“Jen, have you seen Christy?” Mrs. Walker said.
Jen’s stomach dropped like a bag of lead.
Oh, God, what now?
“Yesterday, Owen dropped her at your place,” Jen replied.
“Yes, she came home last night, but this morning she didn’t want to go to church. She had a meeting at the library to work on a project. She should have been back by now, but she’s not picking up my calls. I’m headed for Sunday evening service. Can you call her and let me know?”
Jen promised she would and immediately called Christy. It went to voicemail. She left a message asking Christy to call her or text her. Great. What was she up to? Was it another street race, or had she only meant to hide from going to church?
Worries swirling around her head, Jen stepped out of the bathroom.
Emily jumped at her. “The
turon
is ready. And I fried it with Lola.”
Jen wiped her hair from her face and fanned herself. Christy was missing and Dave needed her to make a build. Should she search the emergency rooms for her sister or head to Dave’s and extract files from the Lystra cloud?
“What’s wrong?” Vera asked. “Something happened?”
“Tell Lola I’m sorry.” Jen’s voice fell to a whisper. “My sister’s missing.”
“Oh, God!” Vera tugged Jen in for a hug. “Call the police. Do you need me to help?”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know if I do.” Jen put on her shoes and took out her car keys.
“But, Tia. The
turon
. Can we call Uncle Boo?” Emily said as Vera shut the door.
Uncle Boo. Hadn’t she heard Christy mention him? Was he Sammy’s uncle? She shuddered to the foreboding soundtrack of
Nightmare on Elm Street.
Looking over her shoulder, she unlocked the car and slipped in quickly.
Chapter 33
Jen rang Christy’s cell which went directly to voicemail. She sent a text message.
Are you all right? Where are you?
What would she do if Christy went missing? Could she call Owen? He’d help, but where to start? What if she was with Sammy? His brother was a thug, but he was an honor student, captain of the football team. Who was Jen to interfere? Unlike Jen, Christy was popular and had lots of friends.
Large, fat raindrops splattered the windshield. Jen turned the wipers to a faster pace. The cars in front of her swerved. Oh, crap! A tree lay in the lane directly in front of her. Jen glanced at the side mirror and straddled the lane to avoid hitting it. A loud horn blared, and she jerked the wheel back, just missing a careening grey SUV. The tree’s branches cracked over the hood of the car and her right tire struck the trunk. The back of the car fishtailed and the curved surface of the divider bounced her car back into the lane.
Her cell phone buzzed on the passenger seat. She reached for it, but knocked it onto the floor. Shit! She didn’t see the red light until she was safely under it. Her heart thumping like taiko drums, she arrived at her apartment complex.
The gale smashed water against her when she got out of the car. She stepped through oily puddles and ran upstairs. Thunder rumbled overhead. A beige bubble package lay on the mat without any mailing labels or carrier labels. Her hands shook as she picked it up.
She unlocked the door, turned on the lights and opened the package. A black cell phone and a charger dropped out along with a locker key. She unfolded the enclosed note.
The phone is Rey Custodio’s. We will contact you on it. Turn it on and leave it on. Do as we say and Abby will live. No police.
If she turned it on, the police would triangulate the coordinates of the phone and catch her with Rey’s phone. All accusations would fly back at her. She wasn’t stupid. But what should she do? What if they had Abby? And where was Christy? She had to get away from her apartment in case the murderer returned. Glancing around for intruders, she locked the door, pulled her jacket over her head and ran back to the car.
She drove frantically toward Shopahol. She’d turn the phone on there and see what messages they had for her. Without much traffic, she made good time. The parking lot was empty. Chills snaked down her spine. This was where Rey had died. The rain would have washed away the blood. She turned on the phone.
It showed five missed calls from “Withheld,” a number with Caller ID blocked. She could only wait. Outside, lightning slashed across the sky. The phone vibrated to the rap of a gangster ringtone.
Jen picked up the call. A female voice drawled, “About time, sugar cakes.”
“What do you want?” Jen’s throat constricted so that she could barely speak. A female? She sounded vaguely familiar. “Sherry, is that you?”
“Nice try, Ms. Cruz. What did you do with Rey’s memory stick?”
“You killed Rey, didn’t you?”
“Oh, honey bunches, you really do jump to conclusions too quickly. Maybe Rey dearest gave me his phone. Give me the memory stick.”
“Sorry, but the code’s not on it. Nice trying to kidnap me, but it didn’t work. They locked my access.”
“Oh, honey pie, you don’t lie too well. Everyone knows you saved the company. Lystra’s ad ran in the
Wall Street Journal
. Besides, if I were to kidnap you, would I have used those clowns? Now, the memory stick for Abby.”
Crap, who would talk like that? The drawl disappeared when she talked about Lystra. It was almost a faux-British accent.
“How do I know you have Abby?” Jen challenged.
The female giggled. “You haven’t read the memory stick, have you? Let me tell you a secret, sweet-cheeks, if you
had
read the files, I’d have to kill you. And, pumpkins, my assassins are high-class professionals. You won’t even see them coming.”
The woman sounded like she’d read too many Tom Clancy novels. Anger pumped through Jen’s veins. “You haven’t told me anything. All I know is you sent me Rey’s phone—”
“You can’t deduce that.” The voice turned hard. “You have forty-eight hours. The key is to a locker at the downtown CalTrain station. Leave the memory stick inside and lock it. I have another key, and I’ll be checking.”
“And when will I get Abby?”
“I know who took Abby. I also know what you did right before you soaked your little, or should I say
big,
tush in your employer’s bathtub. There’s a poem called ‘Key in the Door’ written about you. And believe me, you wouldn’t want your boyfriend, Dave, to know about it. Put the memory key in the locker and don’t try any tricks. Abby will be left in a public place.”
“Wait, what about the DNA?”
“You won’t need DNA when you have Abby’s body. Ciao.”
Abby’s body? Did they mean to kill her? Cold sweat ringed Jen’s neck, and her heart clamored above her hurried gasps. She had never left the key in the door. Whoever did it had kidnapped Abby. Was it really this simple? Find the memory stick and know for sure? She turned off the cell phone and dashed out of the parking lot. She had left the red memory stick on her dresser the day after Rey’s death.
She skidded into her parking spot and bounded up the steps. Her ankle complaining with twinges of pain, she ran into her apartment and searched her dresser. Everything had been moved out of place. She always placed her lotions, perfumes and hairspray lined in neat rows along the back toward the mirror. Her makeup was never left scattered, but tucked in a set of baskets. The contents of her wooden bowl were dumped on the dresser. Coins, luggage keys, hairpins, SD cards, and a gray memory stick, no red one. She searched all of the rest of the drawers, the nightstand, under her bed, and behind the dresser. Nothing.
She went to Sherry’s room. The drawers were off the dresser and hangers were thrown on the floor. She looked under the bed. Nothing. She ran her hands under the mattresses and behind the curtains, nothing. She checked the top shelf of the closet and found the envelope Dave received with the photos of Alex’s sister. Nosy bitch probably took it from her room. Had she also taken Rey’s red memory stick?
The clue was on the stick, but she couldn’t find it. ‘Key in the Door.’ Jen collapsed on the ground. Rey had read the poem, and Rey knew. But Rey hadn’t written the poem. He was in Iraq. A sickening clarity swept her head. It had to be Rodrigo all along. Jen never left the key in the door. Never. Rodrigo had to have done it, taken her key and left it hanging after he stole Abby. But why?
She had to call Dave and tell him. But where was her iPhone? She couldn’t use Rey’s phone. Jen slapped the pockets of her jacket. Where was the last place she used it? Vera’s house? No, she had texted Christy from the car.
She ran out the door, tore around the corner heading for the stairs and bounced off a large man’s chest.
“Whoa, whoa. What’s the rush?” It was Bruce.
“I… nothing. What are you doing here?” Jen backed from him. Why was he dressed so funny? His head was wrapped with a paisley gang bandana, and his pants sagged almost to his knees.
He shrugged. “Nothing to do at work. Thought I’d hang out with some friends, but they weren’t home.”
Jen gritted her teeth in a smile and turned toward the carport. Bruce followed her. “So what did you do this weekend? Heard you were in jail.”
“I really don’t want to talk about it.” Jen pulled her jacket over her head and dashed to the rental car. Bruce and Satish were two of the biggest office gossipers. She had a crisis going. No time for social niceties.
Her phone lay on the floor of the car with no display. Battery must have died. She grabbed it, stumbled back to her apartment and crumbled to her knees. Where was that stick? And Abby?
You wouldn’t want your boyfriend, Dave, to know what’s on that stick.
Well, the snotty lady had one thing wrong. Dave was not and never would be her boyfriend. A radiating pain throbbed with each heartbeat and encircled her waist. She’d tell him everything, bare her neck, and throw herself at his mercy. If the police came for her, she’d put out her hands to be cuffed. She’d allowed Dave’s daughter to be kidnapped, possibly even killed, and nothing she could do would change that.
Heavy knocking on the front door roused her, but she could not raise her head. Let them take her now and kill her. A heavy thud sounded from the door and someone stepped in.
“Jen, what’s wrong?” Dave shook her shoulder and knelt at her side. “Why haven’t you answered my calls?”
“They’re going to kill her,” Jen cried. “They want Rey’s memory stick, the red one that fell in the grate. And I can’t find it.”
“What are you talking about?”
She handed him the padded bag that Rey’s phone came in. “It was a woman. A woman called and said she had Abby.”
“What proof did she have?” He pulled out the note and his face slackened. “Rey’s phone? Jen, this came from the murderers.”
She shook her head in jitters, forcing herself to breathe deeper, to speak. “She… she said… she’d leave Abby in a public place… that… that we won’t need DNA when we have Abby’s body.”
Dave clutched Jen’s arm. Pain shot to her shoulders under his tight grip. “Where? What place? You mean Abby is here?”
“She didn’t say,” Jen wailed. “She wants Rey’s memory stick. She said everything is explained in a file called ‘Key in the Door,’ but she doesn’t want us to read any of the other files or she’d kill me.”
Dave sucked in a breath. “Where’s the stick?”
“I can’t find it.”
“No shit, this room’s a mess.” Dave rubbed his buzz cut. “Maybe it’s in your luggage.”
Dave ripped open her suitcase. They tossed and flipped all the clothes out, dumped the contents and searched every pocket. No stick.
He shook Jen’s shoulder. “Think, think. Where did you last see it? And why did Rey give it to you?”
“To copy files. But I dropped it in some wires and found another one in the supply cabinet. I went back and got it later, but I can’t find it.”
“What do you think he has on it?” Dave asked.
She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. He hugged her back, although stiffly. She didn’t care. It would be the last time she’d feel those arms around her. She listened to his heart beat and forced her breathing to steady, finding the voice to bare her soul.
“Rodrigo was blackmailing people, and I bet the stick contains the blacklist, people and events.”
He stared into her eyes. “What does this have to do with Abby?”
“Oh, Dave,” she wailed. “Rodrigo took Abby.”
“Wait!” He shook her shoulders. “You saw him?”
“No, no. I was upstairs. But it makes sense. Why would he pretend to love me if it wasn’t to get something? He gave me a ring and told me he was going to the airport to see his sick grandmother. That could have been a cover up to get Abby to the Philippines.”
Dave narrowed his eyes; an unreadable expression crossed his face. Was it disgust, suspicion, or pity?
Jen cowered and sunk onto her bed. Every nerve in her body stung, and her head ballooned like it would explode. “If I could die for her, I would.”
“Jen, that’s your guilt talking.” Dave moved slowly to the bed. He hugged her and rubbed circles on her upper back. “Phil went over the police reports. They had an anonymous tip about Rodrigo that didn’t pan out. He never left the country and they searched his home. No trace of Abby. Did you call in the tip?”
Jen huddled to his chest. “Y-yes. And Rodrigo hated me afterward and dumped me.”
“Don’t worry about him. What we have to do is figure out whether anyone really has Abby. This woman might have had Rey’s cell phone, but with Abby’s story on the internet, she could be blowing smoke.” His voice took on the take-charge CEO tone. “We have two purported DNA samples. The labs aren’t open on a Sunday evening, but I need you to create a build and install it on a portable hard drive.”
He let her go and walked to the living room.
Jen followed him. “I don’t have my laptop.”
“Use mine.” He dug into his briefcase and pulled out a laptop and a portable hard drive. “I’ll take the DNA samples in first thing tomorrow morning and pay the expedited fee to get it analyzed. If there’s a match, we take the proof to the police.”
Dave’s cell beeped with an incoming text. He handed it to Jen.
Tell my sister I’m at a movie. Why isn’t she picking up her cell? Christy.