“Anything?” asked Kenny, as he came back into the library and plopped down beside me.
“Not a thing.”
“Good. How about some coffee?”
“How do you take it? Cream, milk, sugar, sweetener?”
I was in the kitchen when my cell phone rang. It was the hospital. The nurse in the recovery room asked me to convey a message to Lacey and Laurel. Paul wanted them to know he was fine. No reason to worry. What a sweet, thoughtful man. He must have known how scared to two ladies really were.
At the top of the stairs, I found the door to the Red Oak room wide open. Bur was sleeping, fully clothed, on the bed, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. Laurel was still awake when I tiptoed to her door. She laid her book in her lap as I entered the dimly lit room.
“Paul gave the nurse a message for you,” I announced.
“He did?” There was instant relief in my mother’s eyes as I shared it. “Oh, I’m so glad. Did you tell Lacey yet?”
“I will now,” I promised.
Lacey was dozing in her armchair. I debated waking her, but thought she would feel better if she knew. Maybe she would even climb into bed to sleep.
“Hey, I have good news,” I said softly. “Lacey, Paul sent you a message.”
The eyes blinked, even as she roused herself. A moment later, I saw a lot of the tension dissipate as she absorbed the reality. Paul Duchamps wasn’t going to be the third victim.
“Thank you, dear. You have no idea how worried I’ve been.”
“Oh, I think I have an inkling.”
“I just wish I knew why Gretchen and Lonnie were killed.”
“It’s the not knowing that’s the hardest thing to handle, isn’t it? If we don’t know why, we can’t really protect ourselves, can we? It’s the Boogey Man hiding under the bed. He’s sure to get us.”
“I’ll be glad when Boynton gets here tomorrow.”
Ah, another guest. More work for me. Well, at least Boynton could pitch in and help Kenny and Bur with security. And he’d probably be a pretty good deterrent to the killers, given he spent four years in the Marines.
I made a quick detour to my bedroom on the third floor. Climbing out of my slacks and sweater, I wriggled into my fleece pants and top. It might not be the Victoria’s Secret look, but it would have to do. I wanted to be comfortable and cozy while doing my watch down in the library. With that in mind, I grabbed my cell phone case, attached the neck lanyard, and buried tech treasure beneath the thick, fuzzy fleece fabric. Then I slipped my feet into slipper socks and headed for the stairs.
I gave a nod to Officer Zuk as he emerged from the living room, dogs at his heels and banana muffin in hand. The dogs were on the hunt once more, hoping he was a sloppy eater.
Kenny was sitting on the ottoman, staring at the TV on the wall. He glanced up as I came into the room.
“All’s quiet on the western front,” he quipped as I sat down on the sofa behind him.
“What do you need me to do now?” I asked.
“Now, it’s just a waiting game. You’re welcome to crash on the bed,” he offered.
“I’m wired,” I admitted. The truth was I was just too stimulated by caffeine and concern to sleep anytime soon.
“Well, then. I’m in luck. I have a gorgeous woman to keep me company while I wait for the bad guys to make their move.” He gave me a tired smile and I knew we were both too exhausted to flirt properly. I noticed that there was a handgun next to a holster on the end table. Kenny came prepared to fight back. Did that mean he was expecting violence? I asked.
“Better safe than sorry, Miz Scarlet. When I heard about that threatening note left on the birdhouse post the other day, I thought it might be the start of a situation that could escalate.”
“That note,” I sighed. “Was it for Gretchen?”
“Maybe. And if so, that might mean this is over. But we won’t know until we understand the motive for killing her.”
We spent the next hour talking about the divergent routes our lives had taken since Kenny and his family packed up their station wagon and headed to the Garden State. Just after one, I took a turn at the monitor, giving him a break. Kenny was lying back on the bed, eyes closed, when I finally worked up the courage to ask.
“What was Jillian like?”
There was a long pause that seemed destined to never end. I heard a muffled sigh from behind me, but I just kept my eyes on the screen.
“Oh, she was a piece of work. Jillian was a writer, passionate and opinionated. Wanted to be involved with everything, even when her arms and legs no longer obeyed her. The MS hit hard when she was thirty two and then it backed off for awhile. She’d go through long stretches where she could get around. She drove until she turned forty, but then it was one thing after another. The muscle spasms were the worst. Sometimes she could feel them coming on. Other times, she was blindsided.”
“Sounds ghastly.”
“Oh, it was cruel. We tried to balance out the inequities It was hard when the kids were young. She was functional much of the time, but during those recurrences, when she struggled with symptoms, we did whatever she needed us to do. The last thing we expected was that she’d die.”
“But I thought....”
“MS is a progressive disease? No, Scar. Jillian could have lived another twenty or thirty years. You don’t die from it.”
“But you’re widowed. What happened?” My eyes left the screen for a few poignant moments, as I turned to stare at Kenny. I was shocked.
“When she lost the feeling in her feet, she had trouble managing her gait, and that made her accident-prone. Jake’s our youngest . He was a senior at Princeton at the time, on the basketball team. She was coming down the steps at the sports center after one of his games, when she fell and cracked her head open on the stone slab.”
“That’s terrible,” I replied, shuddering as I imagined that nightmare. “I thought the disease killed her.”
“Nope. Tragic accident. Massive head trauma. The kids were devastated. We had just celebrated Kendra’s engagement. She’s our oldest.”
“Oh.”
“You’ll like my kids. Kendra’s got her mother’s temperament. She dives into everything with great abandon, so confident that she can tackle anything. Jake’s a down-to-earth kid, with a good head on his shoulders. He likes to look before he leaps.”
My whole world turned upside down and right side up as my assumptions about the Tolliver family collided with reality. I had pictured his wife succumbing to her illness over months, lingering tragically in her bed as he waited on her hand and foot, ever the gallant husband, sacrificing his career to get it done. I hadn’t expected to learn that Jillian had lived a good life, that she wrote three books about her experiences with the disease, frequently lectured on the subject, or that she would have gone on for decades, had it not been for that terrible moment when she lost her footing. She turned out to be a human being with a sense of humor, a mind like a steel trap, and some flaws that drove her husband absolutely crazy. By the time he had talked himself out, I realized she and I probably would have been good friends. In a strange way, it was a comfort to know that. Even if his past was with another woman, and he only came back into my life because of a tragic turn of events, I didn’t feel like Jillian was a ghost standing between us. The way he described her, she was too full of life, to full of love, to ever begrudge the man she loved his happiness, especially after her death. Maybe there was still a chance that Kenny Tolliver and I could find happiness together. It was just a matter of staying alive long enough to enjoy it.
We had a plan. Bur was supposed to take over at four, so Kenny could get some sleep. Officer Zuk would wander through the house, keeping himself busy, until his relief arrived at six-thirty. That left Kenny watching the monitor, and me watching Kenny. I finally lay down on his bed, to rest my eyes. It was his suggestion. Save for the occasional groans that old houses make, the Four Acorns Inn was remarkably silent. January par
ked herself on the sofa, beside the security expert, clearly thinking she had a shot as a guard dog. Huck curled up in my arms. At two AM, sprawled out on Kenny’s bed and covered in a lap blanket, I dozed off.
I had a strange dream, and even as I dreamed it, I tried to wake myself up. I could hear quiet footsteps on the sun porch and muffled voices, even as the French doors swung open. There was darkness all around me. Dogs barked frantically. Why had Kenny turned off all the lights? Suddenly, I felt hands gripping me as a hood covered my head. Panic welled up in my chest as I tried to free myself from my abductors. I was powerless and I screamed, trying to get help. But no one came. Not even Bur.
I was cold. My stocking feet stumbled across the snow-covered ground. Twenty steps. Maybe thirty. A hand on the top of my head pushed it down. I seemed to fall into a black hole, knowing that I was moving, but not knowing where I would land until I skidded across that rubber matting beneath me. Cold metal sides. The inside of a van. My hands were bound behind me.
“Who are you?” I demanded, still thinking I was dreaming and had some control over the monsters in my nightmare. “What do you want?”
“Shut the hell up or I’ll slit your throat,” growled a horrible, fanged beast with blood on his breath. It began to occur to me that I was not in Kansas anymore, and Toto was not my dog. This was not a tornado’s aftermath. What had happened to Kenny, Huck, and January? Where was Officer Zuk?
The van began to move. I felt myself rolling as it lurched down the driveway and onto the street, tires squealing. Listening closely, I was finally alert. This was not a dream. This was not a figment of my imagination. This was happening in real time. Think, Miz Scarlet. Use your head. Concentrate. What do you hear? Two men. What are they talking about? Getting off the road as quickly as possible. Where are they going? They won’t say. What do they want? That I don’t know.
We suddenly stopped, and as the engine idled, there was a click and a whirring sound. The van proceeded slowly. As it moved forward, I thought I heard that same clicking sound behind us. An electric gate? How far had we traveled? Not far. Maybe a minute or two down the road from the Four Acorns Inn. We must be at the old Toms’ family mansion. Steve Kim’s home now. Why had these men brought me here?
Even as I felt the van ascend to the top of White Oak Hill, I heard sirens in the distance. I took it as a sign that the cops were already on the case. That left one important question. Why was I still alive? How come I hadn’t been shot, stabbed, or strangled?
When the van finally braked and the engine was turned off, I heard the two doors up front open and then shut. I waited for what didn’t come -- the sound of the side door sliding open and those rough hands to snatch me up once again. Instead, I lay there like a piece of beef tenderloin, trussed up and going nowhere fast. The minutes ticked on endlessly, even as I desperately wondered what lay beyond the black hood I now wore.
Click! Whor-r-r-r! The door suddenly slid open. “Come on. Let’s go.”
It took me a moment to track the command before I realized the gruff voice was talking to me.
“I said let’s go!” He repeated those words with more verbal force this time.” I couldn’t tell where he was standing, but I noted there was a slight echo. Hard surface, probably concrete. Garage?
“Can’t you tell she’s got no idea where you are, you idiot?” That was a new voice, a somewhat familiar voice. “Just grab her and put her in the room! Move it!”
Chapter Eighteen --
It didn’t take a genius to realize which of the two was boss. Seconds after he issued that command, I found myself being dragged across the textured rubber liner on the floor of the van. I nearly lost my fleece pants in the process. Is there anything more undignified than having your nearly-bare ass hanging out while your hands are tied? There was no way I could pull them up, and that just added to my sense of helplessness.
“Hurry up!” said the impatient first male voice, emphasizing his point with a swift shove that sent me reeling across the hard, slippery surface. I skidded, twisted, and landed hard on my backside.
“Oh, for Christmas sake! Can’t you do anything right?” demanded the second voice. More rough hands yanked me to my feet by my bound wrists. I felt the shoulder sockets protest under the strain. There came the sound of a key in a lock, and then the drawing back of a dead bolt. “Give me your knife.”
Here it comes. This is where life as you know it ends. Please, God. Don’t let me suffer. Don’t let me see it coming. Help me to trust in You. Even as I prayed, I gave a little whimper, a cry of self-pity.
“Ah, geez. Isn’t that touching. She’s afraid.” Why was that voice so familiar? It sounded just like Ned -- the man who disappeared that night in September, leaving me behind in a crumpled pile of twisted emotions and complete mental confusion.
I was still baffled. I never understood why Ned ended our relationship. What had I done to turn our romance sour? How had I failed him? Why was he so angry with me that he had to lash out at me that way?
Even now, I could see the handwritten accusations on the note he left behind. It was plain paper, block lettering. I found it on top of my knapsack when I woke up in the tent we had pitched in the White Mountains. You are the most shallow, self-centered, pathetic woman I have ever known. You are incapable of changing. I never want to see you again. I was alone, abandoned in the middle of nowhere, without a GPS or a compass, no food or water. It took me half an hour to find the rough trailhead and follow it, another three to make my way to the highway, where I hitched a ride with a family of four in their SUV. They dropped me at the center of the next town. I paid for a bus ticket to Conway, and took a taxi to the municipal lot where I had left my car on Friday. When I got back to Cheswick, I lied through my teeth to everyone. I had a great weekend. My girlfriends and I hit all the outlet stores. No, I didn’t buy anything, but I sure had fun!....
Ned. It couldn’t be. That didn’t make any sense. And yet it was him, and there was a ferocity in his words that made me suddenly understand just how much he really hated me. But why?
“What’s the matter, Scarlet? Think I’m planning to kill you? Not yet, my pretty. I’m not done with the Wilson family quite yet.”
Light, bright white light, shocked my eyes as the hood was yanked off my head. Even as I tried to adjust to its brilliance, I stared numbly at a pair of apparitions. Not just Ned. Jere.
“She looks a little confused,” said the community college professor with glee. “What’s the matter, bitch -- thought I was done with you, too? Not on your life!”
“Shut up, Jere,” snarled Ned. They must be relatives. Why had I never seen the resemblance? I felt a tug at my wrists as the duct tape was cut, and then, as I rubbed them, trying to regain sensation, Ned gave me a tremendous push and sent me flying through the open door. Before I could put my hands out and brace myself for the inevitable fall, I smacked into the cement wall in front of me.
“Ouch!” My left cheekbone struck the hard, rough surface. I licked my lip like a wounded animal and tasted blood. “Crap!”
“Be a good girl if you know what’s good for you,” Jere advised me, just before the door shut. I heard the locks click into place as the warm liquid dribbled over my fingers and dripped onto the unseen floor in the darkness of my hell hole. Did I chip a tooth?
“You okay?” The stranger’s voice came out of nowhere and I jumped at the unexpected sound.
“Who’s there?” In the complete and utter blackness of the room, I cowered, seeking cover. How many others were with me in this nightmare?
“Jim.” There was an effort to clear his throat, as if he hadn’t spoken in a long, long time. Finally, he managed to get out the rest of his answer. “Jim Jordan.”
The missing man! Where was the rest of his family? Were they in here, too?
“We’ve been looking for you!” I cried. “Are you all okay?”
“I...I don’t know. I haven’t seen my wife and kids in ages. Do...do I know you?”
“Scarlet Wilson. I own the Four Acorns Inn. I’m Boynton’s cousin.”
“I don’t know where they took them,” he sobbed unexpectedly. It was as if the floodgates opened and all the pain he had held in check since his kidnapping came pouring out. “I don’t know what happened....”
Even as he said that, I was already thinking. We have to get the hell out of here! We have to get away! And that’s when I felt for my chest. It was still there. My cell phone. On the neck lanyard. Would it work? Would I have a signal?
“Jim? Jim, I need you to hold on. I need you to just be quiet for a minute, okay? I’m going to try to get us out of here.” With that, I pulled out the phone and looked at the bars. Two. “Son of Sam, damn it all to hell and back!”
“I want my family back!” he moaned as he came closer. His face was barely visible in the faint glow of the blue light. I stared at the illuminated tropical island in the middle of the deep, blue sea on my screen, my little slice of paradise with its icons. A desert island was starting to look like a great alternative to this place. Think, Miz Scarlet. How can I boost my bars?
“No offense, Jim, but shut up. I’m trying to think!” I told him. This was a concrete room. Would I have a better shot by the doorway?
“Is that a cell phone?” His voice was suddenly stronger, and for a moment, I fought the panic. Don’t let him take it away, Scarlet! This may be your only shot at survival!
“I’m going to get us some help,” I promised. “I just need a better signal.”
“You have service?”
“Barely. Maybe enough for a 911 call.”
“Come with me,” he insisted. “This way!”
What was he doing? I felt his insistent hand on my elbow as he steered me across the room. “Climb up!”
“What?”
“Window!”
Miz Scarlet and the Imposing Imposter Page 15
