For the Love of Pete (12 page)
“Yes. She lent the aunties her old car. It’s practically the only thing she has helped with.”
“Okay.” Dante wrote in the notebook. “But they’re driving a lavender Dodge minivan now with the words ARTIE’S FLOWERS on the side. Do you know where they could’ve got it?”
Ms. Agrawal stared at Dante for a moment. She jumped up and ran to the back of the house. Zoey looked at Dante and then followed her. There was a small kitchen at the back of the house, and Zoey found the other woman standing over her sink, looking out the back window.
“Oh, no,” she moaned. “Oh, no! Those wicked aunties have taken Karan’s minivan. And look what they have left in its place!”
Zoey followed her pointing finger and looked out the window over the sink. In back of the house there was a rectangular concrete slab, extra parking for vehicles that couldn’t fit in the one-car garage. There sat the yellow Humvee, as out of place as a giant cuckoo in a sparrow’s nest.
Ms. Agrawal looked like she was in shock, so Zoey took her arm and led her back to her sofa. “It’s okay. The police won’t blame you for the Humvee. In fact, the owner probably hasn’t even reported it stolen.”
The other woman didn’t seem comforted. “But what about Karan’s minivan?”
Dante cleared his throat. “Do you know why your husband’s aunts would want to steal the Humvee? And then dump it?”
Ms. Agrawal stared. “Oh, God, who knows? Who knows? My husband will have to bail them out of jail, and there goes our summer vacation to the Wisconsin Dells. He’ll—”
“Or kidnap a baby?” Dante cut into the catalog of woes.
“A baby?” Ms. Agrawal’s lovely mouth fell open. “They took—”
“Kidnapped,” Dante murmured.
“A
baby
?”
He nodded.
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God!” Ms. Agrawal leaped up but then didn’t seem to know what to do, so she just stood there. “Karan will lose his work visa. We’ll be deported. Oh, my God!”
Dante sat back on the couch, his manner relaxed, but Zoey knew his interest was still totally engaged. “Do you know where they might go?”
Ms. Agrawal’s gaze settled on him like a lifeline. “Go?”
Dante shrugged. “They aren’t here, are they?”
She gazed around the little room as if one of the sari-clad old ladies might pop up from behind a chair. “No. They didn’t come home last night.”
Dante’s eyebrows shot up. “That didn’t worry you?”
“Naturally—”
“Two elderly ladies in a big city like Chicago?”
“I—”
Dante sighed. “Have you reported them missing?”
Ms. Agrawal chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I was going to, but it didn’t seem necessary yet. I did call all the family in Chicago. No one had seen them.”
Dante simply stared at the woman. The silence grew, and Ms. Agrawal’s skin darkened. She couldn’t seem to meet his eyes, and even Zoey was feeling guilty.
“Where do you think your husband’s great-aunts might be right now, Mrs. Agrawal?”
“I don’t know.”
Dante sighed and closed his notebook, the movement oddly ominous.
Ms. Agrawal must’ve thought so, too. She stuttered into speech. “I-I don’t know! Really I don’t! There’s only my husband’s brother and sister, and Auntie Savita’s daughter, but she’s in Disney World in—”
The notebook was flipped open again. “Your husband’s siblings’ names?”
She sank into the chair, looking dazed, and rattled off a list of names.
“Who else?”
“I don’t know!”
“They don’t have friends in the city?”
“No.”
Dante arched an eyebrow, obviously skeptical. “Not at all?”
Ms. Agrawal shrugged. “They’ve only been in the US for a couple of months. They spend all of their time on that stupid restaurant they plan to open.”
“What about neighbors?”
“No.”
“Acquaintances? Clubs or religious groups they might belong to?”
“I told you, they spend all their free time at the restaurant.”
“Okay.” Dante sighed. “No friends, no acquaintances, no clubs. Only the family you’ve mentioned: Mrs. Gupta’s daughter, your husband, his brothers and their wives, and his cousin. That’s it?”
“Well . . .”
Dante looked up. If he’d been a wolf his ears would’ve pricked forward. “What?”
Ms. Agrawal waved a hand dismissively. “My husband has one more cousin—another of the aunties’ nephews—but he doesn’t even live in Chicago.”
“Where is he?”
“Cairo.”
Dante’s eyebrows shot up. “In Egypt?”
“No. Cairo in southern Illinois.”
Friday, 7:00 a.m.
I
do not think that the city of Cairo is on this map,” Savita-di announced.
Pratima dared not take her eyes from the road, so dangerous was the traffic, but she did consider rolling them. “Cairo must be on the map. Rahul has his wonderful motel there.”
Savita-di rustled the enormous map, which she had completely unfolded across the passenger side of the minivan. “I do not see it. I think this map is defective, Pratima.”
“The map is not defective, Savita-di,” Pratima replied. She inhaled sharply as a massive semi truck attempted to run down the purple minivan. At the last minute the truck swerved away, shaking the minivan in the wind of its passage.
Savita-di was oblivious. “I see a city called Rockford and one called Davenport, but I do not see a city called Cairo.”
Pratima frowned, calling up her hazy knowledge of American geography. “Is the city of Davenport in the state of Illinois?”
“Of course it is, Pratima!” Savita-di rattled her map. “It is on this map, is it not?”
“So you say.”
“I say so because it is,” Savita-di huffed. “And this map is a map of the state of Illinois. Therefore, Davenport is in Illinois.”
“Hmm,” Pratima murmured. She was concentrating on passing a tiny striped Mini car and could not help but feel a certain glee when the wheels of the purple minivan splattered brown slush against the little Mini’s windshield. In the US of A it was good to drive a big vehicle.
From the back seat of the minivan a small voice sang, “La na la.” It was the baby girl, freshly diapered and snuggly belted into a car seat taken from the yellow Humvee. She was munching on a breakfast of cut-up bananas and crackers, bought this morning at the scandalously expensive corner grocery store near Abdul’s apartment. Beside the girl sat the boy, belted into the minivan’s own car seat. This was a marvelous contraption concealed behind a removable cushion. The Gupta ladies would never have known about the hidden built-in baby car seat if it were not for Abdul, who had shown them. Their janitor might not speak English, but he seemed to have that mysterious knowledge of mechanical things that all gentlemen shared.
“This map is useless,” Savita-di exclaimed, throwing aside the rustling paper. “I shall guide us to this city of Cairo.”
Pratima frowned, feeling uneasy. “How can you guide us without the map?”
Savita-di shrugged carelessly. “It is south, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then we simply drive south,” Savita-di said. “It will be easy.”
Friday, 7:13 a.m.
D
ante held the car door for Zoey as she got in the BMW again. The sun was all the way up now and blindingly bright against the snow cover.
“Where to next?” Zoey asked as she buckled her seat belt. “Are we going to go try the brother and sister? ’Cause if so, I need a coffee. That tea was nice, but I really can’t function without coffee in the morning.”
“You are so not what I expected from someone who works in a health-food store,” Dante muttered.
Dante shut the car door and walked around to his own side. He knew he was putting off telling her. Truth was, he was feeling a little down at the thought of not seeing her again after today. He glanced over his shoulder before pulling the BMW into the street. In the last half hour the neighborhood had waked up. Cars began backing out of driveways, an elderly man stood on his front steps watching a pug make yellow spots in the snow, and clumps of bundled schoolchildren trudged down the sidewalk.
“You’re just prejudiced,” Zoey said.
He looked at her. “What?”
Her cheeks were pink from walking to the BMW, and for someone who’d spent the night in a car, she looked pretty good. Her eyes were bright from dinging him, her face a little shiny under the ridiculous hat. “Prejudiced. Against people who work in health-food stores.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too. Why can’t I drink coffee if I want to?”
“I thought coffee was bad for you.”
“And yet
you
drink it anyway.” She nodded wisely, the colorful strings on either side of her face bobbing. “Probably gives you a secret thrill, doesn’t it? Drinking something you think is baaad?”
“Hey.”
Okay, it was probably morning hormones, but the way she drawled
bad
kind of made him hot. Dante switched lanes, heading toward a main north–south artery. No matter which way he went this time of the day, it was going to take a good two hours to get to Chinatown. Maybe more.
Fortunately, she didn’t seem to notice anything as she chattered. “Sorry to burst your little thrill bubble, but coffee’s got lots of antioxidants and there’re fewer suicides among people who drink coffee.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Am not.”
“Huh. Probably they’re so high on caffeine they can’t think straight to commit suicide.”
“Well, yeah.” She grinned at him.
He felt his own lips curving back. For such a prickly woman, she sure was sweet in the morning. Which made him feel like a total jerk for what he was about to do to her—dump her. She’d be safe. That was more important than disappointing her. He tried to keep that thought at the forefront of his mind as he pulled into a grocery parking lot. The grocery itself was a specialty store and had only one or two cars in front, but the tiny coffee kiosk in the parking lot was doing a brisk business.
Dante pulled the BMW into line behind a silver Audi and a battered blue Taurus.
He looked at Zoey. She was leaning toward him, studying the hand-lettered sign attached to the side of the kiosk. “What do you want?”
“I’m thinking.”
He rolled his eyes and inched the BMW forward as the Audi left.
“You decided where we’re going yet?” she asked absently.
The Taurus pulled away and he brought the BMW up to the kiosk.
He rolled down his window.
“Yeah?” The kid inside wore a stained T-shirt under an equally stained apron. He peered out the open half door of the kiosk, apparently oblivious to the cold.
“Large coffee, two creams,” Dante said. He glanced at Zoey.
She leaned over nearly into his lap. “Good morning.”
The kid focused on her. “Hi.”
“Do you make carmellos?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, can you make me a double, skim milk with lots of whipped cream?”
“You got it.”
“Thank you.” She smiled sweetly at the guy and straightened, her silly hat almost brushing Dante’s chin. She looked at him. “So where do we go after this?”
He flattened his mouth. “Nowhere. We’re going to meet my boss, and he’ll take you to somewhere safe until this thing is straightened out.”
Her brows knit. “But you said yesterday that someone in the FBI framed you.”
He nodded, hating that he had to explain this, wishing that she’d just let him make decisions without arguing. “Someone inside the local FBI is trying to frame me, but Headington, the SAC, is on the case.”
“What—?”
“Look, you’re not safe with me. I need to make sure you’re protected.”
“But what about Pete?” Her voice had risen. “You’re abandoning her!”
“I’m not abandoning her. My orders are to report in. There are others who can find her.”
“The others were the ones that let her get kidnapped in the first place!” She was glaring at him now.
“Hey, you guys want these?”
Dante turned to the coffee kiosk. His face must’ve been pretty grim, because the barista jerked back, nearly dropping the paper cups he held.
“Yeah.” Dante fumbled for his wallet.
“Here,” Zoey said curtly. She held out a ten-dollar bill.
“I’ll get it.” Dante opened his wallet.
“I can pay for my own coffee.”
“I said I’ll get it.” He ignored the ten waving under his nose and gave the barista a twenty.
“Jerk,” Zoey muttered.
“You’re welcome,” he said as he shoved the cup into her hand.
He took a gulp of his coffee, burned his tongue, swore, and pulled out of the parking lot. Beside him, Zoey was silently sipping her own coffee, both hands wrapped around the cup. Which was fine. It didn’t matter at all if she wasn’t talking to him.
He brought the BMW to a halt at a stoplight, tapping his fingertips on the wheel. “Look. We’re going to get your niece back. It’s only a matter of time.”
She snorted.
He gritted his teeth and accelerated as the light turned. “This thing is dangerous. You know that. I need to get you out of the line of fire.”
“Oh, yeah, like you can trust your FBI peeps. Look what happened when you told Kev we were at the BP. The cops showed up minutes later. No way was that a coincidence.”
Dante’s lips tightened. Actually, Zoey wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t thought himself. He was pretty certain he could trust Headington, but he didn’t know if he could trust anyone else at the office. Which was why he was making sure to arrive at the meeting place early.
Zoey was silent for most of the rest of the drive. When he entered Chinatown on Wentworth, she hadn’t spoken to him for forty-five minutes.
Wentworth was the main drag through Chinatown. On either side of the street were stores and restaurants decorated in turn-of-the-last-century Chinese kitsch.
“You’re meeting here?” Zoey sounded dubious.
“Close by.”
They drove under a red-painted arch decorated with wild-eyed lion dogs. The road twisted to the right as they neared the tangle of Stevenson Expressway and I-94, high overhead. Tall concrete bridges arched into the sky, supported by massive pillars. Dante turned, paralleling the expressway. The sheltered area underneath had been made into a makeshift parking lot. He drove into the lot, crawling between crumbling concrete barriers that separated the road from the parking area. Old snow, ice, and grit crunched under the BMW’s tires. Dante turned off the engine, and for a moment they sat in the car, listening to the engine tick as it cooled.
