A Mysterious Mix Up
Page 21
“I’m going to enjoy getting rid of you.” Freddie practically spat the words at me, then shoved me into the trunk.
While I’d never recommend allowing oneself to be forced into a car’s trunk at gunpoint, I was pleased with how I landed. My arm took the brunt of the fall, allowing me to avoid any trauma to my shoulder, and more importantly, my head.
There was no point in wasting energy by fighting Freddie, so I pretended to resist her and maneuvered myself into the position I wanted while she forced my legs into the compartment.
“Say goodbye to Rushing Creek, Allie. I hope your cat doesn’t starve to death waiting for your return.” She let out a laugh that was like a witch’s cackle and slammed the trunk shut.
The whump of the metal enclosing me might have been disconcerting. The absence of light could have been terrifying. The dearth of information about where I was being taken should have been petrifying.
They weren’t.
Because Freddie had made another mistake. Mentioning my beloved Ursi was a stark reminder that there were people, both two-legged and four-legged, who depended on me. I couldn’t let them down. I wouldn’t let them down.
With a jerk, the car moved forward. The movement was disorienting and reminded me of being on an indoor thrill ride at Disney World. God, I hated those things. I’d survived those rides by closing my eyes and taking slow, deep breaths.
As the lurching in my stomach calmed, I let my mind drift back to the night that would get me out of my tight spot. I’d been editing a client’s thriller manuscript and came to a point in the story that seemed implausible.
The hero had been taken captive by terrorists, who used zip strips to bind his hands and feet. The bad guys left him unsupervised for a minute. He used that time to free his hands by lifting them above his head and bringing them down as hard as possible against his abdomen while trying to pull his wrists apart.
The force of the maneuver caused the strips to snap. With his hands free, the hero unbound his legs. He then went on to knock out his captors and escape.
While the sequence had me on the edge of my seat, I found myself wondering if the hero’s escape method had any basis in fact. One of the things I’d learned early in my career was that readers of fiction would usually let a writer get a little loose with facts in exchange for an enjoyable story. However, the author couldn’t abuse that allowance. If something was too outlandish, the reader wouldn’t buy it.
If the reader wouldn’t buy it, as an editor, I couldn’t allow it. Thus began one of my more unusual nights going down the rabbit hole of online research.
It didn’t take long to confirm that, yes, one could escape the hold of zip-strip bindings by bringing them down from above the head with as much force as possible. It was totally not what I’d expected, so I couldn’t resist watching other escape videos. Before I knew it, I’d lost three hours to the internet.
And gained knowledge I thought I’d never use. Until now.
A couple of the clips I watched that fateful night included demonstrations of escaping from duct tape bindings. With nothing to do but focus on the memory, I was able to visualize the post with high-definition clarity. My task was simple. All I needed to do was rub my wrists back and forth until the tape loosened enough for me to slip one hand, then the other, free.
Like everything in life, actually doing the trick was much more difficult than it seemed. To the best of my ability, I ignored the bumps in the road that caused me to bang against my metal surroundings.
I worked up a heavy sweat as I performed the task. To my pleasant surprise, the perspiration helped because it made the tape expand. Even though the perspiration-caused expansion wasn’t much, combined with my other labors, it loosened the tape enough that, within a few minutes, I worked my way free.
“Thank you, Lord.” I massaged my raw and bloodied wrists as tears ran down my cheeks. Now I had a fighting chance.
A sharp turn jostled me and rammed my head against the trunk’s ceiling. The pain reminded me of my tenuous situation and the next question to be answered. How much time did I have to come up with a plan?
I closed my eyes and let the vibrations of the vehicle flow through me as I ran through potential scenarios. Freddie was bigger than me. Given how hard she worked at Marinara’s, I had no doubt she was stronger, too. I was quicker than she was, though.
Surprise and speed. That’s what I had in my favor. I was also free. And angry.
It was payback time.
Controlled, deep breathing centered me as I visualized my escape plan. Freddie intended to kill me and dump my body. No doubt about that. But, as frightening as that thought was, it let me narrow the potential scenarios down to one.
Bargaining and pleading for my life would be fruitless. Instead, I needed to take the offensive and use the element of surprise to my advantage.
The car turned onto a tooth-rattling road that knocked me around so much I could practically feel bruises forming on my limbs. The constant dips and lurches indicated we were probably on a gravel service road. Byways like this wound through the abundant forests and public lands of southern Indiana. That meant isolation, so shouting wouldn’t help.
That was fine. I’d gotten myself into this situation. I’d get myself out of it.
After untold minutes, the car came to a stop. I’d had time to catch my breath and come up with a plan. It was time to execute it. For Vicky. For Ursi. For me.
After a few silent moments that left my nerves in shambles, the driver’s door opened. It closed with a thump that rocked me side to side. The motion actually helped me scoot into position, though. Thank goodness for lucky breaks.
I pulled my knees to my chest and placed my hands against the floor. And waited.
“Yoo-hoo, Allie. Wakey, wakey.” She knocked on the trunk and laughed.
She didn’t see me as a threat. That was another mistake. She was wrong.
There was a rattle of keys. I tensed. Literally ready to spring into action.
The trunk lid lifted. Freddie stared at me with her gun pointing at my chest.
I screamed at the top of my lungs as my legs shot out, crushing her in the abdomen. She stumbled backward and fell, shouting a string of obscenities at me, as I scrambled out of the trunk.
Clean, invigorating air filled my lungs as I made contact with the ground. I chanced a quick look around. Mature trees surrounded us on three sides. At first, the fourth side appeared to be clear. Then my gaze fell upon a rusted sign tacked to a tree.
private property. quarry is not open to the public.
trespassers will be prosecuted.
Abandoned limestone quarries were scattered throughout southern Indiana. A dozen were within an hour’s drive of Rushing Creek. They were basically humongous holes in the ground partly filled with water; young people loved to visit them during the summer months to go swimming. The problem was, between their steep drop-offs and sharp rocks and other debris beneath the water’s surface, the quarries were as dangerous as a rattlesnake. Every year someone got hurt or even killed due to screwing around near an abandoned quarry.
Freddie had parked alongside one of those abandoned quarries.
The implication of where we were sent a shiver down my spine. And redoubled my resolve to escape.
“There’s no getting away, Allie.” Freddie got to one knee and fired a shot.
I dove behind the car for cover as the bullet embedded itself in a nearby tree. Thanking my lucky stars for Freddie’s lousy aim, I grabbed a handful of rocks and threw them at her in rapid succession.
Since she lacked cover, three hit the target, including one that glanced off her arm, causing the gun to drop to the ground. She reached for it, but I hit her with a flying tackle that would have made my football-loving brother Luke proud. As we tumbled along the gravel and leaf-covered ground, the firearm skittered away.
My grip didn’t last, though. She drove her fingernails into my raw wrists, shooting tear-inducing pain up both arms that left me defenseless for a few precious seconds. Just enough for Freddie, gasping for air, to crawl away from me.
Fatigue was setting in. My knees nearly gave out as I got to my feet. My work wasn’t done, though. I made another lunge for Freddie.
With only a few stars and a quarter moon piercing the cloud cover, we struggled in virtual darkness. Each of us fought to gain an upper hand, while also trying to find the gun. Freddie tried to get her hands around my neck, but I blocked her with a mud-caked arm and landed a blow to her ear.
At that moment, I caught a gleam of the gun’s barrel. It was inches from the cliff’s edge. We went for it at the same time. I slipped and fell to my hands and knees.
Freddie let out a victory whoop as she launched herself at the deadly weapon. Her momentum was too much. As she slowed to scoop up the gun, her foot slipped on some loose rocks. Her forward motion carried her to the edge.
“Freddie!” I lunged for her but came up with nothing but air.
She tried to find a handhold, but there was nothing to grab. Time slowed as she reached out to me. Then she fell, crashing into the water fifty feet below me.
I shouted her name. Once, twice, but there was no answer. Just like that, I was alone. The only thing to break the silence was a frog croaking in the distance. Suddenly shivering, I wrapped my arms around myself and staggered to the car.
Freddie’s purse lay on the passenger seat. My phone was still in it.
“Please, God, let there be service out here.” Wherever here was. My fingers were shaking so badly, it took three attempts to dial Matt.
“Allie, what’s going on? Where are you?” His tone carried a sense of urgency I’d rarely heard before. He must have already found out my plan didn’t turn out like we hoped it would.
“It was Freddie. The murder, the drugs, it was all her.” I gave him the highlights. When I finished, I squeezed my eyes shut to hold back a flood of tears. “God, I’m tired. I want to go home and hug my cat.”
“I understand, but I need you to sit tight. Keep this line open. We’ll use it to come to you.” A keyboard rattled as if Matt was typing something. Hopefully, it was a way to get a fix on my location. “Stay inside the car and lock the doors if that makes you feel safer, but don’t go anywhere.”
“Copy that, Chief.”
Staying in the car owned by my attempted murderer made my skin crawl, so I perched myself on the hood. I leaned against the windshield and stared at the clearing sky. The bright stars among the infinite blackness comforted me.
Once again, I was battered and bruised. Once again, I’d confronted a murderer. Once again, I’d emerged victorious.
A hoot owl’s call was a reminder it wasn’t about me, though. It was about Vicky. And having justice served in her name.
I pointed at the brightest star in the sky. “I tried, Vicky. I hope I did okay.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Normally, my Saturday mornings consisted of household chores and going for a walk with Ursi. This Saturday morning was the furthest thing from normal.
I was awakened by the delightful aroma of dark-roast coffee and the mouthwatering sizzle of bacon in the frying pan. Since Brent wasn’t in town, curiosity as to the chef’s identity, and my growling stomach, urged me to get out of bed.
The second I attempted to lift the covers, the muscles and joints throughout my body screamed in protest. At the same time, the events of last night cascaded over me, like floodwater from a burst levee.
Oh yeah. I’d solved Vicky’s murder.
And had watched in complete helplessness as the murderer fell to her death.
When Matt found me, I’d been curled up in the fetal position and sobbing so long, my eyes burned almost as much as my wrists ached. Without a word, he’d picked me up and carried me to his car. Once I was in the back seat, wrapped up in a police-issued blanket, he turned on the car’s heater.
I clutched onto his hand, desperate for physical connection with an ally.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for her to fall.” I choked back another sob. “It was her or me.”
“I know.” He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sorry, too.”
The next thing I could recall was him escorting me into my apartment and into Mom’s waiting arms. The rest of my family enveloped me in a group hug. After that, my memory went blank.
With a grunt, I got myself into a seated position. My back joined the chorus of complaints coming from my arms and legs.
“Sloane? Is that you?” My little gray cells were firing like a nineteenth-century pistol left out in the rain for a month, but I was pretty sure my bestie had insisted on staying with me last night.
“Last I checked it was.”
A moment later, the bedroom door swung open and she entered the room, cradling my Wonder Woman coffee mug. Ursi trotted in alongside her.
“Breakfast is almost ready.” She put the mug on the nightstand and stared at me for the longest time. Then she hugged me.
“OMG, you are the bravest, most amazing, fearless woman on Earth. When you told us what happened, I couldn’t believe it. Can I have your autograph?”
I laughed, but the laughter turned into a cough, thanks to my head-to-toe bruising. “You’re killing me, Smalls.” I grimaced. “Sorry, too soon for a joke like that. Instead, you can feed me.”
“Aye, aye, K.C.” Sloane helped me up and escorted me to the kitchen.
The spread she’d prepared took my breath away. In addition to the coffee and bacon, there were English muffins with blueberry jam, scrambled eggs, and strawberries coated with a light dusting of powdered sugar.
“Wow.” I took a drink of my coffee, partly to hide the tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, as I took a seat. “I don’t deserve having you as my bestie.”
“That’s true.” Sloane munched on a slice of bacon. “Man, this is good stuff. I need to raid your fridge more often.”
“You can thank Brent for that. Brings it when he visits.” I bit into a strip and let out a sigh as the savory morsel melted in my mouth. Sloane was right. It was amazing.
Growing up, I hadn’t been much of a bacon eater, but as I got older, I became a fan. The delicacy became a permanent fixture in my kitchen when Brent and I got serious. The man was an absolute bacon fanatic. And I couldn’t deny the endless supply of it was one of the unintended benefits of dating him.
“I’ll give him a high five next time I see him.” Sloane took my plate and filled it until the white surface was invisible. “Eat up. Your mom wouldn’t go home last night until I promised I’d make you eat a full breakfast. I’m supposed to make sure your wrists are okay.”
I stopped spreading jam on my muffin and studied my arms. A smattering of mottled brown bruises were ugly reminders of my wrestling match with Freddie.
While the bruises didn’t look good, I’d suffered worse. Besides, I could wear pants and long-sleeve shirts until the discoloration faded away.
It was the angry, red, swollen areas where the tape had been that gave me pause. The abrasions went all the way around both wrists and called to mind an awful second-degree sunburn I’d gotten one summer while in college. My injuries didn’t look like they’d end up blistering like that sunburn did, but I envisioned using gallons of lotion over the next couple of weeks.
In a show of self-assurance, I held out my arms for Sloane to see. “This stuff? It’s no big deal. I’ve had worse.”
Sloane put down her fork and gave me a long look. “Sure, but it’s different this time. You had to watch someone lose their life. A bad someone, but still.”
And th
ere it was. My family knew my physical injuries would heal. They were more concerned with my emotional ones.
God love ’em.
“I’ll probably end up taking an express elevator straight to the lowest of Dante’s seven levels of Hell for saying this, but Freddie got what she deserved. She was a drug dealer and a murderer. And a kidnapper and attempted murderer. This town will be better off with her gone.”
Sloane’s mouth drooped downward. It was a rare display of unhappiness from my eternally optimistic friend. “You know how harsh that sounds, right? You were closer to Mrs. Napier than I was, but I don’t think she’d approve of you saying that. Do you?”
My bestie’s gentle admonishment was more effective at making me stop and think than if she’d slapped me across the face. Sloane loved friendly trash talk and wasn’t above a practical joke. What she didn’t like to do was what she’d just done with me. She’d put me in my place. Sloane lived for positivity. It hurt her heart to tell someone they were wrong.
If Sloane thought I was in the wrong, then I was.
“You’re saying I should forgive her?”
“Well, to be honest, I can’t help wondering if this was really about justice or if it turned into something else.”
“Like what?” I took another drink of my coffee.
“Vengeance.” She chewed on a forkful of eggs. “I’m not wrong, am I?”
In all my life, I’d never lied to Sloane. I wasn’t going to start now.
“No, you’re not wrong.” At the admission, a weight that had been hanging around my neck slipped away.
“At first, all I wanted was to find Vicky’s killer. Then, Freddie told me what she’d done and why she did it. When you combined that with what she did to me, something inside changed. I wanted more than justice. I wanted payback. Does that make sense?”
Sloane let out one of her laughs that was full of mirth. “Honey, I grew up in a house with an alcoholic father and an ice queen mother. I know all about letting negative emotions eat you up. It’s like having a cancer grow inside you. The only way to get rid of it is to practice forgiveness. You have to let those negative emotions, that darkness go. If you don’t, it will eat you from the inside out until there’s nothing left.”