Chris Kuzneski - The Plantation

The only damage he noticed was the damage that he had done himself.

Taking a deep breath, Payne realized that he needed a second opinion. And when he needed help, he turned to his best friend. Payne hit his speed dial and waited for Jones to answer.

“Yeah?” Jones croaked, obviously sleeping in on his day off.

“D.J., it’s Jon. Something’s happened, and I need your help.”

That was all that Jones needed to hear.

FIFTEENminutes later, Jones pulled up next to Payne’s SUV and studied the parking lot, but nothing seemed out of place. “Have you heard from her?”

Payne shook his head as he jogged over to Jones’s car.

“Don’t worry. That doesn’t mean something bad has happened. I’m sure there are a thousand possibilities that could explain where she is, so tell me everything you can. I’m sure we can figure something out.”

Payne nodded while shaking his friend’s hand. “I appreciate you coming over so early. I feel better just having you here.”

“No problem. It’s the least I can do for free office space.”

Payne smiled, but his body language told the real story. He was scared. “You know how I used to get gut feelings back when we were in the MANIACs?”

Jones nodded. “Your gut saved my ass more often than Preparation H.”

“I don’t know why, but I’m getting the same bad feeling right now. I know that something’s happened to Ariane. I don’t know what, but something.”

“Jon, listen. We’ve been out of the military for a while now, so the tuning fork in your stomach is bound to be rusty. Right? Besides, you’re not used to being awake at this time of day, so I’m sure your system is out of whack.”

Reluctantly, Payne agreed.

“Why don’t you fill me in on everything, and we can come up with some kind of solution.”

Payne nodded. “I walked Ariane to her door last night. She had a headache and said she needed to get some sleep. We made plans for this morning, then I went home.”

“You didn’t stay the night?”

“If I had, do you think I’d be out here?” he snapped.

“Sorry, I just-”

“No,” Payne apologized. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s just, I don’t know. . . .” He paused for a minute, trying to gather his thoughts. “I would’ve stayed the night, but she had a headache and thought it would be best if she got some rest.”

“So, you didn’t have a fight or anything?”

Payne shook his head. “I was supposed to pick her up at seven thirty. We were going to grab a light breakfast, then head straight for the golf course. She told me that she’d made an eight thirty tee time.”

“Fine. Now walk me through this morning.”

“I woke up early and showed up on time. I tried buzzing the intercom, but there was no reply. Next I checked the lot, and her car is here.” Payne pointed toward it. “I went back to the front door, and that’s when I noticed the duct tape.”

“What duct tape?” The two of them walked to the entryway, and Jones studied the way the tape had been placed over the lock. “Well, if something has happened to her-and I’m not saying that it has-I doubt we’re dealing with professionals.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Look at the placement of the tape. Instead of running the strip over the lock in a vertical fashion, they placed it horizontally, allowing us to see it.”

“And in your opinion, is this lack of professionalism good or bad news?”

Jones shrugged. “To be honest with you, it could be either. If something has happened to Ariane-and it’s still a big if in my mind-then there’s a good chance that other mistakes have been made as well. And that’ll increase our opportunity to find her.”

“That sounds good to me. So, what’s the bad news?”

“If this isn’t a professional job, there’s a better chance that someone will panic, and if that happens . . .” Jones didn’t have the heart to finish the sentence.

“Understood,” Payne grunted. “Let me show you upstairs.”

The two men jogged to the second floor. Jones shook his head when he saw the stick used as a door prop. “Definitely not professionals,” he muttered as they walked toward Ariane’s front door. “You tried calling her, right? Maybe she’s just sleeping and can’t hear the door from her bedroom.”

“Trust me, she’s not in her bedroom.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I went into her bedroom.”

“You had your key with you?”

Payne shook his head. “Not exactly.”

Jones noticed the splintered door frame before he reached Ariane’s apartment. The door hung there, slightly tilted, like it had been battered by a tropical storm.

“Let me guess,” Jones quipped. “Hurricane Payne.”

“She wouldn’t answer the door.”

Jones shrugged as he walked inside. “Seems like a reasonable response.”

“Listen,” Payne said, “I realize everything I’ve showed you is marginal at best. But this is the thing that really got me going.” He pointed to the tape that covered Ariane’s peephole. It was the same type of tape that covered the lock on the front door. “There’s nothing innocent about this. And I guarantee that this tape wasn’t here last night. No way in hell.”

Jones grimaced. It did seem suspicious. But he didn’t touch it, just in case there were fingerprints on it. “What kind of security system does her apartment have? Didn’t you pay to have it upgraded?”

“Yeah, they installed alarms on all the windows and the two doors. I also had a camera mounted inside the peephole, but they must’ve known about that.”

“Not necessarily. Just because they put tape on the door doesn’t guarantee that they knew about the camera. They could’ve been trying to prevent her from seeing into the corridor. Shoot, for all we know, maybe her neighbor across the hall was doing something illegal, and he wanted to guarantee his privacy.”

“But how does that explain the fact that she’s missing?”

“I have no idea,” Jones admitted. “But I’m trying to keep as many options open as possible. Have you tried talking to her neighbors? Maybe they saw something.”

“I was reluctant to bug them so early, but now that it’s after eight o’clock and you’re beginning to see my point of view, I’m willing to try anything.”

Jones nodded his approval. “Why don’t you handle this floor while I head downstairs?”

“Fine. But if you find anything, please let me know immediately.”

“Will do,” he assured Payne. “And Jon? Keep the faith. We’ll find her.”

CHAPTER 9

KNOCKINGon each door, Payne started with Ariane’s neighbor across the hall and slowly made his way down the corridor. Everyone that he talked to was friendly and immediately knew who Ariane was-females of her beauty tended to stand out. Unfortunately, no one saw or heard anything out of the ordinary. And no one could account for the duct tape over the front lock.

After speaking to the last of her neighbors on the second floor, Payne heard Jones running up the stairs in an obvious state of excitement.

“I think I’ve got a witness,” Jones exclaimed. “He’s waiting downstairs in the hall.” Within seconds, the two men were standing in front of the open door of apartment 101. “Mr. McNally, this is Jonathon Payne, Ariane’s boyfriend. Jon, this is Mr. McNally.”