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“Would you marry me?”
“Is that a proposal?”
“No.”
“Testing the waters?” I asked.
“Curious,” Ranger said.
“I honestly don’t know the answer. The fast reply might be negative, but there’s Ella to consider.”
“You’d marry me to get your sheets ironed, your clothes folded, and gourmet food in the kitchen?”
“It sweetens the deal.”
“Something to remember,” Ranger said. “Let’s go into my office. I want you to see the kidnapper’s photo in high definition.”
We went into his office, and he pulled the photo of Vinnie up on his monitor.
“The first thing that I see is that they’ve used duct tape to hang him on the hook,” Ranger said. “This suggests that they don’t intend to keep him there for very long. I think this is a setup to scare you.”
“It worked,” I said.
“I don’t see any sign of real torture on Vinnie. He’s still fully clothed. He doesn’t look tortured. He looks angry. I don’t think these are sadistic people. They probably killed Paul Mori, but I don’t think they’re professional killers. I think they’re just desperate for their money. They were able to capture Connie and Vinnie, but they screwed up twice trying to get you.”
“Amateurs,” I said.
“Yes, but dangerous amateurs. And determined. You don’t want to underestimate them. You can’t see much of the room because the photo is so dark. Is there anything about it that looks familiar to you?”
“No.”
“Marcus Smulet is a long-distance truck driver who somehow managed to acquire eleven million dollars. I’m guessing he didn’t do it by hauling toaster ovens.”
“Maybe he was hauling humans.”
“Or drugs, or both.”
“What about his ex-wife? Does he have kids?”
“No kids. The ex-wife lives in White Horse. Do you want to go for a ride?”
“Sure.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ranger drove his Porsche Cayenne out of the Rangeman garage. He cut across town to Route 29, and from there it was a straight shot to White Horse. Ranger isn’t usually a music guy when he drives. He wears an earbud and talks to the control room when necessary. Today there was minimal conversation, and he was in the zone.
When we got to White Horse. Ranger left Route 29 and followed the GPS directions to Susan Smulet’s house. She was now Susan Crane and she lived in a white Cape Cod–style house with blue shutters and a blue door. It was in a pleasant neighborhood filled with basketball hoops in driveways and toddler Big Wheel bikes on front lawns. Ranger parked in front of the Crane house. We walked to the door and rang the bell.
A pretty, brown-haired, brown-eyed woman in her late thirties to early forties answered.
“We’re looking for Susan Crane,” I said.
“That’s me.”
“You were married to Marcus Smulet?”
“Yes. What’s this about?”
