by Patricia Fry
Damon scowled. “No, how do you argue against a woman who is passionate about something?” He looked from one to the other of the deputies. “She’s passionate about cats and it was just one of her rants. I thought it was kinda funny, the way she got all stirred up like that.”
Deputy Jim pursed his lips. He looked over at his partner and then back at Damon. He then opened the back door to the Honda and peered in. “Yup, there’s a bag of cat food in here.” He stepped over to the porch and looked around. He bent down and spotted a few cats eating from overflowing bowls—others skittered away when Jim approached. “There are cats here.”
He walked back over to Damon and said,” Okay Jackson. Don’t make any plans to leave town, will you? We may have more questions.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said “…at least not until you guys find Colbi.”
Jim addressed his partner, “Ben, move the cruiser will you, so Jackson can leave. I want to take another look around.”
***
“Ready for that adventure?” Brianna asked, playfully punching her sister in the arm as she entered the living room after a brief nap that afternoon.
Savannah rose from the sofa. “Sure.” She glanced over at her mother. “Wanna come, Mom?” she asked.
Gladys looked up from her Kindle, thought about it and said, “No, I think I’ll read some more. I’m almost to the good part.” She grinned and then looked down at Buffy, who was curled up in her lap. “Besides, I don’t want to disturb this sweet cat. What’s her name, again?”
“Buffy. Just look at her color—buff—Buffy.”
Gladys ran her hand over the cat’s long fawn and chocolate fur. “Buffy,” she said.
The cat raised her head and silently mewed.
“Let me get my mud boots,” Savannah said, heading toward the kitchen. She glanced out through a window and noticed it was slightly overcast. She added, “And my jacket. Bri, do you want to borrow my clogs?”
Brianna shook her head in disbelief. She looked down at her own feet and then over at Savannah’s.
“You could wear your slippers inside them like you did last spring. Then they’ll fit those dainty feet of yours.”
“Didn’t bring my slippers. I’ll just wear these tennies. I can wash them if they get muddy.” She looked over at the dog’s empty bed. “Hey, where’s Lexie?”
Savannah emerged from the service porch wearing her rubber boots and a jacket. “Oh, I think she went out with Michael.”
Once outside, the sisters walked across the lawn, along a stone pathway toward the corral. They waved at Michael, who was installing a latch suitable for padlocking on the tack room door. Lexie, who had been lying near where Michael worked, spotted the women and rushed out to greet them.
“Can she come with us?” Brianna asked.
“Yeah, if she wants to,” Savannah responded. She looked over at the dog and noticed she was dancing excitedly around as if eagerly awaiting an invitation. “Come on, girl,” Savannah urged. Lexie looked back at Michael and then trotted after the two women.
“Sis,” Savannah said, “what’s going on with you and Bud? I’m not getting good vibes from you.”
“Nothing. We’re fine,” Brianna lied. And Savannah knew she was lying. She remained quiet.
“It’s just that…” Brianna started.
“What, Sis? What’s wrong?”
Brianna stopped walking—leaned against an old tree stump. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” she said, her eyes welling up with tears. She blotted at them with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
“Ready for what?”
“Ready to settle down.” She looked up at her sister. “Have I done enough dating? What if Bud isn’t the one?” She buried her face in her hands and said, “Oh Savannah, I don’t want to make a mistake.”
Savannah let out a small chuckle. She chuckled some more and then she threw her head back and laughed out loud. She held her stomach and bent over laughing, her body shaking, her shoulder-length, blunt-cut blond hair falling over her face.
“What’s so damn funny?” Brianna asked, staring over at her sister through angry eyes.
Lexie sat next to Brianna glancing from one to the other of the women.
Savannah tried to speak, but couldn’t get more than a couple of words out at a time through the uncontrollable laughter.
Brianna pushed away from the stump and the dog jumped back a little. “Really, Savannah, how rude. What’s so funny?” She stomped her foot and said, “Tell me this instant!”
Savannah stood up straight, wiping at her eyes. She nudged her sister aside, and sat down on the tree stump.
“Well?” Brianna said, crossing her arms in front of her.
“Let me catch my breath,” Savannah pleaded.
Brianna stood staring down at Savannah defiantly, arms crossed. “What?” she shouted.
Michael looked up from his project several feet away, smiled, and rolled his head from side to side. Looks like the sisters are having fun. Gosh, it’s refreshing to see Savannah laughing out loud like that.
“I think I’m having déjà vu,” Savannah finally said, dabbing at her eyes with a wad of tissue.
Brianna gritted her teeth. She was obviously running out of patience. “What do you mean?” she insisted.
“We must be made from the same mold,” she said.
“Stop talking in riddles. What are you saying?”
Savannah glanced over at Michael, lowered her voice a little, and said, “Don’t you remember when I was struggling with the same dilemma—should I commit to Michael or not? Am I ready—am I even capable of a meaningful relationship? Oh, Michael was ready. He knew what he wanted. But I was so confused.” Savannah became more reticent—introspective. And then she looked into her sister’s brown eyes. “I almost ruined my life, Bri. I had what I always wanted right in the palm of my hand and I almost let it go. I almost walked away.”
Brianna’s face softened. “Why do you think that was?” she asked.
Savannah thought about it for a moment and then said, “I wasn’t able to trust myself.” She cocked her head and looked off into the distance. “Or maybe I didn’t think I deserved all of the joy and love I felt.” She looked up at her sister again from her perch. “I’m not exactly sure, but I can tell you this: I was afraid.”
“Afraid?” she asked. “Afraid of what, do you think?”
“Happiness, disappointment, making a mistake? I’m not sure.”
“Yes, that makes sense,” Brianna said bending down and picking up a piece of straw. “I think fear has something to do with the way I feel.” She stared off toward the orchard, then said, “But I never thought it might be fear of happiness. That’s a weird concept.”
“What does Bud say about all this?” Savannah asked.
Brianna’s closed her eyes for a moment. Then she looked up, tore the straw in two, and dropped both pieces. “He’s pretty upset.”
“So what have you told him?”
“That I may want to date other people before I settle down.”
“Oh noooo, Bri. You’ll break his heart.”
“What about my heart?” she snapped.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“Savannah, I have to be true to myself. I don’t even know if I’d be happy living on a farm.” She grimaced and glanced off in the distance. “I’ve never lived on a farm. I’m a city girl.”
“Maybe Bud would move with you to the city,” Savannah suggested.
“Yeah, he said that, but would he be happy?” She reached out and ran a swatch of Savannah’s hair through her hand; something she used to do as a child when she needed comforting. “Is there a happy medium for the two of us?”
Savannah sat staring down at her mud boots. Finally she looked up and said quietly, “If you have doubts, Sis, now is the time to look at them, that’s for sure. But it seems as though you and Bud have a lot going for you as a couple. You’ve really enjoyed a lot of time together this past yea
r, haven’t you?”
Brianna smiled. “Yes, we’ve had some good times. He’s super thoughtful and attentive. He’s smart and fun. Cripes, he saved my life once. He’s my hero—great lover, kind…only…”
“Only what? You’ve just described every woman’s dream man,” Savannah said laughing.
“Only am I ready to settle down?” she whined, slumping her shoulders, dropping her head.
Savannah thought for a few moments. Finally, she said, “Do you have to make that decision now?”
“Bud’s ready to make it. He’s pressuring me.”
“Well, how about this? Let me have Michael talk to Bud—maybe see if he can get him to cool his heels and give you the space to decide when you’re ready…or not.”
Brianna let out a breath. “Oh, that would be great. I think that’s the answer, Sis. Space—that’s what I need. But I’d like Bud to be in that space with me…while I try to sort things out in my mind. Yes!” she said, pumping the air with one arm. “Let’s see if Michael can convey the message I don’t seem to be able to convey to Bud.”
“Sometimes it takes someone outside the relationship—a guy (or gal) buddy,” Savannah said.
Brianna smiled down at her sister. “Yes, a gal buddy is a mighty valuable thing to have, gal buddy.” She hugged her sister around the neck and said, “Thank you.”
Brianna stepped back and began scrutinizing the stump where Savannah sat. “Hey, is that…?”
Savannah stood up. “…the stump we used to play around when we were kids? Yes it is!”
“Oh my gosh, I remember…” She motioned off to the right. “The old barn was right here.”
“Yup.”
“What great memories,” she said with a wide smile. And then her demeanor changed. “Except for when someone burned the barn down around Grandpa Forster.” She leaned in toward her sister and almost whispered, “Hey Sis, do you think what we’re seeing at night is the old guy’s ghost?”
“Now that would be weird. Hey, what do you say we go snoop around a bit,” Savannah said, stretching before taking a few steps. “Now where do you think the lights and flashes are coming from?”
Brianna pointed to the other side of the orchard. “Out that way—this side of that shed.”
“Yes, that’s about where I’d guesstimate, too. Let’s go,” Savannah said as she and Brianna walked toward the orchard, Lexie excitedly running circles around them.
***
Later Sunday night, Detective Craig Sledge was on his way to question some of the local tattoo artists about a body part the sheriff’s had found near a burned-out car. It had a partial tattoo and Craig hoped to find the artist who had created it, in order to ascertain the identity of the victim. Craig parked outside Clive’s Tattoo Parlor, checked his phone messages, and then started to get out of his car. “What the…?” he said under his breath. “Damon!” he called out. “What the hell are you doing down here?”
“Oh hi, Craig.” Damon put his hands up and said, “It’s not what you think.”
Craig shook his head. “I sure hope not, buddy. I sure hope not.”
“No, I’m not interested in getting involved in the scene down here again. I just got to thinking that maybe whoever took Colbi…” He started to choke up. He cleared his throat and took a ragged breath. “Maybe it was someone who has a beef against me. I gave you cops some names a while back, remember?”
“Damon…” Craig began.
“I know, you’re gonna lecture me, and I deserve it,” he said lowering his head.
“No lecture, Damon. Just let the investigators do their job, would ya? If you have any ideas or leads, bring ’em to me. Stay outta this slum. Go home. And try not to worry.”
Damon pressed his lips together. “Just how do I do that?” he asked, his eyes starting to fill with tears.
Craig placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder and squeezed. “We’ll find her, kid.”
Damon didn’t appear to be convinced.
“Well, look at it this way, we haven’t found her dead or bleeding someplace. That’s gotta be a good sign.”
Chapter Five
Colbi coughed; shivered. She doubled the ratty blanket and wrapped it around her legs and feet and then scrunched down deeper into her over-sized jacket. If only I had enough to eat to help me create body heat, I wouldn’t be so blasted cold, she thought. She sat up and looked around the room. Wish I could see more clearly. I can tell when it’s daylight by the small shafts of light that filter through the boarded-over windows. I could see better if the windows weren’t also painted black—and on the outside, so I couldn’t scrape the paint off, even if I had something sharp…they took my purse, so I don’t have a nail file or a pen I could use. They bring me finger-food on paper plates and napkins so I can’t use utensils to break the windows. Nails! she thought. There are nails in the beams. I wonder if I could ease one out of the wall—using what? She sank back down onto the mattress and then, realizing she could hear the couple talking to each other upstairs, she moved toward the door and listened intently.
“Here, take this wiener to our guest,” Lida said sarcastically with a wicked laugh.
“I still think it’s stupid to feed her,” George said. “Why are we doing it, again?”
“Same reason we feed these mangy cats,” she said. “We need them alive, until we don’t.” She laughed. “The cats are our insurance policy, and the girl…well…she’s our ticket to freedom, let’s hope. Now go take that to her. Here, put some water in this pitcher.”
The room was quiet for a moment and then George said, “What if I just do her in right now—git it over with?”
“Oh you would love that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, I kinda would.”
“Naw,” the woman said, “timing’s wrong. I’m workin’ on a plan. Just do as I say. You go killin’ her down there and we could lose all we’ve been workin’ for.”
Colbi heard George stumbling down the stairs to the dark basement room. She moved away from the door and backed against the far wall. Within a few moments, the door creaked open and light filtered in. Colbi blinked and put her hands up to shade her eyes. She squinted and tried to take the opportunity to look around the room—along the floor, up and down the walls. Was there anything…anything at all she could use to escape? This room has been stripped, all right.
“Here’s your supper, girlie,” George said, placing a paper plate that held a dried-out wiener on the mattress. “And water…” He set a plastic pitcher on the floor near the bedroll.
“Why are you holding me here?” she yelled. “What do you want from me? Is this extortion? Do you want money? I’m sure I can get you whatever money you think you want.”
“Money?” His dull, sunken eyes almost lit up. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind gettin’ some money. How much ya got?” he asked, wiping a handkerchief over his balding head and then shoving it back into the pocket of his overalls.
“George? Come back up here.”
He glanced toward the door and then back at Colbi. He pointed a skinny finger at her. “You want outta here? Tell me how to get the money you’re talkin’ ’bout and I might be able to set you free,” he said in hushed tones.
“George?!!”
He then turned and headed toward the door. “I’ll be back and we’ll make a deal.” He grinned, showing tobacco-stained teeth, before turning and ambling awkwardly toward the door.
Make a deal with a kidnapper? Colbi grimaced. Not the brightest idea. But what are my options? Dammit—what are my options? She moved toward the mattress where she’d seen George set the plate and pitcher. She felt around for the pitcher, brought it up to her lips, and drank thirstily. She set it down on the floor and began patting the top of the mattress in search of the wiener. She felt her hand touch it—gross. It’s dried out and cold. But I’d better eat something while I can, she reasoned. She brought the piece of processed meat up to her mouth and started nibbling on it. She was able to eat almost half of it
, washing it down with swigs of the water. When she’d had her fill of the disgusting meat, she wrapped the paper plate around what was left of it and slid it under the mattress, hoping she would get back to it before a rat found it. As she lay back down on the mattress, her hand hit the pitcher. Oops, don’t want to spill my water supply.
Suddenly Colbi sat straight up. The pitcher is plastic, she said to herself. Plastic. She had an idea. She stood up and walked toward where she knew the window was. She reached up and felt around where the putty held the pane in place. It’s hard and dry, but I might be able to chip it out of there. She made her way back to the mattress and began rolling it up until it was as taut as she could manage. She pushed it against the wall under the high window and stood up on it. She stretched up, but found she could reach only about halfway up the window. She stepped off the mattress and folded it over, doubling its thickness. She carefully stepped up on it again and she could reach almost to the top of the window.
Colbi edged back to where the pitcher sat. She drank from it again, taking big swigs. She then felt her way to the hole in the floor they had cut for her to use as a toilet and poured the rest of the water out. She lay the pitcher down sideways on the floor and stepped on it. Using the wall for support, she bounced her weight on the weakest point of the pitcher until it finally broke. She pulled the cracked pieces apart. When she felt she had just the right piece for the job as well as a few backup pieces, she walked over and tossed the broken pitcher and all of the small pieces she could find in the crude toilet. She then put all but one larger piece of the plastic in her pockets, walked over to the window, climbed up on the folded mattress, and began scraping. If I can just get the putty loose around the window and take the window pane out, maybe I can get the attention of a neighbor by shouting through the cracks in the boards. Or I might be able to push the boards out. Then my only challenge is lifting myself up so I can climb out. Without adequate nourishment and hydration, I might not be agile and strong enough to do it.
What’s that? Colbi wondered. Someone’s coming. She unfolded the mattress, threw it out on the floor, scraped the remaining plastic pieces underneath it, and lay down on top of it.
