CHAPTER SIX

 

 

“We’ll take this in for fingerprint analysis and let you know what we find out,” Detective Jimmy Merrick said to Amanda. She stood in the middle of the room, rubbing her hands over her arms as if she couldn’t get warm. “If you hear anything at all, call me right away.”

I was standing in the Ghering’s spacious living room, listening to Merrick, a tall, red-haired guy in wrinkled gray pants, white shirt and blue sport coat, his tie askew, wrapping up his interview with Amanda about the ransom note.

I had arrived just as the detectives were finishing. Merrick had the ransom note in a Ziploc bag, but he begrudgingly showed it to me after I showed him my driver’s license, verifying who I said I was. He wasn’t at all impressed with my presence, but Amanda made a scene about the police interfering with her right to hire an outside investigator. Merrick shrugged his shoulders, but offered little in the way of information. His partner, Randy Cash, had already gone.

“You want one last look?” Merrick said to me, holding up the baggy. Sarcasm dripped like sap at his offer.

“No, I think I’ve got it committed to memory,” I said with just as much bite in my tone. If I couldn’t remember the note, I should get out of the business, for it consisted of two lines. The first said, “One million - cash.” The second, “We will be in touch.” Printed on white paper, almost certainly done on a computer. Hardly anyone used a typewriter anymore. The note, paper, and print type were so common that I didn’t expect any possible clues from it.

“Mrs. Ghering,” Merrick nodded curtly to her and turned to leave, almost running into the massive Christmas tree.

“Thanks for your help,” I said, acting on Amanda’s behalf as Merrick sidestepped the tree on his way to the entryway. I felt like a butler escorting him out.

“Watch yourself.”

“Excuse me?” I said.

Merrick held the door open, and he met my eyes with a cold gaze. “Watch yourself with her. She’s not what she seems.”

“How would you know?”

“Too many years on the job.”

I searched his face, but nothing accompanied the warning. His face had the expression of a corpse. “Thanks for the tip,” I said. Merrick stepped out into the cool night. I watched the detectives drive off in a white four-door sedan, then walked back into the living room and sat down.

“Now you see why I hired you,” Amanda said as she slumped down into a leather chair across from me. She picked up a martini glass from an mahogany end table and swished the last droplets around, then tossed the drink back. With the other hand she twirled a curl of her hair, pulled it straight, then let it flop back onto her forehead. I had watched her do the same nervous motion while the detectives talked to her.

“They seemed competent,” I said.

“Ha!” she spat at me. “They’re not going to do anything. Pat the poor woman on the hand and leave.” She managed her words carefully, in the way heavy drinkers do so no one knows they're drunk.

“They don’t have much to go on,” I said. I knew from our earlier phone call that upon returning from the country club, she'd discovered the note slipped partway under the doormat on the front porch. It had been folded in half, delivered without an envelope. She had called me right away.

“Does this mean that Peter’s dead?” she asked, a hazy look on her face.

I stood up and walked over to her, taking her glass away. “I doubt it. In most cases, if the kidnappers ask for ransom, they keep the hostage alive so they can get the money. Kind of like leverage.” I had no idea if this was true, but it sounded comforting. It seemed to work for her.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, standing up. She grabbed the glass from me and walked a shaky path to a minibar at the far end of the room. She set the glass down with a clunk, poured Stolichnaya vodka into it, added a dash of vermouth, dropped a green olive in the concoction, and meandered back to her chair, sipping the drink as she went.

“Can you come up with that kind of money?”

“I don’t know. I may have to involve his parents.”

“They don’t know anything?”

“Of course not. We don’t talk to them much at all, the holidays mostly.” She sucked the olive from the glass. While munching on it she said, “I didn’t see any need to worry them, not when I didn’t know what was going on.”

“But you thought he was dead. That’s seems like a good reason to involve them.”

“Why tell them anything when I didn’t know for sure? They’d be angrier at me for upsetting them needlessly if it all turned out okay.” She tipped her head back and finished off the vodka. Her words were becoming more slurred. “You don’t know Peter’s parents. They’re as insensitive as he is. Was. Oh god.” She turned her head to the side and let out a sob, then recovered enough to head back to the minibar.

“What about your parents?”

“My parents certainly don’t have that kind of money,” she said as she mixed yet another martini.

“Do they know what’s going on?”

She guzzled the drink down and said, “No, and I don’t intend to tell them either. Not until this is resolved.” She turned to face me, leaning against the bar for support. Anger and alcohol turned her face splotchy red. “If you must know, Peter and I don’t have much contact with our families. They resented our getting married, and the rift begun then remains. That’s the way they want it, so I haven’t told them anything.”

I watched her, contemplating this beautiful woman with a growing pity. Amanda Ghering, at the present moment, was a pathetic, drunken mess. I sighed as I watched her twirling her hair. I had a lot of questions about what was going on, but I decided against asking anything now. I stood up. “I don’t know what we can accomplish at the moment. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She turned her wet, mascara-smeared eyes to me. “Please, don’t go. It’s so lonely here.” She reached a bejeweled hand out to me.

“I thought you didn’t have affairs.”

She smiled. “There’s a first time for everything.”

I was flattered, but as I looked into her hazy eyes, I knew that now was definitely not the time. I shook my head at her and left. As I opened the front door, I glanced back. She was walking back to the minibar, fixing another drink.