Chasing Their Losses Read online

  It had been a rough night. The speed limit in Texas was seventy five, and even through a blinding rain, they’d had to go ninety miles an hour keep up with the flow of traffic. By morning, a thick fog shrouded the highway. When the sun finally burned off the fog, and the skies had cleared, Tim rolled down the window and took a deep breath of the warm, humid air. He was as tired as he’d ever been in his life.

  He stopped near a Dunkin Donuts and pulled out the cell phone he’d been given. The boss had said the call couldn’t be traced.

  “Time to call and order some groceries,” Tim said. Jose lifted one heavy black eyebrow and nodded. Early on, Tim had noted the similarity between the name Krueger and Krogers, thus the code word “groceries” had evolved.

  The smell of sugar and yeast drifted from the donut shop. Tim’s stomach growled, but his mouth tasted like cat litter. He wouldn’t be in the mood to eat until this call was over with.

  Eric Krueger answered on the first ring. “Yes?” Tim noted with pleasure that Doug’s father sounded uptight, his voice high and strained. That was good. The worry, eating away at him, would soften him up like one of those donuts in the window.

  Tim put a piece of cloth across the mouthpiece and raised his voice, talking over the sound of early morning traffic bound for Houston.

  “You’ve got just one day,” he said.

  “One day? For what? I can’t hear you very well.”

  Tim looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening. “To get me a bag full of money.”

  Krueger shouted, “where are you?”

  “I’ll be on South Padre Island soon enough.” Tim said. “Now listen to me. By tonight, I want a laundry bag filled with ten thousand one hundred dollar bills. Unmarked. I have a way a checking that out.” He didn’t, of course, but Krueger wouldn’t know that.

  There was a moment of silence. In the background, Tim heard slow rhythmic sloshing. Krueger must be on the beach, and that would be the sound of the ocean. Finally, Krueger said. “That’s--let me see, you’re talking what? A million dollars.”

  Tim felt weak in the knees. Eric Krueger acted like he was negotiating the price of a new car. Excitement surged through him at the prospect of so much easy money. “Yes, that’s right,” he said. “I’ll call later and tell you where to make the drop.”

  “What about Doug? I have to talk to him.”

  “Doug is very tired. Right now he’s asleep.”

  Eric’s voice quivered. “What have you done? Filled him full of drugs?”

  “Nah. We’ve just been up all night. He’s fine. Really.”

  “I’ll need proof of that.”

  “He’ll be okay unless you call the police or the FBI. If you do, we’ll know about it.”

  “Where will we meet?”

  “Stay where you are, on South Padre Island. We’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Tim turned off the phone before Eric could reply. He was damp from head to toe and his armpits were rank. The thought of a million dollars made his head buzz.

  Too bad he was going to have to split it, but he couldn’t have even imagined how to pull this off by himself. He looked over at Jose. His eyes were closed, head thrown back against the seat. Tim had offered him ten thousand dollars and he’d jumped at the chance for that and a free trip to Mexico. Poor sucker didn’t have the slightest idea how much he could have asked for.

  The store wasn’t crowded--just a few construction workers, mostly Hispanics. Tim ordered coffee and a dozen assorted doughnuts, paid the cashier and sat in a corner booth cramming one after another in his mouth until he’d tried one of each kind. As he started outside, Tim leaned against the wall beside the door, opened the bag of doughnuts, and ate another chocolate and strawberry, washing them down with scalding coffee. A loud burp erupted from his throat as he walked back to the car. The sugar and caffeine running through his veins had filled him with energy. He was hot, and he was going to be rich.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  GAIL

  GAIL AWAKENED TO the sound of the Lewiston Star delivery truck rumbling into the driveway. She ached all over from sleeping on the sofa, still wearing the sweats and T-shirt she’d had on yesterday. In the glow from the porch light, she spotted a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the coffee table. Why hadn’t Tony called? She texted another message, filled a fresh tumbler with ice, fixed herself another whiskey, and paced back and forth between the front window and the garage door. Later, she would not remember how long she had continued this fruitless journey, or when she had finally succumbed to exhaustion and too much alcohol.

  * * *

  Someone inserted a key in the lock, jiggled the door knob a couple of times, and pushed open the front door, sending a gush of fresh air across Gail’s cheek. She felt thick headed and sluggish, as if coming up from underwater. Then she heard a familiar voice, unmistakably clear and confident, call out “where are you?” before Janie swept into the room, her smooth dark hair backlit by sunlight coming through the front window.

  “Sorry, I’ve been napping.” Gail knew it sounded lame, but she wasn’t about to admit she couldn’t remember how she’d ended up asleep on the living room sofa in the middle of the afternoon.

  “Have you seen Angie?” Janie asked.

  Gail tried to focus on Janie’s suntanned face, although her vision was blurry. “Of course not,” she said. “She’s staying with you.”

  “But she’s disappeared from school.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “She’s gone. Where’s Tony?”

  “I don’t know,” Gail said.

  Janie’s bright lipsticked mouth formed a surprised O. “Are you out of your fricken mind? You’re telling me you don’t have the slightest idea where your husband is?”

  Gail remembered Tony’s admonition to tell no one at all where he was going. “He went somewhere on business,” she said.

  Janie’s eyes dropped to the whiskey bottle on the floor, then slowly moved up to Gail’s face. “You’re drunk.” She shouted before running upstairs.

  Gail heard her going from room to room, pulling out drawers and banging doors. What did she think? That Angie was hiding in a closet? Gail walked into the kitchen and tried to remember how Tony made coffee in the Cuisinart.

  Janie appeared at the kitchen door. “I tried to call Tony on his cell phone, but it was out of service. I guess he’s changed to another company. Could you give me his new number?”

  “No. He doesn’t want it given out.”

  “To his own sister? When his daughter has been kidnapped? Are you nuts?”

  “I’ll call him myself,” Gail said. “Now just get out of here and leave me alone.”

  Janie pulled opened the coffee maker and took the beans from Gail’s trembling hand. “Let me make the coffee. You need it, that’s for sure.”

  Gail ran upstairs, closed her bedroom door and locked it. Then she called Tony’s number and left a message with the news that Angie had disappeared. She lay on the bed for a few minutes, sure he’d return her call right away, but he didn’t.

  Flames of panic engulfed her body. It was too much, Tony expecting her to sit around the house for hours all by herself, waiting to hear from him. She had to talk to somebody--anybody--before she exploded.

  She ran back to the kitchen and found Janie rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. “Tony isn’t answering his call,” she said. “I guess I may as well tell you, he’s gone to get Doug.”

  Janie dropped a coffee mug on the counter and watched as it spun around and dropped to the floor with a clatter. “I don’t believe he would do such a stupid thing.”

  Gail bent to pick up the pieces of broken crockery while telling Janie about Tony—that he’d had a call and gone to Evansville for ransom money to rescue Doug.

  Janie didn’t react with sympathy. Instead, her face hardened. “You mean my brother is putting his own life in jeopardy to save your son? Why didn’t you call Doug’s father?”

  “To
ny told me not to. He said the kidnappers had warned him Doug would be killed if the Krueger’s interfered or the FBI was notified.”

  Janie said. “I don’t believe this story. I know my brother too well. If he had any extra money, he’d be using it to pay off his gambling debts, not to ransom your spoiled kid.”

  “How dare you?” Gail slapped Janie across the face. She felt an adrenalin rush of angry excitement and clenched her fists, prepared for a fight.

  Janie pressed her hand to her cheek and backed away. “I’m sorry,” she said. But if he’s told you not to call the police, I guess you’d better do what he says.”

  Gail poured herself a cup of coffee as Janie’s words played back in her head. “Are you saying Tony owes money?”

  Janie gnawed a fingernail before answering. “I thought you knew about his problem. My mom’s bailed him out several times. We’ve asked him to see a therapist but he won’t go.”

  Gail’s legs went weak. Had she divorced one emotional cripple only to marry another? No, Janie must be exaggerating. “How much money did he lose?” she asked. “As much as a thousand?”

  “More like fifty thousand a pop. Mom finally put her foot down. Last month, he asked her again for money, and she refused.”

  “So, as far as you know, he stills owes someone a lot of money. That’s probably why Angie was kidnapped.”

  Janie wiped away tears. “This is a nightmare,” she said. “First Doug disappears and now Angie. I’ve never heard of two children in the same family being kidnapped. Everything in our family was fine until you came along.”

  “Was it?” Gail said. “What about Roseanne? They never discovered who murdered her. There was something very wrong in the Cabella family before I ever met Tony. Maybe I’m the victim, here, not your brother.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CARA

  NO ONE COULD believe Cara had come to the monthly meeting of the local Dietetic Association.

  “What in the world are you doing here?” asked her counterpart at the for-profit hospital across town.” You should be home in bed, after all you’ve been through this weekend.”

  Reese Norris wore a loose jacketed royal blue outfit, but the buttons of her white silk blouses strained against her large bosom, and her stomach bulged under the pleats of her skirt. Like many food service directors, she sampled too many of the tasty dishes served by her cooks.

  “I know,” Cara said. “But I needed to do something normal.”

  “Well at least sit down. I’ll bring you a cup of coffee.”

  “No, I’ll wait and have it after the meeting, along with everyone else.” Cara took a seat at the long conference table. She wasn’t a person who enjoyed the tedium of work related meetings, but this was different. As opposed to the impersonal, big city Dietetic Association in Miami, Lewiston’s organization functioned more like a social club. Meeting minutes and busy work were quickly gotten through, leaving the rest of the evening free for gossip and the sharing of war stories.

  All of the members were acutely aware of the hazardous nature of their profession. When a salmonella outbreak had occurred at Sycamore Hospital last year, it was mostly these people who had sympathized and offered support, even as Cara was being vilified by the media. And when it turned out the outbreak wasn’t due to her negligence, but because of cantaloupes purchased from a local vendor, all of them were relieved.

  Tonight, everyone seemed eager to have the meeting officially over so they might hear what Cara might have to say about her ordeal at Cataract Falls. But Reese, as president, wasn’t about to be lax in her responsibilities. Especially when the meeting was being held in her own place of work.

  After the last month’s minutes had been read, it was time for new business. “I want to talk about a speaker for next month,” she said.

  The nine women and three men attending the meeting looked at each other briefly and studied their agenda. No one really enjoyed listening to speakers, but the by laws called for four a year.

  “Does anyone have any suggestions?” Reese said.

  Silence prevailed.

  Reese’s bright blue eyes darted around the room. A smile rounded her cheeks as she held up a copy of the Journal of the American Dietetic Association. “I have an idea. Do you realize we have a new Physician Nutrition Specialist in town who was written up in our magazine?”

  Cara felt her face muscles tighten. “Who might that be?”

  “Why, you should know,” Reese said. “She’s at Sycamore. And you were lucky to get her.” She waved the journal in the air. “Did you all see this article about a study done at Berkeley? The title is, Do High Protein, Vegetable Based Diets Enhance Kidney Function? One of the authors is Josephine Rozgonyi. I think it’s time we met her and asked her to address our meeting, don’t you?”

  A lukewarm chorus of assent followed. Reese looked at Cara. “Since she’s at your facility, would you be willing to ask her to come to one of our meetings in the next few months?”

  “Of course.” Cara tried to put some enthusiasm in her voice, but it was difficult. She was thinking how odd it seemed to hear Rozgonyi referred to as Josephine.

  “Good, now I’ll pass this around so you can see the article. If anyone has misplaced their copy, I’d be glad to run it off for you. I think we should all read it, and be prepared for some intelligent questions.” Reese handed the magazine to Cara, who was seated at her right.

  “And now, if there is no further business, the meeting is adjourned.”

  Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. It was time for cheesecake, coffee, and chitchat.

  Cara gritted her teeth and picked up the magazine. Seeing one’s adversary covered with glory wasn’t a particularly pleasant sensation. Rozgonyi’s name and credentials were listed, along with two other PhD’s who had co-authored the article.

  The black and white photograph of the three of them standing before a podium wasn’t clear, and it was difficult to make out the fine details of the women’s appearance. Which one was Rozgonyi? Cara didn’t see anyone who looked familiar. She looked at the tag under the picture and saw Rozgonyi on the left end. She looked again. Rozgonyi wasn’t more than five foot tall, at the most, but she appeared to be the same height as the other co-authors. Were all of the ladies small? And this woman had a halo of frizzy hair. Perhaps Rozgonyi had been begun to use a flat iron on her dark bob, although it seemed unlikely that she would bother with such a vanity

  Rozgonyi wore her trademark dark suit under a plain white blouse, but she seemed a bit broader in the hips and shoulders. A photographic illusion, maybe, caused by a peculiar camera angle. Or her determined vegetarianism had brought about gradual weight loss. After all, that picture had appeared last spring, and was probably taken months before that.

  “I definitely want a copy of this article,” Cara said.

  “Sure, I’ll have one sent to you,” Reese said with enthusiasm, obviously pleased that Cara was going to do her homework before the next meeting.

  “No, I’d like to make one tonight.”

  Reese gave her a sharp look. “What’s the hurry?”

  “Well, I’m thinking I could run some more off for the other dietitians in my department who couldn’t make the meeting tonight. That would save you from having to make those extras.”

  Reese, ever the practical manager, nodded in agreement. As the others lined up for dessert, she inclined her head toward Cara. “Have they heard anything about the boy?”

  Cara winced inwardly. It was a natural question, but she had hoped to get her mind off Doug. “I haven’t heard anything,” she said. “But of course, I’m not a family member.”

  “For which you should be very thankful.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Reese lowered her voice. “Everyone knows you’re Tony Cabella’s old girlfriend. Aren’t you glad you didn’t marry him?”

  Cara knew she was being offered the chance to dish on the Cabella family, but it didn’t feel right. “He
’s going through a rough time,” was all she said.

  Reese was at her elbow as they gathered their belongings to leave. “Shall I follow you home?” she asked.

  “No, why?”

  “You shouldn’t be out alone. Until they find that kidnapper, you’re in danger.”

  “Thanks, I’ll be careful.”

  The evening was unseasonably warm for October, but dry leaves crackled underfoot, musty and sweet with the fragrance of autumn. A full moon veiled by clouds smiled calmly. Cara tucked the copy of the ADA article under her arm and hurried out to her car parked in the shadow of a maple tree. She climbed in quickly, shut the door, and turned the key in the ignition.

  But curiosity stopped her from putting the gear in drive. She picked up the picture of Rozgonyi and studied it under the overhead lights. She had certainly changed since she left California.

  After a few moments, Cara put down the article and backed out of the lot, remembering a former classmate and friend from Indiana State who had moved to Oakland. She and Nancy Foreman still corresponded at Christmas. Perhaps she would give Nancy a call and see what, if anything, she knew about Josephine Rozgonyi.

  Cara was anxious to get home. Reese had warned she was in danger until they found Tim, but since she’d survived his drowning attempt and given the police a complete description, what more could happen? Still, she was on edge. Too much had happened too fast.

  Tonight, she would make a serious effort to stop thinking about Doug and the whole miserable episode at Cataract Lake. No mindless channel surfing or rifling through her pile of unread newspapers with their dismal tales of murder, fraud, and mayhem. Mood boosters would include playing her favorite collection of Pavarotti, a long hot bath, and a glass of Chardonnay.

  She would have felt better if she still had her dog. She wished she had gotten another one as soon as she moved into the house, but it had been so painful to leave Maize in Miami, she’d decided to wait until she felt more secure in her job and settled. At least that’s what she told herself. In fact, what she really feared was giving her heart to another creature. It hurt too much, thinking of that big old warm yellow haired dog who had followed her every footstep, even tried doing yoga. But Cara’s ex husband could give the dog a home, and when she’d left, she’d had no idea where she might end up. Sadly, it had hurt more to leave Maize than Todd,