Fear Familiar Bundle (165 page)

Under the constant flow of Judy's words, James eased himself to a sitting position.

"Then Mrs. Franklin had some kind of medical fit and they had to call 9-1-1 and the ambulance came. You could hear the siren and all of that on the radio. My folks were, like, glued to the radio, and they hardly ever listen all the way through one of Crush's shows." She took a deep breath. "So when the ambulance came for Mrs. Franklin, Crush was telling everyone how she looked with her hands clenched together and all of that, and Mr. Frost arrived and said if Crush didn't stop using the agony and distress of others for self-promotion he was going to mop the floor with him and wring him out like a dirty rag!"

"Wait!" Jennifer held up a hand. "You heard all of this on the air?"

"Right. And Mrs. Franklin came to when the ambulance men gave her something and she was wailing and moaning. She thinks Tommy is dead, and Crush said Uncle Eugene ought to be arrested. Then there was a big argument, and Mr. Frost said something very nasty, and there was the sound of something breaking and a scream and they started playing music."

"It's a talk radio station," Jennifer said.

"I know. And the music was awful. It was some old group from the dinosaur age. Devoe, or something like that." Judy rolled her eyes. "My dad said it was some tape one of the deejays had left in his car too long and it had warped. But you guys had better get up, get your butts in gear and get out of here."

"Meow!" Familiar stood in the doorway and cried.

"I think he's trying to tell us something," Jennifer said, gathering the telephone into her arms. The cat was too smart by far.

Strange shadows danced across the far wall of the room as a car's headlights swept the house. Someone, most likely Crush, had turned toward the house and had started up the long, winding driveway.

"It's time to go." James jumped to his feet, ignoring the fury of his pounding head. He hit the light switch, casting the room in darkness. "Run for it," he said, nudging Judy first and following hot on the heels of Jennifer and Familiar.

They sprinted down the stairs in the darkness, heedless of the amount of noise they made. Judy was the first to the window and she tumbled through it with the agility of the very young. Jennifer sat on the sill, phone clutched tightly to her chest, and threw herself down into the scratchy branches of the azalea beneath. James followed with less regard for his own bones. With the grace of thousands of generations of perfect balance, Familiar sailed out to the ground and landed in a crouch.

When Judy started to run to the west, he snagged her foot and held on.

"Follow the cat," Jennifer ordered, glad for the bit of moonlight that gave them limited vision but also aware that it could give them away.

There was no time to replace the screen. They ran across the yard, fleeing figures that moved in and out among the shadows of the trees. They just made it to the safety of the thick line of oaks and azaleas when the car lights swung across the yard and pulled up to the front door.

In the light of the moon a heavyset man got out from behind the wheel and went to the front door. He went in, opening the door without even unlocking it, flipping on the entrance lights as he went.

"It's Crush," Judy whispered. "The front door was open. We didn't even have to crawl through the window."

Jennifer felt James's strong fingers close over hers, a touch that was meant to steady both of them. She knew he was still unsettled from the blow to the head— and the hundreds of questions that had to be answered.

"Meow!" Familiar brushed beneath their hands, reminding them of his presence and the need to get farther away if they didn't want to get caught.

"Let's move it." James backed into the denser bushes and led the way out to the fence. They arrived at a point fifty yards from where they'd entered, and James helped Jennifer and Judy over the picket fence.

"I suppose it's futile to go back and repair the fence. We left the screen off the window. It won't be long before he realizes someone was in his house."

"If he doesn't already know it. Someone had to knock you out and lock me in the basement," Jennifer said darkly.

"And he was off the air," Judy added. "It's possible he might have done it. He had motive and opportunity."

"Good grief," James said under his breath. "I have to work with the princess of slander and now a junior Sam Spade."

"Instead of making fun of me, you should thank me," Judy said quickly as she bent to scoop Familiar up into her arms. "Me and the cat. If I hadn't heard him at the door, I might have given up the search for you two and thought you'd gone home. I mean, I did risk my flawless reputation to break in there and get you out before Crush returned. If my parents knew what I was doing they'd ground me forever. They'd probably nail my feet to the bedroom floor."

"My God, she's even beginning to talk like you," James whispered as he put his arm around Jennifer and squeezed her shoulders tightly before he directed a shallow bow to Judy. "Thank you, Miss Luno. You did a wonderful job of saving us doddering, old adults."

"Eugene said someone had better keep an eye on you. He said not even Familiar could keep you two out of Dutch for long. But at least y'all found something to steal." Without waiting for a reply, Judy skipped ahead with the cat in her arms.

"So much for Eugene's opinion of us," James whispered in Jennifer's ear. "Where
did
you find the phone?"

Jennifer still clutched the instrument. "Familiar found it, sans battery, in the washing machine,
before
we got locked in the basement. Judy let us out— it's a good thing she doesn't take her promises to stay away seriously. But let's get out of here. Someone was in that house, and they may still be watching us."

James set the pace with a long stride that covered the distance quickly. They'd put a block between them and the scene of the crime, and his headache had settled into a dull pain. He didn't feel great, but at least he knew he wasn't going to die.

They had circled the three blocks around Crush's house and were moving back in the direction of Jennifer's car when James suddenly stopped. "Don't you think Crush has had time to discover someone was in his house by now?"

Jennifer shrugged, a gesture lost in the darkness. "Maybe. Let's just get in the car and get out of here before a cruiser happens along. I mean, it
is
nearly midnight. We've got a minor child who is supposed to be in bed, and a cat who lives in Washington, D.C. If Crush does call the cops, we aren't exactly the most innocent people on the street and we're the only people on the street."

"But if he has discovered the break-in and hasn't called the police, what does that tell us?"

Jennifer had momentarily put the peculiarity of Crush's decor out of her mind. "That he has something to hide— from the cops." As soon as she said it, she felt a rush of certainty.

"Exactly. What did you find at his house?" James asked. His headache was easing and he had begun to formulate the questions of his trade.

"The phone. Nothing much." Jennifer nudged him and nodded toward Judy, who walked ahead.

He nodded that he understood she didn't want to talk in front of the child. "Good. Let's get home."

The car was parked under a leafy crepe myrtle and they shifted through the shadows. When they were all ready, Jennifer checked the back seat to make sure Familiar had gotten in— and stayed there.

"Just let me out about a block from the house. I can sneak through Mrs. Evan's backyard and get back in my window."

"Maybe we should just knock on the door and explain," Jennifer said. She had a real hesitation about leaving the young girl out in the night— especially to sneak back into her own house.

"I do it all the time." Judy was exasperated with their foolishness. "You grown-ups must never have done anything fun. My folks sleep like logs. They work all day and then sleep. What a boring life. They have no idea what goes on once they close the bedroom door. They'll never catch me. But if you wake them up, I'll be in big trouble." An edge of worry had crept into her voice.

"I'll go with her," James assured Jennifer.

At Judy's instructions, Jennifer parked and waited as Judy and James crept through another yard. In ten minutes James was back. "Safe and sound. Now let's go someplace nice and quiet. I think we have a lot to talk about."

"Meow!" Familiar put his paws on the back of the seat and tucked his head between them.

I
HAVEN'T HEARD
the logic Madame Spitfire and Clark Kent are going to apply to the events of this night, but I can tell you, there are a lot of things that trouble me.

For instance, the placement of that darn phone in the washing machine. During the few weeks after Jordan Lindsey's birth, Eleanor wasn't exactly in the most coherent frame of mind. It was a joke around the house that she would pick up an item, put it down, and then it would be gone forever— until it turned up in some bizarre place. The perfect example was the rack of ribs she'd bought for a dinner party. She'd put it out on the counter, but when she'd started to prepare it, she'd discovered there was no garlic in the house.

Ah, tragedy! A trip to the grocery with baby in tow meant at least an hour, so she'd packed up the little urchin and taken off. As it so happened, I'd decided to take a nap in the middle of her preparations, so I'd missed the departure. When she'd returned, the ribs had disappeared.

The Dame must have spent twenty minutes standing in front of the open refrigerator door looking for the rack of ribs because she'd been sure she'd put it in the refrigerator. Needless to say, I discovered it some ten hours later— in the washing machine.

This is a long, rambling story to make a point. Peter would never have put the roast in the washing machine. The trash compactor, perhaps. The toolbox, maybe. But not the washing machine. Few men, based on my trained observations, understand that a washing machine is an empty metal container.

Now, it's difficult for me to lower myself to human standards of behavior, but I believe the person who put the phone in the washing machine was a woman.

First, the tread was light— and second, there was a teensy bit of foundation makeup smeared on the phone. Although my thoughts are brilliant, my eyes and nose are keener. The phone was smudged with traces of makeup. The phone belongs to J. P. Frost, who does not wear makeup. Thus my "woman" theory.

It pains me to have to admit this, but I allowed smugness to interfere with my work tonight. I was so delighted to have discovered the phone that I wasn't paying attention. I should have heard someone else in the house. I should have been alert.

If it had been Crush Bonbon prancing about the house, I would have heard him. He weighs a ton. I insist that the person who locked the cellar door was a woman. Someone about the size of Anna Green. Or Mrs. Frost.

I'll see if I can't get this point across to Jennifer and James. Along with the fact that whoever it was had some upper body strength to be able to whack James in the head and knock him completely out. It was a well-directed blow— as if whoever struck him knew what they were doing. Well-directed and well-executed. That implies knowledge of martial arts, or at least some form of self-defense. A woman with training.

We're getting closer to some answers, but I have a terrible, nagging feeling that something else awful is about to happen. And though Eugene doesn't make a big deal about his concerns, this is having a grave impact on him. My worry is that even if the children are safely returned, this could affect his writing.

And it's my job to see that it doesn't.

J
ENNIFER DROVE
to her house without asking James's opinion. As they pulled into the driveway he gave her a curious look.

"I have an ice pack, aspirin, a thermometer and all of the other things to make sure you aren't permanently brain damaged." She tried to sound tough, but her voice cracked and she knew she couldn't hide her true feelings much longer.

James got out of the car and went around to her side, pulling her into his arms. "I'm okay," he said. "Better than okay."

He was solid against her, his heartbeat regular, steady, his arms strong and supporting, and Jennifer allowed the last dregs of her fears for him to slowly slip away. He had been injured, but not seriously.

Without a word James led her to the door, took her keys and opened the house. Familiar darted in ahead of them, making a beeline for the kitchen.

"I think he wants a reward for saving all of our hides tonight," James said, following Jennifer to the kitchen.

"And he shall have it." Jennifer opened a tin of sardines. "This isn't gourmet, kiddo, but I've never seen a cat turn it down. Just don't breathe on me for at least an hour."

For James and herself she put on some coffee and found the aspirin. Their gazes met and held as they each took two. "I know I wasn't hit in the head, but the tension from this night is more than I can take," she explained, motioning him into a chair. "I have to tell you what I found, James. And we have to think of something to do. I believe I know the next kidnap victim."

At her words James eased into the chair she'd indicated, his arms on the table. He instantly picked up the pen and pad of paper she kept beside her phone. "Okay, shoot," he said. "I'll make notes."

Jennifer began her description of the room she'd found in Crush's house, concluding with the missing page from Eugene's book, and the missing book from the bookshelf.

James's pen stilled in midair as he took a deep breath. "And the book is about a redheaded boy?"

Jennifer found her anxiety had increased— she'd hoped James would discount her theory. But he seemed as certain as she was. She nodded. "Eugene knows at least two redheaded children. I can't think of their names, but I've seen them at story hour, and I know they've visited his home at least once."