Chapter 2

 

24 Hours 32 Minutes

 

Wednesday 10:54 a.m.

 

When we arrive at B. J.’s Corner Brew, I notice the cafe has a distinct coffeehouse vibe with a free-spirited, boho-style decor. Lots of booths and tables are available for patrons to sit at. The bright patterned tablecloths draping the tables mix well with the gold, earth-tone sofas and soft chairs scattered about. Macrame wall hangings and art of different cultures add decorative character to the walls.

The fragrant aroma of brewed coffee and fresh-baked pastries drifting through the air arouses my senses. A subtle hint of incense mixes with the other aromatic fragrances, likely lingering from the evening crowd. It’s the sort of place you’d expect to find in South Boston, not downtown.

Detective Benson selects a booth in the back, away from the crowd. After he takes my coat and drapes it over the back of the seat, he scoots into the booth opposite me as I remove my hat and gloves.

I have to say he chose well. This cafe is perfect for unwinding after a tough day. The atmosphere is very relaxed and cozy. Maybe I’ll bring Nick one evening. It might be fun to listen to some singers and poets while sipping a warm drink with him. We’ve had little time together since he travels so much. We didn’t even get Thanksgiving Day together, just a fifteen-minute video call.

Nick’s gone a lot now that he’s the project manager of excavation sites. All his assignments are for extended periods in other states or other countries. It’s hard dating an archeologist since they’re constantly moving from one dig to another. At least, that’s been my experience. Our only contact in the past eight months has been phone calls and a rare visit home.

We were very close when we first started seeing each other. Nick wasn’t gone as much, and we reveled in each other’s company. Sighing, I fiddle with the bracelet he gave me. I know I have to accept that things have changed. Even though I wish he were here with me, that may not be what he wants now. Nick’s job is important to him, and I understand. It just seems like I’m not anymore.

“Any special coffee you’d like, Miss Preston?” The detective slips off his jacket and lays his hat on his gloves next to him.

Lost in my thoughts, I only hear part of the detective’s question. I’m surprised to see the server, a dark-haired, attractive woman in her thirties sporting tight jeans and a lavender turtleneck, standing beside the table. I didn’t notice her when she walked up.

“Um, I’ll have a latte—extra espresso, please.”

“And you, detective?” Gazing into Detective Benson’s eyes, she moistens her lips, licking them with her tongue. Acting as though she can’t hear over the noise, she inches a little closer to him, leans down, and all but kisses him as she takes his order.

Judging by the way he’s squirming, there’s no doubt the server, Lisa, by her name tag, made an indelible impression on the detective. Enthralled by the flirtatious behavior, I watch for his response, and, as I expect, he grins and gives her a wink. This silver-haired gentleman is turning out to be quite the lady’s man.

“I’ll just have black coffee today, Lisa. No frills.”

I wonder if this is a regular flirtation or a concealed romance. Not my business, though. Exhausted and depressed, I look down at my hands folded on the table and get lost in the intricate pattern on the tablecloth.

Detective Benson notices the solemn look on my face. “I bet you haven’t had a bite to eat today. Would you like a sandwich or a cup of chowder?”

Searching the menu, I find nothing appetizing. I shake my head and mumble, “No, thank you. I don’t think I could eat a bite.”

Ignoring what I say, the detective glances at Lisa. “How ‘bout bringing us two of your lunch chowders?”

“You got it.” Lisa jots the order on the pad. “Be right back.” She smiles and walks away, hips swaying.

As she moves out of view, the detective looks at me across the table. His face softens as though he’s gazing at a wounded kitten. Compassionately, he lays a single hand on mine, pats it, and smiles.

“It’ll be alright, ya know.” His voice is soft and low, almost a whisper.

Although I want to cry, I force a tight-lipped smile and hold my tears inside. I’m an emotional wreck. Maybe it’s because I banged my head on the ice or the trauma of the kidnapper overpowering me yesterday. It’s made me feel weak. Perhaps it’s because I’m also a victim, just not in the same way as the woman. I’m not a ‘needy’ person. Most of the time, I can handle anything thrown at me. But‌ right now, I feel so fragile, so alone. And I am—except for the detective.

My parents are planning to fly up from Jacksonville on Saturday. They’re concerned about my well-being. I’m hoping the police will find the woman before they get on the plane, so maybe they won’t come. I’m just not up to the whole family thing right now. As much as I love them, it’ll make it harder on me if they come. All the crying and pressure to act like I’m fine in front of them is more than I’m up for. I can get through these feelings, even if I do it alone—it’ll just take me a little time.

My friends would be there for me, but I don’t want them to worry, so I haven’t called or returned their calls. Divorced with two children, Mickie has her hands full, and I wouldn’t want to burden her with my problems. Alana and I have been friends since we started working together two years ago. I could call her, but I don’t want anyone at work involved in my private business. She’s trustworthy, but you never know when something might slip, not that the people at work won’t find out eventually.

And there’s Galvin—my very best friend. Last year, he became the concertmaster when he moved to the first violinist chair with the symphony. He’s such a skilled musician and a wonderful person. He brings beautiful music to my life, not only with the music he plays but with his gentle soul. We’ve known each other since college and have shared many fun times and long conversations over the years. Right now, he spends most of his time at the symphony. I don’t want to get him involved in something like this.

I always assume the role of comforter and protector, especially with my family and friends. And, judging by my reaction to the kidnapping, with strangers on the street, too. Sometimes, I just want someone to care for me and be my protector, but I’m not sure I can let my guard down long enough for that to happen.

If only I were more like Nick. He’s an adventurer, out to see the world. His focus is on himself, his wants, and his needs. Having fun and being spontaneous can be exciting, but I can’t just think about what I want all the time. Nick’s selfish and not as compassionate as I would like. He’s fun to be with, but I wouldn’t want to spend my life with someone like him.

I don’t want to see other countries the way Nick does. Dad was in the military and was stationed all over the world. We moved a lot when I was growing up, about every couple of years. The longest we stayed in one spot was four years in Hawaii. I loved it there. Maybe I should go back to Honolulu and set up my practice. I’m not sure I want to stay in Boston anymore, not after this.

Detective Benson sits, arms folded on the table, watching me, studying me, not saying a word. Lost in my thoughts, I notice the detective seems lost in his, too. However, judging by his intense gaze, I’m his subject. I wonder what he’s thinking? We’re both drawn back to the present as Lisa places our order on the table.

“Just let me know if you need anything else,” she says, smiling at the detective.

“This is perfect, Lisa. Thanks,” the detective replies. When she walks away, his eyes follow her across the room until she disappears into the kitchen.

Only then does he return his attention to me.

Detective Benson prepares his chowder, filling it with crackers and pepper, glancing up at me every few minutes. He blows on his chowder to cool it, then, eyeing me, takes his first bite.

“How you feelin’ today, Miss Preston? How’s your head?” he asks between spoonfuls.

“It’s a little sore. Guess I’m not as hard-headed as people think.” I chuckle, knowing how cliche it sounds. After stirring my chowder, I take a small bite. My brows squinch as I think about the kidnapping I witnessed. “I’m just afraid for that woman. I don’t think I’ve been much help in finding her.”

Pushing the chowder out of his way, the detective leans forward in his seat and props his folded arms on the table. “Miss Preston… Ivy, it’s been over twenty-four hours, and so far, no one has reported a woman missing. Normally, someone would have discovered the person was gone by now and contacted the police.”

My mind races, jumping from thought to thought, trying to grasp his implication. Does he doubt me, too? The one person I thought was on my side.

Shaking my head, confused, I ask, “What does that mean? That the woman’s just hanging out somewhere with the guy who took her? That she’s not missing? I know what I saw!”

“No, no, not at all! I don’t doubt you saw someone kidnapped.” Detective Benson takes a deep breath, leans back in his seat, and presses his lips together. Hesitating, he chooses his words carefully. “It’s just that… without a victim, we can’t put someone’s face on the news and call him a suspected kidnapper. Not yet, anyway,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

What the detective says makes sense. He sounds like he still believes me, but I’m not sure. I breathe through pursed lips and try to calm my thoughts. I have so many questions flying through my mind.

“So, what happens now? The FBI gets involved in kidnapping cases, right? What do they think? Are they working on the case yet? Why haven’t they interviewed me?” Launching an avalanche of questions, I give the detective no time to answer.

Despite all my quizzing, Detective Benson remains calm and unshaken. He takes his last bite of chowder and leans back. “Well‌,” he replies, dabbing his napkin to his mouth. “I spoke with the FBI, but with no report of a missing person yet, that makes it a little more complicated.” He squints his eyes and uses his hand, demonstrating ‘a little’ with his fingers.

My shoulders drop as my spirit falls, and I stare at the pattern on the table. I’m so disheartened and frustrated, almost to the point of giving up. But I can’t give up, and I know it. A woman’s life is at stake, and as far as I know, I’m the only one who saw her get taken.

Noticing how upset I am, the detective leans over the table. “Finding missing people is my area of expertise, you know. I’m no rookie.” He smiles. “But the FBI is available to us should we need them.”

Detective Benson pauses, allowing me time to process all he’s saying. He relaxes, resting his arms on the table, and tilts his head. “I thought we might go back to the alley where you saw the kidnapping, just to see if something else might come to you.” The detective leans back against the booth, watching me closely.

The thought of returning to that place and reliving the event makes my stomach flip. I toss the idea around in my head for a few minutes while I finish my coffee.

“When did you want to go? I have an appointment with Holly Sampler at two.”

The detective rubs his chin, mulling over the options. “I’ll let Holly know you’ll be late. I think it’s more important that we get back to the scene before much more time goes by while things are still kinda fresh in your mind.”

Hesitating, I agree. “Okay, we can go back there, but I’m not sure it’ll help. I told you everything I saw. I don’t know what good it’ll do.” I push the half-eaten bowl of chowder away. Eating is the last thing on my mind.

“Well,” he says, getting up from the booth. “You just never know what little detail might pop into your head when you return to the crime scene.”

Detective Benson smiles as he downs his last bit of coffee and places a twenty on the table for the meal and another ten for Lisa.