STOLEN (7 page)

Watching
Marty and the boy gave Hope an uneasy feeling. She knew one of the main reasons
Marty was so keen on getting married was he was anxious to begin a family of
his own. He adored his niece and the multitude of nephews, but she knew how
badly the man yearned for kids of his own. She noted in the brief time that had
passed Marty was building some sort of emotional attachment to the boy and she was
a little more than concerned, because she didn’t know how deeply psychologically
and spiritually fractured the child was.

The minute Marty turned to Hope and informed her he was
going back to work, she knew he was crossing the line and getting emotionally
involved. She could tell Marty already made up his mind that it was his
responsibility to find out who the child was and he was going to make it his
mission to make sure the little boy was reunited with his real family.

Her plan was to discuss it with him when she drove him home
to get a change of clothes. She wondered now if this was the best time for them
to go on with their plans for their wedding this summer.

“Maybe,” she thought to herself, “we can just postpone until
next year.” Then a scary thought crossed her mind. How on earth would she
explain to her mother she felt she should postpone her nuptials to Marty? No,
the briefest thought of having to deal with her mother’s reaction sent shivers
down her spine. Grace Rubin would have a conniption, a regular full-blown
temper tantrum. All of a sudden her face turned pale as she had an overwhelming
sense of déjà vu. Did she have this feeling once before or was she imagining
it? Was it possible that she wanted to cancel the wedding to her first husband Richard,
and didn’t heed the warnings, because she was afraid of her mother’s reaction?

Her first marriage turned out to be a disaster. Richard was
a womanizer, a total dirt bag; and deep in her heart, she had always known he
couldn’t be trusted. She intellectually knew Marty was nothing at all like her
ex-husband; and the only thing Richard and Marty had in common was their
stunning good looks. Marty was so damn good-looking. No, she thought Marty was
so much better than Richard—inside and out. It wasn’t Marty’s fault if women
found him irresistible, but she would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit
the thought scared her. How long could a man like that be faithful? Wasn’t that
the same problem she had with Richard? Didn’t Richard’s good looks turn out to
be a curse for her? “Why,” she thought to herself, “couldn’t she fall in love
with a homely man?”

Fort
Rock, Oregon

The
snow began falling before dawn and a new storm front had moved in and the biting
wind was causing Lieutenant Michael Sanders’ nose to run. The Lieutenant was
just six months shy of retiring and was looking forward to leaving the frigid
winters of Fort Rock, Oregon to the warmer climate of Bell, Florida, a small
farming community in North Central Florida. His wife’s sister had moved there
five years ago and had been begging Tammy and him to join them there. In
anticipation of his impending retirement, Sanders had purchased a twenty-five
acre hay farm last summer; and days like today made the move look so much more inviting.

Lieutenant Michael Sanders was in charge of the Homicide Investigation
Tracking System, also known as H.I.T.S., a division of the Oregon State Police.
The six-foot-two, hundred and ninety-five pound ex-marine was hoping for a
quiet day at work, as he shook the slush off his boots and made his way into
his office. He let out a sigh of relief; grateful to finally be indoors when
the desk sergeant stopped him.

“Hey, Loo, this just came over the wire,” the desk sergeant
said as he handed him the faxed report.

“That A.P.B. we had on that father and sons we were looking
for in connection with that murder of that young woman, you know the one whose remains
they found during the excavation, you know where that strip mall is going
up . . . .”

Exasperated from listening to the desk sergeant’s rambling,
he grabbed the report from the man’s hands and started to flip through it. He
knew getting to the point was not one of Tyrone’s better qualities. The man had
a tendency to talk in circles; and Sanders would constantly have to coax him
along if he wanted him to get to the point.

“Yeah, I know all that, Tyrone, what about the suspects?”

“Well, some small town in New York is investigating a
shooting. It appears to be that the dead guy is Arch Blakey. Troy Blakey, one
of the sons, was also shot. He is in the hospital and in a coma.”

“Do they know what happened?” Sanders asked him, as he made
his way to his desk, removing articles of clothing as he went. He threw his
coat and gloves onto a chair, and made his way to his desk which was piled with
files and paperwork, leaving no room for his thermos of hot coffee, but somehow
he managed to displace a few papers and sat the silver vessel down before
sitting down himself.

He scanned through the report. The dead man hadn’t been
positively identified yet, but he had several I.D.’s on his person, and a
vehicle on the premises fit the description of the Ford Focus that was
mentioned in the A.P.B. The plates were not the same, but Sanders did not rule
out that they were probably stolen. Reading further into the report, it was
confirmed that the plates were stolen from a Wal-Mart parking lot somewhere in
Missouri.

The forty-four year old desk sergeant, Tyrone, was nicknamed
‘Scarecrow,’ due to his one hundred thirty-five pound, five-foot-six frame. The
man was hyper, and danced around, shifting from one foot to another as he
continued to talk. Sanders, engrossed in the report, hadn’t heard a word the
man had uttered.

“Lieutenant?”

Looking up, Sanders finally acknowledged him.

“Scarecrow, see if you can get this Detective Whitley, or a
Detective Keal, on the phone. I’d like to talk to one of them and find out the
medical status of Troy Blakey.” He handed the man back the file. As soon as he
was sure Scarecrow was out the door and he was alone, he unlocked his top desk
drawer and pulled out a round tin full of oatmeal cookies his wife Tammy baked the
other day and gave him strict orders for him to share. He had hidden them under
a Windows for Dummies manual to keep them from his thieving staff. He didn’t
know how, or who in his staff managed it, but no matter where he hid them,
someone would sniff them out and he would go to eat one and they would have
mysteriously vanished. Well, this time he didn’t care if his wife accused him
of being selfish; these were his cookies, and no one else was going to get
their filthy, greedy mitts on them.

Taking a bite, he let the cookie slowly dissolve on his
tongue. Carefully picking off crumbs from his shirt and whatever fell on his
desk, and when he was sure he had gotten rid of all evidence, he picked up the
phone and pushed the intercom. A husky female voice answered.

“Records.”

“Rita, can you pull the file on that body that was found near
Fort Rock Park about four months ago. That young girl.”

“Sure, Mike, I’ll bring it right up.”

“Thanks, Rita.” He carefully placed the phone on the base
and grabbed another cookie before shutting the lid and replacing the tin in the
desk drawer. He placed the manual on the tin and shut the drawer.

When Rita knocked on his office door, he was just swallowing
the last bite and he helped it down by taking a swig of his still hot coffee.

His tongue swept across his teeth and felt around, surveying
the gum area, making sure all he was leaving no obvious signs and all evidence of
the snack had dissolved.

“Come in,” he called out as he grabbed some blank sheets of
paper and placed them in front of him.

“Here you go, Mike.” Rita said as she started to hand him
the file. Rita Doidge, the records clerk, was a fixture here in the building.
The woman had been working for this troop for over twenty-five years and had
seen many troopers come and go. She watched a generation of troopers grow up
and have children of their own; some of them who followed in their parent’s
footsteps and now were working as officers themselves. She had diapered a few
of the rookies and never let them forget it if they got out of hand. She
attended funerals and births and Sanders thought that without her, this outfit
would be lost. The woman was the most efficient woman he knew, ask her for a
file and it was in your hand before you hung up the phone. The only problem was
that Rita’s filing system was understood by her and her alone. Several attempts
to train another clerk had been a disaster. So much so that in twenty-five
years, Rita had not taken a sick day or a vacation. For the last several weeks
though, she had taken on an assistant in preparation for her very first
vacation. Her daughter Jessie was getting married and the wedding was going to
be in Hawaii. She was scheduled to take two weeks off; and the entire office
was thrown into a panic.

“How’s the new girl doing, Rita?” Sanders asked, attempting
to take the file from her hand. He looked up and noticed a strange look in her
eyes, her nostrils opened wide.

“Do I smell oatmeal cookies, Michael?” Her grip on the file
got stronger.

Shaking his head in defeat, he opened the drawer and lifted
the tin, handing it to her.

She let go of the file. Grabbing the tin from him, she
pulled and maneuvered the lid open and took a deep breath. “Umm, oh, these
smell scrumptious.”

“What are you, part wolf?” he asked accusingly, and took the
manila file and sat down. He opened the cover and started to read. He didn’t
look back up as she turned and headed out the door.

“Leave those here,” he growled.

“Didn’t Tammy tell you to share?” She was guessing, but it
was a good guess.

“I just did, now.” He held out his hand, and with quite a
bit of reluctance, she handed the tin back.

“The new girl? How’s she doing?” He asked her again.

“I think she’s going to work out, Mike, she’s bright and she’s
willing to work. I think she’s a keeper. Are we sure she’s Scarecrow’s niece? I
think we should request a DNA test.”

“Just make sure she knows what she’s doing before you leave,
cause it would be a shame for you to miss your own daughter’s wedding.” He
answered her in a snarl, as he shoved the tin back in his drawer, shut it, and
locked it with the key.

“How about you solving this case before I leave?” She
motioned to the file. “It would be nice to find out if we can bring justice to
that girl’s family. Find out who killed that poor girl.” Her sarcastic tone
turned to sadness.

“Maybe, Rita, maybe we just caught a break. Shut the door
when you leave, will you, and hey, keep your mouth shut about the cookies.”

She laughed as she turned and walked out, closing the door
behind her.

As soon as she was gone, he grabbed an aerosol can of air
freshener and gave it a pump. He wasn’t taking the chance of losing one more
cookie because of someone else’s overactive sensory organ.

Marty’s
next door neighbor, Mrs. Kolakowski, greeted them before they even got out of
the car.

“Marty, how’s the Captain doing? I wanted to visit him, but
I thought that the family needed the time to visit. Is there anything I can do?
I just finished a wonderful novel by Kassandra Lamb, I know how your dad loves thrillers;
I can bring it to him, or give it to you to give to him.”

She held up the book to show them.

She was nervous and Marty knew she wanted to talk about more
than his father’s health.

“Thanks, Mrs. K, why don’t you bring it to him tomorrow? He
would love to see you. Besides, you are family.” Marty responded.

He looked at the sadness in her eyes; and he just wanted to
grab her and give her a ferocious hug. He knew she needed one at this moment, and
he certainly would have enjoyed it. “A good book is just the thing he needs.
You know he gets cranky when he gets bored.”

“I saw the news. It was so wonderful to see that little girl
and her family reunited.” She turned and addressed Hope, averting her eyes.

Marty watched as she tried to keep herself composed. He knew
she was fighting back tears and an awful memory. Marty hadn’t realized just how
time and circumstances had changed the woman; and he was embarrassed that he
hadn’t paid more attention to her. She was right next door and he hadn’t taken
the time to visit the woman who became a surrogate mother to his family, especially
him and his twin brother, after their own mother passed away.

Marty could tell that she wanted to ask him more about the
little girl that was found; instead, she just smiled and bade them goodbye. As he
watched, he realized just how tiny in stature she was. For some reason, he
remembered her being taller.

“This hits really close to home for her.” Marty told Hope,
as he hung his arm over her shoulder while they walked up the path towards his
front door.

“What do you mean?” Her cool hand reached under his shirt
and landed on his bare skin. It felt cold and warm at the same time.

They got as far as the front porch and then he sat down on
the top step. Her hand now free, she brushed away some debris from the concrete
landing and sat down beside him.

Marty picked up a thin branch that was lying by his left
foot. He scrapped it across the concrete step below him. He began to tell her
the story.

“It happened about twenty-five years ago; actually, last
week would have been twenty-five years. It was the day of my mother’s funeral.”
Marty let his thoughts travel back in time to when he was nine years old.

“About a year before my mother passed away, Mrs. K came to
live here to help out her younger brother, Tim, with his kids. Tim’s wife Sarah
had been killed in a car wreck and he was a mess. You know that hutch in the
dining room you love so much? Tim built that. He was a master carpenter. A
genius with wood. Well, anyway, I’m getting off point; the youngest boy Tim Jr.
was only three years old when he mysteriously disappeared. At first we thought
he just wandered off, but it turned out he was abducted, and it happened on the
day we buried my mother.”

Marty took a deep breath before he continued. “Mrs. K took
her nieces, her brother Tim’s five older girls, to the services; and Tim had
stayed home with his youngest child, the only boy. Tim had come and seen my dad
that morning and told my dad he couldn’t bring himself to go to another
funeral. So he stayed home with Tim Jr.”

Marty took another deep breath as he reflected back in time.
“Everyone called him T.J. for short. Mrs. K thought he was too young and didn’t
want to take him to the funeral. His father was supposed to be watching him,
but he was drinking pretty heavily in those days, and when they got home from
the funeral, he was passed out drunk. When they woke him up and couldn’t find T.J.
in the house, they thought that he probably went outside to play or to look for
his Aunt Peri, or maybe he had even walked over to my house to visit my family.
When they couldn’t find him after a while, they started to search the
neighborhood. After a few hours, it started to get dark, so they called the
police and reported him missing.

One of the neighbors thought they saw a strange van that day,
driving slowly around the neighborhood. By the time my family got back from my
mom’s funeral, T.J. was long gone. There were many theories about what happened
to T.J., but the most plausible was that someone in that van snatched him.

Mrs. Kolakowski’s brother killed himself a few weeks later.
Put a gun to his head and shot himself. He just couldn’t cope with what had
happened. Tim Sr. doted on that kid; the sun didn’t come up until T.J. opened
his eyes in the morning. If you saw the old man, Tim, T.J. wasn’t too far
behind. Tim’s wife had T.J. late in life trying to give her husband Tim the boy
he longed for. My dad used to say that he made buttons, or boys, and Tim only
made buttonholes, or girls. When Tim’s wife was killed in that wreck, he pretty
much fell apart, but he tried to keep it together for his six kids. But when T.J.
disappeared, old Tim was inconsolable. He blamed himself and I guess he wasn’t
the only one. Everyone blamed him. Everyone in this town blamed him, except for
the one person that really mattered, his sister, Mrs. K. She blamed herself
because she didn’t want to take him to the funeral. Thought he was too
rambunctious and would be a distraction. Strangely enough, I remember my
brother Danny blaming my mother. T.J. used to tag along after Danny all the
time, and it used to make Danny feel like a big shot. He was only seven at the
time, and Tommy and I, especially me, well, we treated him like he was a pain
in the ass. T.J. made him feel like he was the big brother.”

Marty leaned back against the porch railing as visions of
the past appeared before his eyes, slightly out of focus. Memories that he had
thought were lost forever were flooding back in waves.

“I remember Danny screaming at my dad one day that it was my
mother’s fault Tim Junior was gone. That if we weren’t all at my mother’s
funeral, T.J. wouldn’t be missing. Secretly, I think I felt the same way. I
guess I was a bit of an ass back then. I just didn’t understand that my
mother’s dying wasn’t something she could have prevented. I was nine years old
and angry and stupid. I was pissed off that she was sick all the time, that she
was the reason my dad and older siblings were always so sad. It was a really
tough time back then; and I think I felt abandoned by her. If something bad
happened, I would blame my mother. My mother, well, she was an easy target.”

“Did they ever find him?” Hope asked. Marty wondered if she
was developing a new insight into their neighbor, who she once described as
always looking sad even when she was smiling.

Marty shook his head.

“No, it was as if he vanished into thin air. I don’t think
she ever gave up hope that he would be found, but she has resigned herself that
he is probably dead. I think it’s fair to say that it was probably the worst
summer of my life, all of our lives. Anyway, Mrs. Kolakowski, and her husband, stayed
to raise her nieces, the orphaned five girls left behind by the tragedy; and I
guess you can say she helped raise us. She never gave up her maiden name, just
in case T.J. came looking for them,” he told her.

Marty let out a quick exhale, and he felt his facial muscles
break out into a smile, as he visualized something he hadn’t thought of in
years.

“What?” Hope asked him.

“Just remembered something about T.J. I hadn’t thought about
in years. The kid had this uncanny ability to look at a license plate and know
what state it was from. He couldn’t read. Just, he could just tell by the color
or design. Whenever the families would go somewhere together, T.J. always
wanted to ride with us. I remember him wanting to sit by the window so he could
name the plates’ states. The kid was good.”

She glanced down at her wristwatch. “Crap, I have to go. I
have to stop by Sweet Magnolia’s and pick up some bridal magazines before they
close. I have an appointment with Tawnya to get my hair trimmed. She wanted me
to look at some hairstyles for the wedding. Marty, maybe we
should . . . .”

He cut her off. He knew what she was going to say and he
wasn’t having it. Marty grabbed her hand and squeezed hard, as she stood up. “Hope,
the Captain will be fine and he will walk you down that aisle,” he assured her.

Marty had his suspicions that it was more than her concern
about the Captain being healthy enough to attend the wedding. She was nervous,
more nervous than he was. Hope had become so close to his father, and since her
own dad was deceased, she was thrilled when he offered to give her away.
Getting married was Marty’s idea, and she seemed more than content to keep
things as they were. At least that’s how she acted. Marty’s father didn’t buy
it; neither did his partner, Jean. They were both adamant that Hope was just
scared of taking the plunge because her first marriage failed. The closer the
wedding date came, the more excuses the woman came up with. Instead of arguing
with her, Marty pulled her closer and pressed his lips against hers, causing
her to moan softly.

When she left, he went inside and took a quick shower and got
a change of clothes. He grabbed a jug of orange juice from the refrigerator and
pictured his dad balking at him for drinking out of the container. He was torn
between going back to the hospital and going back to work. He knew what his dad
would tell him to do. He would tell him to help Jean solve the case. He would want
him to find out what happened to those kids and try and make it right. Maybe
with Archie Blakey dead, justice was already served, but they still had Troy
Blakey to deal with. That is, if the man ever came out of his coma.