Third Half Read online

  THIRD HALF

  by

  P.R. Garlick

  Pam Garlick

  Pam Garlick admits to writing her first short story when she was 12 years old, though she won’t admit how long ago that was. She remembers her struggles as a single-mom juggling the raising two lively sons and a job, and still trying to find time to write. She’d find herself typing on her old portable typewriter late at night, recycling any papers she could get her hands on for her manuscripts.

  Then twenty years ago she received a computer as a birthday gift and her life changed. In 1988 she sold her first article and short stories soon followed. Today she’s been published in a variety of media.

  Pam lives with her husband and dog in southeastern Pennsylvania where they are actively involved with their church. Much of what she writes is driven by her faith.

  As much as she enjoys writing, she treasures her time away from her computer when she can be with their five children and four grandchildren.

  Copyright © 2012 Pamela R. Garlick

  All rights reserved. With the exception of for review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form or means, now known or hereafter invented is strictly forbidden without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by:

  Middle Creek Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1478221722

  ISBN-10: 1478221720

  All rights reserved. With the exception of for review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form or means, now known or hereafter invented is strictly forbidden without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction, and unless otherwise stated all characters and locations have no existence outside the author’s imagination. Any similarity to any person living or deceased is purely coincidental.

  Novels by P.R. Garlick

  Mogul

  ** Under Cover

  Third Half

  Novels by Pam Garlick

  The Pineapple Inn

  *Into the Fire

  Last Ride

  Paradise

  *Rescued Hearts

  God's Country

  * Everyday Heros Series

  ** A Sheila Delaney Mystery

  Third Half – P.R. Garlick

  CHAPTER ONE

  Pressing his chin against his chest, the red-haired man allowed his head to hang limply against his chest, cocked slightly to the side. His eyes were closed as he feigned unconsciousness.

  He needed time. Time to sort out what had happened. What happened? Hell, I've been abducted! Just when everything was going according to plan. Well, I can't say I wasn't warned to expect the unexpected. But this . . .

  "He's taking a long time coming out of it," the woman said as she paced around the green vinyl chair where their prisoner now sat with his hands bound behind his back. "Did you have to hit him so hard?"

  "You worry too much," her male companion replied gruffly as he impatiently looked up from the white piece of paper in front of him.

  "Worry too much! The information he has is very valuable."

  "And whoever wants it will pay dearly for it," the man said calmly as he folded the note and placed it in an envelope.

  "Not if he's dead!" The woman stopped pacing and gently placed her fingers against the side of their prisoner's throat. Feeling an even throb from his carotid artery, she sighed.

  "Don't be so trusting!" her companion ordered as he got up and strode toward the door. "Remember exactly who you're dealing with. The shotgun's over there." He motioned toward the corner. "If he tries anything funny – use it!" With that he opened the door to leave. "I'll call you as often as I can to let you know how things are going on my end."

  Hearing the door slam, the man in the chair opened his green eyes to stare up at her familiar face. Who would have thought? And to think I hit on her for a date just last month. He gave her a crooked grin. "This is not what I had in mind when I said we should go someplace where we could be alone."

  "No, but this is what you got," the woman said as she retrieved the shotgun from the corner of the room.

  "We could have more fun if you put down the shotgun and untied the ropes," the red-head said, his smile growing wider. "Though, I have heard ropes can be fun, I'm not into bondage."

  "Shut up! We're not here to play games – and you better remember that."

  "I have a feeling that won't be too easy to do," he sighed, returning his thoughts inward as he tried to figure out how he was going to get out of his current predicament. Of course, he didn't doubt there was one person already trying to find him.

  I

  Liane was nearly breathless as she rushed through the bustling airport toward the terminal where she was scheduled for a flight out of New York's La Guardia airport. The airport was equally busy day or night, and even now, at six in the morning, she had to skirt several people as she hurried on her way toward the Delta terminal.

  The people surrounding her seemed a blur of business suits and military uniforms, with just a few more casually dressed, probably preparing for an early start on their vacation. For a moment, Liane allowed her determination to waver just long enough to envy them. To wish that she, too, were about to embark on a vacation, instead of this unexpected trip to try and locate her missing brother.

  "Oh Jack," she said with a sigh of desperation. If I find out you've got me running around on some kind of wild goose chase, I'll, I'll . . . What would she do? She wondered. She knew her brother was a prankster. In fact, if it hadn't been for her sister, Mary Catherine's frightened and pathetic state, she would not have agreed to go.

  Goodness knows, she didn't really have the time for such a trip, even one as short as this was going to be. She had already invested more time in this search than she knew she could afford.

  It had been sheer luck that there had been a cancellation on this early non-stop flight to Los Angeles. She was even more fortunate to learn there was a return flight leaving only two hours later. If the cab drivers in L.A. drove anything like the ones in New York, she was certain she wouldn't need any longer than that to talk to Jack's agent.

  After boarding the plane and finding her seat Liane sat back and tried to relax. Closing her eyes she willed her swiftly beating heart to slow to a more moderate rhythm. She used every meditation technique she knew, trying to ease the tension from her limbs. But it was useless. Until she eased the tension from her mind, she knew she would remain as tightly sprung as one of those rubber band propelled airplanes her brother used to fly.

  She thought of the irony in that, remembering watching those toy planes soaring high into the sky, dipping and spinning until finally falling to the ground. She had enjoyed watching them, imagining what it would be like to fly in a real plane.

  Then came the moment of descent and a chill would inevitably tingle up and down her spine until that final moment when the plane made its crashing contact with the ground. Her heart would beat wildly as again her childlike mind imagined that tiny plastic plane as a real one – with her on board.

  Perhaps that was part of the reason she hated flying. The same wild and erratic beat of her heart was always her companion as she flew, waiting with white knuckles until the plane made its way back onto the ground. She knew it was crazy to compare those tiny toy planes to the actual life-sized versions, but still it was a phobia she had found difficult to dismiss.

  Forcing her usual fears from her mind she returned to her thoughts to the events leading up to this trip. She reflected at how, in less than twenty-four hours, her tranquil life had been turned into a hectic race, taking her first to her brother's farm in Connecticut, and now to his agent's office in Los Angeles.

  Mary Catherine was the first to suspe
ct that there was something strange going on with their brother, Jack. Liane could still picture how frightened her sister had looked when she arrived at her apartment. The fact that it was only a day ago was hard to believe.

  I

  "M.C., it's you," she said in surprise, seeing her sister framed in the doorway. "I didn't expect you, but it's a pleasant surprise." She smiled warmly, genuinely pleased to see her sister, stepping aside for the other woman to enter the apartment.

  Facially Mary Catherine and Liane were nearly identical; but, in every other way they were different. "I had to see you before I left for South America." Mary Catherine rushed past her, her expression filled with tense lines of emotion.

  "Come over here and sit down," Liane pointed to the white velour sofa and chairs, noting that her sister blended perfectly into the black and white decor of her new apartment.

  Mary Catherine, nervously brushed an invisible speck from her black and white habit as she sat stiff-backed on a chair, obviously uncomfortable in the plush surroundings. She had grown used to the convent and the communal life she shared with the other nuns, far more simplistic than the life her sister now lived.

  Liane noticed Mary Catherine's flushed cheeks, and how her usually clear blue eyes were now wide and glassy. "What's happened?" Liane asked, knowing instinctively that something was troubling her sister, and it was more than the awkwardness of her surroundings.

  "It's Jack," the nun frowned, quickly rising to her feet and pacing across the room. "I think something may have happened to him." She jerked to a halt and turned back to face Liane.

  "Now wait a minute. What exactly do you mean?" Liane asked, realizing now, the emotion she had read in Mary Catherine's eyes was fear.

  "Remember my telling you I saw Jack about three weeks ago? The day I told him about my plans to go to South America."

  "Yes, it was right before you told me."

  Mary Catherine nodded. "Did I mention he didn't seem very pleased about my plans?"

  "Look, M.C., you can't blame him for that. There's a lot of political unrest in all those South American countries, not to mention drug cartels and all that. Of course Jack would be worried about you. I'm worried about you too, but I know how stubborn you are when you're mind is made up."

  "There always has been problems down there. That doesn't change the fact that those children need us, and the education we provide at our mission school." Mary Catherine put her hands to the sides of her bright blue eyes and rubbed her temples. "Oh, this is all beside the point," she sighed. "I came to talk about Jack."

  "Are you all right?"

  "Just a headache. It's nothing really. I went for my immunizations today. The doctor warned me that some people have a slight reaction to them."

  "It probably beats the plague, or whatever it is you catch down there in those uncivilized countries."

  "Liane, please," Mary Catherine pleaded. "I'm trying my best to explain about Jack."

  "Okay, I'm sorry. But you know Jack's always on the go. That's why I hardly ever see him. I believe it's been at least ten months since the last time we got together."

  "I know he has a ridiculous schedule, but this is more than that. Have you heard anything from him at all lately?"

  "Just a post card, from Atlantic City, about three months ago. I believe he was doing a show at Harrahs."

  "And nothing since then?"

  "No. Why? Have you heard something?" Liane watched her sister closely, knowing she wouldn't be this panicky without good reason.

  The other woman nodded. "I certainly did. And I don't know what to do about it."

  "Go on," Liane coaxed, anxious to hear what else Mary Catherine had to say. She rarely saw her sister this distraught. Of the three Spencer children, Mary Catherine had always been the calm one. It was usually she, who had been the emotional one. This role reversal was a novel experience.

  "Yesterday I received a letter from Jack. It contained two-hundred-and fifty thousand dollars in cash."

  "What?" Liane looked aghast, her green eyes, wide, sparkling with an emerald-like gleam. "A quarter of a million dollars in cash, through the mail!"

  "Special Delivery, but still through the mail. There was also a very cryptic note offering little in the way of an explanation." She marched back to the chair and sat again, leaning forward in her seat as she rushed through the rest of the story.

  "The note was so vague. Just that I was to keep the money until I heard from him. And, that in the event something happens I was to see that the mission school, where I'm going in Peru, gets the money. He said I wasn't to worry, that he was sending you a letter too. He was going to explain more in that letter, and that it was important that we do only what he instructs us to do."

  I

  That had been only the beginning, Liane thought as a young flight attendant brought a cart. She ordered a gin and tonic, hoping it would help ease her tension. More memories of the previous day were still fresh in her mind.

  Later that afternoon she and Mary Catherine had made a trip to Jack's farm in Connecticut, hoping to find some clues that would explain what was going on.

  He wasn't home, but his manager's wife left them inside to look around, admitting she, too, was worried; Jack had been due home days ago.

  They searched for anything that might look out of the ordinary, both uncertain exactly what that might be, but hoping they would know it when the found it. When they did find Jack's empty suitcase in the back of his closet it made them certain he hadn't been planning a trip. It also made them wonder why his manager's wife said he hadn't returned from his last trip.

  On his desk they found his red address book, by the phone, open to the D's. Liane scanned the listings.

  "The way he organizes things would be a secretary's nightmare. . . . Dentist, Doctor, Domino's Pizza, Devereaux, Debbie, Donna . . ." Liane read.

  "Devereaux," Mary Catherine repeated, her bright blue eyes narrowed in concentration. "That's familiar."

  "Devereaux, R," Liane read. "Another girlfriend, maybe?" She looked at the number. "Area Code 213."

  Mary Catherine looked around the room, and found what she was looking for near the bottom of a pile of magazines. She opened the huge phone book and paged through the first few pages before stopping. She ran her finger down a list of area codes. "Los Angeles, California," she read, looking back at Liane. "I know I remember that name."

  "Since you've never be to L.A. you must have heard it from Jack," Liane said. "Try to remember."

  "I am trying."

  "Wait, there's another way to find out." Liane reached for the telephone, but paused, glancing at the many buttons. A slow smile spread across her face as the idea occurred to her. "This always works on television." She laughed and pressed the auto-redial button.

  They heard the telephone ringing over the speaker. It rang once, twice, three times. After the fourth ring the connection was made.

  "You have reached the office of Ralph Devereaux, Talent Agency," the pleasant feminine voiced recording sang through the speaker. "There is no one in the office at this time . . ."

  Liane made a face, glancing at her watch. "What do they do, take siestas in L.A.?"

  "I think that's Mexico," Mary Catherine replied. "Perhaps they're at lunch."

  Liane nodded, jotting down the number so they could try again from home.

  By the time they had returned to New York Mary Catherine's illness had grown worse. Her face was flushed, and it was obviously taking all her strength just to keep moving. Still she was determined to get to the bottom of what was going on with their brother. "Please try calling Mr. Devereaux again," Mary Catherine asked her sister.

  "All right, but please, at least lay down for awhile," Liane insisted, unable to disguise the worry in her voice.

  Mary Catherine willingly submitted to the request, stretching out on the sofa in the living room. She pressed her head against the pillow, and closed her eyes, but Liane knew she would not really rest until she knew what happened
to their brother.

  This time when Liane dialed the call was answered immediately by the same pleasant voiced woman as on the recording.

  "I'd like to speak to Mr. Devereaux," Liane said.

  "Mr. Devereaux is very busy just now," the woman replied. "Could I take a message?"

  "Please, this is long distance. It's very important," Liane squeezed the telephone, looking over to her sister. She hoped everything would be settled soon so she could set Mary Catherine's mind to rest.

  "Whom should I say is calling and what is it concerning?" the woman asked.

  "Liane Spencer, I'm Jack Spencer's sister," she replied. "I'm calling to discuss my brother. He's one of your clients."

  "Hold on please." Only seconds later she came back on the line. "Mr. Devereaux has no clients by that name," the woman explained. "Perhaps you have us confused with another agency."

  "Devereaux is not a common name," Liane persisted. "I'm certain it is your agency. May I speak to Mr. Devereaux?"

  "I'll ask him," the woman said with a sigh. A moment later she came back on the line. "Mr. Devereaux will speak to you now."

  "Devereaux here," a man's gruff voice sounded in irritation. There was a lot of background noise.

  "I'm trying to locate Jack Spencer, one of your clients," Liane said. "It's an emergency. I need to tell him that our sister, Mary Catherine, isn't well." Liane looked toward the sofa and knew her statement wasn't entirely a fib.

  There was a moment's hesitation, more noise. "I'm sorry, I just double checked my roll-a-dex and I have no Jack Spencer as a client."

  Liane apologized for bothering the man, knowing it would get her no further to call him a liar.