copyright Lisa J Lickel
Published by Prism Books, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC,
January 2019
originally published by Whimsical Books, 2011
Buy online
978-1-5223-9840-0 Paperback
978-1-5223-9839-4 Electronic
978-1-5223-9839-4 Electronic
Digital Release Date: January 25, 2019
Paperback release date (if different): February 1, 2019
Paperback release date (if different): February 1, 2019
Hardcover large print release: May
8, 2019
Chapter One
I came rudely
alert to the 2:48 a.m. summons of my business phone. I fumbled for the receiver
on my nightstand and squinted. The ID was unfamiliar. I frowned. In the middle
of the night? This had to be a crank call. I hoped it wasn’t one of those angry-at-the-world
abusive-types. I was tired and not in the mood to be professionally pleasant. I
held the headpiece next to my ear and answered. “McTeague Technical Services.
This is Ivy. How may I be—”
“mm—get--help---call---mmm--Don—”
I couldn’t
make anything out through the crackling static and so I got out of my nice cozy
warm bed and went to stand by the window, hoping for a clearer signal. A burst
of static rocketed me backward and I held the phone away from my ear. “Oww!”
I sat on the
end of the bed and checked the phone, expecting smoke. The background was lit,
but the call disconnected. I got back into bed, but switched on my bedside
light. I searched the caller ID and came up with Chicago. Summersby Building.
A soft buzz
indicated an incoming call from the same number.
“Hello? Who’s
there?” All I heard now was a soft buzz. Then a distinct click. At least the
recorder had been on.
I yawned.
Summersby Building was probably a construction company doing work for one of
the new businesses coming to Apple Grove. That’s why I was here, too, invited
on behalf of the mayor’s new community growth incentive. I yawned again, turned
my business phone to silent and pulled the covers up to my chin.
The next
evening, after my third attempt to reach my friend Donald, the mayor of Apple
Grove, Illinois, I ran my fingers across the screen of my personal phone.
Pictures of my cat last year at Christmas at my home in Maplewood. I usually
found pictures cheerful. Comforting. But not the holiday ones which reminded me
of all I hated about Christmas.
Now, in the twilight
on the cusp of summer in a new and unfamiliar home, the pictures made me
homesick.
When I moved
here two months ago, April Fool’s Day, to be exact, the phone and cable
companies had wondered about how I could make McTeague’s Services work with my
three servers. I showed them Donald’s letter of reference and the preliminary
approval of the exception to the zoning ordinance in this quiet little
neighborhood.
My business
was dedicated to tech for non-techies, computer set-ups, web design, personal
computer lessons. I had to supplement that with other home-based requests that
sometimes went along with my home visits, such as pet, houseplant, and mailbox
sitting for those going away for whatever reason. Small businesses needed web
maintenance. I also offered letter and blog writing services, and help with
forms. In this day and age of rapidly changing informational systems, everyone
needed help.
I toyed with
the phone. This evening, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Donald’s silence was
not a matter of choice. I had to help my friend. I looked up a phone number and
tapped it out.
“Apple Grove
Police. Officer Ripple. How can I help you?”
“Hello. I…I
need to report a missing person. Maybe a kidnapping.”
“Name?”
“Ivy
Preston.”
“Right. High
Vee? Could you spell that, please.”
“I – V – Y.
Preston.”
“And where
are you now, ma’am? Can you see any weapons? Do you know the name of your
kidnappers?”
“Oh, no,
Officer. It’s not me. It’s the mayor.”
“Mayor? Got
that. First name?”
“Donald.”
“Donald
Mayor. And is he a relative? Is there a note?”
“No…you’ve
got it all mixed up. I’m calling about somebody possibly kidnapping Mayor
Donald Conklin.”
“You think
someone’s going to kidnap the mayor? That’s a pretty serious charge.”
“Not going
to. I think they already did.”
“We’ll send
someone over to talk to you. What’s your address?”
“Three-twelve
Marigold.”
“Ah, yes. The
Pagner house. And you have some sort of evidence?”
“Well, I
received the strangest call last night on my business line and now he won’t
answer his private number. I’m worried.”
“Business
line?”
“I own the
new tech services business in town. McTeague’s. Donald invited me.”
“Okay. Sit
tight. I’m sending Officer Dow over to you to take your statement.”
“Thank you.”
I hung up and wondered what kind of a statement I was expected to give. I had
the recording, but unless you knew the context, it could mean anything. Maybe I
should call someone. How do I know I can trust the police here? You see it all
the time on TV. Sometimes the bad guys aren’t who you think. My mental contact
list was pretty slim. My neighbors, who I didn’t know all well. Mom—who lived a
couple of hours away.
A knock on
the door saved me from a slide into self pity. I let in Officer Ann Dow. And
smiled politely at the little wisp of a blonde who looked like the east wind
would carry her away if she hadn’t been anchored by her sturdy shoes and even
sturdier holstered shiny black weapon.
“Thank you
for coming.” I’m not huge, but I looked down a couple of inches on her.
“So, tell me
about this alleged kidnapping.” The officer got out her pad and pen. She
shushed her shoulder mic.
“The mayor is
missing.”
She didn’t
say anything at first. “And you believe that because…?”
“I received
this strange call late last night. On my business line. Donald asked me to move
my tech services business to help Apple Grove. Now he’s not answering my
calls.”
“I’m not
privy to the mayor’s office practices,” she said, straight-faced.
I ignored her
implication and instead got out my office phone, explaining she could hear for
herself. “This call came in, but it was all static-y and garbled. I couldn’t
make out much except ‘Don,’ and ‘get.’”
She listened.
“Get what? ‘Don’? And you think it came from the mayor?”
“I don’t know
for sure. The caller ID said Summersby Building in Chicago. I just thought you
should check it out.”
Officer Dow
tapped her pen on her pad. She shook her head and returned to the kitchen, me
following like a lost puppy. “I’ll make a report,” she said, reaching for the
door. “Maybe you should notify the FCC. If you get threatening calls, you
should call the telephone company. We’ll talk to Mrs. Bader-Conklin, who’s been
in the office today covering for her husband who’s on a business trip. If
that’s all, I’ll let you get back to…what you were doing.”
“Thank you.
But—”
Click. She
was gone.
And I thought
Apple Grove seemed like such a nice town.
I let out a
sigh of pure exasperation and tapped my size seven and half sandal on the tile
floor. Last night’s phone call…I just couldn’t get it out of my head. I get
mistaken numbers, of course, but I had a funny feeling. And that was a new
one—Donald’s wife had been in the office? Why had he called my business line?
Calling the
police wasn’t the best first move. But what else could I have done?
Maybe I
should have been mad at him, instead of concerned. With my ringless fingers I
tucked a loose spiral of my dishy-blah frizzy hair back into its sloppy bun.
Donald would never have ignored me this long. And he’d want to talk about the
next CAT convention coming up. That’s Cat Association Titlists—the group where
we met years and years ago. We both had purebred Egyptian Maus, the only
spotted domestic cat. His was a copper and mine a silver.
I have never
been a whimsical person, and uprooting myself to move to a new town was a major
deal, not something I would have done under normal circumstances, but I’ll get
to that later. Let’s just say his request, that I move McTeague’s—that was me:
Ivy Amanda McTeague Preston—Technical Services to Apple Grove, happened to spring
at a good time. Pun intended.
If the police
thought Donald was perfectly safe I should just wait until tomorrow and then
see if Mrs. Bader-Conklin had some notion about what was going on. I could go
visit her at the office and ask, casual-like, if she’d heard from him. And
offer to work on the city’s website.
***
My next hint
that something was wrong was that Donald’s assistant, Marion Green, was not at
her usual post. If the mayor’s office was open for business, Marion at least
should be here, even if she supposedly had the week off. Donald joked that she
was the one who really ran the town. The stern-looking black-haired woman who
infringed on Marion’s space made me wait fifteen minutes. Donald usually came
out of his office when he heard my voice. The light was on; I could see it
shining under his door. I supposed Margaret—Mrs. Bader-Conklin—could have been
making an urgent call.
I heard a
distinct sneeze from inside the office. Then the tap of high heels.
Why had I
waited so long before getting concerned enough about Donald to call the police?
Final registration for CAT was in two days. Donald never missed. He hadn’t
registered yet—I checked. He’d take his cat, Tut, out of his wife’s hair for a
while, and since she was allergic to animal dander. He never said anything
negative, but I got the impression the vacation was a three-way blessing
between him, his wife, and Tut.
A woman
opened the door to the mayor’s office. I recognized her from a photo that
Donald had showed me: Margaret. She studied me over half-glasses perched on a
razor-thin nose, Joan Crawford eyebrows raised toward her curled-under bangs. I
shivered.
“Sorry to
keep you waiting, Miss Preston. Please.” She gestured to me to follow her. And
then she invited me to sit in the ugly straight-back chair on the opposite side
of Donald’s desk instead of the comfy one in front of the computer. Donald had
never done that.
I warily
started a conversation. “I hope Marion isn’t sick.”
“I gave Mrs.
Green a few days off. My personal assistant is with me.” The wife of the mayor
of Apple Grove leaned back in her husband’s leather chair. “Now, what can I do
for you, Miss…Preston?”
I swallowed
hard. “Uh, well, Don—the mayor—isn’t returning my calls, and he hasn’t
registered for our—the—CAT convention yet. I wondered…if you’ve heard from
him?” Dang, I tried hard not to squeak with nerves at the end. I couldn’t help
it, yet instinct told me that I must not show fear. I hoped she wouldn’t get
the wrong impression at my lame excuse to see her.
“May I know
the nature of your business with the mayor?”
I took a deep
breath. Maybe I’d sounded a bit strange. “The mayor asked me to bring my tech
services business to Apple Grove.”
Margaret
sneezed again and took out a dainty laced handkerchief. “Something in the air,”
she muttered, sniffling. “You must have a cat or a dog at home. I’m allergic.”
“Oh?” I said,
stopping before I mentioned I already knew that. Wrong impressions, and all.
“I recall
Donald speaking of you,” she said. “From that little group he goes to, right?
So, did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Get him
signed up.”
“Well, that’s
something people usually do for themselves. Conference fees, and so forth…” I
muttered.
“Oh, just
send me a bill, then. Was there anything else?”
“So, your
husband is around? He’s all right?”
“Of course
he’s all right. Why wouldn’t he be? He just needed a day to…ah, get ready for
that cat thing after…ah, meeting with company officials. Letty can handle
business.”
Letty must be
the battleaxe up front. Margaret stood and I had to follow suit. She was taller
than me. I supposed if I had on heels instead of tennies, I could have looked
at her nose instead of her chin. She had three black hairs sprouting under her
makeup. I pressed my lips tight to hold in the grin while she turned to open
the door to her office.
“How’s Tut
these days?” I asked, testing her out on a whim.
“Tut?
Oh—fine, just fine.”
Mmhmm. “Mem’s
just fine, too.”
“Mem? Memo? I
don’t underst—” She looked over my shoulder. “Oh, ah, good to know. Excuse me
while I, ah….”
I followed
her line of sight to see Letty in the doorway, frowning, while her left hand
came to rest on her folded elbow. We locked brown-eyed stares. Her irises had
weird little gold flecks in them. She blinked first. She went back to her desk.
Margaret
pushed forward, forcing me to move to the door. “Thank you. If you’ll excuse
me, we have a great deal of work. Good-bye, now. Take care.”
I nodded to
Letty on my way out. I got turned around in the maze of staircases and hallways
and ended up leaving city hall by the back door. In my muse I had to dodge a
dark-colored delivery van squealing right up to the back door before I found
the walk that went around to the side parking lot where I’d left my car. What
on earth would Mrs. Bader-Conklin do in her husband’s office? Especially if he
was in town and getting ready for the conference? But if he was getting ready
why did he need me to register for him?
How I got
home, I’m not sure. I don’t think I ran into anyone on the way. I paced my tiny
kitchen, three steps forward and back, as the evening wore on, deciding how
much further to get involved in this business.
Judging by
the officer’s response to my initial phone call, I wondered if I would ever
rate any respect for my theory that the mayor needed help. I needed to find a
better way to explain my dilemma to the police if I felt like I had to call
again.
I could talk
to someone else. Of course! Someone else. Adam! He’d know what to do. How could
I have left out Adam Truegood Thompson, Donald’s other pet project. Grin. Adam had
moved to Apple Grove a week after I did. Mea Cuppa, his little bookshop and
fancy coffee joint, needed more prep time than my machines, so he only recently
opened. I spent an odd hour helping him sort merchandise and stock shelves.
I drove
through downtown, chased by an occasional scrap of newspaper or leaf swirling
in the spring breeze riffling up from the river through alleys. I knocked on
the front door of the closed coffee shop. I didn’t think Adam heard me at
first, as he took some time coming down from his apartment.
“Ivy. What’s
wrong? Come on in. Sit down.”
A solid
comfort, Adam. I babbled. “I don’t know where else to turn. Will you hear me
out?”
“Of course I
will.”
I looked
around, feeling vulnerable through the huge plate glass window. Any passerby
could see us clearly. “Not here.”
He seemed
unfazed. “Okay. Come on up. I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors, though.”
And clearly
he wasn’t. He tossed aside a pile of towels and picture hangers and bade me sit
on his recliner while he went to fix tea. I felt antsy and couldn’t sit still.
There was little room to pace with the floor so covered with boxes and bubble
wrap. I could barely tell the color of the carpet.
He smiled and
put a steaming cup of ginger tea in my hand. “I told you it was a mess.”
Mint. I
inhaled. “Thank you.”
He looked
around the room and grimaced. “Let’s go in the kitchen, shall we?”
His kitchen
was a different world. Neat and cozy. I could see where Adam felt most
comfortable. We sat. I sipped while appreciating his patience. I mulled over a
couple of ways to tell my tale and decided direct was best.
“Donald’s
missing. I think he’s in trouble.” I stopped, and took a deep whimpery breath.
Adam put one of his gigantic warm hands over mine and anchored me with his
calming gray stare. I had no idea what he thought, but I knew I trusted him.
“Ivy. Donald
told us that he was going to be coming and going while he courted more
businesses.”
“This is
different. His wife is running his office.”
Adam’s
eyebrows went up with a comforting incredulity. He shook his head, his eyes
narrowed. “What do you mean?”
I twisted my
mouth to the side and jiggled my foot. “Um, well. If there’s an emergency,
doesn’t the city council president take over? But Margaret didn’t say anything
about an emergency. She said he was here—well, in town. And Donald hadn’t
registered for CAT yet. I know he plans to go, so I tried his personal number.
Three times. To remind him. He didn’t answer. Then, later, I started putting
this strange garbled call—I could only make out what sounded like ‘Don,’ and
‘get’ from some number in Chicago—it must have been Donald asking me to get
help.”
Adam sat
back, not saying anything. Then he got up and walked over to the sink. I
admired his height and flexed back muscles, the efficiency of movement but also
deliberation of thought before he spoke. He was older than me—I’m almost
thirty-two and single, thank you to my ex-fiancé Stanley—but I’m not sure how
much. His wavy black hair was slightly salted at the temples, and his nose
looked like it had been broken at one time and fixed, but best of all, he wasn’t
married.
The tone of
his voice made me feel that he wanted to take me seriously but was finding it
difficult. “Donald’s scheduled business trip yesterday wasn’t to Chicago. What
do you think might be going on?”
“I don’t
know. Donald is our friend. If he’s in trouble, I want to help.”
Adam’s mouth
twitched. “What kind of help?”
I sighed,
thinking how ludicrous my actions had been and not ready to admit the call to
the police. “Yeah. So, I thought I’d just go over to city hall and visit
Margaret. You know, just ask if she’d heard from Donald. So I did. But Margaret
wasn’t talking. Marion wasn’t even there.”
“She might
not spend all day in the office if Donald was out,” Adam reminded me.
I took
another deep breath. “She said he was all right. But there was someone else
there. Someone I didn’t know, sitting at Marion’s desk.”
“Ivy, you
wouldn’t know many people here, anyway, remember? We just moved.”
I liked the
“we” part of his comment. “Right. But did you know that Margaret’s allergic to
cats? I thought she just hated them.”
“That’s one
of the reasons Donald was so interested in that new company he hopes to bring
to Apple Grove. Happy Hearts Bioengineering. They’re working to produce a
hypoallergenic breed of animal.”
“I thought he
was…well, maybe I hadn’t been paying attention. I thought he was going after a
pet food company. Fel-feli—”
“Feli-Mix. He
told me they signed an ‘intent to build’ contract based on getting the zoning
approval.”
“Oh. Good.” I
scratched my ear. Isis wandered in from a dark hallway to curl around Adam’s
ankles. Adam’s Mau smoke female was daintier in looks than disposition. My Mem
had been at the receiving end of her ferocity since they’d been introduced two
years ago at a convention. Poor Mem had only tried to be polite.
Adam nudged
me back to the present topic at hand. “What did Margaret say?”
“She wouldn’t
talk to me.” I saw him wipe a hand over his face. “I didn’t think I was nosy. She
asked me to get Donald signed up for the convention and send her the bill.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t you
think that’s a little odd?”
“It’s
unusual, but she could have just been trying to help Donald if he’s been
distracted with town business.” He smiled gently. “You’re still worried.”
“Yes, about him
and Tut. I wish now I hadn’t called the police.”
He raised his
brows and took a deep breath. “What exactly did you say to them?”
I grimaced.
“That I wanted to report a…a kidnapping.” My voice had dropped to a too-low whisper
on the last word. I sounded perfectly ridiculous and I knew it.
“Based on a phone
call you couldn’t understand? And after the police officer stopped laughing?”
“He didn’t
laugh at all! He sent a lady cop to check on me.”
“And?”
“She said
she’d file a report.”
Adam
uncrossed his arms and got up from the table. He gently removed the mug from my
hands and raised me to my feet. I liked the feel of those hands. I liked the
confidence he exuded even more. “Ivy, I can tell you’re concerned about this.
Why don’t you let me go talk to Margaret tomorrow, see what I think. Okay? I’m
not dismissing you, but I have to think about this.”
I nodded. “I
know it sounds wild. I need to do something, but I’m not sure what.”
Adam walked
me to the door and down the steps. The moccasins he wore silenced his path
across the floor of the shop. “You drove. You want me to take you home?”
I appreciated
his thoughtfulness. “I’m all right.” I caught my reflection in the window of
the door. My corkscrew hair flew in all directions—I looked like a nutcase. No
wonder he had been concerned I couldn’t drive. I stopped and turned. The top of
my head came to his shoulder, giving me a good view of his throat. His
turtleneck shirt hid most of the scar that I knew snaked around his neck and
across his right shoulder. I never asked about it and I was too shy around him
yet to pry, but I hoped that would change in the near future. “Thank you for
listening. I hope it’s just some kind of mental lapse on my part.”
“We both care
about Donald. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He flashed a grin and closed the door
behind me, staying at the window to watch until I sat safely in my car.
I did not
expect to sleep much, so after checking my client list and the current work
orders in my office, I settled on the couch with my pet Memnet nearby and
popped a movie into my player.
Mau owners often
give their friends names popular in ancient Egypt for obvious reasons. Mem was
a beautiful black-spotted registered silver male running past middle age. We
garnered tons of compliments for his personality and outstanding looks, and he
was as devoted to me as I was to him. He had been a staunch friend when Stanley
decided he did not want to marry me—after we’d ordered the invitations and my
dress, rented the hall and the organist.
Memnet’s
scratching woke me sometime later. Cold and stiff, I came to my senses abruptly
when I heard a loud crack and tinkling sound from the kitchen. Mem was not as
cautious as I and streaked toward the sound, a silver shadow in the blue glow
of the television screen. His screech was primeval.
My hand shook
as I dialed the number of the police department with a legitimate complaint
this time. After being assured they would send someone immediately, I peered
into the kitchen to see the broken window panel of the door and the swinging
chain. Mem sat guard, his tail twitching and ears forward, his paw resting on
top of a stone with something tied to it.
“What have
you got, Mem?” I crouched, wary of glass. With a low growl pulsing from his
furry throat, he reluctantly let me examine the rock. I supposed it was
evidence, but it was in my house. And Ripple had laughed at me earlier, after
all. With one eye watching for the police car, I hurriedly untied the string
and read the attached note.
“Busy-body’s don’t
belong in our town.”
I hated
misused apostrophes.
