Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 02 - London Broil (18 page)

Roger shook his head. “Geese? On a plane? It’s illegal to import them in the US.”

“You’ve imported geese before?” I asked as I looked at their forlorn fowl faces.

“I’ll run next door and ask my neighbor to pet sit.”

Roger returned in five minutes. “Heck of a way to meet your neighbor. ‘Would you watch my geese while I dash to the States?’”

We stood in front of the apartment waiting for the cab. Roger held me in a gentle squeeze until our taxi arrived – within minutes, but it seemed hours.

As we got in, Roger asked, “Passport?”

“Yes, of course.” I snapped. My nerves were violin strings – strung tight beyond measure. We were last-minute flyers with no luggage.

Traffic out of London was heavy and frustrated the ride to Gatwick Airport. Roger asked me questions about Treanna. I knew he was trying to distract me, but I found it impossible not to ride the fear wheel.

“She’s the kind of naïve child who will grab the hand of anybody kind enough to offer it. That’s what scares me most.” I massaged my brows with icy fingers as I told him about Mr. Smith.

Roger hit the side of the cab with his fist. “Bastards!” My story must have carried him back to his childhood. Needing to blame someone for his pain, he said, “Smith has to be behind it.”

“Smith knows I’m on to him. He has nothing to gain from taking Treanna… but who else could have her? Was she snatched or did she wander along the beach and stumble under a wave? It had to be Smith. He could gain access from the beachside coming in around the pool.

I slid back in the seat and stared out the window in silence. It took us over an hour to get to the airport. An imaginary clock lodged in my head and was counting down. Nine hours trapped in a plane before we got to Miami, plus the travel time to my condo. A lot could happen to a six year old in half a day.

***

A comfortable business class seat and the white noise of jet engines slowed my racing mind. I tried to bury the very worst thoughts as I covered myself with a blanket to hide my vibrating body. I refused a cocktail. I didn’t deserve to hide behind alcohol.

Mid-flight, I finally brought myself to peek at Roger. His brown eyes looked past me. I was sure he was reliving the kidnapping of his little brother. I squeezed his hand.

Chapter 47

A
bout an hour before our scheduled arrival time, I snapped out of my inertia. Normal airport procedures would take way too long, including getting off this mammoth flying machine. Hoping for a sympathetic ear, I eyeballed the attendants working our part of the Virgin plane as they walked the aisles offering the final service of the flight. I mentally rejected two male attendants, and then I spotted a thirtyish female with a kindly face.

Luck was with me. She was the one who came to my aisle seat and said, “We’ll be landing shortly. Is there anything I can get you?”

“We desperately need help. We’re making an emergency return to Miami because my six-year-old daughter is missing. The police are waiting at my home.” I didn’t have to manufacture the tears on my cheeks. Talking about it opened the floodgates again.

Her eyes misted over. “You poor dears. How can I help you?”

“We have to get home as quickly as possible. Is there any way we can exit first?”

“I’m certain we can accomplish that. I’ll talk to the captain. And I’ll see about a tram to speed you to Customs.”

“Wonderful. Is it possible to alert Customs of our situation? We must expedite matters there. That can be a glacial process.”

She nodded. “Can’t say how cooperative they’ll be, but we’ll alert them.” Her look of concern tugged at my heart and replenished my tears.

“One last thing.” I dug in my purse and pulled out my Enterprise card. “If you can arrange for a mid-size rental and ask them if they can have it near the exit so we don’t have to traipse all around the airport.” I swiped at my tears. “We have to find her.”

Tears spilled out of her eyes, too. She took the card. “I’ll be back presently.”

Ten minutes later she returned and handed me my Enterprise card. Her eyes were still teary, but she was smiling. “It’s all arranged, including a pledge from Customs to help you. I’ll come for you to de-plane.”

We landed in Miami on a sunny Saturday afternoon. The sound of the pilot’s voice made me jump. “Welcome to Miami International Airport. Local time is ten minutes after one. Please remain seated until the fasten seat belt sign goes off.”

The plane rolled to a complete stop, but the
fasten seatbelt
sign stayed on. The flight attendant tapped me on the shoulder. “Come ahead.” She walked us to the exit, then I heard the ding of the
fasten seatbelt
sign going off.

We raced down the carpeted tunnel. A motorized cart was waiting at the gate. “Jump on!” the driver said, tipping his porter’s hat.

Pedestrians parted as the cart beeped its way to Customs. We jumped off into the arms of a mustached Homeland Security woman. She all but lifted Roger and me and stood us in the corner. The more I tried to explain, the angrier she became. “No luggage? No carryon? No way!” she bellowed.

Roger tried the British method, swamping the woman with words. “My friend’s child is missing. We left everything in London and took the first plane out. Police are waiting for us!” His voice cracked, but he kept on talking. “Call the police! They’ll confirm!”

A Customs officer ran toward us. “We’ve been expecting these folks.”

We scurried to his desk. He checked our immigration cards and stamped our passports. “I hope you find your child, safe and sound.”

Roger and I clambered over tourists, fighting our way to the rental car level. “Miss Darlin?” A young man in a white shirt with a green Enterprise logo popped out of nowhere. “Follow me. I’ve got your car ready to go.” The three of us ran out the ground transportation exit. The rental agent handed me the keys to a white sedan waiting at the curb. “Sign here, initial there. Good luck!” he said.

Roger moved me to the passenger side. “I got it.”

I slipped into the seat and put my hands on my knees to stop them from shaking.

A Miami Police Department detective and a snake-mean woman in a navy skirt and white blouse with a badge reading
Child Protective Services
met us at the door when we arrived at my place.

Tinkerbelle came flying at me. I staggered back on impact, picked her up, endured her slurpy kisses, then dropped her to floor.

Matty sat on the sofa looking distraught and hugging a pillow, her usual cheerful face covered in tears and worry lines. She motioned to come close. I hugged her chunky shoulders as she wept. “Tre said she was going out to pick up Tinkerbelle’s poop. She took the scooper and a little bag. I dozed off for a minute. When I got up, she wasn’t here. I looked at the clock. It was almost an hour later. If I’d been awake, the child would be safe.”

I squatted next to her and put my hand on her arm, not finding the words to comfort her. Matty ran her hand across her forehead. “I went looking for Treanna, but she was gone. I called and called her name a bunch of times, but my baby had vanished.”

The detective said, “The guard at the gatehouse advised us that a child fitting the little girl’s description was standing within a few yards of his booth when a silver car pulled up. The child got in and they drove away. He didn’t see who was in the car. Four agencies in cooperation with Miami Beach PD canvassed the residents of these condos. My department canvassed Mrs. Madison’s neighborhood, and officers are checking her house every hour. No sign of Treanna and no leads. We’re canvassing these condos again.”

The woman from Child Protective Services spoke. “I need clarification on why the child and her grandmother were staying here. Was there some domestic problem?”

“Not domestic. You can check her records with
Big Brothers.
I’m cleared to act as her Big Sister. I have all the necessary paperwork to keep Treanna for sleepovers. I have medical authorization, travel permits… you name it. Call Elana, our match support specialist.”

She lifted her eyebrow. “Why weren’t you here with the child?”

Roger stepped forward. “I needed Ms. Darlin’s urgent assistance in England.”

“I’m sure you did,” she sniffed.

Even though guilt hung over me like a shroud, I snapped, “Treanna was in Matty’s capable hands, the same person who does a great job of caring for her twenty-four seven. I was merely providing them a more comfortable and safer place to stay for a while.”

“Safer in what way?” The woman had a tone in her voice that made me want to bitch-slap her.

Avoiding mention of the bolita business, I talked about Mr. Smith and his pal Ox. I concluded with, “I considered him an annoying financial threat to Matty. He’s a very aggressive mortgage broker who’s been much too aggressive in his efforts to get a mortgage on her property.”

“Tell me about Treanna,” Miss Broom-Up-Her-Butt asked. I knew this was a test. How well did I know my little ward and did I deserve to be her Big Sister?

“She’s very smart, loves chocolate, her fingers are always sticky, she’s quite ticklish, she sings off-key, and makes a mess with the toothpaste. She gives great hugs. She’s adores Audrey Hepburn.”

Miss Broom-Up-Her-Butt put her hand up in a stop motion. I shut up.

“Mrs. Madison, we’ll take you home as you requested,” the detective said. “Do you have someone you can call to stay with you?”

“I’ll go with Matty,” Roger said. You keep the rental car and stay here in case she comes back.”

I hugged Matty and gave Roger a kiss on the cheek. Treanna had become his kidnapped baby brother. Determination flashed in his dark eyes as he left with Matty, the detective, and the bitch.

I tried to think like a six year old. I was scared to death that she’d been grabbed, but I couldn’t completely dismiss the thought that she’d engineered this for attention, my attention. She was a resourceful little bugger.

Tinkerbelle was whining to go out. I grabbed a bottle of water, a pink poop bag, and her leash. We walked the doggie path, guilt and I and the little pup.

The kidnap option began to win my mental tug-of-war. Treanna would never have left her dog. Someone had to have snatched her. I looked up at the windows of the high-rise. Law enforcement officers were re-canvassing the one hundred and eighty apartments in my tower and the other one hundred and eighty doors in the north tower, trying to sniff out a lowlife who might harm a child.

Chapter 48

O
nce Tink was emptied, I wrangled her reluctant white butt home, my mental tug-of-war now inching toward Treanna being responsible for her own disappearance. When I was a kid, I ran away from home regularly. I always packed a bag, even if it only contained my toothbrush and a candy bar. Had they looked for Treanna’s purple backpack?

I checked the bedroom, the closet, the living room, the DVD cabinet, the kitchen, and the pantry – even looking inside the washer dryer. No backpack. Treanna had it with her, which meant she knew when she stepped out of the condo that she was headed somewhere. She had a plan. I thought of one of our last transatlantic conversations, “What if I were in trouble, would you come home then?” she had asked.

I pushed the memory button on my home phone. The last number called was the Miami Police. I hit a redial on the number just before it… The voice was similar to but younger than Matty’s.

I hesitantly said, “Hello.”

“Is this miss hot-shot-go-to-London and leave my little niece alone with that sleeping fool?”

I gasped into the phone. “Treanna’s with you?” I collapsed into an armchair.

“Of course she’s here. Where else would the poor child go? She called her Auntie Lillian and I come and got her.”

“Don’t you know there’s an Amber Alert posted for Treanna? Put her on the phone.”

I heard her call Tre. “It’s that white woman. Guess she finally got to missing you.”

“Hi, Wendy. Are you worried about me?” Treanna chirped.

“We’ll talk at your house. Grandma is very upset. Tinkerbelle is crying for you. My friend Roger and Grandma will come for you; there will be some police officers with them. They’re nice people, so don’t be afraid. I’ll see you at your house.”

“I’m glad you’re back, Wendy. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Put Auntie Lillian back on the phone.”

“What you want?” Lillian was as warm and cuddly as a rabid Rottweiler.

I’d had run-ins with Lillian before. She was a companion, to put it politely, to a different drug dealer every week. She’d never been busted because she didn’t deal, just provided comfort in their time of need. She thought she was hot stuff. To me, she was, phonetically, a common garden tool. And she hated that Tre had bonded with me. I hoped Lillian would see the inside of a jail for taking Tre without permission and causing an expensive, time-consuming search. Then we’d see if one of her pimpmobile boyfriends would come up with the bail.

“The police will be there shortly to get Treanna and take her home.”

“I can’t stop the heat for coming here, but don’t you be bringing that damn Matty here. She ain’t welcome!”

“You need to worry about your butt rather than Matty. You’ll probably go down for kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping? The child called me. Told me you’d left her alone in Sea Shell Towers. A friend of mine used to do some business there. So I go rescue her. She’ll be here, but I won’t. I’ll be in my lawyer’s office waiting for the police to call.” She slammed the phone down.

I called Roger with the info. “You and Matty have to go with the police. Treanna might be scared.”

Roger had a catch in his voice when he spoke. “Treanna’s never met me.”

“One look at your big brown eyes and she’ll be yours forever. I’ll head to Matty’s house right now.”

***

By the time Tinkerbelle and I arrived at Matty’s, they were already back. Treanna was kneeling on the plastic-wrapped sofa, her arms around Roger’s neck. The little stinker was wearing a bumblebee suit. “Hi, Wendy!” She waved without moving from her cozy position next to my Indiana Jones. Puffing out her chest, she showed off her outfit, “Auntie Lillian got me this for Halloween. I’m going to wear it every day till then.”