Once my mind was made up, a peaceful feeling descended upon me.
I couldn’t keep fighting on all fronts. Whatever Bill planned to do with me, I hoped the end would come quickly. And I hoped my body would be found so that Anya could go on with her life.
“Bill plans to drown you. That dead husband of yours told him how scared you are of water. He wants to make you suffer. Because we’ve all suffered. Thanks to you. Yup, payback is a pain. You’re going to get yours.”
Ninety-four
Why hadn’t Johnny told me about the change in plans? Why had he gone along with Sheila’s kidnapping? Why hadn’t he called Robbie Holmes to warn him? Or let Sheila know so she could be prepared?
There could be only one reason: He’d switched sides.
Perhaps Bill offered Johnny enough money to make him change his loyalties. Or maybe Johnny really was angry with me. I thought that our spat was for show, but quite possibly I hit a nerve. Bill had the resources to help Johnny disappear—and Johnny often joked about moving to Cuba where he could drink rum and smoke cigars. I knew that everything Johnny made went to pay off his legal bills. Maybe that had gotten old.
I could fight one man, maybe. I could kick Bill hard or wrestle myself free and run away. But I couldn’t escape from two men. And what was Brenda’s part in this? Was she just the courier and I was the package? She had no beef with Sheila.
I needed to free Sheila. But how? With all that stupid duct tape, she couldn’t make a run for it. If Johnny was on my side, he might help me get her free. But if he had switched sides, that would be two men against me and a hog-tied Sheila. Providing that Brenda dropped me off and left.
How could I tell where Johnny stood?
I gritted my teeth. My palms slipped on the steering wheel because they were wet with sweat. I had to believe in Johnny. Or else all was lost.
Sooner or later Detweiler would figure out I was missing. Even if we crossed the river, he’d come for me. If Robbie called Sheila and didn’t get an answer, he’d know something was wrong. Surely he had friends on this side of the river. All I needed to do was stall.
“You listening to me?” Brenda poked me with the gun barrel.
“Um, could you repeat what you said?” I sounded conciliatory.
“Turn onto 270 North. Take that over the Mississippi. We’re going to Piasa Island.”
___
One thousand two hundred years ago, Native Americans painted a mural of a monster bird on the limestone bluff overlooking the Mississippi River. The original limestone was quarried and taken away, so now the image is repainted regularly to preserve it.
I love the piasa bird. I think it beautiful and passionate and wildly entrancing. Although legend said that the name meant “monster that eats men,” I didn’t believe it. I believed the bird was a guardian over the lands occupied by the Miami-Illinois Indians.
“Piasa Island,” I said, squinting up at the bird on the rock face. “What’s so special about it?”
Brenda gave me a smug smile. “It’s the only place with free boat access between Alton and Grafton. It’ll be really easy to launch, and no one has to know we were here.”
“I never figured you for a murderer, Brenda. Honestly. You trained as a nurse. A lifesaver. Now this. How can you be so sure Chad won’t find out about your part in this? That he won’t come looking for you or me? Or both of us?”
She laughed. “Because he’s sound asleep and will be for quite some time. I met him at his apartment and brought him a latte laced with Ambien.”
My stomach twisted into a tight knot, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. There would be no last-minute rescue by Detweiler. The whole promise of signing the divorce papers had been a ruse. Not that it mattered.
What was I going to do?
Ninety-five
At her direction, I pulled into a deserted parking lot. Johnny’s truck was nowhere to be seen. I wondered if this had all been one big bluff. I wouldn’t put anything past Brenda. Maybe I should have looked at the photo on her phone more carefully. Maybe it hadn’t been Sheila, just someone dressed as a decoy.
“Get out, and leave the door open. Turn around with your hands up and your back to me.”
I had to hand it to her, Brenda was smart. With my back to her, I didn’t know if she had me in her sights or not. I heard her crunch her way around the gravel. I felt the round, hard barrel of the gun pressed against my back. I wondered if she’d search me. I expected her to, but she didn’t. It must not have occurred to her that I might be armed. Score one for looking blonde and dumb.
“Walk toward that stand of trees,” she said.
I moved slowly, hoping to buy time, although I wasn’t sure what good it might do me. As we neared the clump of sycamores, I spotted a man and a woman. The light glinted off the woman’s body and face. That was the duct tape, reflecting the sunshine. I noticed a third figure behind the woman. From his stature and posture, I knew I was looking at Johnny. He stood up and I noticed the roll of duct tape in his hand.
Bill held a revolver on both of them. Or so it looked. Johnny handed the duct tape to Bill, and Bill lowered the gun. At least he didn’t have Sheila in his sights anymore.
This was bad. Much worse than I expected. I couldn’t tell who was on my side.
My stomach took an express elevator ride down to the ground floor. A late-breaking wave of morning sickness hit me so hard that I stumbled, doubled over, and heaved my guts out. When I was through, Brenda grabbed me under my armpit and hauled me to my feet.
“Get up. Stop it.” Her voice was harsh with disapproval.
“Hi, ya,” Bill called out, “Glad you could join us, Kiki. Welcome to our little goodbye party. Bring her over here, Brenda.”
Beyond him waited a small rowboat, sporting patches of faded blue paint. Partially submerged trees formed a fence around the boat. Weeds nearly covered it.
I shivered as Brenda shoved her gun into my ribs. “Start walking.”
Sheila sat in a lawn chair, one of those folding aluminum jobbies with the woven mesh seat and back. Her shoulders were slumped, and her posture was beaten. She seemed despondent, and when she raised her eyes to mine, they seemed devoid of any life at all. As I’d seen on Brenda’s phone, Sheila’s arms were trussed behind her back. Her white silk blouse wore a vibrant smear of red across the bust. I could see that her legs were taped together loosely. She might be able to make hobbling steps, but she couldn’t run. A trickle of blood ran down her left temple. From the looks of it, she’d been hit on the side of her head hard enough to split the skin. A dark maroon crust formed an angry crescent along her face. She stared at me a minute and then hung her head, a gesture oddly submissive and apologetic.
Poor Sheila. She had been the bait to get me here.
Ninety-six
“Johnny? Pat her down, won’t you?” Bill tipped his head toward me.
“With pleasure.” Johnny gave Brenda a small nod. “Step aside, I need room. And for goodness sake, don’t point your gun at me.”
Mert’s brother ran his hands up and down my legs, in a lascivious manner, snickering at my quick intake of breath. When he reached under my loose blouse, I could tell he found my holster, but his hands never stopped, never gave any sign that I was armed.
So he hadn’t gone over to Bill.
I had a chance!
“She’s clean,” Johnny told Bill, giving me a small push forward. “What you want me to do with her?”
“Yeah, what are you going to do with her?” snickered Brenda.
“Come on over here by me, Brenda,” said Bill. She loped over, her long legs covering the distance quickly. “You did a great job.”
Her face beamed with the warming glow of approval.
“Let me see your cell phone.” Bill held out his hand.
“Wh–why?” Brenda reached for the phone clipped to her waistband, but she didn’t pass it over to Bill.
“So I can erase the phone log. Don’t want anything linking us. T
hat would put you in danger.” His hand entered her personal space, his eyes locked on hers.
She shrugged and handed it over. “All right. That makes sense. Thanks for looking out for me.”
With a quick pivot on one foot, Bill turned and tossed Brenda’s phone into the lake. Plunk! The water splashed up, making a picturesque spray in the glinting sun.
“How could you do that?” Brenda stomped her foot.
“I’m only protecting you. What if your husband put a GPS on your phone?”
“Chad won’t wake up until tomorrow. He’s totally out of it. I drugged him good.”
“What if someone at the station calls him, huh? What if when he doesn’t answer, they send someone over to his place? If they see he’s drugged, who will they suspect? You. You aren’t very smart, Brenda. Leave the thinking to me.”
That was Bill, always the diplomat. Not. His patronizing attitude toward women hadn’t changed one bit since he and I tangled more than two years ago.
“Time for you to hit the road, Brenda. We can’t afford to get caught, and someone might be looking for your car.”
“Aw, come on,” said Brenda. “I did what you wanted, and now you’re making me leave.”
“Get out of here while you’ve got the chance,” he said. “Or else. I don’t want that car of yours to cause trouble.”
Ninety-seven
Kicking gravel as she walked, she stomped over to her Camry. She hit the gas so hard that her tires spun. Dust and dirt flew everywhere. As she zoomed out of the lot, Bill laughed. “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” he said, “What a total pain in the butt. Druggie.”
His voice sounded hoarse and he looked awful. His hair was badly cut, dirt crusted his nails, and his clothes were shabby and dirty. Life on the lam didn’t suit him. I wondered how his attorney got him out of jail so fast because Bill—once a dapper man with champagne tastes and a GQ wardrobe—now looked like thirty days of hard time. In his right hand, he waved a gun.
“Johnny, tape Kiki’s hands. Let’s get her in the boat.” Bill walked over to the tied-up vessel and checked its outboard motor.
I heard the tape ripping from the roll, and I felt Johnny pressing the tape against my back and lifting it several times. I knew what he was doing. It was an old scrapbooking trick. By pressing the tape against fabric, it lost much of its adhesive grip—but it could still stick. He wrapped the tape around my hands individually and joined the two pieces behind my back. I could still pull my hands apart if need be.
“Got her,” yelled Johnny. He took my elbow and I took my sweet time, fighting him every step of the way. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten. Five. I now stood right next to Sheila.
She tilted her head slightly to look into my eyes, and what I saw there was sadness … and love. Really, it wasn’t surprising. We’d come to appreciate each other, to see the qualities that made George love us both. I blinked three times, and she gave me a sad smile, the tape moving slightly upwards and her eyes crinkling. She knew I was mimicking the three squeezes Anya and I often shared. So she blinked three times back at me.
In all these years, we’d never said, “I love you” to each other. Now here we were, at the brink of death, declaring an affection that both of us craved so much. We’d found a place in each other’s hearts.
I had to save her.
Bill walked over to Sheila. “Fun and games time. I’ve been looking forward to this!” He grabbed her by the hair so hard that he pulled her right out of the lawn chair. With a muffled shriek, she staggered to her feet.
I lurched toward her, but Johnny held me back. “Let him fiddle with her. Then you can draw on him.”
Bill didn’t hear this because Sheila was shaking her head at him and trying to yell, kicking at him as best she could with the tape binding her feet.
“Go get in the boat!” He pulled his gun out of his waistband and pointed it. He gestured toward the short pier, a walkway of loose boards, maybe a yard in total length. Johnny and I were only fifteen feet away from it. Bill and Sheila were six feet closer. But Sheila didn’t move. Her feet were tethered to each other.
“I said get in!” he yelled.
When she refused to move, he jerked her by one arm and dragged her to the walkway.
I couldn’t stand it. I tugged free of Johnny’s grip. “Leave her alone, Bill” I said. “Your quarrel is with me.” The duct tape still linked my hands together behind my back. I hadn’t pulled it hard enough to separate the two pieces.
Bill turned to answer me—and Sheila reared back and head butted him. Her skull smashed into his face with a satisfying splat.
“Ow!” yelled Bill. His hand flew to his busted lip but he didn’t drop his gun. With a vicious shove, he pushed Sheila forward, propelling her down the short walkway. Her loosely bound feet made walking difficult. Because her arms were tied behind her back, she couldn’t use them for balance. With blood streaming down his face, Bill stepped behind her and gave her a second shove toward the boat.
The force of his blow whiplashed her head back and forth. Sheila tumbled forward to the side of the pier and the pylon where the boat was tethered.
Johnny kept his grip on me, wrapping one arm around my waist. He tapped my gun holster with one finger as a reminder. But I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t shoot anyone. There had to be another way. And waving the Kel-Tec around empty didn’t seem like a good idea.
“You’ve got to do it,” he hissed.
“It’s not loaded,” I whispered.
He cussed.
Bill gave Sheila one more push—and this one sent her sprawling. She fell face first into the boat with a sickening CRACK! The little vessel rocked back and forth violently, before yawing out in a half-circle of protest.
Sheila slumped over a seat, face down, with her forehead resting against the wooden floorboards.
“That’ll teach you,” snarled Bill. He tucked his gun in his belt and smiled.
Ninety-eight
Somewhere in the distance came the sound of a car, traveling this way fast.
We all turned to look. Well, all of us but Sheila.
I prayed it was help. Had someone come at last? My heart leaped in my chest. Would it be Robbie Holmes? Or even a groggy Detweiler? Maybe an Illinois law enforcement official? I stood on tiptoes and watched, listening as the tires crunched along the small lane that connected this spot with the highway.
The car rounded the curve, and my heart sank.
It was Brenda Detweiler. Back again. Her Camry pulled into the gravel parking area, spewing rocks as the tires spun.
I nearly cried with disappointment.
Why has she come back? As soon as I thought it, I knew the answer: She’s nuts! And she’s high. And she hates me!
She hopped out of her car and screamed, “Hey! I’ve got a right to be here!”
“Brenda, get! Go on! Scram! I told you to leave—now do it or else!” Bill lifted his upper lip in a sneer.
“No!” she stood there defiantly, her arms crossed over her chest and her expression petulant. Her lower lip stuck out like a ledge.
“Johnny, use that tape on her. Since she’s so proud of that car, tape her into the passenger seat.”
Johnny nodded. “Okay, boss.” But first he walked me over to the lawn chair where Sheila had been sitting—and shoved me into a seated position.
“Hey, old woman. You’re taking up the entire boat!” Bill grabbed Sheila by her hair and hoisted her into a seated position. “We’ve got other passengers on this pleasure cruise,” he chuckled.
She moaned with pain.
I couldn’t stand it.
His mistake was turning his back on me. First I jerked my hands apart. Then I jumped up from the lawn chair. As I ran, I pulled the small pair of Fiskars out of my pocket. I threw myself at Bill, slamming my hand down with all the force I could muster. Those small Fiskars scissors snuggled tight between my fingers like a brass knuckle. I had a killer grip on them.
The fabric of Bill’s shirt gave
with a loud rip. His cry of pain was nearly simultaneous. I felt the scissor blades meet resistance as they slammed against his right shoulder, his scapula. The blades vibrated against my palm with the force of my blow. I didn’t let go. Instead, I twisted the handle, hard. Hot blood spilled over my hands, turning them slick and useless. But I didn’t turn loose of the scissors. I wrapped my fingers through the grip and held onto them.
Bill sagged away from me as he squealed in pain. He swung at me but the movement activated his shoulder muscles and intensified his agony. In response, he staggered but he didn’t drop his gun. He did try to raise it, but when his arm reached his waist, he turned white and groaned, losing his grip on the gun.
“You … you …” he sputtered at me, his face a washed-out color as he fought to control his body. I’d struck a good blow, and unless he could shoot with his left hand, I doubted he could fire at me even if he found his weapon. It would hurt him too much to raise his right arm. The boat he and Sheila were in rocked crazily.
“Let me go!” Brenda’s fists rained down on Johnny.
I turned to the sound of her voice. “Then leave!” he yelled at her.
“I won’t,” she screamed back. They wrestled with each other, hand to hand, but I had no doubt he could hold his own. I thought about telling him to take the car—he could hop in and drive off.
But what would happen to Sheila? How bad off was Bill?
The exchange between Johnny and Brenda couldn’t have been five seconds, but in that time, Bill regained his senses. Still standing in the boat, he raised his left fist and smacked me up the side of the head.
I saw stars and my ears rang. The world tip-tilted, and dizziness overcame me. I grabbed one of the supports of the pier and held on tight. That was all that kept me from falling into the water.
Ninety-nine
“Eeeooowww!” A cry came from somewhere deep inside of Bill. His angry blow to me cost him dearly. He nearly sobbed from the effort. His knees buckled and he cried out. But he didn’t fall over.
Ready, Scrap, Shoot (A Kiki Lowenstein Scrap-N-Craft Mystery) Page 23
