Chapter 7: The Clue at the Car Lot

Susan, as it turned out, was not around when Frank and Nancy arrived home.  She’d gone down the street to play with a friend.  When she finally returned, around five thirty, she didn’t remember much.

“One of the books had a bunch of vehicles on the cover,” she said.  “I saw a helicopter, and a blimp!  I don’t know what it was called, though.”

The next step, then, was to call the Norman library.  However, Frank and Nancy didn’t have time for that right now.  They had to get ready to go to the game.  “We’ll call them tomorrow,” Frank promised.  “First thing in the morning.”

The 89er game was everything the kids could have asked for.  Clayton Kershaw, the multiple-time Cy Young Award winner, was rehabbing for Oklahoma City, and he pitched great—five innings, one run, eight strikeouts—a typical Kershaw outing.  It would have been an easy victory—if it weren’t for a man named Jake Kalish.  A 32^nd round draft pick by the Kansas City Royals, not a huge prospect in the organization, Kalish nonetheless managed to strike out eight batters himself—in seven innings—all without allowing a run.  The Omaha Storm Chasers beat the 89ers—a disappointment to the home fans, but Frank and Nancy still came away from the ballpark amazed at what they’d seen.

“Jake Kalish beats Clayton Kershaw?” Frank said.  “No one could have predicted that!”

They were at the Burger King off of Interstate 240, not too terribly far from the ballpark.  Since concessions at baseball games cost so much, Mr. Anderson had trained his kids to either eat before or wait until afterwards—except for drinks on abnormally hot days, or cotton candy as a treat.  This Burger King was a favorite stop for the Andersons, and even though it wasn’t right by the ballpark, they’d gone there anyway.  Taking the Interstates at night, it had only been a ten-minute drive.

“That’s the beauty of baseball,” Mr. Anderson said.  “It is so unpredictable.  The worst team in the world can play the best team and beat them, any given day.  Not every given day, but any given day.  In over 100 games, there’s a chance for anything to happen.”

“I wouldn’t have believed he could do it if I hadn’t seen it,” Nancy said.  “Before today, I didn’t even know Kalish existed!”

“He doesn’t,” said Frank.  “Figment of your imagination.  You’ve heard hitters can’t see the ball when a good pitcher throws it.  Well, today, they couldn’t even see the pitcher!”

Nancy narrowed her eyes.  “If you expected me to fall for that one, you’ve got to try harder.”

“Kalish exists, alright,” Mr. Anderson said, “but baseball does have its imaginary objects, as Kenneth Jenkins found out the hard way.”

“Kenneth Jenkins?” Frank said.  “Who was he?”

“The world will never know,” said Mr. Anderson.  “In 1958, he was signed by the Baltimore Orioles.  They were so excited about him, they assigned him to the Paris Orioles of the Sooner State League.”

“I thought the league folded after 1957,” Nancy said.

“It did,” replied Mr. Anderson, grinning.

“Then how could they assign him to the team in 1958?”

“They couldn’t,” said Mr. Anderson.  “That’s what the ex-GM had to tell them, when he got the guy’s contract in the mail.  Poor Jenkins never played for any affiliate after that.”

“Assigned to a team that didn’t exist,” Frank said, marveling.  “Reminds me of that 1994 Chicago Cubs schedule you gave me, Dad.  The one that has all the games which were cancelled because of the strike—”

“Your grandparents had gotten me tickets to one against the Cardinals!” Mr. Anderson said.  “Boy, was I sore!  Of course, the way the Cubs were playing that year, they probably would’ve lost anyway—though, come to think of it, the Cardinals weren’t much better—”

“Speaking of things that never existed,” said Nancy, “I learned that Alfred Hitchcock’s first movie ever directed was supposed to be a film from 1922 called Number 13.  He had some scenes filmed before he ran out of money, and the project was never finished.  In other words, some actors starred in a film that never existed!”

“That must be disappointing,” said Frank.  “Of course, I don’t know if I’d have wanted to watch it, anyway.  Those silent films are hard to follow.”

“They’re better when they’ve got music with them,” Mr. Anderson pointed out.  “Remember that time we saw the organist accompany Buster Keaton’s The Cameraman with a theater organ—”

“That was great,” said Frank.  “The sound effects were spot on.  I didn’t realize they could make all those siren and whistle noises with the organ.  Speaking of whistles and things that didn’t exist, that reminds me of the Santa Fe-Southern Pacific Railroad.  The Santa Fe and the Southern Pacific were so certain that they would merge in the 1980s, they started painting their engines with an SFSP design.  Then, the Interstate Commerce Commission denied the merger, leaving the engines painted in the colors of a railroad that never existed to begin with.”

“And yet, it did,” said Nancy.  “At least, part of it did—the paint scheme.  It’s—it’s—well, it’s strange.”

“Strange with a capital S,” agreed Mr. Anderson.  “There’s no better word for it—oh, hang on a second,” he said, as his cellphone rang.  “It’s—oh!”  Quickly, he answered the phone.

“Hi, Chief!”

“Joe?” Chief Jennings was the most important man in the Oklahoma City Police Department.  He didn’t call you while he was working unless it was serious.

“Can you get back to the office at once?” he said, in that deep, no-nonsense, military-general-style voice of his.  “We need you on a raid.”

“A raid?” said Mr. Anderson.  “Chief, I’m off duty—”

“I know that,” said Jennings, “but it’s the Harcourt gang.  You remember them—”

“Oh, those guys,” Mr. Anderson nodded.  “I see what you mean.  You want every officer there?”

“Not every officer,” said Chief Jennings, “but all the ones I know I can count on—you fall into that category, of course.  This’ll pay overtime.”

“Well…” Mr. Anderson stole a glance at his kids.  “I won’t—”

“We’ll have the usual guys on it—we just need you for backup.”

“Where is it?” Mr. Anderson asked.

“The old Hudson plant,” said Jennings.

“So that’s where they were,” muttered Mr. Anderson.  “Yes, I can make it.  Glad to help!”

“Thanks, Joe!  I’ll see you soon!” Chief Jennings hung up without waiting for a reply.  Mr. Anderson pulled the phone away from his ear, shook his head, and shoved it back in his pocket.  Then, he picked up his hat off the table.

“Got to go back to work?” Frank asked.

“Yeah, it’s a case we’ve been working on for a while,” said Mr. Anderson, reaching for his keys.  “A gang we’ve been looking for is holed up at the old Hudson plant, and they want me to help out on the raid.  I won’t be breaking in the building myself—I’ll just be in the background to stop anyone who looks like they’re getting away.  My part should be over in about an hour.  Do you two mind waiting here while I go?”

Nancy frowned.  “Can’t you take us with you?”

Mr. Anderson shook his head.  “I would, sweetheart, but they might have me take someone to jail, and you wouldn’t—”

“No, we certainly wouldn’t want to share the backseat.”  Frank grinned at his dad.  “Don’t worry!  I’ll keep Nancy out of trouble for you.”

“It’s not her I’m worried about,” Mr. Anderson almost got the words out without losing a straight face.  “Stay in the building at all times, understand?”

“We will,” promised Frank.

“Unless it’s an emergency,” Nancy added.

Their father gave both his kids a hug, then headed out.  Less than thirty seconds later, the lights on his police car came on—including the flashers.  Soon, the squad car was whizzing out of sight—headed for action.

All at once, Frank and Nancy felt very lonely.

They weren’t the only ones at the restaurant, of course.  There was the staff—two sleepy-eyed clerks, the manager, and a cook—all of whom looked like they’d rather be home in bed, if you glanced carefully at their faces.  A rough-looking character in a fluorescent green shirt with ripped-off sleeves was arguing with a friend about how much to pay for a deck.  Finally, an elderly couple, both of whom were several pounds overweight (to put it mildly) were slowly chewing their Whoppers over on the other side of the restaurant.

The little fast food building, freshly renovated, sat in the middle of a bunch of mostly worn-out looking buildings along the May Avenue corridor.  Some restaurant called Perry’s stood across the street, and a Braum’s was visible on the next block.  Directly across the road from the Burger King were two sleazy-looking motels—a gas station and a used car dealer were on the north side of the Burger King.  Powerful glares from streetlights lit some areas but darkened others by the shadows they created, and the cars speeding by on 240 whined mournfully in the gloom.

“Cheery part of town, isn’t it?” Nancy commented.

Frank grinned.  “This is kind of fun, actually.  How often do we get to spend the night in Oklahoma City by ourselves?”

“I can’t remember the last time it happened—unless you count the time we broke out of that old school building,” Nancy said, referring to their first adventure.

“Yes,” agreed Frank, “but we were being chased that time.  Right now, we’re just sitting here, staring out the window at the other businesses.  I wonder how much those cars go for,” he said, staring out at the car lot.

Nancy glanced up at the sign for it, one of the bulbs for which had burned out.  “BB’s—only, it looks like there’s a space—”

“B B’s,” mused Frank.  “Bab’s, Beb’s, Bib’s, Bob’s—oh, no, don’t tell me—”

Nancy grinned at her brother.  “Hi, this is Bob, from Bob’s Auto Sales,” she chirruped, ducking the napkin Frank tossed her way (he didn’t have any worse ammo).

“I always wondered where those commercials were filmed,” said Frank.

“You think he’s there now?” Nancy asked.

“I doubt it,” said Frank.  “He’s probably got a house somewhere.  I wonder what he’d sound like if we met him off screen.”

“Want to find out?” Nancy said.

“Not particularly,” said Frank.  “Funny.  The cars always look newer on TV than they do in person.  Check out that one there—the Ford Taurus.”

“The one with its back to us?” Nancy asked.

“Correct,” said Frank.  “See those curvy, flat headlights?  That means it’s from the late nineties.”

“How do you know so much about cars?” Nancy asked, staring at the vehicle.

“I remember what I read.  Check out the Mustang next to it.  That fluorescent green looks nice, but it doesn’t hide those dents in the body.  I’d be ashamed to sell it if I was the car dealer.”

“I can’t see them that well, though,” Nancy said.  “But you’re right, it is a poor choice for display.  Especially with that bright color.  You barely notice that car next to it—that Ford—”

“It’s a Mercury, silly,” Frank said.  “Mercury Grand Marquis.  See those lights?  It’s the same year as the one Stephanie was driving when she was kidnapped.”

“Oh, I see,” said Nancy.  “You’re right, it does look like…”  Her voice trailed off, and she gazed at the car.  Then, she looked at her brother.  “Frank, you don’t think it’s—”

“It’s what?” Frank asked.

“Stephanie’s.  Do you think that’s hers?”

“Don’t be silly, Nancy.  Stephanie’s was maroon—this one’s white.  It probably used to be a police car…” Frank’s voice trailed off.  “Come to think of it,” he said, “they never use Mercuries as police cars.”

“It could be hers with a new coat of paint.”

“That would be a quick turnaround, though,” said Frank.  “They only had two days to do the job.”

Nancy nodded.  “I guess you’re right.  Plus, there are a lot of car dealerships in Oklahoma City.  What are the chances we’d see the right one-if it was even taken there?”

“One in a thousand,” said Frank.  “Besides, the Mercury Grand Marquis is strangely common in Oklahoma.  It’s very frequent that you see those on the road—though Stephanie’s is an older one.  Those don’t turn up as much.  Hmm, I wonder—”  He stared over at the car.

“You think it might be?” Nancy asked, looking at him.  “The one we’re looking for?”

“It—it—it seems too easy,” Frank said.  Then, he glanced at his watch.  “Dad’s only been gone about five minutes.  That probably gives us another fifty or so.  Tell you what, why don’t we go over and check it out.”

“Go check it out?” said Nancy.  “But Frank!  Dad said to stay put here, unless—”

“Unless there was an emergency,” said Frank, “and right now, this is an emergency.  Mercuries from that year aren’t very common.  If that is Stephanie’s car, whoever brought it there knows something about her whereabouts, and it’ll help us rescue her.  If it’s not,” Frank glanced at his watch again, “we’ll be back in five minutes.”

“Won’t Bob be suspicious?” Nancy asked, standing up.

“How could he be?” Frank asked, grabbing his trash.  As he dumped it in the nearest can, he said, “Bob’s probably at home sleeping right now.  He’ll never notice.”

Nancy shrugged.  “Well, it’s worth a try, I guess…”

The two detectives stepped out into the night.  Even though it was still summer, the temperature had dropped dramatically.  The night was cool to the point that the breeze caused Nancy to shiver.  Light from the streetlights cast strange shadows as the two walked, making Frank look ten feet tall and Nancy twelve.  Frank noticed this.

“Hey, no fair!” he said.  “I’m supposed to be the taller one.”

“What—oh, the shadow,” Nancy said.

“‘Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men,’” Frank quipped, in his best dramatic voice.  “‘The Shadow knows!’—sorry, old radio reference.”

“There’s a reason you never appeared on any of those shows,” Nancy said.

“I wasn’t born yet!”

“Besides that, I mean.”

The car stood idly by in the middle of the lot.  “$2K,” read the sign in the driver’s window, in big yellow letters.  A similar one graced the front window.  Frank wandered around the vehicle, studying it carefully in the dim glow from the streetlights that reflected off of it.

“Not a scratch on it,” he said.  “Perfect coat of paint.”

“I guess that means Bob takes good care of his cars,” Nancy said.

“It means this car was painted recently,” said Frank.  “No vehicle could hold up that long with its original coat and look this nice.  Not with 123,496 miles on it.”  He pointed to a paper in the window.

“How many did Stephanie’s have?” Nancy asked.

“I’m not sure,” said Frank, looking around.  “No license plate, of course.”

“If it was hers, it ought to have gray upholstery,” Nancy commented, looking through the window.  “No, this car has brown.”

“They could have changed that,” Frank said.  “They could have changed a lot of things about this car.  If it is hers, unless we could find what they swapped out, it’d be virtually unrecognizable—unless—unless—”

Suddenly, he scampered around to the right side of the car.

“What are you doing?” Nancy asked him.

Frank yanked the handle on the right rear.  A look of surprise came over his face as the door swung open.

“Well, how do you like that?” he said.  “I wasn’t expecting this to be unlocked.”

“Then why did you try it in the first place?” Nancy asked.

“Because, I need to check—ah-ha!”  Frank switched on his penlight and stared at something by the floor.  Just as quickly, he switched it back off, straightened up, and slammed the door.  “You were right, Nancy!  This IS Stephanie’s car!”

“It is?” Nancy said.  “How can you tell?”

“Remember that nickel Louis lost?” Frank said.

“The one that got stuck by the door—wait, you mean—”

“This car has one,” Frank said, “and it didn’t come from the manufacturer.”

He glanced towards the building, sister following his gaze.  The manager’s showroom was a small, cinderblock affair, with a lonely-looking fire door facing this side of the lot.  No lights came through the two square windows on either side of the door.  From all appearances, the place was completely abandoned.

Frank turned to Nancy.

“Get back inside the Burger King and wait for Dad,” he said.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Search the building, if I can.  If it’s locked, I’ll come back and join you.  Otherwise, I’ll see if I can find out what happened to Stephanie.”

“Can’t I look too—”

“No, that’d be a bad idea,” said Frank.  “If Bob should walk in on both of us, there’d be no one to tell Dad where we are.”

“Oh, gotcha,” said Nancy.  “Promise me you’ll be careful!”

“As much as possible,” said Frank.  He watched his sister wander back over the parking lot, not turning his gaze away until she was safely back inside the restaurant.  Then, he turned his eyes on the car dealership.

“Let’s hope there’s a way in,” he muttered to himself.  Resolutely, he started towards the building.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FIREWORKS IN ARKANSAS…

Nancy Anderson was thrilled when her friend Lacy Selke invited her on a trip to visit her great-aunt in Booneville, Arkansas.  Soon, however, she realized her services would be needed on another case.  Aunt Margaret was about to undergo a tough surgery—one that didn’t have a great success rate—which was bound to create trouble!

The three heirs couldn’t stand each other, but that was alright…until the lead started flying.  First a .45, then a .38 was used—but each had the same effect.  With no witnesses to the shooter’s identity, it could have been any of them.  Who was behind the scheme?  Could Nancy Anderson solve the case in time to prevent

MURDER IN THE BOONIES

With a plot as complex as an Agatha Christie tale, you’ll never guess who was responsible!

Available at https://www.amazon.com/Murder-Boonies-Anderson-Family-Mystery/dp/1981119779/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1517226138&sr=8-1 in print and on Kindle!

Chapter 6: The Stolen Library Books

Ding-a-ling-a-ling!  Ding-a-ling-a-ling!

Nancy tried to ignore the phone as she practiced the piano.  That run of sixteenth-note thirds in the Chopin piece she was playing wasn’t going to learn itself—she was determined to have it worked out by the end of the day.  Right now, she was working on them slowly, cutting the bottom note short as she tried to play connect the top notes in the right hand.  The last thing she wanted was to be interrupted, and so she played on, hoping someone else would answer the phone.

Ding-a-ling-a-ling!  Ding-a-ling-a-ling!

Angrily, she glanced up the stairs.  Where was everybody?

Ding-a-ling-a-ling!  Ding-a-ling-a-ling!

Nancy stopped playing.  “Could someone answer the phone?” she yelled.

Ding-a-ling-a-ling!  Ding-a-ling-a-ling!

“I’ll get it!” Susan yelled.

“That’s better.”  Nancy started playing again, but she only played three notes before stopping, a look of horror on her face.  Wait a second…Susan…answering the phone?  That wasn’t allowed in the Anderson household, for reasons which—well, which would take too long to go into here.

Quickly, Nancy bolted from the bench and raced to the phone, on an end table next to the sofa.  “Hello?” she said, picking it up.  She relaxed as a voice other than her sister’s came through on the other end.

“Nancy?”  It was Ashley Dale.  “You’ll never guess what just happened!”

“Stephanie came back?” Nancy asked.  Had the notes of the piano not still been ringing in her head, she might have known better.  Ashley was excited, but not for a good reason—as Nancy soon discovered.

“Mom just brought us back from Homeland,”[1] Ashley said.  “When we got home, the front door was ajar, and the lock was smashed up.  Someone broke in!”

Nancy gasped.  “Are they still there?”

“No, no—there were seven of us (counting Mom), so we went through and checked.  Whoever it was left.  We haven’t had a chance to see whether anything was stolen or not—”

“We’ll be right over,” Nancy promised, hanging up the phone.  “Frank?  Frank!”

A door opened upstairs.  “Be ready in a minute,” Frank yelled.

“Alright,” Nancy called back.  Running to the door, she grabbed her shoes to put them on.  As she did so, another thought struck her.

How did Frank know I wanted him to get ready for something?  He must have been listening in on his phone—goodness, can we ever have a private conversation around here?

Soon, her brother came charging down the stairs.  Nancy grinned at him, not mentioning his eavesdropping, except for the comment, “I guess I don’t need to fill you in on what happened.”

“Ashley can do that soon enough,” Frank said.  “Let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took the Andersons a few minutes to get to the Dale household.  By the time they arrived, the family had other visitors—the police.  Officers Kurtz and Muller were there, busy getting statements.  They had a lot of statements to get.  Six kids plus one adult takes a while (though Lorraine wasn’t old enough to talk yet, so they didn’t need to interview her).  Ashley, seeing that her friends had shown up, broke away from the group to talk to them.

“Not much seems to be missing,” she said.  “Except for something from our room!  You’ll never guess what it was!”

“The letters,” Nancy said.

“No!” Ashley exclaimed.

“Her clothes?” Frank asked.

“Uh-uh.  Whoever broke in went through the dresser, but nothing’s missing from there.”

“Her music collection?” Nancy asked.

“No.”

“Her mattress?” Frank asked.  Drawing a startled look from Ashley, he said, “Well, you said I’d never guess.  I figured it must be something nobody usually steals.”

“It was just as crazy as that,” said Ashley, “but it wasn’t the mattress.  Try the library books.  That part of her shelf is empty, and there’s no sign of them.”

“Her library books?!” Frank and Nancy exclaimed.

“Who in the world would steal library books?” Nancy asked.

Ashley shrugged.  “Beats me, but someone did it.”

“That has to be the dumbest crook on record,” Nancy said.  “Breaking into a house, only to get books he could easily acquire by placing a hold.”

“I don’t think anyone would be that dumb,” said Frank.  “In a way, this helps us out.  There must have been something in one of those library books—something that’s a clue.”  He glanced at Ashley.  “Do you know what she checked out?”

Ashley shook her head.  “I went with her to the library last time she was there, but I can’t remember any of the titles.  I was hoping you guys might.”

Frank shook his head.  “I remember you pointing out the shelf, but I didn’t pay much attention to the books.”

“Me neither,” said Nancy.  “Maybe Louis will know.  He searched that side of the room.”

“Or, maybe you can figure out what they were by checking your sister’s account,” Frank said.

Ashley shook her head.  “I don’t know her password, and she didn’t write it down.  Stephanie’s got an incredible memory.”

“Oh.  Well, good for her, but that’s tough for us,” Frank said.  “Nothing else was touched?”

“Not a thing,” said Ashley.  She sighed.  “I just hope those crooks don’t come back.”

“I doubt they will,” said Frank.  “You and I had better watch our step though, Nancy.  We don’t want them to pay us a visit—next!”

---

[1] Oklahoma grocery store

Chapter 5: Maybe, Maybe, Maybe

“Hasn’t been seen in two days?” Frank said.  “What happened?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” the voice on the other end said.  “Who are you, first of all?”

Frank quickly introduced himself, and the speaker on the other end did the same.  It was Officer Porter of the Blackwell Police Department—he’d been by the McPherson home to update them on the case.  So far, the Blackwell Police hadn’t made much progress either.

“No trace of the girl, no ransom calls, nothing,” Porter said.  “Seems like she just disappeared into thin air.”

“What does she look like?” Frank asked.

“Oh, well, she was seventeen.  Shoulder-length brown hair, freckled face—”

“That’s the one!” Frank exclaimed.

“Come again?”

Frank quickly explained to the officer about the letter that Stephanie had received the other day, and about the license plate at the card shop.  Porter listened intently, very interested in the information.  As Frank finished his story, the cop asked—

“What time was that?”

“Time?”  Frank thought a moment.  “You know, I don’t think the guy said.  It was Johnny’s Sports Cards and Collectibles in Oklahoma City, though.  You can check with the owner.  He might remember.”

“We’ll do that,” Porter said.  “Brittany was last seen in Blackwell that day around one o’clock, by a customer at the gas station she worked at.  Two hours later, another customer came by.  He said the building was locked, and her car—hold on a second.”

Frank heard muffled voices on the other end—one Porter’s, the other too far from the phone to make out.  Then—

“Yes, her car wasn’t in the parking lot.  If the girl at the card shop was there about two hours later, it probably was her.”

“I’ll bet it was,” said Frank, “but what might have prompted her to come to Oklahoma City?”

“That’s what we’re wondering,” Porter said.  “She didn’t even have her regular car with her that day.  The one she normally drove was stolen a couple weeks before—”

“Stolen?” Frank said.

“Yeah, we’ve been having a slew of auto robberies around here lately.  The one she usually drives is a light blue Toyota Camry—don’t remember the year, but it’s from the days when they had those flat, narrow headlights.  That one was stolen.  The one she was driving when she disappeared was a brown Chrysler Three Hundred.  Both cars had Oklahoma plates—781 JQX for the Camry and 482 DDO for the Chrysler.”

“Hm,” said Frank.  “What about the car belonging to Ernest Wright?”

“That one was stolen two days ago—”

“Yes, I know that,” said Frank.  “What did it look like, though?”

“Oh, that?” Porter asked.  “White Chevrolet Impala.  Five years old.  Body had a lot of scratches, and the car was well overdue for a wash.”

“Do you think whoever stole that one was responsible for stealing Brittany’s car?” Frank asked.  “The Toyota, I mean.”

“It’s possible,” said Officer Porter.  “So far, we’re checking any lead that comes our way.”

 “I see,” said Frank.  Translation, he thought to himself.  They haven’t made any progress yet.  “Interesting.  Well, I hope the card shop clue helps you all out.  If I find out anything more about her disappearance, I’ll be sure to let you know.”  He quickly gave Porter his contact information.  Goodbyes were exchanged, and then both parties hung up.

Stifling a yawn, Porter wandered across the McPherson’s living room, in the direction of the front door.  His shift was almost over, and he was looking forward to a nap.  Suddenly, he straightened as a thought struck him.

I should have told that kid about the other missing girl! he thought to himself.  Oh, well.  It’s not like he’s a detective or anything.

If only Porter had heard of the Andersons…Frank might have picked up a valuable clue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing eventful happened the rest of the day, as far as the case went.  The excitement of the morning melted into a boring afternoon for the Andersons—Frank included, even though he didn’t stop working on the case.  He spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about all that the Andersons had learned, but by the time evening rolled around, he felt no closer to the case than Rhode Island is to Mexico.  After dinner, Frank was totally happy to head downstairs and watch a baseball game with his sister, Nancy.  The Cubs had the day off, so the two had the Rangers-Twins game on.  Both teams were facing off at Globe Life Park, home of the Rangers.

“Here’s the 3-2 pitch to Beltre,” the announcer said.  “Fouled back, high out of play.”

“It’s always a foul on 3-2,” groaned Nancy.  “Why doesn’t he just take a walk?”

“I wouldn’t mess with Beltre’s style,” Frank defended the hitter.  “It’s gotten him 3,000 hits so far.  I just wish I could see what was going on as well as he sees the ball.”

“See what’s going on?” Nancy was confused by Frank’s not-so-clear analogy.  “Going on with what?”

“The case,” said Frank.  “We made so much progress today, and yet, we’re still so far away.  The way I see it, there are four different possibilities, though I may be missing some.”

“The 3-2 pitch to Beltre.  Low, ball four, for a leadoff walk.”

“Possibility number one.  Brittany and Stephanie disappeared independently of each other.  There is absolutely no connection between the disappearances.”

“I doubt that,” Nancy said.  “Why would those men have held us up when we went in the card store that day?”

“Could be it was because they knew a package had been left for Stephanie,” Frank said.  “They knew if anyone other than her tried to pick it up, someone else would be working on the case.”

“Jonathan Lucroy steps up.  He’s batting .253 this year, but his power numbers are down…”

“Uh-uh,” Nancy wasn’t convinced.  “Brittany was worried about something in that letter we got today.  It wasn’t even finished—it was obviously written right after she dropped off the plate.  While it’s technically possible that the disappearances were unrelated, it seems like too much of a coincidence.  I think we’d be wasting our time pursuing that lead.”

“Lucroy swings and misses.  Strike two.  [Kyle] Gibson working quickly for the Twins.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” said Frank.  “Then, the disappearances were probably related.  That leaves us three possibilities.  Brittany disappeared around Oklahoma City, and Stephanie—goodness, we don’t have any idea where she disappeared!”

“We don’t even know that Brittany did disappear in Oklahoma City,” Nancy said.  “We just know that was where she was last seen.”

“Swung on and missed, Lucroy goes down on strikes.”

“Right,” said Frank, “but they were both last seen fairly close to each other.  Norman, Oklahoma City—easily close enough for them to be related.”

“Napoli now the hitter.  He leans in for the pitch—Gibson digs in.  He throws—ooh, that caught Napoli square on the shoulder!  He’s tossed the bat away and is jogging for first base—doesn’t seem to be in any pain…”

“So, it looks like it comes down to what happened to Brittany,” Frank went on.  “Maybe she saw the car get stolen in Blackwell, followed it, took the plate, ran from the thieves, and went all the way to Oklahoma City to hide it.”

“Gibson makes a throw over to first base—Napoli back standing.  I don’t know why he’s worried about the runner—Napoli runs like a hamstrung steer.”

“Why would she go so far, though?” Nancy wondered.

“To make sure it was safe?” Frank said.  “In that case, she might be hiding out with someone she knows in Oklahoma City.  She can’t show herself for fear that she’ll be caught, and Stephanie was kidnapped because the crooks thought she could give them a lead—or, she was intercepted when she was going to meet Brittany.”

“Drew Robinson’s at the plate.  Robinson’s scuffled lately—going to need to work to get that batting average up…”

“Why was the letter cut off, though?” Nancy said.

“Because she was being chased,” Frank said.  “She may have outwitted her pursuers—”

“Or, she might not have,” Nancy said.  “Either way, Stephanie didn’t know where to go.”

“She knew to go somewhere, though,” Frank said.  “She was driving somewhere when she disappeared.  If only we knew where it was.”

“Then we’d have the case solved,” said Nancy.  “I’d say it’s more likely, though, that Brittany followed the car to Oklahoma City.  It’s a bit more central of a location than Blackwell.”

“Why would the thieves bring it here, though?” Frank asked.

“3-0 to Robinson—let’s see if he has the green light here.  Gibson sets, then pitches—called for a strike.  He wasn’t swinging.”

“Maybe they’re connected with the ones in Oklahoma City—you know, the case Dad’s been working on.  Blackwell’s two hours away, but that’s not terribly far.  It could be the same gang.”

“Pretty big one, if it is,” Frank said.

“3-1 to Robinson—swung on and missed that time, strike two. Gibson will be in pretty big trouble here, if he walks Drew.”

“Supposing it was, though,” Nancy said.  “They took the car here, Brittany followed it, and she dropped the license plate off in Oklahoma City because she didn’t get a hold of it until Oklahoma City.  It doesn’t seem likely that she’d drive two hours south, just to hide a license plate belonging to someone she barely knew.”

“Gibson sets—the pitch.  Outside, ball four, and they’re loaded!  Robinson showed good patience that at bat—had to lay off some tough pitches.”

“Yeah, that seems more likely,” Frank said.  “Or, there’s another one.  They disappeared because the thieves wanted to steal their cars.  Brittany may have stumbled across the crooks, but Stephanie might have gone missing because her car was hijacked.  If multiple people were involved, they could have overpowered her and stolen the car that way.”

“And we’ll see if Gallo can put some muscle on one,” the announcer said.  “It’s all or nothing for Joey, who has more home runs than singles this year.”

“Maybe,” said Nancy.  “Only…only, it looks like Stephanie was working on the case.  Remember, we think there was a letter missing from Brittany’s stack.  Presumably, Stephanie had it with her when she went missing.”

“First pitch to Gallo—outside, ball one.  No place to put him, with the bases loaded.”

“That’s right,” said Frank.  “Or, Brittany could have eluded her pursuers and escaped capture, but Stephanie could have been caught looking for her.  Or, Stephanie could have deliberately dropped out of sight, and they might both be free.  Or, both girls could—oh, I don’t know.  It’s too confusing.”

“The pitch by Gibson—ball two to Gallo, and Gibson looks confused.  Those last two pitches were nowhere near the strike zone.  If Joey Gallo’s not swinging at them, then you know they’re bad!”

“I think they were both kidnapped,” Nancy said.  “Brittany went missing, Stephanie went looking for her—came too close—went missing herself.  Both were on to the Blackwell car thefts somehow.  Whether those tie in to the ones Dad investigated or not, we know there’s an Oklahoma City connection.”

“Pitch thrown by Gibson—swung on and missed by Gallo!  He threw a curveball on a hitter’s count, and it fooled Joey completely.  If he can repeat that pitch, he can get out of this inning unscathed.

“There’s not much proof,” Frank said.

“We don’t need to prove anything yet,” Nancy reminded her brother.  “We just need to know which leads to follow up.  Once we find Brittany or Stephanie, we’ll have all the proof we need.”

“Gallo takes ball three.  Full count now.”

“You’re right,” said Frank.  “I don’t know what the next step is, but hopefully, we’ll come up with something.  Maybe there’ll be another break in the case.”

“The 3-2 on the way—fouled out of play, left side.”

“I remember seeing Gallo in Oklahoma City,” commented Nancy, focusing now on the game.  “He’s got more power than Stanton, practically!  Boy, I wish I could go to another 89er game.”

“Dad and I are going tomorrow,” Frank said.

“You are?” Nancy said.  “I thought he was working late?”

“Hit foul again, right side this time.”

“He is—at the game,” Frank grinned.  “Mom’ll drop me off—I’ll say hi to him, then watch the game.  Afterwards, we’re going out to eat.”

“Lucky,” Nancy said.  “I wish I could come too.”

“Kurt Suzuki’s out to talk to Gibson.  Suzuki and Gibson work great together.  They’re always hanging out in between innings, discussing strategy.  I can’t think of a better pitcher-catcher tandem on the Twins than those two.”

Frank pulled a ticket out of his pocket.  “That was the general idea,” he said, passing it to his sister.

She looked at him in surprise. “You mean—”

“We’ve been planning to bring you all week,” Frank said.  “Dad just said to wait until tonight to tell you.  He wanted it to be a surprise!”

“Awesome!” Nancy exclaimed.  “I’ll go find my glove after this half inning.”

“The payoff pitch from Gibson—swung on, hit in the air, deep to left—there’s no doubt about this one folks!  That ball is gone!  Touch ‘em all, Joey Gallo!  He clears the bases with a grand slam, and the Rangers now lead, 7-4!”

Chapter 4: Also Missing...

Nancy really didn’t want to comply with the thug’s command, but she knew better than to argue with a loaded gun.  So did her siblings.  With a twinge of regret, the five of them tromped down the street a little ways, then steered into an alley just wide enough for the garbage truck to come empty the dumpsters.  There, they waited, expecting any minute to be frisked and robbed.

The man who’d been in the store pointed at Frank.  “You, there.  Turn around.”

Frank did as he said, without a word.  He didn’t like turning his back on a loaded gun, but he sincerely doubted that this tough would shoot him.  Frank had never seen the man before—there was nothing he could say or do that would make him that dangerous to the man.

Sure enough, the crook didn’t pull the trigger.  Instead, he walked over and gave Frank a hard smack on the shoulder.

“Oof!”

Frank started to stagger forward, only to be clasped by the other shoulder and whirled around, at which the thug delivered a hard right to the chin!—followed by a kick to his midsection—Frank tumbled down the alley and crashed against a stack of garbage bags, falling out of breath to the ground.  The others gasped.

“Stop looking for Stephanie Dale,” the tough said, in a monotone sort of voice.  “Or next time, some of these girls get hurt too.  Don’t try to follow us, or you’ll get it.”

With that, he and his partner backed out of the alley, then ran off down the street.  Nancy ran straight to her brother.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

“Only my pride,” Frank said, wheezing as he sat up.

Louis was irate.  “Let’s follow them!” he said, but Frank quickly shook his head.

“Not now, Louis.  They’ll be expecting us, and they’ve got guns.  We’ll wait for Zach, then go straight to the police station and tell what happened.  Hopefully, the cops will know who these crooks are, and they can pick them up.”  He glanced at Ashley.

“We did learn something from them, though,” he told her.  “Somebody’s behind your sister’s disappearance.”

Ashley’s face had gone white.  “I was afraid of that,” she said.  “You don’t think they—”

“I don’t know what happened to her,” Frank said, “but we must be on the right track, or they wouldn’t have threatened us.  Maybe that license plate will give us a clue—do you still have it, Ashley?”

The Dale girl nodded, holding up the envelope.  “They didn’t touch it.”

“That’s funny,” said Nancy.  “They had the perfect opportunity to steal it away from you.  They didn’t even try to take the Sandberg card I bought, and that’s valuable—”

“Robbery wasn’t their motive—it must have been intimidation,” said Frank.  “The plate part doesn’t make sense, though.  If they want us to lay off the case, then why leave the plate—although, I suppose they figured we could memorize it easily enough.  It’s only six digits.”

“I don’t think they knew there was a plate in the package,” Nancy said.  “I saw that guy in the store when we arrived.  He left before we opened it.”

“Say, you’re right,” said Frank.  “In that case, he wasn’t interested in it at all—”

“Unless he already knew what was in it,” said Louis.  “Maybe he found out from the girl that lost it, and he was just waiting to see who picked it up.”

The others stared at him.  “Great point, Louis,” said Frank.  “I don’t know if that’s it or not, but it makes more sense than the rest of our ideas.  And if that’s the case—it could mean—”  He broke off as he spied a familiar hot rod coming down the street.  “There’s Zach.  Let’s get in and have him take us to the police station.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oklahoma City was a pretty big place—especially when it came to square miles—but the card store was downtown, so the police station wasn’t far away.  Better yet, Mr. Anderson was at the office when his kids walked in.  He was delighted to see them—less so when he found out why they were there.

“What’d they look like?” he asked, his face grave.  “If there’s one thing I’ve taught you kids, it’s to take descriptions.”

“The one that hit me was about five-eleven, I’d say,” Frank responded.  “Kind of thin, curly blond hair, and dirty teeth, like he smoked or something.  There was a tobacco smell around him.”

“The other one was slightly taller,” Nancy volunteered.  “He wore all black, he was muscular, and he had brown stubble all over his chin.  His hair was straighter than his partners—slick, too, like he used some kind of oil in it.  One of his ears looked like it had been messed up in a fight, and his nose was a little crooked—”

“Those guys,” Mr. Anderson rolled his eyes.

“You know them?” Frank asked, surprised.

“I’ve picked them up a couple times before,” Mr. Anderson said.  “The first time, they had an ‘alibi’—I don’t believe it was real for one minute, but it was good enough to hold up in court.  Next time, we really got the goods on them.  They were supposed to be in McAlester[1] for a year, but they must have gotten out early—good behavior, probably.  The one that hit Frank is Mugs Barnette, and the other one is Slick Jordan.”

“So they’re known crooks,” said Frank.  “Have they ever been involved in kidnapping?”

Mr. Anderson shook his head.  “Small-scale operators, usually for a larger gang.  The worst charge they’d be guilty of is assault.”

“Then they’re probably working for someone bigger,” Ashley said.  She’d already told Mr. Anderson about her sister’s disappearance.  Now, she was wide-eyed with excitement as she asked, “Do they work with anyone specific?”

Mr. Anderson shook his head.  “A few years ago, the gang they were involved in got broken up entirely, but the top men in that are still in jail.  The last couple times, we haven’t been able to associate them with anyone, but that doesn’t mean anything.  They’re too likely to get arrested for any mob boss to reveal his identity when hiring—”

“Joe?” Officer Sellers poked his head in.  “I just got a line on—oh, hi kids!”

“Hello, Officer Sellers!” Frank greeted the man, as did the rest of the kids.  Sellers worked with Mr. Anderson a lot on cases—he was easily Joe’s best friend in the Oklahoma City Police Department.  He’d even helped the Anderson children out on their first case—First Adventure.  Now, he obviously had something important to say.

“Got a line on that plate the kids brought in,” he said.  “Belongs to a Mr. Ernest Wright, but that won’t help us much.  It was reported stolen three days ago.”

“Stolen?” said Mr. Anderson.  “You think it has anything to do with our case?”

“Probably not,” Sellers said.  “The vehicle disappeared in Blackwell.”

“Blackwell!”  The kids exchanged glances.  Brittany McPherson’s hometown!

“Too bad,” said Mr. Anderson.  “We just can’t seem to catch a lead on those car thieves.”

“What car thieves, Dad?” Frank asked.

“Oh, it’s the big case we’ve been working on,” Mr. Anderson responded.  “There’ve been a ton of car robberies in Oklahoma City lately.  Any big city’ll get its share, but the bad part about these vehicles is that they don’t turn up.  None of them have come to light so far.  They just vanish—like that.  At least sixty different ones have disappeared over the past month, and none of the decoy cars we set out as bait have even been touched.”

“None of them?” queried Frank.

“It’s almost as if the thieves know which are which,” Mr. Anderson said.  “Sometimes, we leave the decoys unlocked—deliberately.  Other times, we make sure the security system is visible—some crooks get scared off when a vehicle’s too easy.  Still, they avoid them!  Why, we’ve had cars parked next to decoys get stolen, and our bait doesn’t even get scratched.  It’s almost as if they have a list!”  He sighed.  “We don’t have anything to go on, yet—other than that none of the cars stolen are more than twenty years old.  I was hoping the license plate would be a clue.”

“If the car went missing in Blackwell, though,” said Sellers, “then it’s probably not the same gang.”

“Why did the plate turn up here, though?” Nancy asked.  “Who got it off the car?  Was it Brittany—or was that even her in Oklahoma City?”

“There’s one person that should know that better than anyone else,” Frank said.  “Brittany McPherson.  We’ll call her as soon as we get back.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ashley’s house should have been three minutes from the Main Street exit off the Interstate.  Today, it was more like seven.  First, the light on the Main Street exit was red.  Then, the Interstate Drive light was red.  This caused them to just miss the 24^th Avenue light—a long one—and one of the others had turned a slow shade of crimson.

The Dale girl stared sadly out the window—towards the front of the car, but Nancy guessed her friend’s attention wasn’t on the traffic lights.  She gave her a tap on the shoulder.  “Everything okay?”

Ashley kept looking out the window.  “A couple years ago, we were at Sears, and Caitlyn went missing while we were there.  We looked all over the store for her, and when she didn’t turn up, we were about to call the police.  Fortunately, a security guard found her playing with the mall fountain.  She was only gone about a half hour, but I was so worried about her then—and there was no reason to suspect she’d met with any harm.  Now, with Stephanie missing…” she sighed.  “I just hope she’s alright.”

“If she wasn’t,” Frank observed, “they wouldn’t have threatened us like they did.  The fact that they want us off the case means they think we can find her and learn something from her.”

“Why did she go missing, though?” Ashley said.  “At least, if we’d gotten a ransom call, there’d be a chance that they’d return her.  Why did they kidnap her?  If she knows something about their racket, are they just going to keep her a prisoner for—for—”

“If they’re planning to do that,” said Frank, “then we’ll find her long before they’re ready to be through with their evil scheme.  No criminal is perfect.  They always make some mistake that’ll lead to their capture”

“And then, will she be alright?” said Ashley.  “Are they treating her well?  How’s she feeling?  Oh, I just—”

“Try not to think about it,” Nancy said.  “I know you’ll think about her some, but just remember, you’re doing all you can.  We’re doing all we can, and we’re making progress!  The kidnappers are getting worried!  And Ashley, don’t forget to pray.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing all day?” the Dale girl asked, as the car pulled up in front of her house.  Opening the door, she scrambled out.  “See you,” she said.

Frank stared after her as she walked up the sidewalk to the front door.  “I know how she feels,” he said.  “That time you all were missing in El Reno[2]—it was pretty tough for me then.”

“Are you sure about that?” Nancy asked.  “Be honest.  Weren’t you glad to get rid of us for a little while?”

Frank looked over at his sister in surprise, then laughed as he saw she was joking.  Zach said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!  If that’s the way you feel about it—glad I’m an only child!”

A few minutes later, the 1957 Chevrolet pulled over at the side of the house on Ponca Avenue, and the four kids got out.  They bid Zach goodbye, then headed inside.  Frank went straight up the stairs to his room and got out his computer, where he wasted no time pulling up whitepages.com.

“McPherson, McPherson,” he muttered to himself.  “If she was an adult, it’d be easier.  I’ll just type in the name and see what comes up.”

Nancy wandered in after him, eager to see what he found out.  “McPherson’s not terribly uncommon,” she said.

“No, but it is in Blackwell,” Frank declared triumphantly.  “7,092 residents, and only one family with that last name.”  He jotted down their number, then picked up his phone.  “Let’s see what we can find out.”

Holding the receiver to his ear, he listened.  There was a ring, then—“Hello?”  The voice was way too deep to be Brittany’s; Frank decided it must be her father’s.

“Hello,” Frank said.  “I’d like to speak to Brittany McPherson.”

“So would we!” said the voice on the other end.

“Huh?”

“She hasn’t been seen in two days!”

---

[1] Home of the Oklahoma State Penitentiary.

[2] As detailed in The El Reno Story, Book 14 in this series.