Prankster, page 13
Aimee found a parking space two doors down from Bernadette’s and got out of her car. Slipping her long purse strap over her head so the purse hung across her body, she pulled her sweater tight and headed toward Bernadette’s pale-yellow storefront.
Several pigeons strutted back and forth in front of Bernadette’s, snatching pastry crumbs from under the little metal tables on the patio. It was chilly this morning, and only a couple old guys sat at the tables.
When Aimee had arrived in town the previous evening, the sun had been setting in a clear sky. Today, the sun was taking a little vacation. A froth of gray clouds churned above the town like the balloons that had floated on the ceiling of Gretta’s family’s ballroom a couple days before. Those balloons, though, had been purple, not gray. And they’d promised happy times. The clouds overhead didn’t seem to promise anything good. For some reason, Aimee found them ominous.
“Get a grip,” she muttered to herself as she pulled open the bakery’s bright blue door.
Bernadette’s interior, thankfully, was warm, and it smelled of cinnamon, sugar, and coffee. Cramped and cute and frilly, the place didn’t strike Aimee as one that would appeal to the likes of Emmett Tucker. She looked around to see if he was here. He wasn’t, but she figured she might as well hang out a bit and see if he showed up.
The bakery’s half dozen rickety wood tables were occupied mostly by plaid-attired locals, but a few stylishly dressed tourists were in the mix. Every table seat was taken, but a tall counter along one wall had a couple empty stools.
Aimee approached the service counter and waited behind a tall woman ordering three dozen assorted pastries. While she waited, Aimee turned and watched out the window, her muscles tensed, her gaze darting around, scanning the street for Emmett Tucker.
Tucker didn’t show up while Aimee watched, but he did eventually appear.
Aimee had been nursing a small latte and nibbling on a cinnamon roll for ten minutes, wondering if she was wasting her time. Maybe she should have gone to the county records office and tried to find Tucker’s residence.
She was glancing at her watch for the fifth time when Bernadette’s door swung open, and Emmett Tucker walked in.
Aimee knew Emmett Tucker had been in his early forties when he was arrested. He’d looked much older than that, but several things had contributed to the wrinkles that had cinched up his face. He’d apparently spent most of his adult life working outside, on construction sites, and he also was a chain-smoker. Aimee figured he probably ate junk food, too. He didn’t look like someone who bought organic vegetables.
Now with his long hair gone, replaced by a buzz cut, Tucker was barely recognizable as the man he’d been when Aimee had seen him at Freddy’s and on the news. But she knew him. Those eyes and those yellowed teeth were unmistakable. Sometime in the last ten years, Tucker had picked up a scar that bisected his left cheek, and he’d lost a few of his teeth.
No one greeted Tucker when he came into the bakery. The tourists didn’t give him a glance. The locals flicked looks at him, but they quickly returned their attention to their coffee and rolls.
Tucker didn’t seem to care one way or another about who was paying attention to him. He just ordered his coffee and cinnamon roll and headed back outside. Aimee half rose off her stool when he went out the door, but she sat down when Tucker settled himself at an outside table and proceeded to drink his coffee and eat his cinnamon roll as if it was a warm sunny day.
For twenty minutes, Aimee tapped her foot and sipped at the dregs of her cooling latte. Should she confront him now? That would probably be smart. But then again, maybe if she just followed him, she’d learn something about him that would make a confrontation unnecessary. She gritted her teeth. She should wait.
When Tucker finally rose from his table, Aimee stood and dropped her Styrofoam cup and paper plate in a trash bin by the door as she watched Tucker head north up the street. Before he could get out of sight, she exited the bakery and lingered by its tables as she watched Tucker angle off the sidewalk toward the driver’s side of a faded old green van.
A van. That was suspicious. Didn’t kidnappers use vans?
Aimee trotted quickly to her car and got in just as Tucker backed the van out of the angled parking spot in front of an art gallery. She quickly started her car and pulled out to follow him.
For the next hour, Aimee tailed Tucker to a pharmacy, where he picked up a prescription; to a gas station, where he put gas in the van; and finally to a grocery store, where he filled a cart with frozen dinners, chips, canned soup, cereal, and a gallon of milk. She was right about his lack of interest in organic vegetables; he didn’t go anywhere near the produce aisle, period.
Aimee’s heart rate had been fast and uneven when she’d started stalking her quarry, but by the time she got to the grocery store, it had settled down. It turned out that stalking wasn’t all that interesting … at least not when your target was doing mundane things. It wasn’t hard, either. At first, Aimee had been furtive. At the pharmacy, she’d hidden behind a display of sunglasses, and she’d even pretended to try on a few pairs so she’d have a “disguise.” At the gas station, she’d pulled her car in behind a dumpster and gotten out to peer over the top of it while Tucker had pumped his gas.
In the grocery store, at first, she hid behind product displays at the ends of the aisles, but when it became obvious that Tucker was oblivious to his surroundings, she gave up the subterfuge and just followed him around. She did have a cart so she looked like a normal shopper, and she threw a little of this and a little of that in the cart, but she shouldn’t have bothered. He never even looked her way.
After Tucker got back in his van in the grocery store parking lot, he headed out of town and turned onto a narrow rural road. She let a car get between her and Tucker just in case he’d noticed her—not that she thought he would; the town was filled with small hybrids similar to hers.
As she drove, Aimee kept her gaze on the roof of the van up ahead of her. It trundled along at a sedate pace, so it was easy to keep up.
At one point, a loud caw startled her, and she flinched when a crow swooped low across the hood of her car, barely avoiding her windshield. Rattled for reasons she didn’t understand, she watched the crow fly up over a dormant cornfield.
Going this slowly, Aimee had plenty of time to survey her surroundings. The rural road was winding through the flatlands stretching out from the south side of town to the foothills of the distant mountains. A lot of this area was farmland, but she remembered there were a couple parks out this way, farther down the road. Along this stretch of the narrow, uneven road, though, neither farms nor parks were visible. Instead, dilapidated old mobile homes and deteriorating cottages with roofs succumbing to thick moss were surrounded by old cars up on cinder blocks and discarded furniture. Aimee spotted several broken trampolines, multiple rusting swings, and dozens of scattered toys left out in scruffy yards to be baked by the sun and drowned in the rain.
After about five minutes, Tucker’s van slowed, and Tucker turned left next to a dented mailbox on a slanted wood post. Dust billowed up from the van’s tires as he headed down a dirt driveway.
Aimee slowed and looked past the van. The driveway appeared to stop in front of an old mobile home. This must be where Tucker lived.
Aimee drove past the driveway and pulled off the road a couple hundred yards farther on. She parked on the road’s gravel shoulder and looked back over her shoulder.
Yep. Sure enough. Tucker was unloading his groceries and heading toward the mobile home’s front door.
Aimee slapped her hand on her steering wheel in celebration. This was her chance. She could finally confront him!
A tiny flutter in Aimee’s belly might have been suggesting she was doing something that wasn’t all that smart, but she ignored it. She didn’t care about being smart right now. She cared about finding out what Emmett Tucker had done with Mary Jo.
Aimee did a tight U-turn on the narrow road. Returning to Tucker’s driveway, she turned onto it.
Aimee’s little car bumped through a pothole. She clenched her teeth and slowed the car to a crawl.
Peering through her now-dusty windshield, Aimee looked at her destination. A chill sluiced through her.
Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.
Emmett Tucker’s home looked like it wasn’t a fit place for rats, much less humans. Sitting in the middle of a small rectangle of bare dirt relieved only by the occasional wilted weed, the single-wide was either painted dark brown or it was so dirty it had become dark brown over time, and its windows were so caked with dust, they were barely recognizable as windows. Two of them were boarded over. The flashing around the base of the mobile home had long since torn away, and the rusted wheels of the home’s undercarriage could be seen balancing on crumbling cinder blocks.
Reaching the barren earth in front of Tucker’s home, Aimee did another U-turn and parked her car with its front end pointed toward the road. She wanted to be in position for a quick getaway if need be.
Glancing in her rearview mirror to see if Tucker had come back outside (he hadn’t), Aimee grabbed her purse and got out of the car before she could change her mind.
Looking up at the dark sky, she slung her purse across her body. She unsnapped the purse and kept her hand inside, tightly grasping her Taser. Then she pointed herself toward Tucker’s front door and marched over to it with her chin lifted and her shoulders set.
She was just stepping up onto the rotting porch when the black-painted front door swung open. She stuttered to a stop and forced herself not to backpedal. She looked into the eyes of the man she’d seen in Freddy’s ten years before.
“Whatever you’re sellin’, I’m not buyin’,” Emmett Tucker said. Up close, he looked even worse than he had in the bakery. His skin was so thin you could see his veins crawling under the surface.
Aimee didn’t want to be here any longer than she had to be, so she got right to the point. Clutching her mace and planting her feet, she recited her prepared lines.
“Ten years ago, my friend Mary Jo and I saw you at Freddy’s. That was the same day you were arrested. It was also the same day Mary Jo disappeared. I want to know what you did with her.”
Tucker blinked once and leaned against the doorjamb. Slowly, he reached into the sagging pocket of his baggy jeans. Aimee stiffened and tightened her grip on the Taser.
Tucker pulled out a pack of chewing gum and methodically unwrapped a piece. Folding it into his mouth, he tossed the wrapper onto the porch. “I quit smoking,” he said.
“Good for you,” Aimee said without thinking.
Tucker leaned back and gestured toward the interior of the mobile home. “Wanna come in?”
Aimee bit back her “Hell no,” and said politely, “No thank you. I’m fine out here.” She swallowed. “I realize you probably won’t answer my question. Why should you? You never admitted to anything before. But I had to come and ask. I had to.”
For several seconds, Tucker chewed his gum loudly. The sucking and smacking sounds made Aimee’s skin crawl.
Then Tucker took a step forward. Aimee backed away quickly.
Tucker chuckled at her, then gestured at the porch step. “I tell you what. You sit here with me, all neighborly like, for a spell, and I’ll answer your question.”
Aimee frowned and looked at the porch. She glanced back up and saw that Tucker’s gaze had dropped from her face to her fitted scoop-neck pale blue top and on down to her tight navy-blue pencil pants.
Aimee kept her expression neutral. She didn’t like being stared at … by anyone. She didn’t like it, but she’d learned to ignore it. She wasn’t going to let Tucker intimidate her. She looked down at the porch again. She realized she was inspecting it for some kind of hidden trap. Why did he want her to sit with him?
She shrugged. Okay. If that was what it was going to take.
“You first,” Aimee said, gesturing at the step.
Tucker chuckled again and sank down onto the splintered wood planks. Aimee followed suit, positioning herself out of his reach. She kept her grip on the Taser.
For several seconds, they sat in silence. In the distance, a dog barked once. A truck rumbled past on the road. The breeze picked up, and the sky seemed to lower even more.
“Well?” Aimee said.
Tucker turned to look at her. “I remember you. You and that girl everyone thought I took were in Freddy’s that day.”
Aimee forced herself not to shiver.
Tucker cocked his head. “You were the one I saw in that tunnel thing when I was looking for my daughter.”
Aimee could feel her pulse throbbing, double-time, at her temples. She kept her breathing even.
Tucker shrugged. “That’s why I was there that day. I was looking for Jilly, my daughter. She always liked going to that place.”
He turned abruptly and shifted closer to Aimee. She pulled her mace halfway out of her purse, but she didn’t lean back. Instead, she looked directly into Tucker’s eyes. “And where did you take my friend?”
Tucker chewed his gum and held Aimee’s gaze for several seconds. Then he shook his head. “I never took any kid. All’s I was trying to do when I got arrested was get my own kid back from that lying tramp I married. So what if she got custody? Why does a court get to decide who gets custody of a man’s daughter? That judge had no business giving my girl to my ex. It was my right to have my own kid. I was just standing up for my rights! I never shoulda been sent to prison for that!” Tucker pounded his fist on the porch, and Aimee jumped up.
“You’re lying!”
Tucker scowled at her. “Who the hell are you coming to my home and telling me I’m lying?”
He stood, and Aimee took a step back.
“Get out of here!” he shouted at her. “I’ve had enough of folks thinking I did stuff I didn’t do!”
“Tell the truth!” Aimee yelled. “You took Mary Jo. I know you did! She yelled at you, and so you took her! You took her, and you killed her!”
Tucker’s face flushed red. “Why the hell would I care if some little snot kid yelled at me? I didn’t take your stupid friend! And I ain’t never killed anyone!”
Aimee pulled out her Taser and aimed it at Tucker’s chest. “Tell me the truth, or I’ll tase you!” All the anger and frustration and guilt she’d hung on to for ten years came out in the screeched words and spittle that flew from her mouth.
Tucker jerked forward and reached for the Taser. Aimee didn’t hesitate. She pressed the button.
Tucker whipped his body away so the Taser missed him. When it did, he started cussing. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he bellowed. He swung out at her.
Aimee zigged away from his blow and then stepped in before he could swing again. Furious, she kicked him in the shin.
“Ow!” Tucker glared at Aimee, bent over, and charged at her.
Feeling pleased with herself for hurting Tucker, Aimee wasn’t ready for Tucker’s move. She tried to avoid him, but he grabbed her. She screamed and attempted to slip a hand into her purse to get her mace. But Tucker had her in a bear hug, and he tightened it. Then he lifted her off the ground.
“Crazy girl!” he growled at her as he backed toward his open front door.
“Let me go!” Aimee spewed as she flailed in Tucker’s grip. She tried to remember her self-defense moves. What was she supposed to do when someone held her tight like this?
Her heart pounding, sweat trickling down her spine, Aimee remembered. She threw her head up, trying to whack Tucker’s chin.
All she did was whap her forehead into his chest. She was too short to do him any harm that way.
By this time, Tucker was carrying her inside his dingy home, and Aimee’s fury was turning into fear. She writhed this way and that, but she couldn’t break lose. So, she started to scream.
“Shut the hell up!” Tucker shouted. He carried her past a filthy kitchenette and into a tight dark hallway that smelled like dirty laundry and cooked sausages.
Aimee picked up her feet and tried to kick at the walls, but the space was too cramped. She screamed again, and Tucker kicked a small door open and tossed her through the opening. Aimee’s hip hit the corner of a miniature bathroom cabinet, and her head flew forward and hit a small mirror. Wincing, she struggled for her balance and turned to face Tucker … just as he slammed the door.
“I’m calling the police!” Tucker yelled through the cheap wood.
“Good!” Aimee yelled back. “You should be in prison!”
“I’m not the one going to prison,” Tucker shouted. “You assaulted me!”
Aimee opened her mouth to yell a response, but then she realized he was right. But it was self-defense, wasn’t it? Of course it was. She’d tased him because he’d reached out at her.
Reached out. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t enough for her to claim self-defense.
But he was a kidnapper!
Yeah. Of kids.
Aimee rubbed her sore hip and tried to steady her breathing. It refused to steady. She was taking heaving gulps of air. Through the door, she could hear Tucker talking on the phone. She caught the words crazy girl and assault.
She shook her head and frowned. She couldn’t let the police get involved in this. They might arrest her. And even if they didn’t, she’d waste all kinds of time trying to get it all straightened out. No. She had to get out of here.
Aimee reached out and tried the doorknob. Locked. Not a surprise. She thought about throwing herself at the door, but she quickly dismissed that idea and turned to look at the room.
She was in a minuscule bathroom, a very disgusting bathroom with toothpaste drying on the sides of the sink, a brown ring around the grayish tub, and stains she didn’t want to think about on the floor around the toilet. But the bathroom did have a window above the toilet. It was small, but so was she.
Cringing, Aimee gingerly put the toilet lid down and climbed onto it. Unlatching the window, she shoved it open and levered herself up onto its narrow ledge. She stuck her head through the opening and pushed off the toilet lid.
