Chapter Twenty-Six

First, we needed to finish with Mendelson. I called Heather, interrupting a meeting with the board. At least she wouldn’t have to contact them yet again with more bad news. The company had a lawyer on retainer, and they sent him to handle Mendelson. Representing the guy who stole from their patients sounds funny, but Sunshine Haven was in damage-control mode. They’d try to get Mendelson through the system quietly, maybe have him plea-bargain instead of going to trial. The company would have to pay back the patients who had lost money, but that beat another scandal.

After checking with Dad and Jen, I did my own damage control, telling Padilla we’d overreacted. Mendelson had invited Mom to the roof, and she had gone willingly, so it could hardly be called kidnapping. Sure, when he’d asked me to join them, I’d interpreted his language as threatening. But we didn’t lock up everyone who said, “I’m so angry I could kill so-and-so.”

Padilla didn’t buy it, but she agreed she had better things to do—like find Hicks. She took Mendelson to the police station, where he’d likely get booked on a lesser charge.

I mentally filed him under No Longer My Problem.

I didn’t tell Padilla about trying to trap Hicks, since she’d simply tell me to leave it to the police. She’d be right, but I wanted him locked up ASAP, so I could stop worrying that he’d jump out of nowhere and attack me, or go after Mom again.

My plan didn’t go beyond “trap Hicks,” so I called a meeting for later in the day. I invited Joe and Marty Washington, Simon and Mackenzie, Jen, and my father. After some consideration, I also called Ryan Delacruz. He must feel angry and helpless after what Hicks had done to his mother and grandmother. Allowing him to help plan our revenge—even if we kept him out of the action—might offer some sense of control. I even arranged for Simon to pick up Ryan in the convertible, so the boy would get his ride.

Dad and Jen took Mom out for the day. They asked me to join them, but I didn’t want to abandon Heather with this mess. I found her at Sunshine Haven, where Carla said she was “in a meeting” with Henry Wilson. The other board members had left.

When I entered the office, Henry rose and offered his hand. “Nice to see you again.” He quirked a smile that almost convinced me he meant it.

“Someday, maybe we’ll meet in better circumstances.”

“I look forward to it.”

The office had two guest chairs, but Henry rounded the desk and stood next to Heather, his hand on her shoulder. Heather tensed as if bracing for me to drop yet another bomb.

I got right to the point. “Do you have a plan for dealing with the media?”

“Other than ignoring them? Or saying no comment?”

“I wouldn’t advise that. You might downplay what Mendelson did, but the police are looking for Hicks. Whether they charge him for the attempted murder of my mother, or the murder of Brit Egland, or both, it’s going to make the news. It’s too good a story to ignore.”

Heather sighed. “I missed a call from a reporter this morning, while I was in our meeting. I suppose it’s too much to hope they’ll simply go away.”

“Not going to happen. If you try to stonewall, they’ll go around you and dig up as much dirt as they can. If you lie, they’ll find out and it’ll be worse in the long run. If you cooperate and give them a dramatic story, they may not dig much deeper. Better to be a valued source than an enemy withholding information.”

Heather’s eyebrows went up. “I suppose you’d know.”

Henry nodded. “In my experience with the press, ‘ignore it and it will go away’ doesn’t work.”

“I don’t know what to say to them,” Heather wailed.

“Give me an hour and I can have an article ready to go.” I rubbed my thigh to relieve the ache. “It would help if we could find a friendly editor or two. People who would be glad to get the inside story from a reporter who was on the scene.”

“That sounds ideal,” Henry said. “You’re known as a hometown gal, even if you haven’t worked here in years. They’d be glad to have your story. Would you really tell it to our benefit?”

“I can make Heather into the hero.”

She snorted. Henry patted her shoulder.

“No, really,” I said. “You suspected a problem and you did something about it. Nine out of ten people in your situation would ignore everything, hoping it would go away. I don’t have to lie to make you look good.”

Her mouth wasn’t quite ready to smile, but it was getting closer. “If you can do that, I’ll owe you . . . even more than I owe you already. More than I can ever repay, I’m sure.”

I shrugged. “I’m a journalist. This is what I do. You help take care of people like my mother. Keep doing that.”

“I wish I’d had you on my PR team,” Henry said. “I’ve been interviewed a few times. I might be able to track down a reporter’s name, but I don’t know anyone in charge.”

“Me either,” Heather said.

I fished in my bag and pulled out a business card. “Mayor Todd Paradise. Or, as I once knew him, junior class president. He must know the press pretty well. Is he still honest and enthusiastic?”

“From everything I’ve heard, yes,” Heather said. “But why would he help us?”

“Because this is his community and if it looks good, he looks good.” Or maybe, if he was the man I remembered, simply because he was nice. It was worth a shot. I ignored the little voice calling this a good excuse to show him the real me, in charge and having broken a major story rather than limping and covered in gravel. “I’ll ask if he can put me in touch with the right people in the media.”

“Do you want to use my office?” Heather asked. “My computer? What can we do?”

I grinned. “Pick up lunch. Then Henry can help you rehearse your talking points in case you have to face the media directly, while I work on the article.”

If everything went well, I could take care of this in an afternoon, and then be ready to tackle Hicks.

They left me alone in the office. I appreciated the solitude for a minute before calling Mayor Paradise. I got a receptionist, who put me through quickly.

“Kate! I’m so glad you called. I didn’t really expect—that is—” He chuckled. “Sorry, you caught me off guard. I wanted to apologize for calling you Kitty the other day. I know you don’t go by that name anymore. Old habits, you know.”

“As long as you don’t meow or call me Pussy, we’re good.” I winced. Maybe I shouldn’t remind people of the embarrassing past.

“I never did that, did I?”

I thought back. “No, I don’t believe you did. Anyway, the reason I’m calling is I need a favor.”

“Okay. What’s up?”

I briefly explained the situation. Todd gave me the names of editors at both the local paper and the TV news station.

“I can call them first if you’d like,” he said, “but I think they’ll be delighted to hear from you. They should recognize your name.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.” Or Heather did.

“Pay me back by having dinner with me some evening soon and telling me all about this.”

Dinner with Todd Paradise. Every girl’s dream, years ago. But we were in a different place now. Was this a schmoozing dinner? He was a politician. Did he want a friendly reporter in his pocket?

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean that as some kind of quid pro quo. No pressure, and I know you must be busy. Of course, I’ll help regardless.” He gave an awkward laugh. “I just wanted to catch up with someone I may or may not have had a crush on in high school.”

My face heated. My whole body heated. Maybe I was starting hot flashes. “In that case, you’re on. This weekend?”

We arranged dinner for Saturday and got off the phone. For a minute, I sat and thought about the possibilities. Look at me, going on a date with the high school hunk.

I chuckled. No, going on a date with a nearly fifty-year-old divorced man with kids. Either way, it would be fun to get to know Todd better. I’d leave it at that.

I turned my attention to more phone calls—first to my boss to let her know what I was doing and make sure she wouldn’t consider it a conflict of interest. With her approval, and the promise of a smaller story for the wire service, I called the local editors to set up my delivery of “the inside story” of a local crime.

Several hours later, I checked the time. Right on schedule. My stories had been delivered, and Heather was at a salon getting her hair and makeup done in preparation for a TV interview that evening. I called Padilla to confirm that Hicks had not yet been caught, and then I headed home to plan a sting operation to get Steven Hicks off the streets for good.

I got back to the house with time to do my PT exercises. Dad and Jen returned. Joe and Marty arrived a few minutes later, and then Mackenzie. While we waited for Simon to pick up Ryan, we discussed the morning’s adventures.

My phone rang. I glanced at the screen and answered. “Hey, Simon. What’s up?”

“Ryan isn’t here.”

I checked the time. “He was supposed to be ready ten minutes ago.”

“I know. His mom says he’s not here and he’s not coming. She sounded upset, maybe angry.”

“About our meeting?”

“I don’t think so. We talked for about thirty seconds and she checked her phone twice. Wait. She’s leaving the house, carrying a canvas grocery bag. It looks full. She’s getting in her car. Didn’t even glance in my direction. She’s in a big hurry.”

“Follow her.” My instincts said this was important.

“Okay.” He hung up.

I explained our conversation to the others.

“You sound worried,” Marty said. “A flaky teenager and a frantic mother don’t seem that unusual.”

“I am worried.” The wheels in my mind spun, trying to figure out why. “Hicks is still out there. If he’s on the run, he might need money or other help. From what I’ve seen of his father, Dad isn’t going to be much help. But Hicks might turn to his ex-girlfriend.”

“After what he did to her mother?” Marty asked. “She wouldn’t help him.”

I shrugged. “She might not know about that yet. It’s hard to say what a frightened woman will do. She might assume the police won’t hold him, and he’ll take revenge if she turns him in. She might help Hicks leave town to get him out of her life. If Hicks wanted to make certain she’d help . . .”

Mackenzie’s eyes widened. “He might take her son.”

“Right. And Ryan is a teenager, but he doesn’t strike me as that flaky. He was enthusiastic about this meeting—or at least about riding in the Camaro. I’d like to know where he is.”

I called his number. It rang twice and went to voicemail.

“My kids have apps on their phones so I can check where they are,” Jen said. “We’d need access, if he even has that.”

Mackenzie grabbed her laptop. “We might not need the app if we have his phone number and e-mail.” She frowned over her laptop, fingers flying as she mumbled, “It depends on the type of phone he has, and how it syncs . . .”

She said some other stuff I didn’t understand, but I gathered one could track someone else’s phone, if you had certain information and they hadn’t turned on specific security locks.

Time seemed to drag, but it had to be less than ten minutes later when she sat up straighter.

“He’s at the racetrack.”

Dad looked as confused as I felt. “Horses?”

“No, cars.”

“He loves cars,” I said. “But why would he be there now? For that matter, how did he get there? His mother has their car. I don’t think he has a lot of friends.” I called Simon. “You still following Lisa?”

“Yeah, it hasn’t been easy because she’s speeding and pushing the yellow lights. I don’t think she’s noticed I’m behind her. She’s in a bank now.”

“A bank? Doing what?”

“I didn’t go in, since she’d recognize me, but I checked her car. That bag she was carrying looks like groceries.”

“What kind of groceries?”

“You know, a loaf of bread, a bag of chips. I couldn’t see everything. She’s coming out of the bank. She was inside less than five minutes.”

“How does she look?”

“Um, she’s hugging her purse to her chest. Now she’s in her car. Keep following her?”

“Yes.” She was carrying groceries away from her house, and she’d stopped at a bank, perhaps to get money. Food and money for someone on the run? This wasn’t looking good. “Which direction are you headed?”

I put him on speakerphone and set the phone on the coffee table. He told us where they were.

Mackenzie brought up a map and checked Lisa Delacruz’s path on it. “She’s headed the right direction for the racetrack.”

“I don’t like this.” My senses blared alerts like a warship hit by torpedoes. “I think Ryan’s in trouble.”