Miz Scarlet and the Holiday Houseguests (A Scarlet Wilson Mystery #3) by Sara M. Barton Page A

to do
something,” I insisted. “We can’t just sit here on our
hands!”
    “I gave the unit my number. They’ll
call me back when they’ve got something. I told them Larry’s
parents are coming in tonight.”
    We were at a loss, the pair of us,
sitting in the library and waiting for answers, waiting for some
reason to hope. Twenty minutes later, when the landline rang again,
I expected to hear Edna’s voice on the other end. I was shocked to
hear Larry speak.
    “Ms. Wilson? This is Laurencia Rivera.
I’m staying in the White Oak Room at the inn while my condo’s being
painted....” What was she talking about? I put my hand over the
phone.
    “Max, it’s Larry, and she’s acting like
she doesn’t know me!”
    “Put it on speaker,” he urged me.
“Hurry up!”
    I did as he directed, my fingers
trembling as I punched the button. Taking a deep breath, I let it
out slowly before I spoke, mentally preparing myself. “Yes, Ms.
Rivera. What can I do for you?”
    “I wonder if you could help me out.
Apparently, I think I left my bank card on the dresser in my room.
Is there any chance you could go in there and check for
me?”
    Max grabbed my arm and squeezed, before
he leaned over and whispered into my ear. “Tell her you’ll be happy
to look. Then put the phone down and walk out the door. Make some
noise.”
    I followed his instructions. Max met me
in the butler’s pantry. “Okay. When you go back in there in a
minute, you ask her if it’s a Bank of America card. When she says
yes, you tell her you have it. Got that?”
    Why did it matter if it was a Bank of
America card? I started to ask, but Max shook his head.
    “Just trust me, Scarlet.”
    A moment later, I made a very loud
approach into the kitchen, with Max softly on my heels. As he
hovered, I spoke.
    “Ms. Rivera? Is it a Bank of America
credit card you wanted?” There was a long pause before Larry
responded.
    “Why, yes. Yes, it is. Did you find
it?”
    “It was on your nightstand.”
    “Great,” Larry told me. “I’ll be right
over to pick it up. I’m having dinner with a friend of mine tonight
and I promised him I would treat.”
    “Okay,” I replied, feeling a sudden
rush of panic for the safety of my friend. What if this was the
last conversation she ever had? What if the creep who was holding
her captive didn’t bring her to the Four Acorns Inn? “Get here in
one piece.”
    “Excuse me?” I could hear
the worry in her voice. Had I just put her in greater
danger? Think, Miz Scarlet. Say something
logical.
    “Be careful. The roads are icy
now.”
    “Right,” said the experienced homicide
investigator, sounding relieved. “We’ll be there in about ten
minutes.”
    I barely had time to hang up before Max
grabbed my arm and steered me out of the library and down the hall
in the direction of the living room.
    “We have to put the ladies somewhere
safe,” he told me. “Is there a closet we can use, somewhere that
won’t be searched by Larry’s abductor?”
    “Better yet, what about the carriage
house?” I countered. “Bur’s got a heated workshop in the garage.
Will that help?”
    “Absolutely!” Max let out a long breath
of relief. “I’m going to need your mother’s wheelchair.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t have time to explain
now.”
    Three minutes later, bundled up against
the cold, the ladies were escorted out to the tiny workshop at the
back of the building. Max had to lift the wheels on my mother’s
motorized chair over some of the patches of ice on the driveway,
but we managed to get her there in one piece. Tapping the switch
for the automatic overhead door, my heart pounding, I counted the
seconds until it rose. Time was of the essence. There was no
telling when Larry and her kidnapper would show up. Hurrying
inside, I led the trio past my car, all the way to the door of the
small room in the back of the carriage house, where I flipped on
the overhead fluorescent light, and searched for my