Night of Shadows

by Marilyn Haddrill

  They were gone.

  Melinda cracked open the bathroom door, and risked slipping her hand inside to flick on the light. By allowing a tiny shaft of the beam to shine through, she was better able to see. And she noted that Harriet had emptied the pockets of Melinda's clothes onto the dresser before carrying them away.

  Melinda saw the item she so desperately sought — the pill bottle with the few remaining matches. Eagerly, she grabbed for it. In the dim light she retrieved a pair of jeans and a warm pullover sweatshirt from a dresser drawer. She donned them, then placed the candle and matches in her pocket.

  Melinda was ready for action.

  She walked to her bedroom door, stood, and listened. Then she reached out to try the doorknob. It didn't budge. She pushed hard on the door, without result. It was either locked, jammed or braced from the outside.

  Someone had made certain that, this time, Melinda Bailey would stay put.

  Melinda angrily walked over to her bed and sat down to think. This time, she flicked on the lamp. There was no need to worry now about the light. With the door secured, no one would be watching her room.

  Absently, she reached out for one of the stale biscuits still left beside her bed. She gnawed on it as her stomach rumbled in grateful anticipation. She swallowed, then reached for another.

  Spying a pitcher of water, she poured herself a drink. Realizing how parched her mouth and throat felt, she downed two glasses before finally feeling satiated. Then she paid a visit to the bathroom and brushed her hair.

  "All dressed up and no place to go," she mumbled as she surveyed herself in the mirror.

  At first, the background droning noise did not register with her until it became steadily louder — and recognizable.

  The airplane!

  Turning off the lamp, Melinda tiptoed across the room. She eased open the sliding door to the veranda and stepped outside. A quarter moon provided enough dim light for her to barely see the ground that tonight seemed a great distance below.

  Holding onto the railing, Melinda leaned outward to examine the vine‑covered arbor ending just a few tantalizing feet below her. Melinda knew that the plane was a key clue, perhaps the final one, linked to Joan's disappearance.

  She must act at once, or she would lose all courage.

  Taking a deep breath, Melinda turned around to grasp the metal railing and began easing her body downward. Finally, she stretched her toes until they touched the top of the wooden arbor.

  She released her grip on the railing, and braced herself against the wall. Sagging under the full weight of her body, the arbor swayed dangerously. But there was no going back now.

  Fighting a dizzy sensation, Melinda guided her feet carefully down several of the wooden slats. Both hands now gripped the top of the arbor. Ever so carefully, she worked her way downward until, suddenly, the arbor snapped. She plunged backwards. In a split second, the back of her head hit the ground, joined instantly by the rest of her body.

  Melinda lay stunned for a minute, before she groggily raised herself into a sitting position. She moved her arms and legs carefully to make sure there was no damage.

  Then, recognizing that the commotion might have alerted someone, she rose quickly to her feet. Half stumbling, she ran away from the house toward the now waning sound of the airplane motor. Melinda wondered if the mysterious rider she had spotted before was anywhere in the vicinity.

  As she scanned the corrals, there was no sign of movement. Becky was there, though, her white spots distinctive in the dim lighting. She nickered softly at the sight of Melinda.

  Melinda put a finger to her lips and whispered. "Hush now. What did I tell you about doing that?"

  When Melinda moved into the underbrush, out of sight of the house, she dared bring out her small candle and, using one of the precious matches, lit it. She cupped it with one hand to mask the conspicuous light as she made her way toward the sound of the airplane.

  Shadows danced eerily ahead of her. Though she was aided somewhat by the partial moonlight, it was clumsy going as she kept tripping and stumbling. She hoped no one was near enough to hear.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Melinda found the dim road leading in the direction of Eagle Ranch. She stayed off the road, choosing the greater security offered by the covering of nearby brush.

  This time, when she came to the fence marking the property line, she ducked through the wires and kept going.

  Finally, as the roar grew louder, she stopped to see if she could spot the plane's shadow against the bright night sky. There! It rose like a dark hawk, banked, and circled off. It had already landed. Its murky mission accomplished, it had taken off again. And now it was gone.

  Melinda sighed in frustration. Too late. All her effort was for nothing. But she had come this far. She might as well visit the landing strip, which was much closer to the McClure place than she had reckoned. Besides, it was one element of this mystery that she had missed seeing in her reckless explorations of the day before.

  This time, she moved much more carefully. Every so often, she stopped to catch her breath and listen. She was rewarded with the sound of a vehicle engine starting up, and the low murmur of voices. She decided it would be safer to blow out the candle, place it in her pocket, and trust the moonlight from here on out.

  Finally, as she crept up to a stand of trees, Melinda realized she had reached the clearing where the plane had landed.

  She could distinguish the headlights of a large van, most likely the one belonging to Eagle Ranch. The bright spots of light emanating from flashlights traced movements of about a half dozen people.

  Melinda still did not know what she was seeing, though fear tickled her scalp. She knew only that extreme danger lurked here. And despite their bravado, this was far too big for even the McClures to handle alone.

  She had to go back, possibly steal a vehicle at the McClure place, and find help. Just as she moved backwards, however, she stepped on a dry branch that cracked like a shot in the night. Then, she felt a hand close around her mouth.

  She bit it hard, and tried to scream. But the hand clamped down tighter.

  "Melinda!" Mac whispered hoarsely. "What the hell are you doing here? You're going to get us all killed."

  Dropping his hand from her mouth, he held it up in a gesture of silence as he listened. "They're coming. They heard you."

  Just then, three dark figures detached themselves from the shadows of the nearby trees. In the dim moonlight, she recognized them as Finch's men.

  "Run!" Mac shouted.

  Melinda turned and bolted. Concern for Mac made her pause, however, as she heard behind her all the shouts and grunts amid a terrible commotion. Then there was the sickening thud of a heavy object colliding with flesh.

  "That takes care of him!" a coarse voice said. "Get the girl!"

  These words inspired her to flee in blind panic. She heard thrashing sounds behind her, indicating at least two men were giving chase. She knew if she could get far enough away, darkness would hide her.

  But unexpectedly her foot jarred against a tree stump, hurdling her face forward into a dry, scratchy bush. Still dazed, she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. Someone grabbed her arm and brutally jerked her to her feet.

  "That's as far as you go."

  Melinda reached up to her stinging cheek and dabbed at blood that was oozing from a scratch. The man had a firm grasp on her other arm.

  "Over here!" he shouted. "I've got her!"

  A beam of light stabbed in their direction, temporarily blinding her. Moments later, two other men approached as they dragged Mac's still body between them. Melinda's captor dug his fingers into her arm cruelly, urging her to follow.

  They walked for perhaps a half mile, until they reached a small shed at the side of a clearing. The two men dragged Mac inside and unceremoniously dumped him on the floor. Melinda was shoved in after him. The door slammed, and she heard an outside lock click. She caught a few fragments of conversation as the men walk
ed away.

  "...should kill them now. That other girl..."

  "Ask Roy...Preston still needs to finish the job..."

  When they were out of earshot, Melinda weakly dropped to her knees beside Mac, whose still form was barely visible in the dark. With shaking hands, Melinda fished out the candle and her last match to light it. She held it above Mac's pale face. Was he dead? Critically wounded?

  Her mind replayed the crunching sound of the blow she had heard. She stretched out her legs and cradled his bruised head on her lap. His expression was clear and unguarded, much as it had been that day — oh so very long ago — when she had watched him sleep in the chair beside her bed. She gently rubbed her fingers across his forehead, as she tried to assess the damage. Always, when she had been in trouble, Mac had been there for her. Why had she never learned to trust him? And because of her stupidity this time, he might even die.

  Her fingers rested gently on the pulse along the side of his neck. It seemed to be growing stronger. Please, God, let him live.

  A powerful emotion swept her as she stroked his head.

  "Oh, Michael," she whispered softly. "My darling. Please forgive me."

  Her lips gently caressed his forehead. She knew he was unable to hear her. Otherwise, she never would have dared to utter the words that came pouring out from the depths of her heart. They were words born of emotions long submerged. The simple truth was that she loved him, even after knowing him such a short time. She urged Mac to answer, gently rubbing his face and hands to arouse some response.

  Then, at long last, he turned his head slowly from side to side. He groaned loudly, and began to stir.

  "Take it easy," she cautioned.

  Mac lifted his head from her lap, winced, and looked around. Then he slowly raised himself into a sitting position. He grasped his head in both hands and groaned. Then he took the candle from Melinda's hand, held it up, and looked around the room.

  "Where are we?"

  "Some sort of storage room." The trembling in Melinda's voice was as much from relief as it was from the stress of her most recent ordeal. "I'm glad you're okay."

  Mac looked at her with dark eyes full of keen awareness. "I wasn't completely unconscious. And I have to confess I was enjoying myself."

  "Why…you. Why didn't tell me you were awake? You are no gentleman, sir!"

  Melinda tried to pull away, but Mac reached over and grabbed her. He took her in his arms and kissed her lips softly. "There's more where that came from — after we get out of this."

  Mac released her and climbed to his feet, surprisingly agile after having just been smashed over the head. Like a caged animal, he examined every nook, every corner of the room.

  "We're in deep trouble," he announced.

  Melinda stayed seated where she was on the floor, as he peered down at her with exasperation.

  "You know," he said with exaggerated patience. "I thought there was no way you could mess things up this time. I guess I underestimated you."

  "Maybe," Melinda said, feeling slightly defensive. "And maybe it's time you told me everything — like you should have from the beginning."

  "I didn't know what was going on — not until Preston came back from Ruidoso. I wanted to tell you then, believe me, but…"

  He didn't get the chance to finish. At that moment, the door was flung open. Two of their captors, accompanied by Roy Finch, entered the building. Mac tensed up as though ready to fight his way out. But they all held guns.

  Melinda had to force herself not to cringe away at her first close-up sight of Roy Finch, who towered above his two comrades. He was smiling pleasantly enough. But a sadistic glint in his wideset gray eyes sent shivers up her spine. He gazed down at her, assessing her.

  "So, at last, we finally meet in person," he said. "I can't say it's a pleasure. I should have finished you off in Ruidoso."

  "So it was you in the car," Melinda said dully.

  "Driving the car. It was quite careless of me to miss like that."

  "But..why try to kill me?" Melinda asked.

  "You were prying into my past. And you found out I had a record. If something like that got out, it could cause problems between me and my new business associates. Connie is one hundred percent loyal to me, you know. And she was very concerned. I guess you didn't know your sister's two friends work for me now. I often have — guests — that need entertaining. The girls are paid well."

  "They're prostitutes?"

  "I prefer the term escorts." Finch shifted his gaze to Mac. "You weren't buying any of it, though, were you? And Debbie tried so hard to make you happy."

  "She wasn't my type," Mac said dryly.

  Finch just laughed, and looked back down at Melinda. "And I suppose this little wildcat is your type? Well, I'll say one thing. You and your sister both seem to have a real talent for interfering in things that are none of your damned business. Bad habits like that tend to be fatal."

  Though icy fear made Melinda want to stay cringing on the floor, pride forced her to climb to her feet to meet her oppressor eye-to-eye. Mac reached down to help her up, and put his arm protectively around her.

  "What have you done to Joan?" Melinda demanded.

  Finch lowered his gun, though the two men behind him stood ready with theirs. "Don't worry. We kept her alive. We thought she might add some — extra motivation — for Preston to do as he was told."

  "Preston knew this?" Melinda felt outrage growing, until Mac squeezed her shoulders.

  "He found out in Ruidoso," Mac said quietly.

  "That's right," Finch agreed. "He was trying to weasel out on our little arrangement even before I grabbed your sister. But he didn't know we had her for sure until I told him at the track."

  "I saw his face while he was talking to you that day," Melinda said. "I swear, if you've hurt Joan — "

  "Relax," Finch interrupted with a tone of false congeniality. "She's fine. In fact, you'll be seeing her soon. She'll be brought here to join you while we decide what to do with the three of you."

  "Hasn't that been decided already?" Mac asked grimly.

  Finch clucked his tongue and shook his head disapprovingly. "That's very crude of you to ask, McClure. And here I was trying to spare the little lady's feelings."

  "Just tell us," Melinda said angrily.

  "Well, if you must know." Finch appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. "An airplane accident is so messy. And a terrible waste of an expensive machine. But it's such a convenient way to get rid of multiple bodies without a bunch of nosy questions being asked later."

  "A plane crash," Mac repeated dully.

  "Don't worry. You won't feel a thing when it happens. You'll all be alive, but unconscious, when we put you on the plane. Wesley, my backup pilot, happens to be a very good parachutist. He'll bail out when he reaches open desert. In the wreckage, it'll look like Preston was the pilot. We don't want any screw-ups with the coroner about time of death, so we have to keep you all alive until Preston gets back."

  When Mac and Melinda fell into a horrified silence, Finch smiled gleefully.

  "What? No more questions? Well, I'm sure you'll want to know the rest of the story since you won't be around later to hear it."

  Finch exchanged a few laughs with his henchmen, causing chills to go up Melinda's spine.

  "So here's how it goes. We'll plant a story about how Preston found out his wife was hiding from him in Phoenix following a lover's quarrel. They had a touching reconciliation when they talked it over on the phone. And then the McClure brothers, accompanied by Joan's loving sister, borrowed my plane I so generously loaned to them to fly out and pick Joan up. And on the way back home — well, such a tragedy."

  "Can we go to the funeral, boss?" One of the gunmen derisively called out the question.

  Finch grinned malevolently. "Of course. We'll all go. And I'll even send a funeral wreath. A neighborly thing to do, don't you think? I have papers in the works with Preston to buy out and take over Sacramento Ranch in the
event he can't pay off his debts to me. So, in the end, it'll all be mine. Black Gold. Everything."

  Melinda felt Mac's arm squeeze tighter around her as Roy Finch turned a hate-filled gaze on him.

  "I understand why this woman was found snooping around. She's been nothing but trouble from the start. But you, McClure? What are you doing here?" He gave Mac a sharp look. "Your brother didn't say anything to you about tonight's plans, did he?"

  "I was curious about the plane," Mac said. "I've always been curious about that plane. This time, I wanted to see where it landed."

  "It always lands on my property, McClure — private property. I could have you both shot for trespassing, you know."

  Finch threw back his head and laughed at his own joke. Then, he grew serious.

  "Did you know your brother always rode out to meet the plane?"

  "It wasn't too hard to figure out."

  Finch laughed again. "But you didn't want to know that much about it, did you, McClure? You knew your brother was doing something wrong, and that's why you didn't ask too many questions. It was convenient for you to look the other way. Just like moving out here was so convenient for me. Your brother's a fine pilot, you know. And a skilled veterinarian. I'm always looking for talent like that in my organization."

  Finch began, vulture-like, to circle around Mac and Melinda as he continued talking, as though enjoying the stinging revelations he was revealing to Preston's brother. His shadow moved around the wall with him, wavering in the light of the candle Mac still held.

  "Preston was a fool from the very start," Roy said mockingly. "When we met up in the service, it started with the card games. Innocent little card games, leading to thousands of dollars of debt. Preston was weak. He just couldn't help himself. After I was discharged, he looked me up here in the states. Did you know that, McClure? I didn't go after him. He came after me because he still wanted in on the action — big action, with the high rollers. I gave it to him, all right. I gave it to him good. Now he owes me big. I bailed out your ranch for you, McClure — paid off all those debts your little brother ran up. Didn't you wonder where Preston came up with all that money, all of a sudden like that?"