Erica Spindler - Killer Takes All

The bartender looked tough. Big, muscular, with a bald head and a full beard.

“You have something for Florence Nightingale?” she asked. “An envelope?”

He didn’t reply, simply crossed to the register, opened it and extracted an envelope. He handed it to her.

She glanced at it, then back up at him. “What can you tell me about the person who left this for me?”

“Nada.”

“What if I tell you I’m a cop?”

He laughed and walked away. She glanced at her watch. Thirty-two minutes. She tore open the envelope.

Inside was a phone number. Nothing else.

She unclipped her cell and punched in the number. He answered right away.

“You like to live dangerously, don’t you, Killian? You’re just under the wire.”

“I want to talk to Alice.”

“I’m sure you do.” She heard the amusement in his voice. “Patience is a virtue. But you never had any of that, did you? Your sister, Jane, on the other hand, she’s the patient one. And by the way, I love the name Jane and Ian picked for their baby. Annie. So sweet. Uncomplicated.”

Stacy went cold. “If you harm anyone I love, I swear I’ll-”

“What? I hold all the cards. You can do nothing but follow my directions.”

She bit back what she wanted to say and he laughed. “Take River Road toward Vacherie. Stop at Walton’s River Road Café. Cool your heels until I call you. One hour, Killian.”

“Wait! But I don’t know where I’m going! One hour might not be-”

He hung up before she finished. Swearing softly, she hurried outside and to her car, squinting as the sun stung her eyes. Moments later she was on her way.

Called River Road because it followed the contour of the Mississippi River, the winding road was alternately scenic and industrial. If what she remembered was correct, it wound its way to Baton Rouge, then up to St. Francisville, Natchez and beyond.

She wondered how far the White Rabbit intended for her to go.

She caught site of Walton’s River Road Café up ahead, a charming Creole cottage nestled in the curve of the road. A magnificent oak tree graced the front of the property, so large it shaded most of the structure and half the side parking area.

Her cell phone rang. Startled, she nearly swerved into oncoming traffic. She got to her phone, flipped it open. “Killian here.”

“Hello, there. You sound a little tense.”

“Can I call you back?”

Spencer’s pregnant pause said it all. “I’m in the bathroom,” she lied. “Talk to you in five.”

She ended the call and swung into the café’s shady parking lot. It’d been a small lie, she told herself, because in a minute she would be using the restaurant’s facilities. And from there, in case she was being watched, she would return Spencer’s call.

“Please say you called to tell me you have Alice,” she said when he answered.

“Sorry.”

“Any leads?”

“No. But every cop in the city has a picture of her. We’re canvassing the neighborhood around Tony’s. So far, no one’s seen anything.”

“You searched the mansion?”

“Last night and again today. No luck. We have someone stationed there, just in case.”

Damn it. She hadn’t expected better. But she had hoped, anyway.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Cooling my heels.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Behind the counter, a busboy dropped a pan of dirty dishes. She jumped.

“What the hell was that?”

“Dropped some dishes. Trying to keep busy, multitasking here.”

“Multitasking?”

She forced a laugh. “You didn’t know I could do that, did you? I have many talents.”

“Yeah, you do.” She heard Tony say something, though she couldn’t make out what. “Got to go. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Call my cell. I’ll have it on.”

He paused. “You’re going somewhere?”

“I might have to run out. You know how it is.”

“I know how you are. Stay put.”

He hung up, and she exited the ladies’ room. No one paid her any undue attention. She chose a table by a window that looked out at the parking lot. Being able to watch her vehicle made her feel less vulnerable.

The waitress, a girl not yet out of her teens, stopped at her table. Stacy realized that she was starving. “What’s wonderful on the menu?”

The girl shrugged. “Everything’s pretty good. People like our soup. It’s homemade.”

“What’s today’s?”

“Chicken noodle.”

Comfort food. A good thing, considering the circumstances.

Stacy ordered a cup and, continuing with the comfort theme, a grilled cheese sandwich.

That done, she sat back in her seat. She glanced at her watch, thinking of the White Rabbit and when he would call. Thinking of Alice. Worrying.

And acknowledging that he had her just where he wanted her.

Alone and unable to make a move until he was ready.

Sunday, March 20, 2005

6:20 p.m.

The White Rabbit called just as evening began to fall. And just as she had begun to believe she’d been duped.

“Comfy?” he asked, obviously amused.

“Very,” she replied. “I’ve been sitting here so long my ass’s numb.”

“It could have been worse,” he murmured. “I could have had you wait in a place with no bathroom. With no food or drink.”

Chill bumps moved up her spine. Had he been watching her this whole time? Did he know she had used the bathroom and had eaten? That she’d spoken to Spencer? She moved her gaze over the restaurant, the other patrons. Looking for one talking on a cell phone.

Or was he assuming? Anticipating how his words would affect her?

One thing was certain, he was playing her like a drum.

“Can the dramatics. What do you want me to do next?”

“Head up the road six miles. Turn toward the river. From there, turn left onto the first unmarked drive you come to. Leave the car. Follow the oak alley. You’ll know what to do. You have twenty minutes.”

He hung up, and Stacy reholstered her phone, grabbed her check and got to her feet. After leaving the waitress a generous tip for tying up her table for so long, she hurried to the door.

“Everything okay, sweetie?” the woman at the register asked as she totaled the bill.

“Great, thank you.” She glanced at the woman’s name tag. Miz Lainie. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, sweetie. Shoot.”

“Up the road, toward the river, what’s up there?”

The woman frowned. “Nothing. Just what’s left of Belle Chere.”

Stacy handed the woman a twenty-dollar bill. “Belle Chere, what’s that?”

“You’re not from down here, are you?” The bell above the door jangled. Miz Lainie looked up and scowled at a tall young man coming through the door. “Steve Johnson, you’re late! Fifteen minutes. Do it again and I’m callin’ your mama.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He winked at Stacy and she bit back a smile. Obviously, he wasn’t buying Miz Lainie’s tough act.

“And hike up those pants.”

He sauntered past, hitching up his trousers.

“I’m sorry,” Stacy said, “but I have to go.”

The woman returned her attention to Stacy. “Belle Chere’s an antebellum plantation. In its heyday, it’s said to have been one of the finest in Louisiana.”

That was it. That was where the White Rabbit was holding Alice.

The woman made a sound of disgust. “They’ve just let it go to ruin. Me and the mister, we always thought the state or somebody’d step in and-”

“I apologize,” Stacy said, cutting her off, “but I really do have to go.”

She exited the café, jogged to her car. No doubt the woman thought her rude to cut and run, especially after loitering for the past several hours, but there was nothing she could do about that.