Hold Tight
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
Huff frowned. Mike dived into the silence.
“I thought the boys were meeting up here tonight,” Mike said.
“What made you think that?”
“I thought that was the message I got. That you and Marge were going to be away and that they were going to meet up here.”
Huff frowned again. “That I was going away?”
“For the weekend. Something like that.”
“And you thought I’d allow teenage boys to spend that kind of time in this house unsupervised?”
This was not going well.
“Why don’t you just call Adam?”
“I did. His phone doesn’t seem to be working. He forgets to charge it a lot.”
“So you drove over?”
“Right.”
“And sat in the car and didn’t knock on the door?”
“Hey, Dan, I know you’re a cop and all, but give me a break, will you? I’m just looking for my son.”
“He’s not here.”
“How about DJ? Maybe he knows where Adam is.”
“He’s not here either.”
He waited for Huff to offer to call his son. He didn’t. Mike did not want to press it. This had gone far enough. If there had been a drink-n -drug fest planned for the Huff residence, it was off now. He didn’t want to follow up anymore with this man until he knew more. Huff had never been his favorite and even less so now.
Then again, how do you explain the GPS locator?
“Good talking to you, Dan.”
“Same to you, Mike.”
“If you hear from Adam . . .”
“I’ll be sure to have him call you. Have a great night. And drive safely.”
“ ‘WHISKERS on kittens,’ ” Nash said.
Pietra was back in the driver’s seat. Nash had her follow him for approximately forty-five minutes. They parked the minivan at a lot near a Ramada in East Hanover. When it was found, the first assumption would be Reba had vanished there. The police would wonder why a married woman was visiting a hotel lot so close to her home. They would think maybe she had a liaison with a boyfriend. Her husband would insist that it was impossible.
Eventually, like with Marianne, it might be straightened out. But it would take time.
They took the articles Reba had bought from Target with them. Leaving them in the back might give the police a clue. Nash went through the bag. She had bought underwear and books and even some old family-friendly movies on DVD.
“Did you hear what I said, Reba?” He held up the DVD case. “‘Whiskers on kittens.’”
Reba was hog-tied. Her doll-like features still looked so dainty, like porcelain. Nash had taken the gag out. She looked up and groaned.
“Don’t struggle,” he said. “It will only make it hurt more. And you’ll be doing enough suffering later.”
Reba swallowed. “What . . . what do you want?”
“I’m asking you about this movie you bought.” Nash held up the DVD case. “The Sound of Music. A classic.”
“Who are you?”
“If you ask me one more question, I will start hurting you immediately. That means you will suffer more and die sooner. And if you annoy me enough, I will grab Jamie and do the same to her. Do you understand?”
The little eyes blinked as though he had reached out and slapped her. Tears sprang to them. “Please—”
“Do you remember The Sound of Music, yes or no?”
She tried to stop crying, tried to swallow the tears away.
“Reba?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes,” she managed. “I remember.”
Nash smiled at her. “And the line ‘whiskers on kittens.’ Do you remember it?”
“Yes.”
“Which song was it from?”
“What?”
“The song. Do you remember the name of the song?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do, Reba. Stop and think.”
She tried, but fear, he knew, could have a paralyzing effect.
“You’re confused,” Nash said. “That’s okay. It’s from the song ‘My Favorite Things.’ Remember it now?”
She nodded. Then remembering: “Yes.”
Nash smiled, pleased. “ ‘Doorbells,’ ” he said.
She looked totally lost.
“Do you remember that part too? Julie Andrews is sitting with all these children and they had nightmares or were scared of the thunder or something and she’s trying to comfort them so she tells them to start thinking about their favorite things. To take their mind off the fear. You remember, right?”
Reba started crying again, but she managed a nod.
“And they sing, ‘Doorbells.’ Doorbells, for crying out loud. Think about that. I could probably ask a million people to list their top five favorite things in the world and not one—not one!—would say doorbells. I mean, imagine: ‘My favorite thing? Well, obviously doorbells. Yes, siree, that’s my very favorite. A friggin’ doorbell. Yep, when I really want to get happy, when I want to get turned on, I ring a doorbell. Man, that’s the ticket. You know what gets me hot? One of those doorbells that make a chiming sound. Oh, yeah, that does it for me.’ ”
Nash stopped, chuckled, shook his head. “You can almost see it on Family Feud, right? Top ten answers up on the board—your favorite things—and you say, ‘Doorbell,’ and Richard Dawson points behind him and goes, ‘Survey says . . .’ ”
Nash made a buzzing noise and formed an X with his arms.
He laughed. Pietra laughed too.
“Please,” Reba said. “Please tell me what you want.”
“We’ll get to that, Reba. We will. But I will give you a hint.”
She waited.
“Does the name Marianne mean anything to you?”
“What?”
“Marianne.”
“What about her?”
“She sent you something.”
The look of terror multiplied.
“Please don’t hurt me.”
“I’m sorry, Reba. I’m going to. I’m going to hurt you very badly.”
And then he crawled into the back of the van and proved good to his word.
14
WHEN Mike got home, he slammed the door and started for the computer. He wanted to bring up the GPS computer Web site and see exactly where Adam was. He wondered about that. The GPS was approximate, not exact. Could Adam have been in the vicinity? A block away maybe? In the woods nearby or the Huffs’ backyard?