Chapter 14: The Clue under the Blanket

Often, you get in trouble for bringing the fire department to your house on nonexistent emergencies.  In the Andersons’ case, though, it was an emergency—though not a fire-related one.  The firefighters more than understood when they heard the Andersons’ story—as did the police, who Frank had expected would come along.  Officers Kurtz and Muller showed up, as usual.

“Slick Jackson,” Kurtz instantly identified the Oklahoma City crook.  “Mugs Barnette was with him, I’ll bet.”

“We saw him earlier, but he escaped,” Frank said.  “There’s another one in the living room over here.”

Wandering in to examine the still-unconscious crook, Muller whistled.  “Colin Koenig!”

“Koenig?” exclaimed Kurtz.  “He’s in on this too?”

“I don’t know his name, I’m afraid,” Nancy said.  “We weren’t asking questions when he clambered through the window.”

Kurtz came in and took a look.  “Yep, that’s Koenig alright.  This is serious.  It means Hill’s in on the deal!”

“Hill?” said Frank.  “Who’s that?”

“You don’t want to know,” Muller said, sarcastically.

“Vince Hill.  One of the toughest racketeers this side of Oklahoma City.  He’s got a record as long as your arm.  Just got out of McAlester a few months ago, which means he’s way overdue to go back in.  Sentences will fix some birds—they won’t fix Hill.  He’s a bad egg, all around—and a toughie.  You kids better watch your step around him!”

“Vince!” said Frank.  “The guy who shot Bob!”

“Huh?”                     

Frank quickly explained about the incident at the car dealership, much to Kurtz’s interest.  “What does he look like?” Frank continued.

“Hang on—I’ll show you.”  Pushing a few buttons on his phone, Kurtz pulled up a photo of a man a long face, buzz cut, square jaw, and a jagged scar running down his left cheek.

“Scary looking!” said Nancy.  “I’ll watch out for the scar.”

“You won’t see it, if he’s up to no good,” Kurtz said.  “He usually has makeup on when we pick him up.  This was just his mug shot.”

“Do you know where he lives?” Louis asked.

Kurtz shook his head.  “He shows up for parole for about a week, then beats it.  If he just stayed in hiding, we might never catch up with him, but he always has to come out and get involved in another crime.  Once that starts, he’s not as good at covering up his tracks.  We’ll get him eventually.”

“As long as he doesn’t get us first,” Nancy said, giving the photo one last look.  Hill’s eyes glared back at her like those of a man who’s out of his mind—and maybe Hill was.  Many crooks are.

That didn’t make tussling with him any more pleasant, however.

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

Around nine o’clock the next morning, a shiny, red hot rod drove up and parked itself on the curb outside Boyd Street.  It was Zach Green, and his presence was no surprise to the Andersons, who instantly popped out the front door and raced across the yard to the vehicle.  Frank and Nancy hopped in front—Louis and Susan clambered into the back.  Reaching into his pocket, Frank pulled out a piece of paper.

“Drive us to 2450 Normandy Terrace in Oklahoma City,” Frank said.  “I traced the warning call we got last night, and it wasn’t a payphone.  Not unless they’ve got one in the middle of a neighborhood.”

Zach whistled as they drove off.  “Normandy Terrace is no payphone,” he said.  “I’ve heard of that area.  You think the homes in Brookhaven are big—wait’ll you see the ones there!”

“Well-to-do?” Nancy asked.

“Kevin Durant lived there when he was with the Thunder,” explained Zach.

“Well, Ronald Detwiler lives there now,” Frank said.  “I don’t think he was the one who made the call, unless his voice was really high.  It must have been made on his phone, though.”

“A friend of his, perhaps?” Zach asked.  “Or a family member?”

“The thing I can’t figure out is who could have made that call,” continued Frank.  “It wouldn’t have been the kidnappers themselves, so presumably it was someone trying to help us.  Why didn’t they identify themselves, though?”

“There probably just wasn’t time,” said Nancy.  “They only gave us three minutes’ warning.  There’s only so much you can say in a minute.”

“If they weren’t related to the gang, though, then how did they know what the gang was up to?” said Frank.  “Was it a kid, or just an adult with a high voice—or, someone disguising their—”  He shook his head.  “Hopefully, this visit will clear up all our questions.”

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

True to Zach’s word, the houses were huge.  So huge, in fact, there was a large fence surrounding the development, clearly designed to keep people out.  All roads leading in had gates, and Zach worried as he drove up he might not be able to access the area.  Fortunately, a Fed Ex truck was pulling out just as the Bel Air drove up, and Zach went on through like he’d been expected.

“That’s the nice thing about this car,” he said, patting the steering wheel.  “It looks fancy enough to belong in a neighborhood like this.”

“Look at the size of those buildings!” Louis marveled.  “I wonder how many bathrooms that one has.”

“Six, possibly!” Nancy commented.  “Maybe seven!”

“I think that’s the one we want,” Zach said, pulling up to the curb.  “The one with the turrets on front!”

Susan stared up at the cavernous structure.  “I’d love a house like that!”

What greeted their eyes was a gigantic, tan-brick structure.  It was only two stories tall, but they were pretty long stories.  Just the front part of the house was as wide as most one-story houses in Norman, but there were two huge wings wrapping around to the back.  Turrets rose up at the corners, with quaint, old-fashioned gables topping them off.  It was the picture of luxury—except for the area over on the left wing where a temporary fence, scaffolding, and a trash pipe indicated that renovation was going on.  Still, temporarily incomplete, the mansion was a gem.

“Who wouldn’t?” said Frank, hopping out.  “Nancy, you come with me.  The rest of you, wait here.  I don’t think anything will happen to us, but if something does, get help at once.”

Zach made an OK symbol (OK the expression, not OK the state).  “Will do!  Good luck!”

As she walked up the sidewalk with her brother, Nancy glanced at the driveway and laughed.  “They may have a lot of money, but that doesn’t stop them from owning an old clunker,” she said, pointing to a car with a sheet over it.

Frank shook his head.  “Sometimes the rich become rich just by adopting better spending habits than the rest of us—in other words, not spending so much.  Each dollar you save is a dollar you’ll have later on.  Once those add up—well, let’s just say there are a lot of millionaires who shop at Walmart, too.  It’s the secret to their success,” he said, ringing the doorbell.

“Trees are pretty thin,” Nancy said, glancing around.  “This house can’t be very old.  Oh, look!  There’s a wren!”

The little bird fluttered over to a branch, landed, and let out a “Peep!”  It repeated itself, then hopped along the branch until it came to a bird feeder, which it quickly peeked into.  Almost immediately, it flapped its wings and flew away.

“Aw, poor birdie,” said Nancy.  “There’s no food in it—”

“Yes, what is it?”

The door had been opened by a short, blond-haired man with a black-and-white striped jacket and khaki pants on.  It wasn’t the traditional butler outfit, but Frank and Nancy didn’t really care whether they were dealing with a butler or not.  If the man was surprised by his guests, he didn’t show it.

“Hi,” said Frank.  “Are you Mr. Detwiler?”

“No, I’m afraid he’s not available at the moment,” replied the man, who made no move to introduce himself.  “What do you want?”

“I’m Frank Anderson, and this is my sister, Nancy,” Frank said.  “We—it’s very strange—we got an odd phone call last night, and the number to this house came up on the caller ID.  I was wondering if someone here had been trying to get in touch with us!”

“Last night?” asked the man.  “What time?”

“9:27,” replied Nancy.

“Afraid I can’t help you,” the man replied.  “Detwiler was out late—so were the rest of us.  No one was around until 10:30.  If someone made a call at 9:27, we didn’t know about it.”

“I see,” said Frank.  “Figures.  Well, thanks for the help.”

Nodding, the man shut the door.  Nancy frowned.  “Friendly fellow, isn’t he?”

“I wonder,” said Frank, wandering back towards Zach’s car.  Even as he did so, he snuck a glance over to the driveway again.  “Do you see what I see?”

“What, the car?” Nancy asked.  “The one with the tarp over it?”

“What kind do you think it is?”

Nancy shrugged.  “You’re the car expert, not me.  Is it important?”

“I’ll say!”  Opening the car door, Frank started to ask Zach a question.  “Is that a 1970—”

“Chrysler Three Hundred?” Zach finished.  “Sure looks like it from here!”

Nancy gasped.  “The same kind Brittany was driving?”

“Not necessarily the same kind,” said Frank.  “Perhaps the same one.  The same, specific one!”  His eyes narrowed.  “I think this bears further investigation.”