The plant and flower department was at the front on the opposite side of the store from where I’d entered. I walked past the checkout aisles. When I reached the area, I saw two five-foot queen palms in terra-cotta containers on the floor near a display of miniroses. Several smaller palms of various varieties were in plastic pots on tables. I lifted a four-foot fan palm, then a three-foot windmill, then a date palm about the same size. I found the key under a four-foot pindo palm tucked in a corner half-hidden by a chest-high stack of twenty-pound bags of potting soil.
I returned to the Camry, and in a minute another message arrived.
PARK CAMRY IN HIGH-HANOVER GARAGE, LEVEL 4.
I drove back into Portsmouth’s business district and turned into the High-Hanover parking garage. It was mostly deserted, and as I circled up, level by level, I saw fewer and fewer vehicles. This time my wait for the message was shorter.
PARK NEXT TO WHITE SONATA ON THIS LEVEL. PLACE ENTRY TICKET IN GLOVE BOX. TAKE NEW KEY AND PHONE AND NOTHING ELSE. MOVE DOLLS TO SONATA TRUNK.
I backed the Camry up to the Sonata to make the transfer easier. When the bin was safely in the Sonata, I parked the Camry, put the parking ticket in the glove compartment, and got behind the wheel of the Sonata to wait for the next message. It came quickly.
TICKET, MONEY, WIG IN GLOVE BOX. PUT ON WIG. LEAVE LOT. DON’T TALK TO CLERK. TAKE SPAULDING TPK N. I’M WATCHING U.
Icy fear threatened to take hold of me, but it faded quickly. In crisis mode, fear is acknowledged by some part of my brain, then dismissed. I looked left and right, seeing only the near-empty garage, and then I spotted a video camera attached to the outside hood ornament, its lens aimed right at me, the pinprick-sized dot of red glowing brightly.
“Okay, then,” I said aloud. “Next up is the wig.”
The wig was golden blond and chin length, with bangs. Tucked inside was what looked like a flesh-colored nylon stocking, except shorter. I’d never worn a wig before, and I had no idea what the nylon was for or how to put the wig on. I started the engine so I could turn on the heat. I pushed the ceiling light button, tilted the rearview mirror so I could see myself, and began experimenting. The wig was impossible to get on. I picked up the nylon piece and examined it. It was stretchy, and just for the heck of it, I tried drawing it over my head. It was tight but not uncomfortably so. It fit like a bathing cap. I worked loose strands of hair up and under the cap’s edge. After several failed attempts at pulling the wig down onto my head, I discovered that if I leaned into the wig and eased it over my head, it fit as if it had been made for me. I smoothed it into place, then stared in the mirror. I was unrecognizable. Even if the police had managed to follow me, unlikely, I knew, they’d never think that the blonde in the white car was me. Without question, I was on my own.
I was heading north on the Spaulding Turnpike, as instructed, when a text message arrived. I pulled over and set my blinkers.
TURN ON PISCATAQUA. RT ONTO RABBIT. LEFT ONTO OLD GARRISON.
I’d never been on Old Garrison before. It was narrow and winding and seemed to cut through a dense forest. There were no houses or cars that I could see, or if there were houses, they were set so far back not even a glimmer of light shone through. I stopped in the middle of the road to listen, in case someone was following me with his lights off. No one was. I started off again, flipping on my brights to check for side roads or turnoffs. Nothing. I could have been the last person alive in the world. If I hadn’t been in crisis mode, I would have labeled what I was feeling as terror. As it was, mostly I was admiring the kidnappers’ attention to detail.
A new text arrived. I rolled to a stop.
1⁄10 MI BEFORE SPRUCE, TURN ONTO DIRT ROAD ON RT. ENTRY HARD TO SEE. LOOK FOR NARROW PASSAGE BETWEEN TREES. GO TO END AND PARK FACING IN.
I missed it twice. I got to Spruce Lane and backed up, then did it again. The third time I lowered my window and inched forward, peering into the darkness. Calling the entry an opening was like calling a needle’s eye a gaping hole. I turned in. Twigs and leaves dripping from the day’s rain scraped the side of the car. The packed dirt road must have originally been some sort of cart track. The dirt was more sloppy mud than anything else, filled with gullies and dips. The road curved to the right, then left, and then, a quarter mile in, it dead-ended at a wide circular clearing, a kind of homegrown cul-de-sac. I parked as instructed, then picked up the phone, willing it to ring. Ten minutes later, just as I was about to jump out of my skin, it did.
STAY INSIDE. OPEN TRUNK.
Out of nowhere, I heard an engine. I looked into my rearview mirror and quickly turned away, momentarily blinded by dazzlingly bright white headlights.
I bit my lip. Gazing into the sideview mirrors, I had a sense that a vehicle was behind me, but I couldn’t tell for sure. For all I knew the kidnappers were on a motorcycle holding klieg lights they’d mounted on a fence post to mimic a car’s headlights. I knew what I needed to do, but Ellis’s warning echoed in my ears. We don’t know how twitchy he is. Your demanding anything may send him over the edge.
I hit REPLY, then typed: NO. ERIC FIRST.
As I hit the SEND button, my heart crashed against my ribs and my pulse began pounding in my ears. Please, God, I prayed.
LOOK TO YOUR RT BACK ABOUT 300 FT. STAY IN YOUR CAR OR I SHOOT HIM.
I leaned to the right, peering into the sideview mirror. Eric was sitting on the ground in stippled light, leaning against a tree. His wrists and legs were bound. His eyes were open. He was looking in my direction. He looked drugged or injured or both.
Another message appeared. OPEN TRUNK.
I replied, THEN WHAT?
He answered, I TAKE DOLLS AND LEAVE. DONE.
I thought it through. His plan was a good one. He’d be able to back out and disappear before I could get Eric inside the car.
I pushed the button, and the trunk door swung up, blocking my view. The lights behind me went out. I looked in both side mirrors but couldn’t see a thing. The night was dark, and my eyes hadn’t adjusted. I blinked several times, willing myself to see, but it didn’t help. I got a sense of a man’s shape, nothing more. I timed him. The bin bumped against the fender. Another bump. A dull pounding. Several seconds of silence. His trunk door slammed shut. His car door closed. His engine revved, not too fast. He was in control, neither anxious nor hurried. Motor sounds, receding. Four minutes from his final text message to his departure.
The second he began to drive, I threw open my door, kicked off my flip-flops, and raced through squishy mud and sharp-edged pebbles toward Eric. The kidnapper’s vehicle was already out of sight, and within seconds it was out of hearing, too.
“Eric,” I called as I ran. “Eric!”
Eric’s mouth opened as if he wanted to speak, then closed as if he couldn’t. He looked perplexed. Before I reached him, his eyes glazed over and he made a horrible rasping sound. His head lolled to the side and he slid sideways, collapsing onto the ground in a heap.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Eric!” I screamed as I reached him.
He lay motionless. Rope bound his hands. I wanted to check his pulse, but I couldn’t force my fingers under the thick double-wrapped rope, so I pressed them against the side of his neck instead. I fell back on my heels, tears of relief running down my cheeks as I felt the reassuringly strong thump-thump-thump. As if on cue, the cloud cover thinned and silvery moonlight dappled the ground. I straightened his legs and head.
I had to get him to a hospital. I didn’t know if I could lift him, let alone carry him to the car, and I was afraid that jostling him might make some unseen injury worse. I needed help. I ran back to the car, tripping on a knotty root, stumbled, and almost went down, but managed to right myself. I grabbed the phone from the passenger seat and punched in 9-1-1. I gave my location and the nature of the emergency, then dialed Ellis’s cell phone and got him. He heard me out in silence, then said, “I’m en route.”
I turned off the engine, plunging the scene into dark
ness, then changed my mind and turned the motor on again. I turned the car around so the lights would be on Eric and approaching vehicles. The headlights illuminated a pie-shaped wedge of impenetrable forest. Eric hadn’t moved. The dirt in front of me was crisscrossed by tire marks, and I wondered if the technicians would be able to trace the kidnapper by the tread patterns in his tires.
I stepped out and scanned the area for something I could use as a pillow. There was nothing. I sat down beside Eric, leaned back against a tree, and lifted his head, placing it in my lap. It was all I could do for him. The mud was wet and cold, saturating my dress and chilling me. The tree bark was rough and uneven and poked at me. Drops of water fell from laden leaves, adding to my overall discomfort.
“You’ll be fine, Eric,” I whispered, stroking his arm. I prodded at the rope that bound his hands, trying to see a way to tackle undoing the knot. I couldn’t, and I worried that my efforts might tighten, not loosen, the restraint, so I stopped. “Help is on the way. Hold on, just a little while longer.”
I closed my eyes and shivered in the now-cold night air, wishing help would come already, thinking that the kidnapper was simultaneously bold and risk-averse, that kidnapping for ransom was a reckless act, yet he’d planned every move with astonishing attention to detail. Who, I wondered, fit that description? I had no idea.
“Hold on, Eric. Help will be here soon.”
Three minutes later, the ambulance arrived. Two men, one younger than Eric and the other about my age, ran toward us.
“What happened?” the older man asked.
“He was conscious when the kidnapper released him, then he collapsed. Maybe he fainted. I don’t know. His pulse seems strong. He told me he’d been hit on the head.”
As we talked, he moved his fingers slowly over and around Eric’s head and neck and back. When he was done with his physical exam, they recorded Eric’s vital signs, and the younger man called in a report.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked the elder of the two.
“Too soon to tell,” he said, which offered no comfort at all. To his colleague, he said, “Ready? On three.”
He counted it out, and together they lifted Eric onto a gurney they’d carried to his side and strapped him in. Ellis pulled up as they were loading Eric into the back of the ambulance. He bounced along the forest edge and pulled up next to me in the clearing.
“Are you okay?” Ellis asked me, taking in my outfit and appearance.
“Eric’s alive.”
He nodded and approached the older man. I followed so I could listen in, but I learned nothing new. The EMT said he didn’t know why Eric was unconscious, that they wanted to get him to the hospital ASAP.
“You, too, ma’am,” the older EMT said. “You can ride with us.”
“I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
“You look cold clear through. Cold’s a dangerous thing.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I need to talk to the chief. I’m their only lead.”
“I’m putting it down that you’re acting against medical advice.”
“Where are you taking him?” I asked.
“Rocky Point Hospital.”
“I’ll talk to her about going,” Ellis said.
The EMT nodded and jogged to the ambulance.
Ellis cocked his head and stared at my face. “I never would have recognized you,” he said.
I touched the wig and shapeless dress. “A simple disguise.”
“You okay for real?”
I felt my eyes fill, and I looked away. “No.”
He nodded, then saw me shiver. “Let’s get you inside,” he said, “and warm you up. I’ve got the heat really pumping.”
“I’m a mess. I’ll ruin your seats.”
“Removable seat covers. Not that it would matter.”
I climbed into the cab.
“We’ll leave in about ten minutes,” he told me, “and get you a look-see en route to the station. I just need to get the techs squared away.”
“Can I borrow a phone or use the one the kidnapper gave me? I want to call Grace.”
“Sure,” he said, scrolling through his BlackBerry to find her number and handing me the unit. “Use mine.”
“Grace,” I said, when I had her. “Eric’s alive. He’s en route to the hospital.”
She screeched and dropped the phone.
“What? Who is this?” a man’s voice demanded.
“This is Josie. Josie Prescott.”
I could hear Grace howling in the background.
“Josie! This is Jim. Grace’s brother. What’s going on?”
“It’s over. Eric is alive.”
He asked question after question I couldn’t answer until finally I interrupted him.
“I don’t know anything more than I’ve told you, Jim. What you ought to do now is take Grace to the hospital.”
“We’ll leave right away.”
“Do you want me to call his mom or will Grace want to?”
“Let me ask her,” he said. The shrieks had stopped. I heard muffled voices. “She will, if that’s all right with you.”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Call me if there’s any news, okay? Anything. Call anytime. Use my office phone number for now. I’ll check voice mail there. I don’t have my cell phone with me.” I gave him the number, and he promised that he’d call with updates.
Ellis’s SUV was warm, hot really, but not too hot. I felt chilled clear through, the kind of cold that took more than heat to warm. I looked out the window. Ellis stood off to the side, his flashlight illuminating the road. I called Ty, and as soon as I heard his voice, I began to cry.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I couldn’t speak. A line of vehicles arrived, and Ellis walked to meet them.
“Is it Eric?” Ty asked.
“Yes,” I whispered and managed to add, “he’s alive.”
“Injured?”
“I don’t know.” I gulped and forced myself to stop crying. I needed to talk more than I needed to cry. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” I told him where I was and what had happened. “I’m freezing even though the heat is on high, and I’m tired, scared, and mad, all at once.” Ellis opened the driver’s door. “Ellis is here. I have to go.”
Ty told me he loved me and that he’d call me later, and we hung up.
“You okay with a quick stop at the hospital?” Ellis asked. “As the man said, cold’s a dangerous thing.”
“Sure,” I said.
I pulled off my wig and skullcap, ruffled my flattened hair, and leaned back with my eyes closed the whole drive to the hospital.
* * *
After I got an all clear at the hospital and changed into fresh clothes I borrowed from a stash the police kept, I gave my statement and answered scores of questions. By the end, I was so tired I felt as if I might topple over.
I trudged into my house at 3:00 A.M., beyond tired, beyond thinking. Ellis had directed an officer to retrieve my clothes and car, and after the technicians confirmed that no one but me had touched anything, it was all returned to me. I left everything except my tote bag in the car.
Ty had texted me at eleven that he was going to sleep, asking that I call when I got home, whenever that was, but I didn’t. There was no point in waking him. I’d needed to hear his voice before, but I didn’t now. Now I needed a hot bath. I started the water in the tub, and with the steam pouring from the faucet, encircling me, helping loosen my rock-hard muscles, I e-mailed him that I was home and safe and about to step into a bath. I told him that I’d gotten an all clear from the medical team and had given a detailed statement to Ellis. I added what Ellis had learned in a phone call from a doctor around midnight, that Eric had been drugged with they didn’t yet know what. He was regaining consciousness, and all indicators pointed to his making a full recovery.
While waiting for the tub to fill, I sat on its edge and scanned my messages. Wes had called three times wanting to know what was
up and offering to help. He’d texted twice and sent an e-mail, too. Jim, Grace’s brother, had left a voice mail saying he had no hard news, but the doctors were optimistic. I texted Gretchen, Cara, Sasha, and Fred the good news about Eric, adding that they should feel free to tell everyone and anyone, and that I didn’t know when I’d get into work. Done for the night, I tossed my BlackBerry into my tote bag and slipped into the soothingly hot water.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I rolled over to see my alarm clock. It was nine fifty-seven. I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t. I sat up in bed and called the hospital. The woman at the patient information desk would only tell me Eric was in good condition, so I asked to be transferred to his room. Grace answered. Eric, she reported, was awake and eating. He was feeling tired but fine.
“Do you know when he’ll be released?” I asked.
“Maybe as soon as today,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice, then a man’s voice in the background, the words indistinct. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Eric,” I said when he was on the line. “Grace tells me you’re not feeling too bad.”
“Yeah. A little woozy still. I got a concussion. And I was drugged.”
“A concussion!”
“Yeah. He whacked me a good one, maybe with a gun, I’m not sure. The doctor tells me the dizziness is from the drugs, though, not the concussion.”
“God, Eric. It’s just horrific. Terrifying. Who attacked you, do you know?”
“No. Some guy ran me off the road, can you believe it? At first I thought it was a hot-rod guy trying to pass me, you know, who messed up. He swerved in front of me and jerked to a stop. I nearly crashed into him. When he didn’t take off again, I thought he was having car trouble. I stepped out to see if I could help him, but he got out of his car before I reached him, and I guess he circled around the van, ’cause I was looking one way when bam out of nowhere he hit me, and down I went. Next thing I know, I’m tied up like a pork roast, lying on a cot in a log cabin somewhere. After that, I only saw him wearing a Spider-Man mask. Except when he was driving.”
Dolled Up for Murder Page 16
