'I'm happy. It's good. I just don't know how good yet. It could be her house, but it could also be a cell phone that she got somewhere along the way. If it's a cell, then the number won't tell us where she is, only where she got it. We need to check it out before I say anything more. Give me the number.'
Richard read the phone number.
'Area code 612,' said Demming. 'Give me a minute.' Richard could hear Demming clicking the keys of a computer. 'Minneapolis. The phone is from Minneapolis, anyway. Let me look into this, and I'll get back to you within a couple of hours.' There was a brief pause, and then Demming said, 'And Richard?'
'What?'
'You're ready for her, right?'
'What do you mean?'
'The house and everything? If we show up with her in a few days, you've got the place ready? She isn't going to wait until you're asleep and then walk out the front door again?'
'Oh, no. Don't worry. It's hard to know everything that could happen, but I think it's all set.'
'I'm glad to hear that. But maybe I'll have Sybil take a look around this morning and see if she has any suggestions.'
'That would be good,' said Richard. 'I'd appreciate that.'
22
Linda Welles felt reluctant to go out tonight, but she wasn't quite sure why. Nothing had happened. It was nine in the evening, the time when she had found it was best to go out shopping. After night had fallen she usually felt a bit safer than in daylight. People were out, but not in such crowds, and they couldn't see her as well. The ones who were out buying groceries were too tired to pay much attention to her. They had worked all day, then probably cooked and washed dishes, then had to drag themselves out to buy more food, a process that would leave little time before going to bed and starting over tomorrow. As long as Linda was back home before around ten- thirty, the ratio of good people to people who made her nervous was very high.
The thought of the timing made her want to get started before more minutes went by. She picked up her list from the kitchen counter, put it into her purse, and went to the door. Before she took her hand out of the purse, she touched the center section, so she could feel the reassuring hard, round shape of the gun inside. She locked her door, walked down the hall to the back stairs, opened the steel door a few inches, and looked before she entered the underground garage. Linda was glad that nobody else was there, even though she knew it was not a wise preference. The more neighbors who knew her and watched out for her the safer she would be, but she didn't feel much like cheerful conversation right now. She got into her gray Passat, locked the doors, started the engine, drove to the ramp, and pressed the remote control to open the steel grate.
She drove up to street level, stopped to see if anyone was coming, and then whether there was anyone parked nearby, and drove out to the traffic signal at the entrance to the apartment complex. She drove the half mile to the parking lot of the big grocery store, turned left into the lot, and looked for a parking space. She felt the urge to park very close to the entrance this time, but she knew that impulse was laziness. It wasn't smart to have her car sitting right out there under the bright lights. People would see her get out of the Passat, and know that was where to wait for her when she came out. Linda drove to the far edge of the lot, where there was less light, and parked at the end of the last row of cars. She got out, locked the car door, dropped her keys in her purse, and took a few steps toward the store.
The car seemed to appear behind her rather than to drive up. Suddenly it was there, over her left shoulder. Doors opened, and two men lurched out toward her. It was a second before she recognized Steve Demming and realized the other must be Pete Tilton. She thought of the gun in her purse, slung the strap off her shoulder, but wasn't fast enough. Demming snatched the purse away from her and tossed it to Sybil Landreau. Linda tried to scream, but the two men were so strong and fast that they had her in the back seat of their car between them before she could make a sound, and one of them slapped a length of duct tape across her mouth, so her scream became a muffled moan. The doors slammed, and she could see Sybil Landreau moving quickly toward the gray Passat, fumbling in Linda's purse.
She found the keys, held them up so Linda's captors could see them, then began to open Linda's car. In an instant the captors' car shot forward, and Linda's surprise made her notice the driver. She saw blond hair, and knew it was Claudia Marshall.
Linda tried to struggle to turn her body—didn't anybody see what was happening? But the two men on either side of Linda clutched her arms tightly, so she couldn't move.
'Don't,' said Demming. 'We can fight you all the way back to San Diego if you want, but you won't enjoy it.'
IT WAS THE SEVENTH breakfast. Ruby Beale walked out of the kitchen, along the back hallway that ran the length of the big house, carrying a loaded tray. She held it high, balanced in her left hand with surprisingly little effort, as though it weren't heavy. She was big and blond and in her fifties, with a face that was in the process of changing from a ripe beauty to a preview of how she was going to look as an old lady. The blue eyes that must have been striking even ten years ago were half-hidden by puffy cheeks and lids. The skin above her full, red upper lip had wrinkled, and the soft skin on her neck and under her chin had begun to loosen. Her body still had the same rounded hourglass proportions, but it had widened everywhere.
She stopped at a door near the back of the house, put her ear to the wood for a few seconds before she straightened and knocked with one plump pink hand. She nodded to herself, took a key on a ring from her apron pocket, unlocked the door, pushed it open with her hip, and pivoted inside holding her tray. 'Hi, honey. It's me, and I've got your breakfast.'
She set the tray on the table at the wall of the room away from the window and looked at the girl on the bed pretending to read a magazine. 'How are we doing today, sweetie?'
'I don't know about you,' said Christine. 'I'm doing shitty.'
Ruby lifted the pitcher of orange juice and poured it into a glass, then looked back at Christine. 'I've got poached eggs, toast, some really nice blueberry jam, some honey—everything organic. What would you like on your toast?'
'A set of keys.' Christine looked away from Ruby at the window.
'Don't let your eggs get cold.'
'I'm not hungry.'
Ruby followed Christine's eyes. The window was old-fashioned and pretty, vaguely French, consisting of two small doors with panes of glass that opened inward. The steel burglar-proofing bars on the outside were nicely spaced so they matched the laths between panes. They weren't at all obtrusive unless the window was open, and then the five acres of lawns and gardens were visible. 'Don't worry,' she said. 'It won't always be like this.'
'How can it not be?' said Christine. 'You kidnapped me.'
'I kidnapped you?
'You know what I mean.'
Ruby stepped closer and sat at the foot of the bed. 'Things sometimes happen in life that at the time don't happen the way we'd like them to. Maybe the bride is pregnant, maybe somebody gets a speeding ticket on the way to the church, maybe there's rain on the reception. But these things pass, and after a while, you don't remember all the particulars. What you remember you forgive and forget. It's like that in every family.'
'I'm not in your family.'
'You're my only son's wife, and that's my grandchild in your belly.'
'That wasn't a legal marriage. It's not real.'
'Let's not waste our time arguing. You and I are a lot more alike than you can admit in your present mood. When you get to know me, you're going to like me a lot. I'm going to be your friend, somebody that in the end, you'll be glad you met. We're going to have fun and we're going to be happy.'
'Sometimes I think you're actually crazy. I was minding my own business thousands of miles away, when your gang of thugs dragged me across about ten states to get me here. I'm a prisoner. I'm locked in here. You're all criminals.'
Ruby slowly moved her head from side to side with a kind of empathy. 'Think of it as an arranged marriage.
