Grand Theft Retro (Style & Error Mystery Series Book 5) (13 page)

The tension that had been building up from the first moment I’d heard Pritchard tell someone they had to keep what they were doing a secret snapped. I snapped. My voice cracked and tears streamed down my face. It was my worst nightmare. I collapsed against Detective Loncar. He patted my back as I cried on his shoulder. He didn’t say a word, just stood there while I bawled on his one decent suit jacket.

When my tears subsided, I pulled away. I looked at the bedspread. Loncar and I had gone head-to-head a few times. Crying on his shoulder in the same room where he’d slept was unprecedented and I found it impossible to make eye contact.

“You stay here. In this room. Give me the keys to your house and your office. And the taxi. I want the keys to that retired taxi you’ve been driving. Until you hear from me, you are to go nowhere, you are to do nothing. You are not to answer the door after I leave. You are not to send up smoke signals or order takeout from the sandwich shop on the corner. Do you understand?”

“But I have to go home sometime.”

“Not until I clear it.”

“I have to check out.”

“I’ll check out for you.”

“You’re treating me like a child,” I said.

“You’re right. Until this case is solved, I’m going to treat you like a child. You wanted to be the daughter I never had, right? My own daughter might not want to talk to me right now, so you’re going to be her stand-in. You got that?”

“Yes.”

“I am going to call you from your house. I trust you’ll recognize the number?” I nodded. “Answer that call and that call only.”

“But what about Nick? He needs to know about that message.”

“I’ll take care of Mr. Taylor. What did you leave in your room?”

“Just my backpack, my laptop, and my toothbrush.”

He brought my belongings from my room into his and took all of my keys. “Lock the door behind me.” And with that, he was gone.

Hotel rooms can get very boring very quickly. I showered, redressed, brushed my teeth and blew dry my hair without benefit of a brush or a straightening iron. No makeup, no styling products, no nothing. My morning routine used up all of seven minutes.

When I came out of the bathroom, I checked my phone to see if I’d missed any calls. I hadn’t. I checked my email. Nothing interesting. I spent the next two hours watching
Forensic Files
, breaking only to order a case of Luminol on the internet. When I stopped to think what I might discover during Luminol spraying, I canceled my order and changed the channel to Hallmark. At least their mysteries came with a healthy dose of romance.

The rest of my afternoon went something like this:

12-2: Watched Hallmark Channel. Smiled at how well things went between Nick and me last night.

2:01: Picked up phone to call Nick.

2:01:30: Set down phone. No call made.

Aside from Loncar’s instructions for me to stay put and not contact anybody, I didn’t know what to say if Nick answered. He’d been here with me, trying to make sure I was safe, while a crazy person had kidnapped his dad. Because of me, his family unit was at risk. I didn’t know how he’d forgive me if anything happened. If Nick had been asked, I didn’t know if he’d think things between us had gone all that well.

Truth was, there were a lot of things I didn’t know about Nick. I’d faked myself into believing that nine years as colleagues had shown me who he was, but they’d shown me one dimension of his personality. It was his charming side. I knew facts about him—his annual vacation in Hawaii, his penchant for martinis and Frank Sinatra music at the end of the day and how he looked in a vintage tuxedo, but that was façade. I’d never given him the opportunity to be vulnerable around me because, more often than not, I was the one who found trouble. How did he react when the crisis was this close to home? Would he take it out on me by lashing out or shutting down? Would he forgive me my involvement or hold it against me regardless of the outcome? Neither option was desirable.

During the past several months as we took things slow, I’d brushed the unresolved issues between us under the rug. I didn’t bring up how he’d once given me an ultimatum. He didn’t bring up—whatever it was that bothered him about me (if he had, I’d have an example). I thought about all of the happy couples in the world, and how they seemed to make it work. Maybe not talking about problems was the secret.

2:16: Changed channel to
Gone Girl.

4:00: Realized that maybe all of those happy couples in the world are really like the couple in that movie.

4:01: Clicked back to Hallmark.

4:27: Showered for second time. Came up with a plan to save Nick and potentially rescue his father. If Pritchard had kidnapped him to prove he could get to me through my circle, then Pritchard needed to think Nick and I were not together. Nick and I would have to stage a public fight.

4:55 (it was a long shower): Texted Nick. Debated the pros and cons of telling him my plan. Watched screen for two minutes straight waiting for response. Nothing.

4:57: Watched credits to Hallmark movie.

4:58: Ran background checks on Nancie Townsend and Tahoma Hunt.

5:37: (while waiting for report to show up in my inbox): Considered running background check on Nick.

5:37:30: Deleted partially filled out form requesting background check on Nick and went back to third Hallmark Movie.

The reports on Nancie and Tahoma arrived in my inbox fifteen minutes later.

Aside from a fair portion of credit card debt and a problem with unpaid parking tickets, Nancie’s background report seemed normal. She had seventeen different addresses attributed to her name, which seemed a bit odd, but sometimes it’s hard to find the perfect place to live. She had no DUIs, no sex offenses, no liens against property (because she owned no property), and her credit score was slightly above average. Nothing that set off warning bells or internal alarms.

Tahoma Hunt was a different story.

Chapter 15

SATURDAY
AFTERNOON

The first things I noticed were the felony convictions. Tahoma Hunt might have a respectable title at Bethany House, but from what I read, he was a repeat offender. The fourteen charges, some multiple, ranged from property crime to larceny theft to robbery and vandalism. Tahoma Hunt did not appear to be a very good guy.

The second thing that hit me was his current address in Utah. It shouldn’t have meant anything. Lots of people chose to live in Utah. But the two facts, coupled with his presence at
Retrofit
and the theft at Jennie Mae’s house was too convenient. First Pritchard had a fake ID from Utah, now I found that Tahoma lived there. What could possibly be happening in Ribbon, PA to draw not one but two men here from out of state?

I couldn’t help but wonder how Nancie had met Tahoma. Had he heard about our project and sought her out? Or had their connection over the
Retrofit
project been a separate coincidence? I’d learned a long time ago that one coincidence was just that; two was a pattern. Now to find out what it meant.

By nine o’clock, I was cleaner than I’d been in the past five years. I was also bored out of my mind and starved. Loncar hadn’t called. Nick hadn’t texted. And Hallmark had moved on to Christmas movies in May. Things were not looking up.

I rooted through my backpack, hoping for a half eaten candy bar or at least some mints but came up empty. What I did find, though, was Mohammad’s business card. It featured a clear picture of him smiling for the camera, along with his Cab License number, effective date, and phone number. Along the bottom was a separate number for the PA Department of Transportation and a website for the Licensed Cab Driver’s Association. If Mo was who he said he was, then he might be able to help me. But having run background checks on several people in the past few hours, it seemed only prudent to be sure Mo was legit. Being well past the hours of nine and five, the first call to the PA Department of Transportation went unanswered. I returned to the computer and accessed LCDA.com, plugging Mo’s name and license number into the required fields. After a minimal wait while the computer ran the info, his profile page popped up. It included the same photo, name, cab driver’s license, and the valid to and from dates that were on his card. I clicked around the page looking for something to caution me against calling him, but his bright white smile looked just as cheerful on the page as it did in person. Maybe Mo was exactly who he said he was.

I closed the internet window and called the number on his card.

“Mo, this is Samantha Kidd.”

“Miss Samantha. Is there a problem with the dead taxi?”

“No problem at all. It’s been great. But I do have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition? I do not understand.”

“An opportunity. I’m at the Motel 6 on Fairmont Avenue. I can’t leave the hotel. Could you pick up a few things for me and deliver them? I’ll pay you when you get here, and I’ll pay your cab fare as if you were driving me around.”

“This is an odd request,” he said. “I usually only charge when I have a passenger.”

It didn’t seem that odd to me, but something that he’d said gave me another idea, one that was far more odd than the first. If we could create a decoy and make it look like Mo was driving me around, then I could come and go as I wanted.

“Miss Samantha?” he asked. “I am waiting for your shopping list.”

“Change of plans,” I said. “Let me call you back.”

My next call was to Eddie. “Do you think I could borrow a mannequin? Not a whole one. Just a half? The top half. Dressed. Is that possible?”

“Dude, where are you? The doors to your office are locked and the
Retrofit
website hasn’t been updated in two days.
Did you relocate?”

“Not exactly. I’m—I can’t tell you where I am. Something is going on with this project that Nancie has me working on.”

“You’re still employed? That’s good news.”

“We’ll see.” About the employment or the news being good, I wasn’t sure which. “But a mannequin. Do you have one I can borrow?”

“I have Torso Tess. She doesn’t have a head or arms.”

“No head? I need a head.”

“Why do you want a mannequin?”

“You can’t repeat this to anybody. Got that?”

“Dude, that’s the basis of our entire friendship. Shoot.”

In five minutes of fast talking, I told Eddie that I was hiding out at a Motel 6 while Detective Loncar investigated the theft at the Tome house. I didn’t mention the exact threat from Pritchard. I didn’t have to.

“That’s why you wanted me to watch Logan.”

“How’s he doing? Are—things—back to normal yet?”

“Hard to say what normal is. I feel like I clean that litter box three times a day. He does seem peppier.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “So, the mannequin?”

“I’ll glue a Styrofoam wig head to her neck and stuff the sleeves of a sweater with tissue paper. That should work. Where do you want me to bring her?”

“I don’t. I’m going to send a taxi to Tradava. Put her in the back of the taxi and send her off. The driver knows me. He’ll bring her here and drop off a few things. Then we’ll set her up in the back of his taxi so it looks like he picked me up and drove me away. If anybody is watching here or looking for me, they’ll think she’s me. I can go undercover and nobody will know.”

“Dude, she doesn’t have legs.”

“Just get the mannequin together. I’ll work out the rest by the time Mo arrives.”

I called Mo back and asked him to pick up a package from Tradava. I didn’t tell him that it was a fake me. I had a feeling that would be lost in translation.

I checked the phone obsessively over the next hour and a half. The sun was down, and the motel, other than a few patrons here and there, was quiet. No word from Loncar or Nick.

At ten after ten, a bright yellow taxi pulled into the parking lot. I stood in the doorway to the hotel room and watched it snake past the rest of the parked cars and head in my direction. I went inside and grabbed the rust backpack. I scribbled a note to Loncar that I’d be back shortly and pulled the door shut behind me. I got all the way to the bottom of the metal staircase before a spray of bullets let loose from the driver’s side window.

Chapter 16

SATURDAY
NIGHT

I dropped the backpack and ran toward the ice machine. My phone, wallet, and an assortment of lip glosses scattered into the parking lot. The shiny yellow taxi backed up, and then the tires squealed against the blacktop as the driver threw it into gear. Another taxi pulled into the lot and I recognized Mohammed. I yanked the back door of the second taxi open and dove in.

“Drive!” I hollered.

I felt a bullet hit the side of the cab. It rocked with the impact. Mo swung the wheel, arced the vehicle in a 180 degree turn, and left the lot twice as fast as he had entered. I dropped down behind the passenger seat. I didn’t want to look up and see where we were going or acknowledge where we had been.

“Is he following us?” I finally asked.

“No, Miss Samantha. He is not with us. We are alone on the street.”

I believed him, but I was afraid to move. Torso Tess was on the back seat, her Styrofoam eyes staring into my own. I tried to turn her away from me and her head popped off. I set it on the seat next to her shoulder and pulled her jacket up over her stub of a neck.

“Miss Samantha, why would someone shoot at you?” Mo asked.

“It’s a long story.”

“Like
War and Peace?
That is a long story, too.”

“No, not quite like that. Mo, I think you should take me to the police station.”

“You have already been to the police station once, have you not?”

“Yes,” I said. I’d gone to the police. I’d told Detective Loncar everything I knew. He said he was going to protect me. And then I’d been shot at in the one place where Loncar claimed I’d be safe.

“You are trying to avoid someone,” Mo said. “I have an idea.”

“But your new taxi was shot.”

“I do not worry about my taxi. I have insurance.”

I felt Mo accelerate through the streets of downtown Ribbon, turning here and there, stopping at the occasional traffic light. I didn’t know where we were going. I watched through the back passenger windows and saw the facades of row homes pass by. It took me awhile to realize we were headed to the west side of town.