The Red Kettle Caper

By Donna Bender Hood

No one expects to be kidnapped. But when Barbara Finley was abducted for the second time, she worried about that old adage about bad things happening in threes. Jonathan J. Silver thought a third time was a good idea.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524585259

Donna Bender Hood

Donna Bender Hood is the author of nine other books, all of which are light fiction, romance, and evildoings. Besides writing, she enjoys gardening. Donna is also a twenty-year quilter and is active in a local quilt group that raises funds for their volunteer fire department by hosting a quality outdoor quilt show every September.

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Copyright © 2017 by Donna Bender Hood.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 02/20/2017

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1.  Road Trip

Chapter 2.  Home

Chapter 3.  December

Chapter 4.  Jonathan J. Silver

Chapter 5.  Bessie May And Leroy

Chapter 6.  Preparation

Chapter 7.  Riverton

Chapter 8.  Meeting Barbara

Chapter 9.  Tossed

Chapter 10.  Kettle Run

Chapter 11.  Christmas Gifts

Chapter 12.  Meetings

Chapter 13.  The New Year

Chapter 14.  The Third Party

Chapter 15.  Like Minds

Chapter 16.  Bad Things Come In Threes

Chapter 17.  The New Amsterdam

Merry Christmas

from

Jim

CHAPTER

1

ROAD TRIP

Barbara Cay Finley carefully grated low-fat cheese to add to her big mixed veggie salad and ignored the string of cuss words coming from the family room. Lately the TV noise and her husband Todd’s profanity was the norm every time Todd could find a sporting event to watch on TV. Tonight it just happened to be Monday night football. As often occurred, he was probably unhappy with a player, a play, or one of the officials.

Often for some of the games, Todd invited several of his buddies over to watch their teams and also to enjoy Barbara’s cooking as most of Todd’s current friends seemed to be single. At first she had been pleased and flattered, but now, heading for their fourth wedding anniversary, she wished just once Todd’s buddies would all show up with their own food, paper plates, and less beer.

Last year when Todd had complained about their increased food costs, she had casually mentioned how much the game night meals were adding to their grocery bill, to which Todd had answered, I’ll have the guys bring more beer. The whole game night party food event had come about slowly, but that was where they were now. It just so happened that there were no guests for tonight.

When she and Todd were first married, they hardly watched TV, and if so, they did it together. Barbara liked and understood most sports, and Todd seemed to enjoy the educational channels she selected, but somehow after a few years, Todd’s single male friends, not couples, had started coming more often, and TV viewing had slowly turned into an all-guy thing.

At first Barbara had not minded. But each year a new sport was added to Todd’s list of favorites, and even now she thought that maybe the NHL ice hockey season was also coming to her house. She tried to be fair about the whole thing. Todd worked hard during the week and brought home a reasonable paycheck. He enjoyed his sports. If that was his relaxation, then that was good.

But she also had to consider that things were not as they should be between them. There was the constant disagreement about money. That had also come about slowly over the last few years. Their current house was a prime example. Of course she had wanted it because it was a perfect family house in a perfect family neighborhood. It was also just a little over the top of what they agreed they could afford.

She had really wanted to discuss the purchase because she was not even sure Todd saw the family potential of the house. He talked mainly about room for a big TV, flat screened HD of course, surround sound, the big patio for summer entertaining. Plus there was the large lot, which offered wide areas on both sides of the house for parking things, like RVs and maybe even a huge motor home, maybe a boat, one big enough to sleep on.

She has envisioned a large garden for fresh vegetables, especially tomatoes. Maybe some fruit trees and room for a swing set eventually. Because they both saw features they liked, they had bought the house without a cooling-off period or much serious talk.

Within the last year things had changed a great deal. Just three weeks ago there had been the surprise sheet of official-looking paper she found folded in his shirt pocket as she prepared to do the laundry. It was a write-up signed by both Todd and his supervisor. Todd had received another written warning for unacceptable production and generally being a goof-off. Apparently according to the paper, this written warning had followed several verbal warnings. At first Barbara was surprised, followed by hurt, and then she also felt a nagging worry.

How he had failed to mention this incident when for the last two months she had been on a leave of absence from her job at the bank in hopes that would help them get pregnant? That was worrisome. Without her paycheck and now the letter, it was clear they could be walking a fine line financially.

Barbara felt concern about other things also. There was the doctor who said he could see no health reason why she shouldn’t be able to conceive and she should take it easy, which was why she had taken the leave. They had also been working to get pregnant, which took some of the romance out of lovemaking. Sometimes she felt sure that the whole thing irritated Todd.

Little did she know that just the other night after work Todd had stopped for a beer with friends and had remarked, I feel like a damn stud. Just do my frigging duty when she tells me it’s time!

One of the other drinkers had laughed loudly and replied, Hey man, hard job but somebody’s got to do. Everyone except Todd joined in the laughter.

Todd might be making remarks to his friends, but Barbara was confiding in her sister, Marty. Barbara had admitted to Marty she was having trouble getting pregnant even though there should be no problem according to the doctor. It was the wrong thing to say to Marty, who held deep suspicions about mainstream medicine.

In Marty’s opinion, if a health problem could not be cured by herbs, meditation, massage, juicing, fasting, better diet, exercise, wearing special jewelry, placing your furniture in the right alignment, and a whole list of other behaviors, then you needed to see a special practitioner who probably was not listed in the yellow pages under physicians. Well, Marty was not quite that bad, but almost, and she often didn’t try to hide the fact that she had never thought much of Todd.

Unique health alternatives were all fine and good for Marty, who had never been sick a day in her life. Nevertheless when Marty found herself in need of modern medicine after falling during a hiking trip at the Grand Canyon, she wanted a good back surgeon and wanted him now.

It was just before that trip that she and Barbara had had the pregnancy conversation. Honey, Marty had said with a sigh so deep Barbara could hear it long distance. Todd is not the one for you. Never was. Your body knows he is the wrong mate and is refusing to accept his sperm. You need to listen to your body, and besides, your marriage is the pits.

Yes, Marty had never liked Todd and often voiced her thoughts that way, which either angered or hurt Barbara, so Barbara had fired back, My marriage is fine, and when I listen to my body, it is my biological clock I hear ticking.

Marty had countered, Then get rid of Mr. Couch Potato Sports Guy and find the someone whose vibes are in harmony with your special rhythm. Marty made it sound like selecting a musical instrument.

Even though Marty softly added, You deserve better in life, the conversation ended badly. Barbara was angry and hurt for several weeks, which made it even worse when she received the news that Marty had suffered a fall on her camping trip and was so badly injured she was being airlifted to a hospital in Texas, which treated spinal injuries.

That had been two years ago, and Barbara was beginning to wonder just when had she decided that Marty might be right about her relationship with Todd. Many marriages hit bumps, but right now she felt hers was up against a mountain and she was the only one working to overcome the upgrade.

Maybe she and Todd should have been going to counseling instead of the fertility clinic, especially now that Todd refused to talk about it or to go with her. One thing was absolutely clear—trying to have a baby when the marriage was shaky was just plain stupid and certainly not fair to any baby that might come along.

To hell with all this eating healthy, she thought. Maybe she might just smother her salad in blue cheese crumbles and sour cream dressing. That was when Barbara noticed her salad. She had been so deep in thought, that she had sliced the entire brick of cheese. Cheese chunks, shreds, and slices were scattered everywhere. The ragged slices were cascading off the salad greens and onto the countertop. Before she could begin to clean up the mess, she heard the front doorbell.

Todd would never hear the bell, let along offer to see who was at the door, so she went herself, passing through the side hall so as not to disturb him. At this time in the evening, most likely the visitor was one of the neighborhood children asking for support in some sort of fund-raising project. She always helped when she could. Someday it would be her child knocking on doors and giving a little speech about helping raise funds for this or that. When she opened the door, it was not a neighborhood child. It was a man, a rather tall, nicely dressed man. He looked oddly familiar.

Hi, Kitten.

No one except Steven Turnbolt had ever called her Kitten, and now after all these years she comprehended he was standing on her doorstep. Steven? Steven, is it really you? He smiled. It was the same smile that had always warmed her right down to her toes, and right now it came close to evoking that same reaction.

Guess you’re surprised, he said easily. Of course she was surprised. They had been engaged at one time. Then he had broken off the engagement with no explanation. Steven had simply sent her a dozen long-stemmed white roses with a note. To this day she remembered his written words:

I love you deeply. I will always love you but I can’t marry you. Forgive me. Forget me. Keep the ring. Love, Steven.

The heartbreak had been almost more than she could handle, and it hadn’t helped that for days her father had slammed around the house calling Steven a no-good bastard and claiming he had never liked Steven from the beginning. Later she would understand her father was dealing with his own hurt.

Her mother had probably been hurt also, but while Barbara lay on her bed sobbing at night and struggling through the days, her mother had quietly canceled the hold on the three possible wedding dresses and was thankful they had not placed solid orders for the invitations, the food, and the hall.

For months afterward the rumors were that Steven had joined the army—or maybe it was the marines—or had gone to Alaska or was working on an oilrig in the Gulf of Mexico. Two, or was it three years after that, Barbara met Todd Finley. Now looking at Steven’s fine leather jacket and his nice slacks, she decided he still looked good, just more mature. Barbara stammered. What are you doing here?

I have come to make it up to you. It was an odd reply to say the least, and briefly his expression was also peculiar. Barbara studied him and wondered why Steven was standing inside the screen door, which he was holding open with his shoulder while his hand was in his jacket pocket. Looking past him, she saw a newer tan pickup with dark windows parked at the curb. The truck bed was covered with one of those expensive lockable tops. Barbara supposed the truck was his.

He was still smiling, but it was not the happy smile she had seen a few minutes ago. Now his hand eased out of the jacket pocket. Steven Turnbolt, her old fiancé and a man she had loved deeply, was holding a small gun pointed right at her midsection. He was very serious. You will come with me, now. If you scream or make any kind of fuss, I will step inside and kill your asshole of a husband. Then you will come with me. Either way. You decide. Do you understand? He looked grim. Somehow the gun now looked much bigger.

In shock, Barbara nodded, and Steven reached for her. He gently took her arm and moved her outside, and at the same time he let the screen door shut quietly. Arm in arm they walked down the sidewalk toward the pickup. Politely, he opened the truck’s door for her and helped her into the front seat, where he quickly snapped on the seat belt.

Pointing a small silver pen-like instrument at the seat belt buckle, the pen device flashed once. Yours is a special seat belt and it will not release until I disarm it, he quietly advised her. She was still staring at the little silver pen thing, which he was sliding into an inside jacket pocket. He then snapped her wrist into what looked like a short single handcuff attached to the underside of her seat. Stay still, Barbara, and be quiet, he said softly. Everything will be all right. You’ll see. I promise.

Steven walked casually around the front of the pickup, and Barbara took the opportunity to try the handcuff. It did not budge. Once on the driver’s side, he got in, and they drove slowly down the street, where he only turned on the headlights as they reached the corner.

Barbara studied the truck’s interior. It was plush with what looked like cream-colored leather seats and light tan upholstery. The dash had wood trim. In the consul were two water bottles and some health food bars and a pack of tissues. A CD holder was attached to the back of the driver side visor.

Outside she noted it was nearly dark and it was a cool, almost chilly, fall evening. For most people, it was dinnertime, and there was not one person on the quiet residential street to see them drive away. Barbara glanced at Steven. He gave her a great big smile as he smoothly moved the big pickup into the faster-moving traffic, apparently heading for the interstate.

Barbara had lived in and around Riverton, California, for most of her life. Years ago it had been cow country mixed with orchards. Now it was lots of tract houses and considered an ideal place to live if you worked in Sacramento. A half hour later, they were on I-80 heading east to the California Nevada Line. She did not know what to think, but she quickly understood that people in passing vehicles could not see her because of headlight glare and the truck’s dark window glass.

Barbara decided just to wait and see what would happen and what escape opportunities might open up to her. This man was Steven Turnbolt, but was he the same Steven she had loved enough to say yes when he proposed? As if reading her mind, he reached across the console, smiled happily, and squeezed her hand. Barbara jumped and tried not to pull away, but he felt her reaction.

He looked sad. Kitten, I not going to hurt you. Remember, I’m the one who loved you. She wanted to say something smart like, OK, jerk, you were also the one who walked away, but she remained quiet simply because she did not know anything about his state of mind. One thing she knew for sure, she needed to get close enough to him to take the seat belt control away from him, and that was not going to be easy.

Back at her house and toward the end of the fourth quarter, the football game was going badly for Todd’s team. He was tired of texting his buddies. His beer was warm, and the four onion-and-hot-sauce-covered chili dogs were heavy on his stomach. He belched loudly. Hey, Barb, how about some ice cream?

There was no answer, and he went back to watching the play as a dropped pass suddenly changed the direction of the game. After the game was over, he watched a panel of retired football players, now turned sportscasters, review all the past week’s games and speculate on next week’s shoulds and should-nots. Finally Todd moved out of his recliner but only because he needed to pee and he was chilly from a draft coming from somewhere. Shit, he muttered. Just where was his ice cream?

Todd supposed Barbara had gone to bed. She did that a lot lately, and it was not because she wanted sex either. Sex came when the clock or the calendar or her temperature said it should. In the kitchen he noticed the pile of slightly gooey cheese slices on top of the wilted salad as well as cheese scattered all over the countertop. He might fault Barb about their love life but never about her housekeeping. This was strange.

The mess on the countertop had been there for a while from the looks of the lettuce and the cheese. That was not like her. Todd thought through the beer haze and wondered if something might be wrong. Maybe she was ill. On his way to the stairs leading to the second floor and their bedroom, he discovered the front door was open.

Todd turned on the exterior light and stepped outside. The streetlights were on, and warm light poured from the windows of some of the neighbors’ homes. Other homes were already dark. After all, it was a work and school night. Except for a woof from a faraway dog, the street was quiet. Todd frowned.

Back inside he made his way upstairs and discovered the master bedroom was empty, the bed still neatly made from this morning. Their bathroom was dark and empty, and there was no smell of soap or bedtime lotion. Barbara was not in either of the smaller bedrooms. Returning downstairs, he determined that she was not in the laundry room or the garage either. Both her car and his truck were parked, as they should be.

Back inside the kitchen, he saw that her handbag, along with her cell phone, was on the center island. She would go nowhere far without either, he reasoned. Maybe she was in the backyard. Barb often sat on the patio in the evening. Todd had wondered if she did it to spite him because of the argument over the patio furniture.

Last spring he had taken her to the upscale outdoor-furniture store and showed her the twelve-piece patio set he was intending to buy. She agreed that it was beautiful, that it was well built, and that it would look good in their yard. Before he could point out that all the corners were rounded and therefore safe for small children, she had drawn him aside and quietly reminded him that they could not put any more purchases on any of the credit cards. When the time came, they would be buying baby furniture.

Todd turned on all of the yard lights. He saw nothing unusual. Outside he walked around the side of the house next to the garage. This was the reason he bought the damned house in the first palace. The side yard had room to park a boat, a good-sized boat. Now, with Barbara’s desire for a baby, the boat and/or an RV had gone the way of the patio furniture. He felt a slight bubble of anger, but it was replaced with a new feeling of worry. Barbara was not a mean, spiteful person. She wouldn’t just take off.

Once again in the kitchen, he called out, Barb? Barb? Barbara? Todd received no reply. Reluctantly he called several of the neighbors. He tried to sound casual. No, Barbara was not at their house, or no, they had not seen Barbara since last week.

As much as he hated to, he called the neighbor behind their house. Ray Howard and Todd had not gotten along ever since Todd had knocked a hardball through the Howards’ garage window. Hell! Todd paid for the window, and he had apologized. So maybe he shouldn’t have been batting a hardball in the residential backyard, but just the same, Howard had been a dickhead about the whole thing.

As Todd expected, Howard was unpleasant tonight also. After saying they had not seen Barbara, he muttered something about Todd losing his wife and then hung up laughing. Todd studied the salad mess on the countertop. Finally he called the police department. They would straighten things out. He felt sure.

He was wrong. A missing person was not missing for forty-eight hours, especially when there were no signs of violence and the person supposed to be missing was an adult with no history of medical or mental problems. The clerk or officer or detective or whoever the hell he had talked to had been nice enough, but not until Wednesday would they allow him to file a missing person report.

Todd cleaned up the salad mess, left the front porch light on and the door unlocked, and went to bed. He was still awake at 1:30 but finally drifted off to sleep shortly after that. When the alarm went off at 5:30 AM, he felt like hell. Todd fixed his breakfast, made his lunch, and in doing so discovered that except for the refrigerator and the cupboard, where Barbara kept his snacks, he didn’t know his way around his own kitchen.

He was late arriving for work and immediately went to explain to his supervisor that the reason he was late was that he couldn’t find his wife. In irritation, the supervisor rolled a pencil back and forth on this desk and then sat up straight so suddenly that it startled Todd. "Do you actually think I am going to believe some cock-and-bull story like that? You drank too much last night and couldn’t get it together this morning. Don’t blame this morning on your wife. You’re about to get fired, Finley, and I wouldn’t be late again if I were you. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if your