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  That made him pause. A set-up?

  It couldn’t be. Nobody knew about this except him and his client, and he hadn’t told the client any of the details. That was one of his iron-clad rules. Never tell anyone how you plan to do it, no matter how much they pay you.

  No, he was just lucky. She’d probably figured she needed the exercise, after stuffing herself all the way around the World Showcase.

  Whatever the reason, it made his job a whole lot easier. A casual approach to ask the time. Then, while she was looking at her watch, he slipped behind her and clamped the chloroform-soaked handkerchief over her nose and mouth. Just like in the movies. Easy as that. He glanced around, then ducked behind a hedge and heaved Marylou’s unconscious body into the rented wheelchair.

  CHAPTER 5

  Marylou still hadn’t shown up by dinner time. They went to Marrakesh, waited in the promised hard, straight-backed chairs with the promised children cavorting about. They had appetizers. Aunt Hermione and Edith Kesselbaum had drinks. They had dinner.

  No Marylou.

  The others were concerned, too. Stoner could tell by the way their energy fields had taken on a kind of prickliness. Aunt Hermione volunteered, without being asked, to try to contact Marylou’s Higher Spirit—though they would have to wait until after dinner, as it was impossible to attune with belly dancers shoving their midriffs in your face.

  Stoner had to agree, and promised herself she’d make every effort to root out a restaurant in WDW that didn’t come with entertainment.

  If they ever found Marylou, that was. If they didn’t—she wasn’t sure what she’d do. She couldn’t even think about it. Because it was clear by now that Marylou wasn’t just trying to make them suffer for being mean to her, or playing a prank. Stoner knew, in her heart of hearts, that something had happened to Marylou.

  “If she’s doing this to get our attention or to punish us,” Gwen muttered over coffee and dessert, “it’s time to stop now. We’ve gotten the point.”

  Back in their room, they tried to create an atmosphere of quiet attentiveness suitable for Aunt Hermione’s meditations. But, try as she might, she couldn’t make direct contact with Marylou—not her Higher Spirit, or her Lower Spirit or any Spirits in between. She sent out messages, waited, but got, she said, “Nothing but fuzz.”

  “Fuzz?” Stoner asked.

  “Well, I feel she’s somewhere, but...” She tried again. “There’s been a mistake, I think.”

  “What mistake?” Gwen asked.

  “I just can’t make it out. It has to do with...with music, and...and sewing? No, music and cleaning. That’s it, music and cleaning.”

  Stoner frowned. “Music and cleaning.”

  “Not terribly meaningful, is it?” Aunt Hermione said apologetically. “Perhaps I can do better later. You know Marylou. She’s never been easy to read.”

  Edith Kesselbaum kept reminding them not to give in to neurotic anxiety. She, herself, she claimed, wasn’t at all worried. Marylou was an adult and capable of taking care of herself—probably better than any of them, better than all of them put together, and the important thing was not to Lose One’s Sense of Proportion.

  Stoner was convinced that Edith was frantic under the surface.

  They tried to enjoy the Electric Water Pageant on the lagoon, but even the happy spouting whale and jumping fish and other sea creatures made of sparkling lights, even the cheerful tootling electronic music seemed forced and a little sad around the edges.

  It’s as if she’s died, Stoner thought, and slipped her hand into Gwen’s for comfort. Gwen squeezed her fingers.

  “We’re going to call Security before we go to bed,” Gwen said. “it’s all we can do for now.”

  “I know.” But she wished she could stop remembering what Aunt Hermione had said last night—there was someone in Walt Disney World who wanted to harm them.

  * * *

  My God, Marylou thought, now I’ve gone blind. This is just too much.

  She rubbed at her eyes. Bright red sparks swirled across her line of vision. Her eyeballs felt sore.

  I can’t possibly be blind. I’m a travel agent.

  She glanced to the side and noticed a pencil-thin line of light along the ground. A doorway.

  She sighed with relief. This so-called vacation was bad enough. She didn’t want to spend the next six months running to specialists.

  Her head felt as if she’d been caught in a hailstorm without a hat. Sore. Tender. Clear symptoms of food poisoning. I knew it, Marylou thought. There was definitely something a little off about the guacamole.

  Well, she intended to report it.

  She wondered what would happen if she opened her eyes. Somehow it didn’t seem like a good idea. Somehow it felt as if that would be a very painful thing to do.

  “Bother,” she said, and congratulated herself on coming up with a Winnie-the-Poohism. Stoner would be pleased that she was trying to fit in with the Disney program.

  There was a strange sound around her. Sort of a low hum and whooshing, like an air vent.

  The surface beneath her was hard. She must be in a First Aid station, lying on one of those steel, functional tables, the kind on which you could bleed to death and not make too much of a mess. She could remember deciding to go back to the hotel, and not wanting to face the monorail so she had gotten out her guide book—Birnbaum, of course—and started off along the road. Someone asked her the time, and the next thing she knew she was here.

  That couldn’t be right. She must have fainted, but she couldn’t remember fainting. In fact, she couldn’t remember feeling ill.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  What she could remember was...she’d have it any minute now...she could remember...

  Being grabbed from behind! A hand over her mouth.

  Drugged!

  Marylou’s eyes flew open. Everywhere around her was darkness. “Excuse me!” she called.

  A door opened and someone came into the room. A male someone. He licked on the light. She had been right. It was very painful.

  “For Heaven’s sake, turn that off,” she said, covering her eyes with her hands. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “Not yet.”

  His voice had a kind of metallic overtone, as if he were speaking through his nose. Really quite unpleasant. Marylou was willing to bet his wife didn’t encourage him to talk about his day.

  “At the risk of appearing trite,” she said, “may I ask where I am?”

  “You may,” the man said. “But I won’t tell you.”

  How very rude. “All right, then. What time is it?”

  “Night time.”

  She stretched. “Well, I certainly have had a nice nap. Did you have to pump my stomach? I’m glad I missed it. Are you a nurse?”

  “A what?”

  “Nurse. This is the First Aid station, isn’t it?”

  “No, it isn’t the First Aid station.”

  “Okay, I give up.” She spread her fingers a little, letting in a gradual bit of light. “You win. Where am I?”

  “I told you, I’m not telling.”

  She sniffed the air. It certainly didn’t smell like an infirmary or anything medical. It smelled like… like ironing. “Is this a ride?” she asked. “Because, if it is, I really do have to complain to the management. It’s in very poor taste, what with the crime rate and the drug problem and all. Quite irresponsible to make light of, if you know what I mean.”

  “It’s not a ride.” He sounded impatient. “You’ve been snatched.”

  “Snatched? What is this ‘snatched?’”

  “Taken. Shanghaied.”

  “Kidnapped?”

  “That’s right.” He took her wrists and roughly yanked her hands from her eyes. “Now here’s what you’re going to do.”

  * * *

  Stoner hadn’t expected to be able to sleep, but she did. Until shortly before dawn, when someone rattled the knob of their door.

  Marylou!

 
She shoved back the covers and jumped out of bed. She opened the door and peered into the hall.

  The hall was empty. “Marylou?” she called in a loud whisper.

  No answer.

  Puzzled, she turned to go back into her room. That was when she saw the sheet of paper that had been slipped under the door.

  She grabbed it up.

  “We have your lover,” it read. “Await further instructions.”

  Panic broke over her. First Marylou, now Gwen?

  Nonsense. Gwen was in the other bed, sound asleep.

  She raced back to the room and punched the light.

  Gwen’s bed was empty.

  The inside of her head turned to white noise. They couldn’t have… not without her hearing…

  But Gwen was gone.

  The phone rang. She raced for it.

  “Please, you have to help me!” It wasn’t Gwen. It wasn’t Marylou. It was—whoever had been calling before.

  Something in her broke. “I can’t help you,” she said angrily. “I don’t know who you are. I don’t know where you are. Everybody’s missing. I have my own troubles.”

  “Please. I’m so lost.”

  “Don’t you understand?” she shouted. “I CAN’T HELP YOU!!” She slammed down the receiver.”

  “Was it her again?” Gwen asked.

  Stoner looked up.

  Gwen stood there, her eyes puffy with sleep, her hair tousled, her pajamas wrinkled in the most endearing way.

  Stoner grabbed for her. “I thought they took you.”

  “Who?”

  “The people who left the note.”

  “Note?”

  “And when your bed was empty…”

  “I was in the bathroom. What note?”

  She showed it to her. Gwen read it, then turned it over. “It’s from Marylou. Why did you think someone had taken me when it’s obviously from Marylou?”

  “Huh?” She took the note. There, on the back of the message she’d read, was another in Marylou’s handwriting. “I didn’t think to turn it over,” she said sheepishly.

  “Stoner,” Gwen said in a firm voice, “get a grip on yourself.”

  The message was brief, to the point, and obviously dictated: Do what these people tell you. They are desperate and dangerous. I am well. Then, almost as a afterthought, I miss your sexy body. Remember the Carlyle’s.

  Stoner grinned. She could see Marylou convincing them these two sentences would prove the note was valid, and not a forgery. What they couldn’t know...

  “What’s to smile?” Gwen asked.

  “The Carlyle’s were some clients we had a few years ago—before I even met you, I guess. These people were so stupid they couldn’t find their way from one room of their house to another. They were the only clients we ever had whose luggage always got to the right place while they got lost.”

  “I see. And the message is...”

  “She doesn’t know where she is, her captors are stupid, and the food is terrible.”

  “You got all that from one name?”

  “You’d have to know the Carlyle’s.” Stoner rubbed her hands together. “Okay, I’ll go tell Edith and Aunt Hermione. Then let’s catch some sleep. We have a lot to do today.”

  “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered your equilibrium,” Gwen said.

  “At least I know what I’m dealing with. That’s a start.”

  * * *

  Over breakfast they set up a schedule for phone and room coverage. Edith would take the first shift, then go to her afternoon meetings. Since the kidnappers thought it was Gwen they had, it was important for Edith to behave normally. They didn’t want the kidnappers getting questions in their heads. Aunt Hermione would cover the afternoon. Stoner and Gwen would contact Stape and George, then see what they could discover by retracing their steps of the day before, while George interviewed park personnel. They would all check with one another at ten past the hour.

  “It’s amazing,” Gwen said as they had a second cup of coffee. “Yesterday you were a wreck. Now you act as if you’re enjoying yourself.”

  “I know.” She spread jam on another slice of toast. “I know Marylou’s all right. I know our suspects aren’t too bright. I know this is about me, so Aunt Hermione and Edith aren’t in danger. But the most important thing is, these people don’t really know much about me. It gives me an advantage.”

  “If it’s about you, they must know something about you.”

  “They think Marylou’s my lover.” She waved at Donald Duck. “That means they’ve watched us for the past couple of days and come to that conclusion.”

  “Must have been the fight,” Gwen said.

  “That means they’re working for someone. Someone who gave them a description of me, but not of you. And probably not of Marylou. Which narrows our list of suspects considerably.”

  “To whom?”

  Minnie Mouse approached. Stoner smiled politely and indicated “no children.” Minnie withdrew to search for more traditional couples. “I don’t know yet, but it must.”

  “And for what reason?”

  “Revenge, probably.”

  Gwen looked at her. “Revenge for what? Stoner, how many enemies do you have?”

  “We can rule out Bryan.” She dug into her hash browns. “He’s dead, and he knows Marylou’s not my lover.”

  “True.”

  “He knew I was attracted to you even when you were on your honeymoon with him and I thought you were straight.”

  “Bryan,” Gwen said with a somber nod, “was a very perceptive man.”

  “Not any more,” Stoner pointed out. “Which leaves us with two possibilities. Millicent Tunes, who is in jail and not likely to do much harm from there. And...” She hesitated.

  “And?”

  “Your grandmother.”

  “Ah,” Gwen said. “My grandmother is an excellent choice. Except that she could probably describe me with some accuracy.”

  “True.”

  “On the other hand, if we find that Marylou has been kidnapped by some fundamentalist Christian homophobic cult for the purposes of brainwashing...”

  “We’ll know it’s your grandmother.” She took a bite of toast and looked up to see George and Stape emerging from the monorail. George signaled to them to come to the platform.

  They paid the bill and headed for the escalator, showed their passes and went out by the tracks.

  “Pretend you don’t know us,” George muttered. “You don’t know who might be watching.”

  Stoner nodded and leaned casually against the chain that divided the rows of waiting riders into neat columns. The train pulled into the station, and the attendant motioned them inside a car. He cut off the crowd so that they were alone, much to the consternation of several families who now had to wait for the next train.

  “I see rank hath its privileges,” Gwen said.

  “Safer to talk here,” George pointed out. “So what’s up?”

  Stoner explained as well as she could.

  “Wow!” George exclaimed. “You make real serious enemies, don’t you?”

  Stape laughed deeply. “How many times have I told you, lady? You want to make real enemies, go into the siding business.”

  “It’s Stape’s personal belief,” George said as she gave her lover’s knee an affectionate squeeze, “that people get crazier about their houses than about anything else.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Stoner said. “They get pretty crazy about their vacations.”

  “Hah!” Gwen put in. “You should see how they get about their kids.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe people are just plain crazy.”

  George had taken out her notebook and was making notes. “So you don’t know what this is all about, and you don’t know where they have Marylou, or who took her or why. You just know they got the wrong person.”

  “That’s right,” Gwen said. “They were after me.”

  George glanced at her. “Any idea why?”
/>   “None.”

  “It appears to be directed at me,” Stoner explained. “That’s all we can figure out.”

  “Seems to me,” Stape said to Gwen, “if it’s really you they wanted to grab, you ought to lay low. When they realize they made a mistake, they’ll come looking for you.”

  “Probably,” Gwen admitted. “But I’m not about to hide in my room like a craven coward.”

  Stoner realized George and Stape had fallen silent, and were staring at her. She smiled.

  They continued to stare in a kind of expectant way. Obviously, something was supposed to happen now, and she was supposed to do it. But she couldn’t imagine what it was.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  Stape and George seemed a little shocked at her ignorance. They glanced at one another. Stape cleared her throat. “You going to let her do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Get involved in this?”

  “If she wants to,” Stoner said.

  George and Stape looked at one another again. This time the look was definitely disapproving.

  “If I’m picking up what I think I’m picking up...” Gwen began.

  They ignored her and focused on Stoner. “You’re not going to forbid it?”

  “Forbid it?” Gwen squeaked.

  Stoner had to laugh. “I tried it once. But it’s her life, you know? Anyway, she’ll do what she wants no matter what I say.”

  Stape’s look was a mixture of pity and disapproval. She nudged Stoner’s ankle with the tip of her work boot. “You take my advice,” she said. “Get control of that situation before it gets any worse.”

  She waited for Gwen’s explosion. It didn’t come. Which could simply mean Gwen was amused. She hoped so.

  Gwen was exchanging eye-rolling glances with George. “Butches,” she said. “Go figure.”