The hold was smaller than I thought it would be, more of a glorified storage closet than anything else.
Ailin stopped at the bottom of the stairs and motioned for me to step closer. "Does anything look out of the ordinary to you, Mrs. Browning?"
I looked around, not seeing anything that stood out to me. I shook my head.
"Look closer."
I followed her pointing finger, leaning in and squinting. Maybe there was something about that far corner. I turned to look at Ailin. "Is it there?" I asked, indicating the corner.
She nodded, a smile on her face. It wasn't, I noticed, a very pleasant smile. A sudden shiver began tripping up and down my backbone, and I began to slowly back toward the stairs.
"I don't think so, Mrs. Browning." Ailin reached out and grabbed my arm, nearly pulling me off my feet. "You wanted to know, so you're going to stay here until you do."
"Oh, it's all right, Ailin." I tried to make my voice as light as possible, as if being held in the bottom of a boat was completely natural. "I really don't need to see anything else."
"I insist." Tugging me along behind her, she walked toward the corner that had appeared different. Leaning over, she pressed on a spot near the bottom of the wall, and a portion slid back. "Cool, right? Zayne and I found this last summer when we helped restore this tub."
I found myself staring down at a pile of purses. Gabbie was involved, and apparently Ailin was as well. I felt sick. I tried to twist my arm away from Ailin, but her grip only tightened. This was not going as planned.
"Ailin," I said quietly, trying to keep my voice steady. "Does your aunt realize that you know about this?" I nodded at the purses.
She gave a short laugh that did not sound amused. "Aunt Gabbie? She's as straight as an arrow. No, she doesn't know about this."
"Then…" I let my words trail off, staring from the handbags to Ailin.
"They're mine." She gave a sudden tug on my arm, causing me to stumble to my knees. "That's right, Mrs. Browning. You probably do need to pray. You're gonna be down here for a while."
I struggled to upright myself, managing to stand back up. I wasn't going to kneel for anyone, especially not someone like Ailin. I'd gone from scared to angry in two seconds flat.
"I'm not staying here, Ailin. I am going home. In fact, my husband is waiting for me. If I'm not back soon, he'll come looking for me."
She looked at me, shaking her head. "Twenty bucks says you didn't even tell him you were coming here. In fact, I'll bet he doesn't even know you're gone."
It was a long shot and I knew it, but I still reacted.
She gave a laugh. "As I said. No one knows you're here."
"Your aunt does," I said bravely. "And when she finds out what you're keeping down here, you'll be the one wishing that you were somewhere else."
"Ah. That reminds me, Mrs. Browning." She held out her hand. "Cell phone, please."
I stared at her, refusing to move.
She sighed deeply. "Come on. Make it easy on yourself, okay?"
I reached into my bag and began fishing around for my phone. Without warning, she shot one hand out quickly and grabbed the bag off my arm.
I glared at her, hands on my hips. "Too bad it's not one of those fancy fake handbags that you're selling." I wasn't expecting the slap. It left my ears ringing and a path of fire on my cheek.
"You're just too smart for your own good, Mrs. Browning." She gave me another push, sending me crashing to the floor of the hold. "You'll be staying here for a bit until I decide what to do with you."
Without another word, she turned on her heel and headed for the stairs. I shouldn't have been surprised when the lights when out, plunging the hold into complete darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was dark and dank-smelling in the canal boat's hold, and I thought I could hear the skittering of rodent feet around me. I knew it was just my imagination, particularly since this was a floating restaurant—at least that's what I hoped. Mice and rats had never frightened me, not as extreme heights and cramped spaces did, but neither was I overly fond of the things. Tucking my feet firmly underneath me to keep them out of a rodent's reach, I sat and tried to think of a way to escape.
Ailin Tillmon had been careful, removing my cell phone from my pocket and taking my bag as well. I'd seen the gloves she was wearing as well as the paper shoe covers on her feet and would have laughed aloud if I hadn't been afraid of the pistol she'd held. The girl, it seemed, had watched one too many CSI-type shows on television.
Well, I had as well, plus I'd done quite a bit of research myself when it came to various crimes and how to commit them—for my books, of course. Even though it was too dark to see, I closed my eyes tightly and let my mind run over the various methods I'd written about in the past.
In one of my books, the protagonist had been kidnapped and held in a windowless shed that had been secured with a chain and padlock on its one door. I'd had her feel around in the dark for anything sharp—carefully, of course—to begin digging her way out. That hadn't worked, but she'd come across a loose board near the bottom of the back wall. Ta-da! With a few kicks from her feet against the board, she'd been able to create a space just big enough to slip underneath and out to freedom.
And it was fiction. In reality, my fuller figure would never be able to slip through anything as small as a space created by removing a single board. Besides, I wasn't on land and I had no desire to flood the boat, especially when I was locked in the bottom of it with no way to escape.
Still, it would at least give me something to do. I stood up carefully, hands stretched above me to ascertain where the ceiling was. I felt nothing above me, so I stood fully upright and took a deep breath. It was show time.
My heroine had been able to feel around in the dark barehanded without injuring herself at all. The first thing I did was to jam my forefinger into a very hard object. The language I used was not elegant in the least and certainly not printable.
After giving my hand a few minutes to stop throbbing, I devised another plan of exploration. I'd use the backs of my hands, not my fingers, to find anything I could use to either escape or defend myself if and when Ailin Tillmon came back down to the hold.
I decided to first find the wall on my right and to begin feeling my way in a counter-clockwise path. I figured if I did this and made three left turns, I'd be back at square one. I began sidling to my right, moving my feet in an awkward shuffle of sorts. I found the wall very quickly. The canal boat was not that wide near the bow, and this was where the hold was located. Instead of making me feel claustrophobic, this knowledge gave me some comfort. It wouldn't take me that long to figure out if I was doomed to stay here until Ailin chose to release me or if there was a chance I could make it out on my own.
By the time I'd made it back to where I assumed I'd begun my journey, I was sweating from both fear and lack of circulating air. I'd not found one tool to assist my escape or a place to from which to break out. I was, not to put too fine a point on it, stuck.
I located the wall once more and sat down with my back against it, grimacing as I did. The floor felt cold and damp, as if water had already begun seeping in, threatening to flood my prison.
Stop that, I scolded myself. You're just scared. Take a deep breath and relax.
I drew in a few deep breaths, trying to get my pulse down as I decided to try visualizing being rescued. Visualization was a technique I'd practiced in the past whenever I was up against something—or someone—I couldn't control. Some would argue that it worked, while others, like me, saw it as a great method to calm down and think things through.
I began to visualize the door opening, a beacon of light shining from the top of the stairs. I imagined I heard my name being called, the footsteps of my rescuer crossing the floor and putting their arms about me as they lifted me to my feet…
I squeezed my eyes tightly shut. This time the visualization was so real I could have sworn that I heard my husband's voice, could f
eel his arms around me.
"Caro? For goodness' sake, open your eyes," said Greg into my ear. "You're safe now."
I let one eyelid slide up slowly, and then the other snapped up as well.
"Greg? How did you find me?" I knew I sounded idiotic, but I just couldn't believe that he was here, that I was free. "And where's Ailin Tillmon?"
His face was grim and his arm tightened about my shoulders. "That one. What a pure piece of work," he said, his mouth held in a tight line. "She's too confident in her own abilities. That's for certain. It was Zayne who called me. He said he wasn't sure what his sister would do to you, but he was worried." My husband shook his head. "I'm not sure how she thought she could make her brother do the dirty work and not get tainted herself."
I nodded against his chest. There would always be those who believed that their lives were more important than those around them and that their ideals were the right path to follow. I knew from experience as a people watcher, though, that one could lead someone to the very edge of a decision but not be able to force them into becoming a follower. Ailin and Zayne Tillmon were the perfect example of this. I almost—but not quite—felt sorry for them.
"Let's get you out of here, all right?" Greg gave me another squeeze and then began to lead me toward the stairs. "I don't know about you, but I need a cup of tea."
* * *
That night it was the usual suspects sitting around my kitchen table: Merry, Scotty, Greg, and me. Trixie was cuddled in Merry's lap, surreptitiously eating the bits of cinnamon roll that were "accidentally" dropped. I chose to ignore this for once. I was just too thankful to be out of that dark hold on the canal boat and sitting in my well-lighted home with those I loved.
"How did you come to suspect Ailin Tillmon?" Scotty broke off a piece of cinnamon roll and dipped it in his coffee mug. Merry wrinkled her nose but didn't say anything. I caught her eye and winked.
"Actually, I didn't," I admitted. "I'd thought it was Gabbie all the while. After all, she owned the canal boat and had the connections up and down the river."
Merry nodded. "It made sense to me as well, Scotty. I just had it in my mind that she was the ring leader for running drugs or whatever it was." She glanced at him, one eyebrow lifted. "And what was it?"
"Actually, that's the odd part of this entire case." Scotty looked around the table, a slight grin on his face. "They were moving counterfeit handbags."
"As in high-end?" I suddenly recalled the box of purses that Viv had been digging through when I'd visited her at Twice Upon a Time.
Scotty nodded. "Yep. We found Michael Kors, Coach, Gucci, just to name a few. And quite honestly, you couldn't tell them apart from the real deal at first glance."
"Viv had a huge box of purses at her store the day I went to get my costume," I said slowly, trying to remember the exact brands I'd seen. "She told me that it had been left at her back door along with other boxes of junk."
"And that's why she was killed," exclaimed Merry. "She probably wasn't supposed to get it."
"No, that wasn't it." Scotty cleared his throat and looked down at the table. "She was part of the ring as well but had been threatening Ailin that she was going to get out and tell someone."
The four of us sat there silently. It was hard to imagine Viviana Drake, a trusted friend of Merry's and mine, breaking the law that way.
"So what about Victoria?" Merry asked, and we all looked at Scotty for the answer.
"She, apparently, had found out about the purses from one of her friends and went to Viv to buy one. Unfortunately for her, she chose a day when Ailin was there as well, and she overheard Viv telling her that she was going to report the entire operation to the authorities." Scotty shrugged, reaching for another piece of cinnamon roll. "Ailin was singing like a bird after we picked her up. Now she'll be going down for kidnapping"—with a nod at me—"as well as two counts of first-degree murder, plus receiving and selling counterfeit goods. Her brother will be charged with transporting."
"Good grief," my husband said incredulously. "And this was all over selling fake handbags."
"It's a huge market, counterfeiting expensive name-brand items." Merry reached over and grabbed Scotty's hand just as he started to dunk the bit of cinnamon roll in his coffee. "And this is one habit you're going to have to break, copper."
Greg and I exchanged amused glances. And so it begins, I thought to myself with an inward smile. Judging by the sheepish expression on Scotty's face, I could see that Merry was going to have her work cut out for her. Trixie, sensing the perfect moment to get another treat, leaned over Merry's arm and neatly snatched the pastry out of Scotty's hand.
"I just can't win around you women," Scotty said as he rubbed Trixie's ears, but he was smiling. Leaning over, he kissed Merry's cheek. She turned rosy with embarrassment, but she was smiling as well. She leaned over and put Trixie on the floor, and the dachshund waddled over to her bed, barely lifting her paws as she climbed in.
"Well, it's getting late," said Merry, standing up and taking her empty coffee mug over to the sink. "I do have to be up at a decent time tomorrow," she added with a brief look at the digital clock on my microwave. "Today, I mean."
"And I do as well," said Scotty as he rose to his feet. "Merry, I'll walk you home." He grinned down at her, his eyes surrounded by a network of smile wrinkles. "Not everyone has their own police escort."
"Oh, shush," Merry said, giving him a playful shove in his chest. "You'll give our hosts the wrong idea."
"I'm pretty sure that won't be the case," I said with a laugh. "It doesn't take a detective to see which way the wind is blowing."
"Caro," said my husband in a warning tone. He turned to face Scotty and Merry, holding up his hands and letting them fall to his sides. "Sorry, you two. You know my wife."
"That we do, Greg. That we do." Scotty's grin included me. "And I'm sure that Merry will keep you updated if anything exciting occurs."
"Scotty!" Merry, her face scarlet, put both hands over her face and shook her head. "Ignore him, Caro."
"I'll get this one, you take the other," said Greg as he put one arm around my shoulders and began propelling me toward the front door.
"You've got it." Scotty reached down and scooped Merry into his arms. "Would you mind getting the door, please?"
I would have dearly loved watching Scotty carry my friend over to her house, but my husband pulled me away from the door, firmly shutting and locking it behind them.
"If she wants to tell you anything, she will, Caro."
Without warning, he leaned over and put one arm behind my knees and the other under my torso, lifting me up and beginning to walk down the hallway toward our bedroom.
"Greg, put me down," I protested. "You'll give yourself a hernia."
He did, and I put my ear to his chest.
"And what are you doing now, if you don't mind me asking? My heart's still beating, if that's what you're checking for."
"Just checking your lungs for wheezing," I said with a grin as I straightened. "Everything sounds all right to me. In fact, you sound healthy enough for any type of strenuous activity," I added with my best salacious wink.
Later—much later—I lay awake, listening to my usual nighttime lullaby duet. Trixie had joined us and had made her way to my pillow. Greg was snoring softly, one arm flung across his eyes as though a bright light was in his face. Sighing, I reached for my earbuds and smartphone, opening the app that held all my audible books.
With David Suchet channeling Hercule Poirot in my ears, I felt myself getting sleepy. I hadn't processed my way through the events of the day yet, but there would be time for that later. Right now it was enough just to be lying there with my husband and pet, safe in my own home.
Leading another person into a life of crime was not always a guarantee that they would follow. Even someone as close as a brother wasn't a surety, as Ailin Tillmon had come to find out. Thank goodness for that, I thought. I shut my eyes tighter and banished the thought, snuggli
ng deeper under the covers. It was fall in New York, after all, and one never knew when a sudden dip in the temperature would happen.
My dreams that night were filled with designer handbags floating through the air above my head, just out of my reach.
* * * * *
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA Today bestselling author Dane McCaslin resides in the state of Arizona with her very patient husband. She has been writing all of her life: poetry, short stories, journals, letters (yes, those old-fashioned epistles that require pen and paper), and now she brings her talents to the cozy mystery genre.
In addition to being an author, Dane McCaslin is an educator. She currently teaches advanced language arts classes for grade 11; additionally, she teaches beginning writing classes at the local university. Being an educator is an important part of her life, and passing on her passion for reading and writing is one of her great joys.
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BOOKS BY DANE MCCASLIN
Proverbial Crime Mysteries:
A Bird in the Hand
The Pen is Mightier (short story in the Killer Beach Reads collection)
When the Cat's Away
You Can Lead a Horse to Water
Aloha Lagoon Mysteries:
Photo Finished
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SNEAK PEEK
If you enjoyed this Proverbial Crime Mystery, check out this sneak peek of another mystery novel from Gemma Halliday Publishing:
You Can Lead a Horse to Water (Proverbial Crime Mysteries Book 3) Page 18
