burped once more. The rest of the ride was awkward.
As they dropped me at the path which led to my home, Rick yelled after me, “Keep yourself put on this property, Maya. It’s for your own good.”
“You’re right, Rick. Thanks for the ride, I appreciate it,” I said, waving goodbye.
When I got inside the house, the red light on my phone was flashing. I listened to the message. It was from French. French! French was alive! French had called me. A wave of relief and joy shot through me, very soon followed by a wave of annoyance and an urge to thwock him upside the head.
That insensitive moron. Did he have any idea how worried I had been about him? And what was worse, his message said almost nothing. He told me he was fine and not to worry. He didn’t want to stay on the line. He didn’t want the police tracing the call. I, too, suspected surveillance. It was just a feeling I had.
I played the message over and over again, listening for any sort of encrypted code or stress in French’s voice. Was someone holding a knife to his throat or a gun to his head? That could make a person terse, all right.
But no, there was no trace of panic or untoward emotion in his voice. He was checking in to calm my fears. No mention of where he was or when he would be back. So many questions and not one answer. Once again, I wanted to jump in my car, bolt from the property and drive up to see Ted Rains. As French’s closest friend in Orlando, he might be able to shed some light on this madness.
The last time I tried that, I woke up near a dumpster behind the Sword and Chalice hotel over at Disney. So, I called Ted and requested he have someone come collect me at the property.
“Maya, darlin’, I’ll be happy to do that. It will be about half an hour. I’ll have my man, Marty, ring the bell at the gate to your property. You know Marty, don’t you?” Ted’s voice was quiet, calm, soothing—and he hadn’t even asked me why I needed a driver.
True to Ted’s word, Marty arrived half an hour later. I jumped into the limo in clean, flax-colored linen slacks, the matching linen jacket folded carefully over my arm.
Chapter 31
“Maya, so good to see you and don’t you look lovely,” Ted said, as he rose from his desk and came around to give me a big, friendly hug.
“Thank you, Ted,” I answered. “How’s Lisa?”
“Prettier than ever,” he said. “She’s been asking about you. You two should go water skiing sometime on our lake.”
“Sure thing,” I answered, thinking that would never happen. Lisa had known me for three years and never invited me to anything.
I was not good at small talk. “Ted, I need some help,” I blurted.
“Have a seat, darlin’, What can I do?” he answered, grinning at me in that gentle, Southern way of his.
“First off, have you seen French today?”
“Why, yes, I have,” he answered, smiling into my eyes.
“Oh, thank goodness!” I exhaled and leaned back in the leather chair. “That is such music to my ears, you have no idea,” I continued. “Is he all right?”
“He’s fine, Maya.”
“Is he still here, somewhere on your property?” Church Lane Depot was big—a block of historic buildings, all turned into saloons, restaurants, game arcades, antique shops and even a boutique hotel.
“No, he left about an hour ago,” he said.
“Can’t you tell me everything? I feel like we’re playing twenty questions.” Ted was a nice guy, a good friend, and I didn’t want my impatience to show. But my mask of calm was beginning to melt and slip down the edges of my cheeks.
“I can’t tell you everything,” Ted said. “I promised. But I can tell you,” he continued, “that he’s fine. He asked me to buy him some new clothes, which I did. He took a shower and borrowed a car. I don’t know where he went, but he did leave a note for you, just in case you came around. Seems he knows you pretty well.” He handed me a sterling silver letter opener and an
As they dropped me at the path which led to my home, Rick yelled after me, “Keep yourself put on this property, Maya. It’s for your own good.”
“You’re right, Rick. Thanks for the ride, I appreciate it,” I said, waving goodbye.
When I got inside the house, the red light on my phone was flashing. I listened to the message. It was from French. French! French was alive! French had called me. A wave of relief and joy shot through me, very soon followed by a wave of annoyance and an urge to thwock him upside the head.
That insensitive moron. Did he have any idea how worried I had been about him? And what was worse, his message said almost nothing. He told me he was fine and not to worry. He didn’t want to stay on the line. He didn’t want the police tracing the call. I, too, suspected surveillance. It was just a feeling I had.
I played the message over and over again, listening for any sort of encrypted code or stress in French’s voice. Was someone holding a knife to his throat or a gun to his head? That could make a person terse, all right.
But no, there was no trace of panic or untoward emotion in his voice. He was checking in to calm my fears. No mention of where he was or when he would be back. So many questions and not one answer. Once again, I wanted to jump in my car, bolt from the property and drive up to see Ted Rains. As French’s closest friend in Orlando, he might be able to shed some light on this madness.
The last time I tried that, I woke up near a dumpster behind the Sword and Chalice hotel over at Disney. So, I called Ted and requested he have someone come collect me at the property.
“Maya, darlin’, I’ll be happy to do that. It will be about half an hour. I’ll have my man, Marty, ring the bell at the gate to your property. You know Marty, don’t you?” Ted’s voice was quiet, calm, soothing—and he hadn’t even asked me why I needed a driver.
True to Ted’s word, Marty arrived half an hour later. I jumped into the limo in clean, flax-colored linen slacks, the matching linen jacket folded carefully over my arm.
Chapter 31
“Maya, so good to see you and don’t you look lovely,” Ted said, as he rose from his desk and came around to give me a big, friendly hug.
“Thank you, Ted,” I answered. “How’s Lisa?”
“Prettier than ever,” he said. “She’s been asking about you. You two should go water skiing sometime on our lake.”
“Sure thing,” I answered, thinking that would never happen. Lisa had known me for three years and never invited me to anything.
I was not good at small talk. “Ted, I need some help,” I blurted.
“Have a seat, darlin’, What can I do?” he answered, grinning at me in that gentle, Southern way of his.
“First off, have you seen French today?”
“Why, yes, I have,” he answered, smiling into my eyes.
“Oh, thank goodness!” I exhaled and leaned back in the leather chair. “That is such music to my ears, you have no idea,” I continued. “Is he all right?”
“He’s fine, Maya.”
“Is he still here, somewhere on your property?” Church Lane Depot was big—a block of historic buildings, all turned into saloons, restaurants, game arcades, antique shops and even a boutique hotel.
“No, he left about an hour ago,” he said.
“Can’t you tell me everything? I feel like we’re playing twenty questions.” Ted was a nice guy, a good friend, and I didn’t want my impatience to show. But my mask of calm was beginning to melt and slip down the edges of my cheeks.
“I can’t tell you everything,” Ted said. “I promised. But I can tell you,” he continued, “that he’s fine. He asked me to buy him some new clothes, which I did. He took a shower and borrowed a car. I don’t know where he went, but he did leave a note for you, just in case you came around. Seems he knows you pretty well.” He handed me a sterling silver letter opener and an
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