Madison Avenue Shoot (17 page)

Mary was in the living room when we came in. She rose from the sofa and enfolded Donna in a hug. The emotions that my niece by marriage had held in all evening came flowing out in Mary’s embrace. It was heartbreaking to hear her sobs. She was under such emotional pressure—the fears, the mourning for a missing child even though we held on to our hopes that Frank was still alive, the misery at not having Grady to share the grief, the worry about her husband’s situation, and always, always the terrible uncertainty of it all.

I put down my bag and went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea, my panacea for all that ails me, even though I knew tea would offer little solace to Donna. She needed some food in her stomach. I put the water up to boil, searched their refrigerator for something for her to eat, and made a plate of fruit and cheese and crackers, slicing up the last of the apples I had brought to them. Mary joined me as I was pouring water into the teapot.

“She’s lying down in Frank’s room,” she said, “holding on to his teddy bear.”

I nodded. “She needs the rest.”

“My son is in Donna and Grady’s bedroom watching TV. I hope you don’t mind that I brought him down with me. I didn’t tell Michele what’s happening, but he knows something is wrong. He told me he wishes Frank would come home.” She fought to hold back the tears.

“Of course I don’t mind. I hope he gets his wish—and soon.” I carried the food to the table. Mary followed with the teapot and mugs.

“Donna told me everything,” Mary said, “about Grady being arrested, and Frank seeing the murder and being kidnapped. It’s all so awful. I can’t comprehend it.”

“I think Donna was communicating her worst fears,” I said. “We’re not sure yet if Frank saw anything. We only know that we found a pair of earphones he was using in the same room where we found the victim’s body. And while it’s true that Grady is being held, the good news is that he hasn’t been charged with any crime. At least not yet. I have the feeling he’s being held more as a person of interest—that’s a police term—than as a definite suspect.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Yes, it is. However, I have to find a lawyer for him, and it’s been a few years since I lived here in the city.”

“My husband is traveling right now, but when I speak with him later tonight, I’ll ask if he knows a good one.”

“Thank you, and I’ll be making a few calls myself. My agent or publisher will certainly be of help. I’ll use my cell phone so I don’t tie up Donna and Grady’s line.”

“Is there anything more I can do for you or Donna or Grady? Would you like me to stay the night? It’s not a problem. We can bring down sleeping bags.”

“That’s kind of you, but it’s not necessary. I’ll stay here until Grady gets home, and however long they need me after that. I have a friend at my hotel who can pack up my belongings and send them down here.”

“Why don’t I get Michele and give you a little privacy to make your calls. Donna has my phone number, but I’ll write it down for you in case she’s sleeping and you need me. We’re only upstairs. I don’t plan on going anywhere this evening. Please call for any reason, at any hour.”

“I certainly will, Mary. Thank you.”

She walked down the hall to fetch her son, and I placed two quick phone calls. One was to Cookie, who was probably out to dinner; I left her a voice message asking that she send my things to Grady’s apartment. The other was to the Waldorf’s front desk, informing them that I would be checking out, and requesting that someone give their guest Stella Bedford the key to my room when she returned this evening.

Michele covered up a yawn with one hand as he followed his mother into the living room; the other hand held his walkie-talkie, which was making loud static noises. My thoughts flew again to Frank—they were never very far from him—and I knew he must be tired, too. Michele would get to sleep in his own bed that night, but where would Frank sleep?

Donna wandered in from Frank’s room, red-eyed and exhausted. “I can’t lie still,” she said. “My mind is just a jumble of thoughts. Are you leaving, Mary?”

“I was, but I’ll come back any time you ask.”

“You’ve done more than enough. Thank you so much.” She placed a hand on Michele’s shoulder. “How are you, Michele? You’re Frank’s best friend. Do you know that?”

“We go to the zoo when my father is home,” Michele said. “Frank wants to see the
elefante
, and I want to see the
leone marino
.”

“That’s the sea lion,” Mary said, smiling softly at her son.

Donna’s eyes met mine. She dropped her hand. “That’s nice, Michele,” she said. “I’m sure the two of you will have a wonderful time.” There was a hitch in her voice.

“I went once to the zoo,” Michele said. “I tell Frank, he will like the
elefante
.”

The static sounded on his walkie-talkie, drowning out his last words. Mary leaned toward her son. “Why don’t you turn that off now? We’re going upstairs for dinner.”

Michele held up the walkie-talkie and shook his head, but on Mary’s insistence, he turned the knob, stopping the sound of the static.

“We’ll see you later,” Mary said.

Donna walked them to the door. I watched as they stepped into the hall. Something was bothering me, but what was it?

“Wait!” I said, rushing to stop them before they left. “Mary, would you come back inside for a moment, please.”

They returned to the living room and Donna closed the door. “Aunt Jessica? What is it?”

I put my hands on Michele’s shoulders and looked earnestly into his eyes. “Michele, did you speak to Frank on his walkie-talkie today?” I asked.

Michele shrugged one shoulder and shook his head.

“Why do you ask, Aunt Jessica?” Donna put her hand on my arm. “Frank didn’t have his walkie-talkie with him today. I told him not to take it. I was afraid it would get lost.”

“Do you know where it is?” I asked.

“Yes. I put it in the top drawer of his dresser.” She walked quickly to Frank’s room and I heard the drawer being opened. “Here it . . . no, it’s not here.”

I smoothed down my hair and cocked my head at her. Obviously, Frank didn’t always listen to his mother. “Frank mentioned that he had it with him when I saw him this morning,” I said. “I didn’t see it, but it must have been in his pocket.”

“His pockets are always full,” she said, the second smile I’d seen that day making a fleeting appearance on her lips. “I have to be careful when I do the laundry to make sure he’s emptied them.”

I turned back to Michele. “Do you think Frank keeps his walkie-talkie on, like you do?”

He shrugged again and looked over his shoulder to his mother.

“You can answer Mrs. Fletcher, Michele.”

But he looked at me with a worried expression and was silent.

“What are you thinking, Aunt Jessica?”

It was a long shot. After all, Frank was probably still somewhere outside the city. But a long shot is better than no shot at all. And Grady had said the walkie-talkies were long-range. Just how long-range I didn’t know. “Michele, is Frank your good friend?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Would you do a big favor for him? Would you turn on the walkie-talkie again?”

Michele looked to his mother for approval.

“Go ahead,” she said.

He twisted the dial until the sound of static filled the room again. “Please try to call Frank now,” I said over the noise.

Michele shook his head.

“Michele,” his mother said cajolingly, “please do what Mrs. Fletcher asks.”

Michele shook his head and pointed toward the master bedroom.

Mary looked at me apologetically. “I’m sorry, Jessica.”

“That’s all right,” I said, my eyes never leaving Michele. “Does the walkie-talkie work better in the bedroom?” I asked him.

There was a small nod and a smile.

“May we try it in there?”

Michele twirled around and skipped down the hall to the bedroom. He sat on the end of the bed and twisted the volume button to high. “Station two to station one. Come in.”

There was a blast of static and then nothing. Michele pursed his lips, then moved to the window. He leaned on the windowsill and tried again. “Station two to station one. Come in,
per favore
.”

More static and then a tiny voice came through. “Station one to station two, I hear you.”

Donna gasped. “Is it Frank?” she whispered.

“May I?” I asked Michele, putting out my hand for the walkie-talkie.

He hesitated, tipped his head to the side, his eyes on mine, smiled, and handed it to me.

I pressed the button to talk. “Station one, this is Aunt Jessica. Is that you, Frank?”

“You have to say ‘come in’ or he won’t answer,” Michele instructed.

“Oh. Thank you.” I tried again. “Station one, this is Aunt Jessica. Is that you, Frank? Come in, please.”

The tiny voice was marred by static, but I heard, “This is station one. Hi, Aunt Jessica.”

D
onna’s hands were trembling when she took the walkie-talkie from me. “Frank, are you all right?” she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks as she fumbled with the talk button. “Can you hear me, Frank? Are you all right?”

“I’m okay, but are you coming to get me soon? I’m hungry.”

“Y-y-es, sweetheart. As soon as we can,” she said, wiping away the tears. “But we don’t know where you are. Can you tell me where you are, Frank?”

“I don’t know, Mom. You sound funny. Can I talk to Dad?”

“He’s not here right now, sweetheart,” Donna said, sniffling. She looked at me. “He doesn’t know where he is. How can we find him?”

“May I talk with him again?” I asked.

“Aunt Jessica wants to talk to you, Frank. Hold on.” She handed the instrument back to me. “How are we going to find him?” she whispered to herself again. “He doesn’t know where he is. We have to find him.”

“Frank, this is Aunt Jessica again. If you can’t tell us where you are, tell me what you can see.”

“Nothing, Aunt Jessica. It’s dark and I can’t see out the window.”

“But you have a window where you are?”

“Yes, but it’s on the other side and I can’t get to it.”

“What’s keeping you from getting to the window?” I asked, fearful he would say that his hands were tied.

“There’s a bunch of boxes and stuff, and I’m stuck behind them.”

“Are you in a storeroom?” I asked, thinking that if he was still in the office building, I would get Detective Chesny back to the location as soon as possible.

“No! I’m in a truck.”

“A truck!” Donna and Mary and I said at the same time.

Michele, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, bounced up and down gleefully. “He’s in a truck,” he said, laughing.

“Is anyone with you?” I asked.

There was a pulse of static; then I heard, “. . . left.”

“Who left, Frank? Who was with you before?”

More static. “. . . icky.”

“Was that Ricky? Did you say Ricky?”

“Yeah, he’s . . . rip.”

I remembered that Frank had told us about the grip, Ricky, the carpenter, the one who let him use his nail gun. Was Ricky the murderer? Had he kidnapped my grandnephew?

“Did Ricky take you with him when he left?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean by ‘not exactly’?”

“I was helping . . .” The static was getting louder and Frank’s voice was fading.

“Frank, can you still hear me?”

I couldn’t make out what he said.

“The battery must be going,” I said to Donna. I tried pushing the call button again. “Frank, if you can hear me, we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

The static stopped. Michele’s walkie-talkie was dead.

“Oh, no,” Donna gasped.

“We can charge the battery,” Mary said. “I have the charger upstairs. In the meantime, he sounds fine, Donna.” She wound her arm around Donna’s shoulder. “Just remember, he’s all right. He’s safe, he’s sheltered. Nothing can hurt him. That’s the important thing. We’ll find him.”

“But how?” Donna looked at me imploringly. “Aunt Jessica? We don’t even know this Ricky’s last name. And where is this truck? What if we can’t find him? Frank will starve.”

Michele groaned. Mary released Donna and knelt down in front of her son. “No, Michele,” she said, taking his hands. “It’s okay. Donna didn’t mean that. Frank is fine. You heard him. We’re going to find him. And we’ll give him a big dinner.”

“I’m sorry, Michele,” Donna said. “I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“Speaking of dinner,” I said, addressing Michele, “we’ve kept you from yours. Why don’t you go upstairs with your mother and have your dinner, and we’ll call you as soon as Frank is home. And thank you, Michele. It was your walkie-talkie that will help us find Frank. You’re a real hero.”

Michele gave me a big grin. “I’m glad Frank is coming home.”

“Me, too,” I said.

After Mary and Michele left, Donna and I sat at the dining table, the telephone in front of us.

“We have to let Grady know,” Donna said. “And I want Frank back here tonight. Can we do it?” Her tears had dried, and a fierce resolve had taken the place of her earlier misery.

“Why don’t you call Detective Chesny?” I said. “Tell him what we know, and ask if he’ll get word to Grady. Maybe he’ll have some suggestions on what we should do next.”

Donna rose from the table. “I’ll take my cell phone into the bedroom so I don’t disturb you. Who are you going to call?”

“I’m going to find out where this truck is,” I said, opening my bag and pulling out the Eye Screen folder I’d been given for the shoot.

Donna bent down and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “You’re the best, Aunt Jessica. Brilliant. I don’t know what we’d do without you. I’d never have thought to try the walkie-talkies.”

“It was a lucky break.”