“Look here, Dooley,” said Kingman now, actually tilting his head to look in Dooley’s direction. “I don’t know if you know this, but once upon a time older rich ladies used to hire younger women to keep them company. Read to them, talk with them, discuss all manner of fascinating topic. They were called a lady’s companion because—”
“They kept the lady company.”
“Exactly! They would travel together to such places as Cannes and Italy, and almost be like part of the family. Now at a certain point men became jealous, and decided that they, too, wanted the benefit of a companion lady, see?”
“Sure. To read to them, and to talk with them, and all that kind of stuff.”
“So a prostitute is like a lady’s companion… for men.”
“Oh, okay. So you think Angel is a lady’s companion now, for a rich person?”
“That’s exactly what I think.”
“Well, that’s not so bad, is it?”
“It wouldn’t be bad if she had chosen to do this. Only it is my belief that the men who took her didn’t bother to ask her opinion. They just grabbed her for some rich guy.”
“Oh, I understand. They took her but never asked her if she agreed. That’s not very nice.”
“Exactly, Dooley. That’s not nice at all.”
“It’s probably even worse than that,” I said.
“How can it be worse, Max?” asked Kingman.
“Angel probably is forced to work for free.”
“I think these men are very bad, Max,” said Dooley decidedly. “And I think we have to stop them, and get Angel out of their clutches.”
“Yeah, only problem is: we have no idea who these people are. Or where they’re keeping her—if indeed she was taken.” Though the more I thought about it, the more I was inclined to think that Kingman was right. It was the phone that had decided me. No girl Angel’s age would willingly part with her phone. Those phones are glued to her generation’s hands, and taking it away is the worst thing that can happen—well, apart from being abducted and forced into prostitution, maybe.
“Unless of course we’re dealing with some kind of murdering maniac,” said Kingman, placing his head down again. “In that case we’ll never see Angel again.”
“Oh, but Kingman, that mustn’t happen!” said Dooley, who clearly had become invested in a happy ending to be had by Angel and her family.
“Say, Kingman,” I said. “Do you happen to know who Angel’s dad is?”
Kingman gave me a thoughtful look.“Somehow I have the impression you already know the answer, Max.”
“Is it… a certain friend of your human?”
Kingman grinned.“Indeed it is.”
“And how do you know?” I asked.
“Because Father Reilly and Wilbur are exactly that: good friends. And good friends talk, Max.”
“And you listen.”
“All the time.”
“So do you think there is a connection with her disappearance?”
Kingman thought for a moment, then shrugged.“If there is a connection, I don’t see it.”
“Thanks, Kingman.” That was all I needed to know. If Kingman didn’t see a connection, chances were that there wasn’t one. He wasn’t called the oracle of Hampton Cove for no reason. Just then, a slightly wide-eyed Tex walked into the store, and moments later walked out again, carrying a box filled with bottles of some kind—I could hear the merry clinking of glass against glass. He placed the box on the backseat of his car, then drove off.
Dooley let out a tiny yip.“Looks like Tex just bought a box full of goodies for us, Max!”
Somehow I doubted that very much. Tex is a lot of things, but Santa Claus for cats he is not. He tolerates us, and accepts our presence in his home, but he’s not the one who takes care of us, feeds us or enjoys our company. No, judging from the shifty-eyed look Tex had shot up and down the street just now, whatever he was carrying was for his own personal consumption only—and clearly something prying eyes were not allowed to see!
19
Though at first reluctant to touch the food, Angel’s stomach decided otherwise, and even though she’d half expected to pass out on the bed after ingesting the admittedly copious meal, half an hour after finishing her plate she was still conscious and frankly feeling a lot better already. Her headache was slowly dissipating, and now that she’d eaten, she found herself wondering with even more fervor what was going on. So she pounded the door in the hope the masked man would return and shed some light on the strange circumstances in which she suddenly found herself.
Moments later she heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock and the door opened.“Good girl,” the man said as he saw the empty plate.
“What’s going on?” she asked, planting her hands on her hips. “I’ve been abducted, haven’t I? Or is this some kind of joke you’re playing on me?”
“No joke,” the man growled as he collected the tray and placed a carafe of water in its stead, along with a glass.
“So what is it then? Why am I here?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” the man said as he kept a safe distance, then quickly made for the door again. And when she turned to follow him, suddenly she found her passage blocked by a second man, also masked, and even bigger than the first one.
“Nice try, honey,” said this second man, and then the door was slammed in her face.
She gave it a good pounding.“Let me out!” she cried. “Let me out of here right now!” When no response came, she yelled, “If it’s money you want, you won’t get any—my mom is as poor as a church mouse!”
But clearly her words fell on deaf ears. So she sank down on the bed again, and buried her head in her hands. Why was this happening? She didn’t understand. Her mom worked as a housekeeper for Father Reilly, and neither of them had any money to spare.
She now thought back to the big fight she and the priest had the previous day. She’d complained to him that he made her mom work all hours of the day and night, and he responded that this was her own choice. She’d even accused him of slave labor, after she discovered that her mom had been at the rectory on a Sunday night. What could possibly be so important that he needed her services in the middle of the night? And when she’d told her mom she thought she should quit her job and find another one with more regular hours, her mom had said that she liked her job just fine. It was maddening!
But now that she thought more about the whole situation, suddenly she found herself wondering if perhaps Father Reilly could somehow be involved.
Of course he didn’t want to lose such an obedient little slave like her mom—who worked for practically no pay and hopped it down to the rectory whenever he snapped his fingers. So maybe her words had made him anxious that she’d manage to convince her mom to quit her job, and he probably knew he would never find a replacement.
So could he have arranged to have her abducted? But if so, what was his end game? Would he simply keep her locked up forever? Father Reilly might be a slave driver but he was no monster. Or was he? Frankly she’d long had the feeling there were things about him she wasn’t aware of. Secrets the man kept. Once she’d heard her mom and the priest fight, and when she’d put her ear against the door he’d said, ‘I don’t think you understand my position, Marigold.’ To which her mom had replied, ‘Oh, I know your position all too well, Francis. You’re a selfish, selfish man, and all you can think of is what is good for you!’
She closed her eyes, and soon she was sleeping soundly. Being up all night, and then being knocked over the head with a sizable club has a certain soporific effect on a person.
[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]
We’d just decided that our next port of call should be the Gazette, when our human came walking out of her office, closing the door behind her.