Dina Santorelli Read online

  Chapter 23

  Phillip sat on one of the stools at the counter.

  "The usual, Governor?" A redheaded waitress, whose weathered countenance belied a light-spirited soul, brought him a stout glass of ice water, spilling it a little as she placed it onto his paper place mat. The governor watched the spilt water spread evenly into a quarter-sized circle and placed his napkin on top of it. The waitress reached under the counter and pulled out two dessert plates; she placed one in front of the governor and the other before the seat next to him on the right. The governor was about to tell Mitzy—he knew all the waitresses by name—that his mother would not be joining him today, but thought better of it. It might attract suspicion if it was thought that he was dining there alone.

  "Yes, Mitzy, the usual." Phillip forced a smile.

  "You all right, Guv?" Taryn herself had come out of the kitchen. Although she was over 250 pounds, Taryn had a buoyancy about her and a solid work ethic that was contagious among her employees. She had run the diner alone for the past five years since her husband, Jet, passed away, showing up for work every day at 6:00 a.m. and never leaving before 9:00 p.m. She usually got a quick heads-up when Phillip came in for a visit. "You're looking kinda pale, sir," she said with concern. "You all right?" Her white apron was caked with confectioner's sugar, which she spread to the bottom of her nose after she wiped it.

  "Oh, just a little under the weather, I guess. I'm sure it'll pass."

  "Maybe it's allergies," Don Bailino said, sitting on the seat to the governor's left. Bailino looked at a menu and then back at Phillip. "Hey, aren't you the governor of this fine state? I always wondered if I'd ever see you in here."

  "Sure is," Taryn said, placing a drippy glass of ice water on top of Bailino's paper place mat. "Gotta admire a man who takes time to see his momma once a week. I don't know about you, but that's the kind of man I want fightin' for me in government. One who has his priorities straight, right, Don?"

  "That's right," Bailino said with a smile.

  "How's that book comin'?" Taryn asked.

  "Oh, slow, very slow." Bailino answered.

  "Well, now, you keep plugging along. You'll get it done."

  Phillip listened to the light conversation as Taryn placed a slice of cherry pie on Phillip's plate and on the one beside it.

  "A family man," Bailino said, taking a long sip of his ice water. "I do believe I agree with you, ma'am. The love between a parent and a child is one of the most sacred bonds. It's nice to see an elected official remember that." He inspected Phillip's plate. "Hmmm, that cherry pie looks good. I think I'll have that as well today."

  "Comin' right up." Taryn placed the dish on Bailino's place mat. She poured them both a cup of coffee. "If you need anything else, I'll be right in the back."

  "Thank you," Bailino said cheerily.

  Phillip Grand watched as Bailino wolfed down the cherry pie with deliberate attentiveness—the way, Phillip remembered, he did everything. With the exception of the graying hair over his ears, Bailino looked virtually the same as he did nearly twenty years ago. He had gained some weight, but that only served to make his presence more powerful.

  "I'm gonna make this fast," Bailino said, scraping up the last bits of pie from his plate with his finger and pulling a twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket. "If I'm not back in forty-five minutes, your daughter will be dead."

  Knowing him as well as he did, Phillip believed Bailino meant what he said. He was honest and direct as much as he was ruthless. Having those qualities on his side during the days of war, and friendship, had been a blessing, but this was the first time he was viewing them from the other side, and it was more terrifying than he had imagined.

  Bailino stood up. "Grant Gino Cataldi a thirty-day stay of execution," he said. "Make any excuse you want—DNA testing or whatever—and she won't get hurt."

  "How do I know she's okay?" Phillip asked, staring at his plate, his voice a whisper.

  "You don't. But I'm giving you my word, and you know the value of my word."

  Bailino walked out of the diner, but not before giving a friendly wave to Taryn, who had returned and was cleaning up his dirty dishes.

  "Such a handsome man," Taryn said, wiping the counter with a rag. "Always so friendly and courteous. He always comes alone. I don't think he's married." She looked at the governor's untouched piece of pie. "Want me to freshen your coffee, governor?"

  Phillip shook his head.

  "Is Mrs. Grand not joining us today, after all?"

  Phillip forced a smile. "I'm afraid not."

  "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Taryn looked genuinely disappointed. "Do you want me to box that for you?" she asked, motioning toward the pie slices. "I know how much Charlotte loves the taste of my cherry pie." She picked up the plates before Phillip could protest. "How is the little darlin' these days?"

  "Fine, just fine," Phillip said, taking the small cardboard doggie bag from Taryn, who smiled and shuffled off to chat with old Lester Higgins, the owner of the downtown antique shop, who had just walked in and taken a seat at the counter. Phillip saw from the corner of his eye that Higgins was ready to say a cheerful hello, but the governor quickly turned away and headed toward the exit. He had just told his first willful lie to a constituent and was eager to avoid a second one.

  Chapter 24

  Nurberg sat in his car scribbling notes into a small notepad. He looked up to see if Phillip Grand had left Taryn's, but there was no sign of him in the swirl of people near the diner entrance, and the town car was still in the parking lot. He had expected to have the governor all to himself for the day to go over the visitor lists, political opponents, allies. He expected to see Phillip Grand sitting in his office, his head characteristically in his hands, having called off all of the day's appointments. When Det. Matrick phoned his cell to tell him that the governor "was going for a drive," Nurberg thought it was odd—odd enough to follow him. And when the governor pulled into the Taryn's parking lot, Nurberg thought it odder still. He couldn't imagine Phillip Grand would keep his weekly lunch appointment with his mother or tell her about Charlotte's disappearance, especially this early on when everything was so speculative. News like that could put an eighty-year-old woman over the edge.

  Nurberg leaned his head back on his seat's headrest. That was the part that was most difficult for him to swallow: There were no leads. None. The cleanness of Charlotte's disappearance was baffling, and common sense dictated that it must have been some kind of inside job. But the investigation so far had turned up nothing. The housekeeper had no reason to dislike the Grands or betray them; by virtually all accounts, she seemed happy and appeared to be treated rather well there. And, in his heart, he didn't think she'd ever hurt the little girl. It was Rosalia, after all, that Nurberg saw holding little Charlotte during press events, right up until the cameras rolled, which is when she'd hand the baby off to Mrs. Grand. And Rosalia had said the rest of the mansion staff seemed to feel the same way about the little girl; they adored her.

  Mrs. Grand was another story. Disliked. Feared. Revered. Nurberg reached down to the side of his seat and flicked a switch, tilting his seat back. He'd seen his share of domestic disturbances, and, for the most part, the offenders were easy to detect—drunk, high, overly nice—but he knew that things were not always as they seemed and he suspected as much with the state's First Lady. It was quite possible that even her sudden blowup the previous day could have been carefully orchestrated.

  Nurberg tapped the manila folder next to him, which contained lists of names of possible suspects. He had spent the entire morning combing through police arrests that were conducted in the past eighteen months and were related to the governor in any way. Most of them were college-aged pro-choice, anti-gun, and anti-capital-punishment protestors who, minor brushes with police officers aside, probably couldn't hurt a fly. Then there was the issue of the Grand fortune. That was sizable enough to lure any hoodlum, and, as the only child, Charlotte was the only heir. He look
ed again at the governor's file. Political opponents and gold diggers notwithstanding, Nurberg had nothing. The governor was a veritable boy scout.

  "Hey, Nurberg."

  Across the street, a man was waving at him. He was a tall, tanned fellow accompanied by a pretty brunette holding a little boy who was wearing a Yankee baseball cap. The couple walked toward him as he got out of the car.

  "Hey, Mark Nurberg, right?"

  "Yeah." Nurberg couldn't place him.

  "John Callahan. From Schenectady High School?"

  "John? My God, I didn't recognize you." The two men clasped hands.

  "Yeah, not many people do since I lost all that weight."

  "No, it's just... You look so... mature. You're a dad!"

  "Yeah," Callahan beamed. "This is my wife, Debbie. Debbie, this is Mark Nurberg. We went to high school together."

  Debbie rearranged the little boy in her arm and said, "Nice to meet you."

  "And this is our little guy, Jack."

  The boy stuck out his hand, and Nurberg shook it.

  "Wow, a cop, huh?" Callahan said.

  Nurberg looked at his plain clothes. "Is it that obvious?"

  "Well, that, and I've googled you a few times and saw your name come up here and there." Callahan turned to his wife. "That's what Mark always wanted—to be a cop."

  "You're living your dream then," Debbie said with a smile.

  "Yeah, I guess so." Nurberg said.

  "Listen, we gotta go. We're meeting Debbie's parents for an early lunch, but we should keep in touch." Callahan reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. "Call me, sometime. I'd love to catch up. We'll go to lunch. I work right down the road."

  "He's the manager of Dick's Sporting Goods," Debbie said proudly.

  "Debbie..."

  "Well, you didn't say..." Debbie said, and Callahan gave his wife a squeeze.

  "Yeah, sure thing." Nurberg put the business card in his pocket. "It was good to see you, John."

  "You too."

  "Nice meeting you," Debbie said as the family crossed the street and the little boy waved.

  Nurberg watched them go until he saw Governor Grand finally emerge from Taryn's. He was alone, no sign of his mother, who usually arrived with a cavalcade of her senior-citizen friends. The governor looked left and right and then hurried to his car in the parking lot as residents, the Callahan family among them, oohed and aahed, watching their elected official make his way to the parking lot.

  When the sedan pulled out, Nurberg waited a few car lengths and then followed behind. Something was up; he could feel it. He made a mental note to check on the whereabouts of the governor's mother this morning. The sedan made a right and then a left and appeared to be heading back toward the Executive Mansion, and Nurberg's thoughts turned to John Callahan. How long had it been since he'd seen him last? Ten years? Fifteen? He couldn't remember, nor could he remember why the two had lost touch, considering they were practically best friends in high school. How many times had they lay on the floor of Callahan's basement, spending hours talking about what they wanted to do with their lives? John had wanted to be an artist, and was pretty good too, until his mother encouraged him to major in business—"something more practical"—and that was the end of that. Nurberg, on the other hand, wanted to become a police officer from the time he was a little boy.

  "I want to use my powers for good," he remembered telling John one day over a half-eaten pizza and greasy video-game controls, in the way that a child talks dreamily about the future. Of course, like any other profession, there were times when police work wasn't all it was cracked up to be, when the bad guys were released on a technicality, or when his boss told him to "lose" the paperwork on an influential offender. But then a case comes along like the disappearance of Baby Grand, and that do-gooder feeling returns—the chance to make a difference.

  Nurberg could sense his friend's admiration today at seeing him achieve his professional goals, and he felt a certain pride in that. But little did John Callahan know that Nurberg would trade it all—the respect, the commendations, the powers—for the chance to have a Debbie and a Jack.

  Chapter 25

  Jamie rushed Charlotte back into the cabin. The thought of the clump of the blonde girl's hair in her palm was making it difficult for Jamie to breathe, as if it had gotten caught in her throat. Joey slid the glass door closed behind them, leaving it slightly ajar.

  "Are you okay?" he asked her.

  "Not really."

  Somehow, they had gotten past Benny, Tony, and Leo, who were engaged in a game of poker on a small dining table in the yard, without many questions, despite all the shrieking and the crying. Jamie watched the men through the glass doors. Charlotte had calmed down and was sitting on the floor playing with the zipper of a throw pillow.

  "I think she's hungry," Jamie said. "I should give her something to eat."

  "Okay. I'll see what there is."

  It was quiet in the house with just the three of them in there, and Jamie's eyes drifted to the computer sitting idly on the buffet. The screen was off, but it looked as though the unit was still running. Jamie could hear Joey opening and closing cabinets in the kitchen, but she could not see him—the wall of the breakfast nook was blocking her view. She leaned over and casually dragged her finger across the keypad of the laptop. The screen lit up. Charlotte had managed to stand, pushing her palms on the glass door, and was banging on it, drawing the attention of the men outside. Leo smiled and waved, and all the men laughed and went back to their game.

  Charlotte steadied herself and then leaned away from the doors—one step, then another, each one carefully planted as if she were navigating a minefield. She got about six or seven steps into the room and turned back to look at Jamie, who smiled.

  "She's really getting the hang of that," Joey said, returning from the kitchen. "Okay, we don't have all that much. There are Cheerios."

  Jamie winced.

  "I know, we're Cheerioed out," Joey said. "There's a banana?"

  Jamie shook her head.

  "Crackers?"

  Jamie shrugged her shoulders.

  "Grapes?"

  Jamie thought quickly and said, "Yes, I think grapes would be great." She turned to Charlotte. "You want grapes, baby? Yes? Yes?" Her face became a contorted smile of overenthusiasm. Charlotte, who seemed overwhelmed by Jamie's eagerness, nodded her head yes.

  "Well, grapes it is!" Joey said and returned to the kitchen.

  The refrigerator was located to the right of the nook, which Jamie hoped would buy her some more time. The moment Joey was out of view, she nudged herself closer to the computer. At the bottom of the screen, she could see that the Facebook site was minimized, but then Joey returned with some grapes in a bowl and handed them to Charlotte.

  "Wait, I have to wash those and cut them," Jamie said, reaching for the fruit. "It's a choking hazard. Where do you keep your big knives?"

  Joey hesitated and took the bowl of grapes back.

  "I'll cut them," he said, looking somewhat embarrassed.

  "Oh, okay," Jamie said, as if it didn't matter one way or the other, and returned to the back doors where Charlotte had managed to walk back on her own and was pressing her tiny face into the glass pane.

  Jamie crossed her fingers that Joey would cut the grapes on the table of the breakfast nook, which is where most of the kitchen mess seemed to accumulate, perhaps because the men were fearful of damaging Bailino's marble countertops. Once Joey ran the bowl of grapes under cold water, he stepped again out of sight, and at the first sound of a knife hitting the table, and with Charlotte leaning on her right leg, Jamie reached with her left hand to the computer keyboard and maximized the Facebook page. As she did, she glanced outside at the men, who were laughing and smoking. She didn't have much time.

  Tony's profile was still open, and she dragged her finger across the keypad, bringing the cursor to the top right corner, and logged him out. Then, with the deftness of a seasoned freelance wr
iter, she typed her email address and password to log into her account while keeping her eye on the poker game outside.

  "Please make sure the large grapes still aren't too big as halves," she called out.

  The chopping stopped. "All right," Joey said, and the chopping resumed.

  Jamie's page appeared. With a quick sidelong glance, she scanned it and clicked in the What's on your mind? box. When she looked back out the window, Leo was staring at her with a piercing, probing look that seemed to suspend time. She froze. It was only when Charlotte began bouncing up and down on her leg that Jamie, with her gaze still on Leo, moved her left hand, which was out of his sight, across the QWERTY keyboard that she knew so well. She typed H-E-L-P and was about to log off, but then paused. Quickly, she typed A-L-B-A-N-Y and then C-H-A-R-L-O-T-T-E, but before she could type Grand, Leo stood up from the table and began walking toward the house. Frantically, Jamie's fingers jerked along the keypad, trying to move the cursor diagonally to log out, but with her eyes on Leo she couldn't be sure of where it was. He was only a few feet away when Jamie picked up Charlotte, blocking Leo's view, and glanced at the screen. Damn, she was off target. Her Facebook profile was still there. As she heard the soft swish of the glass door sliding, Jamie leaned Charlotte down next to the laptop, pretending to check her diaper with her right hand as her left moved the cursor and pressed the X in the top right corner of the screen just as Joey entered the room.

  "Wow, that was fast," Jamie said, picking Charlotte up.