Desperate Measures (22 page)

The marshal was standing by the door when Maddie walked into the living room. “I'm leaving,” she said. “I know you were trying to do your job, and I can accept that. Please, let me pass. Tell all those people I changed my mind. I heard you, you know. They want you to tie me up and give me sedatives. I heard you say you'd quit first. I don't deserve this. Please, let me pass.”

“Miss . . . think about what you're doing. I won't stop you if it's what you really want to do. I couldn't live with myself if I did what they want. You need to know the consequences.”

“I know them. Step aside, Marshal.”

The marshal stepped aside. Maddie walked through the doorway and down three flights of stairs that smelled of everything under the sun and things that came from under the ground. Florida's August blanket-wet humidity slapped Maddie in the face the moment she walked through the grimy doorway that led to the street. The sound of the ocean waves across the street was music to her ears. The air smelled wonderful, better than any expensive perfume. She inhaled deeply.

Maddie looked around, seeing sunburned tourists carrying their straw mats, beach chairs, and plastic bags full of sun lotions. It was the most wonderful sight in the world. She smiled at a rosy-looking couple dragging two children who were just as pink-skinned as their parents.

People. Ordinary people going about their vacation business. A wave of giddiness rushed through her, to be replaced with a feeling of euphoria. She was outside. Walking down a crowded thoroughfare where no one paid any attention to her.

God, it was wonderful.

Maddie leaned up against the wall of a storefront to watch the busy vacationers. She knew the passersby were tourists, just the way she could spot the tourists in New York. In New York the tourists carried cameras and walked around with their heads stretched upward to look at the tall buildings. Here they wore flashy, colorful beachwear that reeked of newness. One man she noticed had a price tag dangling under his arm. A young couple passed close to her smelling of Noxzema and vinegar, supposed cures for sunburn.

Maddie waited until there was a break in traffic before she crossed the street. She ran up to the beach and down to the water. She removed her sandals and waded into the frothy water at the edge. How could something so ordinary be so wonderful? She was light-headed with feeling. She savored each moment. She would not ever, ever, take things for granted again.

She had to call Pete and find a way to place her ad in
USA Today
for Janny.

She flapped her arms and wasn't sure why she was doing it. She didn't care if people looked at her. She waded farther out into the water, up to her knees. It was warm, but cooling at the same time. She loved the feeling.

Pete. She had to call Pete. Pete would know what to do. He'd come and get her and somehow, some way, they'd find Janny. Pete wouldn't let them steal her life. No way, no how.

Maddie resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. She simply would not do that. She was out, and no one was going to drag her back. If
they
were going to kill her, let it be a surprise. Was surprise the right word? Maybe unexpected. Either way she'd be dead, so what did it matter?

Maddie waited for the traffic to slow before she raced back across the street, her sandals in hand. As far as she could tell, no one was paying attention to her. She looked, she thought, like anyone else walking around. On the strip she paused long enough to get her bearings. Her eyes were sharp in the blinding sun. The ocean roared in her ears, the salty air tangy in her nostrils. She remembered the smell in Mrs. Ky's store when she dropped to the floor, remembered the smell in the mean studio apartment she'd just left. She thought about rolls and rolls of toilet paper she'd used to dry herself with.

She was in front of a ricky-ticky store that smelled of mildew, new merchandise, and coconut-scented suntan lotion. She peered through the beach towels and T-shirts draped in the window, knowing it would be ice cold inside. In the transom on top of the door an air conditioner dripped water. She walked inside and checked the merchandise, which was the same as virtually every other shop on the strip. She passed up canned sunshine, cartons of orange bubble gum balls, and tables full of rubber-thong sandals. Cheap ashtrays and glasses, cups and plates, all emblazoned with the name Fort Lauderdale were lined up three deep on portable shelves. She knew stock was replenished at the end of each day. Tourists couldn't wait to buy cheap souvenirs to take home to family and friends. She headed for the back of the store, where the beachwear was displayed, and picked out a dark blue baseball cap and a pair of oversize dark sunglasses. She also bought a long coverall in a rainbow of colors, to be worn over a bathing suit. She stripped down in the dressing room and put it on, ripping off the tags. She bundled up her hair under her cap, scraped the small white printing off the sunglasses, and hung them over her nose. It wasn't much in the way of a disguise, but for the moment it would do. On her way out she saw a huge straw bag with red flowers woven into the matting, and decided to purchase that too. Her purse went into it. Now she looked like any other tourist on the strip.

Outside, she walked aimlessly, looking in windows, trying to spot a pay phone. Her heart started to beat fast when she saw a blue and white modern-looking pay phone stuck on a pole along the beach. She crossed the road. In a minute she'd hear Pete's voice. The bills she'd exchanged for change clanked in the pocket of her beach coverall. She dialed Pete's number and felt light-headed when his answering machine came on. Did she dare leave a message? Of course she dared, that was what this was all about. She waited for the operator to tell her how much change to deposit. She listened for the beep and then said, “Pete, it's me ... they told me ... it wasn't supposed to be like this.... They promised you'd get in touch. Janny and I believed . . . but only for a little while . . . I don't know . . . Pete, please, come and get me. I'm afraid. The marshal hit me when I tried to leave. I heard them say they were going to tie me up and sedate me.... I walked out. I'll try calling you again in a little while.... I love you, Pete.” She choked up. “I'm moving around so they won't be able to find me. I have some money on me, not a lot. Pete, I didn't do anything wrong and they're treating me like a criminal. They say they're protecting me. I can't live like this. I can't eat or sleep. All I do is think about you and Janny. They took her away too. I don't even know where she is. That guy from the marshal's office said he would call you, and now they said he's dying. If anything happens to me, Pete, I want you to know I love you. Don't let anything happen to Fairy Tales. Keep it going, okay?” There wasn't anything else she had to say, so she hung up the phone. She waited a moment, and dropped in more change when the operator came on the line.

Maddie walked away, her eyes sharp behind the dark glasses. God, it was hot. She needed a cool drink and some decent food. Sweat dripped down her body, but she didn't care.

A half mile farther down the beach she spotted another pay phone and decided to call Fairy Tales, hoping Pete might be there. She didn't recognize the strange voice that answered. She asked for Pete and identified herself.

“Maddie is that really you?”

“Yes, it's me. Who are you?”

“Annie. Pete's friend. He called me and asked me to come to the city and help out till you got back. He's combing the city looking for you. Where are you?”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“Out with a detective he hired to find you. Where are you?” she repeated.

“In Florida. I called his apartment and left a message. Will you tell him I'm trying to reach him? They have me in this . . . this program. I left. I'm on my own. How's the store doing?” she asked wistfully.

“Well, but probably not half as well as it would be doing if you were here. I'm doing my best to hold it together. Is there anything I can do?”

“Just tell Pete I called and I'll try and call him again.”

“Are you all right?”

“That depends on what you mean by all right. I'm alive. I have to go now. Tell Pete I love him.”

“I'll tell him as soon as I can. Take care of yourself, Maddie. Pete is worried sick about you. Maddie . . . are, you talking about the Witness Protection Program?”

“Yes. I left it. I just walked out.”

“Maddie, that's dangerous. Think about going back. They'll keep you safe.”

“I can't do that. They lied to me. I have to go now.”

She was crying behind the dark glasses when she entered a small restaurant. She sat down, ordered a cola and a full meal, which she consumed so fast she thought she would get sick.

Outside on the strip again she flagged down a cab and told the driver to take her to Miami.

She could get lost in Miami. She could also get herself killed. She didn't care. Right now she had the most precious thing in the world. The one thing most people took for granted, never thought twice about.

Freedom.

In New York, Pete headed for the busy delicatessen
where he was to meet the private detective.

Simon Jakes was the most unlikely detective he could imagine. He was short, round, a one-size-fits-all kind of shape. He was dressed in walking shorts and a Fruit of the Loom undershirt. His Dock-Siders were older, more worn than Pete's. He was freshly shaved and smelled faintly of a woody glen. Sandy-colored hair curled around his ears and dripped onto his forehead. Pete guessed that the detective must have hated the curls, but had long ago given up trying to tame his wild mane. His eyes were sharp and piercing, his best feature.

“Pete Sorenson,” Pete said, stretching out his hand.

“Simon Jakes. I'll have a pastrami on rye, double mustard, three pickles, a double side order of coleslaw, and coffee.”

Pete flagged down a waitress and gave their order. “I need your help,” he said to the detective as the waitress moved away. “You come highly recommended. They said you're expensive but worth the money.”

“No two people put the same value on money. I'm good at what I do, if that's what you mean. I'm a graduate of MIT. I like to think I'm a bit of an electronics wizard. I have my MBA and I'm working on my doctorate. Something tells me you're either a CPA or an attorney. You have that look.”

Pete nodded. “I'm an attorney, not that it makes a difference. My fiancée disappeared, and so did her friend. No, she did not get cold feet.” He leaned over the table, made eye contact and started to talk. Jakes's eyes never wavered.

“I want you full-time on this,” he concluded. “A bonus if you find both women. I filed Missing Persons reports. I had this . . . feeling the police were . . . sloughing me off. They had to take the report, but that's all they did. Don't you take notes?”

“Don't have to,” Jakes said, biting into his sandwich.

Pete began eating his sandwich too. “I make lists,” he said, and immediately wished he hadn't opened his mouth. Jakes stared at him over his sandwich. “In my business you can't trust your memory,” Pete explained.

“In my business you don't put anything on paper,” Jakes said. “At least I don't. Clients get nervous about things like that. I charge three hundred dollars a day plus expenses. Expenses can be high or low. Sometimes there are no expenses. I pay out whatever it takes, but I am always aware of my client's money. If that's going to be a problem, let's air it now. I'm not the kind of dick that calls for permission to grease someone's palm.”

“Whatever it takes,” Pete said, wiping mustard from the corner of his mouth. “Do you have any influential friends in the police department?” Jakes nodded. “How about higher places?” Jakes nodded again.

“I have a few,” Pete said. “Let's call in our favors with the police. I have a feeling they know more than they're telling. It was this cop Nester's whole attitude. The guy didn't give a shit. That's not the kind of attitude a citizen is supposed to get from the police.”

“Maybe he hates lawyers,” Jakes replied. “Lots of people hate lawyers. Maybe you got him at a bad time. They put in a lot of overtime. I'm not playing devil's advocate here. I have some friends on the force and I know how it works. Do you have any pictures of your fiancee?”

Pete pulled his wallet from his hip pocket and withdrew a photo of Maddie he'd snapped in Central Park. She was smiling straight into the camera, her dimples showing clearly. He handed over a second shot of Maddie and Janny standing outside the apartment building. “I want you to find both of them.”

“You're certain they're together?” Jakes asked, finishing off his sandwich.

“I think so. Check out the brokerage house where she works and see what they tell you.”

“Then it's four hundred a day. I might have to hire operatives to run down possibilities where she's concerned. I can't be two places at one time.”

“I told you, whatever it takes. Can you get on this now, after you finish lunch, and get back to me say around seven? My apartment. I'll even feed you. I have a friend from Boston who has taken over Maddie's shop. She'll be at the apartment, and I'd like you to meet her. She'll be our go-between in case I'm out checking something on my own. I have some office business I have to clean up too.”

“I'll need an hour or so. I have to go back to my office and reassign some of my caseload. I charge overtime after six. Even if you do feed me.”

“Look, Jakes, I don't care. I said whatever it takes. Just find Maddie for me.”

“I like things cleared away up front,” Jakes said, gulping what was left of his coffee. “Great lunch, counselor. I'll see you around seven. I'm partial to Chinese.”

“Chinese it is.” Pete found himself wincing when Jakes shook his hand. A moment later the detective was gone. Pete pushed aside his half-eaten sandwich and signaled the waitress for a coffee refill. Now what? He felt a groan starting to build in his gut. He needed to go home and make a list, but first he wanted to stop by Fairy Tales.

Pete paid the check and left a healthy tip for the overworked waitress.

“I'm going to find you, Maddie,” he said under his breath. “Count on it.” If it turned out she changed her mind and didn't want him, then she'd have to tell him face-to-face.

Four hours later Pete Sorenson listened to Maddie's message. She was alive and she was safe, for the moment. Jesus.

 

Maddie had every intention of following through on her plan to have a bite of dinner, pick up a copy of
USA Today
, and place her ad in the paper. A second call to Pete was number two on her list. Instead she showered a second time and washed her hair with the shampoo the small Miami motel provided. She turned on the television before she climbed behind the crisp, clean sheets. A moment later she was asleep. She didn't wake till noon the following day.

She was groggy and disoriented when she woke. In her life she'd never slept so long or so deeply. Even now she hated to get up because she didn't want to face the new day. She pulled the sheet up to her chin and curled into a ball. The soft whirring of the air-conditioning unit was comforting. The low voices on the television set made it seem like old friends were close by. She burrowed like a mole into the soft bedding.

She didn't like being alone because it made her vulnerable. Though more than capable of taking care of herself, the loneliness got to her. She'd put herself through college, got a good job, worked her way up to the position of buyer, managed to save money, and paid rent on a New York apartment. None of which was shabby. Pete always said he admired her perseverance, and it was the main reason he knew she would make Fairy Tales work. And it would have. She would have given one hundred percent.

Maddie showered, dressed, ate a huge breakfast. The moment she finished, she headed straight for the phone booth at the end of the motel building. She tried Pete's number for thirty full minutes. Each time she had the operator try it, she was told the line was busy.

Inside the motel office she asked for directions to a shopping center, where she bought a newspaper and some envelopes and paper. Before she went back to the motel, she called the 800 number of
USA Today
to ask for rates. She stopped at the coffee shop, copied down two messages for her ad, bought money orders farther down the street and some stamps. She mailed the letters feeling she'd accomplished something important.

At the motel she tried Pete's number. It was still busy. She couldn't make up her mind if she should call the Fairy Tales number or not. Pete should be sitting by the phone waiting for her to call. Instead he was talking on the phone. She wondered why that was. “Always go with your instincts,” was one of Pete's favorite sayings.

She knew about Annie, Pete talked about her all the time. She was his compadre, probably his best friend in the whole world. After her, he was always quick to add. He admired everything about Annie, her quick wit, her super intelligence, her courtroom expertise, her humble beginnings, whatever they were. Annie's friendship was important to Pete. No matter what, Annie was always there for him, day or night. She'd never had the nerve to ask
exactly
what that meant. And, yes, she was jealous of Annie. Pete thought her jealousy was wonderful. She wasn't
really
jealous. She was more frightened of Annie, and she wasn't sure why she felt that way. Once she'd tried to explain it to Pete, and he just laughed and said, “Trust me, you are going to love Annie.” In a pig's eye. Anytime two women liked or loved the same man, it meant trouble and someone got hurt.

Maddie looked at the change in her hand. She had the operator try Pete's number one more time. When the answering machine came on, she hung up. Why wasn't he sitting glued to the phone? She started to cry as she made her way back to her room.

Inside she didn't know what to do. She paced, wringing her hands as a soap opera carried on with its daily tale of woe and calamity. The pleasant room was going to close in on her momentarily. She had to get out, enjoy her freedom and make some plans. Now. She should get out now. She didn't stop to think, didn't stop to use the bathroom or comb her hair. She slung the straw bag over her shoulder and walked out of the room.

Maddie walked back the way she'd walked earlier and then caught a cab that dropped her off on Biscayne Boulevard. She walked a few blocks and then hailed another cab to take her to Miami Airport, where she boarded a shuttle that took her to Palm Beach Airport.
Go with your gut instincts.

She was almost afraid to look in her wallet to see how much money she had left.

In the airport, Maddie called the Chamber of Commerce and asked for the names of several small, inexpensive motels. She snitched a road map from the Avis desk to get her bearings, then moved on to the rental car pickup location. She waited until she saw a young man in his mid-thirties, then sauntered over, smiled, and asked if he could give her a ride to town. He obliged and gallantly agreed to drop her off at the first motel on her list.

He was a salesman headed for Port St. Lucie, Melbourne, and Daytona Beach. When he finished his business in Daytona, he was going to stop in St. Augustine for a day to visit with his sister, drop the rental car off in Jacksonville, and fly home to New York.
Go with your instincts.

“Do you mind if I ride along with you?” She blurted out a story she made up as she went along. Her tears flowed right on cue when she showed him the ring on her finger. “I have to sell it. He stole everything from me, my credit card, everything. I'm trying to get back home to Pennsylvania.”

“Sure, miss. I'll be glad of the company. Bruce Holstein.”

“I'm Jane Steinwitz. I don't know how to thank you.”

“Hey, it's okay. I'd hate to have someone do that to my sister. I don't know what you're going to do when I'm conducting business, though.”

“I'll walk around. It will do me good to see new places. I love visiting . . . churches and ... local shops. Don't worry about me. When I get back home, I can send you whatever it costs for you to get me to Jacksonville. How many days will it take?”

“A day and a half. It isn't as far as you think. I'm visiting steady, old accounts that don't require a hard sell. I will have to take my sister out to lunch or dinner, though. You can come along if you like,” he said magnanimously. Maddie demurred nicely.

It was a pleasant enough experience, Maddie thought two days later when Holstein dropped her off in downtown Jacksonville.

Maddie meandered down one busy street after another, trying to form a plan in her mind. The first thing she did was buy a copy of
USA Today
. She carried it with her into a luncheonette where she ordered a bowl of clam chowder and a cup of tea. She felt light-headed when she saw her ad and the one Janny placed.

When she paid the check she asked the cashier where the nearest library was. She needed to get back issues of the paper to see how many ads Janny had placed. She copied down the directions in a loose-leaf notebook she'd purchased back in Fort Lauderdale.

A bus ride later she climbed up the steps of the library. She looked around and headed straight for the magazine/newspaper section. Her heart thumped and bumped in her chest thirty minutes later when she realized she had a full set of numbers. Sweat broke out on her forehead and rolled down her cheeks. Did she dare call? Of course she dared. Nothing in the world could stop her. The sick feeling she was so familiar with of late settled in the pit of her stomach. For the life of her, she couldn't remember what it was they were supposed to do. It was supposed to be a pay phone somewhere, and they were supposed to be there at a certain time.
What time? Think, Maddie. Take your time and think. Get out of here, go someplace where it's quiet, where you can think.

Maddie stopped to use the bathroom before she left the library. The small slip of notepaper with Janny's phone number went down her bra. As soon as she found out where the area code 801 was, she would know where Janny had been taken.

Maddie retraced her steps, took the bus that brought her to the library. When she got off, she was dripping sweat, but was so excited with the prospect of talking to Janny, nothing bothered her.

In the same luncheonette where she'd had the clam chowder, she ordered a tuna sandwich and a cup of coffee. She was in the last booth in the small but clean restaurant. Here she could shift her mind into neutral and think.

Maddie looked around and spotted the phone on the opposite wall. A thick phone book rested on the metal shelf. She was out of the booth in a second, flipping through the first pages of the huge telephone book.