“I hope this works. I’d hate for it to fly off on the highway when it’s not even paid for.”
“Why do you have so many of these things?” Emma asked, holding one of the cords as if it were a snake.
“After duct tape, a bungee cord is the single most useful thing you can buy for a dollar. Sometimes two for a dollar. C’mon, get in the car. There’s something I have to tell you.”
Fifteen minutes later J. C. and Lucy emerged from the service station bathroom newly primped. J. C.’s black sweatshirt was loosely thrown over her shoulders and an unnecessary but fashionable belt hung around her slim waist over a white cotton tank top that they’d just bought, three to a pack, in the mini-mart. Her lips were slightly pinker than they’d been before.
“Is that what you two have been doing? Shopping and playing with makeup? Jeez, I could have used some help here.”
“Where’s Emma?”
I pointed to the median, where Emma was balanced on a concrete block clutching an unlit highway light.
“How’d she get over there?” Lucy asked.
“I activated the ejector seat. Whaddaya think? She ran off when I told her we were picking up her father at the airport. I don’t know where she thought she was going, but she realized pretty quickly there was nowhere to go. She’s on foot, on the highway, and now she’s paralyzed with fear and can’t move.
“All right,” I said. “There’s not that much traffic. One of us just has to bring her back.” But the service station was around a slight turn and that made it dangerous and difficult to see oncoming traffic for more than a few seconds—especially if the vehicle was doing more than sixty, which was a good bet on this road at this hour. J. C. would have volunteered if I’d let her, but I wasn’t about to.
“Hey,” Lucy said, “I just met the girl. I like to save my infrequent acts of heroism for people I’ve known more than forty-five minutes.”
“I’ll go. There’s something else you can do.” I looked around the service station for traffic cones but didn’t see any. Improvising, I unwound Lucy’s long red scarf and handed it to her. “See that tree right near the curve in the road? Stand on something and tie this to the highest branch you can reach. I don’t need them to stop, but people will slow down a bit when they see it. At least I hope they do. But don’t stay there. You’ll get killed.”
“Great, if one of them hits me, that’ll really slow things down for you.”
“Not necessary. I’ll go get her after the first car that slows down and sees me.”
Lucy ran to the far end of the service area. She didn’t give herself enough credit for bravery. She clambered over a large tree of heaven ailanthus and attached the scarf. She gave me the high sign. Two cars passed, but only the first had slowed down. Not good.
“What can I do?” J. C. said. I was running low on ideas.
“In my truck I’ve got a big yellow lantern.” I told her to go down to the end of the service area where Lucy was still waiting for more instructions. “Just click it on and off a lot so drivers will know something’s up. I don’t need that much time.”
“You mean like Morse code?”
“Do you know anybody who really knows Morse code? Besides, even if they did, they wouldn’t be able to read it going seventy miles an hour. Just flash it a bunch of times. Wait a minute. I have a better idea.” I ran to the Jeep, drove to the end of the service area, and backed the car over to the side of the road as close as I dared to the highway. I put the hazard lights on. Between the red scarf, the hazard lights, and J. C.’s faux Morse code, anyone who didn’t slow down would have had to be crazy.
I ran back to the spot opposite Emma and waited for my chance. Yes, there was honking and some name calling, but it only lasted a few minutes. I bolted into the road and yanked Emma back to the service area. Lucy drove the car back to our end of the parking lot.
Fifty-eight
“Gee, Emma, we’re going north, not south. Get in the car.” She did as she was told. We crawled down to the on-ramp and got there just in time to see Lucy’s silk scarf fluttering in the breeze and ultimately flying away like a giant bird.
“You owe me big-time.”
“That was a five-dollar purchased-on-the-street-from-a-Senegalese-guy scarf and you know it.”
Lucy and J. C. were an impromptu tag team, explaining to Emma that no matter what her father had done, she should at least hear him out. I didn’t know if it was working on her, but the brainwashing was getting to me.
“Okay,” I said. “I know you both have Emma’s best interests at heart, but she’s a big girl. Apart from the fact that she did just run into traffic—which is a major no-no at any age, by the way—she’s a grown woman. She knows adults make mistakes. She’s even made a few herself recently. If he can forgive her, maybe she can forgive him. Maybe they can patch things up, but it’s up to them, not us. So, lay off.”
“I’m sorry,” Emma said. “Really. I’ve never met women like you before. You’re amazing. You’re so normal.”
We rode in silence for the rest of the way, until we reached airport arrivals. When we pulled up to an attractive, older man with a thick mustache and longish gray hair Emma burst into tears. She jumped out of the car and ran to hug him.
“I can definitely see the appeal,” Lucy said, watching the reunion from inside the Jeep. “We still need to confirm the private plane business, but I hope she tells him how amazing we are. The normal part will be harder to sell.”
J. C. leaned forward from the backseat. “I don’t disagree with you, dear.”
Wrentham and Emma squeezed into the backseat and we resumed the drive to Jean Moffitt’s. The iron gates guarding her home opened automatically, revealing a small table manned by uniformed staff to welcome guests.
“I think I own that jacket,” Lucy said, looking at a parking attendant.
“You do. I just tried it on and it made me look like a busboy. That’s why I borrowed this one instead.”
“Please don’t tie that one to a tree. I didn’t pay for it myself, but it would have been very expensive if I had.”
Valet parking gave me a ticket and a map of the gardens and grounds. An official greeter, also in black pants and a white jacket, looked for our names on his clipboard. I was listed with two guests, but Lucy exercised some of her famous charm and it didn’t matter that I showed up with four. Wrentham, Emma, and J. C. showed them IDs, and they took our names.
“Has a Mr. Stancik arrived?” I asked.
Another quick perusal of the guest list. “I don’t see him on my list—oh, wait, there he is. A last-minute addition. He hasn’t arrived yet, madam.”
I asked about Reiger and Shepard, and they were both in attendance. Our group walked a few steps onto the terrace and we were surrounded by offers of food and drink.
“We are perfectly safe,” I said. “This is a huge party. All we have to do now is stick together and smoke out Mr. Rose. The police are on their way. Just don’t go off anywhere on your own.” I scanned the crowd for familiar faces. Turning around, I realized J. C. and I were already on our own. Lucy had followed a tray of hors d’oeuvres to a massive buffet overlooking a large pond. Emma and her father had disappeared.
“You did tell them we were perfectly safe,” J. C. said.
“And they listened to me? I was trying to make them feel better. We’re on a ninety-acre estate. Someone could die here and not be found for years.”
J. C. promised to stick close and we set out to find Kristi Reynolds, who might lead us to Scott Reiger, who I’d recognize but J. C. wouldn’t. “Look for a salmon-colored shirt,” I said, “he’s been wearing them all week. It has his company name on the breast pocket, SlugFest.”