I pour a full glass, take a sip, and let the wine soothe my throat. After wandering into my library—wine glass in one hand, the nearly full bottle of wine in the other—I sit at my desk and peruse a stack of papers.
Amy
Halfway through the night … can’t get the neighbor out of my head. Is he okay …? God! He could be dead.
I prop the broom against the wall and tiptoe over to Bryce and Tess’s room. Listen. Bryce is snoring the way he does when he’s conked out cold. Not a peep from Tess. I bite my lip. Creep over to the front door. Hold the latch with both hands … pinch down slowly … press against the door … open it just a crack. Stop … peek over my shoulder … listen for Bryce or Tess. Nothing. Hold my breath as I slip outside and close the door with barely a sound.
Down at the cove … I sigh. The man is gone … but his shovel! Oh no, he left it. If Bryce finds it here, that’ll be trouble. Why can’t the man just stay on his side of the lake? Leave us alone.
I pick up the shovel and carry it back to the shack. Hide it where I’m sure Bryce won’t look. Slip back inside and scurry around … try to be quiet … but the stove hatch, still hot … clangs when I set it down. Tiptoe to their bedroom door. Listen. Still sleeping.
Go back and polish the stove ’til my fingers ache … burn my hand a couple times… still doesn’t shine. Get down on my hands and knees … use an old toothbrush on seams in the floor. Keep listening for any peep out of Bryce or Tess. Wipe down the walls with soapy water … standing on a chair to reach the highest parts … even scrubbing the ceilings as much as I can. Most of it I do twice, just to be sure.
By morning I’m too tired to keep going. Hunch up in a corner and close my eyes. Can’t get the little girl’s picture out of my mind. Bet nobody touches her like Bryce touches me. Reach in my pocket for a crinkly red candy wrapper. Nothing. I stuffed it back in the knothole when Bryce called me down. Start to cry and can’t stop. The tears just spill out.
The bedroom door creaks open. My eyes are swollen, achy. Tess walks to the kitchen … runs her hand over the table … studies the stove. “You lazy bitch. What have you been doing all night?”
I stare at the floor. Answering will make matters worse.
“Think your ass is dragging now? It’ll be hell when you’re eight months pregnant.”
Tess leans in close … her breath sour.
“I got chewed out because of you. Can’t believe you were too damned lazy to hike up a little hill. Some gratitude. Bryce and I are probably the only reason you’re alive. But don’t worry. You’re going to pay for this.”
Bryce stumbles out of their bedroom. Plunks his butt down at the table. “What the hell do I have to do?
Ask
for my damn coffee?”
I rush over and set a cup in front of him and pour.
“Am I gonna get breakfast?”
I hurry back to the stove and load up a plate.
Tess says, “I found her napping when I got up this morning. Not even half her work done.”
Set the plate in front of him. Wanna say she’s lying. Wasn’t napping. Chores done. But he won’t care. Everything’s always my fault.
Bryce balls up his fist. It flies off the table—catches my jaw. My head snaps back … pain shoots through my teeth … neck. Land in Tess’s arms … she shoves me to the floor. “Don’t plan on me having your back, you little bitch.”
Shut my eyes tight. Not gonna let them see tears.
Jacob
D
awn’s broken. Haven’t seen the girl for a week—about the time of my ‘episode.’ How often in the past two years has she missed showing up? Hope she’s all right.
Time for my morning ritual—walk down to the dock, bait a hook and cast my line in the water. Ripples spread over the lake toward the opposite shore. Like a stock tip—the first ring is your insiders getting a heads-up, next it’s a select group of Wall Street traders, and so forth. When Main Street finally gets the word, it’s old news.
My throat tightens. A scene from my nightmare comes at me out of the blue. Celine is standing in plain view next to her kidnapper. They’re too far away for me to get a good look at his face. My cell rings. I glance down at the screen. Celine screams. I look up. She’s gone.
I reel in line. A tug. My rod bows. The girl’s picking up kindling on the other shore. I set down my rod and grab the binoculars, dial her into focus—want to be sure she’s okay.
Tires crunch on the gravel drive. I glance over. Carl’s black BMW. I look back across the lake, the girl’s not there. I check my line, it’s gone slack.
Carl steps out of the car. His idea of mountain-casual is starched pin-stripe shirt, creased trousers, and Italian loafers—sans coat and tie. He’s also wearing a smirk as he walks up onto the deck. “You look like you’ve lost your last friend. Except, I know you don’t have any.”
“Good morning to you, too. Just skip the psychoanalysis and tell me how the depositions went.”
“Nice to see there’s still some of the old Jacob Chandler left in you.”
“The depositions?”
“Just as your lawyers expected. The other side is shoring up their defense with witnesses to prove what an irrational bastard you turned into.”
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“Isn’t it a bit early?”
“I’m talking about coffee here. What … you think I’ve gone over the edge?” I raise an eyebrow.
“No. I’ve always known you’re nuts. CEO’s have to be.” Carl flashes a smug grin. “Make mine black.”
I frown just to let him know I’m not into his humor at the moment. “I know. We’re all just a hair’s breadth away from being serial killers.”
“That’s what the docs say at that famous mental hospital in England.”
I step toward the French doors that open into the kitchen. “Come on inside.”
Carl follows. “Their defense is that you ran a tight ship and kept everything on an even keel. Then the domestic violence allegations against Conroy surfaced, and you went psycho. You didn’t give the system a chance to do its job. That spooked everyone.”
“They’re reaching.” I draw two espresso shots into Carl’s cup.
“We hope the judge sees it that way. They say you broke your own HR policies and started bullying Conroy. He spiraled into depression. Committed suicide. They’re even trying to get their hands on your son’s suicide note to prove a pattern of abusive behavior. Office gossip is that Jesse took his own life because of the emotional scars you inflicted on him, especially after Celine’s kidnapping. If they’re successful, the board will press for a finding that your conduct puts the wrongful death judgment outside the indemnity clause of your employment contract.”
“I never mistreated my son.” I scrunch up my nose. “Two shots enough?”
“That may be, but everybody your lawyers deposed in your defense had a colorful anecdote that shores up the other side’s case.”
“If I was such a liability, why was the board pissed when I quit?”
“They were angry. Your abrupt exit made them worry. How many other screw-ups might come to light?”
“Okay, so give me the high and low points.”
“Their most damaging witness is your old admin, Madison. She recalls you hiring a private detective to spy on Jesse, and she claims you said something to the effect that there’s no punishment harsh enough for guys like Conroy, and that ‘… we should line them all up and push them off a cliff somewhere ….’”
I choke on my coffee. “She invented that.”
“That means a jury will have to choose who to believe.”
“So, what’s the good news?”
Carl grins. “Conroy was doing her … big time.”
“Who? Madison?”
He sighs. “Yeah, the poor girl thought he was going to dump his wife and marry her. Give her the life she always dreamed of.”
“Bastard.”
“Of course, the jury will have a tough time buying her testimony once they hear about the affair.”
I fidget with my cup. “Can I confess something, Carl?”
“Confess? How can a person confess if he doesn’t have a conscience?”
I gaze out over the lake. “If I’d had the chance to push Conroy off a cliff, I might have done it.”
Carl sits back and studies me. “You’re not serious? I thought the thing that separates guys like you from other psychopaths is that you don’t get your hands dirty.”
“Relax. Conroy spared me the trouble. He’s not a problem I have to worry about anymore. Besides, I’m a bit more connected to my softer side nowadays.”
Carl runs his fingers through his hair—too thick and black for guys our age. “Yeah, but losing this lawsuit could cost a lot. Hell, just trying the case is going to eat into the puny returns we’re squeezing out of this sluggish economy.”
“Money isn’t as big a deal to me as it used to be.”
Carl holds out his hands, palms up. “Have you been abducted by aliens? Money has always been at the top of your list—ahead of your family, friends ….”
“I don’t have any friends, remember.”
“My point exactly. Friends require trust. The only thing people trust you to do is to use them until they have nothing left to give.”
“Friends or no friends, my troops were always pretty loyal … and there were plenty of them around when I needed them.”
He sits back in his chair. “Not because they liked you … because they knew hanging onto your coattails was safer than being on the opposing team.”
“Ellen never felt that way.”
“Ellen wrote you off years ago. She would have divorced you half-a-dozen times if she wasn’t afraid you’d find a way to make her life even more miserable than it was. When you weren’t around to hear, she’d call you ‘a shell of a husband and father.’”
“So what you’re saying is that I’m a colossal ass.”
“That’s about the size of it. But since Celine went missing you’ve been all over the map. One minute you’re the old Jacob Chandler, the next you’re somebody else. Maybe it’s time you let her go and start living again. Whether or not you want to acknowledge it, you don’t have that many years left.”
“She didn’t go missing. She was taken. And, who knows what kind of hell she’s been through?”
“I get it, Jake. It haunts you. But you’re letting whoever took her make you a victim, too. Just like ….”
I look out over the lake—again. “Do you know how many victims there are out there? I mean, people’s lives that have been ruined by some low-life?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you talking about the corporate world, or life in general?”
“Don’t get cute. I’m serious.” I point to the other shore. “Take the girl who lives across that lake.”
Carl searches the shoreline. “What girl?”
“She’s not there now, but she was when you drove up.”
I shake my head. “Something’s not right. I mean, why is she over there every day tossing rocks in the lake when other kids her age go to school?”
“Maybe she’s home-schooled.”
“Why isn’t her mother teaching her something? The girl’s just loitering, wasting time.”
“Hey, teenagers go off by themselves and sulk. You just weren’t around enough when your kid was going through that stage.”
My chest tightens.
“Besides, why do you give a rip? She’s not your responsibility.”
“I just worry ….”
“You aren’t going soft are you? Guys like you aren’t supposed to worry about people.”
“The thing that scares me—”
“
You
being scared scares
me
. Pretending to be afraid to get the upper hand on someone is one thing, but actually being afraid—it’s not you.”
“Things are changing inside here …” I tap my chest “… that I don’t get. Know what I mean?”
“How old is she?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell. She could be fifteen, maybe sixteen.”
He leans back in his chair. “Jake, do you see what’s going on here?"
“What do you mean?”
“Are you sure you aren’t trying to turn this girl into Celine?”
“There’s something I haven’t told anyone about the day Celine was kidnapped.”
He shifts forward in his seat. “What do you mean?”
“Just that … let’s say I ….” I choke back tears.
“Christ, Jake. Are you okay?” He grips my wrist. “You don’t need to go there. Let’s just stay focused.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ….”
“About the girl over there. Be careful sticking your nose into your neighbor’s business. You could set yourself up for another expensive lawsuit. It wouldn’t take much of a lawyer to put her parents onto the scent of your billions.”
“Yeah, you’re looking out for my welfare … and your fat fee.”
“I’ve never seen you like this.”
“By the way, speaking of people getting into my pockets, I’m tired of these detective agencies and their dead ends. If this one doesn’t come up with something solid soon, I’m going to take things into my own hands. I should have done that in the first place. Celine would be home now, safe.”
Jacob
U
sed to be I wouldn’t hit the sack until 2:00 or so. Then up at 5:00. Anymore, 2:00 is when my bladder wakes me. My nightly ritual includes peeking out the sliding glass door to see if I can catch the bandit in the act. I’ve been leaving out small stuff in the unlocked Jeep as bait.
Tonight, nature’s call is early—1:30. When I glance outside, the Jeep’s interior light is on, and someone’s bobbing around in the driver’s seat. I duck to the floor and crawl over to the bed. My loaded $25,000 Beretta SO5 shotgun is propped next to the nightstand. I keep it there on the off chance something like this might happen.
I click off the safety, scoot to the wall next to the sliding-glass door, and stand. It doesn’t take much to goose open the slider a few inches—doesn’t make a sound, thanks to the silent track system. A muffled clunk outside tells me he just closed the Jeep door. I crane my neck and peek outside. A small figure crouches near the rear wheel.
I coax open the door wide enough to slip through. Thank God for quality hardware. The silhouette next to the Jeep, backlit by moonlight, stays put. One light-footed step at a time, I move onto the deck and over to the steps. No loose planks. Made sure of that, micromanaging every turn of each screw while the deck was being built.
Just as I draw the butt of the shotgun to my shoulder, the perp jerks around. I lower my weapon. It’s too dark to be sure, but something says this is the girl from across the lake. Before I calculate my next move, the figure bolts for the woods. My bare feet and 60-plus-year-old legs are no match for someone that quick. Besides, if it’s her, I know where she lives. I gaze out over the lake for a few minutes before retreating to my bedroom to slip on a pair of jeans and boots. I trade the shotgun for a flashlight. I don’t plan to confront her. Just checking things out.