Worst Case - James Patterson [49]
Who knew? Maybe this meant she was even a little less pissed at me.
After we said our prayers, I wolfed down a piece of hot corn bread. I closed my eyes in ecstasy.
“How can an Irish girl do Southern cooking this well?” I said, spraying crumbs. “Let me guess, you’re from the southwest part of Ireland?”
The smiles and happy, fuzzy mood all popped like a cigarette on a balloon when my blasted phone rang. I was standing up to get it when Chrissy reached back and grabbed it.
“Oh, no, Daddy,” she said, tossing it across the table to Bridget. “You’re staying right here. No phone means no work.”
They actually started chanting, “No phone! No work!” as our game of Monkey in the Middle began. Guess who the monkey was.
“That’s not funny, guys,” I said, trying not to laugh and failing.
I also failed to get to the phone. A game of Monkey in the Middle really isn’t fair against ten people. Eleven, actually, as Mary pretended to offer it to me and then passed it behind her back to the waiting Brian. He tossed it to Eddie, who opened it.
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Bennett is not available,” Eddie said as everyone cracked up. “Please leave your name at the sound of the beep. Beep!”
“Mike, is that you?” Emily said as I finally wrested it from him.
“Sorry about that, Parker. My family is being funny. At least they think they are. What’s up?”
“One guess,” she said.
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” she said grimly. “Another kid was grabbed, Mike. I’m pulling up in front of your building right now.”
Chapter 56
EMILY HANDED ME her notes on the latest kidnapping as I buckled myself into the passenger seat of her Fedmobile. She surprised me by having a piping-hot black venti in my drink holder and a black-and-white cookie from Zaro’s on the dash. I noticed she was also doing a pretty professional job of carving our way south through the chaos of midtown Manhattan dinner traffic.
Unhealthy food and a healthy dose of road rage, I thought with an impressed nod. My new partner was getting this New York cop thing down pretty fast.
The calm from my shower and my visit with the kids lasted less than a New York minute as I scanned the pages of her notes. The latest victim was a seventeen-year-old high school student named Mary Beth Haas. She’d been missing since noon. She’d last been spotted leaving the very exclusive all-girls Brearley School on East 83rd Street to go to the school’s gym on East 87th. She’d never made it there. The poor teenage girl seemed to have disappeared into thin air.
“The similarity to the Hastings kidnapping is striking,” I said. “Both were grabbed from exclusive Manhattan schools. We need to check for teaching staff who have a history in both places.”
“No new leads on Hastings?” Emily inquired.
“Some Twenty-sixth Precinct squad guys are out looking for the Russian girlfriend, but so far nothing,” I said as I looked back down at the report.
I read that Mary Beth Haas’s mother, Ann, was the CEO and main shareholder in the Price Templeton Fund, the second-largest mutual fund on Wall Street. No wonder our newest case had loudly rung every alarm bell down at One Police Plaza.
“I Googled the mother,” Emily said. “She’s, like, the fifth- or sixth-richest woman in the country. Her father started the fund, but they said she worked herself up from an analyst and probably would have ended up as CEO even if she hadn’t been left thirty-four percent of the stock in her dad’s will. She’s also one of the largest contributors to the New York Philharmonic and Public Library.”
“Another only child of an A-list mega-wealthy New Yorker, like the Dunnings, the Skinners, and Gordon Hastings?” I asked.
Emily nodded. “I can’t believe he’s hit another one so fast. He actually had to have grabbed Mary Beth before we did the money exchange for Hastings.”
“For the love of God,” I said, wanting to punch something. “I thought he’d be done after getting his five million. Now two in one day? What is this guy made of? And what the hell is he after if it