Foxy Roxy (34 page)

Also in the rearview mirror, Henry was surprised to discover his face was bleeding. Somehow, he’d sustained a scratch down his cheek. The blood welled up in the wound. He touched it, and his fingers came away smeared.

He took another moment to assess himself further. His heartbeat had already returned to normal. He had a bruise on the underside of his forearm, probably from a kick. There was a slight ringing in his ears. Otherwise, he felt fine. Elated, perhaps.

He glanced over to check on her. Sage glared at him from above the duct tape. She had tears on her face, but not from fear.

She was partially crouched on the floor, out of sight of passing traffic, with both elbows on the seat to hold her balance. She looked a little like an animal preparing to attack, but he knew she couldn’t break the handcuffs. Her breath came in harsh bursts through her nose. The tape across her mouth was badly applied. He reached to smooth it properly, but she reared away from him, making a guttural noise in her throat. She had already figured out how not to choke on his handkerchief.

On the seat, a little electronic tune played inside Sage’s backpack. Probably her cell phone.

“We’ll get that later,” Henry said to her.

Sage’s phone rang several times. Either she had a lot of friends or her mother was already missing her.

As evening approached, Henry parked the van in the far corner of a suburban big box store’s lot. An anonymous sort of place where a plain van wouldn’t get much notice.

“Don’t touch anything,” he said to Sage in a conversational tone.

There seemed little point in adding a further threat.

He got out of the vehicle and stepped away from it to make the phone call. He kept watch on Sage through the open door. Her furious glare stayed fastened on him the whole time.

Henry used the first of several cell phones he’d purchased for the day’s purpose. Roxy Abruzzo picked up on the second ring.

Henry said, “Miss Abruzzo?”

She said, “I’ve been hoping you’d call. How’d you get my number?”

“It’s printed on the side of your truck.”

Her laugh was easy. “You’re pretty clever, Paxton. Can we get together?”

“You have something to discuss? So do I.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s up?”

“You first,” he said genially.

“You heard about Kaylee Falcone, I suppose?”

“Yes, unfortunately. Poor girl.”

“I just talked to a friend of mine with the police. The ballistics reports are back. Kaylee Falcone was shot with the same gun that killed Julius. With .45-caliber bullets, from a revolver. Maybe an older model like a Colt Peacemaker.”

“Oh?”

“And funny thing. Trey Hyde mentioned to me that some relative of his collected older guns at their estate. Hilltop, I think he called it. Isn’t that where you live?”

“I sincerely hope you haven’t discussed this train of thought with the police.”

“Not yet,” she said.

“That’s a relief,” Henry replied. “Because I have something of yours, and I’d hate for something terrible to happen to her.”

Roxy was silent.

Henry waited for her to grasp the situation. “Do you believe me?”

Roxy finally said, “She wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“She wasn’t stupid at all. It was a bit of a trick, you see. And you’ll be very proud of her. She fought like an Amazon.”

“I don’t believe you,” Roxy said, her voice harsh.

“No? I’ll call you back.”

Henry disconnected the call and returned to the minivan. He leaned in, pulled Sage’s backpack onto the driver’s seat, and rummaged around inside until he came up with her cell phone. He dialed her mother’s number.

Roxy picked up immediately. “Sage?”

“It’s me,” Henry said. “And here’s what I’d like you to do, Roxy.”

28

Roxy closed her cell phone and forced herself to breathe. She was standing out in the yard beside her truck. Inside, out of earshot, Bug Duffy was still sitting on the leather couch in her office. He watched her through the window, so Roxy hastily rearranged her face to resemble something like calm. In a minute’s time, she pulled herself together sufficiently to go back inside.

“Sorry.” She closed the door and pocketed her phone. “Business.”

“Must be funny business,” Bug said. “You look white as a sheet.”

“Bad lighting. It’s the only thing standing between me and a career as a supermodel.” She sat down at her desk before her knees gave out. “What were we talking about?”

“The Delaney brothers.”

“Right. They’ve disappeared?”

“For the moment. But they’ll turn up again. They’re definitely bad pennies.”

“Any idea where they are?”

Bug squinted at her. “You sure you’re okay?”

Roxy took a long, slow breath to keep herself from screaming. Sage was gone. Sage had been kidnapped. By Henry Paxton. Who’d killed two people already. She was sure of it. But to tell Bug now meant Sage’s certain death.

“I’m fine.” She looked at her watch, trying to do the math Henry Paxton had given her.

Bug said, “Do you have an appointment?”

She forced her voice to be steady. “I’ve got things to do. But I don’t want to rush you. You guys need to catch whoever killed Kaylee.”

“And Julius Hyde.”

“Him, too.”

“Okay.” Bug got to his feet and reached for his cane. “I think we’re done for now. If you hear anything or think of anything else, call me, right?”

“Right.”

They went outside into the yard, where a city tow truck was winching Kaylee Falcone’s car up onto the flatbed. Watching, Roxy thought her heart was going to explode. She said good-bye to Bug, but a minute later she couldn’t remember what she’d said.

Sage was with Henry Paxton. He said he’d kill her if Roxy brought the police.

Roxy stumbled back into her office. She sat down on her swivel chair and put her head between her knees. She tried to think. Her brain felt like a red light spinning on top of a fire truck.

A minute later, Nooch shuffled into the office. “I wish the police would stop coming around here. They make me nervous. Whatcha doin’?”

Roxy sat up. “I need your help.”

Nooch was eating a sandwich with the wrapping still half on it. Mouth full, he said, “I’m supposed to take Nonna to the doctor this afternoon.”

“She may have to go alone.”

“That’s okay by me. You should hear her coughing. Someday she is going to cough up a lung, and it’s going to lay there on the floor of the grocery story until somebody comes along and sweeps it up.”

Roxy got up and checked the window. Bug was leaving, followed by the tow truck. Roxy grabbed her keys. “Let’s go.”

Rooney jumped into the truck with them.

At the restaurant, the prep staff was boiling bones and chopping vegetables while listening to the Rolling Stones. Flynn must have decided to sleep through until the dinner service, because he didn’t appear while Roxy and Nooch pulled the statue out of the refrigerator and chained it to a handcart. Nobody asked any questions as they wheeled the statue out the back door and winched it onto the truck. Within a few minutes, they had it lashed securely and climbed back into the truck.

Roxy turned to Nooch. “Okay, listen. I’m going to drop you off at Loretta’s house for a couple of hours.”

Nooch was startled. “Huh? Why?”

“I need to do something on my own.”

“Why can’t I come?”

“Because I have to go alone. It’s important.”

Nooch looked curiously into her face. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t tell you. Believe me, I wish I could. But, look, I might need your help later. I want you to stay by the phone, okay? I’m going to call, one way or another.”

“One way or another?”

“Never mind. Just don’t let me down.”

He looked wounded. “Have I ever let you down?”

Roxy couldn’t help smiling. She patted his shoulder. “No, I guess you haven’t. I need you to keep Rooney for me, too, okay? I can’t take him with me tonight. Watch TV until Loretta gets home.”

“He doesn’t like me,” Nooch said. “Loretta doesn’t, either.”

“Just don’t put your feet on her furniture, and maybe she’ll feed you dinner when she gets home.”

“Okay. Rox? Is this about my hearing?”

His probation hearing. It was scheduled for tomorrow. Roxy slammed her hand against the steering wheel.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I—I’ll take care of that, too.”

“I know you will,” Nooch said, trusting her.

Making her feel like a heel.

When they reached Loretta’s house, Nooch went happily inside. Rooney stood on the porch for a second, casting a puzzled look at Roxy. He’d be more help than Nooch in a crisis, but Henry had specifically told Roxy not to bring her dog. Or the police. Or anybody else who didn’t want to get killed. With regret, she drove away.

An hour later, her cell phone rang.

In her ear, Henry Paxton said, “Are you ready?”

“Yes. Where do you want me?”

He gave her an address and hung up.

29

It was nighttime by the time Roxy reached the deserted steel mill. Years ago, it would have been the lifeblood of the neighborhood, but tonight even the nearby traffic had thinned out. She drove down a deserted industrial block to the entrance of the mill.

Across the street sat Bradshaw’s—a bar that had once catered to steelworkers who stopped for boilermakers after their shift. Now it attracted a rough crowd. Neon signs glowed in windows that hadn’t been washed in years. A couple of tough-looking patrons hung outside the front door, smoking. Nobody waved at Roxy.

A substantial chain-link fence—probably twenty feet high and topped with razor wire—surrounded the old steel mill. But, as promised, the rear gate was unlocked. Someone had snapped the chain with bolt cutters. Roxy had to get out of the truck to open it, then drove through and went back to close the gate again. Slowly, she drove around to the back of the main building, over the old railroad tracks used to haul steel long ago. The grit of many years of abandonment crunched under her tires. In the distance, she could make out the shapes of the powerhouse and other, low-roofed outbuildings.

Out back behind the mill, it was very dark and the loading docks were empty. When she climbed down from the driver’s seat, Roxy could smell the river close by. A cold breeze hissed in the bushes that grew up the fence. Two long concrete ramps slanted down to the docks where raw materials had once come by barge up the river.

Across the river, a locomotive hurtled by, pulling a long train of coal cars northward toward power plants that still burned coal. Closer on the water, the lights of a small craft motored up the river in the direction of the lock and dam. When the train had passed, the night was quiet. Only the thin strains of jukebox music from Bradshaw’s broke the stillness.

Roxy put the prybar on the floor of the front seat where she could grab it in a heartbeat, then locked the truck and left it. She vaulted onto the concrete ramp and walked up to the loading dock. One of the four big garage doors stood open. She went under it and into the long, yawning space of the old mill. The place was dark, mostly in shadow. The equipment and machinery had long since been removed. The blast furnace had been disassembled and probably shipped to Korea. Long ago, someone had carefully swept up the giant factory, perhaps hoping it would someday open again and put a thousand men back to work.

But before her tonight, the cold building stood empty. It ran longer than several football fields, with not a single electrical light to illuminate the space. High above, the roof opened to the sky.

With a nearly silent flutter of wings, a flock of bats suddenly whirred across the open air and disappeared into darkness.

About fifty feet ahead, a gleaming white cargo van sat in the middle of the concrete floor. On top of it was a small torpedo-shaped luggage container.

“Paxton?” Roxy called. Her voice echoed back at her, sending a shiver up the back of her neck.

No answer.

She began walking cautiously toward the van. One door hung open. Then, with a sudden burst of hope, she quickened her pace—then sprinted toward the vehicle.

“Sage!”

But the van was empty. Roxy caught her balance on the door and choked back the lump in her throat. The smell of gasoline was strong around the vehicle. It had been gassed up for a trip, she guessed. Maybe he’d spilled some of the fuel down the side of the van, too.

A long way down the floor, a dark figure suddenly moved out of shadow and into Roxy’s peripheral view. She spun sideways.

“Paxton,” she said, her voice carrying easily. “Where’s my daughter?”

Henry was leading a large dog on a leash. A Great Dane with ludicrous black and white spots. The dog pranced happily alongside Henry, as if on parade at Madison Square Garden.

“Hello, Roxy.” Henry sounded pleasant. “Thanks for coming. You followed all my rules?”

“I’m alone.”

“And the Achilles?”

She shook her head. “First I want to see my daughter.”

“She’s fine. Trust me.”

Roxy let that absurd remark hang in the cold air as Henry walked closer with the Great Dane.

She said, “I didn’t take you for a dog person.”

“He’s not mine,” Henry assured her. “I was going to return him to his rightful owner this evening and reap my reward, but things seem to have gotten out of hand. Maybe I’ll just turn him loose on a highway and hope he has the brains to get himself home. Dogs can do that, right?”

He stopped about ten feet away. The Great Dane strained forward on his leash to sniff Roxy. His tail was high and wagging. His tongue hung out, giving his face a goofy smile.

Roxy must have tightened her hands into fists, because Henry said, “Now, now. Do I have to show you this?”

He lifted the edge of his sweatshirt to show the butt of a handgun. The revolver was tucked into his belt.

Roxy forced herself to relax her hands. “Where’s my daughter?”

“You’ll see her in good time. First we have business to transact.”

“Forget that. I know what you’re capable of, Paxton. So I want to see Sage, or you won’t get the statue.”

He shook his head, smiling a little. “It doesn’t work that way, I’m afraid.”