Chapter Nine
Zach stood in the living room of a townhome that probably cost more than he made in ten years and looked from Susannah Franco to her husband, Peter. “So there were no issues with Melissa?”
“What kind of issues?” Peter Franco asked.
“The typical sort, like a fight, maybe?”
“Absolutely not,” Peter said. “I hope you’re not suggesting something foolish, like Melissa ran away. Nothing could be further from the truth, and the time you’re wasting here is time you could spend looking for my daughter.”
Susannah Franco placed her hand on her husband’s arm. “He’s just doing his job.” She looked at Zach. “My husband’s right. Melissa is a very happy child. I know all parents think their children are special, but Melissa truly is. She never has a harsh word to say and always finds the fun and joy in just about anything. She loves her life.”
Zach nodded. “What about illness? Sometimes if a child is sick, they behave differently, or if they’re running a fever, it can affect their memory.”
Peter shook his head. “She wasn’t sick. In fact, Melissa is never sick. She has allergies but a mild case at that. My wife is right. She is a very special child. Perfect, almost. Sometimes frighteningly so.”
“Why do you say that?” Zach asked.
“I don’t know,” Peter replied. “It took us so long to conceive and we’d just about given up hope. I guess I just always had this feeling that I got something I didn’t deserve with Melissa, and one day it would be taken from me.” He gave Zach a bleak look. “I guess I was right.”
“We’re going to find her,” Zach assured him. “When I called earlier I asked about the instructions for your security system. Were you able to locate those?”
“Oh, yes,” Peter said. “They were filed in my office. I’ll get them for you.” He exited the living room and hurried up the stairway. Zach allowed himself one second of relief that he’d managed to get Peter out of the room, but then he turned his best investigative techniques on Susannah. The townhome wasn’t that big, and Peter would be back any minute.
“Mrs. Franco,” he said in a low voice, “before your husband returns, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Susannah’s eyes widened. “Okay.”
“Two years ago, your father-in-law was a member of a panel on child abductions. The cases covered were identical to Melissa’s, but when questioned, he never volunteered that information. Can you think of any reason why your father-in-law would intentionally withhold information that could help find your daughter?”
Susannah gasped, the fear on her face plain as day. “No. I don’t believe it.”
“I saw transcripts of the panel and photos. If you know something about your father-in-law, you need to tell me.”
“Is he a suspect?”
“At this point, he’s a person of interest, but all of you are. That’s the way this sort of thing works. Your father-in-law knew how to disarm the alarm. Melissa would have gone with him without a struggle.”
“No,” Susannah shook her head. “I won’t believe it. I can’t. He’s overwrought and he forgot. There’s no way Martin would hurt his granddaughter or Peter.”
“Not even for a reelection win?”
Susannah’s mouth snapped shut and she stared at Zach for a couple of seconds. “I don’t know why he didn’t give you the information, but there must be a good reason.”
Zach looked her directly in the eyes. She met his gaze for one second, two, three—then she couldn’t hold it any longer and looked away. “Are you sure about that?”
“I have to be,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “The alternative is not an option.”
Helena sat in the passenger seat of Raissa’s car, wearing a black leather outfit and dark sunglasses. Raissa wasn’t sure whether she was going for Lara Croft or The Matrix, but she’d missed the mark on both counts. Raissa found herself longing for the days that she could only communicate with Helena through writing or holograms. Maryse may have been dead wrong about the MTV years being worse.
“I don’t understand why you have to do this in New Orleans,” Helena complained. “You’re supposed to stay out of sight. And while I’ll give you that the disguise is good, it’s still not safe.”
“It’s not safe to do what I have to do in Mudbug, either.”
“Why not? I thought you were some sort of computer whiz. They have the Internet in Mudbug.”
“I am a whiz, but it would take time to create a diversion good enough to cloak the origin of the Internet signal. I simply don’t have the time. So the safest way is to do my hacking at a public site and toss the computer when I leave. That way, no one can trace it to me.”
Helena’s expression cleared in understanding. “And no one will show up in Mudbug.”
“Exactly. The last thing I want to do is put anyone in Mudbug in jeopardy, especially Mildred or Maryse.”
“Well, I still think it’s dangerous, but I guess that’s what I’m here for, right? Lookout extraordinaire.”
Raissa didn’t miss the sarcasm in Helena’s voice. “You’re a great help. Maryse and Sabine wouldn’t be around if not for your help. Your methods may be questionable, but your heart is usually in the right place.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Her face brightened and she turned in her seat to face Raissa. “I don’t suppose you’d stop at the grocery store on the way home and buy me a cheesecake?”
Raissa laughed. “What happened to the diet?”
“Hell, I didn’t diet when I was alive. What’s the point now?”
“Maybe the point is you’re expensive to feed and don’t need to eat, so it’s a waste of money.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Helena waved a hand in dismissal. “So are wine, cigarettes, and gym memberships, and there’s still plenty of those around.”
Raissa glanced in her rearview mirror and frowned. There was a black car about a hundred yards behind them. It was tucked in behind a van, but Raissa caught a glimpse of it as the driver edged the car over, probably trying to see around the van. The thing that bothered Raissa was that the lane next to the van was completely clear. The car could easily pull around.
“What’s wrong?” Helena asked. “You’ve got this weird look on your face, and you keep looking in the rearview mirror.”
“I think someone is following us.”
Helena spun around in her seat and peered out the back window of the car. “The van?”
“No. There’s a black sedan behind the van, but it won’t pass. It’s been there for the last three miles.”
“Do you recognize the car?”
“No, but I’m getting a bad feeling.”
Helena turned around and fastened her seat belt. “That’s not good.”
“Why are you fastening your seat belt? You do know you’re already dead, right?”
“God, everyone is always saying that. You’re like a bunch of broken records. Of course, I know, but I’d still duck if someone was pointing a gun. It doesn’t matter if it’s irrational. Fear is fear.”
Helena’s logic never ceased to boggle Raissa’s mind. So many variables with ghosts, and boy, did Hollywood have it all wrong. She glanced in her rearview mirror again and saw the blinker flashing on the van. She felt her stomach tighten. “The van is exiting.” Raissa checked her mirrors and the highway in front of her, but there was no other car for miles.
Helena sat frozen in the passenger’s seat. “Is the car following?” She clenched her eyes shut. “I can’t look.”
Raissa watched as the van eased off the highway at the last exit Raissa had passed. The black car slowed and Raissa felt her breath catch in her throat, but then the car sped back up and remained on the highway, now exposed. “Shit.”
“They didn’t exit?”
“No.” Raissa pulled her pistol out of her purse, turned the safety off, then clutched the gun in her right hand. She checked her mirror again and realized the car was picking up speed. They were half the distance from her now that they had been just seconds ago. “This is bad.”
Helena bit her bottom lip and Raissa could swear the ghost grew paler. “How far away is the next exit?” Helena asked.
“Five miles. We’re sitting ducks. I should have taken the last exit and tried to shake them. Stupid! I’m losing my edge.” She checked the mirror. Another thirty yards and the car would be on top of them, and it showed no signs of slowing.
“Hold on, Helena. This is about to get ugly.”
She’d barely finished her statement when the other car struck them from behind, then dropped back. Helena curled up in a ball with her head between her legs and arms wrapped over her head. Raissa gripped the steering wheel with her free hand and just managed to keep the car on the road. “Damn it, Helena, I need help here.”
Helena peeked out from under her arms. “What kind of help?”
“I have a plan. I need you to be ready to read the license plate off the other car.”
Helena sat up and glanced in the passenger-side mirror. “There’s no plate on the front.”
“I know that. I’m hoping there’s one in the back. Are you ready?”
Helena looked completely confused but nodded. “Go for it.”
Raissa lowered the driver’s side window and shifted her pistol to her left hand. She watched in the rearview mirror as the car built up speed behind her for another hit. Just before the car reached her, Raissa yanked the wheel to the left and slammed on the brakes. The other car shot by them on the right side. Raissa strained to see the driver, but the windows were tinted so dark, she could barely make out a silhouette inside.
Before the other driver got any bright ideas, like braking himself, Raissa held her gun out the window and fired a shot into the trunk of the other car. The driver swerved, but managed to maintain control. Raissa waited a couple of seconds to see what the driver would do. She prayed he’d take the warning and move on. The shot had been a warning. If she had to kill the man, things would get really sticky, and she couldn’t afford to waste time sitting in a jail cell.
“Shoot him again!” Helena yelled. “Make it count this time.”
The other driver, apparently realizing his mistake, leaped forward. Raissa pressed the accelerator as far down as it would go, but the other car kept inching away from them. Her finger twitched on her pistol, and she warred with herself over shooting out the tires. But then she’d be on the hook for whatever happened afterward. Damn it!
Raissa’s chest and stomach hurt from the seat belt, and she brought her hand in the window, placed the gun in her lap, and loosened the belt. She took a deep breath, trying to control her racing heart.
“You’re letting him get away,” Helena complained.
“I’m not letting him. His car is a lot faster. There’s a V-8 engine in that Cadillac.”
“It’s still not as fast as a bullet.”
“I know. But I couldn’t afford to waste a day or two in jail explaining myself to the police, and the FBI would be right there ready to expedite things as long as I agreed to be on the first bus out of here.”
“Yeah, okay,” Helena groused. “I guess I see your point, but I don’t have to like it.”
“I don’t like it, either. I would much rather have put a bullet through his head. Did you get a look at the back of the car?”
“There was no plate on the back, either,” Helena said, huffing like a freight train.
Raissa looked over at Helena, who was struggling to loosen her seat belt. “Are things supposed to hurt ghosts?” Helena asked. “Because this seat belt is killing me. What the hell?”
Raissa watched as the black car disappeared over the next rise in the highway. What the hell? was a really good question.