Finding Floyd

by Melinda Peters

  He chuckled. "Just nod for yes or shake for no. I looked at your license and other stuff." He jerked a thumb toward her purse. "In case you're wondering, your phone is in your car on the charger. Wouldn't want the GPS tracker to find ya." He flashed his nasty grin and snickered. "Hope nobody's trying to call you. Okay, we're gonna try this again. You're Diane Vandersmoot, right?"

  She nodded, making the decision to be entirely truthful with this monster, because she had no idea how much he already knew.

  "And you come from a little place upstate New York called, Pippin's Grove. That right?"

  She nodded.

  "Uh huh, now that's real interesting." He paused, sipping his drink. "You know, I had some money, matter of fact, it was a lot of money that went missing in that same little town last fall. You know anything about that?"

  Nodding once more, she didn't like the direction this interrogation was going. Maybe she shouldn't tell him anything.

  He produced a cigar from his shirt pocket and lit it, with a gold lighter, puffing for a minute in silence. He gestured with the cigar and remarked, "I find that pretty curious, you being from Pippin's Grove, and my money disappearing up there, in that same little Pippin's Grove place."

  Clouds of smoke filled the room and she wanted to cough.

  Draining the glass, he refilled it, eased back onto the couch and sighed. "This is another small town in the middle of nowhere, and you show up here. Kind of a coincidence, know what I'm saying?" He puffed furiously for a moment in silence. The end of the cigar glowed red, and he tapped ashes on the floor. "Now you're here. Where I just happen to be on a little vacation. Did you ever think how many small, nowhere towns there are in the country?" He leaned forward. "And you lady, just by coincidence, come from Pippin's Grove. I don't like coincidences. Are you with the FBI?"

  She shook her head vigorously.

  He relaxed against the cushion. "Didn't think so. You don't look like the type." He expertly rolled the cigar between his fingers as he puffed, watching the lit end.

  The thick smoke hung in the air as she stared at the glowing tip. She'd read about thugs using cigars to burn people.

  "You don't look like an asshole, Miss Vandersmoot. I think you're probably a nice lady. Too bad I might have to kill you." He grinned at her and then took another drink. The corners of his mouth turned upward, but there was no mirth in his dark, heavy lidded eyes.

  She nodded her head, realizing how idiotic it was to agree with his last statement.

  He laughed out loud and took another drink. "This stuff ain't half bad, once you get used to it." He set the glass down and instantly the pistol was in his hand, pointed at her head.

  Staring wide-eyed, she froze in terror. He's going to shoot me! I'll never see my friends and family again. Tears filled her eyes. I love you, Chris.

  The gun slammed down on the table and he laughed at her reaction.

  "Next question. Did the FBI or some other Fed assholes tell you who I am?"

  Another nod of her head.

  "They show you pictures? That how you recognized me?"

  She nodded.

  "I got a little problem here. The way I see it, I got two choices." He waved an arm toward the door. "I could take you out in the woods and put a bullet through your pretty head. Or, I could hold you as a hostage and see if the Feds are willing to bargain and kill you later. Thing is, I don't know how valuable you are to those FBI assholes." He watched her thoughtfully over the top of his glass as he drank. Leaning towards her, he jabbed the air with the cigar to make his point. "You got to have some connection there, being from Pippin's Grove, where all my money went missing. You gotta admit it's a big ass coincidence, my money disappearing in that pissant little town you're from." In silence, he blew smoke and sipped from his glass. After a while he realized the glass was empty. Frowning at it, he reached for the Mason jar and spun the lid off. His head jerked up suddenly. "You know who Tony DePalma is? That name ring a bell?"

  She nodded. The smell of the strong cigar in the small room was turning her stomach as she struggled to keep breathing around the thick layer of duct tape.

  "Yeah, I thought so." He filled his glass again. "Could be maybe you had something to do with my cash disappearing? You know where it is?"

  She shook her head and tried to say no, but only a moan came through.

  He sat back and puffed on the cigar as he studied her. Eyeing the glowing tip he giggled. "I know how to make you tell me everything you know."

  Diane's stomach clenched.

  "I lost a lot of money. I'm thinking somebody gave it to the Feds, those FBI dickheads, but I don't know that for a fact. Not yet anyways. DePalma's in jail, probably singing like a canary. All I got now is you. So tell me, are you worth anything to them?"

  This time she nodded her head slowly, unsure how she should answer.

  The glass, an ancient Flintstones jelly jar, was empty again. He refilled it, a little unsteadily, spilling some of the liquid on the table.

  It struck her suddenly, that her captor was becoming intoxicated. He might be even more dangerous when drunk. She stared at the burning end of his cigar as he smoked and realized she wasn't only afraid of him torturing her. The alcohol had spilled over several old magazines scattered across the table. The old wood frame building would go up like a torch, if the lit cigar touched the old paper.

  He tapped his ashes on the dinner plate and she relaxed some. She felt for the duct tape where the tear was started. She had to escape from this madman.

  "So that's my problem. Should I eliminate you now, after you tell me what you know about my 250 grand that went missing, or should I offer you to the FBI? You think they'd be willing to make a swap if I give you up?"

  She nodded as vigorously as the duct tape would allow.

  "He snorted. "Yeah, but I ain't so sure. They don't like to deal. I'm thinking it's a lot easier if I just take you out into the woods and get it over with. Tonight, after dark, we'll take a little walk." He drank again and held up the glass. "Hey, you want to try this stuff? It ain't bad, once you get used to it." He laughed at his own joke. "Oh yeah, I forgot. You can't eat or drink nothing with that tape over your mouth. Never mind." He giggled hysterically.

  He reminds me of the Wizard of Oz munchkins when he does that. Where are all these crazy thoughts coming from? She began to desperately fear for her life. A trickle of sweat oozed from under her hairline and ran down behind her ear.

  "I gotta think. Yeah, gonna think about...think bout this," he said, slurring his speech. There was a long silence, finally broken when the glass slipped from his hand and rolled across the floor. The Blowtorch was out cold, sprawled on the couch with his legs splayed wide. The cigar still clamped between his fingers.

  When he began to snore, she realized that this was her opportunity. The only one she'd get. Rearranging herself on the chair, she found the spot where the tape was splitting and began worrying it against the nail head, while the snoring continued.

  Desperate to free herself before he woke, she redoubled her efforts, stifling a sob of frustration. Each pass over the nail increased the gap. Her hands had grown numb, but she could at least now work them apart slightly. She pulled on the tape and felt it give just a little. Returning to the nail, she repeated the action several times. Finally, taking a deep breath, she pulled as hard as she could and the remaining quarter inch of tape parted. Her hands were free.

  Allowing herself the briefest moment of congratulation, she bent down and with hands tingling as the circulation returned, she worked at the tape binding her ankles to the chair legs. Another minute and she was free and standing before her snoring captor.

  She'd concentrated so intently on freeing herself that she hadn't noticed that the sun had gone down. Stumbling on numb legs, she felt her way around the coffee table and the chair on the other side. Her hand connected with her purse and she snatched it up. Extending one hand behind her she felt for the door.

  In a panic to be gone, she se
arched for the handle, praying that she'd get away quickly. When she found the knob and slowly turned it, she opened the door only as wide as she needed to slip out sideways, closing it gently behind her.

  At the top of the stairs she clutched the rail and began her descent in the dark. She knew that to avoid the creaking steps she had to keep to the side of the treads. Despite her caution, the stairs creaked all the way down. At the bottom she stopped to listen, but heard nothing.

  She felt her way along the clapboards on the side of the building until her feet encountered gravel. Her eyes were accustomed to the dark now and she could make out dim outlines of other buildings, but there were no lights in the distance. With a pounding heart she began to walk, cautiously at first and then as briskly as she could.

  This gravel must be a driveway or country lane. Sooner or later it had to reach a main road. I've got to get as far away from him as possible.

  She began to jog along until she felt the surface change to pavement. The road stretched in both directions through the dark silent woods. The temperature had dropped and she shivered in the cold. Please God! Which way should I go? She took off at a slow run and realized that she still had duct tape wrapped around her head and covering her mouth. Angrily, she hooked her purse over her shoulder and wrenched at the tape with both hands. It came away from her face, ripping out hair and burning her cheeks. She cried out in pain.

  "That son of a bitch," she yelled at the night sky. As if in response, the cloud cover parted and moonlight lit up her world. She could see clearly now. Why didn't I grab that gun while I had the chance? It probably doesn't matter. I don't even know how to use a pistol. And if I'd hung around any longer, he might have woken up.

  Diane began to run as fast as she could. She was angry now and determined to live. I want Chris to put that bastard in jail for the rest of his life. He's shot at us, kidnapped and threatened to kill me, scaring me half to death.

  She ran aimlessly until her breath began coming in ragged gasps. Slowing, she continued until she came to an intersection and again made an arbitrary turn. She wondered what time it was, but without her phone, had no way of knowing. Alone in the darkness, her anger cooled and once again, she succumbed to fear. What do I do if an animal, a bear or something, comes out of the woods?

  There was a faint sound. She stopped and stood still listening. It was growing louder. It was a car coming. Please God. Let it be a friendly person willing to help me.

  Headlights appeared around a bend in the road, blinding her. She waved her arms and yelled, as the vehicle slowed and came to a full stop. She ran to the driver's window as it lowered.

  "Holy cow! Is that you Miss Diane? What are you doing out here all alone? You okay?"

  The voice was familiar. She knew this guy. Her mind was going fuzzy now that she was finally safe. Who was it?

  "Help me please. I'm lost...I was kidnapped. I know you, don't I?" Unable to think clearly, she sagged against the pickup truck for support.

  "It's me, Kyle. You know me Diane. It's Kyle Evans." He was out of the truck in an instant and lifting her onto the passenger seat. "What in God's name are you doing out here? And what happened to your hair?"

  Chapter 16

  Sheriff Boone McAndrew was looking forward to a large pizza topped with the works. His long aggravating day had finally come to an end. He was hungry and tired. One of his deputies had taken off to attend his grandmother's funeral and two others had called in sick. There was a nasty stomach bug going around. With fewer people, it always seemed that the phones rang with greater frequency and the emergency calls, most of which never quite managed to rise to something worthy of the name, were more numerous. In a few minutes, he'd be at home with his wife, Sally, in front of the television with a slice of hot pizza and a cold beer. He could almost taste it.

  He parked his white and gold police cruiser in the Italian Bistro's parking lot, lowered his windows, and sat for a moment enjoying the cool night air that carried with it the scent of tomatoes, herbs, and yeasty bread. He checked his watch. The pizza probably wouldn't be ready for another five minutes.

  Small groups of people drifted in and out of the glass double doors in front. He knew most of the residents of the tiny town, so he wasn't surprised to see two familiar faces emerge from the restaurant. Preston Hardwick and his wife stepped into the parking lot. Boone waved, opened his door and eased out. Standing, he hitched up his belt, adjusted the holstered revolver on his hip, and tucked his uniform shirt back into place. Got to lose a little weight, he thought, making his way toward Preston.

  "Evening Pres, Sarah," he said nodding a greeting.

  "You getting something to eat, Boone?" asked Preston. They've got some great specials tonight."

  "Just picking up a pizza to carry home. Sally had to take her mom to the doctor. She's been gone all day, so I told her I'd stop in here to get something for our supper. How've y'all been?"

  "Can't complain. Yourself?"

  "If I were doing any better there would have to be two of me," he said with a wry grin. "Sarah, how's your grandma doing? She still out there all alone in that big house?"

  "Nobody can get her to budge, but she's not alone exactly," said Sarah. "We all check on her, take leftovers out, or pick up anything she needs in town. We get her out to church and such, once or twice a week. Granny's not often alone for more than a day or two."

  "That's good. I'll try and set things up so one of my deputies can drive by and check on her now and again. I reckon she's happier there than she'd be anywhere else."

  "Yeah, that's so, but poor old Granny is getting a bit confused," said Preston. "I gotta say, last time we stopped by she claims she's been seeing Henry. Says she's been talking to him too."

  "Hasn't he been gone for a number of years?" Boone's brows inched higher in surprise.

  Preston shrugged. "Funny isn't it, how old folks get queer in the head? They start forgetting things, see and hear things that aren't there. I know my own grandma got like that before she passed on."

  Their conversation was interrupted by the screech of braking tires as a pickup truck roared to a halt beside the Sheriff's car. The door was flung wide and Kyle Evans spilled out. He ran toward them, arms waving.

  "Sheriff! Sure glad I saw your vehicle here," he panted.

  Boone sighed. This looked like bad news. Any time someone like Kyle was coming at him on the double-quick like this, something unpleasant was sure to follow.

  "Sheriff, I gotta report a crime. Good thing I saw your car in the lot."

  Wearily, Boone held up a hand." Slow down, Kyle. Now tell me, is anyone dead, or bleeding?"

  "No sir, it's not something like that, not exactly. Listen Sheriff there's something real bad happened."

  "Okay, relax." He glanced at his watch, pulled out some bills, and then asked Preston, "Would you mind running in and picking up my pizza?" He sat down at one of the deserted outdoor tables in front of the bistro, leaned back, and said, "Okay, shoot."

  "Sheriff, it's like this. You know Sandy out at the Red Shutters B & B? She's not there right now because she went on a cruise somewhere with her ma, but she's got this friend from out of town staying' there, taking care of the pets and looking after things," said Kyle in a rush. "It's this friend, this girl that something happened to. You know that there's this badass criminal from up north right here in Floyd? The FBI has been looking for him. Don't know if one thing has anything to do with the other, but..."

  The Sheriff gave him a cool speculative look and asked, "The FBI?"

  "Yes Sir. I'm sure glad I found you right off Sheriff, 'cause the FBI guy wasn't there."

  "All right, all right, slow down. What happened?" demanded Boone. "What FBI guy?"

  "It's something real bad. This girl, Diane's her name, got kidnapped. This guy tied her up and gagged her with duct tape. Threatened to kill her too!"

  "Kyle, are you absolutely certain of this?"

  Kyle paused and eyed the box as Preston and Sarah slipped
the pizza onto the table and sat down. "As certain as I am that I'm sitting here telling you about it. I found her running down Franklin Pike after she got away from the guy. Diane was about give out when I picked her up. She was a mess; all rumpled up and scared half to death. I brought her back to the B & B where her friends are staying', so she ain't alone." Kyle reached out and gave the box a quarter turn, moving it this way and that.

  "We know Diane too. This friend of Sandy's Kyle's talking about. We met her the other day," said Preston.

  "Thanks Pres. Maybe y'all can be helpful as well." Boone sighed. From a hip pocket, he pulled out a small spiral bound notebook, a pen and a cell phone. "Hold on a minute. I want to ask you some questions." He punched a button on the phone. "Sweetheart? It's me. Yes. Something's come up. Yeah, I have the pizza. It's sitting right here in front of me. I'm sorry; I know you're hungry, Baby doll. I'm hungry too. No, can't say for sure when I'll be there. You go ahead. Okay, I'll call you later."

  Boone put his phone away and mumbled, "I swear stuff like this never happens at a good time." Picking up the pen, he flipped opened the notebook and gave Kyle an inquisitive look. "Okay, give it to me from the beginning."

  "Well, let me think." Still fidgeting with the pizza box, he lifted the lid and peeked in.

  Boone sighed, "Go ahead Kyle. Help yourself. It's only going to get cold while we sit here."

  "Gee thanks, Boone. I'm pretty hungry." He deftly flipped open the box, extracted a slice and lowered the cheesy tip into his mouth.

  Boone's stomach growled. He impatiently tapped his ball point pen on the notebook.

  "Okay, guess it was about a half hour ago, I was driving along Franklin, going to see Kathy Spencer. You know who she is. Nice little redheaded girl. Fred Spencer's daughter. She goes to Tech, studying to be an archeologist or something. Anyhow, she and I, well, we've kinda' been seeing each other, you know. Anyhow, I come round a bend on my way home and there's this woman in the road. Didn't recognize her at first, but then I saw it was this friend of Sandy's." He chewed thoughtfully, obviously trying to remember details. "This is real good. It's the deluxe, ain't it? The pizza I mean."