Geographically, Caraway Island was part of Blueberry Bay, but they didn’t belong with us in any other way that counted. Perhaps that's why it felt so strange that Nan's new boyfriend—or whatever he was to her—hailed from the small, strange island.
“I wouldn't worry about it too much, Angie. I know we all have our little prejudices about those Cavaliers, but Nan likes Mr. Milton and she's a good judge of character,” Mom offered, even though I wasn’t sure she meant it.
“Maybe,” I said looking away and still feeling so lost and defeated in all this.
“What else can you tell us? Has there been any progress?” Charles asked.
And if my parents hadn't been standing right there, I would’ve given him a big fat juicy kiss as a thank you for changing the subject.
“I’ve been staying right on the story of the murders in the ice sculpture garden,” Mom said, making her voice every bit as dramatic as Octo-Cat’s was when he was telling the story or talking about himself. “The latest is that they found the statue the ice weapon was broken from. Even though it had mostly melted by the time the police arrived, they were still able to match it to a missing piece on the sculpture of a swan.”
“I saw that one!” I said. “It’s beautiful.”
“It was beautiful, and it was made by Pearl from the animal shelter. You know Pearl, don't you? Well, let me just say she was devastated that her art had been used to kill that poor woman. Especially considering that she'd known Zelda Benedict and they were friendly.”
“Do you think Pearl might have done it?” Charles ventured.
“Oh goodness, no!” Mom hissed, looking at Charles with shock and bewilderment. “Sweet Pearl is even older than Nan and not quite as spry. I have a hard time believing she can lift that five-pound Pomeranian of hers, let alone find the strength to first break off that giant icicle and then stab it through her friend's heart. Goodness me, not Pearl.”
“What’s everyone talking about over here?” Nan said, approaching with her usual swagger, arm linked in that of Mr. Milton.
“Thanks for coming so fast,” Charles said, not wasting a second now that we were all together. “We found Mags’s things spilled out on the ground here, so we know the kidnapper headed in this direction, and right now that's all we know. But it's a good place for us to start. Can you help us search?”
“I'll get the car,” Dad said with a nod. “Meet you back here just as soon as I can.”
“I'll get mine, too,” Mr. Milton volunteered.
“And I’ll go get mine,” said Charles. “Angie, I'll be right back. Okay?”
“Okay,” I nodded and accepted a quick kiss on the cheek.
As my boyfriend ran off with the other two men, Mom and Nan closed in for a group hug. We’d always been big huggers, but we took it to the extreme when facing situations like this. Danger and drama were becoming far too common for us these days, and I hated that Mags had been sucked into that.
“Do you guys have any theories?” I asked, knowing they probably wouldn't but still hoping they did.
Nan tilted her head. “I still can't get over the fact that one of them was killed with an icicle and the other a bullet. That doesn't seem very well planned to me.”
“It really doesn't,” Mom agreed. “And there's nothing to connect Fred and Zelda other than the fact they were both victimized today.”
“There is a lot to think about with the murders, and of course I want to get justice for them. But right now Mags is what's important,” I reminded them. “Do you have any theories about her?”
“Only that they meant to take you instead,” Nan said with a frown. “And it's not a theory I like very much.”
“But they took her instead of outright killing her. That's got to be a good thing. Right?” Mom asked, looking between me and Nan waiting for one of us to offer up a bit of encouragement.
“I hope so,” I said for what felt like the millionth time that morning. Until we had Mags back safe and sound, it was the only thing I had.
Hope.
Chapter Fifteen
Dad returned with his car first, and Charles arrived shortly thereafter.
“Okay,” I told everyone before departing, though Mr. Milton had still not returned. “We’re looking for a white cargo van. The license plate may be too muddy to read or maybe they’ve given the car a wash since then. The truth is we don’t have anything more than that. It’s a definite long shot, but right now it’s all we have to go on.”
“Right-o,” Dad said, touching his index finger and thumb together to make the okay signal. “Let’s go get our girl.”
I opened the passenger side door to Charles’s sedan, and Paisley hopped right in. He picked her up and placed her on the backseat while I sat down carefully and arranged Octo-Cat on my lap.
Although my cat was much better about riding in the car now, sometimes his claws would still dig into my thighs if the driver took turns too hard or went too fast.
As soon as I had my seatbelt pulled securely over my lap, Charles gunned it. “Which way do you want to turn?” he asked me, moving us along quickly toward the main road.
All I had now was intuition and what I hoped might turn out as lucky guesses. For whatever reason, something tugged me toward the left.
We drove slowly through the well-trafficked areas while scanning every parking lot for a sign of our white van.
“This isn’t going to work,” I said after a ten-minute period that seemed to drag on for an eternity. “If they were smart enough to orchestrate a kidnapping, then they’re smart enough to get the heck out of Dodge.”
“Maybe,” Charles agreed, continuing to maneuver the streets of Glendale unperturbed, “but we still have to try.”
“You’re right, you’re right,” I said, continuing to search in silence.
Octo-Cat surprised me by pressing his two front paws to the base of the window and joining our search. His fuzzy little head whipped back and forth with determination. Would he be the one to find her?
If we were still searching after dark, he likely would. After all, he was the only one of us who could see well in the dark.
Oh, how I hoped it wouldn’t come to that!
The longer it took, the higher the risk to Mags. We should have had her by now. She shouldn’t have ever been taken.
“Mommy,” Paisley yipped from the backseat. “I can’t see. I can’t see, and I want to help.”
“Has she spotted something?” Charles asked, answering her bark.
“No,” I translated without pulling my eyes away from the street. “She can’t see anything back there and wants to help.”
Charles patted his lap with one hand. “Oh, well then come here, girl. C’mon.”
Paisley didn’t need to be told twice. She vaulted from the backseat into Charles’s lap where she now stood with her paws against the door in the same position as Octo-Cat.
“There are so many cars!” she remarked. “But only one of them took Mags.”
“Obviously,” my cat droned, but Paisley ignored him.
Charles kept driving straight. If we didn’t turn off, we would eventually wind up in Cooper’s Cove. Might the kidnappers have taken Mags there?
My eyes strained and the left one began to twitch as I felt my pulse boom beneath it. My brain stayed equally busy. So much was going on, it had become difficult to keep my head straight.
Two people had been killed, but the murderer may have only meant to take a single victim. Mags was kidnapped shortly thereafter, but the kidnappers may have meant to take me instead. We didn’t know if the same person—or persons—had committed both crimes or whether it was just a big ol’ coincidence they occurred so close together. I had no idea who would want to take me, who would want to hurt the judges, or where Mags could be.