Chapter 12: “In precisely four minutes, he’s going to get kidnapped!”

Just after 9:20 that night, the phone rang.  It was Mr. Anderson, who, much to the rest of his family’s disappointment, had to work late once again.  He was excited when he called, though.  “Good news, Frank!  We found another one of those dealerships!”

Frank knew what that meant.  “Another place where they’re selling the stolen cars?”

“Yes!  This one was Greg’s Auto World, over by Warr Acres.  About half the vehicles on his lot were reported stolen.  Just like Bob’s, they were from all over the state.”

“Excellent!” said Frank.  “You don’t suppose that one was their base, do you—”

“Afraid not,” Mr. Anderson said.  “A patrol officer in the area saw the dealership and put two and two together—that’s how we found it.  Anyway, there’s not a Subway within a mile, so it couldn’t be it.  Not if Bob’s clue was right.”

“I see,” said Frank.  “Interesting.  Very, very interesting.  Well, thanks for the update!”

“You’re welcome!” said his father.  “Everything going alright at home?  Mom called and said she made it to Waurika safely.”

Late that afternoon, Mrs. Anderson had gotten a call from her sister Lilly, asking her to come visit for the next couple nights.  Like most invitations, there was a reason for it.  In this case, it was sickness.  Not Aunt Lilly’s sickness—she was one of those people who never seemed to get a cold—but her neighbor’s pet goat.  It seems the poor animal had eaten something it wasn’t supposed to, the vet had written a prescription, but the harried owner had already made plans to travel that weekend.  Aunt Lilly had made a promise, and she was sticking to it, but a healthy goat was hard enough to handle, without any illness involved.  Like the good older sister she was, Mrs. Anderson had readily agreed to help her sibling—which meant that her children would be at home by themselves the rest of the night.  That was fine with the Andersons, though.  They rather liked evenings on their own—once in a while, anyway.

“Sure, things are going swell here,” replied Frank.

“Well, don’t wait up for me,” said Mr. Anderson.  “I probably won’t be back until hours after you go to bed—like three A.M.”

“After?” quipped Frank.  “You mean before!  Have a good night, Dad!”  Laughing, he hung up the phone.

“Before what?” Nancy asked.  She, Louis, and Susan were kneeling around the coffee table in the front living room, waiting for Frank to rejoin them on the puzzle they were working.  Actually, they weren’t waiting.  Mt. Rushmore had improved in the five minutes Frank had been on the phone—Roosevelt’s nose was now visible.

“Oh, nothing—private joke.”  Frank wandered back to the table, staring out the window at the pouring rain.  It had started sprinkling around four, and though the rain wasn’t coming down hard, it wasn’t stopping, either.  The orange streetlight glinted cheerily off the wet pavement, though the beam itself did not light the house much because of a tree in between.  Still, the Andersons had a ceiling light and two lamps on, giving them plenty of light to work the puzzle.  They had left the blinds open, in order to watch the occasional passing cars.

Susan was digging through the box, searching the umpteenth time for the last end piece.  “It must be here somewhere!” she insisted.

“Susan, we’ve had this puzzle for a while,” Nancy explained.  “I can’t remember if all the pieces are here or not.  Why don’t you work on another section—”

“Once I find the end piece!”

Frank smiled at his youngest sibling.  “I know you.  You’ll find that last piece even if you have to make one.”

“It’s easier than trying to put all the sky pieces together, like Louis is doing.”

“She does have a point there,” said Nancy.  “Why are you working so hard on the sky, Louis?  They’re all the same color!”

“Yes, but nothing else is,” replied Louis.  “The blue pieces stand out in the box.  It’s just a matter of making them fit together.”

“We ought to get one of those 3-D puzzles sometime,” Frank said.

Susan glanced up.  “3-D?  As in, something that actually stands up?”

“Exactly!” said Frank.  “Dick and Ellen have a SAFECO Field one—it’s the coolest thing!  Well, I take that back—a Wrigley Field one would be cooler, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Who plays at SAFECO again?” Louis asked.

“Mariners,” Nancy knowingly replied.  “I think their parents got it when they used to live in Washington.”

“The Whites’ parents, not the Mariners’ parents,” Frank said.

“Thanks,” said Louis, sarcastically.  “I was wondering what Nancy meant.”

“There!” said Nancy, putting in a piece. “Jefferson’s head is complete!”

“Good for you, Nancy!” Frank surveyed the clump of pieces.  “Looks like a nickel.”

“That’s ‘cause he’s the guy on the nickel,” Nancy said.

“Speaking of nickels,” spoke up Louis, “I found one of the 2004 ones today.  You know, the ones commemorating the Lewis and Clark expedition—”

“Oooh, did it have the hands shaking on the back?” Frank asked.

“No, it was the one with the boat,” said Louis.  “I’m going to hold on to it—”

“You do that,” said Frank.  “Mark my words—those are going to be worth a lot of money someday.  Especially since they were only made one year.  Like the 2009 pennies.  They’re common enough now, but in fifty years, in good shape—who knows how much they’ll be worth!”

Susan hopped up from the table.  “I’m going to get myself some cream soda.  Want anything?”

The others shook their heads.  “You need any help pouring it?”

“No thanks!  I can manage!”  Susan went racing out of the room, eager for one of her favorite drinks.

“That actually does sound good right now,” Nancy said, reconsidering.  “I think I’ll—no, I’ll wait until I finish George Washington.  It’s only two more pieces.  That shouldn’t take too long.”

“It wouldn’t,” said Frank, “except Louis probably has them in his pocket.”

“What are you talking about?” Louis asked.  “The only piece I’ve got in my pocket is that end one Susan’s looking for.”

“Louis!”

“Just kidding!”

Ding-a-ling-a-ling!

Nancy hopped up from the table.  “My turn to get it,” she said.  Darting across to the sofa, she plopped herself down and reached for the receiver.  Out of habit, her eyes strayed to the caller ID.  (405)781-4646.  Don’t know the number, but it’s somewhere around Oklahoma City.  “Anderson residence—Nancy speaking!”

“Frank Anderson’s sister?”

Nancy’s eyes glanced suspiciously towards the receiver in her hand.  That voice wasn’t familiar—yet it wasn’t one of those deep, raspy voices that seem to always call for threats.  It sounded like that of a kid, but if so, it wasn’t one Nancy knew.

“Y-yes, I’m his sister—”

“Alright, listen carefully!” the voice spoke urgently.  “It’s 9:26 now.  In precisely four minutes, he’s going to get kidnapped!”