And Then There Was One (25 page)

Most of the day they talked about how to get out. But they could not agree on an approach. Alex thought they should be good girls, pretend to be sweet, do what the lady wanted. Then, when she trusted them, she’d let them out and they could escape. Sammie wanted to make her mad, mad enough that she’d want to get rid of them. If that
didn’t work, she planned to attack her. Last night, messing up the place, was an example of Sammie’s strategy.

“She’s just going to get mad,” Alex had predicted. And, she’d been right.

“I don’t care,” Sammie had said. “What’s she gonna do? Beat us up? Not give us any food?”

“I just want to go home. I miss Mom and Dad so much. And Jackie.”

Then they heard a motor outside and a door slam. Silent, they both listened.

“I hear a man talking,” Sammie said. “Maybe he will save us. Sammie put her arm around Alex and they began to talk in whispers.

Hunt for Sammie and Alex Monroe Focused on Oakland County.
— Detroit Metropolitan News
, Friday, June 19

During the week, Spanky drove an eighteen wheeler up and down I75, but for weekends he had him a cool, white Ford F150. Marge marveled at how he loved that truck. She couldn’t care less about cars even though she did work in the Ford plant.

She heard the big Ford’s wheels on the gravel driveway and the slamming of the back door, familiar sounds of Spanky announcing his arrival. Marge did not get out of bed, lying prone, paralyzed by fear and indecision. Her head was aching, going back and forth, trying to figure out what to do about her son. This time, she decided, she had to protect the twins. Even if that meant taking them away. In twenty-two years, she had never, not once, spent a night away from this house. Could she bear to leave it?

Right now, could she just lay there, pretending to be asleep? Would he grab something to eat — the fridge was full of beer and plenty of that bologna that he liked — and go out to the bar like he usually did on Friday nights? Could she avoid raising his suspicion that something was wrong? She heard his clunky boots coming up the stairs.

“Ma? What the fuck you doin’ in there?” Spanky said. “Shit, I was lookin’ all over. Makin’ sure you hadn’t passed in your sleep.”

“I have a bad headache,” Marge said. “You know, a migraine.”

She used to have them a lot when he was a little boy, but he probably didn’t remember back that far.

“You know how you’re always telling me to take a vacation. I
was thinking about that, and then the headache came on so I just laid down.”

“You gonna be okay? I wanted to take you car shopping. About time you got rid of that piece of junk out there.”

Marge started to object. She didn’t think it would be a good time to trade in her Escort. “Brown Escort,” had been in all the papers. “No need —”

“But good idea, the vacation.” Spanky hovered over her, putting his big hand on her forehead. “No fever. Seriously, Ma, you got a lot of seniority. About time you used it, but about that car, guess it’s not a good time so I’m gonna go to town, get my pickup tuned. It’s been runnin’ rough. I need plugs, the works. Won’t be home ’til dinner. How ’bout some of your deep fried chicken? You gonna be okay to cook?”

“I’ll be okay,” Marge said, trying to figure out what to do. Most important was keeping Spanky out of the basement until she could get the twins out.

Once Spanky left, she got up and pulled frozen chicken pieces out of the freezer. Spanky was right, she did deserve a break. While she was away, she’d miss her cronies at the Ford plant and her house on Parker Road in Holly, a suburb of greater Detroit, about seventeen miles from Pontiac. The town itself was small, but charming, peppered with antique shops and weekend out-of-towners. But Marge did not live in the town center. She lived in a plain two-story plank house, accessible only via a network of roads and situated so far off the unpaved road that it couldn’t be seen through the foliage in the summer by passersby. Plenty of mature oaks and leafy maples completely obscured the neighbors’ view on both sides. The house had been in Evan’s family, and he had signed it over to her when he left. Most women would be too frightened to live in such isolation, but not Marge, she appreciated the solitude.

Marge was warming to the idea of a vacation. She had enough money saved up and enough time coming to her. Her boss would be pissed at the short notice, but she’d make up something about an elderly aunt. People did it all the time. Two years ago, Elmira went off with a man. Surprised everybody, but in two weeks she was back, glad
to still have her job. In her case, that picture in the paper would be forgotten when she returned. She was sure of that. All she had to do was leave with the twins after dinner when Spanky left to go to the bar.

Now she had to fix a fried chicken dinner with all the trimmings. Marge loved to cook for Spanky, and he loved her home cooking. Who wouldn’t, being on the road most every night? Then she remembered, she had to feed the girls before Spanky got back from the garage. Quickly she grilled two cheese sandwiches, opened a can of pears, and put everything on a plastic plate. Halfway down the stairs, she remembered their milk. Forget it. They could make do with water.

While Scott was at FBI headquarters, Katie stayed with Jackie, accompanied off and on by her mom, her sisters, and Monica. Dr. Reynolds dropped by every hour or so to monitor her patient’s progress, or lack thereof. Katie was so appreciative of this calm, wise woman, who seemed to exude confidence. For the first time since Alex and Sammie were taken, Katie felt a tinge of rationality emerge from her shattered mind. She started to realize that she had to stay calm and logical and even optimistic. There must be something she could add, something she could do.

Throughout the day, Scott had checked in with her. She knew that he was as worried about her as he was about all three of their daughters. She was ashamed that her emotional instability had not only damaged Jackie, but she knew that it had also not been fair to Scott. He desperately needed her strength, as she did his. She wanted him with her, but she encouraged him to stay to help to identify the elusive white woman, and to try to solve the Yankee-related ransom demand. So far, no breakthroughs. At their insistence, FBI agents were guiding Scott through the money drop-off tomorrow morning, eleven a.m.

When Scott had asked about Jackie, Katie couldn’t stop the tears gathering in her eyes when she said, “No change.”

She and Scott had always insisted that they did not have a favorite among the triplets, but it was true that Jackie and Scott had a special relationship. What about her? Which of the three was her favorite? Alex, so sweet and loving and innocent. What about Sammie? That made Sammie neither of their favorites.

Balancing the food on the tray, Marge descended the steps. She pulled back the bolt, clicked open the lock, and walked into the basement. Nudging the tray against her ample hip, she balanced it with one hand.

She almost dropped it when Jessica said, “Let me help you.” The child hopped off the couch, and Marge handed her the tray.

Marge carefully locked the basement door behind her then went to pour them water from the faucet.
Why so nice
? she thought, and
wasn’t it about time
? After all, she had been good to the girls. It wasn’t her fault that she’d had to gag them and tie them and hide them in the bathroom when that nosy guy delivered the twin beds. Then when they’d trashed the place, she hit them, and if they tried that in the future, she’d do so again. She was a kind person and it wasn’t her nature to beat on kids, but they were her charges, a responsibility that she did not take lightly.

Jessica took a bite of her sandwich, then asked, “Are you married?”

Marge didn’t know what to say. “Yes” that she was married. Or “no” that Evan had divorced her. But whatever God has joined, let no man put asunder. At least that’s what she remembered from the Bible.

“Yes, I am,” she decided, clenching her fists. She would have Evan back as soon as things settled down. And they would. There’s no way that distorted picture of her face would be in the papers as far away as Toronto.

“Where’s your husband?” Jennifer asked.

“Just eat.” Marge said.

“We heard a man’s voice today,” Jessica said. “Was that him?”

“What?” Marge jerked her head toward the locked door. “Uh, no.” Had they seen Spanky? Or just heard him?

Good thing she had a plan to get them out tonight. She’d do it after dark. After Spanky left to go out to the bars. She’d probably have to tie them up again, but maybe not if they stayed nice like this.

Marge watched Jessica and Jennifer exchange one of those twin looks. Like they were reading each other’s mind. “What?” she asked. They’d tell her if they’d seen Spanky, wouldn’t they? And what would
he be doing in the basement? He kept all his stuff in the garage.

Marge headed for the door to let herself out, when Jessica asked, “Can we go with you? We always help our Mom. We can dust. Do the dishes. Lots of things.”

“We need fresh air,” Jennifer added. “It smells funny down here.”

“I have a surprise for you later.” Marge pushed back the bolt. It did smell moldy. She’d planned to spray the basement with Lysol, but now there was no point. Right now she had to gas up the car and make a stop at the pharmacy. And she had to do it quickly before Spanky got back from his buddy’s garage. No way could she risk Spanky wandering into the basement. She had been worried that she’d have to gag the girls and tie them up with those rags, but they were behaving so well, she judged it not necessary. “You girls have to be real quiet. You’re gonna love the surprise I promised you later, but you have to behave. Okay?”

“I just want to go home.” Marge didn’t like Jennifer’s whiny tone.

“Is it a television?” Jessica sounded excited. The first positive reaction from her and it warmed Marge’s heart.

“We’ll see,” Marge said. “Now quiet as mice. Promise?”

The twins exchanged another look, which Marge interpreted to be a promise.

Sammie and Alex Monroe — Still No Clue. Jackie Remains Hospitalized.
— News Talk Shows, Friday, June 19

Alex didn’t think that Sammie’s escape plan would work. But all she could think about was getting back to Mom and Dad. Before he left, the man they heard upstairs yelled that he would be back for dinner. But would he help them or not?”

She’d posed the question to Sammie, the bravest one of all three of them.

“If he won’t, we’ll use these to knock him out.” Sammie pointed to a shovel and a hoe that they’d found over by the washing machine and dryer. “And we can throw these at their heads.”

Alex and Sammie each had a good arm. Better than any of the boys on their baseball team, but could they bean a man hard enough with the baseballs they’d found in a rotting athletic bag? The woman maybe, because she was fat and if they surprised her, maybe.

“First we try to knock them down so we can get out the door and then we run like crazy. If that doesn’t work, then we’ll have the baseballs in our pockets and the extras in this bucket by the door. See?” Sammie pointed to a plastic pail.

“Maybe the man will just let us go. Just because he’s with her doesn’t make him bad, too.”

“Right. And maybe our fairy godmother will fly by to take us home. Alex, you’re such a goody-goody.”

“I just wanta see Mom and Dad.”

“You do exactly what I tell you. I mean it. We’re gonna escape from that bitch.”

Alex felt her body shudder. If Mom ever heard Sammie use that word —

Marge had lingered too long and she was behind schedule. She’d packed both of her big suitcases. They’d fit in the trunk as well as some of the girls’ things. But maybe not the two doll clothes wardrobes. If they didn’t, should she take one or leave them both behind? She’d have to wait until the last minute to make that decision. In the meantime, what to do about gassing up the car? She did have half a tank. She’d planned to get some hair dye to make herself a dark brunette, but it was now six thirty p.m., too late. She had the chicken partially baked, ready to fry. Potatoes ready to mash. String beans ready to steam.

“Ma.” Marge hadn’t heard the crunch of gravel coming up the drive or the loud motor sound. He must have got his truck engine fixed.

Home already. Maybe that was good. They could eat earlier, he’d leave, and she could finish packing and wait until it was dark enough.

“In the kitchen, Spanky.”

“Hey, Ma. I’m gonna take your junker. Where you got the keys?”

Marge went out into the hall. “What?”

“I wanta get an appraisal. For a trade-in. I’m gettin’ you new wheels. Maybe one of those Porsches.”

“You come in here.” She didn’t want him lingering by the stairs leading to the basement.

“Your Escort’s a junker.”

“Just a little rusted,” Marge said.
Crap
. She couldn’t have him driving around in her car. Thank goodness she hadn’t started to put her suitcases inside.

“Rusted so bad you can’t tell what the fuck color it is.”

“Come on, Spanky, you know I don’t like you talking like that. I don’t care how you talk to your truck-driving buddies, but I didn’t raise you like that. Another thing,” she said, looking him up and down, “I wish you’d get rid of that moustache and that dinky beard.” She especially didn’t like the scraggly beard. It didn’t look good with his completely shaved head. A big head, like his big body, six feet three, bulky muscles, and the start of a beer belly.