24

 

Cora watched mile after mile of arid landscape whiz by, and hoped to catch sight of something…anything familiar. Her nose twitched. “Oh, no.” She grabbed Emily’s arm and pointed to the hood. “Look! Steam.”

“It’s overheating.” Emily pulled to the side of the road. The car jerked to a stop and the loose rear fender fell off. “We’re not going anywhere in this rattletrap.”

The be-robed twins took a deep breath and grudgingly stepped out of the car. Cora bumped her foot on the door and winced in pain. “Ouch.” The deep gash on her ankle throbbed even more. “Em, come help me fix this bandage.”

“That looks awful, Sis. You may need stitches when we get home. I’ll double-wrap it for now. Hand me the first-aid kit Rhapsody gave us.”

While Cora put her bloodstained duck slipper back on, her twin surveyed the area. Emily found no shield from either sun or abductors. “I’m sorry, we have no choice but to walk.”

“We’re going to get burned to a crisp out in this sun.”

“You’re right.” Emily went to the back of the car. “I’ll look in the trunk to see if she has an umbrella. You grab our water and don’t forget the purse.” The trunk opened with a pathetic groan. “No umbrellas. Sorry. Umm, Cora-dear, how much dignity do you have left?”

Cora frowned. “And why would you ask?”

“Because I’ve got good news and bad news. Good news is we have protection from the sun.” Emily stepped into Cora’s line of view with an over-sized sombrero on her head. “This is the bad news.”

“Oh great.” Cora read the advertisement on the hat. “Happy Hot Birthday from Paco’s Tacos? And what, may I ask, are those hangy-down things?”

Emily giggled. “Peppers. So, do you want the red ones or the green ones?”

“Just gimme a stupid hat.”

“Here, take the green one. It compliments your fetching frock.”

Plastic peppers dangled before their eyes as they began their trek. Cora’s slippers continued their annoying quack and phttt with each step she took. For a half-hour they trudged through the relentless heat waves that hovered across the asphalt road.

Cora noticed a cloud of blowing dust on the horizon. She grabbed her sister’s arm and pointed. “Uh-oh. Looks like we have company. Think it’s a good guy or a bad guy?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Cora’s heart raced as the vehicle drew closer.

An SUV pulled up alongside them. Wendell rolled down his tinted window. “Well, if it ain’t Thelma an’ Louise. I thought we was gonna meet at Lickety Splits.”

The frazzled women lifted their sombreros and sighed with relief. Cora was first to speak. “I’m so glad to see you, Wendell. The car died, and we’ve been so afraid the kidnappers would catch up with us.”

Wendell hopped out of his Cherokee and helped them into the backseat, while Vi Ashton captured the rescue on film. The colorful sombreros were stacked in the seat between them.

Vi lowered the camera and retrieved her notebook. “Where were you held hostage? Do you know who the kidnapper is?”

“It was the Catchpenny Motel. I’ll never forget that nasty place.” Cora shuddered. “There were two kidnappers.”

“The gal’s name is Rita Santalis.” Emily looked out the rear window. “Where are the police? Weren’t you going to bring them with you?”

“Well, we talked to one cop.” Wendell huffed. “All capped teeth an’ phony charm, that boy was, he didn’t believe us. Once we pull up with both of you in tow, he’ll be whistlin’ a different tune.”

The maroon-haired reporter grabbed her camera and ordered, “Wendell, I need shots of that getaway car. Then, swing by the Catchpenny.”

Cora came up off her seat. “Don’t you dare take us back to that roach motel. Just get us as far away as possible.”

“Rita’s looking for us,” Emily said. “If El Bandido is with her, we’ll be shot on sight.”

A deep groan came from the driver’s seat. “Ya got yourself a point, there. S’pose we ought-a think it through a tad more, Lady Reporter?” When no answer came, he said, “How come you’re so quiet all of a sudden?”

“Just thinking about where to send this headline story. I still have connections at the Washington Post and a few other choice newspapers and magazines. My anchorman-friend in D.C. will be excited to get a firsthand account of the kidnapping, too. From there, it could go global.” A conspiratorial glance was passed between the driver and reporter.

“Yee-haw! Move over, Dahlia Sue. Ya ain’t gonna be the only celebrity in the fam’ly.”

“I can see the headlines, now,” Vi said. “Famous cook’s spouse cooks kidnapper’s goose.”

“Aw, you’re killin’ me, here.”

Vi laughed and removed the lens cap from her camera as the Cherokee pulled to a stop beside the lime green car. “Well, first things first. I need to get pictures of the car, and then the motel. I’ll have you pose in some.”

It was Emily’s turn to come up off her seat. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’re risking four lives just to get a picture for the paper?”

“Tell ya what,” Wendell offered. “If anybody even looks shifty, we won’t stop. We’ll just make it a drive by so Vi can shoot her pitchers.” He chuckled. “Could call it a drive-by shootin’.” He adjusted the rearview mirror and glanced at the exhausted women’s reaction. “Lay low, gals, an’ I’ll get ya home safe, an’ that there’s a promise.”

A few miles down the road, the dead silence was interrupted by Vi’s prolonged bout of coughing. With shaky hands, she tucked a cigarette in her mouth.

Wendell threw the self-imposing passenger a look that could curdle milk. “Don’t smoke in the Cherokee.”

“I don’t see any ‘no smoking’ signs.”

“I got asthma. That’s why I ain’t a Texas Ranger like my daddy an’ his daddy—”

“Yeah, yeah. Afore him, I know.” Vi took the cigarette from her mouth and pointed out the windshield. “There’s the Catchpenny.” The reporter poised her camera with the telephoto lens and snapped pictures of the rundown motel.

Emily reclined in the back seat while Cora wriggled down to a more comfortable position. They grabbed their sombreros to hide their faces while Vi’s camera clicked repeatedly.

“Now, Wendell, get out and let me get a shot with you pointing to the sign.”

When the photo session was finished, the Cherokee hit the road.

Vi quizzed the sisters for a firsthand account of the remarkable saga. “Do you remember anything else?”

“Yes,” Cora said. “Remember the Shipley murder/suicide? I heard the man say he was the one who actually killed them.”

Wendell wrinkled his nose. “Why, that stinkin’ polecat. They ought-a skin him alive. I knew all along that George wasn’t the kind of guy to kill hisself. An’ he loved his mama.”

Vi ravenously recorded the information provided by the sisters. An hour later, the aggressive reporter had the story, and the photos needed for her front-page exclusive.

The SUV made it back to the gated community without any complications. Wendell turned into the cul-de-sac. The Cherokee was blocked by the overabundance of television vans and police vehicles.

Curious residents were intermingled with the swarm of photographers congregated on the sidewalk and driveways. Cora and Emily hunched in the backseat of the SUV, their eyes peering above the window’s ledge.

A denim-clad figure caught Cora’s attention. She fought back a tide of panic and pointed, “I don’t believe it. That’s him over there!”

Emily glared in that direction. “Oh Cora, you’re right.”

Vi raised her camera. “I’ve got him in my viewfinder.”

Wendell looked. “Ya mean Sam?”

“No, silly. The man next to him. He’s the one who kidnapped us.” Cora maneuvered herself in the backseat. “Em, keep calm and duck down!” She feared the commotion would cause her sister’s fallible heart to falter. If the palpitations got bad, she’d need a nitro pill…and Rita still had them.

“That’s Jack. Aw, can’t be him. You’re pullin’ my leg, right?” Wendell questioned. “I don’t wanna doubt ya, but I can’t hardly believe it. Jack has breakfast with me every mornin’. He’s even been helpin’ me solve this here mystery.”

“You’re a fine judge of character, Lone Ranger.” Vi continued to take pictures of the alleged kidnapper. “I, on the other hand, ladies, don’t doubt you for a second.”

Wendell turned to the backseat. “You’re double-dog sure it’s Jack?”

“Yes, we’re sure,” Emily declared. “I’ve got pictures of him ransacking Ed’s office on my cell phone. That’s tangible evidence. Please tell me you still have my phone, Wendell.”

Wendell patted his leg. “It’s right chere in my pocket. I’ll give it to ya in the house. Ya say there’s pitchers on that phone? I sure didn’t see none.”

The reporter turned in her seat and stared wide-eyed at Emily. “You took pictures of Jack in Ed’s office? I can add those to my article.”

“Unless the Lone Ranger deleted them.”

Vi moaned. “Don’t even think that. Wendell, I need that phone right now.”

“Can’t ya wait ‘til we get to Cora’s?”

“I need to send copies of those pictures to my cell phone. I won’t be able to do it later because the police will confiscate it.”

With a slight hesitation, Wendell handed over Emily’s phone.

“It’ll only take me a couple clicks. There! It’s done.”

Wendell fidgeted behind the wheel as he honked the horn to get past the crowd. “There ain’t no way we’re gonna get through here.” He put the Cherokee in reverse, and slowly backed out of the cul-de-sac.

“Where are we going, Wendell?” Vi asked.

“There’s more than one way to pluck a buzzard. We’re goin’ in the back way.”

Vi clenched her teeth. “There is no back entrance, Wendell.”

“Sez who?” He sniffed. “Just wait an’ see.”

The car turned onto Shifting Sands Avenue, and raced to the clubhouse of Ed’s golf course. Wendell smirked and nodded to the golf carts. “Ya need to trust me, Scoop.”

“Fine. I stand corrected.”

“Just make sure ya spell my name right in that hoity-toity article of yours.”

The sisters crammed on their sombreros, and climbed in the back of the cart. The foursome took off down a path en route to Cora’s backyard. The ladies white-knuckled it as they bounced through the rough and skirted the greens on the fifth hole.

Over the next hill, the eighth hole was in play. Wendell’s comb-over dangled over his ear, and he licked his fingers a couple times to smooth it back into place. “Playin’ through!” he yelled to the golfers.

Emily and Cora pulled the sombreros further over their eyes.

One of the disgruntled men shouted, “Get that cart back on the path.”

Wendell veered to the left, and nearly hit one of the players. “Official po-lice business!” he hollered loudly over his shoulder. “Carry on.”

The golf cart jerked up the last small hill and rounded the top. When Wendell released the pedal, their front wheel entered the edge of a sand trap. The passengers braced themselves as the small vehicle lurched to a stop.

“Great, A. J. Foyt, now what?” Vi asked sarcastically. “This trek across the golf course is taking too long. I need to get this article out ASAP.”

A huge smile stretched across Wendell’s face. “Cora’s place is just over there a piece. We’ll be there in two shakes.” He stomped on the gas pedal, smacked the steering wheel, and let out a war whoop. “Boy, I wish I had me a sirene ‘bout now.”

Three gaggles of golfers stood along the perimeter of the course, and watched the commotion in the neighboring complex. The astonished group turned and stared as the cart charged through the well-manicured grass.

Wendell steered into the backyard and pulled up to the patio.

A sigh of relief arose from the feminine trio.

They stood under the awning as Wendell hollered and banged on the kitchen door.

Someone shouted from the side of the house, “There they are!” The feeding frenzy began. The entire herd of zealous journalists stampeded in their direction.

Quick-thinking Vi held up her suit jacket just in time to protect the sisters from the invasion of cameras. Flash bulbs glared like strobe lights. Rapacious journalists simultaneously barked questions in their direction.

 

****

 

Drawn by the commotion, Ed ran ahead of the police captain to join Dahlia in the kitchen. Jeff and June followed. Much to everyone’s surprise, two Paco’s Taco sombreros were at the door.

Wendell’s head popped up behind the hats. “Open up.” His mouth split into a cheesy grin as he turned and waved to the photographers. “I told ya I knew where they was, Ed. I brung ‘em home safe an’ sound.”

Dahlia wrestled with the newly installed lock and opened the door. “Well, if you gals ain’t a sight for sore eyes.” She grabbed her husband’s arm. “Stop muggin’ for the cameras an’ get your bones in here, Wendell Floyd.”

The Texan strutted into the kitchen, proudly leading his human trophies. Vi closed the door to block the clamoring members of the media.

“Cora!” Ed’s large hand gently cradled her face. “I thought I’d lost you.”

She stood on tiptoe, touched her lips to his and melted into his embrace. “Oh Eddie, I thought they’d find us dead in that squalor.”

He held her tight. “Why didn’t you call the police instead of Wendell?”

“Oh…I don’t know. Guess we panicked.” She scratched her head. “All we could think of at the time was contacting you and Jeff. Em remembered she left her cell phone on our kitchen counter, so we called that, thinking you would answer. How could we know Wendell had her phone in his pocket?”

The crowd migrated into the living room, as Vi’s camera snapped in quick succession.

Jeff kissed Emily on the forehead. “You really had us worried, Mom.”

“Are you feeling alright?” June asked.

Emily hugged her son and daughter-in-law again. “Oh, I’m exhausted. I’ve got to rest. First, Cora and I need to give the police our statement.”

The sisters told their stories to the police. They named Jack Thurston and Rita Santalis as their kidnappers, and also mentioned it was possible that Jack murdered the Shipleys.

Wendell turned and grabbed a cop’s arm. “We just saw Jack standin’ next door in front of Letitia Bockman’s. There was always somethin’ shady about that feller. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.”

Instantly, Captain O’Hara sent his men out the front of the condo.

Vi and Wendell were in hot pursuit.

Then, Emily handed her cell phone and Rita’s purse to O’Hara. “The pictures on my phone will give you all the evidence you need. The bag belongs to Rita.”

“I appreciate your help.” Captain O’Hara quickly folded his notebook and headed for the door. “We’ll be in touch.”