“That’s a story for another day. But Frankie wanted you to have a dessert, and I find chocolate always helps in stressful times. Anessa just made up a batch of her famous pumpkin spice cupcakes, or we have our chocolate and chocolate, which is also a hit for most of our recent visitors.”
I did like chocolate. But when you’re in northern Maine during the fall, it seemed like you had to order pumpkin spice if it was available.
I finished my order, not sure if I’d eat a cupcake because the adrenaline was so strong in my system, when the bakery door opened. A blonde wearing a pair of black pants and a pink shirt with a matching suit coat walked in, ringing the bell above the door.
“Vonnie,” she said, not even glancing in my direction. “Report back.”
“Katy,” Vonnie addressed the newcomer and then launched into a quick retelling of everything that happened, including meeting me in Frankie’s office. She said my name and turned to glance at me in a determined fashion.
“Interesting,” was all the newcomer said.
Then, as if they were a coordinated group synchronizing their actions, they all turned to me. Not just their heads, but a full-body turn until everyone faced my direction.
“Are you going to lie and say you’re only here on vacation like everyone else?” Katy spoke first and her question struck a chord.
“Hell no. Frankie Zanetti kidnapped me and brought me here from Chicago.” Those words grabbed everyone’s attention, and they listened to my entire story with wide eyes and slightly odd smiles.
By the time I finished my tale, all three women were leaning in toward me as if I’d pulled them in by an invisible thread as I spoke.
I ended my story with a brief shrug, throwing one hand up in the air. “And he said I can’t go back to Chicago until my cousin makes it safer for me there.”
There was silence in the café and I braced for impact, expecting the women to scream or possibly run for a police officer. Their actions were anything but.
They definitely freaked out, but not the way I expected.
Each of them turned to look at one another and their smiles grew. “Wow, Frankie Zanetti kidnapped her?” Tabitha asked no one in particular.
“And you know it’s serious when they admit there’s trouble. They always lie about how it’s no big deal,” Katy added with a certain delight in her eye when she spoke.
She rubbed her hands together as excitement grew between them. “Girls, whatever’s about to happen is going to be so good.”
How in the world did these people consider kidnapping and a shoot-out good? They definitely had problems with the water.
I had so many questions. Things like why none of them called the police or tried to get me help. Were they working for Frankie? Did everyone know exactly who he was?
Rather than ask the questions, I shoved half the pumpkin spice cupcake in my mouth and bought myself time to come to terms with the new developments. It’s possible I left out a few pieces of information.
After the confrontation in Frankie’s street, I came to the stark realization those men were not after me to hurt my cousin. I’d watched in horror as Greg Vanhousen stepped out of the van right before it went sky high.
They knew so much more than I realized. And I was in deep shit.
Deep, deep shit.
And not just from the men trying to take me, but also my cousin when he found out the real reason they tried to kidnap me. He didn’t bring those men to my door, but my own actions.
I was still chewing and moaning internally over the perfectly spiced cupcake when the door to the bakery was yanked open again—hopefully somebody was oiling those hinges often—and a group of men stormed into the space. It looked like one of the NFL teams brought every single one of their linebackers for a coffee and a donut, but they didn’t stop to greet anyone with words. Each one gave a quick nod to Tabitha behind the counter and then walked right past her, going into the back of the bakery to the same place Frankie had entered. One man who was as tall as the others but not as muscular followed in the group. He wore a long tan trench coat with a police badge looped around his neck.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, somebody here to take my statements. It wasn’t hard to recognize a cop when you saw one, especially when they were at detective level. I shoved the rest of the cupcake halfway to my mouth, trying to decide exactly what I planned to admit to the police.
No one could ever find out that I was related to Westley or exactly why or how I found myself in Pelican Bay. I may have told the truth to the ladies at the bakery, but I was not willing to do the same thing for a man who got paid to put criminals behind bars.
I’d make a run for it before anything like that happened, and I most certainly would not allow him to put me in a squad car.
CHAPTER 12
I’d never lived a normal life. I never saw my family or even future in an episode of Full House. We weren’t even like One Last Step. By ten years old, Westley had me weighing dime bags after I finished my math homework. In my late teens I took over running the numbers. Westley worked to legitimize his businesses, but he always needed a place to launder money and a safe place for his clients to place bets.
I hit two keys on the laptop in Frankie’s office but couldn’t concentrate.
