Lexie Starr Cozy Mysteries Boxed Set

by Jeanne Glidewell

  I turned on to Maple from Main Street to take the shortcut back to the inn. The Continental turned behind me. When I turned onto Fifth Street, the Continental turned behind me again. I looked at the driver in my rearview mirror. I noticed he had a jacket on, with the hood over his head, but I was almost certain it was Mr. Hobbs. It stood to reason he and his wife had two vehicles, so maybe he was driving her car. He probably wanted to keep his car out of sight as much as possible so no one would connect the dark SUV to the murder case and hit-and-run accident in the hospital parking lot. Was he really following me? I wondered.

  Just to check, I turned right at the next crossroads at the last second, instead of pulling straight through the intersection. The Lincoln turned right behind me. I nearly froze in place, terrified now. I was convinced I was being tailed. Mr. Hobbs must have seen me pull out of Boney's Garage, or maybe he'd been lying in wait for me to come back out on the road.

  I turned left down the next street. He turned left. I drove two blocks and turned right. He turned right. We were now driving through a residential area of town. Not one person was in sight.

  Everybody was staying inside because of the weather conditions. How could I lose him? I couldn't drive fast enough on the icy roads to put any distance between us.

  I made my way back to the highway, hoping the more heavily traveled roads were in better condition. They were, but just barely. I was able to gain a little speed as I drove, but the Lincoln behind me kept right on my rear bumper. There was no one at the inn. Driving there might be the worst thing I could do in this situation. It was a little isolated and sat back from the road quite a distance.

  I made a sudden U-turn in the middle of the highway. The Lincoln did the same thing right behind me. There was absolutely no doubt now my stalker was following me, and he had evil intentions where I was concerned. I looked down at my dash and was instantly relieved to discover Stone had filled up my gas tank. I wouldn't run out of gas any time soon, at least. Maybe I could keep driving until I was certain Stone would be home, and then return to the inn.

  It suddenly occurred to me to call Wyatt back. All I had to do was hit "Send, Send," on my phone, and it would ring through to him. I could tell him my location and have him send patrol cars out to rescue me. I reached into my purse and pulled my cell phone out just as the Lincoln behind me tapped the rear bumper of my Jeep. It jarred me just enough for me to drop the phone on the floor of the passenger side. Now I couldn't reach the phone, and I couldn't safely pull the Jeep over to pick the phone up off the floorboard either. There were no shoulders on this hilly, winding stretch of road.

  I pushed down on the accelerator, picking up as much speed as I safely could without losing control of the Jeep. Still, I couldn't lose the Lincoln Continental. I decided then, if I couldn't call Wyatt, I would drive back to him. If I pulled up to him at the scene of the accident in downtown Rockdale, there wasn't much Mr. Hobbs could do to me. If Wyatt had already left the scene, I would drive straight to the police station. I would pull into their parking lot and run into the building as fast as I could.

  I felt a little bit of relief, now that I had a workable plan. I had to turn around and head back toward Rockdale. I couldn't drive through the median because the Transportation Department had recently installed a cable down the center of it to help prevent head-on collisions.

  So, instead, I pulled off onto the next exit ramp. This turned out to be a bad decision. As I reached the road at the end of the ramp, the rear end of my Jeep was tapped again. This time the hit was harder and more violent than the time before. I was unfamiliar with the area, and I didn't know where the road I was on led, but there was no place to turn around to get back up on the highway. Surely, if I turned at the next intersection, I would end up back in town eventually. At least the road I currently traveled on was paved. I sped up a little, as did the Lincoln. He was now tapping the rear bumper of my car repeatedly.

  Between the incessant tapping and the icy pavement, my Jeep was swerving from one side of the road to the other. The road had not been treated with salt or sand, and there was no one else on the road. I was driving on black ice now, barely able to keep the Jeep on the pavement even without being pounded from behind. The car was top heavy and the four-wheel drive was worthless on the ice.

  I drove past a closed gas station, and a couple of vacant buildings. I saw no other human being, except for the angry face in my rearview mirror. He no longer tried to hide his face under the hood of his coat, as if he didn't care if I recognized him at this point. Mr. Hobbs was getting impatient with me. He was now trying to spin me out by ramming one side of my rear bumper and then the other. Before I realized it, the pavement ended, and I found myself driving down an icy gravel road. We were out in the middle of nowhere now.

  My heart was pounding in my chest, and I was breathing harder and harder, gasping in pure terror. I didn't know how I was going to get back to town from my current location. I didn't know where this road went, or even if it was leading to a dead end. If it was, it might very well be a dead end for me too. Now that Mr. Hobbs probably knew for sure I recognized him, he had almost no choice but to kill me. He had killed before and would not hesitate to do so again, I was certain.

  What could I possibly do? It was hard to think while trying to maintain control of the vehicle. I looked up into my rearview mirror again and was surprised not to see the white Lincoln. Then I heard it pull up beside me on the driver's side. Hobbs veered his car to the right and steadily pushed my lighter car over to the edge of the road. There was a deep ditch running along beside the gravel road.

  I heard a sickening crunch on my left front quarter panel, and felt the Jeep turning over on its side into the ditch. I felt blood trickling down the side of my face where I'd hit the driver's side window, which had shattered in the rollover. Before I could unbuckle my seatbelt, crawl out of the window, and make a run for it, Mr. Hobbs had me by the arms and was pulling me out of the Jeep.

  "Couldn't leave things well enough alone, could you, Ms. Reed?" he asked, thinking I was Rhonda Reed, investigative reporter. He was a big man, even more menacing now than he had looked in my mirror. He pulled my arms behind my back, as I screamed in vain. He pulled a roll of duct tape out of his coat pocket, and began wrapping it tightly around my wrists. I was surprised he didn't just kill me and get it over with. My Jeep and body probably wouldn't be located for hours. Apparently, he had other plans for me.

  I was kicking at him with my legs now, hitting him in the shins over and over again. He let out several yelps and was getting angrier and angrier. He called me a few obscene names and shoved me down to the ground. I inhaled fresh snow as I gasped for air. I found I couldn't stand back up with my arms tied behind my back. I continued to kick at him as he tried to tie my ankles together. Eventually he succeeded, being larger and much stronger than I was.

  He unlocked his trunk now, and picked me up to drop me into it. I was relieved he hadn't killed me yet. I wasn't sure what he had in mind for me, but I was certain things were going to get worse before they got better. I was still screaming when he started to close the trunk of the Lincoln, even though there was no one nearby to hear me. He opened it back up and put a piece of duct tape across my mouth to silence me.

  I heard the driver's door open and close, and felt him turn the car around and head back in the direction from which we had come. I could tell when we left the crunchy gravel road and were back up on the pavement. I was writhing around, trying to see if there was a release in the trunk of the car, but I couldn't quite get turned just right. Knowing it was probably a futile attempt, I wrestled my arms around as much as I could. If I could somehow get my arms loose, I might be able to pull up the carpet and look for the trunk release cable. I knew they were usually located on the driver's side of the trunk.

  I fought and fought to loosen the tape around my wrists but was having no luck. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness. I could see a toolbox off to the left of my head. If
only I could regain use of my hands, maybe I could find something in the toolbox to pry the door latch open. I rubbed and twisted my arms to create friction, hoping to cause the tape to wear and begin to rip. I knew my time might be running out, and I had never been this scared before in my entire life.

  I had to assume Mr. Hobbs was taking me off somewhere in the woods, away from civilization. Once he got me out there he'd no doubt kill me and bury or hide my body out amongst the trees, where it would take authorities even longer to find it. I was sure he was more familiar with the area than I was, and had a secluded destination in mind.

  I hadn't been able to see if he had any dents or scratches on his car he'd have to account for or have repaired, probably in some neighboring town. I was sure the Lincoln had to have sustained some kind of body damage, as hard as he'd battered my car with it. I hoped this would eventually lead to his arrest for the murder of Walter and me.

  I could hear other vehicles now and knew we were traveling along in traffic. Not heavy traffic, by any means, but other cars were passing us from time to time. As I continued to try to free my hands, I felt the Lincoln slowing to a stop. Off in the distance I heard a train whistle. This gave me an idea.

  We were obviously waiting for a train to pass at a railroad crossing. As the train got nearer, the sound of it rolling along the rails got louder. I turned my body around so that my taped legs were facing the rear of the car. As the train closed in on the crossing, the engineer began to blow the train's whistle. At the same time, I began kicking frantically at the right taillight assembly from inside the trunk. I hoped the sound of the loud whistle and reverberation of the rapidly moving train would mask the sound and motion of me kicking at the taillights. It was hard to kick with my ankles taped together, but I could tell I was making progress when I heard cracking noises.

  Just before the train cleared the crossing, I felt the taillight break free. I pushed at it with the heel of my shoes until most of it fell out onto the pavement. I had hoped there was another vehicle parked behind the Lincoln, but I could see through the opening now, and there were no cars behind us. As we drove over the tracks and began to pick up speed, I tried to push my shoe through the opening, but the opening was not as wide as my shoe, and it was hard to do with my ankles tied together. Using the heel of my left shoe, I pressed it down against the floor of the trunk and pulled. I did this several times before I felt my shoe slip off.

  If I remembered right, I had on red socks, the same color as the taillight assembly. This might make my sock harder to detect, but it was the only hope I had at this point. I pushed the toes of my left foot into the opening I'd made by busting out the taillight assembly. It was a tight fit, but I was able to get them to protrude beyond the hole where the taillight assembly had been.

  This put me in an awkward and uncomfortable position, but I felt there was at least a slim chance someone would notice if they pulled up behind the Lincoln. I began wiggling my toes as much as I could, and continued doing so until my foot began severely cramping. I had read that this was the thing to do if ever locked in the trunk of a car. At the time I would never have imagined that this would one day apply to me.

  After resting my foot for just a few seconds I began wiggling my toes again. I kept this up as we traveled along a busier road. The speed of the Lincoln had picked up significantly, so I figured we were most likely back up on the highway. It felt to me as if we were heading toward Rockdale. The good thing was there was more traffic on the road and, therefore, more drivers to notice my toes sticking out of the taillight opening. The bad thing was that at this speed, and with the current road conditions, the other vehicles would be farther behind us, making my toes more difficult to detect.

  I was beginning to think this idea was not going to provide a satisfying conclusion. I felt bad that I had gone against Stone's wishes for me to never leave the inn alone. I was terrified, and there were tears running down my cheeks. Why hadn't I just left well enough alone, as Mr. Hobbs had suggested? How was this going to help the reputation of the Alexandria Inn? My death would just stir up more news that would shed an even worse light on the establishment. Stone had moved to the Midwest to be closer to me, and now I was probably going to be out of the picture. I tried to push the negative thoughts from my mind and concentrate on the situation at hand. I had never been the type to give up without a fight and I vowed to fight as long as there was a breath left in me.

  I continued to wiggle my toes, even though my toes were bitterly cold, and there was an intense aching in the arch of my foot. I was about to pull my toes back into the interior of the trunk, trying to concoct a new plan of action, when I heard the sound of a siren in the distance. It was closing in on the Lincoln rapidly. The sound of the siren nearly enveloped me in joy.

  I felt the speed of the Lincoln kick up a notch or two and continue to move faster and faster. We were passing other cars at an alarming rate now. I was wiggling my toes like crazy. The siren continued to get louder.

  Suddenly the Lincoln left the highway, careening down an exit ramp. It turned to the right, and then quickly back to the left. We were moving fast, sliding about on the icy road beneath us. I heard more sirens now, coming from the opposite direction. By the time we turned again, the sirens were right on our tail. I thought the siren was coming from the vehicle directly behind us. I swished my toes back and forth as erratically as I could, hoping to draw attention to them, although I was beginning to feel confident it was Mr. Hobbs they were chasing, and I would be out of this predicament soon.

  Suddenly I felt the car begin to spin around, doing about three complete rotations before it slammed headfirst into something that stopped us in our tracks. I heard glass breaking and the squealing of metal being torn apart. I felt something like a tire iron strike the side of my head as I was flung about in the trunk of the car. Then I heard the sirens being turned off and car doors slamming. I heard a voice call out, "Step out of the vehicle with your hands up!"

  I heard sounds of a scuffle, and finally I heard the blessed sound of a pair of handcuffs being ratcheted down. It was the nicest sound I'd ever heard in my entire life.

  Only seconds later, the trunk of the car opened, and I was staring up at Detective Wyatt Johnston. I thought he had never looked so wonderful as he did at this moment. He reached out and gently removed the tape from across my mouth.

  "Lexie, are you okay?" He asked. I told him I was okay as he pulled out a pocketknife and began cutting away the duct tape on my wrists and ankles. "I'm so glad you called me when you did."

  "How did you find us?" I asked.

  "After you called, I got worried, so I summoned another officer to take my place directing traffic, and I headed over to the Hobbs residence. Mrs. Hobbs was home but she told me her husband, Jeffrey Hobbs, was gone. I asked her if he drove a dark-colored SUV, and she said, 'Yes. He drives a Ford Explorer. Why?'" Wyatt told me. "I told her I needed to speak with him, and she told me Jeffrey had taken her Lincoln Continental into town. She said she had expected him to be home already."

  "Go on," I said.

  "Well, I got suspicious. When asked, she told me her Lincoln was white. I tried to call you back on your cell phone and you didn't answer, which worried me even more."

  "The cell phone was still in the Jeep, which is turned over in a ditch off a gravel road west of town," I said. "Not that I could have answered it anyway, with my hands tied together."

  "So, I drove to Boney's and asked Joey about you. He told me you had left about an hour earlier. I tried you on the phone once again, and then called Stone on his phone. He thought you were at the inn. He said he was almost there. He and Wendy were just arriving back from the airport. I told him I had talked to you on your phone right after you had left Boney's Garage."

  "Was he upset?" I asked Wyatt. I knew this was an idiotic question.

  "Of course he was. He was extremely worried and scared half to death. Anyway, Stone called me back a minute or two later, and by then he was frant
ic. He told me you weren't at the inn, so I sent out an APB on a white Lincoln Continental. The entire police force was out looking. Then we got a nine-one-one call from a driver who said he saw toes sticking out of the broken taillight of a white Lincoln heading west on the highway out of Rockdale. He gave his location, and we all turned around and headed in this direction, converging on Mr. Hobbs so he'd have no way to escape. Knowing you were confined in the trunk, we had hoped to avoid wrecking him, but obviously, it was not to be. Thank God you're okay, other than the little cut by your ear. Anyway, once he plowed into the light pole, it was all over but the cuffing and stuffing."

  Wyatt grinned from ear to ear. I could tell this car chase, which had spoiled an abduction, had made his day. He handed me his phone and asked me to call Stone. He wanted me to let Stone know I was okay as soon as possible, to ease his mind. "We've got the ambulance coming to take Hobbs to the hospital. He is bleeding pretty profusely from a large gash on his forehead, and a smaller one on his arm. I think his left wrist might be broken, as well."

  "I hope so," I said.

  "Tell Stone I will get you home as soon as you are debriefed, and have given your statement at the police station. If he'd like, he can meet us there."

  Stone was incredibly relieved when I called to tell him what had happened. He told me if he wasn't so happy to hear I was okay, and to know my stalker had been apprehended, he'd be angry at me for sneaking out of the inn on my own. I apologized and came really close to promising I'd never get involved in something like this again. "Never say never" was my motto. At the time, getting involved again was the last thing I ever wanted to do, but I knew time would ease those frightening memories, and the fear and apprehension would go away, but I'd always have my impulsive, and sometimes reckless, nature to contend with.