“Abby, what’s happened?”
“I’ll explain after she looks at the picture and you call me back, okay?”
“I’ll be online in a sec. Take it easy. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
He hung up, and all I could do was walk in circles, matching the swirl in my brain with my feet. Harrison Foster didn’t scam my sister to get her money. He scammed her to get close to an investigation that threatened to open up his ugly box of secrets. Took advantage of her so he could hang around and put tracking devices on my car, show up anywhere I went as I followed the clues. Hell, I’ll bet he even pumped Kate for information, and did it all with his dimpled, guileless smile.
He probably couldn’t get to Emma’s house fast enough once the TV stations and radio news programs had broadcast their breaking story about city workers finding baby bones under a demolished house. The photo of Emma and me had appeared in the Chronicle the next day, and Harrison Foster was in business. When he searched the Internet and learned I had a sister, he must have felt like he hit the jackpot.
But the only real proof was a photo of a girl who looked like Shannon. What if Loreen didn’t recognize Beth Foster as the pregnant woman she and Christine had cleaned for? What did I have then? Jeff, come on. Call me back.
And then I remembered the notebook. Had White found it, or had Emma tossed it? I grabbed my purse and fumbled through all the useless things I insist on carrying around until I found Don White’s crumpled card, the one he’d given me the night Jerry Joe Billings had been murdered.
I called his cell, and he answered right away with a brusque, “White here.”
“It’s Abby,” I said. “Did Emma let you look in the storage unit for the notebook?”
“What’s going on, Abby? You sound in a panic.”
“I am. The notebook?”
“I’m looking at it, so you can cool your jets. Checking out all these names might take us-”
“There are names?”
“Oh, yeah. But like I said-”
“Can you look for one name in particular?”
“Sure. But what have you got?”
“I think a man named Harrison Foster might be who we’re looking for. Can you check and see if he or his wife, Beth Foster, was a client of Christine’s?”
“Sure, but how’d you find this out, Abby?” he asked.
I wanted to scream at him to shut up and just do what I asked, but I managed to say calmly, “Please, Don. Look for the name first. It’s important.”
What seemed a decade later he said, “It’s here. She cleaned for a Mr. and Mrs. Harrison Foster on Wednesdays.”
There it was. Proof. And I suddenly wanted to throw up.
“Tell me what’s going on, Abby.”
“This man almost killed my aunt this morning. He’s been dating my sister to get close to us. You need to find him. Now.” I gave White the addresses from the PI report, and he said he was on it.
I hung up and the other phone rang. The landline. The caller ID read HEWITT BANK AND TRUST, where we have our CompuCan accounts-the computer business that Daddy left us. What the hell did they want? I couldn’t deal with company business right now. But when the answering machine offered the caller a chance to leave a message, I heard a voice I recognized. “This is Jane Edgar from Hewitt Bank and Trust. It is urgent that I speak with Abigail Rose immediately concerning-”
I snatched up the phone, knowing that Jane Edgar wouldn’t use the word urgent if she didn’t mean it. “This is Abby. What is it, Jane?”
“This concerns a transfer of funds, Abby. Can you please verify your address?”
“Transfer of funds? Verify my address?” I said, confused.
“I must verify-”
“You know me. You know where I live. What’s this about?”
“I have to go through standard procedure on this, check your passwords, everything. You’ll understand soon enough. Please, let’s go through the steps so I can document that I followed bank protocol.”
I gave her what she wanted, even had to bring up my accounts online and look for a specific account number.
When I was finished with her “standard procedure,” Jane said, “We have a request to transfer five hundred thousand dollars from the joint account you share with your sister, Katherine Rose. It’s to go to a numbered account in the Cayman Islands. As per this account agreement, we must have your authorization to do this for any amount over ten thousand dollars.”
I couldn’t speak. I felt like I was listening to a radio not tuned in to any station, one just giving off static.
“Abby? Are you there?”
“Um… can I check into this and get back to you? Meanwhile, don’t move any money, okay?”
“I think that’s wise,” she said solemnly. “Please ask for me when you call back.” She disconnected.
I slowly replaced the handset in its cradle. I felt like I was drowning, struggling in a current that threatened to suck me under. There was only one reason Kate would need that kind of money.
Foster. He had her.
And she’d done the one thing she could to send me a message. Rather than transfer money from any of her private accounts, she chose the business account, knowing the bank would call me.
Yes. He had her. But where? How could I find her? What would happen if I didn’t okay the money transfer? What would happen if I did?
A cold sweat dampened my forehead, and I tasted blood. I’d bitten my bottom lip without even feeling any pain.
My cell rang, and I started before I grabbed it up. Jeff.
Before he could say a word, I said, “He has her. Foster has Kate, and we have to find her before it’s too late. But I don’t know how to find her and-”
“Hold on, hon. Slow down and explain.”
I did, but the words came out as a halting, jumbled mess, and I thought I’d have to say everything all over again, but Jeff got it.
“Okay, I understand. We’re going to find Kate. Right now, you need to take a few deep breaths-get some oxygen to that very fine brain of yours so we can work on this together.”
I closed my eyes and inhaled, but when I exhaled, the release of air was shaky, and my jaw quivered. “What in hell do we do, Jeff?”
“I’m calling this in to SWAT as a possible hostage situation. The report you sent me has enough information about Foster to offer plenty of leads. Loreen recognized the woman in the picture as the pregnant client she and Christine cleaned for. Must be Foster’s wife. She’s probably in on this, knows the kid she’s been raising isn’t her biological child. We’ll have to get someone out to her house.”
“Could Kate be there?”
“It’s possible.”
“Can I go? I won’t get in the way. I just need-”
“What you need to do is sit tight. If Foster can’t get his money through Kate, if he figures out she’s alerted you, he may call you for ransom.”
“He’s trying to get away, isn’t he? And that means he wouldn’t need to… to harm her. He could take the money and go away and Kate could come home. Can we make that happen, Jeff?”
“Abby, do not okay that transfer. For now, he may be unaware there’s a problem with the account, and we can catch him off guard.”
“Catch him off guard where? I mean, what if he’s not at his house? What if she was forced to get the money another way or he got angry with her and-”
“Please, hon. Don’t do this to yourself. We will find her. But I need to make a few calls to set things in motion. DeShay and White will probably come to your house, perhaps bring a SWAT commander.”
“I already talked to White and asked him to look for Foster. He found the notebook, and Foster’s name was there.”
“Good. Try to stay calm. I wish I could be there, too, but I can’t leave Doris. Bringing her along wouldn’t-”