Fear Familiar Bundle (161 page)

The idea of Mimi and Tommy safely home with their families was almost more than she could stand. The possibility galvanized her. As soon as she had James on the line, she told him, and three minutes later he was looking through a phone directory that was listed by numbers.

"It's not here," he said, the sound of the pages flipping as he searched.

"It has to be." Jennifer's stomach knotted. To be so close!

"Ah."

"Ah, what?" She felt her heart kick back into life again. "What is it, James?"

"Let me make a few calls and get back to you." His voice was terse and he didn't wait for a response.

Jennifer held the receiver in her hand, almost not believing that he'd hung up on her so abruptly. A million fears zipped through her head, but she replaced the phone and sank into a chair. The stillness of her body was a total contrast to her thoughts. Two minutes hadn't passed before the phone rang.

"It's a cellular phone…" James hesitated. "Listed to J. P. Frost."

Jennifer let the information sink in. So, J.P. Frost
had
taken his daughter. It was a horrid thing to do, no matter what his reasoning. And poor Mimi had undoubtedly been told that Eugene had taken her. Anger boiled in Jennifer, but she kept her mouth firmly closed.

"Are you there?" James was waiting for the explosion.

"Is there any way to trace
where
the call came from?" She felt her doubts beginning to loom huge and formidable.

"As you know, cellular phones are transportable. The call could have been made from almost anywhere. There's no way I can trace that, and I don't think the operator would, even if she could, without a court order." He gripped the phone, knowing that Jennifer's high hopes of finding the children were sinking lower and lower.

"It wouldn't matter. Frost would simply claim that
he
made the call to Eugene."

"It isn't evidence, Jennifer, but it is a clue. Possibly a damn important clue. But why would Frost take Tommy Franklin, too. I mean I can understand that he might snatch his own kid in some custody battle, but why another child?"

"To put the blame on someone else. Like Eugene." She held the receiver to her ear and sank back against the chair. It was insane. J. P. Frost was a crazy man.

"Well, whoever is behind this, he's one smart son of a gun."

"You mean, you don't think it was Mimi's father?"

"I don't know what to think. There's something cockeyed about all of this." He said something to someone standing at his desk. "Excuse me, Jennifer, John's waiting on a story here. Listen, let me finish up and then we'll hash this out."

"Sure." Even as she spoke she knew she didn't sound convincing.

"You'll wait for me to get off?"

"I'll be at Eugene's, or at my house." She crossed her fingers behind her back.

"Good. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Jennifer hung up the phone. "Damn!" She hit the table with her fist and then leaned down on her arms. "Double damn!" she whispered against the cool wood of the table.

Jennifer forced her body out of the chair and into action. Her muscles weren't tired but her brain wanted only to retreat into the unconsciousness of sleep. There wasn't time for such self-indulgence, though. All of her plans for the evening had been pushed aside. If that call was from Mimi, then she and Tommy were safe— that was what she had to cling to. And if they were safe, then they could be rescued. But time was ticking away.

When her brain finally started functioning, she targeted the one piece of information that might solve the entire case. J. P. Frost. It had been his telephone.

She hurried through the kitchen, each move followed by the curious stares of Eugene's cats. They were so well behaved, so in control, that they lounged around the house and she hardly noticed them until they moved.

Eugene had built perches for them around the entire house and along the screened back porch where they reclined. Taking care that none tried to follow her into the yard, Jennifer entered the maze of blooming shrubs and potted plants that Eugene rooted and nurtured, and listened for the sound of his typewriter clacking away. In the distance the old keys clattered.

"Eugene!" She listened, but he didn't respond.

The garden wasn't large, not over half an acre, but it was so chock-full of plants that it was a small maze. She knew the way to his work area and hurried there, her high heels sinking into the rich loam.

As she rounded the corner, she stopped.

The young girl looked up from the typewriter. "Where's Eugene?" she asked. "I've been waiting here for over half an hour."

Jennifer stared at the girl. She knew her. Judy Luno, one of Eugene's protégées who lived several blocks down the street. "You haven't seen Eugene?" Jennifer asked.

She shook her head. "He was helping me learn to type. He said I could practice on his typewriter here." She slowly stood up. "We were supposed to have a lesson today. At eleven. But I've been here since ten forty-five and he wasn't here. I thought I'd practice till he came out."

Jennifer did the math in her head. Eugene had walked out the back door and left immediately. The entire time she'd been talking with James, Eugene had been gone. The sound of the typing had been Judy practicing. Where could Eugene have gone?

"He never breaks an appointment," Judy said. Her dark eyebrows drew together and she flipped her hair back over her shoulder. "It's rude to break an appointment."

"I'm sure he didn't intend to do it." Jennifer stumbled over the words. Where could Eugene have gone, without a word?

Judy shrugged as she sat down again in front of the typewriter. "It's okay. The heat's really been on him, huh? Some folks think he took Mimi and Tommy and hurt them." She rolled her eyes. "What doofos. Eugene wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Yes, I know." Jennifer watched the young girl. She was quick, and Eugene had often remarked how observant she was. "Where do you think he went?"

"Well, his bicycle is gone." Judy nodded toward the garden wall where an old Schwinn had once stood, covered with honeysuckle vines.

"But he hasn't ridden in years!"

Judy smiled. "That's what he tells you because he says you try to mother hen him to death. He rides a lot, and when he puts the bicycle up, we pull the vines over it again. He rides me on the handlebars!"

Jennifer wanted to sit down, but the child had the only chair. "He shouldn't do that. He could hurt himself. And you."

"Oh, he's great. We go all over the place. Especially Thrill Hill. I scream the entire way down!"

The hill under discussion was a very steep drop that was part of a new subdivision. There was little traffic on the road and the hill was fast, curvy, and a roller coaster ride even in a car. It would be the ultimate bicycle thrill. And Eugene was in his seventies with a child on the handlebars! The mental picture made her cringe.

"It's okay. We've never had a wreck yet."

"I'm going to let the air out of his tires and then tie him up with the bicycle chain when I find him." Jennifer saw the laughter in the young girl's eyes. Apparently Eugene had told her plenty about his publicist.

"Eugene says you make up terrible threats but don't follow through on any of them."

"This time I might actually do it!"

Judy stood. "Have you found Mimi and Tommy yet? Eugene said you'd find them. He said you were the smartest woman he'd ever known and that you'd figure it out."

Jennifer sighed. "I only wish he was right. First I have to find him, though. Any ideas where he'd go on his bicycle?"

She shook her head. "No. But that black cat took off toward Donovan Street. He was sniffing the ground like a dog, so maybe he knows where Eugene went."

"Familiar. He's gone, too?" Jennifer wanted to lie down. Eugene and the cat were both missing. If anything happened to that black feline, Eleanor Curry would skin her
and
Eugene alive. The issues of who's kidnapped whom would be moot.

"What can I do to help?" Judy asked.

"Shoot me," Jennifer answered, then saw the look of worry on the child's face.

"It's just a figure of speech."

"I didn't think you meant it," the child replied indignantly. "I don't have a gun."

"Right." Jennifer gathered herself. "Judy, do you know where Mimi lives?"

"Sure, right by the park."

Jennifer did another take. "No. I meant, where her father lives?"

Brows drawn together, Judy thought. "I've never been there before, but I think Mimi said he had an apartment over on the west side of town." Her brows tightened. "Glendale Woods!" She looked up. "That's it. I remember because Mimi said she wanted to move out to the country and her daddy said if she came to live with him they'd buy this farmhouse that was for sale right beside the apartments. That's the old Glendale place. It's haunted."

Jennifer wanted to hug the child. "Wonderful."

"Are you going there?" Judy looked around. "I want to go."

"I think it would be better if you waited here for Eugene and Familiar to come back. And promise me, Judy, if either one of them shows up you'll drag them into the house and make them stay there."

"I'd rather go with you." There was a stubborn set to her jaw.

"You could help me more here. And Eugene."

She kicked a stick with the toe of her shoe. "Aw, darn! Okay. I'll stay here."

Jennifer gave her a hug. "Thanks, Judy. This is really important. You're being a big help."

J. P. F
ROST'S APARTMENT
, according to the manager, was on the bottom floor in the last unit. Jennifer hoped the manager was right— about several things. One being that J. P. Frost had gone out of town for two days and wasn't due back until tomorrow.

The small backyard had been artfully landscaped, complete with a gas grill, patio and a privacy fence. Jennifer knew the fence was pine. The splinter in her palm proved it. The gas grill hadn't been used. Jennifer crouched beside it, noting the unspattered racks and clean dials.

The grass was cut, the shrubs neatly trimmed, but there was not a sign of personal care about the yard. Easing up to the sliding-glass door, she peered inside. Thank goodness J. P. Frost didn't have a dog! At least, the manager had volunteered the information that tenants weren't allowed to have dogs.

She pulled the screwdriver from the back pocket of her jeans. Even though it had cost valuable time, she'd gone home to change. And she'd also picked up a few items she thought she might need. A camera. The screwdriver. A can of Mace— just in case she miscalculated.

Back in high school her best friend's boyfriend had been a kid with a passion for snooping. He'd taught Jennifer some tricks of the trade, and popping open a sliding-glass door was one of the easiest ways to get into a house. At the memory, Jennifer shuddered. Nick wasn't a thief, but he had been extremely strange. Thank goodness Jessie had broken up with him before they'd all gotten into serious trouble. But now, his lectures on break and entry would do her some good.

The door popped and she eased it carefully along the track. She gave another silent thank-you that there was no burglar alarm system.

Inside the door, she stopped. The house was silent. There wasn't even the sound of a fan or a clock. It was as if no one lived there. In the light from the doorway she noted the Formica-topped kitchen table and four chairs. The counters were devoid of canisters or the small electrical appliances that made a place home. J. P. Frost might sleep here and collect his mail, but he didn't live here. She felt a moment of compassion for him. His divorce had been hard on him— hard enough to push him over the edge to kidnap his child?

Standing in the spotless kitchen she felt a sudden rush of disappointment. At that moment she realized she'd hoped to find Mimi. But there wasn't any sign of a child in the house.

Just to be sure, she started toward the bedrooms. That was her last hope. The apartment had only two bedrooms, and one was obviously a bachelor's dwelling and the other was filled with unopened moving boxes. The things he'd salvaged from his marriage that might make his apartment more homey were still packed away. J. P. Frost had not yet begun to put his life back on track.

It wasn't a sign that he'd kidnapped his daughter, but it also wasn't an indication that he was adjusting smoothly.

"I'm clutching at straws," she whispered, a sudden headache striking her between the eyes. She'd risked bodily harm and discovery to break into a shell of an apartment. And to make matters worse, her conscience was kicking at her. She'd invaded a man's privacy and seen a bleak side of his soul.

She returned to the kitchen and paused a moment to decide whether to risk the front door or to climb back over the privacy fence. There wasn't a bit of warning when the front door flew open and J. P. Frost returned.

Jennifer made a dash for the sliding door, but he heard the sound of her footsteps and gave instant pursuit. She'd made it onto the brick patio when he tackled her.

She went down hard, the breath going from her lungs in a painful explosion. Sand and small rocks ground into her palms where she'd tried to break her fall, and worst of all, J. P. Frost was tugging at the collar of her jacket. The canister of Mace skittered, useless, across the bricks.

"Get up!" he ordered, trying to drag her to her feet. "What the hell were you doing in my house?"

Gasping, she held up her hands in a sign of surrender. "Wait!" she managed to rasp, her lungs screaming for oxygen.

When he saw she was in no condition for fight or flight, J.P. backed off slightly. "You're the woman who works for that crazy old writer." Anger tightened his features. "Lady, you're in big trouble."

"Wait." She held up one hand and concentrated on getting her breath. Her palms were burning and she looked at one. It wasn't worthy of a doctor, but it hurt like the dickens.

"You've got thirty seconds. Then I'm calling the cops."

In twenty seconds Jennifer could manage to talk in short sentences. Sitting on the patio, she told him about the phone call. At his repeated questions, she assured him that she thought it was Mimi and that the child sounded afraid but unharmed.