HDA - Living in Darkness Trilogy - Pt 2 - The Search

"Shush." Michael steered her to the small photo shop. The owner was a friend of his and had replaced his passport before. It was cheaper than going to the American Embassy and not so much red tape. If it was illegal, he didn't want to know. He had awakened this morning realizing that everyone had a passport except Ariel. He'd panicked for a minute until he realized he could fix that. He stopped in front of the door. "I was thinking that you need a last name."

Ariel blinked, then stared at him. "What?"

"A last name. To go on the passport. Not too many people get away with the single name anymore."

She thought a moment, then nodded. "I'm hardly in the same league as Cher or Bono."

Michael studied her for a second, wondering why those two names had come to her, then shook his head. "Come on."

She hung back. "So what is it?"

"What is what?"

"My last name?"

"Oh." Michael gave her a rueful grin. "Hathaway."

"Hathaway?"

Michael shrugged. "Well...Nick knows his grandmother had a brother. So it's possible he could have some Hathaway cousins floating around out there."

Ariel still didn't understand that strange feeling that washed over her every time Nick got near her. "So Nick and I....are cousins."

"Is that okay?"

She raised her head and for a moment, saw a familiar face, then just behind him there was an explosion. A second later, it was gone. Ariel took a deep breath. "Yeah...that's okay."

Michael opened the door for her and stepped into the cool dim interior. "Rene'," he called, looking around.

A tall slim man with long black hair and a pencil-thin mustache walked out of a doorway. "I am here, Michael, there is no need for raising the voice." His dark eyes slid to Ariel. "This is she?"

Michael nodded. "Yes. Ariel Hathaway, this is Rene' LeBlanc."

She shook his outstretched hand. "Hello."

"You look familiar, oui?" he commented, leading them back to the room where he took photographs. "Have you been here before, mademoiselle?"

For just a heartbeat, Ariel was tempted to say yes. The faintest image of a lace slip dress with jacket, her hair piled up in ringlets on top of her head. A woman's voice in the background. She blinked and the image was gone. "I don't think so." She sat down on the stool he motioned to and sat still for the photo. The man disappeared into a back room and she sighed. "Are you sure we won't get into trouble doing this?"

"Don't fret." Michael motioned to a wall of photographs. "Rene' is popular around here. He may be small but he's fast and cheaper than a more prominent photographer."

Ariel gazed up at the pictures. Some were of people, some of landscapes. Small placards in French and English said who or what they were." Her eyes widened. "He's actually photographed Charles Tucker? The man hates to have his photo taken. Prefers no picture on his jackets but his agent always insists, if just a small one."

Michael looked over at her, noted her eyes were just slightly unfocused. "Who's he?"

"SF writer, popular with fans."

"Do you know him?"

She blinked and looked at Michael. "Do I?"

Michael glanced at the photo for a long moment. The man in the picture had dark brown hair and brown eyes. He wore a slim mustache and an actual white suit. He looked like someone out of the past--especially the American south. He turned as Rene came back with the passport. With new technology, it was easier than ever and quicker to get one made. Ariel signed her name on the dotted line and took the small leather book. "Merci, monsieur."

"Merci." Rene' looked from her to Michael. "You have always catered to my establishment. Come again."

Michael bit back a grin at the man's formal tone, then led Ariel out of the building. Then he stopped, and reached for the door. "Hold up. I forgot something." He darted back in to find Rene' waiting for him. "Do you know her?"

Rene' blinked, puzzled by the question. "I just met her."

"No, you asked if she'd been here before."

"She reminds me of a young woman who came in several years ago for a photo." Rene' shrugged slightly. "The young woman was getting the picture done for a book jacket."

Slowly, Michael looked out the window set in the door at Ariel. He remembered her recent comment. "Who's Charles Tucker?"

"American. Very reluctant, didn't want it done but he said his agent wouldn't listen. He writes science fiction books." Rene' cocked his head to one side. "Why all the questions, Michael?"

"I'll explain later. I have to go." He left, and rejoined Ariel on the sidewalk. He gave her a grin. "Forgot to pay him." He took the passport and opened it up to look at the picture. "It doesn't do you justice."

Ariel turned to face him. "Are you--?"

Michael lowered his head and kissed her gently, then pulled back, but not before skimming a hand over her long auburn hair. "Forgive me. I couldn't resist."

There was a memory just out of reach, she realized, feeling a strange sense of loss. She told herself to ignore it and reached up, threaded her fingers through Michael's hair. "What's there to forgive," she whispered and kissed him back.

Michael rocked back on his heels. "Ariel, maybe---"

"Maybe what? Maybe we shouldn't do this, maybe I should wait until my memory comes back?" A sudden recklessness filled her. She searched his face. "And what if it never comes back?"

"Ariel, don't say that."

"And if it never comes back," she continued relentlessly as if he hadn't spoken, "am I supposed to just let life pass me by?"

Michael pulled her close. "No." Then he kissed her.

After a long moment, Ariel leaned back and looked up at him. "What about the airport," she whispered.

"What airport?" He kissed the corner of her mouth, smoothed her hair back with gentle hands. Then he blinked. "Airport!"

Ariel laughed. "Come on."

They hailed a cab and returned to Michael's bookstore to find fair-haired Joely leaning against the doorframe. She pushed away from the building as they got out of the vehicle. "Hey."

Michael paid the driver, then unlocked the door. "I appreciate this, Joely."

"No problem. You know I like to hang out here. Mind if I just crash on the futon while you're gone?"

"You know I don't. Gives you a break from dorm life."

"Thanks."

Michael picked up the bags sitting just inside the door. When he'd called Ariel about the passport, he'd told her that he had an extra suitcase so just bring her clothes and stuff with her when she'd come over to go get her passport. He headed upstairs. "Come on, Ariel, we still have to pack and get to the airport."

Ariel followed him up the stairs. The second floor had an open airy feel. Large narrow windows let in sunlight and throw rugs softened the hardwood floor. The furniture was a mix of styles and periods and somehow fit Michael to a tee. He gestured around. "Welcome to my humble abode. It's small but cozy."

"I like it."

Michael flashed her a grin, then ducked into his bedroom to get his extra suitcase. "Probably smells like mothballs," he said, coming back out. "Hadn't used it in awhile."

Ariel smiled. "It'll be just fine."

He set the suitcase on the dining room table. "There you go." He gestured to his room. "I need to finish packing, be right back."

"Okay." Ariel opened the suitcase to let it air out before she started packing. It was an old Samsonite with hard moulded sides and a divider in the middle. She quickly filled up one side, then flipped the divider over and secured it. That's when it caught her eye. It was sticking out the small side pocket. Carefully, she pulled it free. It was a link bracelet with a small dark red jewel at every other link. "Garnet," said Ariel as the faceted stone winked in the overhead lights. It was beautiful.

"There. I think I got everything." Michael set his own suitcase down with a thump.

Ariel turned and held up the bracelet.

Michael sucked in a breath. "You found it."

"It's yours?"

"Actually, it belongs to Nick." He went back into the bedroom and came out a few seconds later with a small square box in his hands.

A chill swept over Ariel as a memory not quite focused came to mind. The box was a pale almost white wood with brass fittings. In the center of the lid was a carved bas-relief of violets. "It goes in here," said Michael. "When Nick first came to see about Hathaway Shipping, he asked me to keep this." He nodded to the bracelet. "Thought I'd lost it."

"It's beautiful."

"Yeah. Nick said it's been in the Quinn family for generations. According to him, there's even a legend attached to it."

Ariel looked down at the bracelet in her hands and felt odd and strangely satisfied. This too will pass, she thought. "What is it?"

"Well, according to Nick, the wearer is given a power." Michael paused a moment. "The power to correct what's wrong, to re-establish the status quo. His grandmother used to say it was why Hathaway Shipping kept going, despite the odds."

This too shall pass.... Ariel studied the bracelet, then handed over to Michael. "Here." She couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of deja vu. The urge to reach for a necklace was overpowering.

"I remember now," said Michael as he took the bracelet and placed it in it's box. "I'd taken it to an appraiser last year." He stared at the lid of the box. "The man was dumbfounded. Not only were the garnets genuine, the bracelet showed signs of being handworked."

"That's strange?"

"Brass hasn't been handworked for at least a century, maybe two."

Ariel's eyes widened. "It's that old?"

"The appraiser seemed to think so. Let's hurry. I'll bring this to Nick," he added, putting the box in his bag. Ariel finished packing and they left after Michael handed the keys to Joely with a few instructions. Something about that bracelet and it's box bothered her and she had no idea why....

***

21 May 2003

Paris, France

9:54 am

His partner was nothing if not persistant. Ethan suspected Frenchmen liked Americans even less now--especially one particular Yankee. Joe sat down on the hard metal bench, a determined look on his face. Ethan sighed. His partner had had every intention of going to the police last night but Ethan had managed to convince him to wait until this morning. "We're not going to sit here all day," said Ethan.

"Yes we are."

"Sometimes that bulldog tenacity of yours is damned annoying." Ethan got to his feet and started for the exit.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking the easy way out. Ever heard of MSI Paris?"

Joe looked away. "I doubt the MacFairlaignes would want to see me."

"Well, that's not a problem. I'll go. You can sit on your butt all day if you want to." Ethan continued to the door.

Joe let out an explosive sigh and stood up. "You'd love to leave me high and dry, wouldn't you," he snapped, following his partner outside.

"Yep." Ethan headed to the parking lot where the grey Nissan sat. "And I'm driving."

"No. You got to drive here."

"Well, it wasn't much fun with a sideseat driver barking in my ear." He got behind the wheel as Joe got in the passenger seat. "Besides, I know where MSI is."

"Only because you have the map."

Ethan shrugged. "In life, there are winners and there are losers..."

"Haven't I heard this before?"

Between consulting the map, deciphering the street signs and their normal bickering, it took the partners nearly an hour to get to the headquarters of MSI-Paris. Five minutes of talking to the secretary at the lobby desk and they were speeding up sixteen floors to William MacFairlaigne's private office. Joe hung back at the inner door. "You go."

"What happened to that bulldog tenacity of yours," asked Ethan,sarcastically.

"They won't want to see me, Ethan. I--"

"Hello, Joe."

Joe turned to see Alannah MacFairlaigne walking towards him. Her shoulder-length auburn hair hung loose around her face. She was wearing blue jeans and a turquoise blouse tucked in, a black belt cinching her waist. He cleared his throat. "Alannah..."

She studied him for a moment, a frown on her face. "I'm not the one you should apologize to."

Joe looked away. "I know."

Alannah turned to Ethan. "The honeymoon is over?"

Ethan actually blushed. "Not by a long shot."

Alannah didn't quite smile. "Come on, gentlemen. Liam's waiting." She opened the door to her husband's office. Liam turned from the bank of windows.

He took a deep breath and moved behind his desk. "Ethan, Joe." He gestured to two chairs facing his desk. "Please, have a seat." As the two younger men sat down, Liam cleared his throat, directing his green-eyed gaze to Joe. "I was afraid a direct request might have been ignored."

"Not when it's about Casi," answered Joe, without thinking.

Liam nodded, thoughtfully, shared a moment's glance with his wife. "Yes, yes, of course." He took a deep breath. "The second week of May, Casi came to Paris to participate in a writers' conference for the week. She said Lyra was tending shop, so she decided to stay a little while longer."

"What happened?" asked Ethan.

"On May 12th, she went to see a movie. She was to meet her mother at five that afternoon."

"She never showed," said Alannah, quietly.

Liam sighed softly. "Within twenty-four hours, I contacted the police. Five hours after that, I received a ransom note demanding five million dollars--"

"Five million?" said Joe, startled. "The kidnapper wasn't asking much, was he?" he added to Ethan in a whisper.

"--for the safe return of my daughter. Despite the police advising me not to, I agreed to pay the ransom. I put five million dollars in a briefcase and locked it." He cleared his throat again. "I'm afraid I was remiss in omitting the combination to the lock."

Joe and Ethan shared a knowing look as Liam shrugged. "Nevertheless, the briefcase was placed in the designated spot."

"Where?" asked Ethan.

"The men's restroom in the east wing of the Louvre. Within thirty minutes, I was given the location of my daughter. She wasn't there." Liam began to pace. "Police scrutinized the ransom note. Scoured both the restroom and the room Cassandra was supposedly in. The ransom note yielded not a clue. Inspector Dupre' believes the kidnapper wore gloves the entire time he handled the note and the envelope. But in the room, Dupre's men found hair and fabric samples that matched Cassandra's hair and the rayon sundress she'd worn to the theatre. They found nothing else to identify the kidnapper."

Joe shifted in the chair, unsettled. "Do you still have the ransom note and the envelope?"

Liam shook his head. "No. The original items were taken by Inspector Dupre'. But I took the liberty of making copies." He nodded to Joe and Ethan. "Perhaps having an amateur investigator in my home has influenced me after all." He handed Ethan and Joe each several sheets of paper. "Front and back of the ransom note, front and back of the envelope."

Joe studied the note. "He's very precise, very sure of himself." He glanced up at Liam. "He knew you'd pay."

"Meaning he knows me?" Liam sat down behind his desk with a sigh. "That was Dupre's assumption too. I've lived here off and on for years, Joe. It could be anybody."

Ethan scanned the copy of the note. "You've had the handwriting analyzed."

"Yes. The analyst said he deliberately disguised his handwriting."

"Another sign that you know him or he thinks you know him. But look," continued Joe. "The note's letters are uniform but in at least three places the lines thicker as if he paused. But look at the address on the envelope. Look at the tendency to slant--he wrote the address quicker. Possibly because he knew it by heart." Joe locked eyes with Liam. "Your business address so you could receive it."

Liam frowned. "What are you saying, Joe? It's one of my employees?"

"Liam." Alannah stepped around the desk and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps..a former employee."

Liam's green eyes widened. He'd been so certain it was someone after Cassandra. "Damn. Messier."

Ethan leaned forward. "Who's he?"

"Brian Messier, a former employee. I fired him last month. He worked in payroll. I'd suspected him for months for embezzling money."

Joe slammed his left fist into his other palm. "That has to be it. He knows you, figured you'd recognize his handwriting. But you thwarted him with the locked briefcase."

"Not necessarily," said Ethan. "He could've pried the locks off."

"I took the liberty of writing the serial numbers of the bills down. None have showed up at any local banks."

"And what about Cassandra," asked Alannah, her voice strained.

Joe's blue eyes narrowed. "We'll make him tell us where she is."

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.