Aurora dialed Uncle Charlie’s home phone and prayed his answering machine would pick up. She couldn’t talk to him, not right now. He would insist she tell him everything, wouldn’t leave her alone until she did. The caller had instructed her not to notify the police, or Sam would die. Yes, a message would work better.
“Judge Charles Anderson here. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
She left a message. “Uncle Charlie, this is Aurora. I can’t explain now, but if you don’t hear from me by mid-day tomorrow, Sunday, please come to the house and turn on the computer. You know where Dad kept a house key hidden out in the barn in Frosty’s old stall; the key is still there. My password is ‘crossstitch,’ and the file name is ‘Wyeth’ located on drive C.”
Then she gathered up the pictures and stuck them in a large Manila envelope. She pulled the necklace out of the junk drawer in the kitchen, wrapped it in paper towels, and stuck it in a zip lock bag. She stiffened as she started to close the drawer. Her dad’s old scout knife stuck out from under a piece of paper. The motto “Be Prepared” stared up at her. You’re telling me something, Dad. And I hear you. She snatched up the knife and wedged it inside her sneaker. She grabbed her car keys, fed King, and put him in the dog pen. He whined and looked hopefully at her.
“Sorry King, you can’t go.” Aurora climbed in the car and drove off.
Normally, the drive along Route 626 relaxed her, but the rolling fields, gray-blue mountains, and green forests didn’t affect her today. She swerved to avoid hitting a dead skunk on the road. Funny how buzzards don’t pick skunks clean the way they do other animals. She wondered if it was sight or smell that attracted buzzards. Soon she reached the park entrance and stopped at the gate to pay the park ranger.
Senses alert, Aurora drove into Smith Mountain Lake State Park. She met a few cars near the entrance gate, and passed a couple of hikers just as she turned onto Interpretative Trail Road. Were the two hikers part of the scheme? She decelerated, studied them through the rear view mirror, and decided the elderly women were harmless. On most days, she would stop the car to gaze at a red tail hawk circling high in the sky searching for prey. But not today. She slowed when she reached Overnight Road and began looking for Cabin 171E. Aurora didn’t notice the young fawn, dressed in nature’s spotted camouflage, that watched her progress, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.
When she located Cabin 171E, she saw that the cabin was accessible both by car and boat. Blue jays squawked and crows cawed, upset over this human intrusion, but Aurora never heard them. She parked the car, shut off the engine, and re-read the instructions. She couldn’t afford to foul up; Sam’s life was too precious. Picking up the necklace and the picture packet from the passenger seat, she walked to the cabin and, per instructions, looked neither to the right nor left. She felt the hairs standing up on the back of her neck. She knew she was being watched.
She opened the cabin door, placed the envelope in the white Styrofoam cooler to the left of the door, and backed out the door. Resisting the temptation to look back, Aurora turned and walked directly to her car, climbed in and drove out of the park.
The deed was done. Now she would drive to Hales Restaurant at the bridge to wait for further instructions and for the kidnappers to release Sam. She prayed they would keep their part of the bargain.
“Do you believe it? Like, did he really think I would, like, fall for that old excuse?” The young woman seated at a table near Aurora waved her arms as she poured out her woes to her girl friend. Aurora’s ears perked up, then dismissed the conversation when she learned it concerned a two-timing fiancé.
More snatches of restaurant conversations registered in her head, but none seemed relevant to her situation. A group of ladies from the Red Hat Society talked and laughed at two tables across the room. A building contractor and his foreman, each on his third beer, laughed about the money they would pocket by using cheaper grades of lumber, concrete, and roofing materials than specified in the contract. At the table next to Aurora, a lone woman sat by herself, tapping her foot impatiently as she looked at her watch. She’s like me. Alone, waiting for someone. Wonder if her husband is a prisoner, too.
A tall, well-dressed man entered the room, glanced in Aurora’s direction, and headed toward her. This is it. This is the contact I’m waiting for.
Aurora half stood as the man advanced. When he held out his hands and tenderly grasped those of the woman seated at the table beside hers, Aurora blushed, glanced around the room to see if anyone noticed, and sat back down. She felt like a fool. She picked up her fork and pushed the slice of sweet pickle around on her plate, bit into her grilled cheese sandwich, now cold, and sipped her white wine, now warm.
She jumped when a feminine voice beside her said, “Aren’t you the lady who designs cross-stitch kits?” Not waiting for a reply, the heavy-set, middle-aged woman wearing red and white checkered slacks, babbled, “I’ve been looking at you from across the room for almost an hour, trying to figure out where I’ve seen you. Then it dawned on me; you’re the lady who designs cross-stitch kits for fanatics like me. Your picture’s on the back of the packages. My husband, he’s the man over there in the parasailing T-shirt, said I’ve lost my mind. But I haven’t, have I? I just love your creations. I collect your kits whenever I see one. Are you here to produce another?”
“No, I’m here for my mother’s funeral,” answered Aurora. Is this my contact? She wondered. She would find out soon enough.
“Oh, I’m so sorry I bothered you. But you do design cross-stitch kits, do you not?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I’ll leave you alone, but first, would you please autograph my napkin?”
“I’ll be happy to,” said Aurora as she dug in her purse for a pen. “What’s your name?”
“Nadine.”
Aurora forced a smile, signed the napkin, then expecting written instructions for her to follow, she turned the napkin over. No message was there.
“I can’t wait to tell my friends in our cross-stitch club that I met you and show them your autograph. They’ll be so envious. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome,” Aurora said as the woman scampered back to her table and waved the napkin triumphantly in her husband’s face.
An hour and a half passed. Nothing unusual had happened. The waiter looked in her direction and started toward her. Aurora wished she were invisible. She groaned. All this time she’d ordered only one sandwich and one glass of wine. The waiter had asked several times if she wanted her check. Now he was probably going to tell her that people were waiting to be seated. She glanced around the room and saw no empty tables. But instead of asking her to leave, the waiter handed her a slip of paper and walked off.
At first Aurora thought it was just her check, but when she fingered it, she realized there was a yellow note stuck on the back. She read the note three times. Then she put a ten-dollar bill on the table, drained her wine glass, gathered up her jacket and purse, and left the noisy, crowded restaurant. An acquaintance sitting with friends at a table recognized her and called her name, but Aurora only waved and kept going. Once outside, she hurried toward the marina per the explicit instructions the waiter had handed her.
All types of boats—pontoon, fishing, houseboats, speedboats and high-performance boats—floated in the calm water, bobbing gently when some passing boat’s wake washed against them. Aurora passed the rental boats and moved on to the wooden piers that stretched out from the shore like orderly tree branches. Today not even the gleaming Chris-Craft, the antique wooden Owens cabin cruiser, or the sleek Fountain Powerboat interested her. Tied up in the last and largest slip floated the houseboat she sought. The man standing on the bow waved her aboard. She stepped onto the gangplank.
I know we’re in grave danger. But there’s no way in hell I’ll abandon you, Sam. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.
Together Sam and I will live—or die.