“Hold it!” he barked. I froze. “What are you reaching for?”
“The registration papers. In the glove box.” I risked a glance back at him, but all I could see was the gaping black tunnel of the gun barrel. His middle name must be Quick Draw.
“All right, don’t make any sudden moves.” He trained the light on the glove box, and with the studied movements of a Bhuto dancer I reached over, clicked open the little door, and brought out the papers I could feel.
When I faced him he holstered his gun once more and picked up my wallet from the ground by his feet. He held the light on my face for a century before moving it to the picture on my license. “Your name is Louisa McGuire?”
“Yes, of course, but—”
He gave a nod, and took the registration.
“Please,” I tried again, “you’ve got to—”
“Your name is not on this registration,” he growled. “Is this your car?”
“No! It’s Bob’s car, and he’s—”
“Do you have the owner’s permission to drive this vehicle?”
“He was with me and he—”
“He’s not with you now.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you! There’s been a kidnapping!”
His eyebrows shot up. “What! Your child has been kidnapped?”
“No! Not my child. I don’t have a child. I'm talking about Bob.”
He glanced at the registration again. “That would be the Robert Richardson who owns this vehicle? Isn’t he the guy who’s staying in the old stone house out by the river?”
I nodded, remembering one reason I had married and gone to live in Seattle, which is about a million people and fifty thousand acres bigger than Willow Falls. Even people you’ve never met know all your business here.
“What makes you think Mr. Richardson has been kidnapped?
“He got into that Mercedes I was following with a woman in a red suit. You’ve got to catch them!”
“Where did this take place?”
“At the Food Right. I was waiting in the car and then he came out with this woman and got in her car and—”
He seemed not to be listening to me. He looked at my driver’s license again, and back at my face. “Aren’t you Kay Chelton’s cousin?”
I squinted to read the nametag over the shirt pocket. “E. Johnson.” Oh no.
The E stood for Ed, and he and my cousin had a fling a few months ago that had ended badly, at least for her.
“That’s right,” I said. “But listen, you’ve got to catch that car and—”
He straightened and looked down Prairie Avenue in the direction I'd been going. It’s a straight, flat street and you can see a long way. “What car?”
Chapter Two
No Mercedes in sight. They could have taken the ramp onto the freeway a few blocks away or turned off anywhere or just gone straight and been out of sight by now. “The car I would have caught if you hadn’t stopped me.” I sounded cross because I was biting back an epithet. Small town policemen usually don’t like to hear women cursing them.
He turned back from gazing down Prairie. “What makes you think he’s been kidnapped?”
“Why else would he leave the store with a stranger and drive off in her car?”
“She might not have been a stranger to him. And you did say she was a blonde.”
“Okay, but why wouldn’t he tell me he was going with her? Bob is not a rude person.”
Officer Johnson nodded. “It does seem odd that he would go off and leave his car like that.”
Thanks a lot, I thought.
He went on, “Are you sure he didn’t look over and wave or anything?”
“No,” I insisted. “I saw them as soon as they came out of the store and watched them walk to her car. Well, I had to wipe some steam off the windows.”
“How did she make him go with her? Did you observe any visible coercion?”
“I—I don’t know. He came out first with her right behind him. What do you mean by visible coercion? She wasn’t pushing him or anything.”
“Could she have had a weapon?”
“I think she must have. They were walking really close together.”
“But you didn’t see a gun or knife or anything.”
“Well, no, but she kept her hand in her pocket the whole time, so I think she must have been holding something,” I said.
He considered me with narrowed eyes, flexing his shoulders as though they were stiff. “That’s a mighty peculiar story.”
“Of course it is! That’s why I followed them!”
“All right, give me a description of the car and I'll put out an APB on it.”
“It’s a gray Mercedes, an older one, with the doodad thing on the hood.”
“License number?”
I said nothing.
“You didn’t get the license number?”
“Well, it was dark and raining and I was still trying to catch them,” I hedged. “A Pinto got between us part of the way.” No way would I admit that I never once thought of the license number.
He sighed at me. “What about the woman? Can you give me a description of her?”
“She was maybe five foot six. Blonde hair, chin length, a nice figure. She wore a red skirted suit and matching high heels. Very high heels.”
“Age?”
“I couldn’t tell. She was too far away. She could have been anything from twenty five to fifty.”
He chewed on his lower lip. “All right,” he said at last. “I'm not going to give you a speeding ticket this time.” He proffered my license and the registration papers. “I don’t think you need to worry about Mr. Richardson. In my professional opinion a man who drives off in a Mercedes instead of a Honda with a blonde in red high heels is not being kidnapped, but if you get a ransom note or anything you let me know.”
“That’s your professional opinion?” I grabbed my wallet and the registration and flung them on the passenger seat. “I so appreciate your professionalism.” The rain had stopped, which I regretted. I would have loved for him to get very wet. I restarted the car.
He stepped back. “Mrs. McGuire, drive more carefully than you were when I stopped you. And one more thing…”
I looked at him. Okay, I glared at him.
“How is Kay these days?”
Kay? Bob had been kidnapped and he’s asking about Kay? “She’s doing very well.” I let the unspoken words, “without you,” hang in the air between us. I cranked up the window, turned on the left blinker and pulled back onto the road.
I drove a couple of blocks at an ostentatiously moderate pace, trying to bring my angry breathing under control. I felt like I had several heads on my shoulders, all talking at the same time. One said in an annoyingly sensible, know-it-all voice that I should listen to Officer Johnson, there was no reason to worry. People did inexplicable things all the time. Bob could have any number of reasons to ditch me in a grocery store parking lot for a curvy blonde in a red suit. Another voice gave an insinuating laugh and said she could think of at least one. Still another answered back vociferously that Bob was too nice a person to leave me sitting in his car, wondering what had happened to him. And one had some choice words about Officer Johnson and his professional opinion.
I signaled left to go around the block. “All of you, be quiet,” I said out loud. “We’re going to make sure that we didn’t follow some look-alike stranger.”
Immediately the know-it-all chimed in. “Don’t be ridiculous, you know what Bob looks like. And how many middle aged men in Willow Falls wear canvas high tops?”
“There could be at least two,” I answered back. “I haven’t known Bob very long, it's the proverbial dark and stormy night, and the windows were all steamed up. This could be just a weird mix up. I might have been wrong about what I saw. Now let me concentrate on driving. I will scream if I am pulled over by the police again tonight, especially if it's the same cop.”