A Penny for Your Thoughts (40 page)

Once we reached Alan’s part of the suburbs, we followed the police car into a large apartment complex where we found an endless series of three-story block-like structures arranged in and around an irregular parking lot. The apartments seemed bland and impersonal, the kind of place where someone like Alan Bennet could live quietly, unnoticed by anyone, while carrying out his nefarious schemes.

“Carlos could be anywhere!” Marion sobbed as we pulled to a stop. The task did seem daunting. Such a big world, such a small boy.

We got out of the car and followed the police to Alan’s apartment. There were already a few uniformed policemen there going through Alan’s things and packing up any relevant evidence. Marion and Nick both looked bereft as they stood in the middle of it all. One officer assured Marion that they had several officers canvassing the entire complex, looking for the boy, though so far they had no reason to believe he had ever been there.

After we looked around, I suggested to Marion that they didn’t need our help here and that we might be in their way. She looked ill and exhausted, and I told her that I thought she might do better to go home and talk more with the police there. Dejected, she let Nick lead her back to the car. Then we all got in and headed for the Smythes’ house.

By the time we got there, it was nearly five in the evening. The house was swarming with cops, but there was no sign of Carlos anywhere. They asked Marion for photos, and I overheard one cop say that if they hadn’t turned anything up in another two hours, they would try bringing in a K-9 unit.

I found a room that was quiet and empty and pulled out my cell phone to call Detective Keegan. The receptionist wouldn’t let me through to either him or Detective Sollie, so I tracked down Duane Perskie. I thought he would be angry with me for not contacting him again after our early morning phone call, but in the
meantime he had heard about all that had happened to me today, which sort of let me off the hook.

“So do you know anything at all about the information they’re getting from Monty Redburn?” I asked. “I’m so afraid he may have had something to do with Carlos’ disappearance.”

“Redburn was shot in the leg when they apprehended him,” he said. “But they were able to question him a little bit, post-op.”

“And?”

“And Redburn’s been working for Alan Bennet, first as a plant in the Smythes’ home, then lately as a tail on you. But he’s a real piece of work, Callie. He denies trying to kill you this morning—said he was just trying to have a little fun.”

I felt a surge of anger, remembering the man’s glee as he attempted to run me down on the interstate. Yeah, he was having fun all right.

“A plant at the Smythes’ home—why?”

“We’re not sure, but we think it must’ve been to steal some item of value from the house. Unfortunately for him, Redburn made the mistake of copping a number of smaller items as well. The Smythes found out and let him go. Bennet didn’t want anything more to do with him until you showed up and started digging around. Then he needed some muscle, so he called Redburn back in.”

“At the airport, Redburn kept calling Alan a liar. What was that about?”

“Apparently, Bennet’s instructions for the day were for Redburn to keep an eye on you at all costs. Redburn knew something big was going down, but in the end, he was supposed to be a part of it. Bennet had promised him that when all was said and done, they would be driving out of town together—but Bennet planned on flying off on his own.”

“If that’s the case, though, how did Redburn know Alan would be at the airport?”

“He didn’t. He was waiting in the Smythe parking lot, hoping to spot you again. He finally picked you up as you were leaving
and followed you out there. You led him straight to the airport. Then when he realized what was going on, he acted out of anger. His lawyer’s in there right now, talking temporary insanity. But the general consensus is that the rifle he had with him was meant for you. Luckily, he went after Alan first.”

I swallowed hard. Real danger had come a little too close.

“What about Carlos?” I asked. “Does Redburn know anything about Carlos?”

“He swears not. And I’m inclined to believe him, though that’s one of the few things to come out of his mouth tonight that any of us believe.”

We talked a few minutes more, with the only other surprising information being how Alan Bennet and Monty Redburn had met in the first place. Apparently, the two men had been cellmates at Graterford State Prison a few years ago. Seems the police had been able to turn up a much more detailed—and truthful—history of Alan Bennet than I had.

I thanked Duane for his help and hung up the phone. I stared into space for a moment as I continued to piece together the facts in this case.

Alan Bennet had left two people hanging today—Judith Smythe and Monty Redburn—while he attempted to skip out on both of them. That directed my thoughts toward Angelina, yet another person he’d been stringing along. I wondered, had she been in on all of this, or had he hung her out to dry as well?

An idea struck me, and I put away my phone and sought out Nick. He seemed quite agitated, and I didn’t blame him. Everyone was concentrating on finding the missing Carlos, but Nick was equally concerned about his missing sister. I told him I had an idea, and I asked him to walk with me to her room.

When we got there, I headed straight for the mirror, pulling down the sexy photo of her smiling at the camera, her hair loose and blowing in the wind.

“Who took this picture?” I asked, holding it out to Nick.

“I do not know,” he replied, glancing at the photo.

I showed him the back with the scribbled hearts and the words “our special place.” This time, he studied it, frowning.

“I have no idea,” he said. “‘Our special place’?”

“Does Angelina have a boyfriend?”

“No. Not that I know of.”

He seemed to be telling the truth, which meant he wasn’t aware of his sister’s relationship with Alan.

“Do you know when this was taken?” I asked. “Or where?”

He handed back the photo to me.

“Looks like Valley Forge to me. The big arch monument there.”

“Oh?”

“As for when, it would have to have been some time in the last few months, because she has only been that thin for a short while. My sister used to be heavy, you know. Very overweight.”

“I know.”

“The stupid kid,” he said, going to sit on the edge of the bed. He was quiet for a moment, then he spoke again. “She was fat and homely all her life. Then when she came here…she finally decided to do something about it. Lose some weight. Get in shape. It was a lot of hard work, and it took a long time, but she did it. Look at her now. She is a beauty.”

“I know.”

“She was easy pickings,” he said miserably. “Ripe to fall for the first smooth talker that looked her way.”

“You know who that smooth talker was, don’t you?”

Nick’s eyes met mine.

“Please, do not tell me it was Alan,” he said. “Because if he hurt my sister, I swear to you, I will go down to that hospital and finish him off myself.”

Forty-Seven

It didn’t take long for me to get to Valley Forge. There was a visitor’s center near the entrance, and I thought about stopping for directions. But then I looked at the photo of Angelina, and I decided it might be quicker just to find the monument by myself.

Following the road, I steered past the first few buildings and soon found myself driving through gorgeous rolling hills, dotted here and there with antiquated little military huts. There were a few people about, most of them jogging or biking on the roadside trail. I was going to stop and ask one of them for directions when I came around a bend and saw what I had been looking for: Up ahead in the distance loomed a huge monument, looking not unlike the French
Arc de Triomphe
. A
big arch-like monument,
as Nick had called it.

I found a parking place near the arch and got out of the car. Walking across a cobblestone street, I spotted a familiar figure in the distance. Angelina was there, sitting by herself on a bench that faced the monument.

I slowed as I reached her, noting that she was dressed in a pretty flowered dress with a white sweater, her hair pulled back in a headband, her face streaked with mascara. In her lap she clutched a small brown vinyl purse.

“Angelina?” I said, coming to a stop in front of her. She glanced up at me and her eyes widened. Then she rose from the bench and began walking away.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

She didn’t reply.

“Angelina!” I said, grabbing her elbow. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

“Go away,” she said, in torment. She stumbled a bit on the cobblestones in her heels, righted herself, and kept going.

“Do you have Carlos with you?” I demanded. This seemed to get her attention, and she slowed just a bit.

“What do you mean?”

“Carlos is missing. He hasn’t been seen since this morning. Do you know where he is?”

She stopped walking and looked at me.

“No, I haven’t seen him since his mother and I watched him go to the bus.”

“He never got
on
the bus, Angelina. We think he may have skipped the bus and hidden in Judith’s car in order to spy on her and Alan.”

Surprise turned to anger as Angelina cursed in Italian, her eyes squeezing into two angry slits.

“Maybe you had better get in my car,” I said. “I’ll take you home.”

“No!” she said. “I can never go back there!”

“Because of Alan and Judith?”

“Because of myself. Because of what I have done.”

She burst into tears. I took her arm and led her back to the bench where she sobbed uncontrollably. The few tourists who had been wandering around nearby steered away from our general direction. As Angelina cried, I thought about my hunch, knowing it had been pretty much on track: Alan had arranged to meet both of his women at their “special place.” Then, while they waited, he had stolen the money and tried to make his getaway alone.

“Where I come from,” Angelina said finally, when she had gotten hold of herself, “we have a term for a man who can lead a woman on. We have a term for a man who tells pretty lies and turns a woman’s head and make her do things she would not ordinarily do. The term is
truffatore
. Con man.”

“Alan Bennet.”

She didn’t reply but merely nodded.

“I know the two of you were involved,” I said. “What has he done, Angelina? Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head and burst into new tears.

“He broke my heart,” she said. “He made me believe things that were not true.”

I thought of Judith cooling her heels in a rural coffee shop.

“He stood you up today, didn’t he?” I said gently. “He was supposed to meet up with you here, but he didn’t show.”

“He was going to pick me up this morning between nine and noon. We were going to run away together.”

“Where?”

“To city hall, to get married. Then we were going to drive to Florida for our honeymoon.”

I sat back, stunned. I could see why Alan had wanted Judith out of town for the morning—so that he could be free to rob her company. But why Angelina? Why leave her sitting in the middle of a national park all day?

“Where are your suitcases?” I asked suddenly.

“Alan came and got my suitcases yesterday when no one was home. That way when I left this morning, even if someone had spotted me, they wouldn’t have realized I was leaving for good.”

“Why all the secrecy, Angelina?”

She shrugged.

“My brother did not trust Alan. He would not have wanted me to see him.”

“But Nick couldn’t stop you. You’re old enough now to choose your own boyfriends.”

“There is Judith, as well,” Angelina said, shaking her head. “She has had a crush on Alan since he first came to work for her. He said if she knew he was involved with me, it would cause problems for him at work. So we kept our relationship a secret.”

I thought about Alan, marveling at the fact that he had managed to keep two women, both living in the same house, each unaware that he was having an affair with the other. Amazing.

“I waited all day for him,” Angelina said. “I thought maybe he got held up at work or something. But then I finally realized he was not coming. He only used me. Nick was right. He said I do not have enough experience with men, that I never learned how to separate the good from the bad.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I wasn’t sure what else I could say. I was puzzled at Alan’s true motivation. He obviously used people to
get what he wanted. But what could he possibly have gotten from Angelina that was worth anything?

My heart skipped a beat as I instantly answered my own question:
the shirt!
The shirt belonging to Thomas Jefferson. At first Alan must have planned to have Monty Redburn steal it; that’s why he wanted him working in the house. But then Redburn screwed up, so Alan turned to Angelina. He romanced her into thinking they were going to elope; then he got her to steal the shirt and pack it with her own things. He picked up her suitcases yesterday; he probably took out the shirt and discarded everything else. I remembered when Carlos and I had startled Angelina in Wendell’s study, the night before. She had probably gone in there to take it then.