Grounded (45 page)

How would Roger react to that?

The whistle at the front of the train hooted once … twice … three times. Passing some lonely country crossing in the middle of the night. Taking her home—where she'd need to face the music.

Even though the California Zephyr had been late arriving in Denver, it managed to make up most of the time during the night and early morning hours and pulled into Chicago's Union Station only ten minutes late the next afternoon.

“Three o'clock—not bad,” crowed Sam, as the sleeping car attendant helped set their luggage on the platform. “Thanks, Billy.” She pressed a twenty into his hand.

“And thank
you
!” The Kid beamed. “Would you like assistance into the station? An electric cart will be coming shortly.”

“Thanks, but we're fine.” Grace gave him a smile, balanced her tote bag, her purse, and the plastic cleaner bag with the tan suede jacket to ride on the top of both her suitcases, and wheeled them down the platform toward the station. She was more interested in getting home than waiting for a cart. Threading their way past slower passengers, they followed the barked instructions of Amtrak employees, who were directing foot traffic past the departure doors and toward a large open entryway marked Arrivals.

“Grace! Hold up a minute.” Sam stopped, fumbled for her phone, and held it up to her ear. A moment later she pocketed the phone and caught up with Grace, who'd stopped to wait. “That was Rodney Bentley. The limo's waiting up on Canal Street. Told him we'd be up in a few minutes.
Uh
, let's see … there. The escalator's straight ahead.”

Grace nodded and let Sam lead the way. Sam had called Lincoln Limo about their change in plans, but Grace decided to call Rodney directly to apologize for canceling on such short notice, and said she hoped it wouldn't jeopardize anything about his job. He'd said
no problem, he'd work it out—in fact, he'd insisted on picking them up today and seeing them safely home.

But she was tired. Hard to believe she'd left home fifteen days ago from this station. So many miles covered—fifty-five hundred at least. And so much had happened! She couldn't wait to pick up Oreo, get home to her own little nest on Beecham Street, stop living out of a suitcase, sleep in her own bed … and have time to sort through all the jumbled thoughts and feelings that had kept her awake most of the night.

Feelings she needed to sort out
before
she called Roger—or before he called her. “Grace, look. Isn't that the girl you met on the train?”

Sam's sudden question startled Grace out of her private thoughts. “Where? … Oh! You're right.”

Ramona was standing at the bottom of the escalators, hands in the pockets of her skinny jeans and shoulders hunched, looking this way and that as if waiting for someone. What was she doing at the station? Hadn't she and Max gotten into Chicago yesterday? Grace had promised to get the jacket to her if Ramona called and gave her an address. Whatever the reason, Grace felt a stab of relief. She'd wondered if she'd ever see the girl again. As they got closer, she called out, “Ramona! Over here!”

The girl's eyes lit with recognition and she hurried toward them. The three met and stopped, making other passengers flow around them in the busy passageway. Ramona eyed Grace soberly. “You got my jacket?”

She smiled. “Matter of fact, I do.” She unhooked the cleaner bag from the handle of her large suitcase and handed it to Ramona. “Here it is, good as new I hope.”

The girl took it, and to Grace's surprise, slipped the plastic up, held the jacket up, and inspected it closely. “It came clean. Cool.” Taking the jacket off the hanger, she put it on, running her hands up and down the soft suede. “
Gracias
.” She finally smiled. “So … how was your time in Denver?”

Grace wanted to laugh. “It was great. Not long enough, though.” She caught Sam giving her a smug smile. She'd told Sam that morning
about her walk in the park with Jeff, asking her to please just listen for now. She knew Sam was highly amused at the romantic bind she was in, and no doubt had an opinion or two on what she should do.

But she ignored Sam's knowing glance and kept her attention on the girl. “How about you? Have you had a chance to do any sightseeing yet?” Okay, that was dumb. If they were going to chat, they should get out of the way. “Actually, do you have a few minutes? We could … uh, Ramona? Are you okay?”

The girl suddenly seemed to sway and her eyelids fluttered. “Not … feeling so good. I—I need to sit down. Can we … over there, by the fountain?”

“Yes, of course … go.” Grace anxiously hustled after Sam and Ramona, threading her way through the throng with suitcases and bags—but just before they reached the square fountain, Ramona stopped … swayed again … and suddenly sank in a listless heap to the floor.

“Ramona!” Grace and Sam fell to their knees beside the inert girl, whose thick fall of black hair splayed out around her.
O God, O God, what do we do?
Grace gripped one of Ramona's hands and felt her wrist for a pulse, even as Sam took off her light jacket, quickly folded it, and slipped it under the girl's head.

A small crowd gathered around the figures on the floor in the narrow area between the fountain and the back of the escalators. “Does she need a doctor?” “What happened?” “Want me to call 9-1-1?”

Grace started to say a panicked yes, but just then she heard Ramona groan, “No, no …” To her relief, the girl's eyes fluttered open and she struggled to sit up. “Don't need a doctor … just got dizzy.” She hunched over and hugged her legs, resting her head on her knees.

Grace sat down and put her arm around Ramona and held her. She glanced at Sam crouching on the other side of the girl and shaking her head as if to say,
“I don't know what to do either.”

“I'll … I'll be all right. Just give me a minute.” Ramona's voice was muffled as she cradled her face between her knees and tentatively
touched the back of her head, which she'd probably banged when she fell. The crowd lost interest and started to disperse.

Grace's heart went out to the girl. Ramona was so young, couldn't be more than seventeen or eighteen, in Chicago for the first time, probably didn't know anyone except her “man,” who didn't seem to be anywhere around at the moment. What if Ramona had fainted with no one around who knew her? At least it happened while she and Sam were here—and no way would Grace leave her alone until she knew the girl was going to be all right.

Ramona raised her head and blew out a breath. “I'm … I'm okay now, I think.” Grace and Sam got to their feet and helped her stand up.

“You okay? Here, sit down.” Grace and Sam led the girl to the flat marble bench that surrounded the square fountain, then turned back to retrieve their luggage. Grace picked up her tote bag from the floor where it had fallen and slipped the strap over the handle of her wheeled carry-on case while Sam gathered her luggage. Okay, that was two … but where was her larger case? “Sam? Where's my big suitcase? I thought it was right here with the other one.”

“Huh, don't see it. Maybe somebody moved it—it was probably in the way.”

Grace and Sam swiveled about, looking for the teal-blue suitcase. The lobby was a five-way junction, with the escalators coming down from Canal Street, the splashing fountain tucked behind the moving stairs, the row of kiosks on one side of the fountain where online tickets could be printed out, plus the row of standard ticket counters and lines of waiting passengers.

Sam said, “Wait a sec,” and walked clear around the escalators while Grace circled the fountain. But both came back shaking their heads.

Grace felt a growing worry in the pit of her stomach. “You don't think … could someone have stolen it?” Then she remembered the girl. “Oh, Ramona, I'm sorry.” She turned back to where Ramona had been sitting.

But the girl was gone.

Scrunched into a small cubicle office with Sam and an Amtrak security agent, Grace finished filling out the police report about her missing bag and laid down the pen. Her eyes felt tight, as if holding back tears. All the courage she'd built up taking the train instead of having to submit to the intense security at airports had drained out of her spirit. Her luggage had been stolen, of all things, right behind her back! Wasn't there any safe way to travel?

She glanced at Sam, sitting patiently in a folding chair off to the side, and mouthed,
“Sorry to make you wait. Did we lose our ride?”

Sam shook her head and mouthed back,
“Rodney said he'd wait. Are you okay?”

Grace shrugged. It wasn't just the suitcase. Ramona had disappeared too. It felt like two losses, just minutes apart. She was worried about the girl. Perhaps Ramona would still call her. But she had no reason to call now.

Somewhere in her purse, her cell phone rang, but she was distracted by a frustrated voice saying, “I'm sorry, Bentley. Your dog won't come.”

Bentley? Was that Harry? Grace half stood and looked over the partition of the cubicle toward the reception area, but only saw the door leading out into the station wheeze shut. Did Mr. Bentley know her suitcase had been stolen? She wished she could talk to him before they left. She wanted to tell him about Ramona. Maybe he could—

But first she had to finish filling out the police report. Reading through it once more, she finally handed it to the security agent, who also looked it over and nodded. “Guess that's it. So sorry about this, Ms. Meredith. We'll do our best to recover your property. Glad you filled out the estimated cost of the suitcase and its contents—in case you need it for your insurance.”

Grace nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It wasn't the cost that bothered her as much as the sense of being
violated
. Not to
mention pretty darn inconvenient too. That case had most of her concert dresses! She didn't even want to think about it.

“Ah. You're still here.”

Grace turned at the familiar voice. “Mr. Bentley!” The last time she'd seen him, he'd been wearing wraparound shades, a plaid flat hat tipped rakishly on his shaved head. Now he was leaning against the opening to the cubicle wearing ordinary black slacks, a white shirt, a tweedy sport coat, and a big grin, Corky at his side—minus the guide-dog harness.

“You lose something?”

Grace grimaced. “My suitcase was stolen.”

“
Uh-huh
.” The grin widened. “Got news for you. We caught the perp red-handed before he got out of the station and got your suitcase back.”

Grace and Sam gasped.
“What?”
Grace stared at the man, her emotions doing somersaults between relief and confusion. “How … oh, my. I can't believe it.”

“That's the good news.” Harry Bentley's face sobered. “The bad news is, Amtrak police will need to keep your suitcase for a little while until the, uh … thief has been booked and we've completed all the paperwork. A list of the contents would be helpful to make sure everything's still there. I'll see that you get it back as soon as they release it. Hopefully it won't be too long.”

“Oh, Harry! Thank you!” Grace jumped up and gave her neighbor a hug. “I'm going to tell Estelle to cook you one of her famous dinners tonight. You deserve it!”

“Uh, it's Detective Bentley here at the station.” He laughed self-consciously.

“Oh!” Grace was just about to tell him about Ramona, but he suddenly clapped his hands. “Sorry, ladies, gotta go. C'mon, Corky.” He winked at Grace. “Told you Amtrak security was on the job—even when you didn't know it.”

It was five thirty by the time the limo drew up in front of Grace's bungalow on Beecham Street. Even though Rodney Bentley had said he didn't have another client till that evening and would be glad to drive both of them, Sam had elected to get a cab and go straight home. “Girl, I
know
you want to stop by Meeow Chicago and pick up Oreo,” she'd teased, giving Grace a good-bye hug, “but right now
my
priority is soaking in a long bubble bath.” And she'd waved good-bye as the limo pulled away.

After being together in close quarters 24/7 for the past fifteen days, Grace already missed the young woman who'd become so much more than an assistant. More like a best friend—or the sister she'd never had.

“I owe you big time, Rodney,” she said, as he opened her door, took the cat carrier from her, and then helped her out. “So sorry you had to wait while I filled out that police report, but I do appreciate it.”

“Not a problem, Ms. Meredith. Least I can do as thanks for you and Ms. Curtis getting me this job.”

“Rodney, you can ‘Ms. Meredith' me all you want at Lincoln Limo's office, but it feels really silly for neighbors to be so formal. Please, call me Grace.”