Swept Away: A Squeaky Clean Honeymoon Novella (Squeaky Clean Mysteries Book 12)

by Barritt, Christy

  Meanwhile, Riley and I had darted through yards and behind trees in an effort to disappear. And by disappear, I mean we’d gone to Larry’s house. He’d told us where he lived while we were on the boat yesterday. It was a condominium near the causeway leading to the island.

  By the time we got there, we were soaked. And cold. And sandy.

  Thankfully, Larry had been awake when we got there, even though it was still dark outside. He’d agreed to go along with our plan, which involved him starting a rumor that our bodies had washed ashore in the wee hours of morning. All he had to do was start the gossip chain down at Erma’s, and it would spread through the locals in town.

  “You really think we can pull this off?” Riley asked as we sat on Larry’s couch drinking some coffee as morning approached. Another night with no sleep had left us both exhausted and running on caffeine and adrenaline.

  “I hope so. Let me see that picture one more time.”

  Riley pulled out his phone. Wally had forwarded us a text Skip had sent him. It was a photo of his wife, Cheryl, bound and gagged, with the message, “Do it or she dies” beneath it.

  Chilling, really. Especially when I saw Cheryl’s eyes, which looked big with fright in the shadowed picture. Her hands were bound to the arms of a wooden chair. The wall behind her was old, rough wood.

  I stared at the picture, trying to ascertain any clues possible about it. The window in the background was my best hope.

  “Can you blow the picture up a little more?” I asked Riley.

  He stretched it larger, focusing in on the window. “Do you see something?”

  “If you look at it, it almost appears that’s the causeway in the background,” I muttered. “It’s faint, but it’s there. What do you think?”

  He studied it a moment. “You could be right. You think they have her here on Crystal Key?”

  “It’s a possibility worth examining. We never asked where she was snatched. Even if it wasn’t Florida, maybe they hauled her here with them. Guys like that, they have resources. They could have chartered their own plane.”

  Just then, the front door opened, and Larry and Leonard stepped inside. They had two plates in hand.

  “We told Erma this breakfast was for us,” Leonard said. “We just wanted it to go. I hoped you didn’t think we’d be cooking for you.”

  “Not at all,” I told them.

  Leonard plopped the food on the table in front of us. “Well, here you go. Eat up.”

  “You didn’t have to do this,” Riley said.

  “Course we did,” Larry said. “We start a rumor you’ve died and then you’re found starved in this condo? I want to spend my last days fishing, not in some jail.”

  “I can’t argue that,” I said.

  I pulled the foil back from the plate, and the scent of eggs, bacon, and homemade fries drifted up toward me. My stomach grumbled. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.

  “How did the rumor starting go?” Riley asked.

  Leonard nodded. “Not too bad. Everyone believes it right now. It won’t take long for people to start talking to Old Yeller, though. Then they’ll know the truth.”

  “Guys, are there any secluded houses on this island?” I asked. “Any places that are off the beaten path, probably bayside?”

  Larry thought about it a moment before nodding. “I suppose there are a couple of places that were purchased back before this was a retirement hotspot. I heard property used to be dirt cheap here back in the day. Anyway, there’s supposedly an old fishing cabin out by the Preserve.”

  “Where’s the Preserve?” I asked.

  “Midway on the island, bayside,” Larry said. “It’s mostly mangrove and banyan trees. But if you turn down this shell-lined driveway and keep going, you’ll eventually find what we call the Homestead.”

  “Does anyone live there?” Riley asked.

  “I understand you can rent it,” Leonard said. “Most people come here wanting luxurious. This place is anything but. Not normal for this community at all.”

  I turned to Riley. “We need to go there.”

  “It’s a bit far to walk,” Larry said.

  “Walking could be a problem anyway because we’re supposed to be dead,” Riley said. “We can’t exactly go get our car and drive there either.”

  “You can take my golf cart,” Larry said.

  “Your golf cart?” I repeated.

  He nodded. “Put some Hawaiian shirts on. We’ll give you a couple of fishing caps. Go fast enough and everyone in town will assume they’re seeing me and Leonard.”

  “Are you sure?” I questioned.

  Leonard nodded. “Mark our words.”

  We’d given strict instructions to Larry and Leonard that if we weren’t back in an hour to call Old Yeller and explain to him what was going on. Perhaps we should have called the police chief first, but since investigating that house last night had been a false alarm, I figured we wanted to be certain before crying wolf.

  I felt ridiculous in the oversized Hawaiian shirt that smelled like Brylcreem. I’d pulled my hair back into a fishing cap and donned some sunglasses. Riley had done the same—minus the hair. We were a sight.

  At least the loose clothing didn’t irritate my skin.

  “You really think Cheryl and Vivian could be here?” Riley asked as we cruised down the road.

  “We won’t know unless we look.” I pointed in the distance. “I think that’s where we turn.”

  The directions had been sketchy. Go past a big blue house then follow the woods past two palm trees, and you’ll find a small forest of banyan trees. Turn at the first driveway and travel until you reach the mangrove trees at the end.

  Not only was I potentially finding a bad guy, but I was also getting a botany lesson in the process.

  Riley slowed as we approached a small road that was hidden among the trees and other tropical vegetation I couldn’t identify.

  Leonard’s final warning echoed in my head: Watch out for rattlesnakes.

  Not comforting.

  As we saw a clearing at the end of the road, we slowed. Riley slipped the golf cart between some trees, and we started the rest of the way on foot. There was no need to announce our arrival.

  Finally, a small cabin came into sight. Larry and Leonard were right: the place was a dump compared to the rest of the homes on the island. Definitely one of the originals.

  “This could be the spot,” Riley muttered. “The wood on the outside walls looks the same as the photo of Cheryl, and even from here I can see the causeway in the background.”

  “There are no cars here right now. Let’s peek inside.”

  We crept closer to the house, remaining low and quiet. Finally, once we reached the edge of the woods, we gave one last glance at the driveway. When we saw no one was coming, we darted toward the house and pressed ourselves against the grungy wood siding.

  The crawlspace was propped up on cinder blocks, and numerous pieces of trash littered the ground beneath it. High grass shot up around the edges.

  If there was ever a good place for a snake to hide, this was it.

  Riley glanced in the first window.

  “What do you see?” I asked. The window was too high for me to get a good look.

  “Nothing. Just an empty, dumpy living room. There are some chip bags and soda bottles that look fairly new.”

  “Let’s keep looking. We don’t have much time.”

  We hurried to the next window. An empty kitchen.

  We skirted around the backside of the house, and, as I did so, I spotted a boathouse at the end of a bulkheaded pier.

  Was this where the men had disappeared when we followed them that day on the water? It was a good possibility.

  We darted to one of the windows on this side of the house. This would be a perfect spot for that picture to have been taken. It was facing the water.

  I glanced back.

  And I could see the causeway.

  Riley boosted himself up to get a bette
r look. “They’re here, Gabby. Vivian and Cheryl. They’re really here.”

  My adrenaline surged. “Are they okay?”

  “They’re tied up, but they’re alive.”

  Just then, I heard a boat humming in the distance. The men were coming back.

  “We’ve got to hide,” I mumbled.

  We darted back into the thick grove of creepy-looking banyan trees before we could be spotted.

  “Let’s call the chief,” I told Riley. “We can’t do this on our own. If these guys are as scary as Joey said, we shouldn’t mess with them.”

  “I agree.” Riley pulled out his phone and dialed.

  As he did, the boat pulled into the decrepit boathouse. A few minutes later, three men got out.

  I recognized one of them as Skip. I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Hardly anything, at least.

  I did hear, “Grab Joey, and get out of here.” “Load up the boat.” “Rest of the crew arriving soon.”

  Great. Time was working against us.

  Even more-so than I’d assumed.

  Five minutes after the men entered the house, they exited with Vivian and Cheryl in tow.

  The good news was that the women were alive. We just had to keep it that way.

  “Those two nosy neighbors are dead,” Skip muttered. “Apparently their bodies washed up on shore this morning. Plus Wally sent me pictures.”

  “What are you doing with these two?”

  “They know too much. We need to get rid of them.”

  “And Joey?”

  “Her too. Her testimony at trial would put me away for life. I can’t let that happen.”

  His words left a cold sense of urgency in my gut.

  I needed to quickly come up with a plan to keep all of us from getting killed.

  Chapter Eleven

  “We need to stop them,” Riley muttered as he crouched beside me.

  I stared at the scene playing out in front of us. “I know. But we need to do it without getting ourselves killed. I mean, honeymoon tragedies are the worst. It’s not the way I want to make it onto Dateline.”

  “Maybe we could just buy time until Old Yeller arrives,” Riley said.

  “What else can we do?”

  My muscles tensed, ready to act. Before I could act, movement in the distance caught my eye.

  Someone charged from the other side of the lawn.

  My eyes widened when I saw who it was. Homer Murphy.

  What was he doing here? Was he a part of this? If not, how had he found us? My gut told me he wasn’t on their side.

  “He’s going to get himself killed,” I whispered. I closed my eyes, praying for wisdom. And a good outcome. So many innocent lives were on the line.

  Skip pulled out his gun and aimed it at Homer. The women screamed. Skip’s minions jumped into action.

  “The police are offering a reward for anyone with information on you,” Homer yelled. “I need that money, so hand those ladies over.”

  This was just awesome. Homer was not only trying to be a hero, but he was high while doing so. He had no idea the consequences he might face.

  I expected the men to shoot him on the spot. Instead, Skip started laughing. He thought this was hysterical, I realized.

  “You think we’re just going to hand them over?” Skip said. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re outnumbered.”

  “I tracked you down after talking to some guys at the bar,” Homer said. “I heard you’ve been taking people’s boats on joyrides. It wasn’t hard to find you here.”

  The good news was that Homer had bought us some time. Where was Yeller? This island wasn’t that big. It shouldn’t take him too long to get here.

  Skip’s minions shoved the women closer to the woods—closer to us. If we could just grab them . . .

  “What do you want to do?” Riley whispered.

  “We’ve got to get the women away from those guys, especially if they start firing.” The problem was, how did we safely do that? I wasn’t sure.

  Homer stepped closer, all drunken courage and ignorance. “Hand them over.” He held up his gun. “Now.”

  Skip laughed even harder. “You’re crazy if you think we’re going to hand them over.”

  I reached into my purse and pulled out my own gun. I didn’t want to use it. I really didn’t want to use it. There was so much that could go wrong.

  But if Skip got away with these women, they were going to die.

  Which was the lesser of two evils?

  I couldn’t let the innocent suffer, I realized. I had to do something.

  “We need to grab them while we can,” I whispered. “They get on that boat and they’re dead.”

  Just then, Homer charged toward Skip. The men fired. The women screamed.

  Riley and I jumped into action.

  We dove toward Vivian and Cheryl, desperate to keep them away from the gunfire. Riley threw Cheryl on the ground, covering her body with his. I grabbed Vivian, knocking her out of the line of fire. The pain that ripped across my skin on contact was the least of my worries at the moment.

  Her eyes widened in fear when she saw me, but I didn’t have time to explain other than muttering, “We’re here to help.”

  Bullets continued to fly around us. Our arrival had offered a distraction, apparently. While Skip looked back to see what was going on, Homer managed to hit him in the arm with a bullet.

  The man muttered in pain and clutched his bicep.

  One of Skip’s men fired back, and Homer fell to the ground.

  No!

  That was when Skip turned his full attention on Riley and me. He still grasped his arm, where blood burst. But his adrenaline and vengeance must have kept him going.

  “Well, well, well,” he said. “I guess good old Wally didn’t finish the two of you off after all. I’m going to have to have a long talk with him about that.”

  “Just let us go,” I told him. “We don’t want trouble.”

  “You couldn’t prove that by me,” Skip said. He reached for his gun, his face twisted with pain. Nothing was going to stop him. “Now we have four people to take care of. I should have just finished you all off myself and saved all of us a ton of trouble.”

  I hovered in front of Vivian, trying to shield her from this.

  Just then, another gunshot rang out. I froze, fearing I’d been fired on.

  Then I saw Skip sink to the ground.

  My gaze jerked behind him. Homer. Homer wasn’t dead. He’d found enough strength to pull the trigger one more time.

  As Skip’s men turned toward Homer, I kicked Skip’s gun out of the way before grabbing my own.

  Homer hit another of the men in the shoulder. The gun flew from his hand.

  I aimed and shot the knee of another man.

  Just as I did, police cars pulled down the road. Old Yeller was here.

  Maybe all of this was really over.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Well, we have two more days here in Florida,” Riley said as we lounged on the beach watching the sunset. “The bad guys are in jail. Your sunburn is healing nicely. We have no more excuses not to enjoy ourselves.”

  That was right. We’d found an all-natural sunburn solution of using vinegar and coconut oil. I’d slathered it all over me last night, and, to my surprise, my burn was considerably better this morning.

  I leaned over and kissed him. “That’s right. No more excuses.”

  “Though this wasn’t the way I’d planned to spend our honeymoon, I’m glad we were able to help Vivian, Cheryl, and Joey,” Riley said. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if we’d sat back and done nothing.”

  “Just one more thing to love about you.”

  Commotion in the distance caught my eye. The cast of Looking for Love was packing up and getting ready to call it quits. With Wally being questioned as part of this investigation, Vivian having been kidnapped, and Elite having been framed, the whole season didn’t stand a chance.

  The goo
d news was that Ricky had been offered a part in a movie, and Alastair was talking about using the women in a new series he was producing about life as modern singles. I had a feeling everything would work out.

  Someone came running over to us across the sand. Joey.

  She gave both Riley and me a hug. “I just wanted to say thank you. Without you both I might be dead right now. I can finally have my life back—a life without Skip. Devin thinks he’ll be spending a long time in jail.”

  “One piece of advice,” I started. “Stay away from guys like him. And Ricky.”

  “Of course. I’m not interested in dating anyone right now.”

  “Did Vivian ever tell you what she wanted to talk with you about?”

  “Apparently Skip cornered her at the airport on our way here. We took two separate flights, so he didn’t see me. He asked her if I was on the show. Anyway, she got weirded out, but for some reason she wanted to share that with me as a warning. Maybe she’s not heartless after all.”

  Alastair lumbered through the sand to join us. “I wanted to add my thanks as well. We’ll be airing two more episodes of the show. Ratings are through the roof, and we’re hoping to start up next season early. If the two of you ever want to think about reality TV . . .”

  “Definitely not interested,” Riley said. “But thanks.”

  “Enjoy the rest of your vacation.” Alastair waved before he and Joey walked away.

  I drew in a long, contented breath.

  Skip and his men were in jail. Homer had been scared straight and was now in rehab. The charges against Wally would probably be dropped, considering the circumstances. His wife was safe. Vivian was safe.

  Meanwhile, Larry and Leonard were practically legends in town after people heard about their role in helping us put the bad guys away. Both of the men might as well have been Cary Grant the way all the single lady retirees looked at them now.

  All in all, everything had worked out.

  “I say we enjoy the beach, enjoy each other, and chill out,” I finally said.

  He grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I think that’s a great idea.”

  “I love you, babe.”

  “I love you too.”