The Bodyguard. Sheryl Lynn

like they came prepared,” he said. “One for Julius, one for Penny.”

      “Some preparation,” she muttered. “The idiots OD’d him.” A horrifying thought occurred to her. “You don’t think they overdosed Penny, too?”

      He shook his head in firm denial. “She’s young and strong. She hasn’t been wrecking her health with bad living for the past thirty years, either. I doubt very much they meant to kill him.” He held the note out to Frankie. “Are you one hundred percent positive this isn’t Penny’s handwriting?”

      Offended by his implication, she bristled. “Watch it.”

      “If she and Julius were partying with drugs and she got scared—”

      “Even if she weren’t as straight-up as they come, she’s vain about her body. She doesn’t eat sugar or red meat or drink liquor. She certainly won’t risk fooling around with drugs. Besides, if Julius conked out she’d call for help. She wouldn’t write a stupid note!”

      He patiently held out the paper.

      To prove her point she perused the handwriting. Her analytical mind kicked in. The block printing was even and smooth, and the note contained no misspellings or cross outs. She focused on the letters K, M and N. Penny always added feminine little curlicues, even while printing. The letters were light textured, but soldiers-at-attention straight.

      She noticed the writing nearly hugged the pale blue line of the right margin, indicating a personality that clung to the past and security. The left margin wavered, swooping in and out, almost hesitant in contrast to the rigidly upright lettering. A criminal who feared taking chances?

      “Penny definitely did not write this.” She wanted to jump on the bed, jerk Julius upright and scream in his face. She jammed her hands into her pockets. Threads snapped.

      McKennon placed the note on the bed, face-up. He brought out his telephone again.

      “Who are you calling?”

      “The police.”

      “Like hell you are!”

      “This is a murder, accidental or not. We can’t keep it quiet.”

      “Oh, yes we can!” She hurried to the control panel for the heat inside the cabin. She turned the switch to Off. “It’s like fifteen degrees out there. We open the windows, keep him cold. He’ll be okay.” She struggled with a wooden window sash.

      “Frankie.”

      “Don’t just stand there. Help me.”

      “Stop it, Frankie.”

      That he used her nickname rather than the more formal Miss Forrest gave her pause. She caught her bottom lip in her teeth and closed her eyes.

      “Think about it,” he urged gently. “We can’t pretend nothing is wrong. Your aunt and uncle love Penny, too. And what about Mrs. Caulfield? Julius is her only child. We can’t keep his death a secret from her. It’s not only wrong, it’s cruel.”

      If he’d said anything else, she’d be able to argue. But concealing a son’s death from his mother was worse than cruel, it was evil. “We can’t let them hurt Penny,” she pleaded. “If they find out they killed Julius, they’ll kill her, too.”

      “We have an advantage.”

      Eager for any tidbit of good news she lifted her eyes hopefully.

      “Elk River is fairly isolated. We can manage the media and keep news of this off television and the radio. The kidnappers are bluffing. They aren’t watching.”

      “You don’t know that.”

      “This ransom note is straight out of Hollywood. Don’t call the cops, blah-blah-blah. It’s a bluff.” He pointed his chin at Julius. “He hasn’t been roughed up.”

      “You don’t know that. Look under the covers. Maybe he’s been shot or stabbed.” She knew she argued an invalid point. Other than being dead Julius appeared perfectly fine.

      “Fetch your uncle. I’ll wait here.”

      “Don’t call the police.”

      “I won’t do anything except wait.”

      “Penny is my responsibility. I won’t let you do anything that can harm her.”

      His green eyes gleamed. “You have my word, Frankie. I will do everything in my power to get Penny back safe and sound.”

      

      INSIDE HONEYMOON HIDEAWAY Cabin B, Colonel Horace Duke stood with his hands locked behind his back. He studied Julius’s corpse. The Colonel was shaved and groomed and dressed in a dark blue sweatshirt, pressed-and-creased blue jeans and a fleece-lined denim coat. Despite having left the army years ago, the old man still rose every day at 4:30 a.m. His mind was always as sharp as his appearance.

      “Might I see the note, Mr. McKennon?”

      McKennon placed the paper on the bed in a position where the Colonel could read it. “The fewer people who touch it, the better, sir.”

      “Understood.” He scanned the note. His mouth compressed into a thin, unyielding line. “Humph. We shall assume, then, these miscreants are both serious and dangerous.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Have we any indications as to the identity of the miscreants? Or where they may have taken Penny?”

      “Not yet.” McKennon pointed at the floor in front of the door. “There’s no sign of a struggle. Frankie and I stayed on the gravel, so we didn’t track mud. The tracks belong to the kidnappers. They come in, they go out. No smearing. They left the door unlocked.”

      Frankie took a good hard look at her surroundings. The cabin was as luxurious as any five-star hotel, with plush carpeting, wallpaper, antique furnishings, flower arrangements and romantic art hanging on the walls. McKennon’s observation made her realize it was quite neat as well. Julius and Penny had obviously used the wet bar, and their luggage and clothing were tossed about in untidy stacks. Still, other than a few muddy footprints—and a dead groom—the kidnappers had left no sign of themselves.

      “No sign of forced entry,” McKennon added.

      Frankie easily imagined Julius cringing and cowering before even the mildest threat, but Penny? She looked as fragile as a fairy child; but she didn’t have a timid bone in her body. She’d have fought back. Except, nothing in the room indicated a fight.

      “They must have gotten in while Penny was asleep,” Frankie said. “If she opened the door and saw strangers, she’d scream or something. She’d have fought back.”

      She crouched and laid her hand lightly atop a muddy footprint. She couldn’t tell if the print was still damp or not, and feared destroying evidence by brushing the nap. “You know this country, Colonel. We can track them down.” She jumped upright and clamped her hands on her hips. “You’ve taken part in search and rescue operations. You have equipment, right? Four-wheel drive vehicles, horses, spotlights. They couldn’t have gotten far—”

      “Francine, this is not a search and rescue mission.”

      “Penny needs to be rescued!”

      Some unspoken communication passed between the men. Frankie wondered if she sounded as panicky as she felt. She gulped in great draughts of air in an attempt to calm herself.

      You will not break down, she counseled herself. You will not crack.

      “A heinous crime has been committed,” the Colonel said. “We can’t ignore Mr. Bannerman’s murder and go traipsing willy-nilly into the mountains on a wild-goose chase. There are procedures.”

      “If the kidnappers find out they whacked Julius, they’ll kill Penny, too. We have to find them first.”

      “Ill-advised