when he got home, or keep it warm in the oven if he had to come home late.
Okay, in the last few years that had happened a lot. But he wasn’t out gallivanting around, chasing women or spending happy hour with the boys at the bar. He was working, and working hard.
“Hello, Mr. Finch’s office, Marianne speaking. How can I help you?”
“Hey, Marianne, it’s Scott, Scott Harrison. Just checking in. I told Mr. Finch I’d call this afternoon.”
“Oh, Mr. Harrison. Have you found your boys yet? Mr. Finch told me what happened.”
“Not yet. They’ll probably turn up soon. Either by dinner or before it gets dark.”
“I hope so. You want to speak with him?”
“Please.”
“I’ll put you right through.”
A few moments later, “Hey, Scott, Finch here. How did you make out? The boys safe and sound?”
“Not yet, Mr. Finch. Still looking for them.” He knew Finch wouldn’t like the sound of that.
“Hmm, that’s not good. I hope you find them soon. Really counting on you to supervise the setup of that big shindig down at the Castaway Beach Motel, our part of it anyway. The lockdown on the main plant shouldn’t affect things going on at the Castaway. You know there’s over a thousand coming to this thing now. Scientists and CEOs and engineers from all over the US. They’ve even decided to open it to the public here in Daytona, sort of a goodwill gesture. Let them hear all about our big plans for the future.”
“I know, sir. I’m sorry. I thought we would have found them by now. Mark Mitchell’s there now. I briefed him on everything this morning before I left.”
“Mitchell’s good, but he’s not you. This is your baby, Scott. A lot of good PR can come out of this, if it’s done right. It’s done wrong, the opposite can happen.”
“I know. I know, sir.”
“Can you at least stop in before the day’s out? Make sure everything’s on track for tomorrow?”
Scott looked at his watch. “Sure, I can do that.”
“Great. Let me know if I need to get involved.”
“You know I will,” Scott said. “But I’m sure everything will be fine. I’ve been working on this for weeks.”
He hung up and got back in his car, decided he better stop in at the house and see Gina before he stopped at the Castaway and checked in on Mitchell’s progress.
Hopefully, she’d be there and so would the boys, and they’d have a chat about a fitting punishment for pulling such a stunt and giving them all a scare.
Where was he? Scott was never there when she needed him.
Gina felt like she was losing her mind. She was sick with worry. Where could her little Timmy be? She would cry some more, but she was all cried out. She looked at the telephone again, willing it to ring. She stared at the phone every few seconds, hoping another call would come and erase the terror of that first call: the one from her sister saying Timmy had been stolen.
The FBI agent had told her some things to get ready to assist them in their search. She mentioned they had already given the best photo of Timmy to Officer Franklin. The FBI agent—she had forgotten his name—said not to worry, he’d get the photo himself, or have the Daytona police wire a copy to the FBI.
Since the phone refused to ring, Gina walked outside again and down the sidewalk, trying to get a glimpse of Scott’s car. Where could he be? He said he was just going to drive around the neighborhood some more, looking for the boys. How long could that take?
No sign of him. She walked back in the house and let herself drop onto the sofa. How could they expect her to just sit here by the telephone? Did they really think the kidnappers would call with ransom demands? If they did, she could show them a stack of bills. The money in their bank account wouldn’t even cover them.If they wanted Scott’s family’s money, why didn’t they kidnap one of them? The kidnappers obviously hadn’t done their homework. Scott was sort of the black sheep of the Harrison
Okay, in the last few years that had happened a lot. But he wasn’t out gallivanting around, chasing women or spending happy hour with the boys at the bar. He was working, and working hard.
“Hello, Mr. Finch’s office, Marianne speaking. How can I help you?”
“Hey, Marianne, it’s Scott, Scott Harrison. Just checking in. I told Mr. Finch I’d call this afternoon.”
“Oh, Mr. Harrison. Have you found your boys yet? Mr. Finch told me what happened.”
“Not yet. They’ll probably turn up soon. Either by dinner or before it gets dark.”
“I hope so. You want to speak with him?”
“Please.”
“I’ll put you right through.”
A few moments later, “Hey, Scott, Finch here. How did you make out? The boys safe and sound?”
“Not yet, Mr. Finch. Still looking for them.” He knew Finch wouldn’t like the sound of that.
“Hmm, that’s not good. I hope you find them soon. Really counting on you to supervise the setup of that big shindig down at the Castaway Beach Motel, our part of it anyway. The lockdown on the main plant shouldn’t affect things going on at the Castaway. You know there’s over a thousand coming to this thing now. Scientists and CEOs and engineers from all over the US. They’ve even decided to open it to the public here in Daytona, sort of a goodwill gesture. Let them hear all about our big plans for the future.”
“I know, sir. I’m sorry. I thought we would have found them by now. Mark Mitchell’s there now. I briefed him on everything this morning before I left.”
“Mitchell’s good, but he’s not you. This is your baby, Scott. A lot of good PR can come out of this, if it’s done right. It’s done wrong, the opposite can happen.”
“I know. I know, sir.”
“Can you at least stop in before the day’s out? Make sure everything’s on track for tomorrow?”
Scott looked at his watch. “Sure, I can do that.”
“Great. Let me know if I need to get involved.”
“You know I will,” Scott said. “But I’m sure everything will be fine. I’ve been working on this for weeks.”
He hung up and got back in his car, decided he better stop in at the house and see Gina before he stopped at the Castaway and checked in on Mitchell’s progress.
Hopefully, she’d be there and so would the boys, and they’d have a chat about a fitting punishment for pulling such a stunt and giving them all a scare.
Where was he? Scott was never there when she needed him.
Gina felt like she was losing her mind. She was sick with worry. Where could her little Timmy be? She would cry some more, but she was all cried out. She looked at the telephone again, willing it to ring. She stared at the phone every few seconds, hoping another call would come and erase the terror of that first call: the one from her sister saying Timmy had been stolen.
The FBI agent had told her some things to get ready to assist them in their search. She mentioned they had already given the best photo of Timmy to Officer Franklin. The FBI agent—she had forgotten his name—said not to worry, he’d get the photo himself, or have the Daytona police wire a copy to the FBI.
Since the phone refused to ring, Gina walked outside again and down the sidewalk, trying to get a glimpse of Scott’s car. Where could he be? He said he was just going to drive around the neighborhood some more, looking for the boys. How long could that take?
No sign of him. She walked back in the house and let herself drop onto the sofa. How could they expect her to just sit here by the telephone? Did they really think the kidnappers would call with ransom demands? If they did, she could show them a stack of bills. The money in their bank account wouldn’t even cover them.If they wanted Scott’s family’s money, why didn’t they kidnap one of them? The kidnappers obviously hadn’t done their homework. Scott was sort of the black sheep of the Harrison
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