Shoots to Kill (26 page)

“Okay, Oliver, I’m inside your apartment now. If you’re here, please come out. I’d hate to walk in on you naked, or . . .”
Dead?

I shook off my trepidation. If something had happened to Oliver, surely I’d have seen signs of a disturbance by now. As I tiptoed across the wooden floor to peek around a doorway into the kitchen, my cell phone buzzed in my purse. About time, I thought, fully expecting to see Oliver’s name on the screen. But it was Marco.

“I can handle this one myself,” I muttered, and slid the phone back inside my purse.

“I’m stepping into your kitchen now, Oliver,” I called. Somehow it was reassuring to keep up a running monologue. I felt for another light switch and a row of overhead lights came on. “This is some setup you have,” I said aloud.

The kitchen had a black granite countertop, cherry cabinets, a wood floor, and stainless steel appliances. Against a side wall beneath a window was a glass-topped pedestal table with four chairs. Once again, the room was spotless, almost sterile.

I peeked inside a kitchen cabinet and saw stacks of dinner plates, dessert plates, cups, and saucers, everything symmetrically placed, with all the handles on the cups pointing in the same direction. I was betting Oliver had an obsessive-compulsive disorder on top of his paranoia.

Suddenly, I heard the floor creak in the living room. Oops. Marco must have figured out what I was up to. Or was that Oliver?

I glanced around for something to use as a weapon, then opened a cabinet under the sink and grabbed the window cleaner. My boot slid on a small pile of black dirt on the floor, which seemed odd in light of the cleanliness of the place.

“Hello?” I called, moving toward the doorway, my finger on the bottle’s trigger spray.

Marco stood in the center of the living room looking decidedly peeved. This called for a defensive strategy. I hoped it worked on Marco as well as it had on Reilly.

“Where have you been?” I asked, putting one hand on my hip.

He glowered, clearly not as gullible as Reilly. “Don’t give me that. You were supposed to come back down and let me take over.”

“Yes, but we made that plan before I knew the door was unlocked.”

“Which is an even greater reason for you to get the hell out of here. You could have been attacked.”

“Could have, would have”—I shrugged—“all water under the bridge. Anyway, I’m armed.” I held up the spray bottle. “Besides, no one’s here. I’ve been calling Oliver’s name for the past five minutes. If he were sleeping, he would have heard me by now.”

“You still shouldn’t have taken the risk.”

As Marco gazed around the living room, taking in the big television, I said, “Nice digs for a deliveryman. A little too blue for my tastes, but I’m sure Delphi provided the furnishings. And wait till you see the kitchen. It’s a cook’s dream.”

“What’s up that hallway?”

“I was just about to investigate.”

Marco put a hand on my arm to stop me. “Would you allow me go first, please? You don’t know what you’ll find up there.”

I
wouldn’t find anything if
he
went first. But I stepped back graciously and let him proceed. He stopped at the first doorway and turned on the light, revealing a luxurious bathroom. I followed him inside, staring around at the marble sinks, gold fixtures, bidet, Jacuzzi, and walk-in shower.

“Wow,” was all I could say.

I opened the mirrored medicine cabinet and found four bottles of saline nasal spray, four boxes of bandages, four tubes of antibacterial ointment—but no prescription medicine. “If Oliver is on meds, he must have them with him,” I told Marco.

There was one more doorway to investigate at the end of the hall, most likely opening up to the bedroom. Marco approached cautiously and used his penlight to do a quick visual sweep of the interior. I stood just behind him, peering over his shoulder, but it was clear at once that Oliver wasn’t there. Behind a drapery of gauzy mosquito netting, the queen-sized bed was neatly made.

Marco flipped a switch on the inside wall and a black light attached to a ceiling fan came on, throwing the bedroom into total weirdness. The cedar scent was stronger here, I noticed. I followed Marco inside and glanced around, expecting to see a hamster cage, but there was none in sight.

Two posters on the wall entitled, EXTREME MARINES glowed incandescently with steroid-fueled males clad in war gear. Twin saber swords, their blades forming an
X
, hung above a low dresser. Army helmets made the bases for twin dresser lamps, and a collection of old army medals filled two shadow boxes. Everything in the room was perfectly symmetrical.

Marco found another light switch and the dresser lamps came on. He opened a sliding door, exposing three sets of camouflage fatigues hanging neatly on the rod. Three pairs of army boots were lined up underneath. I was guessing Oliver was wearing the fourth outfit. There were also four black cardboard boxes on the shelf above the pole, but it was the laptop computer sitting on the large, black metal desk nearby that caught my attention. What would Oliver’s laptop reveal about him?

Suddenly, we heard Libby call, “Oliver? Hello?”

Marco headed for the living room, calling, “Hey, Libby, I’m here with Abby.”

Great. Let Marco deal with her. I was more interested in the laptop. I lifted the lid and moved the roller ball to activate it. Instantly, a huge photograph of a brown and cream snake’s head filled the screen, its opened mouth poised to strike, its long, curved fangs gleaming menacingly. There were no icons, just a cursor blinking beside the words
Enter Password.

I glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then typed
Oliver
and hit Enter.
Invalid Password
appeared, although I had expected as much.
Hmm.
What might Oliver use? I tried the easy words—
spy, army, Delphi, Blume,
and even
Libby
—with no luck. They’d been long shots anyway. Oliver wouldn’t use a word or phrase someone could easily guess.

“Honestly, I don’t understand where he could be,” Libby said, coming up the hallway.

I shut the cover and turned just as Libby came into the bedroom. Seeing me standing beside the laptop in her brother’s room, she cast me a suspicious look.

“He’s not in here,” I said with a shrug, edging away from the desk.

“You talked to Oliver this afternoon,” she said. “Didn’t he tell you where he was going?”

“No. Why would he tell me?”

“You seem to be his new confidant,” she replied in a snippy tone, almost as though she was jealous of me.

“Believe me, Libby, he doesn’t confide in me.”

Libby turned to Marco. “I’m really worried. He’s not even answering his cell phone.”

“Did Oliver seem anxious or upset when you talked to him?” Marco asked me.

“I wouldn’t say upset, but he was definitely edgy. I figured it was because he was supposed to be unpacking crates, not wasting his time talking to me.”

“Wasting time has never bothered Oliver,” Libby said sarcastically.

“Does he have the company van?” I asked her.

Libby shook her head. “If he went somewhere, he either walked or got a ride with one of his friends.”

“I’ll call his friend in Starke County,” I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “Maybe he knows where Oliver is.”

I called information and asked for a number for Thomas McDoyle. This time I recognized the first number the operator gave me, and quickly dialed it. “Hi, Tom, this is Abby Knight again. Do you know where Oliver is?”

“Why?” he asked warily, his reedy voice breaking like a preteen’s.

“Because his sister is here with me and she’s worried about him. Oliver didn’t say where he was going and he’s not at home. So do you know?”

“That’s privileged information, ma’am.”

Not the military act again! Marco was standing with his arms folded, waiting, so I whispered, “Tom is playing hard to get. Want to persuade him?”

Marco held out his hand for the phone. “I’m going to say this once, Tom, so listen up.” He was using his gruff cop’s voice. I loved it when he talked tough. “If you don’t tell me what you know about Oliver’s whereabouts in the next ten seconds, you’d better expect me at your door—” He paused, listening, then said, “Where?”

Libby tugged on Marco’s sleeve. “Is Oliver okay? Does Tom know where he is?”

Marco gave her a thumbs-up. “Can you get in touch with him? Cool. Call him and tell him no one is after him. The game is over, and it’s safe to go home.”

“Tell him the coast is clear,” I whispered.

Libby groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “He’s off his meds. I know he is.”

“Okay, listen, Tom,” Marco said. “I’m going to be expecting you to call back as soon as you speak to Oliver. Got it?”

Marco ended the call and handed me my phone as he said to Libby, “Oliver phoned Tom shortly after five o’clock today and asked him to come pick him up because
they
were after him. Tom says he dropped your brother off at the edge of a forest preserve around seven o’clock. Oliver had a backpack with him. Tom promised he’d try to get him home tonight.”

“So what am I supposed to do now?” Libby said petulantly.“Wait here all night for him to come home? What if he hurts himself out there in the forest? What if Tom can’t reach him? Should I call the police and report him missing?”

“Oliver isn’t a child,” Marco said. “Besides, I can tell you from experience that the police won’t search for him until he’s been missing for forty-eight hours.”

“Forty-eight hours?” Libby cried. “Do you know all the things that could happen to him in forty-eight hours?” She sank down onto the end of the bed, covered her face, and wailed, “Mummy would be so upset with me. If anything happens to Oliver, it’s all my fault.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Libby,” I snapped. “Stop that. You’re not your brother’s keeper. You can’t control his life. That’s what your mother did. Is that how you want to be, too?”

“Don’t you talk that way about Mummy,” she cried, jumping to her feet. “Everything she did was for our benefit.”

“Ladies,” Marco called, “we’ve got more important concerns right now.” He was standing in front of a door in the corner of the bedroom. “Libby, where does this lead?”

Still glaring at me, she said, “That’s a walk-in closet.”

“Do you know why it’s locked?” he asked.

“Oliver told me it was private. He’s always been very secretive about it. I figured it had something to do with his stupid army games.”

“Let’s find the key,” Marco said.

While he checked the tops of the doorframes and window frames, Libby pulled open the dresser drawers, searching through neat rows of brown socks and boxer shorts. I went back to the desk and pulled open the top drawer. Inside was a shallow black metal storage container with four identical black pens lined up neatly inside. Another container held four erasers, and another, four boxes of paper clips.

I opened the second drawer and found four sleek black staplers and four boxes of staples. The third revealed four new ink cartridges. Clearly, Oliver had a thing for the number four. By all that I’d seen so far, my amateur diagnosis of OCD seemed to be right on target.

While I was at it, I also checked around for eavesdropping devices, remembering that Oliver had been certain someone had gotten inside his apartment to bug it. But I couldn’t find anything the least bit suspicious.

I turned around to see Marco remove a thin strip of metal from his wallet and crouch in front of the closet door. He inserted the strip into the lock and carefully worked it until the bolt slid back, then cautiously opened the door, using his penlight to look around. He spotted a chain hanging from an overhead light and pulled it.

Immediately, he jumped back with a muttered, “Shit,” and pulled the door shut.

“What is it?” Libby asked as Marco hurriedly punched in numbers on his cell phone.

“Hello, Sean? It’s Marco.”

He was calling Reilly? What the heck was behind that door?

CHAPTER TWENTY

“Listen, Sean, I need you to get someone from animal control out to the Blume residence right away,” Marco said. “Tell them we’ve got a snake on the loose”—at that, Libby let out a scream that could have peeled paint off the wall—“and judging by the size of the aquarium tank, he’s a big guy.”

Libby scrambled onto the bed and pulled the mosquito netting around her. Taking advantage of her hysteria, I climbed onto the desk, pretending to be frightened so I’d have a reason to be near the laptop. No need for them to know I wasn’t afraid of snakes.

“Tell them I’m inside the apartment over the garage,” Marco continued. “The door is open.” He listened a moment, then said, “No, I’m not alone. Abby and Libby are with me.”

Why did I suddenly feel like half of the Doublemint gum twins?

“Is the s-snake inside the c-closet?” Libby asked as Marco took one of the saber swords from the wall.

“All I know,” Marco said as he prepared to open the closet door, “is that the top is off and the glass tank is empty. And by the way, that was one pampered snake. Oliver has quite a setup in there.”

“Now I know why I smelled cedar,” I said. “There must be shavings on the bottom of the tank—except how do you know it’s a snake tank if there’s no snake?”

He paused to glance back at me. “Do you really care to know?”

“Don’t I?”

“Trust me. You don’t.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but he was right; I didn’t care. I was more interested in the laptop.

“Marco, I’m afraid,” Libby whined. “Don’t go in there.”

“Just stay where you are,” he cautioned, which I deemed a completely unnecessary warning, given the way she was clinging to the netting.

Marco eased the door open and peered inside. Using the tip of the sword, he poked around, then stepped inside and shut the door behind him. I would have used that opportunity to work on the password for the laptop, but Libby was staring at me through the holes in the netting like a frightened bug about to be devoured by a spider.