Chapter Thirty-two
Janelle
woke at noon on Saturday and stretched, smiling at the sweet memories of eating
at the diner with Ben in the early morning hours. They had talked and laughed
together, and he seemed to really care about her.
It was almost worth getting kidnapped.
But he didn’t kiss her goodnight. Unfortunately. He looked
like he wanted to…
She padded down to the kitchen in her slippers and baby
doll pajamas.
“There you are!”
She jumped at her dad’s voice. He sat at the kitchen
table, a bowl of soup in front of him.
“Dad! When did you get home?” She grabbed his trench coat
from a kitchen chair and threw it around her shoulders. If she had known he was
in the house, she would have put on her bathrobe.
The vein in his temple throbbed. “My plane landed in St.
Louis about seven this morning, and you know I can’t snooze on a plane. I haven’t
slept all night.”
“You do look rather rumpled.” She tried not to smile at
his salt and pepper hair sticking out at odd angles, or his wrinkled shirt and
tie. Even his glasses had slid down from the bridge of his nose.
“I called Mike Horton to see if anything interesting
happened in the criminal arena while I was gone.”
Uh oh. She bit
her lower lip.
His dark eyes stared at her. “I go out of town for three
days, and you get kidnapped!” He dropped his spoon onto the table. “Sherry was beside herself with worry.”
“How did Sherry know about it?”
“I called her after I talked to Sheriff Horton. Wanted to
see if she knew any info, since you were taking your sweet old time getting out
of bed.”
Janelle took a seat at the table. “I didn’t get home until
two in the morning, Dad.”
“Two o’clock?” The vein throbbed. “Horton said you left
Belleview around eleven.”
“Ben Thorne took me out to eat. Those guys kidnapped me
right before supper, so—”
“You could have been killed.” He hit his fist on the table,
making the salt shaker jump. “You need to be more aware of your surroundings,
Janelle. When you go outside, glance around to make sure no one is tailing you.
Always look in the backseat of your car before you get in.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know all that, Dad, but they just
grabbed me. Besides, they weren’t really dangerous men. They only wanted their
money.”
“All criminals are dangerous. Here I thought you had a
nice, safe job at a lingerie company. Now I’m thinking you should quit and find
another one.”
“Quit my job?” Just when things were going well with Ben?
“It’s a good place to work. I don’t think anything else will happen.”
“You don’t know that. When I talked to Horton, I found out
all kinds of things are going on there.”
“What do you mean?”
He stood and paced the floor, just like he did when he
reviewed clues in a murder case. “Horton said the CEO of Thorne’s was murdered
about four weeks ago. I hadn’t heard about it because that was the weekend you
graduated from college.”
“Yes, and I…I was glad we could visit Aunt Hazel in
Chicago for a few days after graduation since—”
“Nellie!” He stopped and spread out his hands. “Why didn’t
you tell me they had an unsolved murder where you worked? I could have had that
case wrapped up by now.”
“It’s not an easy situation, Dad.”
“No case is easy. The sheriff told me everything—the
argument with Howard Chapman, the smell of perfume, the locked door. But I’m
sure I can figure it out.”
Standing, Janelle stomped to the counter and grabbed the
coffeepot. This is her case. “Sheriff Horton did a good job
investigating. If he can’t figure out who the murderer is, no one can.”
“That’s not true, and you know it.” Dad strode to where
she stood. He was only three inches taller than her, but he was hefty. “Like
I’ve always told you, the clues are right under your fingertips.”
She poured water in the pot. “One clue is missing. How did
the murderer leave Jed Thorne’s office after he killed him?”
“There has to be a way.” Dad folded his arms. “Maybe I’ll
run over there and have a look-see.”
“No!” She turned to face him. “I want to crack this case.
Ben and I—”
“You!” Dad shook his finger at her. “You will do no such
thing! Trying to investigate a murder is far too dangerous for a young woman.”
“Especially your daughter.” She huffed out a breath as she
measured coffee in the filter, spilling half of it on the counter. “But I want
to work in your company someday. I love figuring out clues. This case will give
me some hours of investigation so I can get my license.” She glanced at her
dad. “I’m keeping track.”
“Forget it, Nellie. I’ve told you before, being an
investigator is a man’s job. I don’t want you to get involved.”
The doorbell rang.
Janelle gasped. “I’m not dressed!” Still wearing Dad’s
trench coat, she ran up the stairs and into her bedroom. She lingered just
inside the door and peeked out.
Dad opened the front door. Two men in suits stood outside,
although Janelle could only see them from the waist down. One man held a
camera.
“Good afternoon, sir. Am I speaking with Mr. George Weaver
of Weaver Investigation Services?”
“That’s me.” Dad paused. “Do you have a case you need to
solve?”
“Nothing like that, sir. We’re from the Greenvale Gazette, and we’d like to
interview Miss Janelle Weaver. We understand she was kidnapped last evening,
and we want to hear her story.”
Janelle drew in a quick breath. Reporters!
“I’m sorry. My daughter is not available for comment.”
What? Closing
the door, Janelle dashed to her closet, grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt.
Within one minute she was dressed. She ran down the stairs but the front door
was closed. Dad stared out the window.
“Dad! I want to talk to those men.”
“Forget it, Nellie.” He glanced at her, and then looked
down at her toes. “Now who looks rumpled? You don’t even have shoes on.”
Janelle tried to exert patience. “Dad, I can give those
reporters my side of the story.”
He shook his head. “If we refuse to talk to them, they’ll
drop it and pick up something else. I’ve seen that happen before. The fewer
people who know about the kidnapping, the better.”
She huffed as she tramped back upstairs. Her father had
been running her life since she was born!
* * *
He sounds like an unlikable character.
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