Carl entered his friend Rennie Stillwells’s tavern just down the street from the hardware store. Rennie wouldn’t officially open until five, but all the guys from the Wednesday-night poker crew knew he was always there by three.
“Hey, Rennie.”
Rennie looked up from the bar. He was the only one in the room. “Carl. Hey, how ya doin’?”
“Good. How ’bout you?”
He shrugged. “Could be worse.”
“Listen, do you mind if I use your phone, there?”
Without a word, Rennie set it on the bar. Slid it toward Carl.
“Um…you know…It’s a bit personal…Has to do with Adele.”
“Gotcha.” Rennie winked as if he understood completely. “Help yourself. I gotta use the john anyway.”
He stepped away and Carl turned the phone so the numbers faced him, then he pulled out the note that Adele’s kidnapper had left for him, and spread it across the counter. The number: 888-359-5392.
He’d done as the note directed and the body was there at the hardware store. In a sense, the ransom had been paid.
Call the number, Carl. So what if it’s a few minutes early.
Thinking about Adele being with this man was just too terrifying for him to wait.
Sweating, his hand shaking noticeably as he tapped in the number, he held the receiver to his ear and waited while it rang.
No one picked up.
With each passing second he became more and more nervous, more afraid.
The note said to call this number, that she would be okay if you did!
But another voice: No, you called early! You didn’t wait!
Still no one answered.
Then Carl heard police sirens and realized that someone must have already found Miriam Flandry’s corpse and called the station, which was less than a mile away.
And all he could think of was why the man who’d taken Adele, who’d already severed off at least one of her fingers, wasn’t answering.
And what he might be doing to her instead.