Naughty or Nice, page 6
“Momma, we were scared! Those boys called us a bad word,” Roxanna said, tears streaming down her face. For once, Rhonda remained completely quiet.
Charlotte lowered Riley from her hip and grabbed her girls in a hug. “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. You did the right thing by staying here. You’re safe now,” Charlotte said. Anger soared through her. Her heart rate increased, and even though it was cold outside, she felt a gush of perspiration under her arms. Sweat dotted her hairline, and her hands began to tremble. She had to get the kids inside before the thugs’ verbal warfare escalated into something worse.
Gathering Roxanna and Riley closer to her, she scooped Rhonda into her arms and raced inside the store. The young girl behind the register—she couldn’t have been a day over eighteen—looked at the entrance and back at Charlotte as though she was asking her what to do.
Not wasting a minute, Charlotte said, “Call nine-one-one.”
Nodding, the teenager picked up the receiver to an old-style wall-mounted phone with push buttons and punched in the three numbers. “This is DiPalma’s Grocery. We . . . uh, we seem to have a gang out front. I’m afraid they might . . .” She looked to Charlotte.
“Rob us,” Charlotte said, feeding her the words, knowing that if she told the emergency operator that a group of punks was having a shouting match, they wouldn’t consider this a true emergency. And who knew when they’d send an officer?
“Rob the store,” the young girl said, nodding at Charlotte.
“Momma, what’s wrong?” Roxanna said. “Those boys won’t move away from the Christmas trees. What are we gonna do?”
It was times such as this that Charlotte hated Lamar for having joined the Marines. She needed him here to protect their children, not in some wild foreign country where politics and terrorist threats kept him from his family and where everything he was fighting for would go up in smoke the minute he and his fellow soldiers left.
“We are going to be the tough soldiers Daddy would want us to be. I want all three of you to be very quiet. Stay right where you are.”
Their eyes were the size of quarters, and each child nodded solemnly. The cashier nodded, too.
Charlotte had a zillion and one thoughts running through her head. Lamar. Was he safe? Why hadn’t he called? The alternative . . . Well, she wouldn’t even go there. Servicemen and servicewomen experienced this all the time, she thought. Lamar had told her more than once that if she went a few weeks or months and didn’t hear from him, she should not worry. He’d explained that there would be times when his location had to be kept secret. She had accepted that but truly hadn’t expected it to be an issue. And now it was, and she was more than concerned. Just then, she wished for her mother. Her calm assurance was needed now more than ever. She gave up a prayer for both Lamar and her current situation.
The thought had barely entered her mind when she heard the high-pitched wail of sirens in the background. Breathing a sigh of relief, she said, “Help is on the way.” This was more for the young girl than the kids. They were too young to realize the magnitude of what could happen. She glanced at the clock on the wall behind the register. It was after eight o’clock. If Lamar were to call, she’d have to race back to the apartment so as not to miss his call.
The ruckus in front of the store broke up, the teens escaping before the police could arrive. Charlotte hoped this was the end of whatever they were arguing about.
“I want you three to stay here. Don’t move until I tell you it’s okay,” Charlotte said.
Again, the trio nodded, knowing now wasn’t the time to question her instructions. The cashier peered around the counter as Charlotte made her way to the store’s entrance. Thankful the doors weren’t automatic, she pushed the door open, then stepped out into the brisk night. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air, footsteps could be heard pounding against the sidewalk, but she saw no sign of the former crowd of belligerent teenagers. As she was about to turn around and head inside, two police cars pulled alongside the curb.
“Are you the person who called?” asked a powerfully built officer as he exited his patrol car.
“No, but I told the girl inside to make the call,” Charlotte said, her voice filled with relief. The other three officers didn’t speak to her as they hurried inside.
Following them, she rushed over to the kids. “It’s fine. The police are here, and those boys are gone.”
Charlotte and the cashier were both questioned by one officer while his partner took notes, and the other two went outside to search the surrounding area, just to make sure there were no surprises. Apparently satisfied, they returned.
“All clear,” one of them announced.
They took Charlotte’s information and the cashier’s, and told them to call again if the belligerent teens returned.
“Ma’am, I didn’t see a vehicle out front,” said the officer who had conducted the questioning.
Charlotte was a bit embarrassed when she answered. “No, there isn’t one. We walked from Park River.” She had given them the name of her apartment complex so they would know she wasn’t that far away on a cold night like tonight, with three kids in tow.
“I wouldn’t advise you to walk back to that area,” said the officer who’d questioned her. “We can offer you a ride home.”
More relieved than she wanted to admit, she nodded. “Thank you, Officer”—she read the silver-plated badge on his shirt—“Watkins.”
By now, Roxanna, Riley, and Rhonda had calmed down enough to start getting antsy.
“What about our Christmas tree?” Riley asked. “You promised we’d get a tree.”
Taking a deep breath, Charlotte nodded. “Yes, I did.”
The cashier, who’d yet to speak directly to her, spoke up. “Pick out any tree you want. It’s on the house. My parents own the place.”
Charlotte smiled. “If you’re sure? I’d be happy to pay you.”
“Absolutely,” the girl answered.
The young girl grinned, and then Charlotte looked at the officer who’d offered to take them home. “I can carry the tree back to the apartment,” she said.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I can load the tree in the trunk.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a nuisance.”
“I’m sure,” he replied. “Ensuring the safety of Charleston’s citizens, especially the little ones, is never a nuisance.”
Before she decided against taking the offer, she motioned to the kids. “Let’s go pick out a Christmas tree. If we hurry, we can be home in time to Skype with your dad.”
Charlotte crossed her fingers.
Hope.
Something she’d been short on of late.
Chapter 8
Goebel skidded to a stop in front of the rundown apartment complex. “Man, this doesn’t look like the best area in town,” he remarked, stating the obvious as he climbed out of the SUV.
Sophie, intent on the mission she still hadn’t a clue about, jumped out of the SUV, scanning the numbers on the building. In the dark, she could hardly make out the numbers. “Goebel, shine that cell phone light you have on these buildings,” she instructed as she weaved through the plain block structures.
He removed his iPhone from his pocket and clicked the app with the brightest light ever. Shining it back and forth in search of the correct building number, he followed Sophie as she continued to zigzag through the complex.
“Here,” she shouted when she came to number 6378. “Upstairs.” She hurried up the metal staircase to the third floor, in search of apartment 55-E.
As soon as she’d located the right apartment, Sophie banged on the door so loudly, Goebel’s ears rang. When no one came to the door, she pounded even harder.
“Sophie!” Goebel whispered.
“I don’t care,” she shot back. “I need to make sure they’re all right.” She banged on the door a third time. “If you’re in there, open up! I’m a friend of Abby’s.”
Nothing but silence.
Sophie turned away from the door, unsure what to do next. She’d been led here by her psychic abilities, even though she’d yet to receive a message of any kind telling her just exactly what the problem was. Again, she wished Madam Butterfly, her old friend and a mentor of sorts, were still alive to give her guidance.
“Are you sure this is the right apartment?” Goebel asked.
Sophie took the slip of paper, on which Abby had written the address, from her pocket. “It’s sixty-three seventy-eight, apartment fifty-five-E,” she read aloud. At a loss, Sophie turned to her husband. “What now?”
He wrapped her in his arms. “I’m not sure, Soph. This is your show. Maybe you’re just getting the wrong signal. Maybe it’s another kind of . . .” Goebel searched for the right word for their current dilemma. “Situation.”
Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “Okay. Then what next? Do I leave here, or do we hang out like some Peeping Toms or lurkers, waiting for her to come home? I can’t figure out why I’m not getting any clear images. If this woman is in the kind of trouble I felt earlier, then she’s toast.” Sophie stepped out of her husband’s embrace. “I don’t like this, not one little bit.”
“We can wait in the car if you want. Hang around, see if she comes home or anything else happens.”
“Toots is going to slice my tits off for not hosting the Christmas house tonight. I did try to call, though.”
Goebel gave a dry laugh. “I don’t think Toots would object, especially if there’s something going on with this woman. She’d be the first one to tell you to get your ass in gear and find out what’s going on. You know better than that.”
“I’m just making small talk. You’re absolutely right.”
“Let’s wait in the car. It’s colder than a well digger’s ass out tonight,” Goebel said.
“Okay, but I want you to move the car so I have a bird’s-eye view of this apartment.”
“I’ll do my best,” Goebel said. “Come on.”
Inside the SUV, Goebel cranked up the heater and repositioned the car so they would be able to see if anyone entered apartment 55-E.
Sophie closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to call up the emotions she’d felt earlier. The images. A man, a little girl, and something made from metal.
Metal. Why that? She thought of a Christmas ornament. Some were made of metal. Maybe that was it. No, no, no, she thought. There was something she wasn’t getting, and it wasn’t an ornament.
“I’ve got it!” Sophie shouted. “Kind of. Remember the number five in red letters I saw?”
“Go on,” Goebel said encouragingly.
She held out the scrap of paper Abby had given her. “The address has two fives! That has to be of some significance.”
“You’re right. It does. But what?” he asked.
Sophie closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to get to that place where only she and her subconscious existed. Try as she might, she couldn’t elevate herself to that special place where she knew she needed to be. She turned to Goebel. “I haven’t figured that out yet. I’m going to step out and take a puff. Don’t say one word, either.”
Not giving him a chance to respond, she opened the door and stepped outside. Glad for its warmth, she tightened the jacket she wore around her and pulled a cigarette from the pocket. She lit the cigarette and took a long drag. Centering on the number five, Sophie closed her eyes, challenging her subconscious to provide her with an answer.
Still nothing.
She pinched the lit tip off the end of her cigarette and stuck the butt back inside the cellophane wrapper. Then she climbed back inside the SUV.
Back in the car, Goebel scrunched up his nose. “That stinks to high heaven. I really wish you’d . . . never mind.”
“When the time is right, I’ll quit. It’s not right yet, okay?” Sophie smarted. “I don’t need this shit now.”
Goebel reached across the seat for her hand. “Are we having our first argument?”
Sophie gave a halfhearted laugh. “I guess so. Sorry. I guess I’m just tense. I need to know why I’m here, and I can’t seem to get to the place I need to be in order to figure out what I’m supposed to warn this woman about.” She squeezed his hand. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
He returned her squeeze. “I love you, too, old gal.”
Sophie snickered. “You can lay off the ‘old gal’ crap.”
They both laughed.
“You know I don’t mean it like it sounds. Hell, you look younger than most fifty-year-olds.”
Though Sophie knew that was pushing it, she thanked him, anyway.
“Let’s go home. We’re not serving any useful purpose here. And we can’t just sit out here all night, waiting for her to come home. For all we know, the girl is out of town. It is Christmas. People travel during the holidays. I’m probably losing my gift.”
The thought sickened her, but if it was meant to be, then she would have no other choice but to accept her fate.
“I don’t think so. You’ve just hit a bump in the road. Let’s get out of here. We’ll think of something.”
Those were absolutely the best words she’d heard all night.
Chapter 9
Abby had no more than put the twins down for the night when the phone rang. Alarmed because of the late hour, she picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Abby, it’s me,” Sophie said. “Listen, I’m sorry for ruining your evening. I think I overreacted. We drove to the woman’s apartment complex, but she wasn’t home. I waited for a while, hoping I’d catch her, but nothing. Do you know if she had any plans to leave for the holidays? An evening out?”
Abby raked her hand through her stiff hair. She’d worn it on top of her head tonight and used hair spray. Now she remembered why she hated the stuff. “She didn’t mention anything about going out of town to me. I’m pretty sure she didn’t have plans. She’s supposed to stop by every few days throughout the month to check on the flowers and all. I suppose she could’ve had an emergency. You’re not getting bad vibes, are you?”
“That’s just it. I’m not getting anything. I thought she was in trouble. Hell, I don’t really know what I thought anymore. When she bumped into me at your place this morning, that’s when I felt like I was being stampeded with emotions connected to her.”
Chris came into the room and mouthed, “Who is on the phone?”
She mouthed back, “Sophie.”
He nodded, then whispered, “I’m taking Chester out one last time.”
She gave him a thumbs-up.
“This isn’t unusual for you, Soph. You’ve been stumped before, haven’t you?”
“To be sure, but usually I’m at least able to get some idea of where I need to go, what I need to focus on. Are you sure she didn’t have travel plans? I’d feel a whole lot better if I knew where she was.”
Abby didn’t even want to think what Blanche’s reaction would be if she called her this late, asking if she knew Charlotte’s whereabouts. Her mother had said Blanche wasn’t the nicest employer in the world. She didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize Charlotte’s job, but what if Sophie was right? What if Charlotte and her kids were in danger of some sort? She’d never forgive herself if she didn’t make the effort to find out if Charlotte had had any plans.
“It’s late, but I’m going to call Blanche. I’ll call you right back,” Abby said, then clicked off. She raced downstairs to get Blanche’s phone number and made the call from the kitchen phone.
“Hello,” came a groggy voice after six rings.
Here goes, Abby thought. “Blanche, this is Abby Clay. I’m sorry to call so late, but there has been a bit of an emergency.” She paused, giving the decorator a few seconds to wake up.
“Your flowers died?” Blanche said, her words sarcastic. “I can’t imagine. I used only the finest growers in the country. I am very disappointed, Ms. Clay.” She said her name like it put a bad taste in her mouth.
“Blanche, the flowers are fine and, frankly, the least of my concern. I’m calling because . . .” One of my godmothers is psychic and believes Charlotte is in trouble. Yeah, right. “I haven’t heard from Charlotte. She told me she would call as soon as she got home. I thought maybe you might know if she had vacation plans.” Lie, lie, lie, Abby thought, but at that moment she felt that she didn’t have much choice.
“You’re kidding. And this is supposed to concern me?” Blanche Harding said haughtily, making it clear by her tone that she could not care less about the welfare of one of her employees. “Ms. Clay, I will have you know that I do not socialize with my employees. I have no clue what they do during their time off. As long as they come to work and do their jobs, that’s really all I care about. I can’t imagine why you would think I’d keep track of... what’s-her-name, anyway!”
This woman really is a bitch, Abby thought once again. And the bitch had really pissed her off.
“Her name is Charlotte. And in case you didn’t know, she has three young children to support while her husband is overseas, protecting us! You know, as in ‘we the people’?”
“Ms. Clay—” Blanche began.
“Ms. Harding, you need to listen up. First, I’m sure you know who my mother is. Teresa Loudenberry. She has clout and connections out the wazoo. I would hate to ask her to call in a few favors by having to tell all her social-climbing friends to blacklist Blanche Harding and Associates. She could ruin you.” Abby delighted in those last words. She’d make sure to tell her mother about this conversation. Knowing her mother, she’d pull no stops.
Silence on the other end of the phone. Good. Give the hateful woman a scare.
“I don’t like being threatened, Ms. Clay. For your information, I have quite a bit of clout in Charleston, too. I’m sure your mother knows this.”
Abby was pissed. “It doesn’t really matter how much clout”—she said the word sarcastically—“you might think you have. I’m asking you a question, and I’d like an answer. Do you know if Charlotte had plans to go out of town?”
