Ardmore Green Read online

  Ardmore Green

  A Zeke Traynor Mystery

  Jeff Siebold

  Copyright © 2017 Jeff Siebold

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Book cover design and interior formatting by Tugboat Design

  ISBN 13: 978-0-9979570-8-2

  ALSO BY JEFF SIEBOLD

  Zeke Traynor Mysteries

  Lilac and Old Gold

  Bluegrass and Crimson

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  The author wishes to acknowledge Elizabeth Bruno, his editor, for her sharp eye and constructive comments. And the author also wishes to acknowledge Deborah Bradseth of Tugboat Design for her excellent creative work.

  Dedicated to Karin. Best. Love. Ever!

  Chapter 1

  “Could I talk with you for a minute?”

  Zeke Traynor looked up and saw a tall, sallow man with a yellow-gray complexion. His white-blond hair was shaggy and unkempt. He needed a shave. Zeke’s first thought was, Something’s wrong with him.

  “Me?” asked Zeke. “I’m just a guy eating a fish sandwich.”

  The restaurant attracted a local crowd and was near the dockage where the shrimp boats tied up to offload their catch each morning. When the wind blew from the south, as it was now, you could smell the ripe nets drying in the sun. Zeke didn’t recognize his visitor.

  The man mentioned a name that Zeke knew. “Oscar Larosa.”

  Zeke said, “Who are you?”

  “My name’s George Lopper.”

  “Doesn’t mean anything to me,” said Zeke, shaking his head.

  “It wouldn’t,” said the man. He pulled a chair from the other side of the table and sat, expectantly.

  “Stay here,” said Zeke. He set his sandwich down. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Zeke walked to the front of the restaurant near the restrooms and the kitchen area and away from the water-view seating. He pulled out his smartphone, at the same time thinking, Maybe I should keep on walking.

  * * *

  Zeke listened to the phone ringing in his ear. Then he heard, “Oscar.”

  Just like that, flat, nasal, it sounded like it originated in Philadelphia or maybe Camden, New Jersey. It was extended into a two-syllable word.

  “Oscar, this is Zeke.”

  “Hey, how’s it going, Zeke?”

  “Good. Listen, a fellow tracked me down and mentioned your name. Do you know a George Lopper?”

  “Sure do. What’s he look like?” asked Oscar, double-checking.

  “Tall, gray, shaggy. The word ‘jaundice’ keeps jumping into my consciousness,” said Zeke. “Like...liver cancer?”

  “Yeah that’s him,” said Oscar. “But it’s pancreatic.” His voice sounded a bit reverent.

  “Do I want to help him?” Zeke asked.

  “Yeah, you do,” said Oscar. “He’s my brother-in-law.”

  * * *

  Zeke had met Oscar Larosa six years ago, after he’d recovered from his accident. Oscar had been recruited by the Military Intelligence Civilian Excepted Career Program, the counterintelligence arm of Army Intelligence. Oscar, a Delta Force operative, joined the group after his second tour in Afghanistan. Not many knew that in 2007 Oscar and his team had assassinated Mullah Dadullah, the Taliban’s Senior Military Commander.

  Zeke had come aboard with MICECP in 2008, seven years after graduating from Indiana University’s School of Global and International Studies. He’d worked with Oscar for several years.

  “Your brother-in-law?” asked Zeke. “So, do you vouch for him?”

  “Yeah, he’s alright. Sometimes he’s a pain in the ass,” Oscar said, “but not about this.”

  “What’s up?” asked Zeke.

  “You know I would come down to see you myself if I could.” Oscar had lost his legs in a debilitating accident involving an MRUD anti-personnel mine in Afghanistan, just ten days before he was due to rotate back to the States. He spent the next three years in hospitals and rehab, learning how to live without his feet. Then he’d joined MICECP.

  “Yeah, I know,” said Zeke.

  “But I couldn’t. So, George said he’d go,” said Oscar.

  “You could have called.”

  “True, but George took some things with him you need to see, and we’re on a tight schedule. Besides, he needed to get out -- to do something. I figured a trip to Florida would distract him in a good way.”

  Zeke was quiet.

  “Listen to George and then call me back. We need your help on this, Zeke.”

  * * *

  “There was a time when Oscar and I, we’d just take care of this ourselves,” said George. “But not so much anymore.” He paused and seemed lost in thought.

  He’s procrastinating, thought Zeke, delaying the telling. He’s ashamed.

  Zeke had returned to the table and sat down opposite George with the setting sun at his back. It was hot, though the restaurant’s canvas awnings created some shade. He picked up his sandwich, but it was tepid and getting soggy. Zeke set it down again and focused his gaze on the brother-in-law.

  “Well,” said George, finally surfacing, coming back to the moment, “we’ve lost something that neither of us can afford to lose.”

  Zeke waited.

  “My daughter. Oscar’s niece. Susie.”

  “What happened?” Zeke prompted.

  “At first, we thought she was with friends. Then, when we couldn’t find her, we thought she’d run away. You know, not wanting to face my illness or something.” He paused and looked at Zeke. “I have cancer.”

&nbs
p; Zeke nodded.

  “Carol was close with her, with Susie. Carol’s her mom. She figured that Susie’d freaked out when she heard I was terminal,” he said sadly and slowly. “She’s been in denial, angry about the unfairness and all that.”

  “And you feel guilty for being sick?”

  “I...ah...well, I guess I do, sort of. We were always a close family.”

  “How old is Susie?” Zeke asked.

  “She’s fourteen.”

  “A moment ago, you said there was a time that you and Oscar would have taken care of this. Elaborate for me,” said Zeke.

  “Well, we were both tough guys,” said George. He looked tired. “Oscar’s sister actually met me through him. He joined the army after the twin towers went down and worked his way into Delta Force. I knew him from before. We grew up together in the neighborhood, ran some numbers, and collected some money for people. But then we both enlisted on the same day. We were mad and wanted to get a piece of a terrorist—anything to make a difference.” He looked at Zeke with a weak reflection of that fire in his eyes, remembering his anger. “Hate the bastards.”

  “You married Carol before you enlisted?” asked Zeke.

  “We’d been seeing each other and decided to get married before I joined up.” George wheezed a breath.

  “Were you in Delta too?” asked Zeke.

  “No. I ended up as a supply sergeant in North Carolina. Never made the cut.” George spoke in choppy sentences, conserving the energy it took to speak.

  “How long has Susie been missing?” asked Zeke.

  “That’s it. We’ve been looking for her for five days, but she could have disappeared maybe three days earlier.”

  “No one noticed?” asked Zeke. A light breeze blew suddenly across the patio and ruffled his blond hair. It felt warm on the back of his neck.

  “Nah. We were caught up with the doctor visits and the prognosis and all. Susie has a habit of staying with her friends in the neighborhood, and she’d been doing that a lot after I got sick. Carol thinks she was in denial,” he said.

  “Was she supposed to be in school?” asked Zeke.

  “Out for the summer. She went missing right after it let out. Her teachers said she was there on the last day, a week ago yesterday.”

  “What have you got?” Zeke asked, nodding at the brown envelope the man had set on the table.

  “Oscar said you’d want this.”

  Chapter 2

  The envelope was taped shut with Scotch tape. It looked ragged, as if George had been carrying it around for a while. Zeke moved his plate, tore open the flap with a butter knife, and slid the contents onto the table in front of him. It made a neat pile of paper about a quarter inch deep.

  “What do you think happened?” asked Zeke, looking at a profile photo of a young brown-haired girl with red framed glasses and what looked like it might be a school uniform blouse and vest. Her hair was tied back with a scrunchie in the same tartan pattern as the vest.

  “Kidnapped,” said George. “We think she was snatched.”

  “Ransom demand?” asked Zeke. “Have you heard from anybody?”

  “Funny thing. We did. Someone called Carol’s cell and told her to get some money together. Fifty thousand dollars.” He took a breath. “But then we didn’t hear from them again. That was three days ago. That’s when we realized there was a problem. Figure they got Carol’s cell number from Susie’s phone when they grabbed her.”

  Zeke moved the photograph off the paper pile. Below it he saw a green and white classroom grade sheet, unfolded to its full eight and a half by eleven inch size. He noticed a small crest on one edge of the paper.

  “Where does she go to school?” he asked.

  Zeke was well aware of the importance of hope in situations like this. Where does she go, not Where did she go, he thought.

  “She goes to the Brecknock school. Near Villanova, west of the city.”

  “That’s in Bryn Mawr,” said Zeke.

  George nodded. “Yeah.” He breathed heavily.

  “She’ll be a freshman in the fall,” he said. “Ninth grade.”

  “What’s the rest of this?” asked Zeke, holding up the stack of papers.

  “The stuff Oscar said you’d want,” George said. “Her friends, her teachers, personal information- you know, phone number and e-mail access and her grades, transcripts. She was in some activities, so that’s in there, too.”

  “Mostly extracurricular through the school? Athletics?”

  “Yeah, like that,” said George. “But not athletics. She was in dance last spring.”

  Shifting focus, Zeke set the papers down and asked, “What about the local cops?”

  “Carol reported it. They aren’t doing anything.”

  “Did they talk with her friends? Her teachers?”

  “Some. Didn’t find anything,” said George. A painful smile crossed his face. He gritted his teeth.

  “Who was Susie’s best friend?”

  “She hung out with Carrie McCarthy a lot,” said George. “They were close.”

  “Is her contact information in here?” asked Zeke.

  “Yep. And mine.”

  “I can keep this, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Where are you staying locally?” asked Zeke.

  George told him.

  * * *

  “Oscar?” said Zeke, after a long, quiet pause over the phone line. He had dialed Oscar again and asked about George’s prognosis.

  “I’m here,” he said, flat and nasal. Oscar deflected the prognosis question and asked instead, “Can you help us with this, Zeke?”

  “It’s not my expertise, missing middle school girls,” said Zeke, hedging slightly.

  “It’s no one’s,” said Oscar. “But I don’t know anybody who could do better with this situation.”

  Zeke was standing on the pier just down from the restaurant, looking out over the ocean. It was mid-June and hot, and the tourists had descended on the small town.

  “Any hint, any clue this was going to happen?” Zeke asked. “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Not really,” said Oscar. “Believe me, I’ve been through this a hundred times.”

  “No doubt. Anybody out to get George or his wife? Did he make any enemies?” asked Zeke.

  “No, we were something back in the day,” said Oscar, “You know, we were full of ourselves. But we stayed just inside the law. I’ll tell you about that later. And no one had a recent beef with George or with me. We talked about that.”

  “What don’t I know, Oscar?” asked Zeke. “What’s your history with George? What’s the original connection?”

  “Not on the phone. Come by and we’ll talk,” said Oscar, cryptically.

  Zeke paused. “I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.”

  Chapter 3

  As the Boeing 767 circled to land at Philadelphia’s International Airport, Zeke looked out the window on the port side of the jetliner and saw the traffic snarling along Hog Island north of the runways. The airport had handled over thirty million passengers a year for the past ten years. It was one of the busiest airports in the country and the supporting linkages were straining with incoming and departing vehicles. Outside, the day was darkening, overcast and raining as the airplane eased along at about a hundred fifty miles an hour. When the wheels were a few feet above the runway, the pilot held that position until finally the tires kissed the tarmac.

  Smooth, thought Zeke.

  Since meeting with George Lopper yesterday, Zeke had been busy. He’d reviewed the package that George had left him, committing the details to memory. From the available information he was beginning to develop a sense of Susie, a feeling for her likes and dislikes, preferences and attitudes. Beginning to fill in some of the empty spaces.

  “I’m here.” Zeke spoke into his smart phone as the Boeing approached its PHL gate. On the other end of the line Oscar was awaiting Zeke’s visit.

  “I’m ready,”
Oscar replied. “We’ll talk when you get here.” The line went dead.

  Outside the terminal at the rental car kiosk, Zeke picked up a Chevy with about 4,000 miles on the odometer and pointed it west. His route took him out Interstate 95 to the I-476 bypass toward a town named Wayne. He exited a short time later and headed to Ardmore, a small but exclusive town located midway between Philadelphia and Wayne on the Southeast Pennsylvania Transit Authority line known as “The Main Line.” As Zeke got closer to Ardmore, the chorus from Hall & Oates’ “Rich Girl” started playing in his head. There it is, he thought.

  Zeke pulled up to a neat but ordinary looking home just outside of Ardmore’s small commercial district. It was a two-story brick and stone structure, probably built in the 1980s. It had a trim front garden and a handicapped ramp on the steps to the front door. There was a detached single car garage behind the house. Houses in this neighborhood sell for a lot more than the national average, he thought. Almost $400,000, average price. I’m surprised that Oscar can afford to live here.

  Zeke parked the car and scaled the four steps to the front door. The handicapped ramp straddled the steps to his right. The front door opened before he could knock.

  “Hey, partner,” said Oscar from his wheelchair. “Come on in.”

  Zeke stepped into the small foyer behind Oscar, and Oscar wheeled around to lead him deeper into the house. A hallway off the foyer led to a living room and a stairway up. Beyond that were a dining area and then a kitchen, closed off from the rest of the house. As they moved toward the kitchen Zeke noticed that Oscar’s wheelchair was an Invacare model. Top of the line, he thought. In the kitchen, Oscar said, “Have a seat, Zeke.” He pointed to the round kitchen table.

  The kitchen smelled of garlic and scallions, mixed with peppers and basil. “Dinner smells good,” said Zeke.

  “Oh, that’s from last night,” said Oscar. “I made some peperonata.”