“Uh,” Mrs. Cooley stammered.  “Tallish.  Dark, like Frank.  He looked kind of Italian, you know, that Mediterranean look?  Olive skinned?  He didn’t tell me his name, but I think he was driving around in a van – a light-colored van, maybe gray, I think?  It was hard to tell under all the salt and dirt.  Oh, it had a New Jersey license plate on it.”

Mrs. Cooley thought for a moment then smiled and nodded.  “It wasn’t a number.  He had one of those vanity plate things.  ‘MSKTER’ like...Musketeer?  Maybe he’s a fan?”

“Er, could be,” Joe looked over at Fenton.  Who would have thought their first clue would be right across the street from their house and nowhere near the kidnapping sight.  Joe kissed Mrs. Cooley’s cheek.  “Thanks, Mrs. Cooley.  You’re a peach!”

With that he sprinted into the house and Fenton watched him go, a startled expression on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Cooley asked.

“Well, Frank’s been…kidnapped,” Fenton explained gently.  “And your news is the first clue we’ve had as to who could have done it.  Thank you for your help.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Cooley breathed.  “Okay.  Yes, you’re welcome then.”

Fenton joined his son in the house and found him on the phone, giving the information they found to Con Riley.

“I’m, dreaming of a white Christmas,” Mary sang softly as she pushed the broom around the kitchen and trapped all the nonexistent dust mites into a dustpan.  “Just like the ones I used to know…”

Mary continued singing as she worked, making the kitchen spotless (or more spotless as the case may be) and put the remaining dishes from the dish drainer into their proper places in the cupboards.  She paused in her working as she thought of the night before and the words that she heard down in the extensive basement system under the church.

It didn’t sound like pipes.  Mary knew the sounds of old pipes – her own house had enough of them and they didn’t sound like words, distinctive words.  They sounded like pipes!

What were people doing down there though?  As Pastor Terwilliger said, nobody ever went down there these days, except for the kids – and there were no kids in the church last night.  She was the youngest of the choir members and nobody else her age was even in the choir. 

Maybe I heard someone from upstairs talking and only thought it was someone down there, Mary thought.  That could be it.  If the Pastor was on the phone…but why wouldn’t he have told me that?

Mary’s brow furled as she continued to consider the mystery – for that’s what it felt like to her.  A mystery that needed solving.  Perhaps if she went there now, in the light of day, the place would be empty and prove that the pastor was correct.  Or maybe she would find squatters living down there, trying to stay warm in the cold December weather.  Yes, that seemed the most likely.  Some poor soul who might be in need of something to eat. 

With a sudden burst of decision, Mary dug through her cupboards until she found some cans of soup.  Heating them quickly on her stove she poured them into an easy to carry bowl and added four plastic bowls and plastic spoons.  It wasn’t much but it might come in handy for the poor souls who would have little else on Christmas Eve.

Mary carried them out to her small car, grateful as always for the small things she had.  Her parents had died only the year before; this house had been what she’d bought after selling her parents’ much larger one.  She had enough money to get by and through college if she scrimped – and she often did.  As much as she missed her parents – especially now, at Christmas – she was glad for every provision that came her way.  And her heart demanded that, as she was cared for, so she should care for others.

Mary drove to the church and parked then sought out the secret entrance into the church.  She found it after a little looking and, with even more effort, got the old door to pull open again.  She carried her bowls inside and called out softly,

She listened intently but heard nothing except, this time, the pipes clanging overhead.  She pulled the door closed behind her, guided by the very dim light that came through dirty and half-buried windows.

Still no answer.  Mary walked quietly through into the next room and then the next and then the next.

And then down a flight of stairs.  Stairs she’d never been down herself before.  There were, for some reason, lamps lit down here.  Two of those old gas-burning types she’d seen in magazines.  There was only one very big room here and yet another set of stairs.

How far down did it go?  And why?  She’d been all up and down the main level of the basement and never imagined that it went so deep.  The air was musty and old down here and, for a moment, she felt fearful. 

Perhaps I should go back up, she thought a moment later.

I shall guide you, a voice whispered in her mind and she froze where she stood. 

With trepidation, she continued but she set her bowl of soup on the floor.  She went into a small room that had a door that led to another room and then another room.

It was there she stopped for the room was very dark, even with the door open.  She searched for something to use as a light – the bulbs down here were most likely dead.  Praying, she continued her search and came upon a small flashlight sitting on one of the benches in the room, looking a hundred years or more out of place.  She picked it up and turned it on before going back to the next room.

Her hand went to her mouth when she saw him.  A boy, bound head to toe, a nasty piece of waste over his mouth.  Mary flew into the room without further thought for herself or her safety and began to tug frantically at the bonds, causing the boy to cry out.

Mary took a steadying breath and pulled the duct tape off the boy’s mouth.  He grimaced then inhaled and exhaled sharply several times.

“Miss,” he said in a raspy voice, “You need to get out of here before they come back.”

“Get out of here?  And leave you?  I shan’t!  What has happened to you?  Why are you here and tied up so?  Did you lose a bet?  You really shouldn’t gamble you know, it’s so horrible.”

“I was kidnapped,” the boy rasped.  “And you really need to get out of here.”

“No!” Mary exclaimed stubbornly.  “Not without you, I won’t.”

Mary looked around.  She had to find something to cut those cords.  What if he was injured?  What if they came back before she was done?

She heard the steps from above before she could find anything sharp and she heard the boy hiss at her.  “Hide!  Get help!  Put the gag back on!”

Moving with a quickness she didn’t know she had she did as he ordered.  She put the tape back on his mouth, doused the light and fetched her bowl of soup before huddling into the darkness of another room.

“We’re gonna be rich, we’re gonna be rich,” a voice chortled over and over again.  “No more Quickie Burgers.  No more bratty kids telling us what to do all day.”

The first person said a word that made Mary’s ears burn.  As they passed her she quietly crept out and began to work her way back up the stairs and up the next set.  She realized it was here she must have heard them the first time – somewhere near this first set of stairs.  She could see cigarette butts now, littering the ground at the base of the stairs. 

Get help, his words echoed in her ears.  Get help.  Get help.

Mary, spurred by the words of the poor boy, set the soup down again and ran.