Pineapple Turtles

by Amy Vansant

  In the rearview, Charlotte watched the minivan roll through a stop sign at the end of the street and make a hurried left.

  Headed for the bridge? Staying on the island?

  She fired up the Volvo and made a U-turn to follow, careful to stay back in case the driver was on high alert for her vehicle after possibly spotting her inside.

  Looking left at the stop sign, she watched the back of the minivan as it crossed to the opposite side of the main artery running parallel to the Bennetts’ street and drove toward the bridge.

  Charlotte followed, slowing twice as fast as her quarry as it approached the traffic light to allow cars to file in between them. The minivan pulled into the turn lane that led toward the bridge and off the island, but missed the signal. It rolled to a halt instead of blasting through the red light, so Charlotte decided whoever was driving wasn’t in a full-blown panic anymore. The way the woman had lurched and rolled through the stop sign had caused Charlotte to expect a high speed chase.

  Charlotte slowed to allow for more early-morning traffic to insert themselves between herself and the minivan in the turn lane, hoping the driver wouldn’t spot her lurking behind. She grabbed her phone and dialed Hunter. The phone went directly to voicemail, so she left a quick message.

  The light changed and Charlotte hugged the bumper of the car in front of her to be sure she made it through the light in time. Ahead of her, the minivan continued at a fast, but not break-neck pace.

  The more Charlotte followed and the less the minivan tried to lose her, the more she suspected the woman had no relation to the case. The twitchy driver could be someone who read about the case in the paper and wanted a peek. From the information shared in the press, it wouldn’t be hard for someone to find the Bennetts’ address.

  Maybe she was just a really lousy driver. In Charlotte’s experience, there were a few of those in Florida.

  Ah well. Worth a shot.

  She determined to follow the woman home and see if she had a baby in the car with her. Assuming she hadn’t driven from Ohio to see the Bennetts’ house, it wouldn’t take long.

  At least following someone was more exciting than staring at a house.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Why was that woman in that car?

  Kim chewed at her lip, Mason behind her blessedly silent for a change.

  There’d been a woman in that old white Volvo station wagon. She was sure of it.

  Cop?

  In a Volvo? Probably not. Didn’t they have to use American cars by law or something?

  She took a deep breath and tapped on the wheel while she waited for the light to change. She glanced in her rearview, craning her neck from side to side to search for the Volvo. She’d looked behind her at both stop signs and hadn’t seen the white car following. Maybe that woman had been waiting for sunrise. There were always weird people parked near the beach.

  Kim forgot about the Volvo and shifted her thoughts back to Josh Jr. Was he in that house? Did they leave him with the couple or was he not even there?

  I have to know.

  How can I find out?

  They weren’t going to say in the paper. She’d have to break in there and look around. Her stomach lurched at the thought, but it had to be done.

  Was there a camera on that gate? Could I cut through the shrubs somewhere?

  She made a mental note to wear long sleeves and maybe yoga pants to keep from getting scratched.

  I’ll have to take a day off from work. Or not. I should do it at night, but—

  Kim looked up just in time to slam on her breaks. The cars in front of her had slowed for a light.

  She panted as if she’d run a race. She could hear her heart banging against her chest.

  Mason, jolted from his sleep by the sudden stop, whined and bubbled like a coffee maker. She recognized it as his way of gearing up for the real shrieking.

  Tears flowed from Kim’s eyes as if a dam had given way, and she allowed herself to sob until she could barely breathe.

  I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.

  When the light changed she hit the gas and barreled for home. Five minutes later she pulled into her driveway, her own weeping now overshadowed by Mason’s bawling. It was as if he’d taken the volume of her pain as a personal challenge.

  “Shut up! Shut up!”

  Kim shut off the car and rested her head on the steering wheel. She needed to take a moment. If she moved to get Mason out of the back now, she worried what she might do. She needed silence. A day of silence. She couldn’t give the baby to her mother or Josh’s mother for fear they’d realize it wasn’t Josh Jr. but with one day of quiet, maybe she could figure out a way—

  Kim looked up and gasped.

  Josh stood in the driveway in front of her, hands hanging at his sides a little too far away from his hips, as if he was preparing to crouch and leap on her minivan like a panther.

  He looked angry.

  Kim wiped away her tears and looked in the rearview. Her eyes glowed puffy and red. No hiding she’d been crying.

  She opened the door and slid out of the van, wondering if her legs would support her when she landed.

  “What are you doing up?” she asked, turning her face away from Josh to open the back, sliding side door. Her stuffed nose made her voice sound funny and she couldn’t stop sniffing.

  “Where were you?” asked Josh, his boots crunching on the gravel as he approached.

  Kim reached for the crying baby, her hands shaking as she tried to unstrap him from the car seat.

  “He wouldn’t sleep. I thought I’d try driving him around.” Kim glanced at Josh and forced a smile. “I didn’t want him to wake you up.”

  “You’ve been gone an hour.” Before she could gather the child in her arms, Josh grabbed her wrist and pulled her to face him. “What’s wrong with your face?”

  She jerked her hand from his and grabbed the baby seat to anchor herself. “Huh?”

  “You’re all red. You look like crap.”

  Go on the offensive. Sometimes that works.

  “Oh sorry, Josh. I’m a little tired.” She pulled Mason from the seat and held him against her, bobbing him up and down, hoping he’d stop crying. She couldn’t hear herself think and Josh was leaning into her, his cheeks flushed red. She imagined she could see the steam coming out of his ears.

  “You were crying.” He said, maneuvering her chin to better peer into her face.

  Despite the rough way he’d gripped her chin, she could tell he was now on the fence somewhere between anger and concern. She took the opportunity to hurry past him, cradling Mason against her chest, though his wails threatened to burst her eardrums.

  “No—” Josh grabbed her arm, jerking her so hard she spun and had to scramble to keep from dropping the child.

  I read him wrong. He wasn’t worried about me. What was that look of confusion then? What has he gotten into his head?

  “Josh—”

  “Don’t walk away from me. What is going on?”

  Kim scanned the area, worried the neighbors would call the cops over their arguing. They’d done it before.

  “Nothing, I—”

  Josh’s fists clenched. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks. Something is going on. Are you cheating on me?”

  “What?”

  Kim wasn’t sure where the laughter came from, but she couldn’t stop. Mouth wide, she doubled over, her whole body shaking. Josh’s eyes flashed with ire, and still she couldn’t stop. Her brain felt like a runaway train. She could feel the wind and lights whipping by her.

  He thinks I’m cheating on him?

  The truth was so much worse it was funny.

  Through her swollen, squinted eyes she glanced at Josh where he stood, seemingly dumfounded, gaping back at her. Still, she couldn’t stop laughing.

  Something in my head broke.

  Josh took a step forward. “Are you laughing at me?”

  That’s when she spotted a flash of white behind
Josh and beyond the scrub pines.

  Is that a car?

  Did that Volvo follow me here?

  Panic hit her like a wall and stopped her maniacal giggling the way Josh liked to use his licked fingertips to snuff the candles she lit at Christmas time. Her laughter pinched off, just like those darkened, glowing embers.

  She spun away from her husband and ran for the back door of their home. She heard him pursue, yelling something, but she kept moving, baby Mason pressed against her chest.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The door gave way and Kim stumbled into the house, catching herself with one hand on the stairs leading to the landing, the other hand gripping the baby tightly. She kept him pinned against her chest with his feet dangling.

  When she felt a twinge in her wrist, she cried out, her arm giving way and her knee hitting the edge of the linoleum-covered step. She caught a flash of the child’s legs banging against the edge of a higher step and he screamed louder. The crack of her own knee gave her enough support for her to scramble to her feet and make it into the kitchen. Arm bouncing off the handle of the refrigerator, she spun and saw Josh behind her.

  Her gaze moved to the kitchen table at the same moment his hand headed in that direction. His pistol was sitting there. He’d been cleaning his gun.

  A strange wet noise burbled from her lips. Not laughter this time.

  What are the chances?

  Nothing felt real anymore.

  This can’t be my life.

  Two months ago, she’d been sitting at that table, nursing Josh Jr. when Josh had come in and rubbed her shoulders.

  I was so happy then.

  Josh grabbed the gun and pointed it at her feet.

  She realized he didn’t want to point the weapon at his son.

  If he knew what she’d done, that she was holding Mason Bennett, where would the gun point?

  “Come here.”

  A jolt shot through her body.

  No. Don’t stop running.

  The house wouldn’t provide her with any shelter. She needed to get away. At least if she was outside there’d be a chance a neighbor might call 911. Now wasn’t the time to be embarrassed.

  Kim bolted from the kitchen, through their crumbling lanai and burst through the wobbling screen door into the back yard.

  Panting, she stopped in the center of their small fenced yard and whirled as Josh appeared at the back door.

  “Are you cheating on me?” he roared striding down the steps they’d built together out of stray bricks, during happier times. The gun hung in his hand.

  “No!” she shrieked. “You’re so stupid.”

  Josh jerked back his head as if she’d slapped him. “What did you say to me?”

  “You know I wouldn’t cheat on you.”

  For a moment, his chin worked without a sound, as if he were too angry to speak. Finally, he spat out the words. “Where were you then?”

  “I—” She squeezed the baby and he cried so hard she worried he couldn’t breathe.

  “Answer me!”

  Kim held the baby out in front of her, chubby legs dangling like fish bait.

  “It’s him.”

  Josh scowled. “What the hell, Kim? What’s him?”

  “It’s not him.”

  “What? You’re not making any sense. Have you been drinking?”

  She laughed again, but not the uncontrollable giggles from earlier. She barked one, sharp, snort of bitter amusement and lowered herself to her knees, exhausted, the child still held out in front of her. All her energy left her. She couldn’t remain standing.

  She wanted to sleep.

  “Kim, you’re scaring me,” said Josh.

  Head hanging, she smiled. “That’s funny.”

  “It isn’t funny. What’s going on?”

  The truth flowed out of her as fast as her strength did.

  “It isn’t Josh Jr. I swapped him.”

  “You what?”

  “I swapped him with this baby.” Arms aching, she lowered Mason to the ground in front of her and sat him on his diaper-padded butt. “Josh was blind.”

  “What? What do you mean he was blind?”

  “He is blind. I didn’t think you’d want a blind baby. You and your sports… I thought—”

  Kim looked up as Josh raised the gun again. The look on his face was one she’d never seen before. He looked like a trapped animal, his eyes wide and wild. The gun shook in his hand.

  A strange calm came over Kim.

  It’s done. I told him. This isn’t all mine now.

  She felt lighter. She almost felt happy.

  Now we’ll go get Josh Jr. back. It’s over.

  “That baby in the news? You’re that baby in the news?” Her husband’s voice shook.

  Kim pointed at baby Mason. “Are you talking to him?”

  “Shut up.” Josh bounced the tip of the gun up and down. “Shut up!”

  She saw the muscle in his jaw clenching.

  A moment before she hadn’t cared if he shot her. She’d almost wanted it. But now—now they could go get Josh Jr.—

  “Let’s go get him back. I know where he is,” she said.

  “Get him back? You gave away our baby?”

  Mason lolled back against her thighs and took a breath to launch into another wail. Josh didn’t look at the kid. His focus remained locked on her, the gun in his hand growing steadier.

  Kim’s jaw slowly creaked open.

  He’s going to shoot me.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Charlotte moved through the patch of pines beside the house in front of which the minivan now parked. The plan hadn’t been to get out of her own car, but then a man she assumed to be the woman’s husband came out of the house looking agitated.

  Maybe agitated wasn’t the right word.

  He’d looked mad.

  The two argued and then the woman ran towards the house, the man striding after her.

  It looked like the woman was holding a baby. Someone had been crying and it sounded more like a child than the adults.

  The whole thing made Charlotte uncomfortable. She didn’t want to interfere in the lives of others, but she also didn’t want to sit on the curb like a lump if someone needed help in the house. If not the woman, maybe the child. What if that was the Bennetts’ baby? What if the woman was the kidnapper? Did the husband know? Is that what they were arguing about?

  The woman almost looked as if she’d been running a baby away from the man. She’d held something against her chest.

  A terrible thought crossed Charlotte’s mind.

  Maybe he regretted the kidnapping and wanted to get rid of the evidence.

  That last thought propelled Charlotte out of her Volvo. Her over-active imagination had taken the scene to its most extreme result, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. She swallowed and shut the door quietly behind her.

  I have to do something.

  As she crept from tree to tree, the argument began anew inside the house. The words were too muffled to make out, but it was clear two adults were yelling over the almost constant wail of a baby.

  Time to pick up the pace.

  As Charlotte scurried to the rickety fence surrounding the property, she heard a bang and the screaming grew louder. The baby’s cries sounded as if they were just behind the fence. The man’s roars were less muffled. The bang she’d heard had a familiar smack to it...

  Screen door.

  That was it. The familiar bang! of a springed screen door closing behind someone. Not a threatening sound, and it meant the argument had spilled outside again.

  Good. Their outdoor location would make it easier to keep an eye on things.

  Charlotte spotted a gap between the rotting fence boards surrounding the property’s back yard and pressed her face against it to peer through with one eye.

  The woman she’d been tailing stood in the middle of an overgrown patch of grass holding a baby to her body. Even at a distance, Charlotte could see her
cheeks glistening with tears. The woman’s mouth reminded her of the cartoons she’d seen as a child, where the animated characters’ lips were made from rubber bands, arcing and twisting in ways a normal mouth couldn’t really bend.

  Except when someone was crying, apparently.

  The man stepped onto the porch.

  “Answer me!” he barked.

  Something’s in his hand.

  Charlotte pressed her face harder against the fence, trying to get a better view, and felt the pattern of the wood pressing into her flesh. The man’s hand swung, obscured, behind a plant sitting on the edge of a wooden deck.

  Did I see something in his hand?

  She hustled along the fence line searching for a peep hole offering a better angle. Finding one she thought could work, she pressed her eye against it.

  Now she could see the man from the front. Her gaze dropped to his hand.

  Gun.

  The man had a gun.

  Charlotte felt her stomach twist into knots and she glanced back at her car.

  Where her gun sat.

  As usual.

  Why don’t I ever have it when I need it?

  She knew why. She didn’t like walking around with a gun. Sure, it was a necessary tool of her trade, but she felt weird marching around with a deadly weapon strapped to her body. It seemed so pessimistic.

  But today...today might have been a good day to be a little pessimistic.

  She did have her phone.

  She dialed 911.

  “911, what’s your emergency?” said the dispatcher.

  Charlotte lowered her voice and covered her mouth with a cupped hand as she spoke into the phone. “There’s a man with a gun here.”

  The woman on the other side of the line inquired about her safety.

  “I’m safe. Can’t talk,” she said, trying to keep talking to a minimum.

  Charlotte racked her brain for the address of the house. She’d seen it from the curb… what was it…

  “745 Cornflower Court. Hurry.”

  She left the phone on and placed it on the ground.

  Now what?

  She wanted to distract the man from potentially killing someone, including her, but she couldn’t just pop up from her side of the fence like a puppet. If she startled him, he might swing that gun on her and fire before she had a chance to talk him down.