reaching for sun, a small stand of orange with dark waxy leaves and bright fruit.
I parked beside a polished red-and-white '63 split-window Corvette with plates that said "BoWar." The garage behind it was open, and stocked with a Silver Cloud, a Lexus SUV and a Jaguar with the dealer's ad still in the license-plate frame.
Jack Blazak came down the front steps to meet me. He shook my hand with conviction. Wavy dark hair, light brown eyes, thick and compact.
"Thanks for coming."
"My pleasure, sir."
"Lorna and Bo are inside."
His voice was gruff and he delivered his words in a fast bark, like he was saving time.
The entry room was spacious, with a high ceiling dome capped skylight. I took off my hat. White walls, the day's early sunlight rushing down, more white marble underfoot. Blazak's face looked pale as the walls.
He led me into a living room that was all glass on the western side, with a view of the hills and the ocean below.
Lorna Blazak sat at one end of a big leather couch, a guy I'd never seen before at the other end.
"Oh, Mr. Trona," she said. "I'm so glad you're here."
She offered her hand, which was bony and cold. Her eyes were dull and an air of exhaustion came off her.
"And meet Bo Warren—he's new head of security for the Chapel of Light."
Warren was already standing. He was a short, wiry man with a buzzed scalp and blue eyes under sharp, dubious brows. Camel blazer, black golf shirt buttoned up, duty boots polished into the fifth dimension. His handshake was brief and punishing and his eyes stayed right on mine.
BoWar, I thought.
"Nice to meet you, sir. I'm Joe Trona."
He didn't say anything, so Lorna took up the pause.
"Joe, anything to drink?"
"Nothing, thank you."
Jack sat down on the couch and motioned me into a chair across from them. There was a glass coffee table between us. It was shaped like a coastline, and the craftsman had etched waves along curved edges of the glass. I sat and put my hat on the waves.
"First things first, Joe," Blazak said. "We're grateful that you located our daughter. We thank you. We're beyond grateful that she's alive. We called you here to tell you a few things, get you straightened out and up to speed."
Again, his words were fast and his tone aggressive, a man used to being listened to.
I nodded. "I don't want to be crooked and slow, sir."
Warren snickered. Jack looked at me blankly, then turned to his wife.
"Jack's blunt these days, Mr. Trona," said Lorna. "He hasn't slept more than two hours a night since Savannah was taken. Neither have I. Forgive us both if we're kind of. . . short."
"I understand."
"Help," said Jack. "A little help is all we're after." Silence then until, Jack looked across at Warren. "You take it from here, Bo."
Warren moved to the edge of the sofa like he was ready to spring.
"Glad to," he said. "Joe, sometime between nine and eleven hundred hours on Monday, June eleven, Savannah Blazak was kidnapped."
Semper fi, I thought. 'Nam. His voice was much deeper and louder than you expected, like he had a speaker inside him.
"Jack was at work. Lorna was out. Marcie, that's the head maid was doing some light cleaning and keeping an eye on Savannah. Savannah was allegedly playing in her bedroom. When Marcie went to check on her at ten fifty-five, Savannah wasn't in her room. Marcie called and walked the house—no girl. Called and walked the grounds—no girl. She called neighbors, who have a girl about Savannah's age, nobody home. At eleven ten she called Jack at work, then—on Jack's orders—nine one one. After that, she called Mrs. Blazak on her cell phone. Jack made it home in seventeen minutes. Newport PD was already on scene."
Warren stared at me, eyes blue and hard. "With me?"
I nodded.
"Then, in brief: the cops get here making a lot of noise, glance a girl's room—"
"Call her Savannah, Bo. Not the girl"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Blazak. Savannah. They look in Savannah's room Question Marcie. Question Jack. Take the report,
I parked beside a polished red-and-white '63 split-window Corvette with plates that said "BoWar." The garage behind it was open, and stocked with a Silver Cloud, a Lexus SUV and a Jaguar with the dealer's ad still in the license-plate frame.
Jack Blazak came down the front steps to meet me. He shook my hand with conviction. Wavy dark hair, light brown eyes, thick and compact.
"Thanks for coming."
"My pleasure, sir."
"Lorna and Bo are inside."
His voice was gruff and he delivered his words in a fast bark, like he was saving time.
The entry room was spacious, with a high ceiling dome capped skylight. I took off my hat. White walls, the day's early sunlight rushing down, more white marble underfoot. Blazak's face looked pale as the walls.
He led me into a living room that was all glass on the western side, with a view of the hills and the ocean below.
Lorna Blazak sat at one end of a big leather couch, a guy I'd never seen before at the other end.
"Oh, Mr. Trona," she said. "I'm so glad you're here."
She offered her hand, which was bony and cold. Her eyes were dull and an air of exhaustion came off her.
"And meet Bo Warren—he's new head of security for the Chapel of Light."
Warren was already standing. He was a short, wiry man with a buzzed scalp and blue eyes under sharp, dubious brows. Camel blazer, black golf shirt buttoned up, duty boots polished into the fifth dimension. His handshake was brief and punishing and his eyes stayed right on mine.
BoWar, I thought.
"Nice to meet you, sir. I'm Joe Trona."
He didn't say anything, so Lorna took up the pause.
"Joe, anything to drink?"
"Nothing, thank you."
Jack sat down on the couch and motioned me into a chair across from them. There was a glass coffee table between us. It was shaped like a coastline, and the craftsman had etched waves along curved edges of the glass. I sat and put my hat on the waves.
"First things first, Joe," Blazak said. "We're grateful that you located our daughter. We thank you. We're beyond grateful that she's alive. We called you here to tell you a few things, get you straightened out and up to speed."
Again, his words were fast and his tone aggressive, a man used to being listened to.
I nodded. "I don't want to be crooked and slow, sir."
Warren snickered. Jack looked at me blankly, then turned to his wife.
"Jack's blunt these days, Mr. Trona," said Lorna. "He hasn't slept more than two hours a night since Savannah was taken. Neither have I. Forgive us both if we're kind of. . . short."
"I understand."
"Help," said Jack. "A little help is all we're after." Silence then until, Jack looked across at Warren. "You take it from here, Bo."
Warren moved to the edge of the sofa like he was ready to spring.
"Glad to," he said. "Joe, sometime between nine and eleven hundred hours on Monday, June eleven, Savannah Blazak was kidnapped."
Semper fi, I thought. 'Nam. His voice was much deeper and louder than you expected, like he had a speaker inside him.
"Jack was at work. Lorna was out. Marcie, that's the head maid was doing some light cleaning and keeping an eye on Savannah. Savannah was allegedly playing in her bedroom. When Marcie went to check on her at ten fifty-five, Savannah wasn't in her room. Marcie called and walked the house—no girl. Called and walked the grounds—no girl. She called neighbors, who have a girl about Savannah's age, nobody home. At eleven ten she called Jack at work, then—on Jack's orders—nine one one. After that, she called Mrs. Blazak on her cell phone. Jack made it home in seventeen minutes. Newport PD was already on scene."
Warren stared at me, eyes blue and hard. "With me?"
I nodded.
"Then, in brief: the cops get here making a lot of noise, glance a girl's room—"
"Call her Savannah, Bo. Not the girl"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Blazak. Savannah. They look in Savannah's room Question Marcie. Question Jack. Take the report,
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