston area. I’m a writer.” Beth groaned. “My editor might accept this as valid reason to miss a deadline, but I’d rather keep my stellar record.” She tilted her head. “Why would they collect us from such far flung places?”

“I wonder where the girl is from.” Maxine folded another paper. “We could be in any one of our hometowns. We could be floating on Lake Michigan less than a mile from an L-station.”

Emmy crawled up to the sofa and lay down next to Beth. The female paper figure wagged an arm furiously and whispered something to the other paper figure about cleaning his room.

“I’ve been studying the ship.” Beth spoke away from the girl. “The footsteps never head past our door, so there doesn’t appear to be any way out except down the hall to the left. The windows are locked from the outside, but maybe we could break them.”

“We’re not likely to overpower the guards. Maybe one at a time, but—” Vonda got up. “Excuse me for a second. I’m going to try something.” She disappeared into the bathroom.

“So who was the girl’s note to?”

Beth’s neck tensed. “I don’t know. She certainly didn’t write one. I’m not sure what they’re doing about her.”

Clint’s note. She didn’t know how much it demanded. Unease gnawed like a rodent. The note she sent to Clint could ask for a million dollars. Or ten. Maybe he did care. But for someone you’ve known only two months, ten million dollars was a lot of money. That came out to five million a month.

“Stop it.” Beth said.

“Excuse me?” Maxine said.

Beth hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud. The numbers spun in her head. “I’m sorry, I was talking to myself. I need to rest a bit.”

Vonda returned from the bathroom with an expectant smile. “There is someone next door. I tapped on the lower wall. I got some taps back.”

“Who was it? Maxine wriggled to sit upright. Her girth made it a struggle.

“Not the Signal Corp. I asked ‘Who are you?’ All I got was an S-O-S in return. Actually, it was an O-S-O, but I knew what they meant. It could be one of the guards jerking our chain, but I think it’s one of us.”

“We should try to contact them.” Maxine said. “If there is someone else, maybe we could slip a note into the food tray if we get a chance.”

Vonda jumped on this. “That’s a good idea. Can you do that?”

“What do we have to work with?”

Vonda produced a stubby pencil like one used for golf scores. “They left it for Emmy.”

“Okay. What about the cameras?”

“I don’t think there is one in the bathroom,” Beth said. “I’ve checked.”

Emmy rolled over and put her head on Beth’s lap. “Beff, I’m hungry.”

“Of course you are. I think we could all use a bite.” Beth’s ankles sparked with pain. She rubbed them, her fingers massaging each puffy toe. “I need to wash my hands, Emmy honey. I’ll be right back.”

She stood up to go to the bathroom. With each step, tiny electrical charges detonated beneath the pads of her feet. “Ooh.”

“What is it?” Vonda reached out to catch Beth’s hand.

“My feet. It’s like they’ve stopped working.” Her knees buckled. Vonda caught her before she hit the floor.

“Are you alright?”

“Emmy can you go get your plate off the tray? You’re such a big girl.” Beth waited until the girl was occupied and whispered, but the words clung to her throat. “My kidneys are shutting down again. I was supposed to come off dialysis in a month or so. But now.” Her palms burrowed into her eyes. “If I don’t dialyze soon, I’ll die.”

Clint pulled the cord of the convenience store pay phone around the corner to avoid excessive noise. Louie encircled Clint’s feet with his leash. Clint stepped outside the loop and tied the dog to the propane tank cage.

He dropped a quarter into the payphone and rang up CatSat Laboratories. “Avi Kalush, please.”
Take Five
beat in quintuple time as he waited for the Israeli programmer to answer the phone. Avi, a brilliant engineer, turned down several promotions. He didn’t want to join management because it would keep him from the job he loved. Clint never chose his friends by rank.

The phone clicked over as if forwarded to another line.

“Kalush, here.”

“Avi. This is Clint. I need a favor. Can we meet?”

“Hey, man. It’s good to hear from you. Yeah, I can meet as soon as I get back.”

Clint heard muffled announcements in the background. “Where the hell are you?”