by Jackie Zack
He dared another glance in the distance behind him, still one rider. Not waiting to see if second man appeared, Kory sped off. He could disappear around the turn coming up, then shoot down a side street in the village. Good thing Bobi had taken the time to draw him a perfect map.
Adrenalin surged and he easily zipped around the turn. But where was the village? If anything it had turned into wilderness with a dirt path up ahead. Dear God. Had he made a wrong turn? What was he to do? And with possible thugs on his trail.
An animal shot out into the road. It looked like the dog from the bookstore. Kory slowed down as he neared the corgi. A driveway led up to a white cottage. “Griff?”
The dog seemed to beckon him and trotted behind bushes by a mailbox. Good grief—the bike rider would be coming around the turn any second.
Kory followed, slipped off his bike, and went to set it behind the bushes as he dodged downward on his stomach. The questionable bad guys couldn’t see him then.
“Hiya.” A woman lay sprawled out, flat on her back, a grimace on her pristine face.
“Dafina! What on earth? Are you okay?” he said as quietly as he could. How bizarre to be lying next to her in the grass.
“Twisted my ankle and fell,” she said under her breath.
“Oh, no.” He put an index finger over his lips and listened for any movement on the road. “I’m being followed.”
Her eyes widened. “Wh—” She looked toward a goat partially hidden by a boulder covered with lichens. The gray beast blinked at them and took a tuft of grass, munching it in a sideways motion.
Griff circled around and lay next to his mistress. The white-blonde of her wavy hair fanned out around her. The green moss and clover she rested on, only added to her ethereal beauty. Her light blue jeans had grass stains at the knees, an indicator of the mishap. A lavender blouse clung to her shapely form, and a leopard scarf joined in the exotic mix. The lightest colors of the scarf matching her hair. And the dark spots seemed to morph into cat eyes.
His head pounded as sounds from the cyclists neared. The whirring noise of tires on payment had never sounded so menacing. Dafina turned her head to get a look, but he doubted she could see anything. From his position, a slight opening gave a narrow view of the road. The cyclists passed by, two of them. As fate would have it, he saw one of the shoes clearly. It had green, tattered laces.
“Just a minute,” he whispered the words to Dafina. “Don’t move.”
Kory came to a standing position and edged his way to a tree on the other side of the drive. As he peeked around the trunk, he became hopeful. The men disappeared beyond a turn.
He hurried back to her. “Quick, is that your house? We need to get you inside behind a locked door. I don’t know what those guys are up to.”
She turned a mournful expression his way and lifted up to a seated position. Her forehead wrinkled and her frown deepened. “Watch out for the goat. He butted me.” She rubbed a spot above her knee. “If you can catch the wretched thing, I’ll make some stew.”
“Really?” He grasped her hand to help her.
“No.” She leaned on his arm. “Sorry. I can’t put much weight on my right foot.”
“Pretty bad, huh?” He studied the road. The two cyclists wouldn’t turn around, would they? He checked the other problem of the goat. It still munched on grass.
She nodded and pressed her lips together. Tears formed in her eyes. “Hurts like blazes.”
“I’ll help you.”
“You’re being followed? Who—why?” She leaned heavily upon him as they walked to her door.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they aren’t. But doesn’t it seem weird that two guys from the plane would follow me down this road? It’s too much a coincidence. Don’t you think?”
“That is strange.” She puffed with the exertion. “Do you think they singled you out? They must think you ‘ave a lot of money.”
If they’d followed him when he exchanged money, they’d have to know he had a hefty amount. At the time, he’d put the bills in his wallet, but they couldn’t have known he’d stashed the majority of it in a money belt snug under the waistband of his pants, covered by another belt. No one was in the bathroom when he’d made the switch.
“I suppose.” He didn’t suppose. He had no idea. But why would the two spend money on plane tickets? “The whole thing is odd.”
“They must know that you’re a celebrity. Hoping for ransom, I bet.”
“Huh. Some celebrity.”
“You don’t agree—”
“No.” Kory shook his head with half a laugh.
He helped her up the steps, but she ended up putting too much weight on her sore ankle. Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t make a sound. If only his legs weren’t shaky from the ride, he would’ve picked her up and carried her in. As it was, he didn’t want to risk dropping her.
She brushed her cheeks with a lavender sleeve, opened the door, and offered him a slight smile. “Welcome.”
Griff dashed into the house.
“Thanks. Uh. Let’s get you to a chair or couch.”
“Right over there.” She pointed down a short hall. “One of the chairs.”
He helped her the rest of the way, and she sat on a caramel-colored, wingback chair. Griff paced by her chair, keeping an eye on him. Kory slipped off his backpack, letting it drop to the floor then grabbed a pillow from the couch, put it on a nearby wooden stool, and moved it in front of her. Without thinking he gently picked up her leg, positioning her foot on the pillow.
“Oh, no. I just had a thought.” Dafina’s eyes widened.
“What?”
“Those darrens might come back looking for you, if they don’t see you on the road ahead.”
A sick feeling settled in his stomach. She thought along the same lines as he did. “Darrens?”
“You know, tough guys. Up to no good.”
“Oh.”
“Go move your bike. If they see it—”
“Shoot. You’re right.” He headed to the door. “Be right back.”
“There’s a shed round back. To the right of the ‘ouse.”
“Thanks.”
“Put ‘er in there for now.”
Kory dashed out the door and down the steps, keeping his focus on the road, and psyching himself up for a confrontation. Yeah, he could see how that would go down. Handing over his wallet and losing money. Would they know that he had his ID and vital credit cards elsewhere? He set the bike aright and ran with it toward the back of the house.
The backyard surprised him with colorful flower gardens and a stone house nestled in the back center among hedges and bushes. The shed was off to right next to an old, large tree. He stowed the bike away, momentarily losing all thought as he appreciated unusual, earthen pottery stored on shelves covering one wall.
He snapped back to full attention to his present problem, wondering what his next step could possibly be. He had to head somewhere for the night, but first he wanted to make sure the platinum princess was okay.
If they tried to hurt her, he’d likely fight them to the death. His death, of course. He’d at least try to do them some damage, so the cops would know the men were in a fight—and were at least guilty of something. He hurried back inside the house, closed the door and locked it.
A few quick strides took him to the living room. If she had another entrance to the house, he should make sure it was secure. He hadn’t noticed another door, but he’d only seen the one part of side yard. It could’ve easily been hidden by shrubs. “Do you have a back door? Is it locked?”
“It’s locked, but you can check it. Through the kitchen, there.” She pointed.
Chapter 4
Kory headed the direction Dafina pointed and stepped through an open doorway into the kitchen. He about jumped out of his shoes at the sight of a rotund man sitting at the table reading a newspaper. The skin on the back of the man’s neck was an odd tan color with gray and black spots. A hat cover
ed his head and gloves hid his hands. A plaid shirt was stuffed into his dark blue pants.
“Don’t worry about Pops.” Dafina’s voice drifted from the other room.
“It looks like it’s too late to worry about him,” he said under his breath.
“He is getting a bit moldy.”
“Oh, you heard me?”
“Yes. Doesn’t he look real?”
“Um…yeah. Thanks for warning me. I about peed my pants.”
Her laughter cheered him, making the grotesque discovery of Pops a lot more tolerable. She’d concocted the dummy out of men’s clothes and some sort of gourd for the head. He spied the steps heading down to the back door and hurried down them. Trying the door knob, he was satisfied it was locked. A flight of stairs headed down into the darkness of a basement. A spot of light from the door’s window revealed at patch of the dirt and gravel floor down below. Nope, not checking that out. He stopped and listened. No groaning or clawing sounds. That was a plus.
Returning to the kitchen, a sweet smell of something baking made his stomach rumble. He was starving and dying of thirst, but no time for that.
He made his way into the living room and sat in a chair closest to her.
“The back door is locked?” she asked.
“Yes. Safe and sound.”
His eyes had adjusted from the brightness outside and he could see a little more clearly in the darkened room. Her decorating scheme had him at a loss. Pink walls for a living room? The threadbare carpeting was tan. The chair he sat in was striped like a candy cane and equally as worn. A yellow and green afghan folded on the seat and draped across the back was hot and itchy through his clothes. Everything was mismatched, yet arranged in a somewhat pleasing manner.
A picture of an angel with a sword faced him from the wall if he dared complain. One wrong move and Kory would get sliced. Above the burgundy couch was an arrangement of old plates. One had a red dragon designed like the flag of Wales. A heavy wooden bookcase housed on another wall held a variety of splashy colored books.
He felt like he’d been dropped into a bag of pink cotton candy with an array of bright candy spilled in with him. He glanced back in her direction. Her eyes were closed and her lips pressed tight.
“Can I get you anything? A drink and something—like aspirin? Do you have ice?” He moved out of the chair and onto his knees to look at her ankle.
She’d kicked off her sandals. He moved her jeans on her right leg to slightly above the wrenched area. “Your ankle doesn’t look too swollen. Can you move your foot?”
She didn’t answer, but moved her foot around in a circle.
“That’s good. But it’s still a bad sprain and starting to bruise. I’ll get some ice.”
“Thanks.” She opened one eye. “And there’s pain medicine in the pantry by the sink.”
He found a kitchen towel and put several ice cubes from the freezer into it and folded it as he headed back to the living room. Her eyes were still closed, the spot between her eyebrows was creased.
“Here’s the ice.” He placed the cold bundle on her ankle. “It should help.” He turned to head toward the kitchen. “Do you need more for where the goat…?”
She placed a hand on a spot above her right knee. “No…no. It should be fine.”
“I’ll get you some anyway.”
In the kitchen, he repeated the process, only this time putting the ice in a plastic bag. He filled a glass with water, found aspirin in the pantry, and took the whole lot to her.
Aquamarine eyes blinked open. “Thanks. My goodness. It’s a good thing you ‘appened along.”
“Yes. It is.” He handed her the water and bottle of pills, then carefully positioned the bag on her leg. “Also good that you happened to live here on this road. There should be a village close by?”
She widened her eyes and slowly shook her head.
“I—I’ll be heading back to town then.”
She placed a white pill on her tongue and took a drink then set the glass on the table to her left. His book The Unseen nearly burned his eyes out when he saw it there next to her glass. A bookmark held her place about a tenth of the way in.
“Twenty five kilometers is quite a distance back.” She rested her chin on her palm. The next village is a bit further and most of the traveling on a dirt road, but I can’t imagine doing either. The hills are wicked.”
Despair clutched his chest and his knees threatened to buckle. He sat in the same candy cane chair as before. She reached over and patted his arm.
“I don’t understand. I thought I followed the map exactly.” He pulled the paper from a pocket.
“I would take you either place in the car, but my ankle—” She moved it and winced.
“I’ll just have to head back.”
“But what about the men following you?”
This can’t be happening. He placed a hand on his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. “No matter. It’ probably nothing.” It’s what he deserved for writing such a horrific mess. Why had he listened to Ed? How sublime to see the reason for his demise before it happened.
A thought like a distant light broke through. God didn’t work like that. Some authors loved to do that to their characters in books, but not God—the author and creator of all. Even if Kory did meet his end soon, it wasn’t punishment for writing a crappy book that had sections he’d never in his right mind write. God forgive me.
“Well, I—” He stood to leave.
“Wait. Don’t leave yet. Have something to eat and drink—‘ave a look out the window to see if those fellows pass by again. Doesn’t ‘urt to be careful, I always say.”
“Do you have bread in the oven? It smells wonderful.” His stomach rumbled again. Had to be loud enough for her to hear it.
“I’m sure they’re ready. Tea cakes, they are. Could you take them out for me? Sure hope they aren’t burned.”
He took a step toward the kitchen.
“Poke ‘round in the freezer. There’s meat and vegetables in a container. You can warm it up in the popty ping.”
“Popty ping?”
“Microwave.”
“Ah.” Clever.
He headed toward the sink and filled a glass of water, downing it in no time flat. Then drank another at a slower pace, but set it down to get the cakes out of the oven. The potholders were right next to the oven. He grabbed them and took out a cookie sheet. The cakes looked like biscuits. Uh—yeah. Just like pudding was cake and biscuits were cookies. One could never be sure what he’d get.
He set the hot metal sheet on the stovetop, then stepped over to the freezer and surveyed the contents. Man, oh man, he was starved. Then he saw a clear plastic container with what looked like a huge hunks of cooked roast with potatoes, and cabbage.
“Is this the one?” He held the container in the hallway for her to see. He could only hope.
“Yes. That’s it. You can eat all of it.”
“Thanks. It isn’t goat meat, is it?” He stepped in the hall to see her expression.
She laughed. “No. It’s a beef roast.”
He popped the container in the pippity pot, or whatever she said, and set it for defrost. When he turned, he got a better look at Pops. How crazy was it to have a fake, fat man sitting at her table with mold eating away at the face? What did he know about her? She worked at a bookstore and liked Agatha Christie. He glanced at the food in the microwave and the movie Arsenic and Old Lace came to mind. And how convenient for her to have a dirt floor in the basement.
Chapter 5
Dafina hoped her throbbing ankle would stop hurting. Being helpless in a chair wasn’t what she’d counted on. Cupboard doors creaked opened and thumped shut. What was Kory looking for?
He must’ve been looking for a plate. He stepped from the kitchen with a glass of water in one hand and one of her mismatched, everyday plates in the other, stacked full of the teacakes.
“Hope you don’t mind that I—” he said.
“Ah—no.
Thank you for taking over. I’m sorry that I’m not the right, proper ‘ostess. It’s killing me that I can’t get ‘round.”
“So,” he smiled, “tell me about you. Why do you have a stuffed man in your kitchen?” His smile broadened, and he held the plate for her to take a cake.
When she took one, he handed her a paper napkin. He set the plate on the table, grabbed a cake for himself, and sat in his chair. She liked to think that it was his chair and rather liked the idea of having him around.
“It’s quite the story.” She took a bite of the cake, delighted that they hadn’t burned. She’d guessed the temperature almost perfectly to match the time she’d be waiting for horror cyclist Kory.
“I like stories.” Kory bit down into her baked offering. “Mm. These are great. But go on with,” he motioned, “why you—”
“It’s to keep the neighbor man away. He won’t leave me alone. He thinks that—” She tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t. “He thinks that fat dummy is my ‘usband.” She laughed.
Kory’s mouth opened in what was either surprise or mirth. “Your husband?” He chuckled. “But wouldn’t the neighbor wonder why he never moved from the chair?”
“I move ‘im around every once in a while—he’s lazy like the real one—but I keep him close by the windows. When I turn on the kitchen light, Hoover can see a man sitting at the table.” She rolled her eyes. “The scrut.”
“A derogatory description for your neighbor?”
“Oh, it could be my ex-husband, too.”
“So you have a husband and an ex-husband?”
“Goodness, no. Just the ex.” She grit her teeth and tried to will herself to forget him. Why had she been so kind to him? Love. Drat it all.
“The neighbor, this Hoover guy, bothers you often?”
“Not so much, but he lets the goat loose, knowing the scruffy thing will come ‘ere. Gives him an excuse to come by and collect his property. Ever since I made up Pops, and told ‘im over and over again that I wasn’t interested, he’s let up some.”
