Free Within Striking Distance by Ingrid Weaver

between his molars. He’d heard about the Gina Grosso case on the news a few months ago. Kidnapping was big stuff, even if it was three decades old. Especially when the parents were loaded like the Grossos. He needed that smoke.
    “Very good. I take it you remembered to wear gloves.”
    “Sure,” he lied, rubbing his sleeve across the front of the filing cabinet.
    “Make certain you leave everything exactly the way you found it and relock the door.”
    He hated the way she talked. She sounded as if she thought he was an idiot. Too bad she wasn’t like her old man. When Gerald Shillington had run the plant, he’d been decent to his employees. He’d treated them fairly. He hadn’t made them want to steal from him to make ends meet. “Yes, ma’am. Is that all?”
    “Oh, no, Mr. Bocci.” Cynthia Shillington Brown’s laugh was as irritating as her voice. “We’re just getting started.”

CHAPTER FOUR
    J AKE KNEW he was early, so he parked his car at the curb and took stock of the neighborhood. It was a quiet one, with trees arching over the street and old houses set far back from the sidewalks. Most of the homes had been either restored or well-kept enough not to need restoration. The one where Becky lived was no exception. The two-story Victorian gleamed with a fresh coat of white paint. From what he’d learned when he’d done his initial background check on Becky, the house was owned by a well-off widow who inherited a dry-cleaning chain. She had divided the second floor into two apartments, yet there didn’t appear to be an outside staircase. The tenants shared the front entrance with their landlady.
    Jake suspected the widow rented the apartments for the company as much as for the income. He liked to think of Becky making her home here. It suited her better than an apartment like his in a high-rise. Living in a family-oriented neighborhood would appeal to her need for roots.
    A toddler on a tricycle squealed as he pedaled past on the sidewalk on the other side of the street, followed closely by a yellow Lab that was bigger than the child. A young, heavily pregnant woman hurried after the pair, yelling at the dog and waving a child-size hat at the kid.
    Well, early or not, it sounded as if the neighborhood was wide awake. Jake grabbed the paper bag from the passengerseat, got out of the car and headed up the front walk of Becky’s house. He was about to climb the steps to the veranda when the inside front door swung open and a tiny, white-haired woman peered at him through the screen door. “Hello.”
    This must be Becky’s landlady, Jake thought, remembering his notes. Lena Krazowski. “Good morning. I’m looking for Miss Peters.”
    “You must be her friend. She said you were coming. You’re early.”
    Jake was subjected to the same head-to-toe scrutiny that he’d received from Shirley Dalton the previous weekend. “That’s right,” he said. “Looks like it’s going to be a nice day.”
    “It’s going to get hot. Rebecca’s in the garage,” she said, pointing to the right side of the house.
    “Thanks.” He pivoted to change direction.
    “Mind the delphiniums.”
    He assumed she meant the flowers that were clustered along the walk. “Will do,” he said, giving the bed a wide berth. He followed the driveway to the back of the house, where he found Becky’s red compact car and an older-model sedan parked in front of a double garage. Sunshine slanted through the open door, revealing walls hung with an orderly array of gardening tools. An open loft began near the front of the garage and stretched all the way to the back wall. From where he stood he couldn’t see anything over the edge except an old brass-bound trunk and several wooden crates. A steep staircase, similar to the kind that folded down to give access to attics, hung from a gap in the center of the loft. He moved toward it. “Becky?”
    “I’m up here, Jake.” She appeared at the top of the staircase. “You’re