Tilt-a-Whirl

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“I was simply carrying out Mr. Hart's wishes,” Ms. Stone is saying. “It's what Reginald would have wanted.”

“The ex-Mrs. Hart just smiles.

“Were you sleeping with him?”

“I don't see how that is relevant.”

Lucky me.

I'm stuck in the chief's office with the two of them.

Ms. Stone is waiting to be processed on whatever charges the chief cooks up.

Betty came to hear what the ransom note says.

“Ladies?” I say. “Would either of you like some more coffee?”

Trust me-caffeine is the last thing these two women need right now. They're pacing around, twisting the chief's paper clips, rubbing their arms, doing all kinds of itchy, twitchy stuff. But this is my assignment. Stay with the ladies. Get them what they need, keep them comfortable, and keep them away from everybody else while the chief and Ceepak and this guy from the state police study the ransom fax.

“When will we see the ransom note?” Betty asks. “Hear this man's demands?”

“Soon. I promise. They just want to have a few experts, you know, comb over it for clues….”

“I see.” She smiles. Her eyes twinkle.

“Experts?” Ms. Stone chuffs. Her eyes never twinkle. They burn like flares at a car wreck. “Hah! Who? That idiot from the state police? The slob on TV yesterday?”

“No, ma'am. Mr. Slominsky went back to-”

“Who then? That goody-two-shoes Ceepak?”

Stone sits. Betty paces to the window.

“Tell me, Ms. Stone,” she says while she stares out at the ocean, “did Reggie actually say he was going to marry you?”

“Again, I refuse to answer any questions-”

“He would've left you, you know. Eventually. It would only be a matter of time.” She's staring out the window like she sees herself a few years back. “Reggie was always looking for someone younger. He liked his girls young. Did you know that? The younger the better….”

“Well then, if I were interested, that would certainly give me an advantage over you, wouldn't it?”

Meow. Hiss.

“Ladies? Let's try to remember why we're here, okay?”

“Why we're here?” Ms. Stone snorts at me. “I am only here because you and your friends stormed into a restaurant where I was simply attempting to-”

The door opens.

The chief and Ceepak march in. The chief has a xerox of the fax.

“It's Squeegee,” the chief says. “Please sit down.”

Betty slips demurely into the chief's big rolling chair. She has one of those Sally Field attempting-to-be-brave looks on her face.

“Does she need to hear this?” Ashley's mother pulls rank. You can tell she considers this matter a private, family-members-only type deal. I think Betty also regards Ms. Stone as a nympho-floozy, law degree or no.

“We might need her assistance as chief counsel of Hart Enterprises … to help us meet the kidnapper's financial demands,” Ceepak says. “However, if you'd be more comfortable….”

“No. Fine. Let her stay. Read it.”

The chief has on these reading glasses he's never let anybody see him wear before.

“Okay. It's words he cut out of old magazines … pieced together….”

“Like in the movies?” Ms. Stone sighs, unable to not butt in.

The chief ignores her and reads.

“I HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER. YOU WILL PAY ME TEN MILLION DOLLARS AT NOON TOMORROW OR I WILL KILL ASHLEY WITH THE SAME GUN I USED TO KILL HER FATHER.”

Ashley's mother gasps.

“He's confessing to the murder?” Ms. Stone sounds amazed. “I don't believe it. What an imbecile. Who's giving him his legal advice?”

“I … I don't have ten million dollars,” Betty says. Her voice is faint. “Reginald only paid me an allowance … ten million dollars … I don't have ten million dollars….” She closes her eyes.

The chief turns to Stone. “Harriet Ashley Hart, however, does. You told us her father left her everything? In his will?”

“Yes, but….”

“We need to probate that will. Immediately.”

“Impossible.”

“Judge Erickson is standing by.”

I know that probate is something a court does to prove a will is valid. But when the will involves billions and billions of dollars, dozens of companies, tons of real estate and airlines and shopping malls-I guess they usually like to take their time.

“We don't have much time,” Ceepak says. “Noon tomorrow. A little over twenty-four hours.”

“I'm sorry,” Ms. Stone says, “but-”

“The bank is going to help,” Ceepak says to Betty. “We contacted Don Nelson from First Federal. He's helping us pull together the actual cash.”

Ashley's mom nods.

“Thank you,” she says.

I'm wondering if we're going to use a suitcase stuffed with twenty-dollar bills like you always see when someone gets kidnapped on TV. If we do, I hope the suitcase has wheels. Ten million dollars probably weighs a ton. We might need a truck, like Saddam Hussein's kids did when they robbed the Iraqi Central Bank.

“Mr. Hart's executor is Arnold Bloomfield,” Ms. Stone says, still stuck on the will. “I don't know if….”

“We've already contacted Mr. Bloomfield,” the chief says. “He's on his way. Corporate jet.”

“I see. But surely you don't intend to give this criminal, this murderer ten million dollars-”

“We intend to do whatever it takes to ensure Ashley's safety,” Ceepak says.

“You just make sure Ashley has complete access to her entire inheritance,” the chief instructs her. “Understood? Or do you want another Hart to die this weekend?”

“No. Of course not.” Sounds like our reluctant attorney is finally on board. “We'll make the necessary transfers.”

“We've called the FBI,” the chief says.

Betty nods.

“Of course.”

“Kidnapping is a federal crime.”

“I know.”

“They'll help us figure out how to handle the ransom drop.”

“Do we know if this man has … hurt Ashley?”

“No, ma'am,” Ceepak says. “We do not. But, ma'am?”

“Yes?”

“I won't let him.”

Ceepak doesn't say how he's going to stop Squeegee from hurting Ashley. But no one doubts him.

“Chief Cosgrove?”

One of the State CSI guys sticks his head in the door. I recognize him from the crime scene, even though he's not wearing his hairnet today.

“What've you got?”

“This fax? We tracked down the number.”

“Yeah?”

“Came from the Sea Spray Hotel.”

“The front desk?”

“No, sir. One of their in-room fax machines.”