(Road Trip continued)
With a heavy sigh, Jim stood and turned for the door.
“Where are you going?” Trixie asked.
“Out to search the car for the artifacts,” he replied without a backward glance. The remaining five Bob-Whites silently followed the tall redhead out the door.
In the hotel parking lot, the group gathered at the back of their station wagon. Honey had designed and made a cover for the “trunk” area of the wagon so they could leave some of their belongings in the car, but out of sight. It was the most likely place for Liz to hide the artifacts. The rest of the car was clean – out of necessity. With seven people and their luggage, space was at a premium.
Jim unlocked the trunk door and rolled back the cover. “I guess the best way to do this is one package at a time,” he said pulling out the closest bag and opening it.
In just a few minutes time, there were seven small piles on the pavement next to the car; one for each BWG’s souvenirs since they’d returned from Australia.
“We have enough t-shirts to open our own shop,” Mart noted wryly. “Surely there’s nothing left in there.”
“Yeah, it’s a good thing we already posted some boxes back to Sleepyside,” Trixie said as she crawled into the car. “There’s got to be – wait!” She stuck her hand in the space between the back seat and the flat part of the trunk area. “Look –“ she held up two crumpled bags. Trixie handed one bag to Honey and opened the other one herself.
“Oh, my goodness…I think this is it!” exclaimed Trixie.
“In this bag, too,” Honey said. “Guys, put the stuff back in the car and let’s take these inside.”
Back in the girls’ room, the six gathered around a bed while Trixie and Honey laid out the bags’ contents. Two clay figurines stared up at the Bob-Whites.
“What are they?” Diana asked. She turned and looked at Mart. He shrugged, his brows drawn together in thought.
“Mart, don’t tell me that the ONE time we need you to be Mr. Know-It-All, you’re Mr. Know NOTHING!” Trixie groaned and buried her face in the bed pillow.
“I’m sorry, Trix. I didn’t know that knowledge of the beliefs and ideologies of the Southwestern Native Americans was going to be an integral piece of our summer vacation.” Mart turned one of the figurines over in his hands while he talked. “They DO look old. I’m sure this is what Dan’s captors were looking for.”
“You’re probably right, Mart,” Brian looked up from a map he had spread open on the desk top. “It’s about 300 miles to St. Louis. If we leave now, we can be there before it gets dark. Or, we can stay here and go down tomorrow.” He looked over at his siblings and friends. Five voices answered in unison – “Let’s go!”
Later that evening
The setting sun turned the Gateway Arch, rising tall above the Mississippi River in St. Louis, from silver to orange to pink as the Bob-Whites approached the city from the north.
“Oh, my goodness, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Honey didn’t really expect an answer. “I wish St. Louis would hold better memories for us. I always think about that horrible Pierre Lontard….”
Brian squeezed her hand. “It all worked out all right then, and it will be okay this time, too.” He tapped Jim’s shoulder from the middle seat and pointed out the front window. “That’s the exit for our hotel.” Jim pulled off of the interstate and continued to follow Brian’s directions, finally stopping in front of a small hotel called The Clubhouse Inn and Suites.
Daniel Stuart was waiting for the Bob-Whites in the lobby of the hotel. He raised one hand in greeting as he signed off and closed the cell phone he was holding in his other hand. Clipping the phone into the holster at his waist, the FBI director surveyed the tired-looking group. “I’m glad you called me from the road instead of trying to handle this on your own,” he said. “Let’s get you settled into your rooms. Jason Running Bear should be here soon. He’s an assistant chief of the Tucson band of the Zuni. From what you’ve told me, he thinks you have a couple of Zuni war-gods in your possession.”
Daniel helped the Bob-Whites carry bags into two adjoining rooms near the hotel’s swimming pool, and then went to wait for Jason Running Bear back in the lobby. It was about 30 minutes later when a soft knock sounded on the door to the girls’ room.
Trixie poked her head into the boys’ room. “Someone’s here,” she announced before turning back to see Honey open the door. A tall, handsome man followed Daniel into the room. At the same time, Jim, Brian and Mart entered from the adjoining room.
“Jason, I’d like you to meet the Bob-Whites of the Glen,” Daniel said and quickly made the introductions.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Jason said as he shook hands with each of them. “Daniel has told me about your friend being held for the ransom of some artifacts. May I see what you’ve found?”
Honey moved to the dresser and opened the top drawer. From between layers of immaculately folded t-shirts, she pulled the brown paper bags that held the figurines.
“Good thing Honey has them,” Mart remarked sotto voice. “I’m betting Trixie’s clothes are still crammed in her suitcase.” Red-faced, Trixie shot her brother a withering look and self-consciously pushed the aforementioned suitcase under a bed and out of view.
Jason took the proffered bag from Honey and moved to the desk. He turned on the light and carefully opened the bag.
“Are they Zuni war-gods?” Trixie asked. “Do you know why Liz stole them?”
“Trixie, be patient,” Brian gently chided. “Let Mr. Running Bear have a good look at them first.”
Without looking up, Jason said, “Please call me Jason.” He slowly examined one figurine, then another, turning them over in his hands and peering closely at them. After several quiet minutes even the ever-patient Honey seemed about to burst.
“Please, Mr. Running…..Jason,” she pled. “Are they the stolen artifacts that we heard about?”
Serious black eyes looked into hazel ones. “They do appear to be authentic,” he said. “I’ll have to have our shaman look at them, but I believe they are some of the missing artifacts.”
“So what do we do NOW? We’re supposed to give them to Liz Dickinson the day after tomorrow so that we can get Dan back,” Brian turned to Daniel Stuart. “Do you have a plan, sir?”
The FBI man looked around the group. “I do have a plan. What do you say we get something to eat and talk about it.”
“I like the way you think, Sir,” Mart piped up. “I, for one, ruminate better after mastication.”
Jason cocked an inquiring eyebrow toward Daniel. The director sighed and shook his head. “This one,” he answered the look, “this one needs to come with his own translator.”
“I simply mean…” Mart was stopped short by Daniel.
“I think better on a full stomach, too, Mart. Now, how many pizzas does it take to feed the lot of you?”
Two hours and three extra-large pizzas later, a plan was formulated. Jason Running Bear left with the figurines for safekeeping and authentication. His tribe’s shaman was to meet him in St. Louis early the next morning.
Daniel Stuart left with an admonition: “Please, PLEASE stay out of trouble for the next couple of days.” The Bob-Whites assured him that they would stay around the hotel until the time came to meet Liz at Artistic Endeavors.
Unused to inactivity, the Bob-Whites found waiting – even for only one day – to be an arduous task. They wandered back and forth between the two rooms through the open adjoining door. Both television sets were on – one tuned to ESPN; the other to HGTV. Mart was dissatisfied with both choices. Not even Diana, who usually championed Mart’s every cause, would agree to his request for “Iron Chef”.
“They never make anything a normal person would eat,” she said by way of explanation. “I mean really, Mart, not even your cast iron stomach could handle liver-flavored ice cream.”
“Ice cream! I’d give my left leg for some ice cream!” Mart shook said leg in Diana’s direction. He opened the top drawer of the bedside table, pulled out the phone book and flipped to “I” in the yellow pages. “Can’t we get out of here for just a little while? Look, this place called Ted Drewes has frozen custard. Maybe someone at the front desk can give us directions.”
Fifteen minutes later, armed with directions – and a high recommendation – from the concierge, they headed out for Ted Drewes Frozen Custard. When they arrived, each window already had a line. They queued up and examined the menu. At the window, six orders were given – each for a different frozen delight. They sat at picnic tables, enjoying their concretes and sundaes in the warm afternoon sun. The group was quiet except for various murmurs of “Taste mine” and “Wow, that’s good!”
Back at the hotel, the Bob-Whites made an early night of it. Tomorrow would be a busy day and they needed their sleep.
Meanwhile…
A tired and emotionally beaten Dan Mangan waited to be rescued. He knew in his heart of hearts that the Bob-Whites would find him.
He thought back to the morning he’d been kidnapped. That goon had insisted that the BWGs had some kind of valuable Indian artifacts in their possession. Dan smiled a bit at the memory of Diana jumping up to fight the kidnapper. It was something that Trixie would have done. He’d never expected it of the more genteel Diana.
Dan’s thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the door to the room in which he was being held captive. As far as Dan was able to deduce, there were only two people involved -- the man who’d wrestled with him and Diana and his henchwoman. They’d been very careful not to us their names in front of him, so Dan had taken to calling them Boris and Natasha. The only thing missing was the bad Russian accent.
This was Natasha. She carried a bag and cup bearing the McDonald’s logo. The scent of breakfast food gently assaulted Dan’s senses and his stomach growled in response.
“So, tough guy, you’re hungry, are you?” Natasha sneered and jerked her head toward the table in the corner of the room.
The room was mostly barren with only a threadbare mattress thrown on the floor and a table with no chair. The table was bolted to the floor – as if anyone would want to steal a table that looked like it had 40 years worth of graffiti carved into its wooden top and another 40 years worth of gum stuck to its underside. There were no windows. The only light was from a single bulb hanging in the middle of the ceiling. There was a fitting for a globe that had been long since broken. The door to the bathroom was knobless.
Already betrayed by his hunger, Dan perched on the edge of the table and peered into the bag that Natasha tossed at him.
“This is your big day – if your friends come through,” Natasha snickered. “If not – well – it’s been nice knowin’ ya.” An evil laugh passed her lips.
Dan swiped at his greasy mouth before answering. “I don’t know what you think we have, but I know the Bob-Whites won’t let me down.” Head bent over his breakfast, his dark eyes rose to meet hers. “And then you’ll wish you hadn’t messed with us.”
Natasha laughed, again. “Give me a break. You’re a bunch of college kids. Goody-goodies. You never should have gotten messed up with Liz Dickinson. Didn’t your parents ever tell you not to pick up hitchhikers?”
Before Dan could reply, the door to the room swung open, startling both of them.
“C’mon,” Boris ordered. “Breakfast time is over. Let’s see if your little birdie friends are going to save you – or leave you to rest at the bottom of the Mississippi.”
At Artistic Endeavors Art Studio
Liz Dickinson paced near the displays of her art work. Native American faces gazed out from exquisite paintings. The soothing colors of the desert invited the observer in – made them feel the warm, dry climes of the Southwest. Liz was always nervous when she opened a new show. This time was different, though. These pictures mocked her. The eyes of an old Indian woman chided her from the canvas. The sacred places she’d seen in Arizona and painted in Chicago haunted her night and day.
She regretted stealing the Zuni war gods – but what choice had she been given? They’d threatened her PawPaw…they said they were watching his house in New Orleans and if she didn’t deliver, they’d kill him. They knew his name, his address; other things that made her believe them. But, PawPaw had died while she was hitching back to Chicago. She’d been picked up by that group of rich college kids and when they stopped for gas, she’d phoned PawPaw. Her uncle had answered the phone and told her that PawPaw had quietly passed in his sleep, so there was no need to turn the artifacts over.
She’d hidden the war-gods among the belongings of…what had they called themselves? Some kind of bird…Bob-Whites, that’s what it was. They seemed like nice kids. “I wish I hadn’t had to involve them,” Liz thought. PawPaw’s funeral and preparing for this exhibit had done little to assuage her feelings of guilt. She turned away from her paintings at the sound of her name.
“Liz,” her assistant, Marcia, hurried toward her. “Mr. Sands is ready to open the doors. Are you ready to meet your public?”
Liz took a deep breath, closed her eyes and slowly let the breath out. When she opened her eyes, she flashed a smile at Marcia. “Do I look all right?”
“Perfect,” Marcia smiled back as the bell on the front door tinkled and the first of the patrons entered the studio.
A small crowd waited on the sidewalk outside Artistic Endeavors. At 10 o’clock in the morning, the temperature was already hot and the air thick with humidity. Amidst the anxious art aficionados were four people less interested in the art and more concerned with the artist herself.
Jim held a bag in one hand and Trixie’s small, sweaty hand in his other hand. Nearby two FBI agents kept close watch on the crowd. The top of Trixie’s head barely reached Jim’s shoulder and she stood on tiptoes to scan the crowd. With a heavy sigh she dropped to flat feet. “I can’t see anything. And it’s so hot out here,” she groaned. “Do you see Dan?”
“No, but I don’t expect to,” came Jim’s answer. “We won’t see him until we give Liz the bag.” Jim waggled the bag in his hand. He dropped his voice to a whisper and bent to speak near Trixie’s ear. “These fake war-gods that Jason brought us look so much like the real thing, I’m sure Liz won’t know the difference.”
Trixie’s reply was aborted by the ringing of the studio’s door opening. Jim gave her hand a quick squeeze as they followed the crowd into the refreshingly cool air of Artistic Endeavors.
In a van parked down the street, Boris watched the crowd enter the studio. Glancing into the rearview mirror, his eyes met the reflection of Dan’s eyes. The younger man’s left ankle was shackled to the leg of the seat on which he sat.
“I hope your friends are trust-worthy,” the captor said into the mirror before opening the van door and crossing the street to walk toward Artistic Endeavors.
Dan muttered something at Boris’ retreating form. “What’s that, cutie?” Natasha asked from the seat next to Dan.
“Nothin’,” was the short answer.
Inside the studio, Liz smiled and greeted well-wishers. Marcia was busy arranging sales and Jack Sands, the studio owner, wandered through the crowd talking to friends and customers. All were blissfully unaware of the drama about to unfold.
Jim and Trixie waited more or less patiently for a chance to speak to Liz. They stood in front of the same painting of the Indian woman that Liz had been contemplating earlier.
“She looks so sad,” Trixie said gazing at the woman’s face.
“Yeah,” Jim answered. “Liz is really good. Too bad she’s a thief and a kidnapper.”
Finally, the crowd around Liz dissipated. With a nod toward the FBI agents, Jim and Trixie moved to confront the artist. Liz’s eyes grew wide with recognition and surprise as the two Bob-Whites approached her.
“Wow,” she said smiling and reaching out her right hand to shake hands, “what a great surprise to see you here.”
The smile died on her lips and she dropped her unshaken hand at Trixie’s greeting.
“You’re the one who wanted us here. Now, where’s Dan?”
“What do you mean?” A frown creased Liz’s brow. “I haven’t seen Dan since I left you in El Paso.”
“Cut the act,” Jim growled. “We got the message from your goon to bring the war-gods to you here. We’ve got them,” he held up the bag. Although Jim’s voice was low, there was no mistaking his tone when he said – “Tell us where Dan is. NOW!”
“I told you – I don’t know where Dan is and I don’t want those war-gods!”
“She’s right,” a deep voice said from behind Jim. Liz’s face paled as Boris stepped toward the three of them. “Ms. Dickinson double-crossed me. She was supposed to bring the Zuni war-gods to me, in exchange for her grandfather’s safety. The old coot went and died on us, though, and Ms. Dickinson felt she didn’t have to hold up her end of the deal. Ergo – Plan B.”
“You’re scum!” Liz kept her voice low and steady. Anyone observing the little group would have no idea of the gravity of the conversation.
“Be that as it may,” Boris grinned back at her, “your friends here have what I want and I have their tough little friend.”
“Where is he?” Trixie spoke through clenched teeth and moved in close to Boris.
“You’re a feisty one,” Boris glared down into angry blue eyes. “Where are my artifacts?”
Jim stepped between Trixie and Boris. The three of them all but ignored Liz. “I’ve got them right here. We’ll gladly give them to you, but we want Dan.”
Boris smirked and flipped open a cell phone. He punched in a number. “It’s me. Yeah, I’ve got ‘em. Bring the van around to the alley door. I’ll meet you there.”
Liz led the way to the back of the studio and through a storage room. Boris opened the door into the alley just as the blue van rolled to a stop. Natasha jumped down from the driver’s seat and, leaving the van running, crossed to the other side of the van to open the door.
“Dan!” Trixie cried and tried to push past Boris.
“Hang on there, little lady,” Boris grabbed her by the wrist. “You get your buddy when I get my artifacts.”
“Take your hands off her,” Dan growled from inside the van.
“You heard him – get your dirty hands off her.” Jim forced his way between Boris and Trixie, forcing the older man to let go of her wrist. Then he shoved the paper bag at Boris hitting him hard in the chest. “Here are the war-gods. Now let Dan go.”
Boris opened the bag and looked inside. “Ugly little fellas, aren’t they?” He laughed and motioned toward Natasha. “Let the kid go.” As Natasha unlocked the shackle and freed Dan, Boris got into the driver’s seat. Dan slowly got out of the van and was immediately accosted by a joyful Trixie, who wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.
“Nice doin’ business with ya,” Boris called as Natasha climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door.
As the van pulled away, two cars screeched to a stop at either end of the alley, blocking the way in and out. Jim pushed Liz, Dan and Trixie back into the studio as FBI agents jumped out of both cars with their guns drawn and loudly identified themselves.
Later that evening
Mart pushed back from the table and patted his stomach. “Man, this St. Louis barbeque is some satisfactory fare!”
Dan laughed, “Dude, I’ve missed you.”
Liz spoke up from across the table. “I just can’t tell you all enough how sorry I am. If I had known all of the danger you’d be in, I never would have left those war-gods in the station wagon.”
“Really, Liz,” Dan looked up and down the table at his friends, “we don’t blame you.” The Bob-Whites nodded in agreement.
“I just think that Jim and Trixie were so brave to face up to that horrid man,” Diana said.
Trixie blushed to the roots of her sandy curls. “It’s not hard to be brave when Jim’s around. Plus, we were wired for sound. The FBI was listening to everything we said. You were brave, too, Diana, fighting off that jerk back at the hotel.”
Now it was Di’s turn to blush. “I was just doing what any one of you would have done. One for all, you know.”
“I wish there was some way I could try to make this all up to you,” Liz frowned and picked at the fries left on her plate. Then, she brightened. “I know! How soon do you have to be back in New York?”
Brian spoke for the group. “We still have some time left before school starts. It seems like we started out on this road trip years ago, though.” The other six Bob-Whites nodded in agreement.
“Oh,” Liz’s face fell. “I’m sure you’re anxious to get home. I just thought you might like to spend a few days in New Orleans. My PawPaw’s house is in the Garden District and there’s plenty of room for you there.”
Mart’s ears perked up at the mention of New Orleans. “New Orleans is a gastronomic delight!”
“Mart Belden, you can’t possibly be thinking of food after all the ribs you just ate! I swear your legs must be hollow!!” Honey laughed at the insatiable young man.
“Hey, I’m a growing boy!” he retorted.
“Yeah,” laughed Dan, “but aren’t you supposed to grow UP, not OUT?”
“Back to the subject at hand,” Brian interjected, “we couldn’t possibly impose….”
“It wouldn’t be an imposition at all,” Liz said. “My uncle lives in the house – it’s been in our family since before the Civil War – and he travels all the time for his job. The house is fully staffed with people who have nothing to do while he’s away. Really, you’ll keep them from expiring from boredom.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Jim said.
“We drove through New Orleans on our way to San Antonio,” Brian remembered. A dark shadow passed over his handsome features. “We barely noticed; we were so worried about Honey….”
“And, that turned out all right, too,” Honey smiled at Brian and patted his hand.
“You know, I’ve always wanted to visit New Orleans,” Di sighed. “The architecture is beautiful.”
“And, it’s haunted,” Trixie said gleefully.
“And, there’s FOOD!” Mart’s eyes all but rolled into his head.
“I guess it’s settled, then,” Jim said. “We’d love to spend a few days in New Orleans.”
To Be Continued
Notes:
The basic disclaimer. The Bob-Whites don’t belong to me. I’m not profiting from their use. Some of the characters herein belong to other “Road Trip” authors. Jason Running Bear is mine.
Big thanks to Diann for taking the time to edit for me. I really appreciate it! Louis sends his love to Moosey J .
And, extra big thanks to Zap for being so patient with me.
My knowledge of St. Louis is limited to driving through it back and forth between New Orleans and Minnesota, reading “Mystery on the Mississippi” and the 3 days spent there for Trixie Camp 2004. I apologize for any misrepresentation. As you can see, I chose not to make the city much of a character in this section of the Road Trip.
The Gateway Arch was completed in 1965, the same year that KK’s “Mystery on the Mississippi” was first published. The Bob-Whites didn’t visit the Arch in the book.
Of course, McDonald’s is a giant corporation. No profit is made from the use of their name.
I had to do a bit of sleuthing to find an Indian artifact that could be hidden in the Bob-White wagon. Basically, I did a search to find the Indians that might be in the area and found the Zunis. Next, I had to find something small that could be worth a lot of money. Hence, the war-gods.
Boris and Natasha are the villains from the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons.
The Clubhouse Inn and Suites was where we stayed during Trixie Camp. I wasn’t able to find a way to fit the sweaty, pot-smoking crowd at the reggae festival into my story…