Crazed Reckoning, a Nick Spinelli Mystery

by Valerie J. Clarizio

  “Yeah, it’s not far from here. It’s about a ten-minute drive, and the wedding isn’t until 1:00. Julie’s working on the arrangements in the back as we speak.”

  “The names?”

  The woman reached under the counter, grabbed a spiral notebook, and flipped it open. Running her finger down the page, she stopped midway down the page and giggled. “Oh, now I remember. It’s an Irish name,” she said as she looked up at Marsh.

  Bile rose in Spinelli’s throat as her words ran through his head again. It’s an Irish name. The words tormented him as they cycled through his mind again.

  “What’s so funny?” Marsh asked.

  “Both the bride and groom are Irish. I guess I just find it funny they’re getting married on Saint Patrick’s Day weekend. The people here take the Saint Patty’s Day celebration pretty seriously. You know a big parade downtown, costumes, green beer, the whole nine yards.”

  Spinelli hoped his ears had deceived him, seriously, both parties are Irish. What are the odds this could be someone else’s wedding and not Shannon O’Hara and Davin O’Brien’s? Deep down, he still hoped this was all just some crazy nightmare. His throat burned and he swallowed hard tamping down the bile. Like a whip, relief snapped through him. At least now, he knew where to find them and could stop this farce of a wedding.

  “The bride’s name is McGinnis and the groom’s is Callahan.” Spinelli's lungs emptied, another dead-end.

  Chapter Six

  Though Shannon’s brain worked to devise an escape plan, she knew it would be of no use. She had no idea where their captor, or captors, held Anna or what their reaction would truly be if she managed to escape. The old man, Riordan, scared her. One look into his hollow, uncaring eyes, told her he’d stop at nothing to secure his inheritance. Anna’s well-being weighed down Shannon’s shoulders. How did she always end up in these inconceivable messes? It was like the gods themselves had cursed her.

  Glancing up, she eyed the camera mounted to the ceiling. She considered tearing it down but decided it would provide no benefit either. Her captors would just tie her up or worse. She wondered if the bathroom was wired as well. She really needed to go but didn’t like the idea of being watched.

  Shannon’s gaze fixed on the small notepad lying on the desk with the hotel’s logo, ‘Harbor Resort’ stamped in the upper left-hand corner. A cheap Bic pen lay next to the notebook with ‘Door County Resort and Conference Center’ printed along the side. She normally loved Door County. Everyone loved Door County. But she didn’t love it so much today and would give anything to be as far away from this place as possible.

  The notebook nearly screamed her name when she looked away. She fought the urge to journal her stress away; a technique she’d learned in college and utilized regularly. In her line of work, it wasn’t appropriate to share details of her experiences about her clientele so journaling had become her outlet to relieve the weight she carried on their behalf. Sometimes she wondered why she cared so much. Most times, she felt like she cared more for the children she represented than their own parents did.

  Shannon closed her eyes and drew in slow deep breaths. She needed to journal. She could feel herself coming unglued. When she wrote, she entered her own private little world. But the mere thought of her captors having access to what she wrote, knowing her so intimately, made her cringe. She reached down to grab the notebook when she remembered the camera. Maybe they wouldn’t even let her write. They’d probably take the notebook away.

  Anxiety tightened in the pit of her stomach. She needed to get out of her captor’s view. Was anywhere in this suite sacred? Perhaps the bathroom. Would they have the audacity to watcher her in there?

  She shot inside the small room and slammed the door, looking for a camera or recording device. There didn’t appear to be many options to hide such devices but what did she know about such things? She was a caseworker, not a law enforcement officer. Though she hadn’t used the toilet, she flushed it anyhow.

  Her hand itched to journal as badly as her brain yearned for it. Think!

  I need that notepad or I’ll go insane.

  Shannon’s gaze swept the room again and stopped on the stack of towels on the metal rack. That’s it! Her spirits lifted as she devised a plan to get the notepad off the desk unnoticed. She grabbed a towel from the metal rack next to the shower, bolted out of the bathroom, and threw the towel on the desk, covering the notepad and pen. Then she knocked on the door connecting her room to the main living area of the suite.

  “What do you want?” Riordan’s steel voice sounded through the closed door.

  “Am I allowed to take a shower?”

  “Yes, but don’t dilly dally. We’re leaving in an hour.”

  Shannon’s heart thudded in her chest. An hour. Her spongy knees held only long enough for her to take a seat at the desk. She leaned forward and wept into the towel she’d thrown on the surface moments ago. Her stomach tossed from both nerves and hunger. Swallowing hard, she sat upright and scooped up the towel making sure to pick up the notepad and pen within the folds of the towel, hoping Riordan wouldn’t notice.

  Once in the bathroom, Shannon pulled the notepad and pen from the towel and tossed the cloth on the counter. She sat on the toilet seat and began to journal. Her fingers, as if they had a mind of their own, gripped the pen and made cursive motions. She didn’t care if it made sense, that wasn’t the point. She let herself go, filling the first page in no time, then the second, then the third. As she flipped to the fourth page, she knew this would not solve her problem but the weight on her shoulders eased slightly.

  Even if she filled one of those five-subject narrow ruled notebooks she used in high school, she’d be lucky to relieve one-tenth of the stress she experienced today. She stopped on the fifth page, released the pen from her cramped fingers, and massaged her right hand with her left. She realized how tightly she had gripped her pen by the indentation of her words on the paper as she flipped from page to page.

  Shannon rose to her feet and stripped down. Perhaps a shower would do her some good or at least distract her if nothing else. She lathered her hair with the hotel shampoo, then massaged in the conditioner. It was not the quality hair product she preferred but it would have to do. What did it matter anyway? It’s not like she was grooming herself for someone she cared about. She ran the floral-scented soap over her body and wondered why the hotel would supply such a feminine-smelling soap. Surely, they knew guys would use this as well. Whatever. What did it matter?

  Shannon stood under the strong, steady stream of hot water as she wrapped herself in her arms. She was at a loss, completely drained, no longer able to process any coherent thoughts. Inhaling the thick, steamy air, she tightened her grip and pretended Nick’s arms held her, not her own. The thought made her smile for the first time since her abduction.

  Earlier in the week, he had accompanied her in the shower. His skilled hands not only washed her clean, but they also brought unimaginable pleasure. She had been in a hurry to get ready for work that morning. When he stepped into the shower, she forgot—no, ignored—the rush she had been in moments earlier. Before meeting Nick, she’d never had an issue rolling out of bed, getting ready for the day, and arriving at work on time. But in the past several months climbing out of bed, leaving the comfort and warmth of his arms, proved to be a nearly impossible task for her to undertake.

  He’d started her rubdown using a thick, soft shower mitt. The heat from his hand seeped through the material, warming her core even more than what could be attributed to the hot spray of the shower. The suds rinsed from her breasts faster than Nick could suds them up, but he continued to work at it, slow and steady, massaging each breast. Inside a couple of minutes, she turned into a molten heap, hardly able to remind herself to breathe. The guy was good, and he was hers.

  Shannon had leaned her head back until it rested on his shoulder, and pressed the palms of her hands to his hard-muscled, powerful thighs. It always amazed her how rock-hard t
hey were while his skin felt soft against her fingertips.

  Nick skimmed his warm lips over the side of her neck, sensitizing her skin further. The soft moan that escaped her lips caused his already hard shaft to press harder against the small of her back. His bare hand splayed across her stomach and pulled her tighter to him. His breath hitched.

  He slid his hand between her thighs. Already aching for him, she widened her stance but knew he wouldn’t take her right away. His touch told her she was in for one of his slow, controlled lovemaking sessions, the kind that always left her emotionally breathless. She’d have to push him if she wanted it any faster but couldn’t decide which she wanted at the moment: slow and painstakingly pleasurable, or fast and hard with the same end result. She didn’t want to think; she just wanted to feel.

  Nick’s skilled hands stilled for a brief moment before they left her body. She reached out to grab them but restrained herself, curious to see his next move.

  He shed the shower mitt, edged away from her, placed his large warm hands on her shoulders, and spun her to face him. His intense charcoal gaze darkened with each moment, boring straight into the innermost place of her soul. She stood naked before him but had never felt this fully exposed before. Any secrets she had to start with were now shared.

  Unable to tear her gaze from him, she stood silent in awe of the man standing before her. He absolutely amazed her. His exterior layer was a bit rough around the edges. The wall surrounding him was strong and had been put in place years earlier, during his less than desired childhood. He’d lowered that defense for a just brief moment, months earlier, and Shannon was lucky enough to see the true man inside. A man who’d been hurt and was reluctant to trust, love, or give, yet wanted and needed to do both; give and receive. Somewhere along the line, he’d fully opened his heart to her and she for him. Shannon hadn’t been prepared to love and be loved with such incalculable depth. It thrilled her, yet scared her. She’d come to realize that losing his love would be as detrimental as losing the ability to breathe.

  His hands clamped firmly around her waist and he hoisted her up as if she were light as a feather. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around him and hooked her ankles just above his firm butt. Shannon gripped Nick’s shoulders as one of his arms wrapped around the small of her back. The other hooked around her, higher on her back. His mouth clamped to her breast. His hot tongue scorched her taut, needy nipple, nearly driving her insane. He shifted to her other breast, his growing hunger unmistakable. Soon, he’d enter her. Raw need shot through her veins, she couldn’t wait.

  Whispering his name was all it took for him to reposition her and slide himself into her wetness. Her back pressed to the shower wall, he drove into her, over and over. Shannon wove her fingers through his thick hair as his greedy mouth found hers. His all-knowing tongue fully explored her mouth as if it had never been there before, wanting to know more. She liked to push him to urgency and worked to keep every bit of him eagerly interested. Shannon’s vision blurred, her head pressed back. Every nerve ending in her body sparked and sizzled as Nick edged her into the clouds of bliss, and over the top. She pulsated around him causing him to drive harder and deeper into her before he exploded in her. His groan echoed in the shower walls as her limp body clung to him. He pinned her firmly between his heated body and the shower wall. With his face buried in the crook of her neck, his rapid, heated breath tickled her neck.

  Nick pressed the palm of his hand against the shower wall as if needing the support to stand. His arm loosened at the small of her back, indicating that she needed to unclasp her ankles. Her feet pressed to the shower floor and she hoped her weak knees would support her.

  Nick reached over and shut the water off. His soft gaze captured hers as he flung a towel over her shoulders and rubbed her arms. He didn’t need to say the words; she could tell by the look in his eyes he loved her. He wasn’t one for using the words often, it was hard for him, but she didn’t mind. She knew when he finally said the words out loud, he would mean them without reservation.

  The pipes rattled, knocking Shannon out of her reverie and back into cold grim reality. She stood in the hotel shower stall by herself, water beating off her weary skin. She shut the water off and grabbed two towels off the rack, one to wrap her hair and the other for her body. She sat on the toilet seat and grabbed the pen and paper from the counter. Her heart nearly sank to her feet. It was time to write the note. She’d stash it in the bathroom someplace where housekeeping would find it and hopefully get it to Nick.

  To whoever finds this note: a madman has kidnapped me, and he’s been holding me hostage since yesterday. I would be eternally grateful to you if you please see to it that this note makes its way to Detective Nick Spinelli, City of Milwaukee Police Department.

  March 16th, 9:00 a.m. Dear Nick,

  It is with a heavy heart that I write this note. I am to be married today but not by choice. As you’ve probably figured out by now, Anna and I have been taken hostage by a crazy old man named Riordan O’Brien. He is trying to make good on an agreement made between my grandfather and Riordan’s father, for an arranged marriage between him and my mother. For whatever reason unknown to me, that deal fell through and Riordan now believes it my responsibility to make good on the promise made by my family some years ago. His substantial inheritance is in jeopardy without a union between our two families. If not for the fact that Anna’s life depends on my actions, I would dig in my heels and fight. But they have Anna, and I haven’t seen her since about 3:00 a.m. We nearly escaped before our captors returned and separated us.

  I have no idea how they plan to hold me after the ceremony but know this: I will do everything in my power to escape. This is all so crazy. They’re banking on the fact I won’t make a stink as long as they have Anna, or that I can be bought. Evidently, there is a boatload of old family money at stake here. I guess they don’t know me very well.

  Nick, in the event I don’t see you again, please know that I love you now and always. You are the one I wanted to grow old with. I will carry you forever in my heart, soul, and spirit. Nick Spinelli, you are the strongest, most loving person I know. I will forever pray for your happiness and health.

  Love, Shannon

  After folding the note in half, Shannon inscribed Nick’s name across the top.

  Shannon pulled the towel from her head and buried her face into it to muffle her sobs. Minutes passed, yet her body still shivered. This was all so ridiculous. She couldn’t help but wonder how on earth the O’Brien’s thought they could get away with this. They’d have to lock her in a room forever or hold Anna’s well-being dangling on a rope in front of her. Good Lord, how long did they intend to keep poor Anna? Forever? And what about Spinelli and her Uncle Bernie? That crazy old man had told her earlier that Uncle Bernie likely knew by now what had happened. Bernie would surely enlist Spinelli’s help with the matter.

  A knock sounded on the bathroom door.

  “Get a move on in there. We’ll be leaving soon,” Riordan’s ice-cold voice sounded through the doorway.

  Shannon kept her face buried in her towel. “Did you hear me?”

  Lifting her head, Shannon fought to control her shaky voice. “Yes.”

  Chapter Seven

  Marsh wheeled the car out of the florist parking lot and headed back toward downtown. For lack of a better lead, they checked with the floral shop on 3rd Avenue to see if they were preparing for any weddings today.

  From the back seat, Walker reported that he’d called every McGrath on the list with a landline but no response.

  “Not a one?” Spinelli questioned.

  “Nope.”

  Marsh took the ‘business exit’ off the highway. There didn’t seem to be much business with only a couple of car dealerships and some restaurants. In minutes, they were back in the west side downtown area. The GPS had them hanging a right on Maple Street to cross the bay using a different bridge than before.

  People herded into a bar on the cor
ner. Spinelli glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was just after 9:00 a.m. “Wow, they’re piling into the bar already.”

  Marsh threw a glance at Spinelli. “You heard the lady at the florist shop, and evidently she was right. This town takes St. Patty’s Day pretty seriously.”

  “I guess.”

  Spinelli shifted his gaze from one side of the street to the other. Trucks with parade floats and decorated cars lined both sides. People scurried down the sidewalks with their bag chairs in hand. He studied every person he spotted, but there were just too many people to take in as Marsh drove. Where was the deliveryman? Was he in this crowd?

  As they neared the bridge, traffic slowed to a stop. The trucks with floats hung a right at the three-way intersection, just before the bridge. The cars crossed the bay. As Marsh approached the bridge, Spinelli eyed the parade floats staged in the large boat ramp parking lot to his right. There had to be at least twenty floats down there already; a mass of different shades of green surrounded them. People wore green hats, jackets, pants, and shoes.

  Marsh pulled up to the florist shop. Seeing the curb lined with ‘No Parking’ signs, Spinelli and Walker slid out of the car while Marsh stayed put in the running vehicle. Judging from the signs, and the number of chairs already set up along the curb, Spinelli assumed this was the parade route. He reached for the door handle but the door flung open before he could grab the knob. A man wearing a green hoodie stepped out of the shop and held the door for him and Walker. Spinelli eyed the man of medium height and build who held a fist full of green carnations in front of him. It blocked the view of his face, but Spinelli was able to catch a glimpse of long blond hair protruding out from under the hood of the

  man’s sweatshirt. Not him. Not the deliveryman.

  Spinelli and Walker made their way to the checkout counter and got in line. An older gentleman, wearing a white apron covered with tiny green clovers, worked behind the counter. He gave instructions on the care for a Shamrock plant to the customer opposite the counter of him. The customer nodded then followed up with questions about watering and filtered light. Spinelli raked his hand over his face. The exchange was taking them forever. For chrissake, buddy, it’s just a plant. Just throw it in a corner and water the stupid thing. Walker shot Spinelli a sideways glance causing him to wonder if he’d just said that out loud.