What You Don't Know, page 8
12:35 p.m.
“Baby, I’m so sorry.”
“Mom, stop.”
“I’m sorry you came home this weekend. I’m sorry you’re in the middle of all of this.”
“It’s not your fault.” Farrah scoffed. “Blame Sheree.”
“Don’t worry. Daddy will figure something out.”
Farrah bit her bottom lip as she took a quick glance around. “I hit the panic button on my phone,” she said, her voice low. “I think.”
Hope leapt through Blair. “You did?” she whispered.
“I think so.” Doubt now seemed to tug at the girl’s face. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I got to it before he knocked the phone out of my hand.”
The elation snuffed itself out just as quickly as it had ignited. Blair smiled feebly. “We just have to hope you did.”
Farrah nodded and they fell back into silence. Despite the instructions from her accomplice to tape their mouths shut, the girl—Cookie—had opted to quickly return to pawing through Blair’s clothes in the closet instead. A wobbly musical note floated out from the closet as she racked the hangers across the metal poles in search of clothes to pilfer. She was a terrible singer. Her voice cracked and hissed as she tried to hit the high notes. An unnatural vibrato. No breath control. As Blair’s Hungarian chorus teacher used to scream as she tapped her wooden pointer against the metal music stand, “From zee diaphragm! Zee diaphragm!”
Cookie was one of those girls who shouldn’t be singing anywhere but in her car by herself, but thought she was the next undiscovered Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston. A superstar waiting to happen. Probably entered talent shows all the time and never won a single one. Thought everyone was jealous of her. No one understood how unique she was. Probably tried to start a group, visions of Destiny’s Child and Fifth Harmony superstardom dancing in her head. Except she didn’t have the chops. She didn’t have what it took to ascend the ladder of pop domination.
Not that Blair was one to judge all that harshly. She had a pretty voice. Not especially powerful, but nice to listen to. A light lyric soprano, well-suited to the fluffy pop-dance confections that drove Captivate’s success all those years. Her delicate little pipes had served her well. She would never have gotten out of the Bronx otherwise. A mind-numbing retail job or secretarial position, married to the type of losers her mother liked, the only future she saw for herself at eighteen. Captivate had been her salvation, taking her around the world and sweeping her away from the squalor of the roach motel she’d called home for eighteen years. From the chaos. The misery. Out of Bibi’s clutches. For a sliver of time anyway.
“What’s she doing in there?” Farrah whispered as Cookie attempted another high note.
“Looking for clothes.”
Farrah wrinkled her nose. “Clothes?”
“I already gave her all my jewelry—rings, bracelets, earrings, whatever. Now she wants my clothes.”
“She’s disgusting.”
Blair craned her neck in the direction of the closet. “Listen, none of it matters. You heard your father. Give them whatever they want so they’ll leave.”
“Do you think they will?” Farrah gulped. “Leave?”
“Of course, baby, of course. We’ll give them whatever they want and they’ll be gone. We don’t know their names, we don’t know anything, so … everything will be fine.”
“What do you think that guy’s doing to Daddy?”
Blair gave her a feeble smile, the only thing she was able to muster. “I’m sure they’re negotiating or something. You know Daddy. I’m sure everything’s fine. This will be over soon.”
“I don’t think this was random, Mom.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think it might be Theo.”
Blair blanched at mention of the loser’s name, glad once again that little romance had faded quickly. There had been talk this new boy, Eddie, might come for a visit this summer so she and Malcolm could size him up. All she knew so far was he was from Indianapolis and his parents had a podiatry practice together, and that he had played football in high school. That alone would get the boy Malcolm’s approval sight unseen.
“What makes you think that?” she asked. “Has he threatened you? Did he say he was going to do something like this?”
“No.”
“Okay, then why do you think he’s involved?”
Farrah took a quick glance at the closet. “I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t have anything to do with this. It’s just … who comes to rob a house on a Saturday morning?”
Before Blair could answer, Cookie sauntered out of the closet, a heap of dresses hanging over one arm. Black, red, blue, rhinestones, cocktail-length, floor length. Help yourself, Cookie.
“You got a bag?”
“Are you really stealing my mother’s clothes?” Farrah asked.
“What you got to say about it, little girl?”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the little girl. What are you, like fifteen?”
Cookie’s eyes grew wide, her fists curling at her side. “Bitch, I will—”
“Farrah—” Blair’s head swiveled between the two girls. “There’s a garment bag on the top shelf. Just … take it.”
Cookie gave her a thumbs-up and threw a scowl in Farrah’s direction before retreating back into the closet.
“Don’t provoke her like that,” Blair whispered.
“You’re one to talk.”
“I’m not going to do anything and neither are you, all right?”
Farrah rolled her eyes. “Okay, anyway, even if Theo doesn’t have anything to do with this, it’s still weird, right? Don’t you think it’s weird?”
“What?”
“Who robs a house on a Saturday morning? People usually rob a house during the day when they think no one is at home, or at night if they know you’re out of town. Like they watch the house for a few days to see if anyone’s home. What do they call it—they case the neighborhood, case the house.”
Blair stopped and made a face, Farrah’s words lulling a throwaway thought to the surface. Earlier, Cookie had refrerred to her as a housewife. Such a specific choice of words. Housewife. How would she know that?
“I’m going to ask them,” Farrah continued. “About Theo.”
Before Blair could respond, the bedroom door burst open and the damp, disheveled, and distressed third member of the crew barreled into the room. Blair and Farrah instinctively leaned toward each other, watching him. He shot a quick, frightened glance their way before casting his eyes wildly around the room in search of his accomplice.
“Yo, Cookie! Cookie!”
“What?” she screamed, sounding annoyed as she came flying out of the closet.
“I need all her money and her cell phone,” he blurted out as he flicked another distraught glance at Blair and Farrah. “T told me to come up here and get her money and her cell phone.”
“So get them then,” Cookie said, rolling her eyes.
He stormed over to Blair and loomed over her. She grunted involuntarily and scrunched up her face at the smell.
“Where’s your phone? And your money? I need all your money. All of it.”
“There.” Blair pointed her head in the direction of the Christian Dior red ostrich saddle bag on the nightstand. “In my purse, right next to the bed. Take whatever cash is in there.”
He stalked over to the bag, but Cookie rushed across the room and snapped it up before he could get to it. She let out a low whistle as she surveyed it.
“Damn. This is nice.” She turned it, examining it from different angles. She ran her hands along the stitching and the raised bumps across the front and back of the bag. She flipped it over, dumping everything onto the bed, pawing through the sparse contents. Blair’s wallet, a champagne colored lip gloss, red lip pencil, powder compact, small tube of hand cream, some pens, and a small notebook. The guy shoved Cookie out of the way and snatched up Blair’s wallet.
“I’m gonna tell!” Cookie yelled.
“Shut up,” Dio said as he jerked open the wallet with trembling fingers. He slumped with relief as he went through the small stack of bills. “Five hundred dollars. That’s good. That’s good. Then whatever Ol’ Boy had in his wallet.” He looked at Farrah. “How much you got?”
“I don’t know. Maybe about a hundred dollars.”
“Okay, I’ll go down there and get that. Plus the cars, that’s good. That’s real good.”
“And the jewelry,” Cookie added.
“Where’s your phone?” he asked Blair.
Blair hesitated, thinking about her phone sitting on the kitchen counter. Maybe she could get to her phone, hit that button, save them all. “I’m not sure.”
“We’ve got to find her phone. Can’t leave that behind. Got to grab it on the way out.”
“What you mean on the way out?” Cookie asked.
“I mean, now we can get up out of here.”
“What you talking about?” the girl asked, her arms crossed. “We leaving?”
The guy shoved Blair’s cash in his back pocket. “I told Tree that I got a bad feeling and that we ought to get up out of here while we can.”
The girl tutted. “Well, if T said we ain’t leavin’ then we ain’t leavin’.”
“Did Theo put you up to this?” Farrah blurted out.
They both turned their heads toward them at the same time. Blair watched them. Both confused.
“Who?” they asked at the same time.
“Theo,” Farrah plowed on. “Was this Theo’s idea?”
Tree’s voice came racing up the stairs, calling for his accomplices, until he was standing in the doorway, his arm attached to Malcolm’s bicep.
“Daddy—”
“Oh my God.” Blair gasped at the sight of Malcolm’s bloody bottom lip and blackened fingertips glistening against bright red blisters on his right hand. “What the hell happened?”
“It’s nothing, BJ Don’t worry about it.”
“What’s going on in here?” Tree asked. “What you all doing?”
“Man, T, she got all kinds of jewelry in there—like a damn store up in here,” Cookie said. “A whole safe—”
“I got the money, from her and Ol’ Girl. She said she don’t know where her phone is,” the other minion said, sheepishly holding out his wares for his leader’s inspection and approval.
Tree ignored him as he pressed his gun to Malcolm’s temple. Blair’s heart did a stampede across her chest. If Malcolm was afraid, he let his face stay as impassive as stone.
“I thought you said you didn’t have no safe up in here, Malcolm.”
Cookie rushed over, locking her hands around her boyfriend’s forearm. “It’s just jewelry, baby. There ain’t no money. It’s just a safe for jewelry.” She reached into her pockets, pulling out a tangle of bracelets and necklaces. “See?”
Tree’s eyes, big as saucers, locked onto the jewelry, as he shifted his feet. Blair shot a questioning glance at Malcolm, who only gave her a slight nod in return. Dio stood awkwardly to the side, his hands still clutching Blair’s cash.
“That’s good,” Tree said. “Real good. Yeah. You done good, baby.”
Cookie beamed as she shoved the jewelry back into her pockets. “Dio said we’re leaving.”
“Not yet.” He looked at Malcolm again, a grin smeared across his face. “Me and Malcolm about to run a little errand.”
“What? Where are you going?” Blair shot straight up in her chair, wriggling against the restraints. “Where are you taking my husband?”
“It’s okay, BJ,” Malcolm said, his voice steady. “We’re just going to take a little trip to the bank.”
“Daddy, no—”
“The bank?” Blair’s head swiveled between her husband and Tree. “You’re going to the bank?”
“I’m going to give them thirty thousand dollars. For their trouble.” Malcolm’s voice remained robotic and detached, as if divorcing himself from the proceedings was the only way he would get through the proceedings.
“Oh.” Blair retreated, understanding, relief washing over her. Of course. Throw stacks of cash at the problem. Thirty thousand. They’d think they’d won the lottery. As usual, Malcolm had it all under control.
Malcolm nodded at Tree. “I need my car keys and wallet.”
“Don’t go with this guy, Daddy,” Farrah said, glancing at Tree, who smiled and licked his lips.
“You want to go with me, huh?” Tree laughed at Farrah. “You want to give me a ride?”
“You’re disgusting,” Farrah spat as Blair hissed at her to shut up.
Malcolm stood in front of Farrah, blocking her from Tree’s view. “It’s all right, baby girl. We’re gonna go and get this money then everything will be fine. Right?” He held out his good hand. “My keys?”
The guy snapped his gum as he continued to stare Malcolm down. Finally, he fished the requested items out of his pocket and handed them over.
“Did Theo put you up to this?” Farrah asked again, this time directing her query to Tree.
Tree turned, a look of amusement on his face. “Naw, baby, I don’t know no Theo.” He looked at Malcolm. “Time to bounce.”
“We’ll be back soon,” Malcolm said to Blair as he calmly took the keys and wallet.
“Malcolm Gilbert,” she called out.
“What?”
“Your lip. You should clean up your lip. The blood. So you don’t look suspicious.”
“That’s a good idea, Blair,” Tree said. “Let’s clean up old Malcolm.”
“Bathroom’s this way,” Malcolm said, advancing. Tree threw up his gun in his face.
“Yo, don’t make no sudden moves. I might get all nervous and shoot you.” Tree laughed.
Malcolm didn’t say anything as he slowly walked in the direction of Blair’s bathroom, Tree following close behind. Blair closed her eyes. They’d go to the bank, withdraw that money, come back here, give them a few cars. The girl had already picked out her jewelry. And Malcolm’s Super Bowl rings.
That would do it. That would set them free.
Or maybe Farrah hit the panic button.
Which meant the police were on their way. Maybe they were surrounding the house right now.
Or maybe Malcolm could signal to the teller or the guard once they got there. They’d be caught.
Either way, it would be over.
Her eyes popped open. The anticipation of this nightmare coming to an end made it hard to sit still. Malcolm was walking back in the room, the trickle of blood gone, leaving behind a pulpy dot of red on his lower lip, easily explained away. He shoved his bad hand in his pants pocket.
“You in charge until I get back,” Tree said to Dio. “You hear that, Cookie? D’s in charge, so don’t give him no problems. You sit in here and watch Wifey and Ol’ Girl, make sure they don’t try nothing. They do, you shoot ’em. Don’t even hesitate.”
Dio nodded while Cookie fumed. Without a word, Tree snatched Blair’s cash from a trembling Dio and pocketed it. He took one last look around before pushing Malcolm out of the room.
Missing
Lieutenant Dimitri Cora: Malcolm was to accept an award at a charity gala at the Spencer House Hotel downtown. There was a cocktail hour starting at six thirty, with the program starting at seven-thirty, and Malcolm scheduled to arrive at around seven.
* * *
Lieutenant Sharon Donahue: Theo Tillis was out right away. Was seen on CCTV at work all day that Saturday and we couldn’t make any connections between him and the perps. Same thing with Farrah’s new boyfriend, Eddie Nixon. No motive, no connections to the suspects, was with friends all day, so rock sold alibi.
* * *
Kimberly Fletcher: Malcolm called me on Saturday, which was kind of strange. Blair was supposed to come to my place at five thirty and she didn’t show. I honestly thought that might have been why he was calling, to tell me she was sick or something.
* * *
Bridget Johnson: It was really weird my sister hadn’t called me back all day. I wasn’t worried necessarily. It was more, “Well, this isn’t like Blair.” Even when I called her, I think twice on Sunday and both calls right to voicemail, I wasn’t freaking out, since that happens sometimes. However, I definitely felt … uneasy.
* * *
Lieutenant Sharon Donahue: The chair of the event calls Malcolm around five forty-five to confirm that he still plans to arrive no later than seven. There’s no answer and by seven fifteen, after several calls from Mr. Scali, they had no choice but to move forward with the event. Mr. Scali admits to being furious with Malcolm for, in his words, “Ditching him.” He also noted it was highly unlike Malcolm and as he thought about it further, something about the situation didn’t sit right with him. He continues calling and texting him throughout the evening but the calls go right to voicemail, the text messages go unanswered.
* * *
Kimberly Fletcher: He wanted to speak to my husband, Garvin, but wouldn’t tell me why. And he wouldn’t let me talk to Blair, either. I wish … I just wish I’d realized they were in trouble.
* * *
Elena York: This is the point when things go from bad to worse.
12:45 p.m.
Malcolm hoped his sigh of relief wasn’t audible as he slid his good hand into his pocket and closed his fingers around the small bunch of metal and plastic, mentally going over the keys on the ring: house keys, office keys, car key for the Mercedes that he’d attached to the ring that morning. Feeling those grooves of metal and hard plastic cases beneath his fingertips reassured him somehow, grounded him in a reality that he could return to once he woke up from this nightmare.
His captor’s footsteps and breath were heavy behind him as he navigated his way down the staircase toward the kitchen. He didn’t want to move too quickly, didn’t want to appear too confident about this turn of events, lest he ignite Tree’s rage. He ignored his throbbing fingers, resisting the urge to run to the freezer and stick his hand in the ice bucket. The thought of all that ice enveloping the heated tips of his fingers caused Malcolm’s eyes to temporarily drift shut in imagined bliss. He glanced over at his captor as he pulled his keys out of his pocket and edged toward the door leading to the garage. He stopped.
“Baby, I’m so sorry.”
“Mom, stop.”
“I’m sorry you came home this weekend. I’m sorry you’re in the middle of all of this.”
“It’s not your fault.” Farrah scoffed. “Blame Sheree.”
“Don’t worry. Daddy will figure something out.”
Farrah bit her bottom lip as she took a quick glance around. “I hit the panic button on my phone,” she said, her voice low. “I think.”
Hope leapt through Blair. “You did?” she whispered.
“I think so.” Doubt now seemed to tug at the girl’s face. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I got to it before he knocked the phone out of my hand.”
The elation snuffed itself out just as quickly as it had ignited. Blair smiled feebly. “We just have to hope you did.”
Farrah nodded and they fell back into silence. Despite the instructions from her accomplice to tape their mouths shut, the girl—Cookie—had opted to quickly return to pawing through Blair’s clothes in the closet instead. A wobbly musical note floated out from the closet as she racked the hangers across the metal poles in search of clothes to pilfer. She was a terrible singer. Her voice cracked and hissed as she tried to hit the high notes. An unnatural vibrato. No breath control. As Blair’s Hungarian chorus teacher used to scream as she tapped her wooden pointer against the metal music stand, “From zee diaphragm! Zee diaphragm!”
Cookie was one of those girls who shouldn’t be singing anywhere but in her car by herself, but thought she was the next undiscovered Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston. A superstar waiting to happen. Probably entered talent shows all the time and never won a single one. Thought everyone was jealous of her. No one understood how unique she was. Probably tried to start a group, visions of Destiny’s Child and Fifth Harmony superstardom dancing in her head. Except she didn’t have the chops. She didn’t have what it took to ascend the ladder of pop domination.
Not that Blair was one to judge all that harshly. She had a pretty voice. Not especially powerful, but nice to listen to. A light lyric soprano, well-suited to the fluffy pop-dance confections that drove Captivate’s success all those years. Her delicate little pipes had served her well. She would never have gotten out of the Bronx otherwise. A mind-numbing retail job or secretarial position, married to the type of losers her mother liked, the only future she saw for herself at eighteen. Captivate had been her salvation, taking her around the world and sweeping her away from the squalor of the roach motel she’d called home for eighteen years. From the chaos. The misery. Out of Bibi’s clutches. For a sliver of time anyway.
“What’s she doing in there?” Farrah whispered as Cookie attempted another high note.
“Looking for clothes.”
Farrah wrinkled her nose. “Clothes?”
“I already gave her all my jewelry—rings, bracelets, earrings, whatever. Now she wants my clothes.”
“She’s disgusting.”
Blair craned her neck in the direction of the closet. “Listen, none of it matters. You heard your father. Give them whatever they want so they’ll leave.”
“Do you think they will?” Farrah gulped. “Leave?”
“Of course, baby, of course. We’ll give them whatever they want and they’ll be gone. We don’t know their names, we don’t know anything, so … everything will be fine.”
“What do you think that guy’s doing to Daddy?”
Blair gave her a feeble smile, the only thing she was able to muster. “I’m sure they’re negotiating or something. You know Daddy. I’m sure everything’s fine. This will be over soon.”
“I don’t think this was random, Mom.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think it might be Theo.”
Blair blanched at mention of the loser’s name, glad once again that little romance had faded quickly. There had been talk this new boy, Eddie, might come for a visit this summer so she and Malcolm could size him up. All she knew so far was he was from Indianapolis and his parents had a podiatry practice together, and that he had played football in high school. That alone would get the boy Malcolm’s approval sight unseen.
“What makes you think that?” she asked. “Has he threatened you? Did he say he was going to do something like this?”
“No.”
“Okay, then why do you think he’s involved?”
Farrah took a quick glance at the closet. “I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t have anything to do with this. It’s just … who comes to rob a house on a Saturday morning?”
Before Blair could answer, Cookie sauntered out of the closet, a heap of dresses hanging over one arm. Black, red, blue, rhinestones, cocktail-length, floor length. Help yourself, Cookie.
“You got a bag?”
“Are you really stealing my mother’s clothes?” Farrah asked.
“What you got to say about it, little girl?”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the little girl. What are you, like fifteen?”
Cookie’s eyes grew wide, her fists curling at her side. “Bitch, I will—”
“Farrah—” Blair’s head swiveled between the two girls. “There’s a garment bag on the top shelf. Just … take it.”
Cookie gave her a thumbs-up and threw a scowl in Farrah’s direction before retreating back into the closet.
“Don’t provoke her like that,” Blair whispered.
“You’re one to talk.”
“I’m not going to do anything and neither are you, all right?”
Farrah rolled her eyes. “Okay, anyway, even if Theo doesn’t have anything to do with this, it’s still weird, right? Don’t you think it’s weird?”
“What?”
“Who robs a house on a Saturday morning? People usually rob a house during the day when they think no one is at home, or at night if they know you’re out of town. Like they watch the house for a few days to see if anyone’s home. What do they call it—they case the neighborhood, case the house.”
Blair stopped and made a face, Farrah’s words lulling a throwaway thought to the surface. Earlier, Cookie had refrerred to her as a housewife. Such a specific choice of words. Housewife. How would she know that?
“I’m going to ask them,” Farrah continued. “About Theo.”
Before Blair could respond, the bedroom door burst open and the damp, disheveled, and distressed third member of the crew barreled into the room. Blair and Farrah instinctively leaned toward each other, watching him. He shot a quick, frightened glance their way before casting his eyes wildly around the room in search of his accomplice.
“Yo, Cookie! Cookie!”
“What?” she screamed, sounding annoyed as she came flying out of the closet.
“I need all her money and her cell phone,” he blurted out as he flicked another distraught glance at Blair and Farrah. “T told me to come up here and get her money and her cell phone.”
“So get them then,” Cookie said, rolling her eyes.
He stormed over to Blair and loomed over her. She grunted involuntarily and scrunched up her face at the smell.
“Where’s your phone? And your money? I need all your money. All of it.”
“There.” Blair pointed her head in the direction of the Christian Dior red ostrich saddle bag on the nightstand. “In my purse, right next to the bed. Take whatever cash is in there.”
He stalked over to the bag, but Cookie rushed across the room and snapped it up before he could get to it. She let out a low whistle as she surveyed it.
“Damn. This is nice.” She turned it, examining it from different angles. She ran her hands along the stitching and the raised bumps across the front and back of the bag. She flipped it over, dumping everything onto the bed, pawing through the sparse contents. Blair’s wallet, a champagne colored lip gloss, red lip pencil, powder compact, small tube of hand cream, some pens, and a small notebook. The guy shoved Cookie out of the way and snatched up Blair’s wallet.
“I’m gonna tell!” Cookie yelled.
“Shut up,” Dio said as he jerked open the wallet with trembling fingers. He slumped with relief as he went through the small stack of bills. “Five hundred dollars. That’s good. That’s good. Then whatever Ol’ Boy had in his wallet.” He looked at Farrah. “How much you got?”
“I don’t know. Maybe about a hundred dollars.”
“Okay, I’ll go down there and get that. Plus the cars, that’s good. That’s real good.”
“And the jewelry,” Cookie added.
“Where’s your phone?” he asked Blair.
Blair hesitated, thinking about her phone sitting on the kitchen counter. Maybe she could get to her phone, hit that button, save them all. “I’m not sure.”
“We’ve got to find her phone. Can’t leave that behind. Got to grab it on the way out.”
“What you mean on the way out?” Cookie asked.
“I mean, now we can get up out of here.”
“What you talking about?” the girl asked, her arms crossed. “We leaving?”
The guy shoved Blair’s cash in his back pocket. “I told Tree that I got a bad feeling and that we ought to get up out of here while we can.”
The girl tutted. “Well, if T said we ain’t leavin’ then we ain’t leavin’.”
“Did Theo put you up to this?” Farrah blurted out.
They both turned their heads toward them at the same time. Blair watched them. Both confused.
“Who?” they asked at the same time.
“Theo,” Farrah plowed on. “Was this Theo’s idea?”
Tree’s voice came racing up the stairs, calling for his accomplices, until he was standing in the doorway, his arm attached to Malcolm’s bicep.
“Daddy—”
“Oh my God.” Blair gasped at the sight of Malcolm’s bloody bottom lip and blackened fingertips glistening against bright red blisters on his right hand. “What the hell happened?”
“It’s nothing, BJ Don’t worry about it.”
“What’s going on in here?” Tree asked. “What you all doing?”
“Man, T, she got all kinds of jewelry in there—like a damn store up in here,” Cookie said. “A whole safe—”
“I got the money, from her and Ol’ Girl. She said she don’t know where her phone is,” the other minion said, sheepishly holding out his wares for his leader’s inspection and approval.
Tree ignored him as he pressed his gun to Malcolm’s temple. Blair’s heart did a stampede across her chest. If Malcolm was afraid, he let his face stay as impassive as stone.
“I thought you said you didn’t have no safe up in here, Malcolm.”
Cookie rushed over, locking her hands around her boyfriend’s forearm. “It’s just jewelry, baby. There ain’t no money. It’s just a safe for jewelry.” She reached into her pockets, pulling out a tangle of bracelets and necklaces. “See?”
Tree’s eyes, big as saucers, locked onto the jewelry, as he shifted his feet. Blair shot a questioning glance at Malcolm, who only gave her a slight nod in return. Dio stood awkwardly to the side, his hands still clutching Blair’s cash.
“That’s good,” Tree said. “Real good. Yeah. You done good, baby.”
Cookie beamed as she shoved the jewelry back into her pockets. “Dio said we’re leaving.”
“Not yet.” He looked at Malcolm again, a grin smeared across his face. “Me and Malcolm about to run a little errand.”
“What? Where are you going?” Blair shot straight up in her chair, wriggling against the restraints. “Where are you taking my husband?”
“It’s okay, BJ,” Malcolm said, his voice steady. “We’re just going to take a little trip to the bank.”
“Daddy, no—”
“The bank?” Blair’s head swiveled between her husband and Tree. “You’re going to the bank?”
“I’m going to give them thirty thousand dollars. For their trouble.” Malcolm’s voice remained robotic and detached, as if divorcing himself from the proceedings was the only way he would get through the proceedings.
“Oh.” Blair retreated, understanding, relief washing over her. Of course. Throw stacks of cash at the problem. Thirty thousand. They’d think they’d won the lottery. As usual, Malcolm had it all under control.
Malcolm nodded at Tree. “I need my car keys and wallet.”
“Don’t go with this guy, Daddy,” Farrah said, glancing at Tree, who smiled and licked his lips.
“You want to go with me, huh?” Tree laughed at Farrah. “You want to give me a ride?”
“You’re disgusting,” Farrah spat as Blair hissed at her to shut up.
Malcolm stood in front of Farrah, blocking her from Tree’s view. “It’s all right, baby girl. We’re gonna go and get this money then everything will be fine. Right?” He held out his good hand. “My keys?”
The guy snapped his gum as he continued to stare Malcolm down. Finally, he fished the requested items out of his pocket and handed them over.
“Did Theo put you up to this?” Farrah asked again, this time directing her query to Tree.
Tree turned, a look of amusement on his face. “Naw, baby, I don’t know no Theo.” He looked at Malcolm. “Time to bounce.”
“We’ll be back soon,” Malcolm said to Blair as he calmly took the keys and wallet.
“Malcolm Gilbert,” she called out.
“What?”
“Your lip. You should clean up your lip. The blood. So you don’t look suspicious.”
“That’s a good idea, Blair,” Tree said. “Let’s clean up old Malcolm.”
“Bathroom’s this way,” Malcolm said, advancing. Tree threw up his gun in his face.
“Yo, don’t make no sudden moves. I might get all nervous and shoot you.” Tree laughed.
Malcolm didn’t say anything as he slowly walked in the direction of Blair’s bathroom, Tree following close behind. Blair closed her eyes. They’d go to the bank, withdraw that money, come back here, give them a few cars. The girl had already picked out her jewelry. And Malcolm’s Super Bowl rings.
That would do it. That would set them free.
Or maybe Farrah hit the panic button.
Which meant the police were on their way. Maybe they were surrounding the house right now.
Or maybe Malcolm could signal to the teller or the guard once they got there. They’d be caught.
Either way, it would be over.
Her eyes popped open. The anticipation of this nightmare coming to an end made it hard to sit still. Malcolm was walking back in the room, the trickle of blood gone, leaving behind a pulpy dot of red on his lower lip, easily explained away. He shoved his bad hand in his pants pocket.
“You in charge until I get back,” Tree said to Dio. “You hear that, Cookie? D’s in charge, so don’t give him no problems. You sit in here and watch Wifey and Ol’ Girl, make sure they don’t try nothing. They do, you shoot ’em. Don’t even hesitate.”
Dio nodded while Cookie fumed. Without a word, Tree snatched Blair’s cash from a trembling Dio and pocketed it. He took one last look around before pushing Malcolm out of the room.
Missing
Lieutenant Dimitri Cora: Malcolm was to accept an award at a charity gala at the Spencer House Hotel downtown. There was a cocktail hour starting at six thirty, with the program starting at seven-thirty, and Malcolm scheduled to arrive at around seven.
* * *
Lieutenant Sharon Donahue: Theo Tillis was out right away. Was seen on CCTV at work all day that Saturday and we couldn’t make any connections between him and the perps. Same thing with Farrah’s new boyfriend, Eddie Nixon. No motive, no connections to the suspects, was with friends all day, so rock sold alibi.
* * *
Kimberly Fletcher: Malcolm called me on Saturday, which was kind of strange. Blair was supposed to come to my place at five thirty and she didn’t show. I honestly thought that might have been why he was calling, to tell me she was sick or something.
* * *
Bridget Johnson: It was really weird my sister hadn’t called me back all day. I wasn’t worried necessarily. It was more, “Well, this isn’t like Blair.” Even when I called her, I think twice on Sunday and both calls right to voicemail, I wasn’t freaking out, since that happens sometimes. However, I definitely felt … uneasy.
* * *
Lieutenant Sharon Donahue: The chair of the event calls Malcolm around five forty-five to confirm that he still plans to arrive no later than seven. There’s no answer and by seven fifteen, after several calls from Mr. Scali, they had no choice but to move forward with the event. Mr. Scali admits to being furious with Malcolm for, in his words, “Ditching him.” He also noted it was highly unlike Malcolm and as he thought about it further, something about the situation didn’t sit right with him. He continues calling and texting him throughout the evening but the calls go right to voicemail, the text messages go unanswered.
* * *
Kimberly Fletcher: He wanted to speak to my husband, Garvin, but wouldn’t tell me why. And he wouldn’t let me talk to Blair, either. I wish … I just wish I’d realized they were in trouble.
* * *
Elena York: This is the point when things go from bad to worse.
12:45 p.m.
Malcolm hoped his sigh of relief wasn’t audible as he slid his good hand into his pocket and closed his fingers around the small bunch of metal and plastic, mentally going over the keys on the ring: house keys, office keys, car key for the Mercedes that he’d attached to the ring that morning. Feeling those grooves of metal and hard plastic cases beneath his fingertips reassured him somehow, grounded him in a reality that he could return to once he woke up from this nightmare.
His captor’s footsteps and breath were heavy behind him as he navigated his way down the staircase toward the kitchen. He didn’t want to move too quickly, didn’t want to appear too confident about this turn of events, lest he ignite Tree’s rage. He ignored his throbbing fingers, resisting the urge to run to the freezer and stick his hand in the ice bucket. The thought of all that ice enveloping the heated tips of his fingers caused Malcolm’s eyes to temporarily drift shut in imagined bliss. He glanced over at his captor as he pulled his keys out of his pocket and edged toward the door leading to the garage. He stopped.
