Stop chattering, she told herself. Her knees felt liquid. If Cal would just walk through the back door, maybe she’d come up with a better idea.
“You can park around the back of the cabin, if you want it.”
He looked at her suspiciously. It looked like he was onto her. He turned from the counter as if to leave but instead he brought back an armload of snack food—chips, pretzels, jerky, nuts. He piled it all on the counter. “Add it up. Gimme the key on that cabin.”
She rang everything up, gave him the total and he handed her a credit card. The credit card belonged to Gilbert Anthony Smyth. Wrong, wrong, wrong! She ran it and it showed approved on the machine. She turned and grabbed the key, slapped it on the counter and said, “You don’t need a receipt, do you?”
“Why?”
“Most people don’t,” she said with a shrug. “You can’t deduct supplies unless you’re on business.”
He sneered at her. Like he was on business?
She bagged up his things and he left the store.
Maggie sank behind the counter, her knees useless. She heard the truck start and motor slowly around the store along the drive that led to the cabins.
No one had reported Mr. Smyth’s card stolen or the machine wouldn’t have approved it. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Or maybe the card was taken off his body? Or were they tracking it? Oh God, how long had that child been with those two?
Shaking, she reached for the phone to call 911. She identified herself to the dispatcher and tried to calmly explain. “Two creeps in their thirties just checked into one of my cabins with a fourteen-year-old girl I know was here with her family last week—they were camping here. Her name is Chelsea Smyth and I believe she may have been abducted.”
“Was the girl in distress, ma’am?” the dispatcher asked.
“She looked terrified! Never mind, I’ll call Stan!” She disconnected and dialed Stan’s cell phone.
“Yel-low,” he said thickly, like his mouth was full of dinner.
“Stan! Stan! There’s a kidnapped juvenile and two creeps have her and I gave them a cabin! Need help fast!”
He coughed and spit. “Jesus, Maggie! The Smyth girl?”
“Yes! Yes! I just called 911 and the dispatcher asked me if the girl was in distress! You know about this? Where is her family?”
“The family reported her missing. The bulletin went out a few hours ago—earlier today. They’re searching for her. She walked away from the group to answer nature and didn’t come back.”
“She’s here. I recognized her. She’s with two creepy guys in a dirty, old, muddy truck. Where’d she go missing?”
“Northwest of Leadville, in the mountains. They aren’t looking this far south. They thought she was lost but started exploring abduction just lately,” he said.
“One of the men used her father’s credit card—Gilbert Smyth. Please, hurry before they hurt that girl, if they haven’t already.”
She heard the sound of Stan’s movement, running, car door opening, huffing and puffing, like he was either at home for dinner or at a diner in town. “Where are you?” he shouted to Maggie.
“I’m in the store. I’m alone. Dad’s in the house, hardly any campers. I’ve got this shotgun...”
“Maggie, no!” he shouted. “Don’t you do anything! You lock yourself in the store and wait for me!” Then she heard the car door slam, engine start and Stan flipped on his siren to be en route fast. She listened while he radioed a variety of case numbers and emergency calls to everyone and their brother. She heard him call out in progress and Sullivan’s Crossing. “Maggie,” he said, a little breathlessly. “They armed?”
“Gun in the rack and big hunting knife strapped on a belt. And Stan—they’re big! She’s just a little girl.”
“Stay in the store. We’re on the way.”
Then he tossed his phone, probably onto the seat next to him. She could hear him on the radio in the background so he hadn’t disconnected. She overheard key words like SWAT, abduction, negotiation team, air support, dogs, armed and dangerous. She went to the storeroom for the shotgun. She loaded it. It held four rounds of small pellets and she knew how to use it. It was loud, scary and depending on where it was aimed, potentially deadly. But more to the point, it was probably not deadly. Probably being the operative word...
Where was Cal? Should she go find him?
Maggie, Maggie, her mind asked. When was the last time you had to have a man to help you make a decision?
Well, hell, Cal didn’t seem to be in possession of a gun and who knew if he’d ever fired one. He was a theme park employee!