A Necessary Evil(8)
It didn’t matter. Though she’d been lying in the back seat on the drive from the mall to this underground hideout, she could tell when he pulled off the main road and drove down a bumpy country road. Then he’d turned, and the ride became even slower and rougher. When he’d pulled her out of the back seat and she’d seen they were in the middle of the woods, she knew no one would ever find her here.
Now the tiny sliver of hope she’d held on to that she could possibly talk her way out of her situation had been shattered, and she knew she had to accept the fact that whatever her pops had done to this man, she was going to be the one to pay the ultimate price for his sins.
Chapter 5
Frankie
When his driver slowed the Town Car to a stop in front of the outside entrance to Macy’s, Frankie stepped out into the cold. His thoughts turned instantly to Mollie, and he wondered if she was cold wherever she was…if she was even still alive. Frankie shrugged off the horrific thoughts, wrapped his Burberry scarf around his neck, and told his driver to wait at the curb.
People stared as they always did when Franklin Cartwright entered a room. He projected an air of confidence and authority that permeated the space around him, and crowds parted like the Red Sea wherever he went. Some were brave enough to stop and shake his hand, thanking him for this donation or a scholarship that had benefited the community or their loved one. Frankie always smiled back, nodded politely, and shook hands with his constituents. After all, he knew that in order to maintain his image as the town’s most magnanimous entrepreneur, he had to keep the little people happy.
His two most loyal bodyguards, Rupert and Stanley, flanked him, a few paces behind, as he marched confidently down the aisles and between the Christmas displays that littered the store as the normally joyous holidays rapidly approached. Bing Crosby sang “Mele Kalikimaka” over the loudspeakers while shoppers crowded the counters, weighed down by shopping bags as they waited in line to pay for gifts the probably couldn’t afford.
Frankie approached the first makeup counter he came across, since he couldn’t recall exactly which one Mollie worked at. An older lady, who’d obviously undergone one too many facelifts, tried to smile at Frankie when he stepped up to the counter.
“Hello, sir,” she sang. “Shopping for your wife? Girlfriend?” Before he could answer, she grabbed a box from behind the counter and produced it with dramatic flair. “I have the perfect gift. It’s our holiday collection, complete with a smoky eye kit, contour tools, and three shades of lipstick to compliment her—”
Frankie held up his hand. “No, thank you. Not today. I’m actually looking for someone who might know my granddaughter. Her name is Mollie Cartwright. She works at one of these counters, but I’m not sure which one. Can you help me?” He gave her his most sincere, gracious smile, and the old lady swooned. An effect he had on many ladies of her generation.
“Sure,” she said after she recovered. “I know Mollie.” She pointed a crooked but bedazzled finger to the right. “She works over there at the Urban Decay counter. But I haven’t seen her today. Ask Fabulous Greg. He’s her supervisor. He’ll know if she’s coming in tonight.”
“Fabulous Greg?” Frankie raised an eyebrow at the ridiculous moniker.
“You’ll see,” she said. “Just look for the tall, light-skinned man in magnificent shoes. You can’t miss him.”
“Thank you.” Frankie bowed toward the saleslady and bid her goodbye.
He walked in an arc around a crowd of teenage boys who were gawking at some lingerie and up to the display counter with a large sign that read ‘URBAN DECAY.’ Within seconds, his eyes fell on a very tall, young black man with light-colored skin, who was standing at a table, rearranging makeup boxes into the shape of a Christmas tree. Frankie scanned the length of the lithe fellow and saw instantly why he was so tall—he was wearing rhinestone stiletto heels. His jeans were way too tight, and he wore a hideous red sweater with a reindeer on the front, complete with a flashing red nose. This had to be Fabulous Greg.
Frankie shook his head and proceeded toward the display. He cleared his throat when he approached the effeminate young man. “Excuse me,” he said. “My name is Franklin Cartwright. You must be…Greg.”
Greg looked Frankie up and down with one hand on a cocked hip and the other hand flopped down the way no straight man would ever do. The corners of his mouth turned up, revealing perfectly white teeth, and Frankie noticed at once that Greg was wearing makeup. Complete with bright red lipstick, that stuff women wore on their cheeks, dark eyeshadow, and extremely long false eyelashes. Frankie had to admit—he truly did look fabulous.
“Hello, there, sugar,” Greg said with a whistle as he eyed Frankie from his well-shined Brooks Brothers shoes to his crystal blue eyes. “Yes, I’m Greg. And who might you be?”
“My name is Franklin Cartwright,” Frankie said in as masculine a voice as he could muster. “I believe you know my granddaughter, Mollie.”
“Oh, child,” Greg’s face fell. “Yes, I know Mollie. I guess you’re here looking for her too.”
“What do you mean?” Frankie was taken aback. “Who else is looking for her?”
“A fine looking older gentleman like yourself came in here not long ago asking questions about her too. But this one was a cop. Name was…oh, child, I done forgot…”