HOLLY JO LAY drifting as if weightless in the darkness. She wasn’t sure what had awakened her. She couldn’t hear anything. She could see through the cracks in the boards on the window that it was nighttime. Her first night here? She couldn’t be sure. She felt as if she’d been here for days.
Sitting up, she felt sick to her stomach. She had awakened with a heart-pounding fear whenever she opened her eyes that this wasn’t just a bad dream, that this was real and that she would never be found.
Why was she here? What did the man want? When was this going to be over? She tried to calm the frightening thoughts, reminding herself that so far, she hadn’t been asked to do anything. He’d brought her food. Chicken nuggets, fries, coleslaw and juice.
He’d left the paper plate and the plastic spoon she’d used. No forks. Not even a plastic knife. Too dangerous? But everything had been gone when she opened her eyes again—except for another bottle of juice.
She worried that he might be fattening her up like they did the pigs on the ranch. She knew what happened when they were fat enough. She couldn’t imagine that she would taste good. Probably tough, so chewy that he’d have to spit her back out.
What bothered her was that the man seemed to be waiting for something.
The last time he’d come back, she had braced herself for the worst, but he’d only returned to bring her a mat to sleep on and a couple of old blankets—and, as always, another juice. She couldn’t remember when that was. She’d been grateful for the extra blankets, but at the same time, she worried that it meant she would be staying here even longer.
“Thought you might like this.” He put down a paper plate with a piece of chocolate cake on it. “She made it for you.”
Holly Jo figured he was talking about the woman from the pickup, the one who’d called her over so he could grab her. It was hard to feel touched by her kindness. Still, she said, “Thank you,” remembering how her mother had taught her, before her mother had gotten so sick that she barely spoke.
Holly Jo had waited until he left again before she’d devoured the cake. It wasn’t as good as the cakes Elaine baked. But still, she ate every bite and drank most of her juice.
Later, she wished she hadn’t, because she started to feel strange and had to lie down on the mat and cover herself up to keep from shivering.
Now she lay feeling groggy as she wondered again what had pulled her out of the deep darkness of her sleep. Listening hard, she finally heard it. The murmur of voices. Moving to the door, she pressed her ear against the narrow gap between door and wall. Had someone found her?
Her heart began to pound with hope. But as she listened, she realized it was a man and a woman speaking. She couldn’t make out what was being said, but she recognized the man’s voice. One thing was clear. They were arguing.
She was surprised the man hadn’t come alone like he usually did. Even when she was half asleep, she would hear him walk up to the door and stand there as if listening. Then she would hear the key in the lock, and the door would swing open. He would stay behind the door as if afraid of her. He always seemed surprised to see her, especially when she was awake, as if he expected to find her dead.
They were arguing louder now, the man’s voice low, the woman’s growing shrill. “We need money! How will we live without it?” the woman cried.
Money? Then Holly Jo heard the words ransom demand.
That was the first time she’d realized that she might have been kidnapped for money. She and her mother had always been poor. Maybe not poor exactly, but broke. HH was rich.
Had these two taken her to demand money from him? Holly Jo instantly felt panicky. Would Holden pay? She thought of all the trouble she’d given him from the first day he’d brought her to the ranch. What if he didn’t give them what they asked for?
She felt tears burn her eyes. But even if Holden didn’t want to pay, she told herself that Cooper and Pickett would make him. Except Pickett was on his honeymoon with Oakley. For sure, Elaine would make HH pay the ransom, she told herself. Not Treyton, though. He would argue that the kidnappers should keep her. But Duffy wouldn’t let his father do that. The pain in her chest began to ease. HH would pay to get her back, even as bad as she’d been.
She promised herself that if she got to go back to McKenna Ranch, she’d be good. She wouldn’t cause trouble. She’d eat beef for the rest of her life if she could just go home.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE SHERIFF SHOULDN’T have been surprised when Birdie Malone and Brand Stafford tracked him down. He’d been working the kidnapping case without food or rest and wasn’t in the mood for whatever these two were up to.
“We need something of Holly Jo’s,” Birdie told him. “We’re going to take it to Lulabelle to see if she can help.”
He groaned. “I don’t have time for this.” He started to walk away.
“I know you used some clothing items of hers with the dogs at the school bus stop.” He didn’t need to be reminded that nothing had come of that. “Surely we could have one item of hers—”
“You need to let law enforcement do its job and stay out of this. Anyway, I already talked to Lulabelle. She wasn’t any help.”
“Did you give her something of Holly Jo’s?” His expression must have given him away. “That’s what I thought,” Birdie said. “Please. Isn’t finding the girl what we all want?”
He’d sworn under his breath and started to tell her that he didn’t have anything handy, when he remembered the small stuffed duck he’d picked up in Holly Jo’s room, bagged and put into his pocket.
With a sigh, he reached into his coat, pulled the bagged duck free and held it out to her. “Anything else, Ms. Malone?” As tired, worried and scared as he was about this case, it wouldn’t have taken much for him to go off on Birdie Malone.
“No, this will do.”
He reminded himself that she had given him the one and only lead they had in the case. “Now leave me alone.” Let her take the duck to Lulabelle. It would get her out of his hair.
As he watched her walk back to her SUV, he saw that Brand was sitting in the passenger seat. What was it with these two? He’d been shocked when Birdie had offered Stafford an alibi. The alibi became even more suspect seeing the two of them together again. Hadn’t Deputy Dodson said they were together at the café when he’d picked up Brand? He shook his head, reminding himself that the only thing that mattered was finding Holly Jo.
“I’ll bring it back,” Birdie called as she climbed behind the wheel of the SUV.
He started to call back, “Let me know if Lulabelle—” but stopped himself. He didn’t think the woman knew any more about the kidnapping than he did at this point. Which was nothing that could save Holly Jo.
BIRDIE LIKED THE idea of surprising Lulabelle even at this late hour. She liked catching people unaware. She thought it made them more honest, although she had no proof that was true. She just remembered how her mother acted when she answered the door to an unexpected social worker or bill collector.
While she’d heard about Lulabelle, she’d never seen her up close until the woman opened her door. Her mass of bottle-red hair appeared to have been caught in a cyclone. Her blue eyes were half-closed. A crease was left in one cheek from having fallen asleep on something wrinkled. She wore hot-pink sweats and a large tie-dyed T-shirt. Her feet, toes painted a variety of bright colors, were bare.
Lulabelle blinked, her gaze going from Birdie to Brand and back again. Her deep, raspy voice boomed when she spoke. “Wrong time of year for Girl Scout cookies.”
“I’m Brand McKenna,” he said. “This is Birdie Malone. Her father was—”
“Murdered and dumped in a well.” Eyes now wide-open, Lulabelle let out a donkey laugh. “Wow. To what do I owe this honor so late at night?”
“It’s only ten twenty,” Birdie said.
