Appalachian Peril

by Debbie Herbert

  “I’ve got something I want you to sign.” He dragged her toward the kitchen, fingers cruelly kneading into her flesh.

  Beth fought down the sudden wave of fear. This was Aiden, her brother. He could be a giant jerk, but he meant her no harm. He couldn’t realize how his own strength made his grip painful. On the kitchen island, a mound of paperwork lay on the counter, a pen splayed across the top sheet. They hadn’t been there before.

  “Let go of me. Can’t this wait until morning?”

  He roughly planted her at the edge of the counter. “Do it now.”

  She gaped at him, startled at the mean edge in his voice. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Just do as you’re told. It will go easier for you.”

  Beth glanced down at the top sheet of the paper. The text seemed to squiggle and squirm. “I—I can’t read it. What do you want me to sign?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Now do it.”

  Beth picked up the pen with shaking fingers and licked her lips. Concentrate. Something was very, very wrong here. She hunched over the counter and squinted her eyes. Several words and phrases leaped into coherent form. It was a legal document of some sorts: Being of sound mind and body, bequeath to Aiden Lyle Wynngate, my legal heir, seventy-five percent of all my assets, in the event of my death.

  My death.

  The full import of the words fell on Beth like a knockout punch to the gut. At least it had the effect of snapping the mental lethargy that had clouded her mind. Aiden applied a deeper, bruising pressure on her forearm. “Sign it.”

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked, searching his dark eyes for a spark of human warmth. But his eyes were a vacuum, a black abyss of implacable hatred and determination.

  He sneered. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Her fingers grasped the pen and held on to it as though it were an anchor. Her mind skittered around the source of its greatest fear and then accepted the monstrosity.

  Her brother wanted to murder her for money. He’d not rushed to her side to offer comfort and counsel about Cynthia. She’d be willing to bet that he’d invented some ruse to his mother to ensure that she didn’t return here today. He’d been planning on showing up all along. To get rid of her.

  She’d deal with the horror of that fact later. For now, she had to keep Aiden talking, to understand every nuance of his plan. “You drugged me,” she accused. “What did you put in that tea?”

  “A little something to make you drowsy.” He grinned, as though mentally congratulating his own cleverness.

  “But...why?”

  “C’mon, Beth. You aren’t the brightest bulb in the pack, but you aren’t totally stupid. Do I have to spell it out for you? Fine, then.”

  He leaned forward, his face inches from her own. The scent of bourbon on his breath made her eyes water. “I want your money. I hate people like you. So entitled. Blissfully ignorant of what it’s like in the real world.”

  “You—you hate me?” Memories rushed past her with cyclone speed—Aiden driving her to get ice cream in the summers before she had a driver’s license, Aiden teasing her about past boyfriends, Aiden who always could lighten the tension in the house with his jokes and easy manner.

  He released his grip on her arm and gave a slow clap. “Now you’re catching on.”

  “What did I ever do to you?” Beth slowly sidled away from him, hoping his attention was focused on at last spewing all the poison he harbored deep in his soul. “Dad took you and your mom in when you had nothing. He paid for your college, law school and everything in between. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “He died and left me nothing.”

  “That’s not true. He left you over ten thousand dollars.”

  His upper lip curled. “A paltry amount. That pittance ran out four months after he died.”

  Beth eased another two steps back from his hulking form and eyed the knife block four feet away on the kitchen counter. If she could only divert his attention for a couple seconds, she could make a run for it and grab a knife as she raced out of the room.

  “Is Cynthia in on this, too?”

  “Are you kidding? She’s moving on to the next sugar daddy, as you know.” A sly grin flickered across his face. “Actually, she got started on that even before your dad died.”

  “So I learned today. Cynthia’s a lot of things, but at least she isn’t a murderer. Like you.”

  “You’re defending her?” Genuine puzzlement creased his forehead.

  Beth grasped at the straw that had presented itself. “Yes. No matter what else Cynthia’s guilty of, she loves you, Aiden. She’s always been the one to rush to your defense in every situation. Even managed to convince my own father to let me be the sacrificial goat when the cops showed up and found pot and alcohol at the party. Remember? The night you cut out and left me to shoulder all the blame.”

  He smirked. “Couldn’t have planned it any better. I called up all my friends and acquaintances and told them to get over here. The more grass, booze and other drugs they could bring, the better. Then, I called the cops myself to tip them off and gave them the address.”

  “You planned that all along?”

  “Of course.”

  Another step back. She was so close to the knives. But she dared not make a sudden grab while his attention was all on her. “Like I was saying, Cynthia loves you. If you kill me, Sammy will catch you and make sure you’re put in prison for the rest of your life. What would that do to your mother to have to come visit you at a penitentiary?”

  “I prefer to think of it as eliminating an obstacle, not a murder. Don’t worry about her. She won’t live long enough to worry about it. I can’t have Mom needling me for her cut of your inheritance.”

  “Wh-what are you saying?”

  “Mom’s next.”

  Her gasp filled the kitchen. If Aiden was capable of killing his own mother, he was truly mad. “Think, Aiden. Please. Think this through. You’re not as smart as you believe. How’s it going to look that I signed a will the day before my death? You’d be the person with the best motive to kill me. Sammy would target you in a heartbeat.”

  “The will’s dated a year earlier, dumb ass.”

  “And it just happens to come to light now?”

  “What better time than after someone dies? That’s how wills work. Sign it and I’ll safely tuck it away in a file cabinet.”

  There was no reasoning with a madman.

  Aiden turned his back to her and toward the papers on the counter. Now was her chance—maybe her only chance. Beth leaped forward and lunged for the knife. Her right hand closed over the wooden base and she pulled one from the block. A subtle rush of air must have alerted Aiden and he wheeled around.

  Beth brandished the large carving knife in front of her as she carefully backed toward the foyer. Aiden advanced, a coaxing smile on his lips.

  “We both know you aren’t going to use that,” he said soothingly.

  “Do you really want to try me?”

  He frowned and shook his head. “I didn’t put enough drugs in that tea.”

  “Mortal danger is a powerful counteractant to any sedative.” Adrenal hormones were probably flooding her body. Beth kept the knife raised as she contemplated her next move. Even if she managed to reach the front door, Aiden would be on her before she could unlock it and run into the yard. Her best bet now would be to pivot, run upstairs, and then try to lock herself in one of the bedrooms. And after that? If only she could grab her cell phone to call the police—it sat, tantalizingly close, charging on the counter. But she’d have to figure out the next step once there was a locked door between her and Aiden.

  The shrill ring of the landline phone buzzed through the tension between them.

  Beth didn’t wait to see if Aiden turned in the phone’s direction. Damned if she’d just stand there
and let him overtake her. Good chance he’d grab her arm before she could get a lethal cut in.

  She ran. As fast and furious as she could pump her legs. She felt his breathing behind her as she climbed the stairs but couldn’t risk a look around to gauge how close he was. She made it up the short flight of stairs and began running down the hardwood hallway. Aiden’s footsteps pounded close behind. Oh, God, she was never going to make it. The first bedroom was on the right and she headed to it. Only three more steps...two...

  Over two hundred pounds of solid flesh knocked into her back, and she hit the floor headfirst. The knife slipped out of her grasp and clattered across the floor. Beth extended an arm, desperately stretching to reach it, but Aiden easily scooped it up first. He rolled her over onto her back and pinned her down with a knee to her stomach. The metal tip of the knife pressed into her throat.

  “Let’s start over. Shall we? We’re going to go downstairs, you’re going to sign those papers, and then we’re taking a little night ride. Got it?”

  Beth blinked up at the brother she’d never truly known. He didn’t even appear to be all that angry, merely annoyed that she was causing so much trouble with his plans. But the absence of rage only chillingly brought home how truly crazy he must be.

  “Please, Aiden,” she whispered, hoping to reach some small sane part of him that might be buried in his soul.

  He drew back the knife and pulled Beth to her feet. “No more nonsense now,” he chided. “Can’t leave a mess behind.”

  That was the only reason Aiden hadn’t killed her yet. He didn’t want to leave behind any evidence of foul play, plus he wanted her authentic signature. Once he had that, he’d drive her to a remote area in the hills and...kill her and dispose of her body.

  An inexplicable calm settled over Beth as she let him lead her back into the kitchen. It almost felt as though this whole ordeal was happening to someone else and she was observing from afar. Her survival instinct had kicked in, providing a chance to try and think through her predicament and seek possible opportunities for escape.

  Let him believe she’d been frightened into meek compliance. He’d be all the more startled when she seized the perfect moment to try and escape again. Wasn’t that what Sammy had taught her that day in the woods? In the kitchen, Aiden sat her roughly down in a chair by the table. Without a word, he shoved the papers in front of her and handed her a pen.

  She began writing her name. Should she try to signal something here? If Aiden was successful, if he killed her, shouldn’t she leave behind a breadcrumb trail that would lead Sammy to her killer? Sammy. The surreal calm crumbled. He would be devastated. He’d find some crazy reason to blame himself for not protecting her. And if he never caught the killer? He’d probably never forgive himself. She didn’t want that. Not for anyone and especially not for him.

  Slowly, she wrote her first name with, hopefully, enough of an exaggerated script that might raise eyebrows at close inspection—but not so exaggerated that Aiden would notice. Would it be enough? Beth began to write her middle name, deliberating leaving out a letter to further make it look suspicious. She stole a quick peek at Aiden, who was watching her and not the writing. A mad desire arose to scribble the word help somewhere on the page, but she didn’t dare take the chance.

  “Hurry up,” he demanded.

  She finished her name and set down the pen. He gave it a quick glance and nodded. “Very good. I’ll put these up in a good place later.”

  Beth swallowed hard. Keep him talking. “When you visited me at the W Hotel—you were going to kill me that day, weren’t you? I wasn’t drunk. You’d spiked my drink then, too.”

  Aiden scowled. “I had you right where I wanted. Didn’t have you sign the will, but I would have forged your signature after. Another ten seconds and you would have plunged headfirst down the hotel stairwell. Damn Sammy for showing up when he did. What a pain in the ass.”

  Beth shivered, realizing how close she’d come. What did he have in mind for tonight’s killing? What would his new method for murder be? Her glance strayed to the knife he’d laid on the table. Don’t dwell on that now. “Speaking of Sammy, you underestimate him if you think he won’t figure out what you’ve done.”

  “Sammy Armstrong? The same genius who believes Dorsey Lambert is behind all your accidents?”

  Her eyes widened. “You mean—”

  “I’m the one who cut the brake line on your car. I’m also the one who threw that pipe bomb in the cabin. Did you really think I wouldn’t hunt you down there? I used that old cabin so much for partying as a teenager that it’s the first place I thought of for you to run and hide. ” He slammed his hand down on the table. The loud tha-wump echoed through the kitchen. “I can’t believe it didn’t kill you both.”

  The confession confused her. “But Dorsey’s cousins were there. They ran from us.”

  “Oh, the Lamberts have been stalking you all right. At first, I was annoyed. Then I realized I could use that fact to my advantage. Why would anyone suspect me of killing you when Dorsey had motive and opportunity? And that, my dear Beth, is what Sammy is going to believe. That Dorsey or one of his kinfolks is responsible for your disappearance.

  “Disappearance?” A small hope bloomed inside her chest. Maybe Aiden planned on letting her live, perhaps allowing her to assume a new identity in another country.

  “Disappearance or death.” He shrugged. “Depends on whether or not they find your body.”

  With that chilling remark, Aiden stood and grabbed his coat off the back of a kitchen chair. “And now we go for a ride.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  No way in hell she’d cooperate without a fight, like a lamb led to the slaughter. Beth jumped to her feet, grabbed a vase on the table and swung it at Aiden. The fragile glass exploded on his right temple. Blood and glass shards splattered through the air. Aiden shook his head, momentarily stunned.

  Again she ran. This time she made it to the backdoor and had even managed to release the dead bolt on the lock before a sudden, searing pain exploded on her scalp. Her body was jerked back into Aiden’s chest and he twisted her hair locked in his grip.

  “Nice try.”

  She tried to remember the move Sammy had taught her when grabbed from behind, but she couldn’t manage anything with the violent pull at her scalp.

  He dragged her across the den and then threw her onto the sofa. Beth kicked at him, even landing a few blows to his chest and gut before he wrestled her onto her stomach. His large hands tightly gripped hers, then she felt the rough hemp of rope cut into her wrists. In short order he bound her hands, and then her ankles.

  Beth rolled over onto her back and stared up where he lurked above, breathing hard and gushing blood from the head wound. Aiden swiped at the crimson streaks and winced; evidently a few glass shards had embedded into his skin.

  At least I made a mess, she thought. Hopefully, enough of one that it would make her disappearance look suspicious. Because right now, it appeared that Aiden had won. She was defenseless and entirely at his mercy.

  Aiden tapped a finger against his lips, studying her.

  “What?” she asked breathlessly. Maybe he was rethinking his plan. Was he going to kill her right here, right now? No, no. I’m not ready to die. Tears poured down her cheeks, hot and salty.

  “I’m debating whether or not to duct-tape your mouth shut.” He shrugged and dropped his hands to his sides. “Guess there’s no need to. No one will hear your screams where we’re going.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  He wagged a finger at her, as though scolding a mischievous child. “You’ll see soon enough.”

  “Please, Aiden...”

  But he’d already turned his back, snatching an afghan from the recliner. He threw it over her, smothering her face. Beth rocked her head
to and fro, frantic to fight against the sudden darkness and feeling of claustrophobia. Her warm breath was trapped underneath the knitted blanket. Was the end coming now? A death blow to her head? A gunshot wound to the heart? Strong arms gripped underneath her knees and shoulders and he carried her out the front door.

  Maybe a neighbor will see him, she thought, grasping at the slight thread of hope. Unlikely given the time of night, but she prayed for it nonetheless. The door of his vehicle opened, and he flung her into the back seat as carelessly as though she were a sack of potatoes. A door slammed shut behind her. Moments later, the front door of the vehicle opened, and Aiden settled behind the wheel. Christmas music blared from the radio and he dialed down the volume, whistling along with the tune. The sedan pulled out of the circular drive.

  Beth struggled and slowly managed to sit upright. The car screeched to an abrupt halt. Aiden threw back his head and laughed. “I’m an idiot,” he said in apparent amusement. He threw open the driver’s-side door and walked past her. The trunk clicked open from behind.

  No, no, no.

  Aiden flung open her door. In his hands he held a roll of duct tape and a knife. Her gut seized, and she began screaming. “Don’t put me back there. Help! Somebody help me!”

  Aiden peeled off a strip of tape and then sliced it with the knife. “Knew I should have done this to start with,” he grumbled, leaning toward her with the improvised gag.

  She rocked her head violently back and forth, but Aiden still managed to slap the tape across her mouth. I can’t breathe. Her lungs burned. Would she die from asphyxiation before they made it to wherever he was taking her? She inhaled as much oxygen as she could through her nose, but it didn’t feel like nearly enough.

  “The front gate guard isn’t there now, but they might have a camera recording my coming and goings,” Aiden mused aloud, as calmly as though deliberating a move in a chess game.

  Then he picked her up and carried her once again. She wiggled, trying to leverage her bound body to either butt him in the head or twist from his grasp, but Aiden was too strong, too determined, for her struggles to even slow down his inevitable next move.